#i turned off the lights and sat down to watch it but she woke up and got into the room asking why I'm in the dark multiple times in an- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tomsparkyr · 2 months ago

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𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒!

following episode two of ‘inside’ — george clarke x fem!reader

by any means i do not own 'inside' and all credit is theirs (!!)

(ps, thank u all sm for the love on the first part, these take me yonks to write so seeing all ur comments makes me want to cry i love u all sm🤍🤍🤍)

(pps, i’d appreciate it if no one stole my work! i put a lot of time and effort into this and to see people crediting it as their own isn’t a nice feeling !!!)

wc: 6.9K

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”Hello, Motherfuckers!”

You groaned and reached up to rub your eyes as the rattling voice of JJ woke everyone up from their slumber.

You tried to bring your right hand up to wipe the sleep out of your eye, but found the weight of another person’s hand entangled with your own. George’s fingers were intertwined with yours and didn’t falter his grip on them as he slowly rose from his bed, a duvet wrapped around his naked torso.

You really did try to not stare… But watching him lean over the bed to grab something situated underneath the frame, and seeing the duvet fall to reveal that he was only clad in shorts, and taking in the fact that he was gripping onto your hand as if you could slip away from him at any time; you really and truly couldn’t help yourself.

It was painfully obvious that George was holding your hand the entire night, waking up in a position that both of your bodies had maneuvered closer to the edge of the bed, basically hanging off in a pitiful attempt to be closer to one another.

Catching yourself blushing first thing in the morning, you reluctantly detached your hand from George’s and yanked the duvet up to cover half your face, hiding the rose tinted cheeks.

“Get your ass up!” JJ’s voice echoed around the room, hearing complaints from everyone around you.

George sat up, “That is the worst noise in the morning.” He whined. His hand flexed slightly as if he was searching for your hand still; but as his mind woke up too, he pulled his hand back from where it was dangling off the side of his bed.

You sat upright, eyes squinting from the bright light that flickered on. You stared forwards for a moment in a daze, the tiredness running straight through you as you dreaded the day to come.

An arm outstretched to you and you recoginsed the calloused fingers. Looking up, you saw George with messy bed hair, squinted eyes and a half-hearted smile etched across his face. You smiled softly back at him and accepted his hand.

He lifted you out of the bed and you leaned into his side once you were up. Still tired, you swayed slightly, causing George to wrap an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him so that you could feel his body warmth.

You sighed at the feeling and allowed your head to settle into his chest, his hand that wasn’t wrapped around you coming up to stroke some flyaway hairs from being fresh out of bed. “You alright?” He whispered, leaning down slightly. You looked up to meet his eyes and nodded, “Just tired.”

You rested in George’s hold for a while, neither wanting to move away so resorted to standing and swaying back and forth in each other's arms momentarily. Neither of you were speaking, just enjoying each other’s company as everyone made their beds in the morning.

Farah watched you and George in the centre of the room, nudging Milli and pointing at the two of you. Milli had known George for a while before they entered the show together, and she had never seen George so touchy with anyone in his entire life, especially in front of so many people he didn’t know. Milli and Farah quietly laughed to each other before calling you, “Y/N! Are you coming for breakfast?”

Peeling yourself out of George’s grasp, you turned to face the two girls and reluctantly nodded, letting go of George and striding towards them. As you turned away, George pressed a quick kiss on the top of your forehead and bidding a promise he’ll see you in the shop any minute from now.

Milli and Farah walked you down to the shop where breakfast was laid for you (you couldn’t decipher if this was a good or bad thing).

Seeing 12 pots of food lined up, Mandi asked the question that was on everyones lips, “What is that?” You furrowed your brows and picked up one of the pots, opening the lid and smelling it.

Retracting rather quickly, you turned to face the small group. “It’s porridge.” You groaned, followed by the sound of everyone else replicating you.

You watched as everyone loitered near the camera to confirm any upgrades or drinks, cringing as the money began dropping significantly. Mandi found herself the spokesperson as she confirmed more orders.

You turned to Cinna, who seemed to be matching the irritated facial expression you wore, “Do we really need all that?” You mumbled to her, hoping no one would hear. You felt a tap on your shoulder and Mandi (who had obviously heard you) said, “I can get what I fucking want.” You’re sure it was meant to come across jokingly and she meant no harm, but you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as you feared Mandi turning everyone against you on only the second day.

Feeling awkward, you left the shop area and strolled back into the living room. There you spotted George sitting on one of the beanbags on the floor, arms resting behind his head as his legs were outstretched.

He turned his head towards the doorway as you entered and a smile immediately appeared on his face.

George noticed your frown and urged you to come sit with him. You plopped yourself down just in front of him, your back to his chest as he tugged you so you rested between his legs comfortably. “What happened?” He questioned.

You sighed, “Nothing, I’m just being dramatic.” You forced a laugh out but George read you so easily. Sensing something was wrong, he leaned forward and plucked the cold porridge from your hands that you had previously been playing with the fork provided. “Tell me.” His concern grew.

You shook your head, “No, it genuinely is just stupid though--” “Nothing you could ever say would be stupid.” George encouraged you. He never liked hearing you subtly throw daggers at yourself like that, so did everything in his power to reassure you that you were perfect; he wishes you could see yourself the way he sees you.

Giving in, you said, “It was just Mandi. I know she was joking or whatever, but she kind of just shut me down in front of everyone; it was more that I was embarrassed than anything she did.” You mumbled, not liking confrontation and admitting stuff.

George watched your face contort into frustration as you told your story, understanding you and happy you told him your feelings (although he wishes it was the other feelings).

“No, I get it. It won’t be until everyone sees the prize fund after today that maybe they’ll slow down on the purchases, then you’ll be proved right.” He winked at you, smiling as you laughed at him and lightly jutted out an elbow to playfully hit him.

You leaned forwards and out of his touch, turning around and resting on your knees in front of him, face to face. You smiled back at him and whispered a small, “Thank you.” As he shrugged nonchalantly.

You held eye-contact with George for a moment, the air in the room suddenly feeling a lot thicker; you watched as George’s eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. The tension in the room changing momentarily, “Y/N, I--”

“George! Y/N! Come to the shop with me?” Cinna shouted from the main area, hearing her footsteps bound towards the living room.

The interruption caused you and George to stand up and make some ground between the two of you, embarrassed and cheeks tainted red. His hands came up to run through his hair and you could only wish that you were the one doing that.

As Cinna’s head poked round the corner to the living room, she was confused about the amount of space between you and George as most of the time you two were attached to the hip. “Shop?” She questioned again.

You nodded, “Yeah, sure.” And started walking towards the girl. Then, looking back at George who was standing still with his eyes focused on the floor in front of him, “George?” His head snapped up to meet your eyes. “You coming?”

George nodded frantically and shook his head of running thoughts; scared that his feelings and confessions nearly slipped past his tongue after you simply looked at him. He had no idea how he was going to last 6 more days of this without finding a new way to fall in love (as if he wasn’t already in deep).

You passed PK in the shower, oblivious to the fact that he was using hot water. Thinking he was in the clear as George walked towards him before giving him a fist pump.

George followed you and Cinna into the shop as she ranted about the prices and coffee scenario.

While she was talking about the prices, you felt George lurking behind you. You extended the hand that was hanging by your side behind you, fingers outstretched. George saw this and read your mind, his hand slipping into yours and intertwining your fingers; his thumb stroking the back of your hand. Neither of you looked at each other in fear of drawing attention to the pair of you, keeping your secret moments within the crowded room.

“What are you doing in here?” Milli stalked in the room behind you, quickly retracting your hand from George’s; and he reached the hand that was previously holding yours to run his hand through his mullet in an attempt to be nonchalant.

Milli noticed you and George step away from each other and smirked as it was so obvious she had interrupted something; knowing she needed to talk to you later about this situationship with George.

“No, we’re not ordering. We’re saying if she ordered tea and then left it, and it looked like it had milk in it.” Cinna responded, trying to calculate the cost that others had spent already so early into the day.

“They spent a lot of money.” DDG confirmed in suspicion, saying what you were all thinking.

Cinna asked you all if she should purchase the items, opting for a more logical route and a better way of saving money.

time skip!

You were all sitting in a circle on the floor, you between George and Mya. You were all sitting cross legged and trying not to laugh out loud at Patrice as he presented to the group. “If someone speak when you start to meditate, we vote him out.” The group chuckled and agreed.

Jason began speaking, “Take a deep breath. Close your eyes.” You obliged and suppressed a smile as your knees brushed against George’s.

“Five seconds of silent real quick.” You started to laugh but covered it up with a cough. “Envision yourself with a waterfall.”

“Think of how the water sounds.” You felt wafted of air in your direction and opened your eyes to see George pretending to be splashed by the water. You silently laughed at him and shook your head, an idea creeping in your head.

As Jason continued with his meditation, you placed your hands on George’s shoulders and shoved him lightly, envisioning that you shoved him into the waterfall. George’s eyes snapped open as he yelped, his head turning to see you laughing at him. Seeing this, Mya burst out into laughter and high-fived you as George peered on in mock offence, a smile trying to creep its way onto his face.

Patrice opened his eyes and sighed, “That’s it. They’re out.” Everyone began laughing and you all stood up.

George looked at you with his offended face still etched onto his features, you laughed and tapped Mya’s shoulders to show her, she giggled and gripped onto your hand in doing so.

George shook his head and bounded towards you, “That’s it.” He gripped onto your waist and slung your figure over his shoulder, tapping the back of your thighs as he stormed out of the room with you in his arms. You and the rest of the group laughed as he exited with you, hearing you shout from help echoing throughout the rooms.

Now you and George had left the room, Patrice pointed at the door you had previously been taken out of, “They’re together, no?”

Everyone chuckled and shook their heads, shocked that you and George weren’t together after knowing each other for so long and with that much chemistry. Farah put her hands up in a shrugging gesture, “Apprently not.”

Hearing this, Patrice stopped in his step and turned to face everyone with a shocked face and eyes wide, “Eh?”

time skip!

“Are you sure? Do you think he’s the one?” You stood behind Mya, hands coating in gel as you helped her slick it back further for her ‘wedding’ with PK. Reapplying some powder on her face, she smiled at you through your reflection in her mirror, “I think he’s the one, guys.”

“Are you blind?” Mandi called out making you all laugh, she passed you some of her makeup you asked to borrow off her in the event being a ‘special occasion’.

Finishing with Mya’s hair, you sat down next to Mandi and propped your legs up on her lap, feeling any nerves or awkwardness from earlier directed at her gone now; deciding you felt like you overreacted (although George would tell you otherwise).

Once you had all finished with the bride’s final preparations, you excited the room and stood with the other girls, all facing PK and DDG standing at the ‘altar’. You and Milli stood next to each other at the front, you being closer to the aisle; you definitely felt the closest with Milli, from her fangirling over you for the first 24 hours, you two had formed a close bond in such a short time period.

You turned around to see George entering with a cushion in his hands, trying not to burst out laughing as he walked down the aisle. You stuck your foot out to trip him up as he walked forwards, falling for it and stumbling slightly. You covered your mouth with your hands to stop laughing as Milli hid her face in your shoulder to do the same. You watched George turn and face you with a wide smile on his face before he lifted the cushion he was holding to whack you in the face lightly with it. Farah and Whitney behind you folding with laughter at the pair of you, before PK called you out for taking the spotlight on his wedding day; mumbling something along the lines of, “Should’ve been yours if George grew the balls to ask you out.”

George’s eyes widened as he was the only one who heard it, lifted his cushion again to threaten hitting him with it, PK jumped and laughed as George made his way to his position within the wedding.

After the… beautiful ceremony, Mya and PK headed for the exit before Whitney reminded them to complete the bouquet toss. Mya turned around with a wide smile and raised brows before launching the bouquet straight at you without warning, the force and sudden movement causing you to put your hands up in defence and accidentally catching it in the process.

The girls all screamed around you and jumped around, hitting your arms as you stood still in shock. You stared at George who looked at you with wide eyes and his mouth open slightly. All the boys behind him began cheering and shoved George forwards towards you, causing him to stumble into your figure and grasping your waist to keep you both upright.

Both of your cheeks were burning red as neither of you looked directly at each other in fear of embarrassing yourselves. Everyone around you clapped and you heard Patrice shouting in the background, “Next thing you know it a baby Clarke will be on the way!”

You buried your face in George’s chest, hiding your red face while George’s hand stroked the back of your head, twirling your hair in his fingers. George made eye contact with DDG and Jason as they stood behind you, making wild gestures and urging George to kiss you; him shaking his head rapidly, keeping your head against him in fear of you turning around and seeing the boys.

time skip!

You stood in the challenge area, watching intently as Ethan listed off the rules and expectations of today’s challenge; this being Don’t Make A Sound.

You had to suppress your giggles as Milli and DDG stood opposite each other, a tray of cake presented in front of them, with a stupid sling hung around their heads.

George stood behind you, his chest brushing your back as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet; an occasional rub up and down on your arm as he comforted and relieved your nerves as you knew you would have to eventually have a turn up there.

You had to cover your mouth and hold your nose to stop yourself from laughing out loud as Milli had a cake projected onto her face from DDG full brute force. Behind you, George had his hands resting on the back of his head, so you could feel the vibrations of his chest as he laughed quietly on your back; you tried to not feel giddy but you couldn’t help it.

Seeing DDG place a massive cake into Milli’s sling made you gasp behind your hand, not loud enough to set off the noise detector, but Whitney had you covered in that department. You watched in horror and amusement as DDG leaned back and propelled the cake directly into Milli’s face, causing her to stumble back and fall to the floor.

You couldn’t help it this time as you snorted in laughter behind your hands, your eyes immediately widening as you feared you were too loud; looking over at Ethan and seeing his disapproving stare and shake of the head confirmed your suspicions.

“Right. That is your challenge complete.” Ethan said after calming down from his fit of laughter. “And I have some important information for you guys.” You rolled your head back and turned to face George who held the same guilty look you had.

“George, Y/N, Whitney and Farah have broken the rules.” George gasped as he thought initially that he wasn’t as loud as he’d come across. “£10,000 has been deducted from the prize fund.” Your mouth fell open wide, eyebrows furrowing as George pinched the bridge of his nose.

You would pat yourself on the back for the way you managed to suppress your laughter in PK’s challenge, having to grip onto George for dear life to stop you falling to the ground in hysterics.

Once he had completed his challenge, you had brought your hands together to applaud him, only getting about two claps in before George shoved a hand inbetween yours to stop the sound, but it was already too late considering Milli had gotten the same idea as you. You tilted your head to see George’s eyes wide before he lulled his head back in frustration and buried it in the space between your neck and shoulder, whispering about how that was too loud.

You and Milli both held the same guilty expression and face flushed from embarrassment, also mentally battling about who was going to tell PK that they had ruined his challenge for the group.

Ethan smirked at you and Milli, slowly wiggling his finger mockingly. After telling PK to take his glasses off, Ethan exposed you and Milli, “Now, I can inform you that within that round, there was a rule break.”

You slowly looked away from the group, the ceiling suddenly much more interesting as you felt a hot flush creep up your neck. “Y/N and Milli, looking awfully embarrassed there.” The entire group's focus shifted onto you two, some holding disappointed expressions.

Ethan continues, “However, because of your amazing flavour with some of those, we’re gonna allow it.” You sighed silently and the tension in your shoulders released. George pulled back from your neck and pressed both hands on your shoulders as his height loomed over you, slowly massaging into the skin to reassure you; slightly melting into his contact.

When Cinna was selected to face the shocks you had endured last round, you sent her a look of apology knowing how bad it hurt before. You walked over to her as she was being set up, pressing a soft kiss on the side of her head as she linked arms with you momentarily, whispering a soft “Thank you.” before walking back to your place in front of George.

You cringed slightly at Cinna and Jason’s challenge, an uncomfortable watch but you couldn’t help but smile and chuckle behind your hand as they jerked in odd positions; also wondering if you had looked that weird doing it the first time.

After the excruciating watch, you gave a thumbs up to Cinna as she crouched down in relief; not before Mandi didn’t grasp the full instructions of the game. “I thought we were going to be here until fucking tomorrow, man.” She exclaimed.

Everyone’s head snapped around to face her, you even waved your arms to stop her talking in your best efforts to save her and the group. She saw your terrified face and covered her mouth in shock and regret, she gestured around and mouthed some words none of you could make out. “There’s no fucking way. The challenge was over!” She exclaimed again.

Ethan held up two fingers to her, you gave her a sympathetic look, understanding that if you were as much of an extrovert as she was, you would have warranted the same reaction.

Ethan cleared his throat after congratulating Cinna and Jason, “However, Mandi. I’m going to deduct £20,000 from the pot for two violations.” You all gasped in shock and put your head in your hands.

Swiftly moving on, Mandi and Patrice stood up with chicken toys put into their mouths and elastic bands situated around their calves. You looked up at George who sported a boyish grin, bouncing on his feet clearly excited at the prospect of this challenge.

You couldn’t help but laugh at this one. It got you so much at your body folded laughing that you needed to cling onto George to stop yourself from falling to the floor; although this didn’t work.

You swung your head back in laughter and covered your mouth, legs giving way as you stumbled back and fell into the prop set behind you. George tried to stick an arm out to catch you but he was too late as your back collided with the bookshelf, and books lost its footing on the shelves and fell onto your head.

You held your head in both pain and hysterics, the noise and your laughter both combining to bail you out of the challenge and most definitely lose you £10,000 in the process. George’s eyes widened in amusement and concern, his hands immediately pressing into the spot where the books had hit and rubbing it softly. He stood tall and pressed a light kiss on the spot before turning to see an eagerly awaiting Ethan to expose the reduction in prize money.

Sighing, he said, “Whitney, Milli, George and well, obviously Y/N,” You closed your eyes in embarrassment as Cinna rubbed her hand against your arm in a supportive manner. “You have made a sound, which means we will deduct £10,000 from the prize fund.”

Finally, it was your challenge. You had to pie who you think the statement applies to most, nerves bubbled in your stomach as you knew this would end in an awkward confrontation.

Farah stood up first and her card read, ‘Which Insider do you think is the fakest?’ She winced at the question, off to a bad start.

She scanned the group stood in a line wondering who’s feelings would be hurt the least if she pied. She didn’t know everyone particularly well, but picked nonetheless, an explanation on the tip of her tongue as soon as the challenge was over; she could picture herself running to them and apologising profusely.

You were surprised when Farah pointed at you, making you depart from the line with a frown etched onto your face. You subtly glanced at the card that was lying upright on the table and read the prompt, brows furrowing and heart sinking a little bit; did people actually perceive you like that?

Farah tilted her head sympathetically at you, pondering her thoughts as she reared up to pie you. She attempted to do it lightly at first but Ethan, being the little bitch he was, told her she had to smash it into your face or it wouldn’t qualify.

You winked at Farah to tell her it was alright to do the challenge, not wanting her to feel guilty about it when money was at stake, she smiled back at you.

Suddenly, a pie was heavily collided with your face and you stumbled back slightly; the cream flying everywhere and covering your entire face as some of the remaints flicked onto George in the background as he bit his fist to stop himself from bursting out in laughter.

You wiped your eyes off the remaints and walked back to your original spot with a joking sour facial expression. Noticing George was enjoying this far too much, you lightly brushed your hand against his face, smearing cream down from his forehead to his cheeks. He laughed quietly at you as you kissed your teeth with your tongue.

Ethan passed you a towel and you saw Farah looking over at you with a guilty face. Walking over to her, you wrapped her into a hug and patted the back of her head in further reassurance; Farah silently thanked that she chose you because you handled it like a pro.

In Mya’s turn, she pied Dylan for having the deadest jokes. Whitney pied Patriced after a quick hug, being the footballer, she probably guessed right that he earned the most money. Dylan then brutally pied Farah, everyone gasping at the full force he went into it with. Farah, on some level, thought it was karma for what she did to you.

Then it was your turn, you lifted the pie to read the card, ‘Which Insider do you think is the best in bed?’ You opened your mouth in shock and mouthed a “What the fuck?” to Ethan who laughed out loud; causing the people around you to look at each other and shrug their shoulders as they didn’t know the statement you had just read.

You looked at the group in front of you, a pie settled in your hand as your eyes scanned everyones (but you already knew who you were going to pick).

Licking your lips, you pointed at George causing him to smile and point a finger to himself in question, you nodded slowly with a smirk attached to your face. George walked up to you, causing you to look up due to the height difference and bite back a laugh before you swung your arm up to pie his face.

You didn’t hit him too hard, but due to the excessive cream, it had covered his face and splattered on the props behind him. He didn’t stumble back but took it like a champ, seeing his smile behind the cream. You walked up to him after dropping what was left of the pie to the floor and cupped his face with your hands. Your thumbs brushed over his eyes and wiped away the cream, mouthing endless apologies through quiet giggles; him leaning down to pull you into a tight hug, not caring about the mess as you had been previously pied.

Before you pulled away from his embrace, you heard him whisper to you (not loud enough for it to be picked up by the detector) “That better have been a good card, and you realise you’re telling me what it is later?”

Your cheeks burned red and you shook your head at him, brushing past him as his touch lingered for longer; leaving him with the last pie.

George leaned down to pick up the pie, reading the card: ‘Which Insider do you fancy the most here?’

George raised his eyebrows and looked over at Ethan next to him, seeing his smug smirk and a quick winked indicated that this question was written for one person and one person only.

George didn’t even think or consider other options as he immediately pointed at you, causing you to drop your smile in shock, mouthing “Me?”

He nodded at you eagerly, a grin plastered onto his face as he adjusted you in the centre of the room, ready to pie. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, preparing for impact. But when it didn’t come, you peeked open one eye just in time to see George do a full 180 to smash the pie into Ethan’s face.

You all gasped in shock, George walked backwards to stand next to you and wrapped an arm around your waist, turning his head away to rest his cheek against the side of your head, hiding his laugh from the rest of the group; them being too preoccupied with utter shock at what he just did. Everyone seemed proud of him, not caring too much about the consequence as of yet.

You leaned into George’s touch, hands covering your mouth to suppress your laughter and burying your head into George’s chest. Your arm snaked around his waist also, clinging onto the white fabric of his top as you silently thanked him for not pieing you two times in one round. You looked up at him to find him already staring at you, “Thank you.” You whispered, pressing a light kiss on the skin exposed just below the sleeve of his shirt.

Ethan wiped the pie away from his face, “Right. This one will be taken to VAR. We’re possibly looking at a five-match ban. Serious intent of foul play.” George pressed a fist to his mouth to suppress his laughter. “George, after serious foul play, we’re going to have to deduct £20,000 from the prize fund.”

You laughed at his shocked reaction, feeling him tug you closer to him. Ethan pointed at you two, “Don’t go hugging your girlfriend, you’ve just got a red card in a cup final, George!” Both yours and George’s eyes widened and separated from each other's touch; the group laughed and Whitney had to cover Mandi’s mouth to stop her from laughing out loud.

time skip!

You and George found yourselves sitting on the couch in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch but your legs were draped over his and his hand rested on your shin. You felt his gaze on you which caused you to look over at him. “What do you want?” You grinned at him, questioning his staring issue.

George licked his lips, “I wanna know what your card was earlier.” He urged. You raised your brows, making it seem like you were contemplating your answer, jutting your lips out and humming, before saying with certainty, “Not a chance.”

You stood up and headed for the island in the kitchen area, George remaining unmoved on the couch, arms resting on the back of his head and legs kicked back in utter relaxation. “Come on! Just tell me. Please?” He begged.

You filled your water bottle up, your back to him, “No, George. I’m not saying.” You tried to make an exit to visit Cinna or Milli, their whereabouts seeming more interesting than telling George you think he’s good in bed.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” George stated.

You froze in the doorway, slowly turning around to face him with your lips between your teeth. “Really?”

“Dead serious.” He smiled as you stantered back to him, led on the couch, perching on the end closest to him.

You tilted your head, “You have to tell me yours first, then I’ll tell you mine.” You confirmed your answer on conditions. George went to protest, “That’s so not fair--” “Then no deal.” You raised your brows with a smirk on your face.

George sighed and leaned his head back onto the back of the couch, “Fine,” You stared at him as his eyes searched yours with seriousness. “I was asked to pie the Insider I fancied the most.”

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help but smile, “You’re joking.” George shook his head with pink dust sprinkles on his cheeks, “I’m not.” You stayed in silence for a moment, unsure how to respond to his statement apart from calming the butterflies that were wiring in your stomach.

George’s hand tapped your thigh, “Now, tell me yours.” You swallowed hard, standing up. “Anyways, I’m off.”

“No! Hey, you said--” George threw his hands in the air causing you to turn around laughing, “I’m kidding!”

George sighed and patted the spot you were previously sitting in, obliging, you sat and stared at him. “Do you really wanna know?” You questioned him.

His eyes stared intently into yours, “So badly.” Your stomach flipped at his tone of voice, “You can’t tell anyone.” He shook his head, “No one.” Giving in, you said, “I was asked to pie the Insider who I think would be the best in bed.” You didn’t break eye-contact with him.

George’s eyebrows raised and a smirk made its way onto his face, there was something raw and real etched behind his eyes, you couldn’t decipher what it was, but you needed it. “Really?” He replicated your words from earlier.

You nodded at him while he smirked, “Well, I guess we’ll have to test that theory.”

Your cheeks burned red as you took in his words, feeling a hot flush run through you, the rest of the world feeling foggy as if it was only you and George. If you were anywhere but the Inside house right now, your hoodie and joggers would have been discarded on the floor similar to his own.

George started to lean in closer to your face, a hand reaching out to cup your face; before Farah bounded in, “Y/N, I’m so sorry for what I did earlier! I didn’t mean it!”

You gasped and stood up out of George’s touch, shaking off the moment and walking up to Farah; George walking past you and bidding you a soft goodbye, you watched his figure leave the room with a soft gaze.

Farah stopped her rant to you, clearly reading the situation and understanding that you were busy admiring a certain boy in the house. “What the fuck was that?” She laughed, pointing at where George had left.

You quickly shushed the girl and dragged her to the corner where the table tennis stayed, “Oh, my God! Shut up! He can hear!” You whisper-shouted with wide eyes. Farah only laughed more, “Did I just walk into the start of a porno movie?”

Your mouth dropped open, “Farah!” She slapped the table tennis table with a booming laugh, folding over as you wore a horrified facial expression.

interview room!

“Yeah, that was definitely… interesting! Picking who I think is an absolute beast in bed on my second day was not what I was expecting but games the game!”

“George’s comment or statement is… cool? I don’t know what you want me to say! I’m just as shocked as you are! Yeah, we’ll see what happens from here… I guess.”

“I wasn’t too bothered about the fakest comment from Farah. Sure, it was hurtful in the moment but after thinking about it for a while, you sort of just have to suck it up because these people don’t know me fully yet, well apart from George, but they’re all in here for the same reason and I can’t hate them for playing the game!”

time skip!

“Y/N! Why are you in the shop?” You heard George shouting from the shop area. Your brows furrowed; you in the shop? Your belongings?

Confused, you walked down the steps to see George laughing to himself in the shop, he outstretched his arm to wrap his hand around your wrist, tugging you into the room and closer to the screen. “See there.” He pointed at the items.

“A Horny Beast?” You rolled your eyes as George snorted in laughter, you mocked his laugh and yanked your wrist out of his grip, leaving the shop and passing everyone in the process.

“What was it?” PK asked you. You tried not to smile or laugh and rather act nonchalant, “Just go see for yourself.” You jutted your thumb back to the shop where George’s laugh could be heard still.

George called your name to come back into the room, Cinna grabbed the back of your hoodie and yanked you back to the shop. George smiled, “Six and a half grand for a horny beast.”

He slung his arm around your shoulder, “Why pay for one when we already have one here for free?” He laughed and tapped his fingers underneath your chin. Your mouth dropped open and playfully pushed his hand away but his grip on your shoulders kept you grounded in his touch.

George managed to suss out the concept of the horny beast, clarifying that it would be a teddy with horns on it. His suspicions came true when the group walked back into the living room holding a stuffed teddy, “It was exactly what I said it would be!” He exclaimed with wild gestures.

Milli held the teddy up high before lobbing it into your arms, “Y/N, it’s your spirit animal!” You caught it with a laugh before hugging it close to your chest. PK mumbled next to you, “Keep it away from George, I don’t wanna see any bed sheets rustling tonight.” You kicked his shin lightly as a subtle way to tell him to shut up.

time skip!

Later in the evening, George challenged you to a table tennis tournament; you were still running on the high of beating him yesterday so were reluctant for a rematch (though you didn’t need much convincing when he flashed you that smile).

“Whoever wins needs to buy the other something in the shop.” You declared at the start of the game, confident that you would win if there was something at stake.

After atleast 10 minutes of the round, you sighed and rested your hand on your knees in defeat as George was comfortable winning, “George, you were meant to let me win!” You flapped your hands about, groaning at his smug face. “10-6, bitch.” He swayed on the spot.

You served the ball with a groan, and straight off the bat, when George’s pass back came to you, you immediately missed the entire ball. You dropped the bat in horror and rested your elbows onto the table with your head in your hands. George started jumping around in excitement, leaping onto the couch with pure joy before sprinting back to you.

He hoisted you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp and wrap your arms around the back of his neck as he began jogging to the shop with you in his arms; shouting in the process, “I just love table tennis!”

Once you reached the shop, George kept you in his arms and readjusted you so you sat higher, fingers tapping the side of your knee in excitement. You ran your fingers in the mullet on the back of his head, causing him to sigh into your touch before scanning the menu.

“What do you want--” You began speaking before the door opened to show three cups of something waiting to be picked up. George placed you down on the floor as he looked at you in surprise. Bursting out into laughter, you stressed your innocence, “That wasn’t me!”

George held an amused face, “Who was that?” He took the drinks into the living room, shouting in the process, “Some drinks have just popped out in the fucking shop!” You trailed behind him, sitting down on the couch again as Whitney jogged down to the shop.

After a long day, everyone gathered in the bedrooms. You all loitered around George’s bed for a while, chatting about the day and the plans for tomorrow; opting to save money.

You had curled into a ball on George’s bed, your head resting on his stomach as his fingers played with your hair, the horny beast hugged tight in your arms. You blocked out the sound of people chattering and closed your eyes to rest for a moment.

For what was meant to be a moment, you ended up drifting to sleep on George’s bed before the lights dimmed. Patrice pointed at your sleeping figure on George, “You want help moving her?” George shook his head, eyes trained on you.

“No, no. Leave her. She can stay here tonight.” He brushed a piece of your hair away from your face to see your sleeping figure, utter relaxation and breaths slow in content. He smiled at you and traced the bridge of your nose with his finger, “She can stay.”

hope u liked also appreciate the love so so so so much

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#george clarke series #george clarke inside #george clarke fics #george clarke smau #george clarke x fem!reader #george clarke fluff #george clarke fanfic #george clarke #george clarke x reader #george clarkey #george clarkey x reader #sidemen #sidemen inside #sidemen x reader

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mattscoquette · 20 days ago

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dad!matt easter egg hunting with the girls

you and matt quietly tip toed around your two bedroom apartment, hiding pastel easter eggs filled with candy and chocolate all around the living room.

by the time you were done, the space was decked out in little hints of pastel in between couch cushions and bookshelves, complete with two matching purple easter baskets with a big bow, both sat on the coffee table.

“the girls are gonna love it,” matt murmured sleepily into your hair, planting a kiss to your head.

you nodded in agreement, shutting off the lights and heading back to your bedroom with matt.

the tiny sounds of foot steps pattering into your bedroom woke you up the following morning, lorelai and stella rushing into your room.

“happy easter!” lorelai cheered as she climbed up into the bed, stella following close behind. she plopped down in between you and matt, giving you a big squeeze.

“happy easter, lovebug,” you grinned as you kissed her cheek, doing the same to stella, “did the easter bunny come and visit?”

“yeah,” stella giggled, “me an’ lo saw the eggs.”

the three of you laughed as matt slowly awoke, shuffling around in the sheets as he turned to face his daughters.

“morning daddy,” stella grinned, nearly pouncing on top of his chest as she gave him a big hug. lorelai was quick to follow, the two girls curled up with matt as they got cozy under the covers.

“hey,” matt said slowly, sleep lacing his voice, “you girls wanna go look for eggs an’ see what the easter bunny left?”

the two of them shot up and nodded enthusiastically, clambering down off the bed and running into the hallway.

when you and matt reached the living room, you were both laughing as the girls were practically jump up and down in anticipation.

“can we start now mommy?” lorelai whined, her head whipping around as she saw some of the eggs that were hidden.

“lemme take a picture of my girls first,” matt mumbled, pulling his phone out of his pajama bottoms. the twins got together, smiling up at matt before he turned to you. “i said my girls, baby, you get in too.”

your cheeks heated up as you crouched down between lorelai and stella, grinning matt snapped a few photos, before telling the girls they could begin the egg hunt.

the two of them squealed, immediately going for the eggs they had seen already when peeking out in the living room this morning. their little arms were quickly piled up with various colored plastic eggs, handing you and matt the ones they couldn’t hold.

by the time they were done, the living room was messy, pillows strewn about and things pulled off the shelves. the twins giggled while they cracked open the eggs, dumping out the little trinkets and candy hidden in them.

“look!” stella yelped as she opened a purple egg, “i got a little ballerina!”

lorelai peered over at her sister, opening her own pile of eggs, looking through the assortment of chocolate and other candy. “hey, i don’t have one,” she whined.

matt laughed, shaking his head as he leaned forward to ruffle her hair playfully. “why don’t you and stel open your baskets, pumpkin?”

lorelai pouted, nodding as she scrambled over to the table with her sister where their baskets resided.

“that one yours, angel?” you asked softly as stella joined her sister at the table, watching as her face lit up at the cursive “s” stitched onto her basket.

she nodded excitedly. “yeah! mine’s got an ‘s’ for stella an’ lo got an ‘l’ for lorelai!”

you and matt both laughed, taking out your phones to video the twins open their baskets.

they both excitedly dug into their baskets, pulling out all sorts of new toys and clothes, and even more candy.

when they were done, the twins came stumbling over to you and matt, giving giggly hugs and kisses for all of their gifts.

the two girls hugged you at the same time, nearly knocking you over with the forcefulness of their hugs. unable to contain himself, matt was quick to pull you three into a group hug, tugging you all down onto the floor with him as you all laughed loudly.

“love you three so much,” matt smiled, planting kisses to all of your cheeks, “my favorite girls in the world.”

#© mattscoquette #blurbs ♡ ˚₊‧#dad!matt ୨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo au #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo au #sturniolo x you #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

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heartlessvirgo · 3 months ago

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No Saints Left

Summary: You hesitate too much, too naive for your own good. And Joel can’t stand it. He’ll make sure you learn.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. DARK!JOEL. Blood, Gore, Death, Murder, Unprotected sex (PxV), raiders, language, assault, weapons. Please read these warnings.

word count: 9.4K

a/n: This was dirty, filthy, and I hope you like it.

The nights in Jackson were quiet—so much so that it felt wrong. Joel wasn’t used to quiet. Quiet was dangerous. Quiet was the breath held before the crack of a gunshot. The lull before the wet thud of a body hitting the dirt.

But here, in this town where fools believed in redemption, the quiet wasn’t a warning. It was real. And it clawed at him, sharp and relentless, prying him open and leaving him alone with the wreckage of his mind. With every single goddamn thing he’d done.

He didn’t dream much anymore—not the way he used to. No hazy glimpses of Sarah’s face lit by sunlight, her laughter bouncing off the walls of a life that had long since crumbled to dust. Those dreams were gone, suffocated under years of blood and bone.

What came now were nightmares. Brutal, unrelenting things that clung to him like the reek of gunpowder and rot. They didn’t fade when he woke—they stayed thick and heavy in his chest, like a hand pressed over his mouth, forcing him to swallow it all down.

In his sleep, he saw flashes of violence, red and raw. The swing of his fist, the crunch of cartilage beneath his knuckles. The glint of a blade catching light before it plunged deep. The sound of a man choking on his own blood, gurgling as Joel turned away, cold and unflinching. Sometimes, he’d watch closely and savor the way they died in his hands.

And then there were the eyes. Wide and wild, reflecting fear and something worse—recognition. That moment when they knew he wasn’t going to spare them. When they understood that mercy had no place in him. Not anymore.

Tonight, he dreamt of a girl. She couldn’t have been older than Ellie. Her hands trembled as she pointed a gun too big for her grip, the muzzle wavering as Joel stepped closer. He’d told her to drop it, his voice low and steady, a predator’s calm. But she didn’t listen. They never did.

The shot rang out, a deafening crack that lit up the night. It missed. They always missed.

And then he was on her. His hands around her throat, her small frame pinned beneath him. She fought, nails raking his arms, legs kicking in panic, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The sound she made—wet gasps, desperate and animal—rattled in his ears long after she went still. Deadweight, dead eyes, death that followed him everywhere he went. But sometimes, Joel wondered if he brought it with him on purpose, like an old friend.

He woke with a gasp, his chest heaving like he’d been drowning. The room was dark, shadows pooling in the corners, but the dream still lingered, vivid and consuming. His hands ached, curling into fists against the mattress, phantom blood slick on his palms.

Joel sat up, dragging in shallow breaths that barely scratched the surface of the hollow inside him. The air in the room felt too thin, pressing down on him as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. The quiet of Jackson surrounded him, warm and safe, but it felt like a fucking lie.

Because in the dead of night, when everyone else in this godforsaken town was dreaming of brighter tomorrows, Joel Miller didn’t dream.

He remembered.

And it was worse.

You were one of those people. Consumed by the good, too naive for your own good. Joel hated that. He hated you. And he despised his younger brother for pairing you two together for patrols. He didn’t need to carry extra weight anymore; his bones had enough pain, fused together in a fucked up way that reminded him of all the times he’d snapped them back together.

Joel didn’t know why he deemed you naive. Maybe it was because you were half his age or that you had a little sparkle in your eyes that he wanted to stomp out, crush it beneath his worn boots. He wanted to smother the goodness from your body with his battered hands, and what little humanity that was left in him was scared for you, of what he would do when you were alone with him.

So he kept to himself on your first patrol together.

You didn’t think much of Joel Miller, not at first. Just another broken man, old enough to remember the world before it fell apart. You couldn’t imagine what that did to someone—what it carved out of them, what it left behind.

So, you tried. Tried to be kind. Tried to bridge a gap that he didn’t seem to care about closing. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe it was habit, maybe hope.

You didn’t mean to be so hopeful—it wasn’t something you chose. It was instinct, like breathing. You searched for the good in people, even when it was buried under layers of filth. You looked for light in the cracks, no matter how faint, and clung to the belief that dawn always came to shatter the dark.

You swallowed the looks he gave you, sharp and cutting like he wanted to dissect you with his eyes alone. You learned to read the grunts he gave when he wanted your attention, when he needed to show you something, or when he was about to warn you in that low, gravelly tone that left no room for hesitation.

Being near him felt like walking a tightrope over broken glass; every word and step was a risk you couldn’t afford to miscalculate. You never knew when the silence between you would break—whether it’d be his voice or his violence that shattered it.

Out there, beyond Jackson’s walls, the infected were mindless. Predictable. Joel Miller wasn’t. And you couldn’t decide which one you were most scared of.

Joel pounded on your door before dawn, his knock sharp and insistent, like he was trying to crack the wood. He always came early—always fresh from his nightmares, his face shadowed by whatever horrors had dragged him from sleep.

“You’re up,” he’d mutter when the door creaked open, his voice rough, scraped raw by whatever hell had played out behind his closed eyes. “Time to ride.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He never did. Out there, beyond the walls, the world didn’t wait, either—not for you, not for him.

By the time you stumbled out, the day had already started for him. Patrols to begin. Horses to saddle. Mistakes to point out before the sun even dared to rise.

“The knot’s wrong,” he’d mutter, jerking the reins from your hands like you were a goddamn rookie. “Gate wasn’t shut right,” he’d add, his voice a low growl as he tested the latch with unnecessary force. “Bag’s too heavy,” he’d snap, shoving it back at you without so much as a glance, as if your failings were as predictable as the cold morning air.

“Mistakes like that’ll get us both killed,” he growls, his voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. He doesn’t even spare you a second glance—he doesn’t need to. His words cut deep enough without it.

What stings more is that he’s right, and he knows it. That’s the part that gnaws at you.

“You’re not steppin’ outside those gates again ‘til you fix this,” he snaps, the finality in his tone hitting harder than any shout ever could.

So, you obeyed without question, silently cursing your luck and wishing for a partner who didn’t wear indifference like armor. But deep down, you understood—this was necessary. One wrong move could be the slip that sent everything crumbling. So, you swallowed the fear that knotted your stomach and followed his lead, even though he unsettled you in ways you couldn’t fully explain.

Now, your horse moved ahead, its hooves landing softly on the mossy gravel, the rhythm muted against the damp earth. The air was thick with the sound of the river—a rushing torrent that swallowed your steps and left the world hushed. This path was deliberate. You chose it because stealth was your only true ally. You were always going to be smaller than your enemy.

This was a test—your first patrol where the choices were yours to make. And Joel? He wanted you to fail.

The trail slithered through the forest like a vein under pale skin, narrow and treacherous. Each twist and turn pulled you deeper into its grip, leading toward the stretch you’d been assigned to patrol. You’d studied it obsessively, tracing every jagged curve on the map, committing each blind spot, every lurking shadow to memory.

Out here, familiarity wasn’t just an advantage—it was the only thing standing between you and a knife in the dark. Joel had made sure of that, drilling it into your skull until it felt less like a lesson and more like a scar carved into your mind.

“Rest here.” Joel’s voice cuts through the stillness, more command than suggestion. You glance back at him, perched on his horse, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical thing. You nod, trying to salvage some scrap of control. You’d wanted to stop here anyway, you tell yourself. Not that it mattered.

Swinging your leg over the saddle, you drop to the gravel with a jarring thud, the impact shooting up your legs. The sound feels too loud, too exposed, in the vast, empty quiet.

Your eyes flick around the clearing, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. Shadows stretched long in the morning light, shifting with the breeze but revealing nothing. Still, you nod to Joel, your throat tightening as he dismounts with ease. His rifle hangs heavy on his back, a constant reminder of what he’s capable of. What he’s always prepared to do.

He doesn’t speak again; he doesn’t need to. The air between you is thick with unspoken expectations. It didn’t matter if he let you take the reins today. This was his call, his pace, his world—you were just moving through it.

You eat in silence, chewing mechanically as the cool air presses against your skin. Spring in Jackson is deceptive—the thaw feels like a promise, but the nights still bite, and the mornings cling to the kind of cold that sinks into your bones. Behind you, Joel disappears into the treeline, his pack slung over one shoulder, rifle in hand.

He never ate with you. Never waited. Never said anything unless it was necessary. Lately, even the necessities have felt strained, like pulling teeth from a wolf.

Your horse snorts softly as you give him the scraps of your meal. You pat its mane and glance toward the direction Joel had gone. He wasn’t one to wander aimlessly. If he left, there was a reason. And yet, the silence around you feels off—too hollow, too still.

You grab your rifle and sling your pack over your shoulder, boots crunching against the damp ground as you follow the faint trail he left behind. Twigs snap underfoot, and the smell of wet earth fills the air. The woods are coming alive with the season—patches of green breaking through the gray, shoots of wildflowers curling toward the light.

Still, you don’t find him. The trail vanishes into the dense brush, and frustration creeps in. He wouldn’t have gone far.

Your fingers graze the bark of a nearby tree as you pause to catch your breath. That’s when you see them—small, scattered patches of wild strawberries, bright red against the muted earth. You crouch down, brushing away a stray leaf, plucking one, and rolling it between your fingers. The smell is faint but sweet, a strange comfort in the middle of all this quiet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

The voice snaps through the stillness like a gunshot.

You barely have time to turn before Joel’s on you. His hand clamps around your arm, dragging you to your feet and shoving you back against the rough bark of a tree. The impact knocks the breath out of you, your back stinging where it scraped against the trunk. A ringing clouds your thoughts before Joel’s voice pierces through it.

“Out here pickin’ berries like it’s a fuckin’ picnic,” he growls, his face inches from yours. The bark digs into you through your jacket, his forearm pressing against your collarbone, pinning you there. His eyes are dark and furious. “You think this is a game? You think the world gives a shit if you stop to smell the goddamn flowers?”

Your chest heaves, but the words catch in your throat. He doesn’t let up, his grip firm, his presence overwhelming. The smell of leather and sweat clings to him, sharp and suffocating.

“I could’ve been anyone,” he snaps, his voice low and venomous. “You wander off like that again, and I won’t bother comin’ after you.”

“I wasn’t—” you start, but his arm digs into your throat just enough to cut you off. You can taste the blood in your mouth from where you bit your tongue.

“First mistake,” he growls, leaning in close, his breath hot against your cheek. “Second mistake was not keeping your head on a swivel. Thought I taught you better than that.”

The air is thick with the taste of metal, your lungs screaming for a breath that doesn’t come. You can’t see much—everything is blurring, the world dimming at the edges. Your hands flail uselessly, but it’s useless. His arm is a vice, a wall you can’t scale, suffocating any defiance before it even starts.

“Joel, I—” The words catch in your throat, swallowed by the tightening of his arm, choking the air from your lungs.

“Gonna get us both killed,” his voice low, cold, like gravel scraping across exposed bone. “Maybe I should just end it for you now, one less mouth to feed. Do everyone a favor.”

The bite of his words cuts deeper than the grip on your throat. His eyes—those eyes—aren’t just cold anymore. They’re something else. Something dangerous. Like he’s weighing your life, watching the fear play across your face with a detached curiosity. A hunter deciding if he’ll kill his prey now or later. There’s something raw about the look. Something savage.

Just as the darkness starts to close in, when the world begins to slip away, he finally lets go. You gasp for breath, your chest heaving, but his eyes never leave you. They watch with a strange, detached satisfaction as the life slowly filters back into you.

It almost seemed like... he wanted it. Wanted to see you shatter. Wanted to know if you’d fight, claw, beg for your life.

He shoves himself off you, turning his back without a second glance like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just threaten to carve your life out with his own hands. You feel the burn of his grip still, the imprint of him on your neck, and the bruises linger long after he’s gone.

You rub the tender skin, the faint pulse of pain a reminder of how easily he could’ve ended it all. You don’t question him again. You don’t ask. You just do what you’re told, stay out of his path.

Of course, you begged Tommy to switch you out of Joel’s patrols and pair him with someone more capable of handling his... rage. Someone more his speed. But Tommy wouldn’t hear it. Said someone gentle was good for his brother. You never told him what happened in the woods. You didn’t speak of it ever again.

There was something wrong with you recently—something in your head that didn’t quite fit anymore. Maybe it was the blow to the skull, that crack against the tree that left you gasping for breath. Whatever it was, it twisted you. Rewired you.

It was the dead of night, the kind of darkness that crept under your skin, suffocating in its silence. And there you were, hands searching places they shouldn’t. Fingers tracing a path down your body, touching with a desperation that was as violent as it was uncontrollable.

Your mind wandered to him—Joel. The way his body felt pressing into yours, the weight of him suffocating you, his heat seeping into your bones. His hands, rough and unforgiving, find your throat. He wasn’t gentle. Never was. It was slow, the pressure building, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe—until you didn’t want to. Every breath, a struggle, every second a rush of power, his dominance a dark, intoxicating force.

It wasn’t love. God, no. It was death. The kind that burned, that crawled under your skin, settling deep in places you shouldn’t let it. The type of death that made you burn in ways you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because you knew he could kill you and didn’t, and that made you feral.

And then the release—the moment when everything shattered, your body betraying you, desperate and uncontrollable. Slick, burning heat on your fingers, streaking down your thighs, staining the sheets with every desperate, filthy inch of it.

But it didn’t matter. None of it did. Not the fantasy, not the sick thrill that came with it. All that mattered was the ache that lived inside you—an ache that would never be filled.

“You don’t sleep, you’re not in control, you’re not in control, then you’re dead,” Joel says, the words coming out like they’ve been chewed and spit out a hundred times. He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, his gaze fixed ahead, scanning the horizon with that hard, unblinking stare. The shadows under your eyes are deep, and he noticed without even so much as looking twice at you.

The smell of damp earth rises around you, clinging to the cool spring air. The soft squelch of your horse’s hooves in the mud seems deafening like a beacon giving away your position. The morning sun filters through the canopy of budding trees, its warmth streaking the ground in golden patches. But it doesn’t reach you. There’s a chill in the air, one that creeps up your spine and settles at the base of your neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

Joel sways with the rhythm of the horse’s stride, just enough to betray the tightness in his every move—like a coil wound so damn tight, it might snap at the slightest touch. The tension’s crawling in his shoulders, the muscles under his shirt flexing with its weight. His fingers are locked around the reins, his knuckles pale, and his grip is so savage it’s a wonder they don’t snap in his hands. The leather groans under the strain.

And you—you can feel the sickness stirring in your gut, that sick, twisted hunger. You wanted to be those reins, wanted that grip on you so hard it’d leave marks, bruises you couldn’t hide. Something about the way he holds everything in like he's just waiting for something—anything—to break makes you want to be the thing that breaks him.

You notice then, suddenly, when Joel’s horse halts abruptly. The birds, which had been chattering just moments ago, have fallen silent. Their absence feels unnatural like something has swallowed their songs whole, leaving behind a silence so dense it presses against your ears.

Joel senses it, too. You can tell by the way he stiffens in the saddle, his back straightening ever so slightly. His horse stops, and you stop yours beside him. His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing beneath the uneven scruff of his beard. His eyes flicker toward the treeline, scanning the shadows, searching for something unseen. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, but his fingers drift toward his rifle anyway.

"Silent," he mutters; his voice is quiet but seems so loud in the space.

You nod, gripping the reins tighter, though your palms are already damp with sweat. The weight of the quiet grows heavier. Every creak of your saddle and snort from your horse feels amplified, each sound bouncing back at you from the tangled trees.

It feels like eyes. Like something is watching, hidden just beyond the edges of your vision. The kind of feeling that prickles along your skin, primitive and raw, whispering to you that you’re being hunted.

You glance toward Joel, hoping for reassurance, for him to tell you this was another test, and you just failed. But his face is hard and carved from stone. He doesn’t look at you. His focus is ahead, unwavering.

Your heart slams against your ribs, a frantic, erratic beat that drowns out everything else. Fear and adrenaline twist together in your chest, cold and electric. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, just your mind playing tricks, but the feeling won’t leave. It’s real, as though the woods themselves are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing moves. Nothing happens. But its weight doesn’t lift.

So you press on, hooves sucking at the mud left behind by last night’s rain, each step dragging like the earth itself wants to swallow you whole.

The town comes into view in fragments—weathered rooftops tilting under the weight of age. It should be a relief, a sign that the unease crawling up your spine was just paranoia, but instead, the sight twists something in your gut. The houses are scattered and quiet, their windows hollowed out like staring eyes. Like every shadow has teeth.

A chill brushes the back of your neck, light as a whisper, and instinctively, you glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Only the trees swaying softly in the breeze, their leaves trembling against the stillness. But the feeling lingers—the prickle of being watched, the sense that something, or someone, is just out of sight.

Somewhere ahead, there’s a faint crack. Just a shift, subtle but sharp, like a twig snapping under a deliberate step. Then, a rustle. It’s soft, barely a sound, but it’s all wrong.

And then you see them.

Four figures slip from the edge of a tattered home, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators testing the range of their prey. They melt out of the shadows one by one, their shapes cutting sharp and jagged against the soft spring light.

They don’t bother hiding. They don’t have to. The way they move—languid, assured—screams of dominance. Like they’ve been watching you for miles, circling just out of sight, waiting for this moment. One of them shifts slightly, armed with a glint of metal catching the sunlight. A dull machete.

One man slinks forward, tall and skinny, a shotgun slung over one shoulder like an afterthought. Two of them circle around you like sharks that smell blood.

His face is filthy, streaked with layers of grime so thick it’s like the dirt has become part of his skin. The sun catches in the cracks of his skin, highlighting the deep, gnarled lines etched into his face like a map of pain and neglect. His eyes, though—they're the actual weapon.

They’re wide, bloodshot with a sheen of madness that makes the back of your throat tighten. There’s something feral about them—dark pits that seem to draw you in, colder than the death itself, slicing through you with a hunger that goes beyond survival. And the way he looks at you—like he’s already measured you up, already tasted your fear. Like he’s made his decision. You can almost feel its weight as if it were a decision carved in stone.

You’d heard of the people who resorted to cannibalism out here—sick, desperate souls that had been chewed raw by this world. But hearing about it and seeing it are two different things. You never imagined it would leave such a mark. His lips curl back, exposing broken teeth that make your stomach turn. You can’t help but notice the faint, sickening smell that follows them—something rancid, like the last remnants of human decency had rotted away years ago, leaving nothing but a shell.

They’re all scrawny, the bones in their faces jutting out sharply. But it’s the way they surround you. You can see the monster lurking beneath the skin, the beast that’s waited for too long to feed.

Joel’s hand drifts toward his revolver, the movement fluid, but he doesn’t draw it.

The man tilts his head, the hint of a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth to reveal broken teeth. “Told ya I heard somethin’,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes flick to you, lingering too long. “Didn’t think anyone’d be out this far. Lucky us.”

The others chuckle softly, a low, rumbling sound that ripples through the still air.

“Got yourself a pretty little partner, huh?” the man continues, his gaze crawling over you. “What’s she good for? Bet she’s—”

Joel’s voice slices through the air, low and venomous, like a predator of his own. "Don’t."

"Don’t what? You gonna protect her, old man? You think you can still play hero?” The man bristles but doesn’t back down. Instead, he steps closer, his boots grinding against the dirt, dragging his posse with him. Your horses start to stir, their breaths heavy and sharp, restless under the growing pressure. They can sense it—everything about this feels wrong, off. You can feel it, too.

The world narrows until all you can hear is your pulse in your ears and the low, dangerous hum of Joel’s silence, the weight of his restraint. You could run. You could get away if you had to. But you don’t know if you can get through them without blood spilling. Without—

The man makes a cold, humorless sound. “Those are fine horses." He raises the barrel of the shotgun so it's pointed at you. Only you.

“Off,” he spits, his voice low and rough as if he’s talking to a dog. He jerks his head toward the man next to Joel, who has his own rifle trained on him.

Your eyes flick to Joel, trying to read him, searching for any sign of what he might do. His gaze meets yours, but there’s nothing there. Just emptiness, like the void behind his eyes, swallowed everything that ever mattered. You swallow the knot in your throat, but it doesn’t help.

He dismounts slowly, his movements stiff, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him with each deliberate step. Below you, the men loom larger, their bony frames stretching unnaturally tall, like dead trees in the winter. Their faces are gaunt and hollow-eyed, stretching skin tight over bone. The shadows twist around them like something alive and hungry.

The man gestures with his gun, the barrel cutting through the air toward Joel. "Hands up," he orders, and you both do, watching as he takes Joel’s weapons.

Joel’s eyes flick up, but there’s no surprise. No fear. Just that cold, unwavering look that always sits behind his gaze. His mouth pulls into a thin, sardonic line.

“Big talker for a small guy like you,” Joel says, the words thick with disdain, a flicker of sarcasm that rings far too loud in the silence between them.

Your head snaps to Joel, disbelief flooding you. Why the hell would he say that? Did he want to die?

Before you can even react, the blow lands. It’s brutal—an unforgiving hit with the butt of the shotgun that sends Joel stumbling down, falling to his knees from the force. His cheekbone erupts in a burst of red, blood splattering like a twisted painting, dripping from his face in thick streaks. The sickening sound of metal meeting bone rings in your ears.

Joel grits his teeth, his breath ragged, a low groan of pain escaping his throat, but his eyes—they don’t waver. His gaze is locked onto the man with a quiet fury, like the blood running down his face doesn't matter. It’s just another fucking wound.

The man steps forward, his grin splitting his face, sharp and cruel. “You think you’re tough?” His voice is venomous, each word spat out like poison. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Joel spits on the man's feet, blood splattering against the cracked asphalt and his boots.

“Take the horses,” he commands to the other two behind you, the two sneering and grabbing the horses by the reins. You watch them take them away, your heart sinking every step.

”Please, we don’t want trouble.” you beg, trying to be the voice of reason here. Since Joel seemed incapable.

“Seems to me he’s already asked for it though,”

“No—I swear, let us go; you can keep the horses,” you beg.

"Shut the fuck up, or I’ll give you somethin’ to beg about." the man snaps, so close to your face you almost gag.

Joel’s eyes flicker to you for a second, so quick it’s almost nothing. But it’s enough. There’s no word, no sign, just a flash of something desperate. He’s telling you to run. And you know it’s not a suggestion, it’s a fucking order.

When the other two men disappear into the distance, leaving you with the last two, Joel moves. He’s a blur of muscle and force, using their hesitation to slam one of the men into the other, the three of them falling to the ground with a sickening thud. The crack of bone, the wet sound of flesh hitting dirt— a sound you’ll never forget.

But you don’t think about that. You don’t think at all. The guilt claws at your insides like a poison, but the fear is worse. You run.

Tears burn down your cheeks, hot and shameful, but you don’t have time to care. You run, legs pumping, every muscle in your body screaming at you to stop, but your feet won’t obey. You charge through the mud, slipping and sliding, the cold air ripping at your lungs like shards of glass. Your chest burns with the effort, and you push yourself harder, faster, your body on fire.

But then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. Heavy, fast, closing in. Your heart thunders, adrenaline surging, and suddenly, you feel him—the wind knocked from your lungs as he tackles you down into the muck. You crash to the ground with a sickening thud, pain blooming through your body. Your head rattles against the dirt, your vision blurs, and for a second, all you can taste is blood.

Then his weight is on you.

“Be good— for me,” He says in the struggle. He’s grinning down at you, his breath hot, fetid, mixing with the smell of sweat and rot. His hands are everywhere, tearing at your clothes. The desperation in his grip, his hands slick with grime, slides over your skin like the feel of a predator’s teeth sinking into flesh. He doesn’t want to kill you first. No, he wants to break you.

The thought makes your stomach twist, bile rising in your throat, but you can’t let him win. Not this. Not ever.

“Fuck you!” You fight back, not with hesitation but with pure instinct. You headbutt him hard—your skull connects with his nose with a sickening crack. Pain explodes in your forehead, white-hot, blinding, but the blood that splatters across your face, his blood, makes you want to spit.

“You fucking bitch!” He roars, hands coming up to clutch his face, and that’s when you see your chance.

Your fingers rake through the air, finding purchase in his eyes. His scream is feral, a guttural, panicked thing, and you push harder, gouging into the soft, vulnerable parts of him. He’s stronger than you—bigger, more powerful—but he’s not faster. You’re smaller, quicker, and you use it to your advantage, sliding beneath his grasp, slipping out of his grip, making him chase you.

“Get back here, you little fucking cunt!” You’re on your feet again, lungs burning with the effort, but your legs don’t want to carry you. Still, you fight. You turn, every ounce of strength pulling into your fist as it crashes into his throat. The force behind the punch is brutal. His Adam’s apple caves in with a sickening crunch, and he stumbles back, gasping, choking, bloody eyes wide with shock. He claws at his neck, gurgling, but it’s too late. You strike again and again until the fight leaves him entirely, and all that’s left is a ragged body collapsing into the dirt.

Your hands are slick with his blood, the crimson staining your skin, thick and tacky. It clings to you like a sickening reminder, seeping into every crack, every groove. Your whole body shakes—nerves on fire, muscles trembling from the raw, jagged shock of it all.

“Fuck,” You whisper to yourself. Your blood, hot and wet, trickles down from your forehead, coating your face and dripping into your eyes and mouth. The taste is iron and salt, foul and sharp. You spit, your teeth gritting, but it doesn’t help. It’s everywhere. It burns as it slides down your throat, coating your lips with something worse than just blood—something... savored.

The ringing in your ears grows louder, a high-pitched whine that drowns out the rest of the world. You stand there, trembling, staring at the mess you’ve made. Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms as your pulse hammers in your veins. Adrenaline’s a rush, a sick, sweet flood that courses through your body, making everything feel alive.

You felt the pain—raw and gnawing, a fire that burned through you. You felt the anger, deep and savage, boiling up from somewhere darker than you thought you knew. But underneath it all, in the twisted wreckage of your mind, there’s something else. Something ugly.

You felt... good.

Joel felt the pain radiate through his limbs, the ache setting in as the adrenaline wore off. His body throbbed, but that was nothing new. He'd earned every bruise, every wound. And the fight had been nothing but instinct. He'd killed the three raiders quickly, just like he always did. Their blood soaked into the earth, staining the ground beneath him with a crimson that could never be washed clean.

Gripping the machete by its handle, Joel shoved his boot against the skull of the nearest raider, pressing down hard. The sickening sound of bones cracking was almost comforting. He twisted the blade free from the man's head with a wet, sucking sound, his machete covered in blood and grey matter. The stench of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but Joel didn’t flinch. He wiped the blade off on the raider, the fabric catching a streak of viscera.

The horses whined quietly, tethered nearby. Their quiet snorts and twitching ears as they witnessed the carnage caused by Joel.

Joel’s mind was already somewhere else, locked on the next threat. The raider who’d gone after you. His gut twisted with certainty—the bastard was still out there, lurking in the shadows, maybe covered in your blood. The thought didn’t churn up guilt, just a sour pit of dread. Dead or alive, you were his responsibility now. And if you didn’t make it back to Jackson, the blame would land squarely on him, just like everything else.

The machete felt heavy in his hand, slick and sticky from someone else’s blood. He followed the faint trail of footsteps stamped into the mud, his boots squelching with every step. Eyes scanning, ears straining for the faintest sound. A misplaced breath. The snap of a twig. He couldn’t afford to miss it.

Then he saw it. The churned-up earth where a fight had broken out, the mud streaked red. Blood, fresh and still shining in the sunlight. So much of it. Joel crouched, running his fingers through the dirt, smearing it between his fingers. You’d bled out fast or close to it. He shook his head, swallowing the bitter weight that came with the realization. Deadweight was heavier, and he could already feel it in his shoulders, the drag of carrying your lifeless body back to Jackson.

A pair of grooves marked where they’d hauled you away, your boots carving lines into the mud. Joel followed, his steps methodical, dropping the machete as he withdrew his pistol. The trail led to a house, and the door cracked open just enough to show the yawning black inside.

Joel stops short, his breath hitching, sharp as broken glass in his chest. The bastard was in there—waiting. He could feel it in his bones, a sixth sense honed. The tension pressed against him, thrumming like a live wire.

The rusted hinges scream as Joel nudges the door open, his pistol raised. Inside, the scent hits him like a punch—rotting wood, stagnant water, the sour tang of mildew baked into the walls.

His boots scrape against the floor, the sound muffled by the filth beneath them, as his eyes follow the trail of blood. Dark and glistening, it streaks jagged lines further into the house, smearing the warped floorboards like a cruel breadcrumb trail.

And then he sees you.

His sharp inhale is reflexive—because, for a moment, you look like another corpse. There’s a wildness in your eyes that’s unrecognizable. You're crouched, your hands tangled in the dead raider's limp arms, dragging him inside. The body’s throat is mangled, caved in with such force that bone and cartilage poke jaggedly through torn flesh.

Joel's grip loosens on his pistol, dropping his arm to his side. Your head snaps up at the sound, eyes blown wide like a cornered animal. Your chest heaves, breaths tearing out of you fast, and for a second, Joel can see the adrenaline surging through you—hot and primal. For a moment, all he can do is stare. Joel was confident you were dead. Hell, he’d been ready to write you off. But here you are, standing in front of him, smeared in gore like something dragged out of a nightmare.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless huff. “Well, I’ll be damned.” His voice is low, gravelly, but there’s a sliver of something in it—surprise, maybe, though it’s buried beneath the usual roughness.

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” Joel steps further into the room, holstering his pistol with a casualness that feels deliberate. Like he’s trying to downplay the moment.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t show a hint of surprise as he steps closer to the body, nudging the lifeless arm with the toe of his boot. His eyes flicker across the mess, his jaw tightening as he surveys the ruined throat—just another death. Just another moment. The cold, detached look in his eyes makes your stomach twist like he’s seen this so many times it doesn’t even register.

“Messy work,” he mutters, his voice flat, void of anything resembling emotion. “But it got the job done.”

You swallow, your throat tight with the residue of rage and disbelief. You don’t know why you say it—maybe it’s the blood, perhaps it’s the tension gnawing at your insides—but you find your voice rough and raw. “Thought you died.”

The words are a bitter mix of relief and frustration, still edged with that wild energy from the fight. The animal instinct that drove you to act.

Joel turns his back, scanning the room, his eyes taking in the sight of this abandoned house. It’s a shitty place to stow a corpse, but you did what you could.

“Can handle my own,” he mutters, and you want to roll your eyes. Of course, he could.

“That’s not what I mean,” Instead of replying, he crouches beside the body, pulling a knife from his belt and inspecting it before taking it.

“Guess I should be grateful I don’t have to drag your ass back to town,” he says, the words more of an observation than a concern.

“That’s all you got to say? He’s dead.” You swallow, avoiding the body in the room, your eyes still on Joel. The blood on his face—on his hands—isn’t so different from your own, but his expression remains stone cold. You know he’s seen worse, lived through worse. To him, this is just another day. Just another body, just another death. But for you, it’s different.

It’s your first.

"You think feelin’ bad’s gonna bring ‘em back? Grow up. They were gonna kill us. Doesn’t matter either way. What’s done is done.” His tone is flat then, low and cold, and he adds, “Get used to it.”

And somehow, despite the weight of the horror pressing down on you, despite the reality of what you've just done settling into your bones, you can’t look away from Joel. Not now, not when he's standing there—bloodied, indifferent—and yet still so... there. His presence, his stoic stance, even with all that carnage around you, makes that sickness stir.

“I’m not like you,” You say, trying to fight it. For a moment, there’s a flicker in Joel's dark eyes—maybe it’s annoyance, maybe it’s hatred. It’s gone in an instant.

“No. You’re not like me,” he growls, voice jagged. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in my shoes. You’re a goddamn fool. Draggin’ that body in here like you wanna die. Anyone could’ve cornered you. You must be real fuckin’ stupid. If it weren’t for me following your trail, you’d be a corpse already.” His tone bites deep like he’s daring you to argue with him.

"I didn’t drag him in here for fun. I did what I had to do." You narrow your eyes at him, voice cold now. "Maybe you're too old for this shit, but I’m still breathing, so I guess I’m doing something right.”

“Ya think you’re doing somethin’ right?” Joel steps closer. “You’re still here because I’m letting you breathe. Ya ain’t smart; you’re just lucky. Don’t get that twisted.”

“What, you gonna kill me? Do it, then.” you wager; the anger in you bubbles up, thick and heavy, like blood sputtering. You cross the room, shoving at his shoulders, but it’s useless. He’s like a goddamn rock—sturdy, too damn big, too hard for you to move.

“Know what, maybe you are like me,” he says as he studies your eyes.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you spit, pushing again, harder now, but it only makes him take a step back. He doesn’t even flinch. His eyes flicker with something like amusement, but there’s a darkness in them that makes your skin crawl. The gash on his cheekbone is still bleeding, slow and steady, and it churns something sick inside you.

So you push again, and this time, his hand snaps out to grab your wrists, his grip like iron. You don’t even have a chance to fight it. “Ya done yet?” he growls. His face is close now, the sweet smell of his sweat thick around him.

His eyes bore into yours. His grip on your wrists tightens, bones creaking under the pressure, and he shoves you back against the wall with a thud that rattles your teeth. You barely have time to gasp before his hand clamps around your jaw, forcing your face upward and locking you into his stare.

He presses into you hard—every inch of him a dead weight, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His body is a cage, but it’s not just about dominance. This is a test. Another one of his twisted games.

There’s no escape, no help coming. Just him and the sick thrill in his eyes as he waits for you to snap. How far will you go before you claw, before you scream?

But you didn’t care anymore. Thoughts weren’t yours to hold—excessive blood, too much death. For once, the silence was the only thing that felt real. But even that was poisoned. You hated him. Joel. The way he made you feel small.

But the hate… it was thick, slow, like tar. It oozed between your legs, crawling until it reached places you never wanted it to. Making your pussy clench around nothing. Your body twisted in response, involuntary, as you arched your back, hips grinding into his in the chaos. You hoped that it would go unnoticed. But Joel noticed everything, down to the slightest shudder of breath.

And against your hip, you felt him heavy and hard through the worn denim, like a brand in your flesh. The weight of his cock is solid— and just a slight shift and you feel him stir behind the confines.

Your shock didn’t stand a chance against the gravity of the moment. But in this instance, there is no room for shame. No room for anything but the hunger, the violence, the inevitable collapse of everything you’d tried to be.

“Fucking filthy…look at you,” Joel growls, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. His hand that cages you brushes away the tangled strands of matted hair clinging to your face—strands that once might’ve been soft, now hardened by the soft pulse of blood still trickling from your head.

Your eyes—those eyes—narrow at him, blazing with hatred, slits of fury cutting through the haze of the room. There’s no fear in them. Just rage.

“You like that?” Joel’s hand drops to the column of your throat, pressing hard enough to choke the breath from you. He leans into it, staggered breaths, each one trembling with the same anger that’s boiled over in every kill he’s made, every life he’s ended.

“Like when I can fuckin’ feel your pathetic life in my hands?” His words hit like a slap, but they only made the gnawing emptiness inside you worsen. “No one’d notice if you didn’t come back.”

That dull ache deep in your core twisted, something dark and instinctive rising in response to the violent tension between you. You felt it low in your stomach, a heavy pull as your arousal pooled. Joel's face, the roughness in his eyes, stubble on his jaw, now covered in filth. It should’ve disgusted you. Should’ve made you pull away, retreat to whatever small semblance of dignity you had left. But you didn’t.

The pressure was a fire. It burned, it scorched, but it also made you want to dive deeper into the wreckage. The ache was something you couldn’t shake. It pulsed deep in you, and you wanted—needed—a way to release it. The anger, the fear. You wanted him just to feel the friction of all the ugliness between you two collide in some twisted outlet.

The world outside was cruel, and the one inside you wasn’t much better. So, you nod, and Joel’s eyes burn before narrowing. By your throat, he pushes you around the room, shoving you until you’re up against a dilapidated couch.

“Am I wrong?” Joel questions darkly.

“No,” you answer, and that satisfies him. His rushed hands find the waistband of your tight jeans and drag them down with your underwear. You’re completely exposed to him. And he is brutal, grabbing your shoulders, turning, and pushing you onto your knees on the cushions. Forearms against the head of the couch, you arch, pushing your bare ass against the front of his jeans.

“No, what?”

“No, no one would miss me.” You can’t help it; you rub against the rough material, and you're already so wound up. It would only take a few more seconds, and you’d be coming all over the front of him. You were like a feral cat in heat, and you preened knowing he was watching you. Exposed, arching into him, rubbing your pussy until you were raw.

“Knew it,” he rasps, his words dripping with grim satisfaction. “Pussy this wet? You’re just as fucked up as I am.”

“I’m not—” The words falter, sticking in your throat as his hand presses against the curve of your back. Rough, calloused fingers, stained with a violence that never washes clean.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’.” His voice is low, guttural, a growl pulled from the depths of something broken. “And I’ll let you have it.”

You flinch, squirming as his hand drags upward, slow and deliberate, the scrape of his palm a warning in itself. The grip tightens, tangling in your hair, pulling hard enough to sting. It forces your head back, exposing your throat.

“Fuck—I am, I’m fucked up… and I want it, please.” you plead, pulling against his grip on your hair to look at him with hooded eyes. Joel responds with the rustle of his jeans as he unzips and drags them down enough to pull his cock out.

Joel can feel the blood rush to his head as he watches you beneath him. Begging for him, needing him— your wet lips parting with a sigh as you feel the fat head of his cock pushing against you.

“Dirty little thing, turned on by fuckin’ death.” Joel breathes out, almost a gasp, as he runs the tips along your soaked folds. Joel hadn’t been fucked in ages, and your young tight cunt before him made his balls tighten. He didn’t know how long he’d last, but still, he slammed into you with one fell thrust.

“I know ya can take it,” You cry out at the way he splits you with his cock, giving you no time to adjust to his length. You search for purchase with your hands, but the fabric of the couch disintegrates as you pull on it. So, you push back against him, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your cervix. A jolt of pleasure fuses with the pain as you feel his balls against your clit.

“Joel—oh my god.” You whine, your skin overly sensitive.

Joel fucks into you, the stain of blood on his hands as he clutches the flesh of your hips savagely.

“Should fuck the innocence outta you for your own good.” Joel feels your pussy clench around his girthy cock—stretching you, filling you completely with each thrust.

A pathetic cry slips from your lips as his hand tugs at your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, tightening their grip. He drags you closer, your back flush against his chest, the weight of him pressing against you as he thrusts into you. His fingers slip around your throat again, finding their hold with familiar, bruising ease.

“Said ya could take it, so shut the fuck up,” he threatens, squeezing at your throat. Your pussy swallows him, and every time he withdraws, she sucks him back in.

"I can—I can take it," you murmur, a sigh slipping from your lips. Your head falls back slightly, lost in the haze of numbing pleasure, the world around you fading into the background. The sensation builds, all-consuming, and you find yourself craving more. "Faster," you breathe, the words slipping out before you even realize you’ve said them.

Joel wanted you to suffer, just as he did when he felt that knot in his stomach every time he looked at you. To endure the hurt, he squeezes your neck as he thinks about it. He wanted to give you pleasure, to completely control you, to ruin you. His cock spears you with wet squelches, your pussy gushing with how fucking wet you are. You completely drench him, the hair at the base of his cock now coated with your arousal.

“Always makin’ too many mistakes, too fucking stupid—fuck.” Joel pounds into you now as if he were driving his point into you with every thrust.

"I'll be better," you whisper, the words heavy with meaning, though you’re not sure if you believe them yourself.

"Not for you to decide." Joel huffs, a hot puff of air against your tender skin. His lips brush against the side of your neck, teeth grazing before sinking in.

The pressure tightens in your stomach as his teeth sink deeper, his grip on your throat tightening with an almost suffocating certainty. The tip of his cock pushes and grazes the spongy spot inside you that intensifies your pleasure. Joel can feel it when you suffocate his cock as he rams into you sloppily.

You look down at the arm circled around you; the blood splatters like paint on his skin. You feel the sickness tangle inside you, but the feeling unravels more and more as he continues. Like Joel was the one who had planted this inside you, and he was the only one who could fuck it out.

A throaty moan vibrates under Joel’s grip as the thoughts consume you. It eggs him on, your silent cries, your loss for words—and he chases his release selfishly. His fingers slide from your neck to your face, the pressure firm as he squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout.

Your lips part instinctively, soft and eager, but Joel is quick—he twists your body in his grip, tilting your head back so that your mouths collide in a rough, open kiss. It’s sloppy, fervent—slick, so desperate. The heat of his mouth burns against yours, his tongue sweeping in to taste you, hot and hungry. The scrape of stubble on his jaw drags across your cheek. As he thrusts against you, his lips slide messily, reaching for you—again and again, leaving a trail of wetness behind. His teeth graze your bottom lip, pulling at it hard enough to draw blood.

The smell of his sweat overwhelms you, the weight of his body pressing against yours, and without warning, the tension snaps. Your walls tighten, pulse racing, and you feel every inch of him as your body reacts instinctively, urging him deeper. Pulsing, as if your pussy wanted—no needed to milk him inside you. It’s almost as if your body itself is begging for him, claiming him. The thought spins you into a daze, making you cry out his name, imagining him taking you completely. Your eyes roll back as your body loses itself, pliant under him, molded to his will. With a rough shove, he presses you down again, your arms against the couch.

Joel fucks your swollen pussy relentlessly until he’s on the verge of coming. His balls tighten, a warning he fights to suppress. Joel holds off, biting down on the need to release, but it doesn’t last. With a growl, he pulls out, gripping his cock as his hand pumps in quick, tight strokes. The surge hits hard, and he comes—hot, creamy spurts splattering against your bare skin. He paints you with thick, molten heat, groaning low, biting back the sound that follows as he watches you, chest heaving.

You pant, throat dry, your breath shallow and quick as a shudder rolls through you. Slowly, you twist your sore neck, casting a glance back at Joel. He’s a mess—blissed out, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, he’s completely still. No biting remark about how you could’ve done better. No gruff comment, no criticism. Just silence. It's not the kind that hangs heavy with something else, but it's a quiet one you almost don’t know how to read.

"Don’t be expectin’ anything from this.” His voice is gruff, as if the words were meant to warn you and distance yourself from him. Like you didn’t already do so. Watching him, he tucks himself back into his jeans, fixing his belt before straightening up with a quiet sigh.

"You’re too old for this kind of shit anyway." You lie with a smirk, a tired but almost amused glint in your eyes. You pull your jeans over your ass once you clean yourself off, pulling your shirt down.

"Don’t get cute.” He grunts, his jaw tightening, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—exhaustion.

“Scared I’ll make you feel somethin’?” you quip, standing from your kneel on the couch cushion.

He shoots you a glance, his eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet edge, but his lips twitch—just slightly, a nearly imperceptible shift that betrays the bite in his words. “I ain’t scared of you. Just tired of your shit.”

You laugh softly, not backing down. “Sure, Joel. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

"Quit fuckin’ around, let’s go.” He replies, his movements stiff, like he’s already mentally moving on. You can hear his boots hitting the floor as he heads for the door, his back to you.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. There’s no need to explain what just happened. No need for words. You know you’ll never speak of this—never speak of the violence and pleasure, of the heat between you, of the power his hands had when they were all over you. You’re too young, too naive, too goddamn full of life for someone like him. But he still finds you. Back in Jackson, he finds you when he wants, when he needs…

You know better than to expect anything more—this was what it was, nothing more. So, you mount the horse, the leather of the saddle creaking under your weight, and without another word, you both head back home. Bloody. Battered. And thoroughly fucked out.

Back to Jackson. Back to survival.

masterlist!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #papi pedro #pedro x reader #tumblr fyp #new writer #pedropascal #dark joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel miller imagine

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gguk-n · 6 months ago

Note

could you maybe wanna write a charles x doctor!reader fanfic where charles raced while not feeling well even though you said he shouldn’t and after the race that he finished on podium he fainted? and then he was like in hospital and had surgery and then was completely high after the surgery?

thank you in advance ♥️♥️♥️

Set in Saudi Arabian Grand Prix 2024, Charles gets appendicitis but races. established relationship. Hope you like it!!

Against Doctor's Orders

It was the Saudi Arabian grand prix, only the second race in the season and Charles hadn't been feeling too well through out the weekend. Nothing too serious he thought, probably a stomach bug since he travelled so much. "Char, you look pale" his girlfriend asked through the phone. "I'll be fine" Charles responded. "You should rest" she tried to insist. "I'm good, really" Charles forced a smile. "Not convincing me. Should've been there" she sighed. "I know you would've if you could" Charles consoled. "I'll be back on Monday and you can play doctor as much as you'd like" Charles laughed. "Play doctor" she asked in disbelief before bursting into a laugh. "Take care. Good luck. If there's anything call me and take the meds I told you too, those should help with the nausea" she said. "I will Dr. Y/L/N" Charles smiled before cutting the call.

Y/N couldn't be here and part of Charles just wanted to be babied but he couldn't be since the race was in a couple of hours. He got on track and started getting everything ready for the race. "You look paler than yesterday" Fred pointed out. "I'm fine" Charles brushed him off, going over the stats before the race.

Saudi Arabian GP was one of the hottest races but since it was during the night, the weather had started to settle down. The breeze from the sea side made the pain in his lower abdomen bearable.

As the lights turned green, Charles hit the accelerator; trying to forget the throbbing pain in his stomach or the way he thought bile would come out of his mouth every time the car turned. He kept his eyes on the track and the focus on the race. He could barely swallow any water without wanting to puke so he decided to forgo any water for the race. As the final laps of the race approached, Charles was still in a podium finish, which he thought was impressive since he felt like he was going to die any moment. When the checkered flag waved and he finished third, Charles sat in the car for a moment before he could gather any energy to pull himself out; the team kind of pulled him out of the car.

He had to drag himself to get done with the formalities before the podium, unable to speak since he felt like puking and the pain in his abdomen had gotten 10 time worse. He thought his stomach was being twisted and turned every way around. At the third step of the podium, Max assisted Charles to climb up since he looked like he was in pain. "You okay" Max quickly mouthed to which Charles just nodded trying to maintain his balance. As they were about to start distributing the trophies, Charles fell forward and fainted on the podium. Having drivers with quick reflex is a good thing, since Max was able to catch him before he hit the floor unceremoniously and was taken to the medic.

After looking at him and an unconscious Charles who couldn't answer them, they had him transferred to the hospital. Y/N watched this on the TV when she was watching the race. Her heart almost stopped when she saw Charles faint and started making calls to the team. She was busy packing her stuff to leave for the airport when Ferrari informed her that Charles was going into surgery because of his appendix. She told them she would be there by the time he woke up and quickly left the house.

A couple of hours of plane ride later and post surgery Charles was starting to wake up. Y/N had rushed to the hospital from the airport and her luggage was sat at the corner of the room. Her hands were wrapped around Charles's as he began to stir. "Hey" she cooed. "HI" Charles replied groggily, surely still high from the pain meds and anaesthesia. "You're pretty" he giggled. She smiled, "You're lucky you're cute" she sighed. "You think I'm cute" Charles giggled again. "I'm gonna go get the doctor to check on you" she said letting go of his hand. "My girlfriend's a doctor. She can check on me" Charles stated. "Babe, I'm your girlfriend and I can't since I didn't go over your case" she laughed. "You're my girlfriend?" he asked shocked. "Who did you think I was?" she laughed. "The pretty girl" Charles continued giggling to himself. Y/N slipped away for the doctors to come and check on him. After the doctors checked him, making sure he was okay and recovering well; they explained everything to Y/N.

"You need to be more careful and listen to me next time" Y/N stated. Charles just nodded. "I have a pretty girlfriend" he sang. "Couple more hours before he's out of it" she sighed and kissed his cheek relieved that he was okay. "I'm sorry for worrying you" he pouted. "It's okay as long as you're okay" she smiled. "I love you Y/N" Charles smiled brightly. "I love you too Charles" she smiled back. "You'll take care of me like you take care of all your patients?" he asked. "I'll take care of you like my boyfriend. My patients don't get cuddles and kisses while they are healing" she chuckled. "They better not, I'm gonna fight them" he said trying to make fists. "Don't do that. You have a IV line in your hand" she said straightening his hand out. "OH" he said staring at his hand. "But it doesn't hurt." Charles said. "It's not supposed to" she replied kissing his hand where the IV line was attached.

A few hours later, the effect of the medicines had worn out and Charles was just on pain meds to help post surgery. Y/N had a shit ton of videos of Charles proposing his love to her and telling everyone who set foot into the room about her which did make her embarrassed but it was sweet how proud of her he was. She made him take all the embarrassing pictures he would never agree to if he wasn't loopy to use as black mail.

"I must've been a handful" Charles asked, now completely sober. "A little but I love it that way" she smiled. "Than I'll continue to be like that" he laughed before wincing in pain. "Don't laugh too much. You'll still be in pain" she reprimanded him. "I have you" he reasoned. "You'll always have me" she stated. "Sorry for worrying you" Charles apologised. "Just don't do that again. I don't think my heart can handle that" she said. "I don't think I have two appendix to do that" Charles laughed trying to lighten the mood. "Don't laugh your stitched are still only a few hours old" she said sternly. "Okay doctor" he smiled puckering lips as if he wanted to kiss her. She leaned in and kissed his lips. "je t'aime chérie" Charles said when Y/N pulled away. "je t'aime aussi bébé" she replied.

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bodyswap005 · 4 months ago

Text

"Borrowed Bodies, Reunited Lives".

Dylan’s Perspective:

I always thought a cruise vacation would be perfect: the sun, the sea, and the chance to disconnect from everything. But when your only travel companions are your parents, who can barely spend a minute together without arguing, the idea loses its charm. So, when my parents announced we’d be spending the holidays sailing to Miami, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and frustration.

They are Ethan and Susan, the perfect representation of a marriage that has lost its way. They argue about everything, from which channel to watch on TV to how to park the car. They never agree, and being in the middle of their endless arguments is a place I’d rather not be. That’s why the idea of spending weeks locked on a ship with them seemed more like a punishment than a break.

If only I could bring Alex and Joshua, my best friends from the gym, things would be different. They’re like my older brothers, always with advice, jokes, and that camaraderie that only forms between those who share long training sessions and complaints about the same exercise machines. Alex is more reserved, but he has a sarcastic sense of humor that always makes me smile, while Joshua is the extrovert of the group, capable of lighting up any room with his energy.

Of course, bringing them along was an impossible dream. My parents would never allow it, and they certainly couldn’t afford it. But sometimes, even the most unlikely things have a strange way of coming true.

One afternoon, as I was walking back from the gym, I saw an elderly woman trying to lift a heavy bag off the sidewalk. I stopped to help her; I didn’t think much of it, it just seemed like the right thing to do. When the woman thanked me, she looked at me with eyes that seemed to pierce through me and said something strange:

—Make a wish, young man. A real one.

I didn’t think much of it. I thought it was some kind of game or joke, but in the end, I said the first thing that came to mind:

—I wish my friends could come with me on the cruise.

The old woman smiled, murmured something I didn’t understand, and walked away. I didn’t dwell on it, although that night I couldn’t help but think about her words.

The day of departure arrived, and as expected, nothing extraordinary happened. Alex and Joshua weren’t there. Everything was the same: my parents arguing, me wishing I wasn’t there. Until, suddenly, things started to get strange.

As the ship set sail, I noticed my parents weren’t just arguing, their voices sounded completely out of place. My dad let out a rude “What the hell am I doing here?”, while my mom muttered a “No way, dude!”. They both looked at me with a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

Then my phone rang. It was Alex. Or at least, that’s what the screen said. I answered, and what I heard on the other end froze me. It was my dad. Or rather, his voice, saying something completely absurd:

—Dylan, it’s me! I’m your dad.

And just like that, my cruise adventure, which already promised to be uncomfortable, took a turn I never could have imagined, even in my worst nightmares.

Ethan and Susan Perspective:

Ethan woke up startled in a place he didn’t recognize. The room was small, with dull-colored walls, barely lit by a beam of sunlight filtering through the curtains. He brought a hand to his face and felt something strange: his beard was gone.

When he looked down, the shock was even greater. This wasn’t his body. His torso was strong, defined, and his hands, large and youthful, weren’t the ones he remembered.

—What the hell is going on?!—he shouted, jumping up.

On the other side of the room, someone else moved. Susan, or at least what should have been Susan, slowly sat up from a single bed. But instead of her slender figure, it was the body of a muscular young man with messy hair and a bewildered expression.

—What happened to me?—Susan asked, touching her face with hands larger than she expected. Then she looked at the mirror in front of her, and a scream escaped her mouth—It can’t be!

Ethan staggered slightly as he approached, trying to control his movements. He looked at both their reflections and confirmed the impossible: he was in Joshua’s body, one of Dylan’s friends, and Susan was in Alex’s.

—This has to be a nightmare…—Ethan said, running a hand through his short hair.

—This isn’t real!—Susan screamed, touching her arms and chest, feeling the muscles now belonging to her. Her gaze was filled with horror—This can’t be real!

At that moment, Susan’s phone—or rather Alex’s, which was in the pocket of her pants—began to ring. They both looked at each other, uncertain. Ethan took the phone and answered.

—Hello?

On the other end of the line, Dylan answered immediately, his tone filled with panic:

—Dad… it’s me.

Ethan squinted.

—Dylan? What’s going on?

—Dad, mom…—Dylan stammered, trying to explain while listening to Alex (now in Ethan’s body) argue with someone in the background—I think… I think you switched bodies with Alex and Joshua.

Susan, who had been listening from across the room, quickly approached.

—What did you do, Dylan?—she asked with Alex’s deep voice, snatching the phone from Ethan—What did you do?!

—I… I didn’t know this was going to happen—Dylan defended himself, his voice full of guilt—I helped an old woman, and she told me she’d grant me a wish. I just asked for Alex and Joshua to come on the cruise with me.

Ethan huffed, snatching the phone back.

—An old woman?! What kind of joke is this?

—It’s not a joke, dad—Dylan replied—This is real, but… I don’t know how to fix it.

—Of course you don’t!—Susan growled from the back, crossing her arms—We’re stuck in the bodies of two guys we barely know!

—Please, just calm down. We need to think…—Dylan tried to say, but his voice sounded weak, even to himself.

—Calm down?—Susan screamed—We lost our cruise, our lives, everything!

Ethan sighed deeply, trying to remain calm, even though his hands were trembling.

—Listen, Dylan. For now, we’ll look for that old woman, if she even exists. You stay on the cruise and try to keep those two idiots under control.

Dylan swallowed hard.

—Got it.

Ethan hung up and placed the phone on the bed, his expression hardened.

—This can’t be permanent, right?—Susan asked quietly, though she knew no one had the answer.

Ethan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at his new arms, so strong that it almost seemed like a joke.

—While we figure out how to reverse this… I think we should make the most of this vacation.

Susan glared at him.

—Make the most of it? Ethan, we’re in the bodies of strangers!

—I know, but we can’t just sit around feeling sorry for ourselves—he said, though a nervous smile crossed his face as he flexed his arms—I never had muscles like this…

Susan ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

—Maybe this is a sign—she murmured, more to herself than to him—A lesson for us.

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

—A lesson?

—To solve our problems… as a couple.

Ethan let out a snort but didn’t argue. Though they both knew that the only thing they could agree on was finding that old woman and returning to their lives as quickly as possible.

In the city, Ethan and Susan walked down a narrow alley, following the coordinates Dylan had provided over the phone. However, the place was empty, with no trace of the gypsy old woman who had set everything in motion.

—This can’t be, she doesn’t even exist!—Susan exclaimed, crossing her arms and shooting a reproachful glance at Ethan—This is your fault.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly tired of his wife’s constant accusations.

—My fault? Please! Dylan was the one who made the wish, and we’re the ones stuck in this mess with his little friends.

Susan snorted, turning around to head back to the apartment they were now sharing.

Once they arrived, they both collapsed on the sofa. Susan sighed with frustration, while Ethan stood up to inspect the small living room.

—This is a disaster—Susan said, bringing her hands to her face—I just want my normal life back.

—I wouldn’t complain too much, you know?—Ethan responded with a smile, taking off his shirt in front of the apartment mirror. He admired his defined and sculpted muscles, something he hadn’t seen in years—Look at this! When was the last time I looked like this?

—For the love of God, Ethan! Put your shirt on. This is ridiculous—Susan scolded, though her gaze briefly drifted to her husband, now in Joshua’s body.

—Ridiculous?—Ethan chuckled as he flexed his arms in front of the mirror—This is like turning back time.

Fed up with his attitude, Susan jumped up and, in a burst of frustration, decided to check for herself how she looked now. She stood in front of the mirror and, with some curiosity, slid her hands down the muscular arms of Alex’s body.

—This… this is weird—Susan admitted quietly, staring at her reflection. Her new body was strong and bulky, something she never imagined experiencing—I’ve never felt like this in my life.

—Weird?—Ethan said, approaching her with a teasing smile—Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it a little.

Susan rolled her eyes and stepped away from the mirror.

—I don’t care how I look now. What I want is to get my life back, not walk around showing off like you.

Ethan raised his hands in a peace gesture, although he still had a satisfied expression.

—Alright, alright. But, while we find the old woman, we could make the most of it… How about we go out for dinner?

—Dinner?—Susan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

—Yes, of course. But first, I think we should go to the gym. Isn’t that what Alex and Joshua would do? Besides, I’m sure these bodies need exercise to stay like this.

Reluctantly, Susan agreed. After all, there wasn’t much else to do.

At the gym, they faced the demanding routines of Alex and Joshua. Ethan, used to a much more sedentary lifestyle, tried to keep up with the weights, while Susan, clearly annoyed, followed the instructions she found on Alex’s phone.

—This is crazy—Susan murmured, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she watched Ethan drinking an energy shake—How do they do this every day?

—It’s a matter of habit—Ethan replied, smiling as he approached a treadmill.

Suddenly, a young man approached them. He was wearing tight athletic gear and had a relaxed attitude.

—Alex? Joshua?—Ethan asked with a smile, looking them up and down.

Sergio and Susan exchanged quick glances. They had no idea who he was, but decided to play along.

—Yes, it's us—Ethan replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

The young man nodded, as if he already knew them well.

—Great. Hey, I’m hosting a party tonight. You guys should come. It’ll be at my place, nothing formal, just friends.

—Party?—Susan repeated, surprised.

—Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun—the young man responded before giving them more details and walking away with a smile.

When the young man disappeared from sight, Ethan turned to Susan with enthusiasm.

—This is perfect.

—Perfect?—Susan said, crossing her arms—Are you suggesting we go?

—Of course. When was the last time we went to a party with young people? All we do is attend boring adult gatherings. This could be an opportunity to experience something new.

Susan looked at him incredulously, but deep down, something in his words sparked her curiosity.

—Suppose I agree… But no acting like an idiot, Ethan.

—Deal!—he replied with a triumphant smile.

Meanwhile, Susan couldn’t help but wonder if this experience might be more than just a bad nightmare… Maybe, even, an opportunity to rediscover something lost in their relationship.

The night came, and Ethan and Susan, more nervous than excited, tried to pick the best clothes they could find in Alex and Joshua’s wardrobes. Ethan chose some tight dark jeans and a white shirt that was a little too snug, while Susan, uncomfortable, put on a sleeveless shirt and shorts that left little to the imagination.

—This is ridiculous—Susan said, adjusting her clothes in front of the mirror—Do young people really dress like this?

—Relax—Ethan replied, straightening his shirt collar—We’re doing this to fit in, remember?

With little money in their pockets, they decided to stop for a coffee before heading to the party. Sitting at a small table by the window, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. For the first time in years, they weren’t arguing.

—This is… strange—Susan commented, stirring her coffee.

—What’s strange?—Ethan asked, looking out the window.

—Us. Here, not fighting. As if… as if we were another couple.

Ethan smiled faintly.

—Maybe this change has something good after all.

Before Susan could respond, Ethan’s phone started ringing. It was Dylan.

—How’s everything going over there?—Ethan asked as Susan moved closer to listen.

—Fine... I think. Alex and Joshua are keeping it together, although it’s total chaos.—Dylan sighed on the other end of the line—Did you find the old woman?

—No—Susan responded with frustration—We followed the coordinates, but there was no sign of her.

—Well, at least you tried.

Ethan cleared his throat.

—By the way, we’re going to a party tonight.

—What?—Dylan exclaimed—What party? Whose?

—A guy from the gym invited us. We don’t know him, but he seemed insistent.—Ethan paused—Dylan, do you know who he is?

—No. Maybe he’s new in town or at the gym. Be careful.

They hung up shortly after, and Ethan and Susan finished their coffees before heading to the party.

The place was full of energy. Colorful lights blinked while music echoed in every corner. People were laughing, dancing, and chatting in small groups. Ethan and Susan looked at each other nervously before entering, trying to appear relaxed.

—Remember, act like we know them—Ethan whispered.

Inside, they recognized several people from the gym. Probably Alex and Joshua's friends. Susan tried to chat with a few people, but couldn’t fully connect, while Ethan helped himself to a drink at the table.

It was then that the guy who had invited them appeared. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a charismatic smile.

—Alex, Joshua, I’m glad you came—the young man said, shaking their hands—I’m Elijah, by the way.

—Nice to meet you, Elijah—Susan replied, trying to sound casual.

Elijah smiled in a peculiar way, as if he knew something more.

—So, how are you adjusting to... the new?—he asked with a tone that seemed both innocent and mocking.

Ethan felt something stir inside him. That phrase had been too specific.

—What do you mean?—Ethan asked, feigning disinterest.

Elijah shrugged, his smile barely visible.

—Nothing, just a way of saying. Enjoy the party.

As Elijah walked away, Ethan was left thinking. How could he know something? The idea that he might be connected to the old woman crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. However, something didn’t add up.

He decided to find Susan to talk about it, but at that moment, someone else approached him.

—Hey, Alex, wanna grab a drink?—a young man asked, calling Susan, or rather, Alex’s body.

Susan, unsuspecting, accepted the invitation and walked away, leaving Ethan alone.

Ethan sat at one of the tables, reflecting on what had just happened. He looked around, observing the other guests, but couldn’t get Elijah’s words out of his mind.

—So, how are you adjusting to... the new?

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Susan came back. But what really snapped him out of his reverie was seeing her without a shirt, wearing a swimsuit she had found in the apartment.

—What the hell are you doing?—Sergio asked, alarmed.

Susan shrugged.

—Apparently, this is normal here. Besides, who cares? No one knows who we really are.

Ethan put a hand to his face, stifling a sigh. This night was going to be longer than he expected.

Susan, still animated by the festive atmosphere and clearly affected by the drinks, approached Ethan with a radiant smile.

—There’s a pool!—she said excitedly—I need a swim, and you do too.

—Susan, I think you've had enough to drink—Ethan responded cautiously, noticing the peculiar gleam in his wife’s eyes.

—Oh, come on! Don’t be boring.—Without waiting for a response, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the pool.

Ethan, surprised by the gesture, felt a strange warmth rise to his face. It was something so simple, but it had been so long since he felt that spontaneous connection with Susan. Was he blushing?

When they reached the pool, the atmosphere was completely different: laughter, softer music, and a group of young people enjoying the water under the colorful lights. Susan, without a second thought, jumped into the water, while Sergio stood at the edge, watching her.

—Ethan, come on!—she shouted, splashing him playfully.

He sighed, finally giving in, and stepped into the water. However, just a few minutes later, Susan moved away again, leaving him alone.

Ethan got out of the pool, drying himself off while looking for Susan in the crowd. That’s when he noticed Elijah, standing near a table, looking at him with a smile that seemed more calculated than friendly.

—Hey, Joshua…—Elijah said, walking toward him—Sorry for what I said earlier, about “adjusting to the new.”

—No problem—Ethan replied, though his tone made it clear he didn’t believe the apology—Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm looking for someone.

But Elijah placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

—Wait, let me explain why I said that.

With a mix of suspicion and curiosity, Ethan decided to follow him. Elijah led him to a room downstairs and closed the door behind them.

—So, what’s this about?—Ethan asked, crossing his arms.

Elijah didn’t answer right away. Instead, he got closer, his eyes locked on Ethan’s.

—You know, Joshua... there’s something about you tonight. Something different.

Before Ethan could react, Elijah surprised him by leaning in to kiss him. Elijah’s lips met Ethan’s, and for a moment, Etnan was frozen. He had never kissed a man, nor had he ever imagined being in this situation. Why wasn’t he pulling away?

Finally, he reacted and pulled back abruptly, his heart pounding.

—What the hell are you doing?—he said, breathless, as he stepped back toward the door.

Elijah showed no remorse, just a mysterious smile.

—Maybe… Joshua isn’t as different as you think.

Without responding, Ethan hurriedly left the room, determined to find Susan.

When he finally found her, what he saw left him stunned. Susan, in Alex’s body, was standing close to a young woman, talking in a way that was far too familiar. The girl was laughing while Susan touched her arm, as if she were flirting.

Ethan furrowed his brow as he watched them both head upstairs.

—Susan! —he called, rushing after them.

Susan stopped, turning to face him with an annoyed look.

—What now?

—What are you doing? —Ethan demanded, trying to stay calm—. This is not the time to pretend to be someone else.

—Oh, please, Ethan —Susan replied, crossing her arms—. We're stuck in this absurd situation, what does it matter?

—It matters because we need to take care of each other and stick together. The best thing is that we leave now.

Susan glared at him, shaking her head.

—Do you always have to ruin everything? For once in my life, I just want to have fun.

Before Ethan could respond, Susan turned around and left with the girl.

Frustrated and angry, Ethan decided he’d had enough. He returned to the changing room, grabbed his clothes, and left the party without looking back.

Back at the apartment, Ethan locked himself in the small room he was now occupying, throwing himself onto the bed with a sigh of exhaustion. He waited, phone in hand, for a call or message from Susan, but nothing came.

As he tried to calm himself, his mind drifted back to the kiss from Elijah.

Why didn’t I pull away sooner? he thought, bringing a hand to his lips. He’d never kissed a man before, but there was something about that moment… something that unsettled him.

—I’m not gay… —he murmured, as if trying to convince himself.

Still, he couldn’t ignore what he had felt. Was Joshua gay? The idea troubled him, but it also stirred a strange curiosity.

With conflicting thoughts and emotions, he closed his eyes, and eventually, exhaustion overtook him.

The sound of the alarm clock vibrated softly, and Ethan opened his eyes, hoping everything had returned to normal. But it hadn’t. He was still in Joshua’s body. He glanced at the clock: 11:15 a.m.

He got up sluggishly, running his hands over his face and walking toward the bathroom to do his morning routine. As he washed his hands, an unmistakable smell hit his nose: food. Who was cooking?

When he reached the kitchen, he found Susan, still in Alex’s body, preparing what looked like a balanced breakfast: eggs, avocado, oatmeal, and a protein shake.

—Good morning, “J-Machine”! —Susan said with a smile, using a nickname that seemed to belong to Alex for Joshua.

Ethan frowned at the use of the nickname but decided to ignore it.

—Good morning… —he replied as he sat down at the small kitchen table—. Do you feel alright after last night?

Susan shrugged.

—Yeah, nothing a shower and coffee can’t fix.

—Well, I wanted to talk about what happened at the party…

—About what? —Susan asked, not looking at him as she served a plate.

—About what you did —Ethan insisted—. You drank too much, flirted with a girl, and then left with her. What the hell were you thinking?

Susan briefly looked at him, then returned her attention to her phone, typing messages and smiling as though she wasn’t in the middle of a serious conversation.

—Yeah, yeah… I’m sorry. Do you want avocado or double oatmeal? —Susan said indifferently.

—Susan, listen to me! —Ethan exclaimed, tapping the table gently to get her attention.

Finally, she looked up, slightly irritated.

—What? What did I do wrong now?

—Everything! —Ethan replied with frustration—. You’ve been acting like this is all a game. Not just last night, but always. Even when we were in our original bodies.

Susan frowned, setting her phone aside.

—What do you mean?

—I mean you and I have been distant for years —Ethan confessed, his tone more serious—. But last night, while I was trying to take care of you in that body, I felt something… something I haven’t felt in years. That connection we had when we were younger.

Susan looked at him in disbelief, then let out a sarcastic laugh.

—Connection? Or are you confusing things? Are you gay now?

—What? —Ethan asked, surprised by the question.

—Yeah, because all of this sounds weird. You’re telling me you felt “something” for me while I’m in Alex’s body. What’s going on, Ethan? Are you falling in love with your friend son?

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately.

—It’s not that… —he murmured finally, averting his gaze—. It’s more complicated than that.

—More complicated? —Susan repeated, raising an eyebrow—. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I hope this isn’t about the kiss with Elijah or something like that.

Ethan suddenly stood up, pushing the chair aside.

—You know what? Forget it. I don’t know why I try to talk to you. You always avoid everything, even now that we’re not ourselves.

—Where are you going? —Susan shouted, raising her voice.

—Anywhere where I don’t have to deal with you —Ethan responded, leaving the kitchen and leaving Susan with an expression of confusion and anger.

As he walked toward his room, his thoughts swirled in his mind. Was Susan right? Was he confusing his emotions? Between Elijah’s kiss, Joshua’s body, and his accumulated frustration, nothing seemed to make sense.

Days passed in which Ethan and Susan barely spoke to each other. The resentment from breakfast still lingered, and each one had opted to focus on their own routines. Susan, in Alex's young and athletic body, had become the life of the gym; always surrounded by people, she generated glances and conversations wherever she went. Meanwhile, Ethan preferred to isolate himself in the apartment, playing video games and reflecting on what had happened at that party.

The image of Elijah continued to haunt his mind, especially the kiss they shared. Ethan felt confused, as if that experience had awakened something in him, something he still couldn't fully understand.

On the fifth day, finally, something changed. Tired of the awkward silence, Susan approached Ethan in the living room while he was playing.

—Can we talk? —she asked, in a softer tone than usual.

Ethan paused the game and looked at her, hesitating for a moment.

—I suppose so.

Susan sat next to him, settling into the couch.

—I want to apologize. Not just for what happened at the party, but… for everything. For how things have been between us, even before this strange exchange.

Ethan watched her, surprised by her sincerity.

—I’ve messed up too. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself… and, well, you saw what happened that night. I shouldn’t have scolded you like that.

—No, you were right —Susan admitted—. I’ve always been the type to avoid things instead of facing them. But after all this… I think it’s time to change, for Dylan. Although now, technically, he’s our best friend.

They both chuckled lightly, easing some of the tension.

—For Dylan —Ethan said, raising his fist.

—For Dylan —Susan repeated, bumping her fist against Ethan's.

For a moment, silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was something in the air, a connection they both felt but didn’t know how to express. Susan looked at him with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.

—Can I ask you something? —she said.

—Sure.

—What happened with Elijah?

Ethan sighed and looked away.

—It was strange. I don’t know why he did it… but when he kissed me, I didn’t hate it.

Susan looked at him intently, processing his words.

—You didn’t hate it?

—No. In fact, I think… I liked it.

The atmosphere grew more intimate. Susan placed her hand on Ethan's, and he looked directly at her for the first time in days.

—Maybe all of this is a sign —Susan whispered—. A way to show us that we don’t have to cling to who we were before.

Ethan nodded, and before he could respond, Susan leaned in toward him. It was a soft kiss, filled with a mix of nostalgia, curiosity, and something new that neither of them had ever felt before.

What started as a kiss soon turned into something more. Their bodies, although not their original ones, seemed to fit in a way they had never imagined. They surrendered to the moment, leaving behind the doubts and conflicts that had separated them for so long.

Days later...

Life went on. They hadn’t returned to their original bodies, but it no longer seemed to matter. Ethan and Susan had decided to stop searching for the old woman and, instead, embrace this new opportunity to get to know each other from a completely different perspective.

Dylan, still on the cruise, was completely unaware of what had happened between them, but he would surely find out when he returned. In the meantime, Susan and Ethan found a new routine, learning to live with their new realities and with a relationship that, although unexpected, had given them a new perspective on what it meant to be partners, friends, and companions in this surreal experience that they now called life.

The end

#body swap #age regression #straight to gay #gay to straight #female to male #fantasy #gay #personality change #mental change #reality change #male tf #male body swap #male to female

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woso-story · 1 month ago

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Nightmares

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The soft hum of the television was the only sound in the dimly lit living room. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around you, eyes glued to the screen. Your friend had insisted that this movie was a must-watch. A masterpiece, they said. A cinematic experience, they promised.

They did not mention the sheer terror it would leave you with.

As the credits finally rolled, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Every shadow in the apartment suddenly felt darker, every creak in the wood louder. You shook your head, trying to push away the lingering fear.

"Ridiculous," you muttered to yourself, standing up. "It’s just a movie."

Still, you hesitated before turning off the living room light, glancing down the hallway that led to the bedroom. The thought of walking through the darkness sent a shiver down your spine. Taking a deep breath, you quickly rushed to the bedroom, slipping inside as quietly as possible.

Alexia was already asleep, her steady breathing filling the room. She had gone to bed early, needing the rest before her game tomorrow. You envied how peaceful she looked, her blonde hair slightly tousled against the pillow. Carefully, you climbed into bed, scooting close to her warmth.

"It's just a movie," you whispered to yourself again.

Pressing your face into her shoulder, you focused on her steady presence until, finally, exhaustion won, and you drifted off.

---

A few hours later, Alexia stirred. At first, she wasn’t sure what had woken her up. The room was quiet, the air still. But then, she felt it—your restless movements beside her.

Frowning, she turned on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over the bed. Her eyes immediately landed on you.

Your face was scrunched up, your brows furrowed, and your lips parted as you mumbled unintelligibly. Your body twisted beneath the covers, as if trying to escape something.

"Mi amor," Alexia whispered, her voice gentle but concerned. She placed a warm hand on your arm and gave you a small shake.

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, eyes wide and wild as you frantically looked around. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breathing uneven. The fear in your expression made Alexia’s heart squeeze.

"Hey, hey," she murmured, immediately reaching for you. "It’s okay. It was just a dream."

Your lips trembled as you nodded, though it was clear you were still shaken. Alexia cupped your face, her thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

"It was just a nightmare," you whispered, voice slightly shaky. "But I'm okay."

Alexia didn’t look convinced.

You swallowed and sat up, running a hand through your hair. "I’m just going to get some water. You should go back to sleep."

Alexia sat up as well, crossing her arms. "No."

You blinked at her. "What?"

She gave you a pointed look. "I’m coming with you."

"You don’t have to, Lex. You need to rest—"

"I don’t care." She was already getting out of bed. "Let’s go."

There was no arguing with her, so you sighed and led the way to the kitchen. You filled a glass with water, your hands still slightly shaky. Alexia leaned against the counter, watching you closely.

"Do you want to tell me what it was about?" she asked after a moment.

You hesitated. "It’s stupid."

"It woke you up in a panic. That’s not stupid."

You sighed, swirling the water in your glass. "I, uh… I watched a horror movie before bed. Bad idea."

Alexia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she stepped closer and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into her warmth. "Mi amor," she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You know you get scared easily. Why did you do that to yourself?"

"I thought I could handle it," you admitted sheepishly.

She chuckled softly, but there was only fondness in her voice. "Come on. Let’s go back to bed."

You nodded, letting her guide you back to the bedroom. As soon as you climbed under the covers, Alexia pulled you close, her arms securing you against her. She pressed another soft kiss to your forehead before resting her chin on top of your head.

"Sleep," she whispered.

With her warmth around you, her steady heartbeat beneath your ear, the fear slowly melted away.

Alexia was your safe space.

And with her holding you like this, no nightmares dared to return.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso community #woso #woso fics #barca femeni #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia x reader #alexia putellas

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thesecondhandwoman · 5 months ago

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MORNING STRUGGLES

Caitlyn x f!reader

Synopsis: Every morning since Caitlyn’s left eye was damaged from her fight between Ambessa, she constantly struggles with her eyepatch. This morning, however, you decided to try and help her, wanting to make this day start off a lot better than others.

The morning light poured through the curtains, soft and golden, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. Caitlyn was still nestled beside you, her face buried in the crook of your neck. Her breaths were slow, steady, and peaceful, the faint scent of her lavender soap lingering in the air. You held her gently, savoring the rare moment of tranquility that came with mornings like this.

But just as you began to lose yourself in the quiet rhythm of her breathing, Caitlyn stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as she shifted onto her back, her body instinctively tensing when she rolled too far onto her left side. You felt her wince and tighten her jaw—a telltale sign that she’d pressed against the injured side of her face.

“Morning,” you murmured softly, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to her forehead.

Caitlyn blinked awake, her good eye fluttering open to meet yours. “Good morning,” she rasped, her voice still husky with sleep.

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from her face. “Did you sleep okay?”

She hesitated, her hand already lifting toward the side of her face, fingertips brushing over the scar that trailed from her brow to her cheekbone. “I… tried,” she said finally, her voice carefully neutral. “It’s still a bit of a challenge, sleeping on that side. And I woke up a few times.”

You frowned slightly but didn’t press her further. Instead, you leaned down again, peppering her face with gentle kisses—her temple, her cheek, the bridge of her nose. Each kiss was slow, soft, and deliberate, meant to ease the tension in her shoulders.

Caitlyn let out a small, breathy laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure my girlfriend feels loved first thing in the morning,” you teased, giving her a little nudge with your nose.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t last long. As she sat up slightly, she reached for the eyepatch sitting on the nightstand, her movements hesitant.

“You don’t have to rush to put it on,” you said gently, sitting up with her.

“I do,” Caitlyn murmured, her tone firm but tinged with discomfort. She turned the eyepatch over in her hands, frowning as she stared at it. “I hate… leaving it uncovered.”

Your heart twisted as you watched her. Caitlyn had always been so confident, so capable, but this injury had shaken her. You could see the frustration etched into her features as her fingers trembled slightly.

“Let me help,” you offered, scooting closer to her on the bed.

Caitlyn looked at you, her brow furrowing. “You don’t need to—”

“I want to,” you said softly, cutting her off with a reassuring smile.

She hesitated, then gave a small nod, her cheeks faintly pink. You gently took the eyepatch from her hands and climbed into her lap, straddling her thighs. Caitlyn blinked in surprise, her hands instinctively settling on your waist as she looked up at you.

“What are you doing now?” she asked, a faint chuckle in her voice.

“Making this easier,” you said with a grin, holding the eyepatch up like it was some grand prize.

Caitlyn sighed but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” you quipped, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. She huffed out a soft laugh, her fingers tightening slightly on your waist.

Carefully, you adjusted the strap of the eyepatch, leaning closer to secure it around her head. The angle was a bit awkward, and as you tried to fasten it, the strap slipped out of your fingers and snapped lightly against her temple.

“Oh shit, I mean shoot!” you gasped, pulling back in alarm. “Did that hurt?”

Caitlyn shook her head, biting back a laugh. “I think you’re worse at this than I am.”

“Hey, I’m trying my best here,” you said with a mock pout, sticking your tongue out at her.

She chuckled, her good eye crinkling with amusement. “Alright, alright. Carry on, Doctor Eyepatch.”

You grinned, leaning in again to finish the task. This time, you managed to secure it properly, smoothing the strap against her hair. When you pulled back to admire your handiwork, you couldn’t resist brushing a kiss against her scar, just beneath the patch.

“There,” you said softly, cupping her face with both hands. “Perfect.”

Caitlyn’s smile faltered slightly, her fingers brushing over your hands where they rested on her cheeks. “You’re too kind to me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not possible,” you replied, your thumbs gently stroking her skin. “Cait, you’re the strongest person I know. This scar? It doesn’t make you any less incredible. It just shows how much you’ve overcome.”

Her gaze dropped, and for a moment, you worried you’d said the wrong thing. But then she leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as she buried her face against your shoulder. “I’m here for you,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Always.”

Caitlyn tightened her hold on you, her breath warm against your neck. For a while, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her lips quirking into a soft smile. “You really are terrible at putting on an eyepatch, though.”

You laughed, poking her side. “Hey! I’m the one who got it on in the end!”

“Debatable,” she teased, her tone light.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled at the sound of her laugh. The shadows of her injury still lingered, but for now, you’d managed to bring a little light to her morning—and that was more than enough.

Note: I know this is extremely short, but I thought that it would be nice to post a fluffy Caitlyn fic. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

#Caitlyn x you #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn fanfic #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #Caitlyn #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season two #arcane fabric #lesbian fanfic #lesbian #fluffy fanfic #fluffy #fluff

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v6quewrlds · 7 months ago

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❝ my little love, j. burrow. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: the afc championship game is around the corner. thankfully amara burrow is more than happy to make sure her daddy is ready to bring it home.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: a little game dey fic based on an anon request for good luck. might make this a series possibly bc i'm in love with this concept <333 ty anon for requesting!!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: mostly fluff and an adorable toddler. joe's a little out of character but pls let me be a little delusional.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x wife!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 4.5k.

The morning light painted the room a soft shade of gold as your eyes slowly opened to the sound of Joe's quiet footsteps. His honey-blonde hair was still damp from the shower, and you felt a pang of loss as his body heat retreated from your shared space. You watched him from the bed, his strong arms moving with the ease of routine as he pulled on his clothes. His Bengals hoodie hung from the chair, a silent reminder of the day ahead.

"You're leaving already?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Joe looked up from tying his shoes, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Got to get to the stadium, babe." He walked over to the bed, planted a kiss on your forehead, and whispered, "Early morning practice before the game tonight."

You sat up, your heart racing as you realized the significance of the day. "It's AFC Championship day," you murmured softly, your lips pulling into a lazy smile. "Amara's going to be so disappointed she slept through your send-off."

Joe chuckled and leaned over to kiss you again, this time his lips lingered on yours. "It's okay. She'll probably be asleep for another few hours." He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "But I'd better get going." He turned to leave, but your hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

"Can I make you some breakfast?" you offered, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "Just something quick?"

He looked at you with affectionate amusement. "Nah, I've got it covered. You just rest up. Enjoy your day off, baby." With that, he stood up to his full height.

His blonde head turning to look at the door as it cracked open. Amara's curly hair appeared first, then her sleepy eyes peeked through the gap. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on her dad. "Daddy," she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe's smile grew wider as he crouched down to scoop her up in his arms. "Hey, baby girl," he greeted. Amara giggled, her cheeks pink with the excitement of being woken by a surprise. She snuggled into his embrace, her small arms wrapping around his neck.

"Why are you leaving?" Amara asked sleepily, her voice muffled against Joe's chest.

"I've got a big game today remember, pumpkin?" Joe replied, his voice gentle. "But I'll be back after practice to get ready for the game with you and Mommy, okay?"

Amara nodded, her eyes half-closed as she drifted back to sleep in her father's arms. You watched them with a mix of love and amusement. "Looks like she's not going anywhere," you said with a chuckle. "Let's get her back to bed before she decides she wants to come to practice too."

Joe carefully laid Amara back on the bed, her curly hair fanning out around her on the pillow. He kissed her forehead before standing up. "Alright, I'll be back soon. You stay here with Mommy," he whispered.

You watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and a hint of sadness as he disappeared from the doorway. You knew this was his moment, and you were determined to make sure everything was perfect for him. After a few minutes of cuddling Amara back to sleep, you slipped back into your own slumber. The warmth of your daughter's body and the quiet whispers of the morning lulling you into a peaceful doze.

When you woke up, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting bright beams through the windows. Amara was playing quietly with the edge of the bedspread, her eyes glued to the side of your sleeping face. You kissed her forehead, "Good morning, sunshine," you murmured. "Daddy has his big game tonight, remember?"

Amara's eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously. "I'm going to help him win," she announced.

You chuckled, "Well, you've got to get ready for the game too, baby girl. Let's go brush your teeth and get dressed." You picked up your daughter, who was now fully awake, and carried her to the bathroom. The smell of minty toothpaste filled the air as you bent over the sink, supporting Amara's little frame as she brushed her teeth herself. Afterward, you made your way back downstairs to find a surprise waiting for you: two plates of steaming pancakes with a side of cut and washed strawberries and a sticky note that read, "For my two favorite girls."

"Look what Daddy made us," you exclaimed, pointing to the breakfast spread.

Amara's eyes grew wide with excitement. "Can I have syrup?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"Of course, you can, honey," you said, pouring a little pool of syrup onto your daughter's plate. "But not too much, okay?"

You sat down at the kitchen table, the pancakes steaming up the windows. You took a bite of yours, savoring the sweetness that Joe had managed to capture perfectly despite his rush. You could almost taste the love he'd put into it. As you ate, Amara chattered away, her excitement for the game contagious.

Once breakfast was done, it was time to get ready. You washed and detangled Amara's curls, applying a generous amount of coconut-scented conditioner. The scent filled the bathroom, mixing with the humidity from the hot water. Most days it was a struggle to get Amara to sit still for hair brushing, but today she was surprisingly patient as you worked through her curls. The TV played the pregame show in the background, with the sounds of commentators and cheers from distant crowds setting the atmosphere.

"Mommy, can I wear my special shirt today?" Amara asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Of course," you responded, referring to her tiny, custom-made rhinestone jersey that read 'Daddy's MVP' in glittering letters. It was a miniature version of Joe's home game attire, and Amara absolutely adored it. He had it made for her third birthday months in advance, and it had been a staple of her wardrobe during the football season.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you continued working through the curls, your fingers moving with practiced ease. You couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Despite the excitement of the day ahead, there was something so grounding about these quiet moments with your daughter.

As you worked, the jiggle of the doorbell echoed through the house. "Who's that?" You gasped dramatically, knowing full well that your husband had returned from practice.

"It's Daddy!" Amara shouted, jumping off the chair and sprinting towards the door.

You couldn't help but laugh as you followed her daughter, calling after her, "You know you can't just run off like that, young lady!" But the sound of Joe's laughter as he walked through the front door told you he didn't mind. When the two of you entered the living room, Joe was there, freshly showered and dressed in a casual outfit. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and he scooped Amara up, twirling her around until she squealed with delight.

"Are you getting ready for the game?" Joe asked Amara as he set her back down, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yes!" Amara exclaimed, bouncing in his arms. "Mommy's doing my hair right now." She pointed to the chair you decided to carry with you downstairs. You had learned the hard way that once her father was home, it would be hard to get Amara away from him.

Joe's eyes met yours, and you could see the warmth and love in them. "You're doing a great job," he said, planting a kiss on Amara's forehead. "Why don't you finish up with Mommy and then you can help me get ready?"

You nodded, "Let's get those curls looking perfect for the game." You sat back down with Amara on your lap, continuing the meticulous task of styling her hair. The sound of the TV grew louder as the commentators discussed the upcoming matchup. The excitement was palpable, and even you felt a thrill of anticipation.

While you worked your magic with Amara's hair, Joe took a seat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen. His gaze would occasionally drift to the two of you, a soft smile playing on his lips. Despite the nerves that were surely bubbling beneath the surface, he looked relaxed and at peace. You knew that seeing his family happy brought him comfort, a nonverbal pep talk before the battle ahead.

As you patted her head to signal she was done, Amara looked up at you with wide eyes. "Done?" She asked, her voice filled with excitement. You nodded, and Joe hit the pause button on the TV. "So, Coach," Joe began, gaining Amara's attention as she skipped over to him. "You gonna help me watch film?"

Amara nodded excitedly, her head bobbing up and down as if she were at an interview. You watched them with a warm smile, the love in Joe's eyes for their daughter was something you never got tired of seeing. As Joe carried Amara upstairs to his office, you took a moment to appreciate the quiet house. You knew that once your in-laws arrived, the calmness would be replaced with the buzz of pregame energy.

Your phone vibrated with a text from Robin, Joe's mom. "Be there in 20!" it read.

You hurried upstairs to finish your own makeup and hair. You had decided to go with a sleek bun, throwing on your 'Burrow' jersey and slipping on a pair of leggings just until Joe's parents arrived. As you applied a coat of mascara, you heard the doorbell ring.

Rushing downstairs, you threw open the door to find Robin and Jimmy standing there with arms full of Amara's favorite snacks and juice boxes. "We come bearing gifts," Jimmy said with a wink.

"Thanks," you said, taking the boxes from them and setting it on the kitchen counter. "Amara's upstairs with Joe, watching some last-minute game film."

Robin and Jimmy exchanged surprised glances. "On game day?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's new."

"Amara's the only one who can get him to break his routine," you said with a chuckle. "I'm married to the man and I'm not even allowed in there on game days. Forget the day of the AFC Championship."

Robin laughed as she set down her bag and looked around for somewhere to sit. "Well, she's definitely her daddy's little girl."

"You have no idea," you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "But it's cute. And honestly, it keeps her out of my hair so I can get ready in peace."

You all shared a laugh, the tension of the impending game momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your family dynamic. Jimmy leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes gleaming with pride. "It's good to see him loosen up a bit. The game's going to be intense enough."

You nodded in agreement, your eyes flickering to the stairs where you could hear Joe's low voice explaining plays to Amara. "You guys grab whatever you want," you offered, gesturing to the fridge. "I'm just going to go get dressed properly."

In the bedroom, you were surprised by the sight of your daughter, now dressed in her rhinestone jersey and sitting cross-legged on your bed. She had her dad's playbook open in front of her, her little hands tracing over the diagrams with a serious expression.

"Where's your player, Coach?" You asked with a smile, stepping into the room.

Amara looked up at you with a grin that was all Joe. "He's getting ready," she replied, her eyes bright with excitement. You couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at your daughter's enthusiasm. You quickly changed into your own game day outfit, swapping your leggings for straight-leg jeans and low top Jordans that matched Joe’s cleats.

As you finished up your makeup, Joe emerged dressed to perfection in his game day outfit. He picked up Amara, who squealed with delight as she was swept into his arms. "What do you think, Coach?"

Amara studied him intently, her eyes roving over his outfit and the matching shoes. "You look like a winner, Daddy," she declared with the confidence of someone who had never seen him lose.

Joe chuckled, his eyes shining. "Thanks, Coach." He leaned over and kissed you. "You too, beautiful."

Your cheeks heated up with a mix of love and excitement. You had picked out the perfect outfit to match your daughter's jersey. The three of you made quite the trio: Joe in his tailored outfit, you in your jersey, and Amara in her mini-me version of Joe's game day look.

You made your way to the stadium, the energy in the air electric. Fans in black and orange jerseys lined the streets, their chants echoing off the buildings. The anticipation grew stronger as you approached Paycor Stadium, the towering structure a beacon of hope for a victory that would take the Bengals to the Super Bowl.

As you walked through the tunnel leading to the sidelines, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn't just any game; this was the AFC Championship. You held Amara's hand tightly, her eyes scanning the field as Joe went to join his team. The players warmed up, their movements an anxious show of power, each one focused on the task at hand.

Amara's grip grew tighter as she finally spotted her uncles, Joe's teammates, and friends, Ja'Marr and Tee. "Look, Mommy, there's Uncle Tee and Uncle Ja'Marr!" she squealed, pointing. You laughed and nodded, your eyes finding the two men who looked over and waved. They broke away from their warm-up routine to come say hello, their smiles wide as they approached the little girl in the sparkling 'Daddy' jersey.

"Look who we have here," Tee said, bending down to give Amara a high five. "Little Miss MVP herself."

Ja'Marr chuckled, ruffling her curls. "You ready to help us win today, Coach?"

"Yes!" Amara exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement.

"That's what I like to hear, Coach," Joe said, coming up behind his teammates, his eyes crinkling with pride as he looked at Amara. "You two keep the good vibes coming, okay?" He kissed you and Amara on the cheek.

"You got any tips for us, Coach?" Tee asked, playfully bumping fists with Amara.

Amara nodded solemnly. "You gotta catch the ball, Uncle Tee," she said, her arms resting on her hips. The spitting image of her father's mannerisms.

"Just me?" Tee feigned shock, his smile growing wider. "What about Ja'Marr?"

Amara giggled, her eyes shifting to the other player. "You too, Uncle Ja'Marr. You gotta run really fast!"

The two men laughed, their ease a testament to their years playing together. "We'll keep that in mind," Joe said, hoisting Amara up and spinning her around. She squealed with delight, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, watching the love between your husband and daughter.

After a few more minutes of conversation with the teammates, Joe set Amara down and kissed her cheek. "I got to go, pumpkin. But I'll see you after the game, okay?"

"Good luck, Daddy!" Amara shouted as Joe jogged back to the field, her voice carrying over the noise of the growing crowd.

You took a deep breath, your eyes following your husband until he disappeared into the sea of players. Then you turned your attention to your daughter, who was now bouncing up and down with excitement. "Come on, let's get to our seats so we can watch Daddy play," you said, taking Amara's hand and leading her through the bustling corridors of the stadium.

The two of you made your way to the luxury suite reserved for the families of the Bengals' players. The walls were adorned with photos of past games and memorabilia, differing from the chaotic energy outside. The suite was filled with other families, their laughter and excitement creating an infectious buzz.

You and Amara found your seats, the plush couches offering a cozy spot to join Joe's parents. The view was breathtaking, the field stretching out before you like a green canvas waiting for history to be painted upon it. As you settled in, your phone buzzed with a text from your sister, asking if you had arrived and if you had seen Joe yet. You replied with a photo of Amara in her jersey, her cheeks rosy from the excitement, and a thumbs up.

The game kicked off, and the roar of the crowd filled the stadium. The players on the field were mere dots of color moving swiftly, their movements precise and powerful. Each play was met with cheers or gasps from the spectators, and even Amara, with her limited understanding of the sport, knew to clap when the crowd did. You held your breath every time Joe took the field, your heart racing in sync with the clock. The tension in the suite grew with every pass thrown, every tackle made.

Throughout the game, Amara remained glued to your side, her eyes rarely leaving the screens broadcasting the action. She munched on her snacks, sipped her juice, and whispered questions about the game that you did your best to answer. Despite the excitement, you noticed her daughter's eyelids growing heavy. The excitement of the day was taking its toll, and the warmth of the suite only added to her sleepiness.

As the fourth quarter approached, the game grew tense. The score was close, and every play could be the deciding factor. You held your breath, your heart in your throat. The other families in the suite mirrored your anxiety, your faces a mix of hope and fear. The air was thick with anticipation, the only sounds the occasional murmur of a prayer or a shout of encouragement for the players on the field.

Amara leaned heavily against you, her eyes drooping. You knew it was only a matter of time before your little girl succumbed to the call of slumber. You cuddled her closer, whispering reassurances that Joe and his team would pull through.

On the field, Joe played with a fiery determination that was palpable even from their lofty perch. Each pass thrown, each yard gained, brought them one step closer to victory. The clock ticked down, each second feeling like an eternity. With less than five minutes left, the Bengals were 2nd and goal, the crowd anxious with anticipation.

Amara's eyes fluttered closed, lulled by the steady rhythm of the game and the warmth of your embrace. You held her tightly, whispering words of encouragement to Joe through the glass, as if he could hear her. You watched as Joe took the final snap, his eyes scanning the field, his body poised and ready. The crowd held their breath as Joe threw a Hail Mary pass, the ball soaring through the air with practiced precision. It was caught by Joe's favorite target, Ja'Marr, in the end zone, sealing the Bengals' win.

The suite erupted in cheers, the sound deafening as confetti rained from the ceiling. Amara stirred in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. You felt a mix of relief and elation as the scoreboard flashed in victory. They were going to the Super Bowl. The final whistle blew, and the players on the field hugged and high-fived, their faces a blend of exhaustion and triumph.

You made your way down to the area outside of the locker rooms. Amara's head resting on your shoulder, sleeping peacefully. As Joe emerged from the lockers, his eyes searched the suite until they found your eyes. He waved, a grin stretching across his face. You felt a surge of love and pride as you returned the gesture, your voice lost in the mess of the crowd. The other players dispersed to their families, but Joe's gaze remained fixed on you. He made his way over, dodging well-wishers and reporters.

When he reached you, he leaned in to give you a kiss. "We're goin' to the Super Bowl, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse from shouting on the field.

Your eyes shone with unshed tears. "I'm so proud of you," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Joe's grin grew wider as he turned to Amara, whose eyes had snapped open at the sound of her father's voice. "Did you win, Daddy?" she asked, her sleepiness forgotten.

"We did, baby girl," Joe said, scooping her up in his arms. He held her close, the joy of the moment reflected in both their faces. "Couldn't have done it without your help, Coach."

Amara giggled, her tiny hands clapping together excitedly. "I'm proud of you, Daddy," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Your heart swelled with love as you watched them, feeling the warmth of their bond.

As Joe started to transfer her back to you and walk towards the podium for his post-game press conference, Amara tugged on his arm. "Can I go with you?" she asked, her eyes hopeful.

You looked at Joe, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "It's okay," Joe assured you, setting Amara down. "Let's go, Coach." He took his daughter's hand, and she beamed up at him.

The press conference room was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Joe sat down at the podium, and Amara climbed into his lap. She looked around at the unfamiliar faces with wide eyes, but she remained still and silent, as if she understood the gravity of the situation. You took a spot at the back of the room, your heart beating a little faster than normal. You knew your daughter was a little star, but you didn't want to steal the spotlight from your husband's moment of triumph.

As Joe fielded questions about the game-winning play and his thoughts on heading to the Super Bowl, Amara studied the microphones and notebooks with curiosity. Her tiny hand rested on her father's forearm, her thumb tracing patterns on the fabric of his shirt. The room was still but you could see the way Joe's gaze kept flickering down to your daughter, a silent reassurance passing between them.

When the questions shifted to Joe's family life and how they supported him, he didn't miss a beat. "They're everything," he said, his voice earnest. "My wife, she's my rock. And my little coach here," he leaned down to poke at Amara's tummy, "Keeps me on my toes." The room melted at the sight of the quarterback with his daughter, and a round of 'awes' echoed through the room.

Amara, sensing the shift in attention, straightened up, giggling as she looked around, a hint of shyness creeping into her expression. She was used to her father's games, but this was new, even for her. She leaned into Joe's side, her thumb returning to her favorite spot on his shirt.

You watched from the back, a proud smile on your face. Your heart swelled as Joe spoke about you, your bond, and your life together. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from your husband, who was usually so focused on the game.

One of the reporters leaned in. "And what does it mean to you, having your daughter here today, watching you play?"

Joe's eyes lit up as he looked down at Amara. "It's incredible. She's my biggest fan and my biggest motivation." He ruffled her hair, and she giggled, looking up at him adoringly. "I want her to know that she can do anything she sets her mind to, just like her mom and me."

The room was silent, the cameras capturing the tender moment. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, not wanting to distract from Joe's moment. You knew he meant every word, your family's love and support were what kept him going through every game.

As the press conference came to a close, Joe hoisted Amara up in the air, her giggles filling the room. He turned to the reporters, his smile never faltering. "Alright, that's all I got today. I have to get this one back to her mother."

They made their way back through the crowd, Joe's hand on Amara's back, guiding her through the throng of people. You felt a mix of excitement and fatigue, your body still buzzing from the win. The ride home was a blur of congratulatory texts and calls from friends and family. Honks from passing cars and shouts of "Who Dey!" filled the streets as they drove through the city.

At the house, Robin and Jimmy had already set the table with a spread of Joe's favorite post-game meal: a hearty pasta dish and garlic bread, with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket for later. "We figured you'd be too tired to cook," Robin said, giving you a warm smile.

"You guys are the best," you said, looking over at Amara wrapped in Joe's arms. The little girl yawned and leaned her head on his chest, already nodding off to sleep.

"Let's get her to bed," Joe suggested, his own energy waning. "Thank you so much for this, Mom, Dad. It means a lot."

You took Amara from Joe's arms, cradling her sleeping form against her chest. "No problem," Jimmy said, patting his son on the back. "We're gonna head off to bed. But you two enjoy the rest of the night."

You climbed the stairs, whispering sweet nothings to keep Amara calm as Joe trailed along, his arm slung over your shoulder. In her room, you carefully laid your daughter down on the bed, whispering a final goodnight. Amara's eyes remained closed, her breathing deep and even. Joe leaned over to kiss his daughter's forehead.

"You okay?" You asked, looking into his tired eyes as you finally made your way up to your room after eating and clearing the dishes.

Joe nodded, his smile a bit weary. "Just can't believe we're going to the Super Bowl," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up and took your hand, pulling you closer into his warm chest. "Thank you for being here, for supporting me through everything."

Your arms wrapped around his neck, heart swelling with love. "And I always will, baby," you said, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. You felt the weight of the day's excitement slowly start to lift from your shoulders. The quiet of your room, the gentle hum of the city outside your windows, it was all you needed to feel at peace.

You changed into comfortable clothes, Joe slipping into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants while you donned your favorite oversized sweatshirt. You cradled Joe's head on your chest, fingers scratching at his scalp as he drifted in and out of sleep. His breathing grew deep and steady, the tension of the day slowly leaving his body.

#&. cassie writes.#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfic #cincinnati bengals #black!fem!reader #black!oc #black!reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #joeyb #jb9 #joe burrow x black!reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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bueckersstuff · 3 months ago

Text

PART II

You woke up with a pounding headache.

The world was fuzzy, spinning slightly as you tried to gather your bearings. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the aftermath of last night. You tried to move, but your limbs were slow, reluctant to follow your commands. You blinked a few times, the dim light filtering through the curtains blurring into shapes and shadows.

You weren’t in your dorm room.

The realization hit you like a wave, and your heart skipped a beat. You were lying in Paige’s bed!

You bolted upright, your head spinning even more, but it didn’t matter. Panic shot through you, and your mind raced through what had happened the night before.

You remembered the confrontation at the pub—the anger, the pain, the words thrown back and forth. And then Paige had taken you here. She had brought you to her dorm, to her bed, without even asking, without any hesitation. The realization that she had taken care of you, that she’d treated you with such care, tugged at your chest.

But then came the heavy wave of guilt. What the hell had you been doing? Drinking like that, confronting her in front of everyone? The rage you had built up—it felt almost childish now, like you’d been fighting battles in your own head that didn’t really matter. You were angry, but now you were just... confused.

The door creaked open, and there she was. Paige.

Her eyes met yours, and for a split second, she hesitated. Her face, normally so full of confidence, was soft and uncertain. She didn’t seem like the Paige you knew—the strong, invincible athlete who would brush everything off. No, this Paige was different. She looked at you like she wasn’t sure what to say or how to act, like she feared you might vanish in front of her again.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, almost too soft. “How are you feeling?”

You tried to sit up more, but your body was still heavy, tired. Your throat was dry, and you felt the weight of the night before pulling on you.

“I… I don’t know,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “What happened?”

She sat at the edge of the bed, her gaze steady but full of guilt, like she was bracing for your anger. “You were really drunk,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t leave you there, so I brought you back here. I—I didn’t want to let you stay out there alone, not in that state.”

You watched her closely. Paige had always been the one to keep a distance, the one to move on quickly. But right now, she was... different. The way she was sitting, the way she was looking at you—it wasn’t the Paige you used to know. It was like she was afraid of you, afraid of what you might think of her after everything.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out at first. It wasn’t just the hangover. It was the emotion that was bubbling inside you, threatening to spill out.

“Why did you do that?” you finally asked, your voice hoarse, raw. “After everything, why did you bring me here?”

Paige sighed, her shoulders sagging with the weight of your question. She turned her gaze toward the window, as if searching for something to say, but nothing came. She didn’t look at you when she spoke again, her voice quiet.

“I… I wanted to make it right,” she said softly. “I know I hurt you. I know I messed everything up, but I never meant to push you away. I—I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought I could just... keep going, like everything was fine. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay, and I see that now.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, the anger inside you softened. You felt the knot in your chest loosen, but there was still so much left unspoken, so much left to be said. The wounds were still there, raw, but Paige’s words felt like a crack in the wall between you. She was trying—really trying—to make it right, and that, at least, meant something.

You didn’t know what to say.

Paige, sensing your silence, hesitated before continuing, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve missed you. More than I care to admit. And I know I hurt you... but I can’t pretend like it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t want to be this person, but I let everything get in the way, and now... now I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to make you open up to me again.”

Her eyes were wide now, full of sincerity, and there was a vulnerability in them that you hadn’t seen before. Paige was strong—too strong, maybe—but right now, she was stripped bare, laid out in front of you, vulnerable in a way that she never let anyone see. The truth hung in the air between you.

You couldn’t look away from her. You wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in your throat. There was so much to unpack, so much history between you, and you weren’t sure how to navigate this moment, how to trust again her again not to discard you.

“I don’t know what to do to fix this. I came here with the resolve to make it up to you, for us to go back to the way it was before, but with everything that has happened up until last night, I’m lost.” You whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “I think we need time, Paige. We need to think. If you want us to be friends again, that is.”

Paige fell silent, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, like she understood, like she was ready to accept whatever came next. “I can give you time,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll wait. I just... I just wanted you to know that I’m here now. And I’m sorry, for making you feel unimportant back then. I’m so caught up with everything that’s happening in my life, and I’m so blinded by my sadness when you chose to go to Harvard that I did not have the time to reflect and think about what you might be feeling all those times. I’m really sorry, for doing this to us.”

The apology hung between you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of hope. It was small, fragile, but it was there. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. Maybe there was a way back.

Later that day, you were left alone with your thoughts in your dorm. Paige walked you home. She had done the first move, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the girl you had once known—the one who had been your best friend, the one who had cared about you more than anyone else. But there was still so much to process, so much you had to let go of, and you knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing with the words she had said. She was sorry. She was trying to make it right.

But is it really that easy? Could you ever go back to how things were?

The questions swirled in your head, and you didn’t have the answers. Not yet.

But somewhere deep inside, you realized that maybe it wasn’t about going back. Maybe it was about finding a new way forward, together or apart. You weren’t sure, but for the first time, the future didn’t seem so impossible.

And as Paige’s voice echoed in your mind, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

The campus was alive with the buzz of midterms approaching, but for you, it was just another blur of routine. You’d wake up, grab a coffee from the café, and head straight to your business management lectures. UConn was a new chapter—one that felt like it had been written just for you. Not just for the opportunity to study at one of the top schools in the nation, but because Paige was here. You were reconnecting, slowly. She was putting in the effort, and you could see it. You knew her well enough to know when she was being genuine, and this—this felt like it.

She’d text you every morning, “Good luck on your test today! 😊” or “Let’s grab lunch later.” Small gestures, but they were real. And she made time. Even if it was just a quick walk between classes or sitting on the steps of the Student Union to chat for a few minutes, you were making it work.

But things weren’t perfect. Not by a long shot. Paige had a lot of baggage to carry around. The most glaring weight was Azzi.

The gym was packed. It was a Friday night, and UConn was facing Iowa in the Final Four. You sat in the bleachers with a group of friends, but your eyes were glued to Paige. The game was everything, and she had been playing her heart out—dazzling passes, a few flawless three-pointers, her determination palpable with every move. You’d seen her play so many times before, but this time, you felt... different. You weren’t just rooting for the team. You were rooting for her.

The crowd erupted as UConn was within a few points of Iowa. The tension in the air was electric, but you could see it on Paige’s face. The pressure. The weight of the moment. You could tell she was trying to push everything else aside—the outside noise, the expectations, but she couldn’t. Not in a game this big.

Then, you saw her—the one person who, despite everything, still had a hold on Paige. Azzi was on the bench, watching from the sidelines. She’s still not cleared to play, but she was still there, right next to Paige. You watched them exchange glances, and even though the whole world was focused on the game, the two of them were locked in their own silent communication. You knew about their past, but it irritate you just the same. You couldn’t put it into words, but there was this nagging feeling in your chest.

Azzi might not be on the court, but it was obvious she was still a part of Paige’s world, even though you knew, deep down, that they weren’t together anymore. They had broken up. You’d heard the rumors, and Paige also confirmed it, but you could see it. The way they still seemed connected, the little touches, the shared smiles—something about it made you feel... off.

And that feeling—was it jealousy? Jealousy in terms of friendship or was it something more? Why did you feel this way? You were just her friend, right? Paige is just a friend to you. So why did your stomach tighten every time Azzi whispered something to Paige? Why did it hurt when they made eye contact as if no one else was around? You didn’t understand it. You wanted to be there for Paige. You were there for her. But why did the thought of Azzi being the one to console her make your blood boil, after all this time?

The game was winding down, and the energy in the gym felt suffocating. Paige was leading the charge, but then came the unexpected—an illegal screen, the ball hasn’t even left Paige’s hands yet, and Iowa took the lead.

The buzzer sounded, and UConn lost.

The gym erupted into chaos, but the worst sound was the silence in Paige’s eyes as she ran off the court. She was trying to hold it together, but you could see it in her face—the devastation. The sting of disappointment that was a million times worse than anything she’d felt before. She had given everything, and it hadn’t been enough. She was torn between wanting to be strong for the team and collapsing under the weight of the loss.

You made your way toward the locker room area, intent on finding her, but there was Azzi—standing just outside the room. She looked at you, her expression unreadable.

“You’re going to talk to her?” Azzi asked, her tone flat, like she had no interest in you but just enough curiosity to ask.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice sharp. “She’s my friend.”

Azzi’s lips twitched. “And she’s mine.”

You clenched your fists, the jealousy bubbling up again. “She’s not your anything anymore.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “That’s not for you to decide.”

You swallowed, trying to control the storm inside you. “It’s about what she needs, not about what you want. You should know that better than anyone.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She just looked at you with a quiet intensity. “It’s not that simple,” she said softly. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “But good luck.”

You didn’t wait for her to say anything more. You pushed past the tension in your chest and headed toward the locker room. But there, standing in the doorway, was Paige. Her eyes were red, her body weary from the game, but she still managed to give you a soft, grateful smile.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to be,” you replied, walking closer, your heart aching for her.

She shook her head. “I just need a minute.”

“I’m here when you’re ready,” you said softly.

She nodded, her gaze flickering to where Azzi was still standing outside, watching from afar. You couldn’t help but notice the way Paige lingered for just a moment before her eyes met yours again.

“I know. Thank you,” she said, her voice riddled with exhaustion and defeat.

The days after the game felt like a blur. Everything seemed quieter. The campus noise faded into the background as you went through your usual routine—lectures, study sessions, and late-night assignments—but your mind kept drifting back to the same place: Paige.

You’d seen how hard she had taken the loss, and you were there, trying to offer comfort. But after that night, something shifted between you two. Paige had started keeping her distance again. She was still the same in a way—polite, kind—but the walls were up once more. You’d text her, and the responses were brief. You’d try to get lunch, but it was always a “Maybe later” or “I’m busy.”

At first, you thought it was just the aftermath of the game. Paige was a fighter; she needed her space to process. But as the days stretched on, it became clear that it wasn’t just the game.

It was Azzi.

You had found out through a mix of things—whispers, rumors, small gestures between Paige and Azzi in passing—that Azzi was trying to get back with Paige. She’d been persistent, showing up at every practice she doesn’t partake in, every game, every team event, talking to Paige more than she ever had before. You could see the way Paige’s eyes softened when Azzi was around, and the way Azzi leaned in a little too close when they spoke. You knew this wasn’t just about being friendly, an ex-to-friends relationship. This was something deeper.

One evening, after a long day of classes, Paige texted you.

Paige: "Hey, can we meet up later? I need to talk to you."

You didn’t hesitate. You needed answers. You knew something was wrong, and you had to figure out what it was. When you met her at the library, her face was pale, tired, her eyes red from what you could only guess were tears, but she still greeted you with that smile of hers—the one that made your heart skip, even when you knew it was forced.

“Hey,” you said, taking a seat across from her. “What’s up? You okay?”

Paige hesitated for a long moment, her fingers tapping nervously on the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About everything. About the game. About… Azzi.”

You froze at the mention of her name. You knew what was coming.

“She’s been trying to get back with me,” Paige said quietly, her eyes not meeting yours. “She’s been...persistent. And I don’t know how to handle it.”

Your heart tightened. “But you broke up, right?” The words came out before you could stop them, tinged with more emotion than you had intended.

“I know. I know we’re not together anymore,” Paige said, her voice softer now. “But it’s different. It’s like she’s not giving up, and it’s messing with my head. I don’t know if I should even let her back in. I don’t know if I want to, but… part of me still feels something for her.”

Your chest felt heavy. The air in the room seemed to close in around you. You swallowed hard, trying to control your breath. This wasn’t what you had expected. This wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

And then, she hit you with the question.

“Do you think it would be better if Azzi and I just... got back together?”

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest. “What?” you whispered, the shock evident in your voice.

Paige’s gaze was soft but conflicted. “I don’t know what to do. You’ve been such a good friend to me, and I don’t want to hurt you by thinking I’m choosing Azzi again... but I also don’t want to make the wrong choice with her.”

The world around you felt like it was spinning. You stared at her, trying to make sense of what she had just asked. The hurt crept in, raw and sharp. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about her happiness. You would never want to stand in the way of that. But the idea of Azzi back in her life—the same Azzi who had torn the two of you apart once before—felt like a knife in your side.

But then, something else hit you.

Why does this hurt so much? Why does this feel worse than the first time?

The realization washed over you slowly, painfully. Your feelings for Paige—this wasn’t just friendship. You had always been there for her, always tried to protect her, but now you saw it for what it was: You loved her. You wanted to be the one to make her happy. You wanted to be the one she turned to when things fell apart. But you couldn’t force that on her. You couldn’t demand her heart.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. “Paige,” you started, your voice shaking, “If getting back with Azzi makes you happy, then you should do it. I want you to be happy. And if that’s what you need, I’m not going to stand in your way.”

Her face faltered. For a brief moment, you saw something flash in her eyes—a mix of disappointment and confusion. “Are you sure?” she asked quietly, her voice tight. “I thought... I thought you’d tell me to choose.”

You shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I just want you to be okay.”

Paige bit her lip, her gaze falling to her hands in her lap. “I don’t know if I’m okay.”

After you’d left the library, everything felt like it was unraveling. You walked back to your dorm in a daze, your thoughts a jumble of pain and confusion.

You stood in front of your bed for a long time, staring at the empty space on the mattress, the silence louder than anything else. You had given her the freedom to choose, to make her own decision, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest go away. It made it worse.

You sat down, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears came fast and uncontrollable. You buried your face in your hands, shaking with the pain of it all.

Why does this hurt so much?

You loved Paige. But maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe you weren’t enough. She was torn between her past with Azzi and her future with whatever was left of her feelings for you—and no matter what you said, you knew she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure about you. She wasn’t sure about herself.

And that was the hardest part.

You wiped your eyes, but the tears kept falling. You hated yourself for feeling this way. You didn’t want to be a burden to her, but the truth was—this was breaking you.

You didn’t know how much more of this you could take.

News of Paige and Azzi getting back together spread like wildfire around UConn. The whispers were impossible to avoid—people talked in hushed tones in the hallways, friends exchanged knowing glances, and the social media posts were filled with the usual fanfare. Paige and Azzi were back, and to everyone on the outside, it was like they had never been apart.

For you, though, it felt different.

You tried to go about your usual habits—lectures, assignments, study sessions—trying to block out the noise. The distraction of schoolwork, the familiarity of your daily schedule, was all you had to hold on to now. The pain in your chest felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, but the sharp edges would flare up unexpectedly. It was like living with an ache that you could never quite shake.

Paige was back to her usual self—smiling, chatting, hanging out with you like nothing had changed. She was still your friend, and you appreciated that. But every time Azzi showed up, her presence felt like a reminder of everything you had lost. Azzi was always tagging along now, always in the background, like she was rubbing it in your face that she had won. She had Paige back.

And you were just standing there, pretending everything was fine.

You acted normal. You played pretend—didn’t let anything show. Paige would laugh about something, and you would laugh with her. She’d tell you about the latest game, and you’d ask the questions, nodding along, being the good friend you were supposed to be. But inside, it was a different story. Your heart felt like it was breaking into smaller and smaller pieces every time you had to face Azzi, who never failed to make her presence known.

It was a game to her, you could tell. A silent competition, like she was reminding you, over and over, that she had won.

It happened one afternoon in the student center. You were sitting by the window, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, when you saw Paige and Azzi walk in together, laughing, looking perfectly at ease. Azzi shot you a quick look, her expression smug, like she knew exactly how this made you feel.

You didn’t flinch, though. You’d learned to control your emotions, at least on the outside.

Paige waved to you. “Hey, you! Over here!” she called out with a bright smile.

You waved back, trying to act as casual as possible. “Hey,” you replied, standing up. You approached them, forcing yourself to keep the smile plastered on your face, even though it felt like it was weighing you down.

Azzi raised an eyebrow as you got closer. “So how’s life, huh?” she asked, her tone a little too sweet, a little too mocking.

You managed to bite back your frustration. “Same old,” you said with a shrug, trying to keep things light.

Paige shot Azzi a quick look, then smiled at you, unaware of the subtle tension in the air. “We were just talking about the upcoming game. You’ll be there, right?”

You nodded, “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a smile, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “Good. We could use your support.” She said it casually, but it felt loaded. Like she was asserting something, reminding you that you were just the background noise to their life.

Later that day, you were walking through the campus, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling that lingered from the earlier encounter. You were near the gym when you ran into Nika Muhl, a teammate of Paige’s who had always been kind to you.

“Hey, you,” she greeted, giving you a small, knowing smile.

You smiled back, relieved for a familiar face. “Hey, Nika. How’s everything going?”

“Good, good,” she said. She paused for a second, like she was choosing her words carefully. “You know, I thought Paige would be… different with Azzi coming back. I didn’t think she’d go for it again, after everything.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the comment. “Really?”

Nika gave you a quick, cryptic smile, her eyes glancing around before she leaned in a little closer. “Well, you know… sometimes the heart wants what it wants. And I thought Paige would make her own choice this time. I guess I was wrong.”

You blinked, trying to process the words. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged casually, but there was something in her eyes that made you feel like you were part of something bigger than just casual conversation. “I’m just saying, some things aren’t as simple as they seem, you know? Don’t worry too much. She’s just being stupid right now.”

Her words hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more she was trying to say. Maybe she was telling you that Paige was confused, maybe even that Paige would have chosen you if she had the chance.

But the moment passed, and Nika walked away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

The tension between you and Azzi escalated the next week. During practice, Azzi made a pointed comment, loud enough for everyone to hear, about how you were always around, always trying to support Paige.

“Must be nice to have someone always running after you,” Azzi said, eyes flicking in your direction with a thinly veiled sneer. “I guess it’s just how things go when you don’t have your own life.”

The teammates who were nearby glanced at each other, and you could see that some of them caught the undertones of Azzi’s words.

Before you could even respond, Paige shot Azzi a glare. “Azzi, that’s enough,” she snapped, her voice sharper than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t need to talk to her like that.”

Nika, too, stepped in, putting her arms around your shoulder, her posture defensive. “Hey, don’t drag anyone into your stuff. We’re all here to support each other, right?”

Azzi scowled, but she didn’t say anything else.

You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you, but it didn’t make the situation any easier. In that moment, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Paige did still care. But it didn’t change the fact that Azzi was in the picture again, like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

Later that night, after everything had settled, you found yourself alone in your dorm, staring out the window at the dark campus. You had been pretending for so long—pretending to be okay, pretending to be fine with everything. But the truth was, it hurt more than you were letting on.

The weight of it all was unbearable. You cared for Paige in ways you couldn’t explain, but you couldn’t change her heart. You couldn’t make her choose you, and maybe you didn’t even have the right to ask.

It felt like an emotional rollercoaster, each high followed by an even steeper low. And the worst part was that you couldn’t get off the ride.

You sighed deeply, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the window. The night felt endless, just like your thoughts, just like this ache in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, this was your life now.

Living in the shadow of something you could never have.

When Emma messaged you to say she was in Connecticut visiting her family, you were thrilled. It had been a while since you’d caught up with her, and now she was just a short drive away from UConn.

She’d been your friend back at Harvard, always the one you could rely on for honest advice and random laughs. She was coming by UConn for a few days, and you were more than happy to show her around campus.

The plan was simple: hang out, catch up, and spend time together before she headed back home. You figured it would be a nice break from everything that had been going on, a chance to escape the tension and focus on something lighthearted.

You met up with Emma at one of your favorite café outside campus, a small but cozy spot tucked between buildings, known for its fresh pastries and warm atmosphere. It was the perfect place to relax, sip on coffee, and chat about life, school, and everything in between. The mood between you two was easy and carefree, just like old times.

Emma had that infectious smile, the kind that made everything seem brighter. You talked about classes, about your decision to transfer to UConn, and about some funny memories from your time at Harvard. You both laughed at the silly things that only the two of you would understand. It felt like the stress of the world had melted away, and you were just two friends, enjoying a simple afternoon.

However, your peaceful moment was abruptly interrupted when you looked up from your coffee and saw a familiar face standing by the entrance. It was Paige—along with Azzi and a few of their teammates. You froze for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Paige’s eyes met yours across the room, and you saw her pause, as if debating whether or not to come over. You forced a smile and waved, trying to keep the situation casual. But as you did, you noticed the way Paige’s gaze flicked from you to Emma and back again. There was something... off in the way she looked at the two of you, almost like she was measuring the space between you.

Emma didn’t seem to notice, though. She waved at Paige brightly, her usual friendly self. “Hey! If it isn’t the great Paige Bueckers!”

Paige smiled faintly and stepped closer, but there was something in her posture that made her seem more distant than usual. “Yeah, I was just grabbing coffee with the team. It’s Emma, right? So nice to finally meet you in person.”

Azzi stood behind Paige, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between you and Emma with a calculating look in her eyes. It was almost as if she was waiting for something—waiting for the moment to make her presence felt.

“Is she your friend?” Azzi said, her tone cool, almost too casual. “Catching up on old times?”

You could feel the tension in the air. You weren’t sure if it was because of Paige’s lingering discomfort or Azzi’s sharp words, but the mood had shifted. What had started as a fun, lighthearted afternoon now felt like it was charged with something unspoken.

Emma, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, grinned and looked at you. “Yeah, we were just talking about some old memories from Harvard. It’s so great to see her again.”

You noticed the way Paige’s smile stiffened at Emma’s words. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than you felt comfortable with.

Azzi didn’t miss a beat. “It must be nice,” she said with a soft smirk, clearly trying to poke at something deeper. “Spending time with someone who really gets you.”

You could feel the weight of Azzi’s gaze as it shifted between you and Emma, then back to Paige, who was suddenly very quiet. There was a heaviness in the air that hadn't been there before.

You tried to keep things light, pushing the awkwardness aside. “Yeah, Emma’s been really busy with her studies, but it’s nice to have some time to catch up,” you said, offering a weak smile. “You know how it is.”

Paige nodded but didn’t say anything, her lips pressed together as if she was carefully choosing her words. She shifted slightly, the space between her and Azzi almost a foot now.

“So, what are you all up to?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation in a more neutral direction.

Azzi, still leaning against the counter, looked at you with a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, we’re just here for a quick break. We’ve got a lot of practices ahead.” She turned to Paige with a knowing look, one that made you feel like you were being excluded from something.

Paige’s eyes flicked toward Emma, who was casually sipping her coffee, and for a split second, you caught a flash of something—something like irritation in her gaze. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a neutral expression.

“We should get going,” Paige said abruptly, her voice tighter than before. “Come on, Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Sure,” she said, turning to walk out. But before she did, she shot you one last look—one that almost felt like a challenge.

You watched as Paige walked away, but not before she glanced over her shoulder at you. It was fleeting, but you saw it—a brief moment of hesitation, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

As you and Emma sat there, the weight of what had just happened hung between you. Emma was still completely unaware of the shift in the atmosphere. She smiled brightly at you, oblivious to the storm brewing just outside the café’s windows.

“So, what do you think?” Emma asked, her eyes sparkling. “Should I visit UConn more often?”

You chuckled lightly, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort. “Of course. I’d love to have you around more.”

But inside, everything felt strange. The way Paige had looked at you earlier, the tension in the air—it wasn’t just about Emma being in town. There was something deeper there, something that had been simmering for a while. And as much as you tried to push it down, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

That night, you found yourself replaying everything in your mind. The way Paige had looked at you and Emma, the way Azzi had casually thrown her words out there. It felt like a game to her—a way to test boundaries, to stake her claim. But what bothered you most was that Paige had seemed so uncomfortable. She hadn’t seemed like herself at all.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. Was she just annoyed that Emma was around? Or was there something else going on that you couldn’t see?

Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the tension was thick, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

It had only been a few days since Emma’s arrival in Connecticut, but the energy had already shifted. What was supposed to be a casual visit between friends had begun to feel like something much more complicated. As much as you tried to stay in the moment and enjoy the time with Emma, there was no denying the tension that had been building—especially when it came to Paige.

Each time you and Emma met up, whether it was grabbing coffee or walking around campus, Paige’s reactions became harder to ignore. At first, it was subtle—a slight stiffening of her shoulders whenever Emma laughed too loudly or a brief moment of silence whenever you and Emma exchanged a joke. But then it grew more noticeable, and it wasn’t just Paige who seemed to be affected.

Azzi, too, couldn’t help but throw little remarks in your direction, as if testing the waters, always with that smirk that made you feel like you were caught in some game you didn’t understand. But it wasn’t until that particular afternoon at the library that everything came to a head.

You and Emma were sitting at one of the large study tables in the library, your textbooks open but barely touched as you two were deep in conversation. Emma had just told a funny story about her family, and you were both laughing like you hadn’t a care in the world. The kind of laughter that felt warm, natural, easy.

And then, you heard a voice. “So, this is what you’ve been up to lately?”

You looked up to see Paige standing in the aisle between the study tables, arms crossed, her expression tight. Azzi was right behind her, her presence like a shadow that seemed to intensify the atmosphere.

Emma’s face lit up when she saw Paige, but the cheerfulness in her voice faltered when she noticed the coldness in Paige’s eyes. “Hey, Paige! Didn’t know you were in here!”

Paige nodded but didn’t offer a smile, her gaze flicking briefly to you before settling back on Emma. “Yeah, I just needed to grab something.” Her words were clipped, sharp. “Looks like you two are having fun.”

There was an awkward pause. You felt it before you could even put it into words. You saw it in the way Paige’s eyes lingered on you and Emma, the way her lips were pressed into a thin line, almost like she was biting back something she didn’t want to say. The way she stood there, distant, as if every second she was in the room with you both, she was trying to control something she couldn’t name.

“You should join us!” Emma suggested, completely unaware of the tension building between them. “We’ve got space here, we’re just... catching up.”

But Paige wasn’t in the mood for any of it. She simply shook her head, her gaze drifting toward Azzi as if seeking comfort, or maybe reassurance.

“Maybe later,” Paige muttered, before turning quickly to leave.

You watched her walk away, feeling the weight of her retreat, and it stung more than you expected. You had been so focused on Emma, on the simplicity of the moment, but Paige’s behavior had become too loud to ignore. The air felt too thick, and you found yourself staring after her, the nagging feeling of something unresolved gnawing at you.

That evening, things took a turn for the worse. Emma had invited you to meet her for dinner, and you accepted, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling you’d had all day. But as soon as you walked into the restaurant outside campus, you saw Paige and Azzi at a nearby table, their heads close together, whispering to each other. The moment they noticed you, though, everything shifted.

Azzi gave you a small nod, almost too casual. “How’s everything?” she asked, her voice smooth but laced with something that felt like a challenge.

You nodded back, trying to keep it friendly, but before you could respond, you saw Paige’s eyes flicker over to Emma, who was standing next to you, smiling and talking about something random. Paige’s expression tightened, a flicker of something dark crossing her features. She looked at you, and for the first time, her gaze felt accusatory.

You sat at your table with Emma, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room, but you could feel it. You could feel Paige’s eyes on you, on Emma. The air felt thick with tension, but it wasn’t something you could easily name.

After a few minutes, Azzi stood up and casually walked over to your table. She didn’t ask if she could join, just slid into the chair across from you.

“I didn’t know you were hanging out with Emma again,” Azzi said, her tone light, but there was something pointed in her voice, like a challenge wrapped in a joke. “Guess she’s been keeping you busy.”

You forced a smile, trying to keep things neutral. “Yeah, just catching up. She’s visiting family, so... we’re hanging out while she’s here.”

Azzi smirked, glancing over at Paige, who was now trying to busy herself with her phone. “It’s nice that you two have so much in common,” she said, the words dripping with meaning. “She’s certainly been... making her presence known around here.”

That was when you saw it—the moment when everything shifted.

Paige’s voice rang out from across the table, sharper than it had been all night. “Yeah, well, she’s not the only one who’s been around,” she spat, her eyes flickering with something darker. “Maybe some of us always had a claim.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden strike, and everything felt still. Azzi froze. Emma blinked, clearly not expecting that kind of outburst. You... didn’t know what to say.

Azzi leaned forward, her voice lowering in a mockingly sweet tone. “Paige, what’s the problem? You’re acting like you’re... jealous of Emma, but that doesn’t make sense. You were just friends, right?”

That’s when the world seemed to stop for a beat. It was as if Azzi’s words had peeled away some kind of mask, revealing something raw, something hidden beneath the surface.

You could see Paige’s entire demeanor shift in an instant. Her face flushed, and for the first time, her eyes betrayed something she couldn’t hide—something that had been building up for days, weeks even. She opened her mouth, closed it again, clearly struggling with something she didn’t want to admit.

Before she could speak, Azzi gave her a sharp look. “I don’t think this is the time to be fighting over her, Paige. You don’t have to act like you’re losing.”

The comment hung heavy in the air. Paige clenched her jaw and stood up abruptly. “You know what?” she muttered, “I don’t need this right now.”

She shot a glance at you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, her eyes weren’t filled with anger or frustration, but something else—something that made your heart skip. She didn’t say another word. She just walked out.

The rest of the night was a blur. Emma kept asking if you were okay, but you barely heard her. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying the confrontation between Paige and Azzi, trying to make sense of it.

Was Paige jealous? Of you? Of Emma? Of something else entirely?

You didn’t know. You couldn’t. But what you did know was that something had broken. Something had snapped between Paige and you, and now you couldn’t go back to the way things had been.

The days following that night were like walking through a fog. You could feel it, a weight pressing against your chest that you couldn’t escape. The quietness that hung between you and Paige felt unbearable. Every time you saw her, there was a distance, a coldness, but also something unspoken—something that neither of you could put into words. The way she had left the restaurant, the way she had looked at you, stayed with you like an echo in the back of your mind.

The space between you two had always felt fragile, but now, it was like a thread stretched too thin, ready to snap. You didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know how to fix it, but you felt something inside you breaking. Maybe it was the weight of the silence. Maybe it was the way Paige refused to look you in the eye whenever you crossed paths. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the tension of that one moment—the moment when Azzi had called Paige out for acting jealous.

Azzi, of course, seemed to think it was a game. She took every opportunity to poke at you, to make you feel small, as if she was enjoying the conflict. And Paige? She said nothing, just let it happen.

It was a Friday evening when the storm finally broke.

You were sitting in the common area, scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself from the constant thoughts racing through your head. Emma was out for the night, visiting friends. You thought about going out to clear your mind, but the idea of seeing Paige again—of facing her—felt overwhelming. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do anymore. You didn’t know what she wanted from you.

And then, without warning, she appeared. Paige, standing in the doorway of the common area, her eyes wild and frantic. She was out of breath, as though she had been running. You hadn’t seen her like this before—this frantic, this raw.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice low but urgent. There was a desperation in her tone that you couldn’t ignore.

You stood up immediately, unsure of what to say, what to do. Her gaze flickered nervously between you and the door, like she was checking to make sure no one was listening. She took a deep breath before stepping toward you.

“Now,” she added, her voice trembling slightly.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you followed her to a quieter part of the building, away from the hustle and bustle of students. You didn’t know what to expect, but you could feel that something in her was unraveling, something that couldn’t be fixed with a simple conversation.

Once you were alone, Paige turned to face you, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath she took. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her eyes darted everywhere but at you.

“Paige,” you said softly, unsure of where to start. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting... different.”

She hesitated, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to say this.”

There was a long silence before she finally looked at you, and in that moment, everything shifted. The walls she’d built up between you two seemed to crumble, leaving only the truth in its wake.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Trying to pretend it wasn’t real, that it didn’t matter. But it does. It matters.”

You felt your pulse quicken. You didn’t know where this was going, but you could feel the weight of her words pressing down on you. “What matters?”

“I... I don’t know how to explain it, but every time I see you with her...” Paige’s words faltered, as if she was struggling to admit something she had kept buried for far too long. “I can’t handle it. I can't breathe. I hate that she’s around you. I hate that she... cares about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was like the world had stopped spinning. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. It was as if the realization had hit you like a punch to the gut, and you didn’t know how to process it.

Paige’s eyes filled with tears, and she wiped them away quickly, as if trying to keep her composure. “I’ve been in denial. I thought I could keep doing this, keep pretending that everything was fine. But it’s not fine. Not with Azzi. Not with you.”

You stepped forward, your heart aching. “Paige, I don’t understand. You and Azzi—”

“I’m with her,” Paige interrupted, her voice rising in frustration. “I was with her, but it’s not the same. I don’t feel... whole with her. It’s like something is always missing, and that something is you. You’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’ve always been the one I could count on, the one who saw me, really saw me.”

Her voice cracked, and she took a shaky step back, her hands trembling. “I’ve been so scared. So scared of losing you. I didn’t want to admit it, but I think... I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, sweeping over you with such force that you could barely keep your balance. You stared at her, stunned, your mind racing to catch up with the reality of what she was saying.

“Paige, I—” You started, but she cut you off.

“I know this is complicated. I know it’s messed up. I’m with Azzi, and I can’t just... leave her without breaking everything. But when I saw you with Emma, I realized something.” Paige’s breath caught in her throat as she took another step back. “I realized I couldn’t keep pretending. I’m not just your friend. I’m... I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of how to respond, unsure of what to do. Every instinct told you to comfort her, to hold her, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. Not when she was still in a relationship with Azzi. Not when everything between the three of you was tangled in so much pain and confusion.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Everything inside you felt so tangled, so conflicted. You wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that you felt the same way, but the weight of the situation felt like too much to bear. You couldn’t just ignore the fact that Azzi was part of her life, that the betrayal felt like it would cut deeper than any words could express.

“I’m sorry,” Paige whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have said any of this.”

“No,” you finally managed to say, your voice hoarse. “Paige, you— you can’t just shut this down. We— we can’t just ignore this.”

But as the words left your lips, you knew the truth. It didn’t matter what either of you said. This was messy. This was painful. This wasn’t going to be easy. And the hardest part was that, no matter how much you might want to say that you felt the same, the circumstances were impossible. Paige was still with Azzi.

“You can’t just expect everything to fall into place like this,” you said softly, the hurt in your voice unmistakable. “I don’t know if I can handle you and Azzi... and me. I don’t know what you want from me, Paige. You’ve made your choice, and I—” you stopped yourself, feeling like your chest was being crushed.

Paige’s expression crumpled, and for the first time, you saw her vulnerability laid bare. “I don’t know what I want either. I don’t know what’s right. But I can’t keep pretending that I’m not in love with you. I can't. I just can’t.”

She was shaking now, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to make you feel like you didn’t matter. But you do. You matter to me more than anyone else.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You could feel the tension between you two like a taut rope ready to snap. Neither of you had the answers, and neither of you knew what to do next.

But one thing was clear, everything will change after tonight.

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carelesslycrafted · 5 days ago

Text

domestic lover!ellie

cw: smut/fluff

The Jackson evening was still and warm, moonlight spilling through the open windows of your cabin. You’d both skipped dinner at the mess hall, claiming patrol fatigue—but really, neither of you had wanted to be around other people. Not tonight.

You were stretched across your bed, flipping lazily through an old guitar magazine Ellie had brought by earlier, wearing nothing but an oversized band tee and underwear. The smell of pine and smoke still lingered on your skin from the day’s ride, and the way Ellie was looking at you from across the room was doing things to you.

She was sitting on the edge of the chair, strumming her guitar aimlessly, watching you over the body of it. Her eyes flicked down your legs, slowly—lingering at the way the shirt rode up your thighs. You smirked.

“You gonna keep staring or play me something?”

Ellie set the guitar aside without a word.

“I’d rather do something else.”

Your pulse skipped. She crossed the room in three strides and hovered over you, her knee pressing into the mattress as her hand found your thigh.

You sat up a little, grinning. “What’s gotten into you?”

Her mouth brushed your jaw, then your neck, voice low and gravelly.

“You’ve been teasing me all week. Thought it was my turn.”

You shivered as her fingers toyed with the edge of your underwear. You could smell her—leather, sweat, the faint scent of her soap. Everything about her made your body ache.

“Ellie…”

You didn’t even finish saying her name before she kissed you—deep and slow and confident, her body pressing you back into the mattress. Her hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your waist as her mouth moved to your throat.

Every touch was deliberate. A slow build. She knew exactly what she was doing.

You moaned softly as her hand dipped lower, slipping between your thighs. She smirked against your skin.

“You’re already wet?” she whispered. “Damn, baby.”

You gasped as her fingers found your sweet spot, her mouth moving down to your chest, teeth grazing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt.

You reached down, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. “Ellie, please…”

That snapped something in her. The shirt came off. Hers too. You tangled together like you’d done a hundred times before, but it always felt new—hot and breathless and full of fire.

The cabin was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, your breathy moans, her rough whispers in your ear—how good you were, how beautiful you looked, how she loved the way you said her name when you came undone.

She didn’t stop until your thighs were trembling, until you were whining her name like a prayer.

When you finally collapsed against her chest, sticky and breathless, she kissed the top of your head and pulled the blanket over both of you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

You smiled into her skin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not done with you either.”

And the night wasn’t over.

You weren’t sure what woke you first—the warm sunlight pouring in through the curtains, or the steady, slow circles Ellie was tracing on your bare back with her fingertips.

She was lying on her side, tangled in the sheets with you, one leg draped over yours, her face buried partly in your hair. Her touch was lazy, absentminded, but grounding. You hummed, sleep-heavy and aching in the best way.

“Good morning,” you mumbled against her chest.

She chuckled softly, voice husky. “It is now.”

You tilted your head to look at her. Her hair was a mess, eyes still half-lidded, freckles standing out in the soft light. She looked beautiful—wild and spent and smug.

“Your hands are cold,” you murmured.

“Liar.” Her hand slid a little lower, dangerously close to starting something all over again. “You just want an excuse to press up against me.”

“Do I need one?” You shifted deliberately, straddling her thigh under the covers. Ellie groaned, head tipping back.

“Shit, babe. You’re gonna kill me.”

“You survived last night,” you whispered, lips brushing hers. “Barely.”

She kissed you again, slower this time—sleepy and warm and filled with that quiet thing that had bloomed between you over time. That thing you were both afraid to name.

Eventually, the hunger in your stomach was louder than the heat curling between your legs again, and you reluctantly rolled off her.

Ellie tugged you back playfully. “Where you goin’?”

“Shower. Then breakfast. We both smell like sex and sweat.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she said with a smirk, but she sat up anyway, rubbing the back of her neck. The morning sun spilled across her bare back, catching in her tattoo.

You watched her stretch, heart full. “You staying after breakfast?”

“I was thinking I’d cook it.” She stood, butt-naked and completely unbothered, sauntering to the kitchen to raid your pantry.

“You don’t even know where anything is!” you called.

“Then come show me,” she shouted back.

So you did—wrapped in just a towel, still dazed from the night before, watching her fumble through cabinets and pretend she had it under control.

Ellie in your kitchen was something different. She looked domestic, barefoot and still flushed from sleep, cooking eggs while humming under her breath. She wore one of your shirts, her own nowhere to be seen, and it swallowed her shoulders in a way that made your stomach twist.

You slid your arms around her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. “You’re kinda hot when you’re pretending to be useful.”

“Excuse you, I am incredibly useful,” she said, flipping a lopsided pancake like it was proof. “I made you come three times last night. That buys me at least a week of no chores.”

You laughed into her neck. “Okay, fair.”

She turned in your arms, hands on your hips, and kissed you again—soft, slow, and real. Her eyes searched yours for something unspoken.

“You know,” she murmured, “you could ask me to stay more often.”

You bit your lip, voice suddenly smaller. “Would you say yes?”

Ellie tucked your hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Every time.”

You kissed her, then again, and didn’t stop until the eggs were cold, and the pancakes were burnt, and it was well past noon.

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moonchild9350 · 9 months ago

Text

Hate to Love You, Love to Hate You

Summary: You hate your neighbor Hyunjin. Everything he does irks you to know end. You know Hyunjin feels the same way. The feeling is mutual, right?

Pairing: enemy to lovers au, non idol domHyunjin x fab reader

Genre: angst, smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: spanking, light bondage, use of the term brat, p in v penetration, creampie (don't), dacryphilia, consent is implied (don't do this in real life folks, verbal consent is important) Hyunjin is mean, what can i say

Notes: I just wanted to make Hyunjin mean lol. This is not edited.

If you enjoyed this like, reblogs, and comments appreciated ♡

“What the hell,” you groaned, as you rolled over to grab your pillow that was next to you.

You buried your face in the soft pillow, letting out a scream. You were annoyed, no you were beyond annoyed, you were furious. You couldn’t focus because of the sounds coming from the apartment next to yours. Your neighbor had a girl over and she was definitely letting the whole complex know that she was getting railed. You said railed as you could hear the thump, thump, thump of the headboard hitting the wall.

You groaned once more and then got up, abandoning your task. You looked at the clock and noticed it was just after midnight. Padding to your kitchen, you opened your fridge, grabbing a can of soda off the shelf. Popping open the can, you sat down on your couch with a sigh. You grabbed your remote and turned the tv on, and settled on watching a shitty comedy.

Hyunjin. That was your neighbor’s name. He moved in not too long ago, announcing his presence by being loud as possible every time he passed in the hallway. You eventually met him, as you passed by him in the parking garage. He teased you non-stop, making comments about your hair, your outfit, how boring you are.

He was inconsiderate, never holding the elevator open, pressing the close button while smiling directly at you. He never called off his dog, letting him run wild, the dog always jumping up on you as you walked by. And of course he was inconsiderate in his own home. Yes, it was his home, but the walls are thin, words…and sounds easily transferring though the barriers separating the apartments.

You tried to politely ask him to keep it down, especially at night, some people had to work after all. Instead of him apologizing, he would just smirk at you and walk away, not saying a word. The man frustrated you, angered you, causing you to be in a sour mood all the time.

You tried to ignore the fact that he was gorgeous. He was tall and lanky, but muscular at the same time. His pretty black hair framed his face perfectly. His lips were plush and looked pillow soft. He had great style, you could’t deny. Yes, the man was beauty himself. That didn’t mean you had to like him though. No, you hated him, hated him down to your very core.

That thought didn’t leave your mind as you tried to tune out the girl, her moans and screams getting louder to where even the tv couldn’t drown the sound out. You sipped your drink, trying to pay attention to the screen. You were going to kill that man yet, and that’s a promise.

Time passed, you had watched two episodes of the show when you noticed it was quiet. The thumps were nonexistent and the girl had stopped screaming. Sighing in relief you turned the tv off to go to bed, tiredness sinking in. You climbed into bed, snuggling under your blankets, happy to be able to finally go to bed. You fell asleep instantly, thankful for the silence that permeated your room.

The next morning you woke to your alarm, feeling drained. You begrudgingly got up, stretching as you walked to the bathroom to get ready for work. God you hated Mondays, and today was no different. Finishing up your routine, you made some coffee and packed your lunch. Grabbing your keys and bag you left your apartment, locking your door behind you.

As you turned around, you felt something hard collide into you, causing you to drop your coffee on the ground.

“Shit!” you said, anger welling up inside you.

“Woah there sweetheart, that pretty little head of yours need slow down.”

You knew that voice, loathed it actually. Looking up from your spilled coffee, your eyes meant the man in front of you, none other than Hyunjin. He had that annoying smirk on his face, his eyes shining as he peered down at you. He was wearing skinny jeans, a white shirt, and a flannel. He looked stunning you hated to say.

“Fucking hell,” you continued, feeling your face flush. “Can you not watch wear you’re going Hwang.”

“You ran into me sweetheart, not the other way around. Now excuse me, I have places to be.”

At that, you watched him walk away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your coffee still on the floor.

“Oh, and clean up your mess will you?” Hyunjin shouted at you as he continued his way to the elevator.

You were furious, seething at this man. Not only would you be late to work now, but you were without coffee. Sighing, you unlocked your door once more to grab some towels to wipe up the spill. You cleaned as quickly as possible before locking up again and rushing to your car, hoping to make it relatively on time.

You made it, but barely, your boss side eying you as you walked to your desk. You sat your stuff down before getting to work. You lost yourself in numbers and spreadsheets as the day went on, your mind occupied and not being able to think about this morning. You were thankful, not wanting to think about your misfortune and of course him.

Once the clock struck five, you clocked out, grabbed your stuff and left. Your commute home wasn’t bad, making it home in record time for a Monday. You pulled up to your spot where you park to only find it occupied, a man leaning against the door smoking a cigarette. It was none other than Hyunjin.

You put your car in park and got out of your car, angrily slamming your car door. You marched your way toward the man, a scowl on your face.

“Hwang, wanna move out of my spot?” You spat, crossing your arms as you stood in front of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin gazed down at you before tossing his head back and laughing.

“Your spot, sweetheart, you must be dreaming,” he taunted.

“The fuck I am. This is my spot, I park in number 25.”

You were not budging, this was your spot after all that was assigned to you.

Hyunjin laughed again before saying, “aww are you getting angry? You look so cute angry.”

You reached out to swat at him, your anger getting the best of you. However, before you could make contact with him, he grabbed your wrist, stopping you in his tracks. He gave your wrist a squeeze, holding tight as you tried to squirm away. His brown eyes were piercing, as he looked down at you demanding your attention.

“Hitting people is not nice sweetheart. Especially coming from a little doll like yourself.”

You jerked your hand away as he let go. “Just give me my spot Hwang. I’ve had a day and I’m tired.”

Hyunjin studied your face, his eyes dragging over your face, lingering on your lips before looking you in the eyes once more. Without anything further, Hyunjin opened his car door and got inside, starting the car up. You backed up before turning and walking to your car. You watched as he backed out and pulled away, vacating your spot.

Sighing you pulled into your spot and turned off the ignition. You took a few deep breaths before gathering your stuff and walking toward your apartment. You were happy to be home, tossing your stuff aside as soon as you were in the door. You made your way to the bathroom, in need of a hot shower.

You relaxed under the stream, the water soothing your tense muscles. Your mind wandered to Hyunjin and how you hated that man with every fiber of your being. Why did he have to be annoying and so infuriating? It’s almost like he goes out of his way to anger you.

Sighing, you turned the water off, your anger getting the best of you once more. You got dressed in a comfy oversized shirt and made your way to the kitchen to grab dinner. You settled on ramen for the night, taking the bowl and plopping down in front of the tv. You ate while watching a comedy, your mood slightly improving as your belly became full.

Your peaceful evening was interrupted however as you heard a knock on the door. You rolled your eyes and placed your bowl down. Walking to the door, the knock came louder and harder.

“I’m coming!” You shouted, annoyed once more at the person’s impatience.

You were grumbling to yourself as you opened your door to see none other than Hyunjin. He smirked at the sight of you, his eyes wandering down your body, lingering on your plush thighs peaking from under the oversized shirt.

“What do you want Hwang,” you said as you stared up at him.

Hyunjin looked you in the eyes before presenting a bottle of wine. “Wanna share sweetheart?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. Was he out of his mind? What part of your interactions screamed share a bottle of wine with me? Hyunjin smiled at you, wiggling his eyebrows at you while shaking the bottle slightly.

“Come on, I can’t drink this by myself. Besides you’ve had a tough day.”

“Yeah no thanks to you,” you grumbled.

You stepped aside and opened your door wider, allowing the man to come in. You padded towards the kitchen to grab two glasses and the wine opener. Hyunjin followed behind you and set the bottle down, watching as you opened the bottle and poured a generous amount in each glass.

You handed him his and took yours in hand before walking back to the couch and sitting down. You pressed play again to continue watching your show, not caring what Hyunjin did.

He walked up to you and sat down next to you, your thighs touching ever so softly. You could feel him staring at you, his gaze intense. You decided to ignore him as you took sip after sip of wine. You could feel a buzz forming, the feeling causing you to start to relax.

Hyunjin finished his glass and set it down on the table before turning towards you. He stared at you, which you ignored, chuckling to yourself at your steadfastness. However, the fact that you were ignoring him must have touched a nerve because he started to poke your cheek, again and again.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it and you snapped. You turned to face him and said, “stop it Hwang. Keep doing that and I’m kicking you out.”

Hyunjin smirked at you, scooting closer to your body. You leaned back slightly as his face was closer to yours.

“Back up Hwang,” you said, venom laced in your voice.

“Or what sweetheart?” Hyunjin said, as he got closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

You huffed before raising your hand and swinging. You were going to slap him, not caring if it left a mark. However, his reflexes were quick and just like earlier, he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Let go,” you said, twisting your arm this way and that to try to get loose.

“No, you’re such a brat you know,” Hyunjin said, watching you struggle. “Maybe I need to change that.”

“I don’t need anything from you Hwang,” you hissed.

HIs hold on your wrist was tighter yet. You knew a bruise would form later.

“Keep struggling sweetheart,” Hyunjin purred, leaning ever closer to your face.

“Let go or I swear I’ll..”

“Swear you’ll do what?” Hyunjin countered. “What will you do?”

“You make me so….so angry!” You screamed in his face. You watched a smile form on his face while he grabbed your other arm while you were distracted. He had you restrained, you couldn’t hit him, couldn’t do anything with your hands.

“I make you angry? Oh sweetheart, you make me furious. Maybe we should do something about that?”

You couldn’t help but shiver at his tone, his voice deepening with each sentence. You stared into his brown eyes, the orbs sparkling as they stared back at you. You couldn’t help but look at his lips and wonder how they would feel on your lips, your neck, your pussy. The thought alone was enough for you to attempt to squeeze your thighs together, your arousal slowly dripping into your panties.

Hyunjin noticed this subtle change, a smile gracing his features once more. “What do you want me to do? Hmm? Let’s end this feud of ours, I can make you feel so good sweetheart. Let me fuck the brat out of you.”

At his words, you felt your pussy clench, the thought of Hyunjin fucking you causing your mind to jumble. You couldn’t think straight, not with him restraining you and promising to handle you, to tame you.

You cleared your throat, before opening your mouth. But, before you could say anything, his lips were on yours. He kissed you passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you went to protest. Hyunjin pulled you closer, keeping your hands in his hold.

You moaned as he bit your lip, shockwaves of pleasure running down your spine.

“Now who’s quiet,” Hyunjin said, his lips red and swollen. “Come on, show me to your bedroom.”

You got up from the couch, and looked at your hands. “Can you let go? It’s hard to walk like this.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a moment before saying no. You stared back incredulous. You walked toward your room awkwardly, shuffling sideways to your room. Once there, Hyunjin sat on the bed, pulling you to stand in front of him. He released your hands briefly before grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head.

You stood there in only your panties, your breast on display for him. He took you in before grabbing your hands once more and tying them up with the shirt. He then proceeded to bend you over his legs. You felt him rub your ass, kneeling the flesh again and again before his hand came down with a smack.

You jolted forward at the pain, a little moan falling from your lips.

“Little brat likes pain?” Hyunjin said as he laughed. “Good, let’s count sweetheart. One spank for each time you’ve had attitude with me.”

Hyunjin thought for a moment, “Hell we’d be here forever. Let’s say, twenty. Can you count to twenty for me?”

You shook your head, unable to move the way you wanted with your hands tied. Suddenly you felt another slap, the sting causing you to yelp.

“I asked you a question brat,” Hyunjin sneered.

“Ok, I’ll count,” you whimpered.

You heard Hyunjin hum, satisfied with your answer. He brought his hand down again and again, the pain intensifying with each slap. You were a moaning mess, the pain turning you on more. You were dripping, your arousal coating your pussy and thighs. You counted and counted until the end. You were breathing heavy, your ass stinging. You’re sure there were pretty marks on the flesh.

Hyunjin pulled you up, before bending you over across the bed. You braced yourself on your forearms as best as you could, not able to hold yourself up with your hands.

You could hear Hyunjin unzip his pants, the shuffle of clothes echoing through your ears. It wasn’t long before you felt his cock against your lips, as he dragged the appendage through your folds again and again. You whimpered at the sensation, as the head of his cock kissed your clit.

Without warning, he slammed into you, causing you to fall on your face into the sheets. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, the sting from the stretch causing you to cry out. He set a brutal pace, as he fucked you. Skin hitting skin could be heard as he gripped your hips harder, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Let me hear you brat. Let everyone know who’s fucking you this good.”

You screamed out his name, as he abused your pussy, your walls clenching around him.

“Mmmm, feels good, cock feels good.” You whined out.

“Yeah? Feels good huh. I agree brat, pussy sucking me in.” Hyunjin gripped your hips harder and sped up his thrusts.

“Come on brat, cum on my cock. Be a good girl, come on.” Hyunjin groaned.

You were a babbling mess as you succumbed to your high, your walls fluttering around his cock over and over. You let out a whine, as he kept pounding into you, his pace not faltering.

“Can feel you clench around me brat. Keep doing that and I’ll cum. Feel you up real good.”

You did what he said, your brain a jumbled mess as you came down from your high. You were sensitive, the overstimulation causing you to cry, tears spilling from your eyes.

“Too much Hyunjin,” you whimpered, trying to get up so you could move.

However, Hyunjin just pushed you back down and held you there as he pounded even harder into you.

“Na uh, didn’t say you could move. Lay there and take it.”

You hoped he was close, as his cock dragging through your walls started to hurt. You could hear him laughing behind you, as he abused your pussy, his hand keeping you down.

“Gonna cum, gonna fill this pussy up real good.” He groaned.

His pace became more sporadic, his moans growing louder.

“Shit, this pussy is good. So good for a brat like you.”

He pounded into you a few more times before he stilled, his hot cum coating your walls. You could hear him moan, his hand that wasn’t holding you down rubbing your ass as he came down from his high.

After a few moments, he released his hold on you. “Aww the brat is crying,” he cooed. “I love to see you cry.”

He withdraw from you, the feel of his cum seeping out of your pussy and dripping onto the sheets. Hyunjin pulled you up and untied your hands. Through your tears, you looked down, seeing the red marks littering your wrists.

“Looks so pretty on you sweetheart.” He said before placing a kiss on each hand.

He then kissed your tears away, the gentleness shocking you after what you had just endured. There was silence in the room as you regulated your breathing, a little hiccup being heard every now and then. Hyunjin rubbed your back while cradling you to his chest. You’re not sure how long you both sat there, time seeming to go by slowly.

Eventually he broke the silence. “Are you still going to be a brat?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes as you wiped the last of your tears away.

“No, I won’t.” You whispered.

Hyunjin looked at you and smiled, his hands coming to cup your face.

“Good choice sweetheart. I told you I’d fuck the brat out of you,” he said before bringing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

You hated this man but you loved him too. It was definitely the dichotomy of evil but you were not complaining. Maybe it’s a good thing he moved in next door after all.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @amarecerasus @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92

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comicallylargemango · 1 year ago

Text

🥭 : teeheeheehee author here, I've been having major Francis brainrot so now I gotta show the world :3 (I can now proudly call myself one of the first few people to write a Francis X reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Francis Mosses/Milkman x DDD! Gen! Reader

Other: some swearing, shit talking, mentions of injuries, reader is using crutches (caused by the injuries), reference to the red handed doppelganger.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

It had been a long day at work, there were more doppelgangers than usual and it really took a toll on you. A doppelganger even started, about how all this was useless and blah blah blah they'd win anyway. It even fought back, and boy did it put on a fight.

You limped on your bandaged leg as you mainly used your crutches to walk, not your first time to have been injured so badly you had to use crutches. You sighed exhaustedly and you imagined your Husband lightly reprimanding you for being so careless once he got home, you quickly brushed that thought away and went back to focusing on getting home.

As you got to the door man's window, you painstakingly take out your ID and entrance request, the Doorman raised a worried eyebrow at your state.

"Bad day at work?" She asked while examining your ID and entrance request.

"Tell me about it." You only sighed and leaned on the small counter Infront of the window to give your (working) leg a break.

"Everything seems good..." She murmured, "you're good to go."

"Thanks." You thanked her and started walking.

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

You made your way to your shared apartment, letting out a sigh of relief as you jammed the key into the keyhole, twisting to doorknob.

Imagine the shock as your eyes land on your Husband sitting on the couch watching TV, he's usually home late in the afternoon. His head turns to look at you with a slight glimmer in his tired eyes.

You smile softly as he makes his way towards you at the doorway, making notice of your crutches and bandaged leg. The cuts, scratches, and dirt on your clothes and skin didn't go unnoticed either.

"What happened this time..?" Francis asked worriedly. Guiding you to the bathroom to change.

You took your dirtied shirt off as Francis looked away blushing slightly, making his way to the bedroom to get you some clothes.

He arrived soon, still looking away until you gently turned his face to meet you.

Sighing exasperatedly, you softly kissed him on the nose while taking the clothes from his hands, smiling tenderly as you see the ring on his finger.

"I'll tell you after I'm done, thank you Fran."

He simply hummed and looked you up and down, making you smile as a blush tinted your cheeks.

you had a hard time taking your pants and bandages off, that's when you noticed Francis still looking at you, leaning on the doorway with a concerned look on his face.

"Do you... Need any help?" He spoke up, standing up straight and rubbing the back of his neck.

Your eyes softened as you nodded. He made his way over to you to help you stand up, taking care in taking off the rest of your clothing.

His eyes roamed your body, growing more anxious as he takes note of every single scratch and cut. Meanwhile you were nearly falling asleep from his hands gingerly tending to you.

You only woke up from your half asleep state when you heard him speak again.

"Why don't you take a break for a day?" Asked as he turned you around to peck you on the lips, setting you down on the bathtub as he twisted the handle. Checking the temperature and adjusting it according to your liking.

You, once again dozing off. Absentmindedly muttered your answer.

"I should be asking you that." You chuckled softly, turning to look at Francis as he took off his clothes to join you. "Looking good Fran." He blushed.

He scoffed light heartedly as he took a seat behind you so in that way you were sat right in-between his legs with your back facing him.

"Seriously though, you've almost worried me to death. I can't handle seeing you like this, all..." He gestured to your leg as he sighed, applying a good amount of shampoo into your hair and massaging it into your scalp.

"Mmm, don't worry. I've been put on leave for a few weeks. Besides, This isn't the worst I've ever been." You leaned back into him, relishing the touch.

"Why didn't they just send you to stay at the hospital anyway? You would've been better there."

"Because I requested to be sent home, sweetie. I wasn't gonna spend two weeks at the hospital when I could be fine at home."

He washed off your hair and started applying the conditioner, "that's sweet, darling. But you really need to be more careful next time." He kissed the crook of your neck, enjoying the shiver that came from you.

"Hey it's not my fault my job is dangerous." You crossed your arms and exhaled.

"It kinda is, you applied for it after all."

"Fair enough."

He washed the conditioner off then dried your hair using the towels, helping you get out the Bathtub and handing you the towel to wrap yourself in. Doing the same for himself with another towel.

He walked to the bedroom to get himself clothes while you changed in the bathroom with the prepared clothes.

He returned soon after to help you out on the remaining clothes, wrapping some fresh bandages around your wounded leg. Also making sure to compliment your "Magical Ass" along the way.

you two made your way to the bedroom to rest, you immediately flopped down onto the bed which worried Francis. He had barely ever seen you this tired, he was exhausted himself but he can't imagine how tiring your day must've been to have completely drained you of energy.

"You gonna come over here or nah?" You snapped him out of his thoughts. he unfurrowed his eyebrows, not knowing he even did so. Mumbling a quick "sorry" before getting into bed with you.

You immediately grab him and snuggle him much like a child would sleep with their plushie. Despite being injured and all, you we're still very strong. As expected from the lead officer of DDD. he laughed through his nose as he turned to look at you and smiled softly. Kissing your forehead.

"Mind telling me what happened now?" He said, wrapping his arms around you to pull you impossibly closer. Burying his head into your chest. (Y'all can't tell me he ain't a chest man)

You sighed, recounting the events of today.

"We were called for another extermination, thought nothing of it until the stupid thing started talking about how this was useless and they'd just end up 'victorious' anyway." You hugged Francis tighter, letting out a huff of frustration as he hummed to let you know he was listening.

"It ended up getting it's hands on a piece of broken glass and I'm sure you can tell what happened next." You gestured to your leg.

"We called for backup a buncha times but they refused to send more people because apparently I'm a veteran officer and that somehow means everything is fine."

You yawned as you mumbled the last sentence. "Can you believe it Fran?"

"Sounds like the higher ups were being a dick." He replied, enjoying the sensation of your fingers drawing circles and shapes on his back.

"They were." You kissed the top of his head, Francis returned the favour by looking up and kissing the tip of your nose.

"Enough about my day, what about yours?"

Francis hummed, "yknow just the usual, Mara being the massive stick up my ass."

Mara, or Maratha. Was a daily customer Francis wouldn't mind losing, she was really a stinky old bitch, always complaining about nothing and everything at the same time. One of her usual complaints being that "the milk was more watered down than usual!".

"I don't even know why she's saying it to me as if I'm the one milking the cows, I'm just the one delivering it. Say it to my boss why don't ya?"

You snorted, "normal Mara behaviour."

"Normal Mara behaviour." He sighed. "And, there was this girl in that newly renovated building across the road who tried hitting on me?"

"What..?"

"Yeah, i don't even know her name. Told her I was married too but she wouldn't back off. She said something along the lines of 'marriages don't even last long. watch, she'll leave you in a few years.'. " He visibly cringed at the memory.

You laughed at his facial expression, "just because your parents are split doesn't mean others will too."

Francis started laughing with you, wrinkles forming at the edge of his tired eyes. "She didn't even buy milk, saying how they were 'putting microchips and chemicals into the milk.', ridiculous."

As the laughing died down, a comfortable silence settled in the air. Only the sound of your breaths and the occasional beep of a car, the sound of your heartbeat and rustling of the the trees outside.

If only it could stay this way forever, unfortunately though you may not have work, Francis does.

"What a shame, huh? I asked to get sent home instead of the hospital just for you to be at work most of the day. To think there's even some girl hitting on you while I'm not there." You said, eyes slowly closing.

"Mhm, I'll try and ask my boss for a day off tomorrow." He started dozing off, "and if he refuses Ill just put you on the phone."

You smiled triumphantly as you remember that time you had a meeting with his boss.

He looked so Nervous in agreeing for a day off for your husband that it made you wonder what would've been the outcome of you weren't a DDD officer.

"He'll have to accept then huh? Unless he wants to discuss the matter face to face with totally amazing and wonderful me." You joked sarcastically

Francis laughed through his nose, "you got that right dear." he smiled, eyes closed. "Hey, honey?"

"Yes Fran?" You whispered.

"I love you." He slurred, finally falling asleep.

"I love you more." You gave him one last kiss on the head before turning off the lamp and joining him in Dreamland.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Should I make a part two?

A/N: eat up pookies

#Francis Mosses #Francis Mosses x reader #Milkman x reader #thats not my neighbour #thats not my neighbour X reader #milkman thats not my neighbour #Francis Mosses that's not my neighbour #X reader

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mapis-putellas · 5 months ago

Text

𝑹𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒕/𝑩.𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒅

The day started off on a high note for you. It was one of those rare mornings where you woke up feeling genuinely light, like the world had shed some of its weight overnight. The hum of the fridge didn’t bother you. The texture of your favorite jumper felt soft and familiar instead of scratchy and overwhelming. Even the rain tapping against the windows sounded more like a rhythm than a distraction.

Beth, however, wasn’t her usual self. Normally, she’d greet you with a teasing grin, pulling you into a hug and pressing kisses to your cheek. But today, her posture was slouched and her usual sparkling blue eyes seemed dull.

“Morning,” you said brightly as you bounced on your toes near the kitchen counter, watching her sip her tea.

“Morning,” she replied, barely looking at you.

You tilted your head, studying her for a moment. You weren’t always great at picking up emotions, but even you could tell something wasn’t right. Still, you didn’t press. Beth wasn’t one to bottle things up for long, and if she needed to talk, she would.

Instead, you decided to focus on your rare good mood, hoping some of your energy might rub off on her.

“I was reading about leafcutter ants this morning,” you started, your voice bubbling with excitement. “Did you know they use the leaves to grow fungus? They can’t actually eat the leaves -they’re just farmers! Isn’t that amazing?”

Beth didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on her tea. You took her silence as an invitation to continue, bouncing slightly as you spoke.

“And their colonies are huge, Beth. Like, millions of ants! And they’re so organized. They’ve got these tiny highways, and they even have guards to protect them from predators.”

“Mm-hmm,” Beth muttered, her tone distracted.

You frowned slightly but pushed on, determined to cheer her up. “And there’s this one type of butterfly that’s evolved to mimic ant larvae so it can live in the nest. The ants actually take care of it, thinking it’s one of their own!”

“Can you stop?”

Her words were sharp and unexpected, slicing through your excitement like a knife. You froze, your hands halfway through a gesture to explain the butterfly’s mimicry.

Beth sighed, setting her tea down with more force than necessary. “I mean it. Just… shut up for a bit, yeah? I can’t deal with this right now.”

Her tone was clipped, her voice tinged with irritation, and it hit you like a physical blow. Your arms dropped to your sides, and the bouncing that had accompanied your words came to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t meet her eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Beth didn’t say anything else, her silence echoing louder than her words ever could. You turned quickly, retreating to the safety of your shared bedroom.

Once inside, you closed the door behind you and crawled under the duvet, pulling it tightly around yourself like a cocoon. The warmth was a small comfort, but it did little to stem the flood of emotions swirling in your chest. You felt silly, embarrassed, and most of all, ashamed.

The things you shared with Beth, the endless stream of facts and curiosities that made up so much of who you were, had always brought her joy. She’d tease you for your “insect obsession,” but her smile and laughter told you she loved it. Except for today.

You curled up tighter, the covers muffling the sound of your uneven breathing. Your fingers itched to graze over something soft -Beth’s skin, usually- but you didn’t dare go back to her now.

Time passed slowly, and you stayed hidden beneath the duvet, your mind replaying the moment over and over again. You barely heard the soft knock on the door.

“Love?” Beth’s voice was quiet, hesitant.

You didn’t respond, unsure if you even could.

The door creaked open, and you felt the mattress dip as Beth sat beside you. Her hand hesitated before resting gently on your shoulder, the touch tentative.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

You didn’t move, your face still buried in the pillow.

Beth sighed, shifting to lay beside you. She tugged the duvet back just enough to slip underneath, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“You didn’t deserve that,” she continued, her voice soft but firm. “I’m having a bad day, and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You sniffled, finally turning your head to look at her. Her eyes were filled with regret, her brows knitted together in concern.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

Beth’s face crumpled, and she pulled you closer, tucking your head under her chin. “You always make me happy,” she said fiercely. “I was just being an idiot. None of this is your fault.”

Her words were a balm, but the sting of the earlier moment still lingered. You stayed silent, letting her hold you as you tried to sort through your jumbled emotions.

Beth pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering. “I love hearing about your ants and your butterflies and whatever else you’re excited about. Don’t stop telling me, okay?”

You nodded slowly, your fingers creeping up under her shirt to rest against the soft skin of her back. The familiar sensation grounded you, and you felt your breathing start to even out.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of uncertainty. Even as Beth’s arms stayed firmly wrapped around you on the couch, a warmth that should have comforted you, your body felt stiff and hesitant, your mind playing on a loop of her earlier words.

Shut up.

You replayed the moment in your head over and over again, analyzing every detail, every nuance of her tone, even as you knew it would only make your chest tighten further. It wasn’t just the words themselves. It was the way they had stripped away the small confidence you’d built in sharing your world with her.

Beth’s head rested against your shoulder, her fingers absently tracing patterns on your thigh. Normally, you would have responded in some way -leaned into her, placed a hand over hers, or even tucked her closer. But now, you just sat there, frozen, your eyes fixed on the muted television screen.

“You okay, love?” Beth’s voice was soft, cautious, but even that wasn’t enough to undo the knot in your stomach.

You nodded quickly, your gaze darting to her for only a moment before returning to the screen.

She shifted beside you, sitting up a little straighter. “Sure? You’ve gone quiet on me.”

Your hands instinctively pulled at the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, the fabric soft between your fingers as you bit down gently on the cuff. It was a habit Beth had seen countless times before, but the added bounce of your leg gave you away.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the waver in your voice betrayed you.

Beth frowned, her hand moving to rest on your knee in an attempt to still its movement. You flinched ever so slightly at the contact, and her frown deepened.

“Talk to me,” she urged gently, her thumb stroking over the fabric of your leggings.

You shook your head, swallowing hard. Your chest felt too tight, your throat too constricted to form any proper words.

Beth sighed softly, leaning back into the couch. “You’re still upset, aren’t you?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. You didn’t want to upset her further, didn’t want to say the wrong thing. But the silence stretched too long, and you felt her shift again, this time pulling away slightly.

“Hey,” she said, her voice firmer now. “Don’t do that thing where you go quiet on me. Please.”

“I’m not,” you replied quickly, though it was a lie and you both knew it.

Beth exhaled sharply, and though she didn’t say anything, the sound made your shoulders tense. You bit harder on your sleeve, your teeth sinking into the fabric as you fought to keep your emotions in check.

She didn’t push further, and the silence that followed felt unbearably heavy.

Dinner was equally strained. Beth had offered to cook, her way of making up for earlier, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept the gesture fully. Instead, you sat at the kitchen table, your hands tucked under your thighs as you watched her move about the space.

Normally, you’d be beside her, stealing bites of whatever she was making and asking a million questions about the recipe-or, more likely, telling her about a new book you’d read or an interesting fact you’d discovered. But now, you barely said a word, your focus entirely on the way her blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she worked.

Beth glanced at you a few times, her brows furrowed, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she slid a plate in front of you once everything was ready, her expression softening as she sat across from you.

“Eat up,” she said, her tone light but watchful.

You nodded, picking up your fork and poking at the food without much enthusiasm.

“You don’t like it?” she asked after a moment, her voice laced with worry.

“No, it’s good,” you replied quickly, though you didn’t take a bite to prove it.

Beth watched you for a long moment, her fork paused midway to her mouth. “You’re still biting your sleeve.”

Your hand froze, the fabric of her hoodie still pressed to your lips. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, dropping your hand to your lap.

“Don’t apologize,” Beth said immediately, her voice soft. “I’m just… worried about you. I hate seeing you like this.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on your plate as you tried to will your leg to stop bouncing under the table.

Beth sighed, setting her fork down. “I know I upset you earlier, and I’m so sorry for that. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was in a mood, and I took it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

You nodded faintly, still not looking at her.

“Love, please.” Her voice cracked slightly, and it made your chest ache.

Finally, you glanced up, meeting her gaze for only a second before looking away again. “I’m fine,” you said quietly, though it was clear to both of you that you weren’t.

Beth reached across the table, her fingers brushing against yours. You flinched again, pulling your hand back instinctively.

The hurt in her eyes was immediate, and you felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made your stomach churn.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at her then, really looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her expression. She was trying. She always tried. But you couldn’t shake the lingering fear that had taken root in your chest.

“I don’t want to annoy you again,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Beth’s eyes widened, and she immediately stood, rounding the table settle on your lap. She cupped your face gently, her thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had started to fall.

“You could never annoy me,” she said firmly, her blue eyes locking onto yours. “I was being a grumpy cow earlier, and I snapped, but that’s on me—not you. I love everything about you, okay? Especially the way you get excited about things and want to share them with me. That’s one of my favorite things about you.”

You searched her face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for.

Beth shook her head, pulling you into a hug. “Don’t be. Just… don’t stop being you, yeah? I don’t want you to feel like you have to hold back around me.”

You clung to her, your arms wrapping tightly around her waist as you buried your face in her shoulder. Her fingers ran soothingly through your hair, and for the first time that day, you felt yourself start to relax.

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