#if you didn't know what to look for you'd miss it

[szatears]

comfort zone, modernau!smoke.

summary: just smoke spoiling his girl.

pairing: modernau!smoke x fem!black reader

warnings: some descriptions of reader, cunnilingus, also munch!smoke because we all deserve it.

notes: this sinners brainrot will not leave me alone and i love it !!! also we hit 100 followers after just a couple days... i love you all so bad 🫶🏾

It was around 6 in the evening when Smoke came home to you. He'd been away in Atlanta for two days, a business trip as usual. You knew what he did, the type of people he worked with and what that came with. You didn't really care because at the end of the day, the most important thing to you was your relationship with him.

Everyone knew him as Smoke, but to you he was just Elijah. As soon as he walked through the huge doors to your shared home, he stopped being Smoke and Elijah came out instead.

Whenever he was away, you'd usually occupy yourself with something just fine. Going out with your girls, catching up on your own work, visiting family and so on. Anything to help take missing him off of your mind.

Today, as you waited for Smoke to come back, you decided to get a manicure. A little touch up on your nails could never hurt. It didn't take too long either, a half hour drive there and back in just under two hours. God, did you love your nail tech.

You had them done blue, Smoke's favourite colour on you.

You lounged around the house waiting for him, your only other companion being the small rottweiler puppy that Smoke had gifted to you. He whined as you patted him, rolling over next to you.

"I know, baby, daddy's coming home soon." You frowned, scratching behind his floppy ears.

The sound of keys turning in the door had those floppy ears turning straight real quick. Before you could even turn your head to the door, your puppy was already there, scratching at the back of it whilst Smoke attempted to get through.

"Man, move───" he muttered, trying to get through with a bunch of shopping bags and a puppy nipping at his legs.

You smiled, a part of you exhaling a sigh of relief that he'd come back to you in one piece.

It was never easy to see Smoke leave, the thought of him never coming back to you was always looming over your head. But just like he always reassured you he would, he came back seemingly fine.

You walked towards them, Smoke's facial features gradually relaxing at the sight of you. "Hi," you spoke smoothly, your arms around his neck as you pulled his face towards yours, kissing his lips.

You took a moment to run your hands over his body, the black compression shirt that he wire doing wonders for him. It always drove you crazy.

"Hey, baby," he kissed you back, dropping the bags gently on the floor giving his hands space to grab at your ass. "You been good?"

"Mhm," you answered, letting your nails scratch gently at the back of his neck. That always did the trick. You looked down at the puppy by your feet, breaking away to pick him up. He was getting heavier as each day went by.

You held him up to Smoke's face. "Say hi to your son, Elijah."

"That ugly ass thing ain't my son," he kissed his teeth, waving you off as he started moving the bags into the living room.

Laughing, you carried your puppy to its playpen, giving you snd Smoke some peace of mind for now.

You came back to find him emptying his pocket contents on the coffee table: gun, wallet, keys, and stacks of money. Instead of putting the money on the table with the rest of his stuff, he walked over to you.

He pulled the strap of the tank top that you wore, using it to tuck the money into your bra.

"What's this for?" you smiled, looking up at him. He was always giving you money randomly, various amounts for various reasons.

"For looking pretty," he kissed your cheek. "That's for you too," he nodded his head towards all the shopping bags that he brought in.

Your eyes followed to the bags, feeling so much appreciation overwhelm you. Smoke's love languages were most definitely gift giving and acts of service; he would use any and every opportunity to spoil you, but the minute you bought anything for him, he'd be telling you off for spending your money on him.

"You didn't have to," you pouted, sitting on his lap as you kissed all over his face. "You spoil me too much, I don't even have space for it all."

"I don't spoil you enough," He mumbled, kissing you back. "Come on, do your lil' try on thing you always do for me." He tapped the back of your thigh.

You giggled, "You mean a haul?"

"Yeah, that."

And that you did. Smoke had gotten you bags, clothes, lingerie, new makeup products... things you already had but according to him, could never have enough of.

You tried on each item, except for the lingerie. You said you wanted to surprise him with it another day, and he wasn't complaining.

At the end of your haul, Smoke helped you put everything away, making a comment to himself about having to expand your walk in wardrobe.

Now you two lay on the bed, cuddled up as a random show was on the TV. You loved moments like these, when he was yours. Not the rough Smoke that everyone else knew him as, but as your soft and loving boyfriend.

"You good?" Smoke stopped rubbing his hand gently on your body when he noticed you let out a sigh.

"I'm more than good," you smiled dreamily, like you were drunk just off of his affection.

He took your word for it, lifting your body onto his. His hands wrapped around your lower back whilst your chin rested on his chest, looking right at him.

"You know I love you, right?" He said.

"Yeah. I love you too."

Smoke smiled, his large hands squeezing at your ass. "And I love this ass too."

"You can never stay serious, can you?" You laughed, reaching back to move his hands. Instead, he flipped the two of you so he was now on too, your hands pinned on either side of your head.

"You know damn well how serious I can be."

And that you did. There was only a handful of times when Smoke had gotten serious with you, times when he was more Smoke than Elijah with you. One of the things he loved most about you was that you brought out the side of him that didn't immediately resort to violence, the one that still had hope that he could be loved like he once thought.

He leaned down, kissing you gently, softly. You kissed him back, your hand pulling his head even closer, nails grazing over his low cut. He caught a flash of blue as he pulled back from the kiss, removing a hand from your side to look at your hand properly.

"Look at you repping me," he teased you, running his fingers over your nails.

"Had to let 'em know," you shrugged.

"Damn straight," he mumbled against your lips. He could never get enough of you, you were like a drug to him.

He kissed from your lips down your neck, to your collarbone, nipping and sucking as he went. He loved marking you, you don't know when it started but you knew sure as hell it wasn't gonna stop.

Smoke let his runs run all over you, until you tugged at his shirt, frowning. "Why you poutin', baby?" He tilted his head, knowing the answer but wanting to drag it out of you.

"Take it off," you said.

"Yes ma'am."

As he pulled his shirt off, you watched on, smiling at your man's toned body. You let your hands rake over his abs as he leaned back down to you. "Your turn," he tapped your side.

You sat up a bit, pulling down the straps of your tank top before taking it off, no bra underneath. Smoke wasted no time, latching onto your breasts before you could even lay back down.

You let out a loud moan, like you haven't felt his touch in ages. Whilst he worked on your breasts, sucking and biting, he let his hand slide inside the shorts you wore, grazing over your clothed pussy. He could feel how wet you were just from a few touches.

"Fat ma missed me, huh?" he joked. You kissed your teeth, groaning as he rubbed gently.

"Elijah... do something," you moaned.

"Aight, baby, lift up for me." he took your shorts off when you lifted your hips, along with your panties. He settled in between your legs, lying down so he was face to face with your seeping pussy. He looked at you, knowing he was absolutely about to devour you.

The first lick had you throwing your head back, your thighs immediately closing around Smoke's head. If he could've died right then, he would've died a very happy man.

As he licked up and down, sucking your clit, you writhed underneath him, struggling to stay still with how he was doing you.

He gripped your hips, forcing you to stay in one spot. "If you keep moving, I'ma stop." he mumbled with his lips still on you, sending vibrations through your body.

You nodded, knowing he was dead serious about that. One thing about sex with Smoke? The overstimulation was real.

He continued to lick bold stripes up and down your fold, kissing at deeply as he went. You could feel that coil deep in you about to snap, your whimpers and moans getting louder as Smoke used his fingers to rub your clit.

"Fuck, baby, I'm almost─── Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" you moaned as you came, but Smoke still didn't let up, lapping up all your juices as you rode out your high.

You panted, trying to push his head away, already feeling like you could tap out. But when he looked at you, his moustache and goatee coated in your cum, you knew this was only the start.

"You boutta tap out on me? Hm?" he asked.

You shook your head, guiding him back to your folds. You felt his smirk on you, his lips going back to doing what they did best.

You always did love when he came home to you.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hellooo may I request an MLM fairy tale-esque story of a knight trying to save a prince from a sorcerer's spell, but the cunning sorcerer tries to enthrall him as well? ✨️✨️

"Why did you come?"

"Where is he?"

"Duty?" the sorcerer offered.

"Where. Is. He?"

"I hope it was not love," the sorcerer said. His head tilted. "You once vowed you'd never fall in love with someone like him. A parasite of royal blood."

He's different. But there was no good way to say that, not to them.

The knight came to a stop before the twisted imitation of the throne. It was closer to smoke and dreams than the gold plated seat in the grand hall that he knew so well these days, but the sorcerer lounged upon it as if it were all the same. Just as real.

"It doesn't matter why I'm here." The knight drew his blade, heart hammering. "I'm here. I'll cut you through to get to him, if that is what it takes."

The sorcerer's lip curled. "Spoken like a true knight."

"Well, you steal princes like a true evil sorcerer, so I suppose we both know our roles these days."

"You have either forgotten yourself or betrayed yourself," the sorcerer said, "and I'm truly not sure which possibility is worth."

It stung. Maybe it was even true.

"The kingdom needs him. Let him go."

"You are enthralled in the services of a man who loves you like a tic loves blood." The sorcerer's gaze drilled into the knight. "How else could he or any of them ask you to fight me for them? To die for him?"

The knight took a step closer, then another, and it felt too easy to press the silver shine of the blade against the sorcerer's throat. "Let. Him. Go."

The sorcerer smiled. "Why did you come?"

"You know why." The knight's voice cracked.

The sorcerer was quiet for a moment, before they offered more of their throat to the blade. "Then spill my blood across the floor and claim your prize, knight. You know how to break an enchantment, don't you?"

The knight's eyes narrowed. The sorcerer's gleamed in the moonlight, haunted and haunting, enchanted and enchanting - nothing like the world beyond the castle, where day still shone and princes were missing.

They were still, despite everything, not something that the knight wanted to kill.

"Go on." The sorcerer's voice lilted through him, sweet and cruel as a childhood memory. "Do your duty. You know it, don't you? Why cling to this small fragment of who you used to be, to me? You are his now."

His. For him.

The knight's head felt misty, like the fog of magic, of the whole cursed place, was seeping into them like damp.

He slit the sorcerer's throat.

Then, in an instant, it was not the sorcerer in front of him at all. It was the prince, his prince. An illusion shattered, blood-choked, familiar eyes filling with colour as the thrall of enchantment cleared from them.

"No!" The knight lunged for him, to catch him, to somehow reverse what he had unknowingly done. He peppered kisses to the prince's sweaty hair, exposing himself utterly, as his love and his duty looked at him with the sort of pleading that could have been it's okay or I forgive you but was ultimately far more terrible than how could you. "No," the knight said. "No, please. I'm sorry - I didn't - I thought -"

The sorcerer laughed. They appeared from behind the throne, winding out of the mist like a serpent. The magic changed the palace to an altar, as shadowy as the last setting had been but for the stained glass vibrant and bloody behind them.

The prince whimpered and crumpled on nothing, on air, landing on his knees. He clutched at the knight's hands. He squeezed, some morse code that wouldn't make it past his cleanly ruined throat.

"Now," the sorcerer murmured, "tell me what you would do, my knight, to save him?"

The trap was clear enough, but still the knight said it. "Anything."

"You would give yourself to me instead?"

"Anything. Just let them go, unharmed."

"I would enthrall you. Turn you inside out until I can see all the stitches of you and rework them in my image."

The prince shook his head against the knight's neck. He wheezed. His weak grip flexed and tightened.

"I said anything," the knight spat.

"Then everything," the sorcerer said, "I will have."

As the magic slid over them all, the knight had just enough in them to register one final command, to feel their true surroundings come into focus beneath the spell of it all.

"Put our prince in the tower, my knight," the sorcerer said. "I'll let him go, unharmed....eventually."

The knight did as he was told.

He did his duty.

[moyathermopolis]

thankful 18+

agnes o’connor x reader

pairing: agnes o’connor x female reader warning: smut, age gap, boss’s daughter, daddy kink, choking, thigh riding, 18+ word count: 1.2k

the atmosphere buzzed with life and excitement, it felt like the whole city was in your house for your dad's surprise retirement party. you came home from grad school just be to here for his special moment, he'd been the chief of westview police for over thirty years now, so you couldn't miss his send off. you'd been away for three years now, studying veterinary science in georgia on scholarship. leaving westview was your greatest accomplishment and you only came back when it was absolutely necessary.

"sweetie," your mom placed her hand over yours, squeezing it gently, "you remember detective o'connor right?" she asked with the cheesiest smile on her face.

you looked past her, staring at the flannel wearing woman, she had a permanent scowl on her face but you had come to realize that was just agnes. you were very familiar with the older woman, in fact you two got well-acquainted in your undergrad years during your rebellious phase. she never ratted you out to your parents or collared you and you were very thankful for that.

"uh yeah, i do."

"would you mind going with agnes to her house and getting the rest of your father's gifts? it completely slipped my mind that i asked her to hide some of them there."

a wide smile spread across your cherry-colored glossed lips, "of course mom, i'd love too." the wheels immediately started to turn in your head, this was the perfect opportunity to make your move.

"great! you two hurry so you can make it back in time, okay?"

"got it, mrs. chief." agnes pulled her keys out of her cargo pants and led the way to her car.

you followed behind her silently, admiring her broad shoulders and the sway of her hips. it was about a 30 minute drive to her house on the other side of town and you two didn't make much conversation. it was unnerving to you, especially since you had a small crush on agnes. you stole glances at her, observing her stoic expression, pouty lips, and the way her knuckles turned white from how hard she was gripping the steering wheel.

biting your lip, you thought about how her large hands would feel roaming over your body, touching your most sensitive parts. would she pin you down and have her way with you roughly? or was she the gentle type? you fidgeted in the front seat next to her thinking about it, squeezing your thighs together while playing with your fingers in your lap.

"you okay over there doll?" she snorted, looking over at you.

you gave the older woman a smile as she pulled into her driveway, "just peachy." the two of you made your way inside and agnes left you alone as she went to retrieve the gifts. you looked around her home, approving of the rustic vibe it gave off, hues of brown, green, and orange coated the room. it was a huge house and you couldn't believe she lived here all alone.

"this is all of them." agnes grumbled, stumbling while carrying at least 5 wrapped gifts, it didn't surprise you that your mom went a little overboard.

"can i talk to you agnes?"

"right now? we need to get back to the party."

"it has to be now, it won't take long, i promise."

"uhh, okay." she set the boxes down and walked around the couch to sit down, you followed her lead sitting dangerously close, your knees rubbing against one another. "what did you need to talk about?"

"i've never thanked you properly for what you did for me all those years ago"

"what did i do for you?"

"come on agnes, you know. you could have gotten me in real trouble back then, i wasn't a minor and i was committing real crimes-"

"petty crimes."

"the point is, you didn't rat me out or arrest me or tell anyone. why? why did you do that for me?"

she rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks flushed as she bit her lip. "i figured you were just having a  rebellious phase, you know? been a good kid all your life, you just wanted a taste of the bad life, am i right?"

"yeah," you nodded, "i still do." you moved in, making your move as you pressed your lips to her soft pouty ones. your eyes fluttered close, your mouth moving over hers until she pushed you off.

"whoa, whoa! what are you doing?!" agnes yelled, flying off the couch and standing as far away from you as possible.

she was clearly flustered but it only turned you on more. you pouted, getting up and walking over to her. your voice was dipped in honey as you ran your fingers over the front of her flannel lightly, gazing into her crystal blue eyes. "i'm thanking you. you were good to me and i want to be good to you."

"your dad is my boss..."

"not for long." you cradled her face in your soft hands, pulling her lips to yours again. this time you slipped your tongue inside of her mouth, moaning and pulling on her blue flannel like a feral kitten. she sucked on your tongue like a lollipop and you couldn't stop the smirk forming on your lips. she wanted you too.

suddenly, you were being whipped around, your shoulder blades pressed firmly against the green walls. you yelped when agnes slipped her thigh in between your legs, gripping your waist firmly. "you don't want this."

"i do want this, i've wanted this for so long agnes." you whimpered, grinding down on her thigh like a horny degenerate. you bit your lip, gazing into her eyes as you pulled your cropped shirt over your full breasts. you hooked your fingers under the wire of your bra and pulled it up as well. agnes' tongue ran over her bottom lip as she grunted in approval, she took your lips in a passionate kiss, moving your hips back and forth over her toned thigh. you moaned out in ecstasy, feeling yourself getting wet from the stimulation on your clit.

she wrapped one hand around your throat and palmed your breast, twisting your hard nipples between her fingers. "f-fuck agnes, choke me harder please."

"you dirty little bitch." she sneered at you, obliging your request, agnes nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth. you slipped your hand into her pants finding her cunt, you spread her slick lips apart grinning in her mouth. her throaty voice rang through your ears, "fuuuuuck doll."

"i wanna be your fuck doll agnes." you whimpered desperately, starting to rub harsh circles around her throbbing clit as you rutted against her thigh. she matched your movements, sliding her thigh back and forth squeezing at your neck. you cried out, rubbing and pinching your own nipples frantically. “ahhh fuck, feels so good.”

“you like the way i touch you? you want more?”

“fuck yes! more, i need more agnes.”

agnes abruptly pulled herself from you and you gasped out in shock, flustered and upset she didn’t finish you off. “we need to get back to the house,” she stated plainly, fixing up her clothes and retrieving the forgotten gifts that were on the floor near the couch. you were dumbfounded, and felt completely empty from the loss of contact. “let’s go doll.” she ordered, walking out of the house.

“what a tease.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

how'd they react to being peppered in kisses or just being loved on in general.

dante

he's giddy and all warm inside as you pepper his face in kisses, this was how Dante wanted his life to be like, just you and him being happy, never having to worry that anything will tear you two apart as all the dangers would've dissapeared through unexplained means.

you brought him alot of joy and love in his life that he sometimes felt like he couldn't truly give back to you as meaningful as you could, and yet that didn't stop him from reciporcating your kisses with kisses of his own; with him holding your face within his hands and peppering kisses across your face as you tried to get away from his slightly sloppy affection with poorly concealed laughter.

he loves being given affection and giving affection also, it acted like a silent way to say i love you in a way, a way to reassure the other that they were there and that the love was still very much alive without ever having to use words to do so. being a demon hunter was one thing when he was on his own, but now he had you, dante couldn't help but be a bit more caucious during missions -despite being able to heal rather quickly in thanks to his demonic heritage- all in hopes of coming home back to you and living his dream in a somewhat domestic afternoon with you.

so dante wouldn't miss a moment of your kisses and affections for anything as it was everything he's ever lived for.

vergil

he's riggid at first, not having been use to given affection so freely, so without judgement since he was a little kid; needless to say Vergil was unsure of how to approach your affection. this isn't to say he didn't like your kisses and affection, he does but has a hard time saying so as his feelings towards his human side, having seen everything associated with it as weak and not worth his time indulging.

however this only made Vergil wish he did at least read something that would've better helped him to know what to do at the very least, after all he was inclined on his demonic heritage and all it entitled, so when you kissed his cheek all you'd get it is an awkard side eye from him as his mind raced on what is an apropriate reaction.

which was a soft, almost missable purr coming from the back of his throat.

now while he may suck with his words, his actions spoke otherwise as he would show that he wasn't as emotionally stiffled as he might physically appears to be. i'm talking poems that go into great depth on how your kisses and affection made him feel light on his feet, how it made him feel like he wasn't entierly capable of destruction, that he was safe and that he never had to look over his shoulder when he was with you; for you were his safe haven and while affection maybe something he has slow to warm up to, his actions told another story that said that the blue demon had a heart.

white rabbit

he's finding it all endearing and adorable as he pratically bathed in your kisses and affection that he once would've batted away without thinking twice. his life has been an harsh ans unforgiving one to say the least, so when you give him kisses or any form of affection was treated as though it was something saccred and rare.

for kindness and open mindedness wasn't something he was greeted with often unless it was your own, and even then rabbit never once took it for granted as he was uncomfortably aware of just how easily someone as good as you would be taken away wtihin a blink on an eye. unfair as life itself tended to often be.

he even indulges with affection of his own in some occasions, never wanting you to be without affection that you give so freely and without another word of complaint of going without. kissing your hand and forehead as often as you did with him, taking pleasure in how you'd smile afterwards and lean into his lips, equally as happy as he was with you.

[starkeyslibrary]

STILL YOURS

sypnosis: When Rafe Cameron left chasing bigger dreams, he never thought he'd lose her along the way. Years later, fate — and one reckless basketball game — brings them back together, but old scars make second chances harder to earn. They aren't the same kids who once promised forever — but maybe this time, love won't have to wait.

pairing: you x rafe cameron

word count: 8.7k

basketballplayer!rafecameron x nurse!reader

Rafe Cameron was feeling himself.

Fresh off a win, city lights glittering outside the stadium, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. The crowd loved him. His bank accounts loved him. And he loved the way people looked at him - like he was invincible, untouchable, something more than human.

Especially tonight.

After the game, his teammate Jordan had taken a nasty hit - nothing too serious, just some bruised ribs but enough that the team doc wanted him checked out at the nearest hospital just to be safe.

Rafe came along for the ride, mostly out of loyalty, partly out of boredom.

He strolled into the ER with his hoodie up.

And then he saw you.

Across the room, standing at the nurse's station, scrolling through a chart. Hair up in a messy bun. Scrubs hugging your curves. Smirking at something the nurse beside you said - that quick, sharp smile he remembered like a goddamn punch to the gut.

Rafe froze.

No fucking way. You? Here?

The girl who used to patch up his scraped knees and roast him for missing free throws?

The girl he hadn't seen in years, not since he blew out of your shared hometown without looking back. He didn't even think. Didn't stop to question it.

He strode across the room like a man possessed, cocky grin sliding onto his face like armor.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter, blocking your view. "If it isn't my favorite nurse."

You looked up, a polite, professional smile already in place, the kind you probably gave to every annoying patient.

Than you actually registered who it was.

Your eyes flickered over him - tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos snaking up his arms and then flicked away like he was nothing special.

"No visitors past this point" you said crisply, barely glancing at him.

Rafe blinked.

You knew exactly who he was. He could see it. You just... didn't care.

And holy shit, if that didn't make something tighten painfully in his chest.

He laughed, flashing that grin that usually had people tripping over themselves.

"Come on, you don't even say hello?" he teased, voice low, coaxing. "It's me, baby."

You raised a brow. "Baby? You been dropped on your head recently, Cameron?"

Jordan, behind him, choked on a laugh. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "I like her already."

Rafe ignored him, laser-focused on you.

"You work here?" he asked, folding his arms, tattoos flexing. "Since when?"

You shrugged, flipping a page in the chart, completely unfazed. "Since I decided I deserved better than small-town bullshit."

He grinned wider, loving and hating how you didn't fawn over him. "Better than me, you mean."

You looked him deadly in the eye. Cool. Flat. Deadly.

"You were never on the list."

Jordan wheezed in the background.

Rafe's smirk faltered, just a hair, but he masked it with a low chuckle.

Damn, you were good.

You turned to Jordan without missing a beat. "You the one with the bruised ribs?"

"Yeah," Jordan said, still grinning. "Not broken though, right?"

"Probably just bruised," you confirmed, professional now. "But we'll do a quick scan to be safe. Come with me."

He stood there, reeling.

For the first time in a long, long while, Rafe Cameron didn't know what the hell to do.

FLASHBACK TO WHEN IT ALL FELL APART

It wasn't always like this between you and Rafe.

There was a time, back before the fame, the pressure of being an NBA star, and the endless media coverage - when you were everything to him. Well, almost everything. You'd grown up together, inseperable, sharing secrets and dreams of what the future could hold. He'd never been the cocky athlete, just Rafe, your best friend.

But as soon as he got drafted, everything started to shift. It was gradual at first. Small things, like his texts coming fewer and farther between. The way he started cancelling plans, promising to make it up to you and never doing it. But you didn't think much of it at first - he was busy, right? He was going to be famous, and you were happy for him.

Until one day, you realized that the only time he reached out was when he needed something. When it wasn't about you, it was about him. His schedule, his career, his life. Your texts and calls started going unanswered for days, sometimes weeks. It wasn't like the old Rafe. The one who'd always made time for you, who'd showed up when you needed him.

It happened after that last phone call. The one where you'd finally had enough.

"Rafe, we need to talk," you said, your voice tight with frustration.

It had been a month since you'd last heard from him, and now, you were standing in your apartment, staring at his name on your phone screen as it rang for the third time that week.

You loved him. You did. But he wasn't the same anymore. You weren't even sure you liked the person he was becoming.

You hit "answer" and put the phone to your ear, heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey," his voice was thick, like he'd just woken up. "Sorry I missed your call."

"Yeah, well, you've been missing a lot of calls lately," you shot back. The frustration in your chest was starting to boil over, but you were trying to keep it cool. "It's been weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And I haven't heard from you once. You know, you could've at least tried to reach out."

There was a pause on the other end, like he didn't really know how to respond. Finally, he spoke again, his tone quieter. "I know. I've been... busy."

"Busy?" you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "That's all you've got for me? Busy? You're busy being a superstar, and I'm supposed to just sit around and wait for you?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sounding defensive. "It's just... everything's changed, Y/N. I didn't think you'd understand."

“No, I don’t understand,” you said, your voice rising now. “You used to make time for me. You used to care about me. But now? Now you’ve got a hundred people demanding your attention, and I’m just some background noise. I’m not gonna be a part of your life when it’s convenient, Rafe.”

You could hear him sigh on the other end. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want things to change, but they have. I didn't mean to push you away."

“Well, you did,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “And now it feels like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

There was a long silence, and for a moment, you thought he might say something — something that would make it better. Something that would make you believe he cared. But then, the truth of it hit you. The truth you’d been avoiding for weeks.

He wasn’t the same Rafe anymore.

The next few days were a blur of heartbreak and anger. You tried to reach out to him again. Texts. Calls. But each time, it felt like a slap in the face. His replies were short, delayed, or non-existent.

And you couldn’t help it. You felt yourself slipping. The Rafe who used to be your best friend, the guy who told you everything, had disappeared. And in his place was a stranger who only remembered you when it was convenient.

The final nail in the coffin came when you saw the pictures.

It was late one night when you scrolled through your social media feed, your heart already heavy from the way things had been going. You should’ve known better than to check, but there it was: Rafe, front and center, surrounded by his new teammates, flashing that signature smirk that made every camera in the room snap photos.

And there was a girl beside him. Pretty, tall, blonde, all smiles, laughing up at him like she was the only person in the world.

You stared at the picture for a long time. The caption was simple: "The squad’s all here. Couldn’t have made it without these guys."

But it wasn’t the picture that stung. It was the realization that Rafe had already moved on. He was already living the life he wanted, and you weren’t even a blip on his radar anymore. The girl in the picture wasn’t you. It never would be again.

That’s when you made the decision.

You stopped calling. You stopped texting. You stopped waiting.

You moved on.

LATER

He waited.

Of course he waited.

Sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room, cap pulled low over his eyes, ignoring the people sneaking glances at him.

He waited until you finally walked back out, clipboard tucked under your arm.

Rafe shot up, following you down the hall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called, catching up easily. “Hold up.”

You kept walking.

He grabbed your wrist – gently, spinning you to face him.

You glared up at him, unimpressed.

Now, standing in front of him - the man who once meant everything to you - you had to fight the urge to crumble. Your heart was still scarred from the way he'd slipped away so easily. The way he'd left you in the dust when he got what he wanted, like you didn't matter.

"I didn't know you were here," Rafe said, voice quieter but still laced with that trademark arrogance, like he couldn't quite believe you'd slipped past his radar.

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly make a habit of checking in." You replied harshly, arms crossing over your chest.

He took a lazy step closer, and even though the fluorescent hospital lights weren't exactly forgiving, he still managed to look good enough to ruin a life. Hoodie still up, cap pulled low, but his eyes burning into yours like you were the only person in the room.

You raised your chin, refusing to let him rattle you.

"You were busy," you added with a shrug, the casualness in your voice undercut by pounding of your heart. "Busy being Rafe Cameron: NBA star, city legend, certified heartbreaker."

He chuckled low under his breath, the sound rich and smug. God, he was annoying. God, you hated that part of you still loved it.

"You forgot devastatingly handsome," he said with a wink, stepping even closer.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. "Must've slipped my mind."

Before he could answer, Jordan limped out of one of the side rooms, a grin splitting his face when he spotted you both.

Jordan was cleared. He was fine.

"Hey, Y/N", Jordan called, patting his side. "You fixed me up good. Still breathing. Thanks."

You offered him a smirk. "Miracles happen every day."

Jordan laughed and clapped Rafe on the shoulder. "You ready, man?"

"Yeah," Rafe said easily, but he didn't look at Jordan. His eyes were glued to you.

Jordan noticed, and with a knowing smirk, he started hobblin toward the exit on his own. "I'll be in the car," he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "Try not to get kicked out."

You shook your head. "Your friend's gonna need another trip here if he keeps playing wingman for you."

Rafe grinned, undeterred. If anything, he looked even more pleased.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, voice dropping a little lower, just for you. “Won’t be the last.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, to remind him exactly how badly he’d screwed up – but he beat you to it.

“I am not giving up,” Rafe said, and suddenly, there was steel under all that cockiness. “Not this time. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You stared at him, heart thudding.

“You say that now,” you said, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “But give it a week. Maybe two. You’ll be back to your busy, superstar life. Just like before.”

He smiled – slow, lazy and infuriatingly confident.

“Yeah?” he said, cocking his head. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

You huffed a laugh under your breath, because goddammit – he was so annoying. And so gorgeous. And he wasn’t backing down.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered.

He grinned wider, reaching out to tug gently at a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your bun.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, bold as hell. “Still the best thing I’ve ever seen in this city.”

You glared at him. “Flattery’s not gonna work.”

He just chuckled, stepping back like he had all the time in the world. Like he already knew the game wasn’t over. Not even close.

“See you around, Trouble,” he said, backing toward the exit, hands in his pockets, cap low over his eyes again. “And don’t bother changing your number. You know I’ll still find you.”

Trouble.

He hadn’t called you that since you were kids – back when you’d drag him into late-nigh adventures, when you’d dare him to climb fences and sneak into the empty gym just so you could shoot hoops under the stars.

Back when you were his whole damn world.

And with a cocky salute and a wink, Rafe Cameron disappeared through the ER doors. Leaving you staring after him, heart pounding, pulse racing and a very, very dangerous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

A FEW DAYS LATER

You figured he’d get bored.

You figured he’d move on.

He was Rafe Cameron, after all, the guy who had an attention span about as long as a TikTok video and an ego big enough to feed a whole village.

You were wrong.

It started the very next morning.

A knock at your door – way too early, interrupted your sad attempt at sleeping in after a night shift.

You opened it, bleary-eyes and wearing old sweatpants, expecting Amazon or a neighbour or maybe some aggressive Girl Scout.

Instead?

A huge, obnoxiously gorgeous bouquet of flowers was waiting on your doorstep. Roses, lilies and some wildflowers you didn’t even know the names of – so big you could barely see the delivery guy behind them.

There was a card tucked into the mess of blooms.

You rolled your eyes but snatched it up anyway.

In his messy, familiar scrawl, it read:

“Since I never properly apologized for being an idiot. This is step one. Step two’s gonna be way more fun. – Trouble’s #1 Fan.”

You let out an involuntary laugh – a real one, before quickly thanking the delivery guy and slamming the door, cheeks burning.

Cocky. Arrogant. Bastard.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

Everywhere you went – the hospital, the little coffee shop near work, even the damn gym where you took your pilates classes – he showed up.

Always casual. Confident. Always looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

At work, he started showing up with Jordan – who, for some reason, seemed way too amused by all of it.

Jordan would limp into the ER, milking his injury for all it was worth, while Rafe would lean against the wall like he had all the time in the world, cap pulled low, hoodie half-zipped, giving you that stupid, heart-melting smirk.

"You sure you don’t need to check me out, too, Trouble?" he’d call, hand pressed to his chest dramatically. "I think my heart’s bruised."

You didn’t even blink. "You think you have one?"

Jordan almost collapsed laughing.

Another time, you spotted him across the hospital cafeteria, holding a smoothie cup in both hands — the kind the nurses always fought over when the shifts got long — waving it at you like a bribe.

You tried to ignore him.

You really did.

But every time you turned around, he was there — cocky, relentless, unbothered.

And somehow... underneath it all, sincere. Every flower, every smoothie, every shameless wink — it chipped away at you, little by little.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Loss. You should’ve been used it by now.

It came with the job, you knew that. Sometimes you fought like hell and it still wasn’t enough.

But tonight... it hit different.

The patient had been young. Too young.

One minute you were laughing with them, promising they’d be fine. The next, you were watching monitors flatline while doctors shouted and hands moved too fast to make a difference.

You stayed until the family came. You stayed until the room was cleared. You stayed until the hospital felt like it was swallowing you whole.

And when your shift finally ended, you dragged yourself out into the dark parking lot — bone-tired, heart heavier than it had been in months.

You didn’t even see him at first.

Not until you reached your car, fumbling your keys, and a voice cut through the night.

"Baby."

You turned sharply, breath catching.

Rafe.

Leaning against the hood of his own car a few spaces away, cap low, hoodie zipped halfway up, hands shoved in his pockets — like he’d been waiting for hours.

He pushed off the car slowly, crossing the few feet between you.

And for once... he didn’t smirk.

He didn’t crack a joke.

He just looked at you — really looked — and somehow, he knew.

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, wiping at your face even though you weren't sure if there were actual tears yet.

"Bullshit," he said quietly.

You laughed — a hollow, broken sound — and shook your head.

"Not everything’s a game, Rafe."

"I know," he said.

He reached out, hand hovering — not grabbing, not pushing, just offering.

And for once, you didn’t shove him away.

You let him cup the side of your face, rough palm gentle against your cheek.

"You don’t always have to be the strongest one, Trouble," he murmured. "Not with me."

Something inside you cracked at that — sharp and aching.

Because you remembered, now.

This was why it hurt so much when he left all those years ago.

Because even then — arrogant, reckless, stubborn — Rafe Cameron had always made you feel seen. Made you feel safe.

Even when you hated him for it.

You leaned into his hand, just barely, letting your eyes flutter shut for one brief second.

Just breathing.

Just feeling.

And when you opened them again, he was still there — still steady, still waiting — blue eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

"I’m not giving up on you," he said, voice low and certain. "You can hate me. You can run. I don’t give a shit. I’m still gonna be here."

Your heart twisted so hard it hurt.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn him for making you want to believe again.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes.

"You’re such a pain in my ass," you whispered.

Rafe just grinned — that stupid, heart-aching grin — like he was proud of it.

He let his hand drop slowly from your cheek, but he didn’t step away.

Instead, he tilted his head toward the parking lot behind him.

"Come on," he said. "Let me drive you home."

You opened your mouth — to protest, to tell him you could handle yourself — but the exhaustion caught up with you all at once, weighing down your limbs, your chest, your heart.

And the truth was...

You didn’t want to be alone tonight.

You nodded once, silent.

He exhaled softly — almost like he’d been holding his breath — and led you to his car without another word.

The car was warm and quiet, the faint hum of the engine filling the silence.

He didn’t blast music like he usually did. No cocky rap songs. No show-off playlists.

Just the soft buzz of the heater and the occasional swipe of the windshield wipers.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in a mess of neon and rain-slicked streets.

After a minute, you felt him glance over at you.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low — not the teasing, cocky tone he usually used — but something careful. Gentle.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening in your lap.

"No," you said honestly. "Not really."

You half-expected him to make a joke, to deflect, to do something Rafe.

But he just nodded, hands loose on the steering wheel, giving you space to breathe.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked, quieter.

You hesitated.

And then, for some reason you couldn’t quite explain — maybe because it was dark, maybe because you were tired, maybe because it was him — you started talking.

You told him about the patient. About how helpless you felt. About how no matter how many times it happened, it never got easier.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t offer dumb advice.

He just listened.

Really listened.

When you finished — voice thick and raw — he was quiet for a beat.

Then he said, simply, "I'm sorry, Trouble. You didn’t deserve that kind of day."

You blinked fast, staring hard out the window so he wouldn't see the tears trying to burn their way free again.

Another few blocks of silence stretched out between you — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was... safe.

"You know," he said after a while, glancing sideways at you with a half-smirk, "if you ever get tired of saving lives, you could come be my personal trainer or something."

You snorted. Loudly. "Yeah, because coaching your lazy ass to do two push ups is really gonna heal my emotional trauma."

He laughed — a real, full-body laugh — and you found yourself smiling despite everything.

"There she is," he said softly.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

"You’re unbelievable."

"I know," he said easily. "But you love it."

He pulled up to your curb and put the car in park, but didn’t kill the engine.

Neither of you moved.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag, suddenly nervous.

"Thanks for the ride," you said finally, voice small.

He reached over, his fingers brushing yours lightly — a barely-there touch, but enough to ground you.

"Anytime, Trouble," he murmured. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

You opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air — but before you closed it, you leaned down slightly, meeting his eyes across the cab.

"I’m not ready to forgive you," you said, honest and sharp.

"I know," he said — steady, sure. "I’ll wait."

Your heart twisted painfully.

Stupid Rafe Cameron. Stupid loyalty. Stupid beautiful, reckless, infuriating boy who somehow still knew exactly how to get past your walls without even trying.

You closed the door without another word and hurried up the steps to your apartment — refusing to look back.

But you didn’t have to.

You knew he stayed parked there for a few minutes longer, engine rumbling softly in the night, watching over you until your light switched on upstairs.

Just like he always used to.

Just like he promised he would.

THE NEXT MORNING

You were exhausted when you finally stumbled into bed last night, still reeling from everything — the patient, the parking lot, Rafe.

You thought maybe you’d dream about it.

But instead, you woke up to your phone buzzing loudly against your nightstand.

You groaned, burying your face in your pillow, but finally cracked one eye open enough to check the notification.

1 New Message: Unknown Number

Your heart stuttered.

You opened it.

Rafe Cameron: Hope you’re free tonight, Trouble. Left you a little something downstairs. Wear it loud. Front row’s waiting for you.

Your stomach dropped — in a good way — as you sat up quickly, shoving the blankets off.

You padded down the stairs to the lobby of your building where the sleepy concierge waved you over.

“There’s a package for you,” he said, lifting a sleek black box.

Your name was scrawled across the top in familiar, messy handwriting.

Inside:   — Two front-row ticket to tonight's game.   — One official jersey.

Not just any jersey. His jersey. Cameron.   #10.   And tucked between the folds of fabric — a tiny handwritten note:

Thought you might need something to wear when you’re screaming my name.

Cocky, arrogant, infuriating.

You laughed — actually laughed — shaking your head.

God, he was impossible.

You wore the damn jersey. (Over your loudest protests. Your best friend practically forced you into it.)

The crowd was insane, energy buzzing through the stadium as you slid into your seats right on the court line.

Your friend nudged you, smirking. “Bet he’s showing off just for you.”

You rolled your eyes.

Right as Rafe jogged onto the court — hoodie peeled off, tattoos on full display — he glanced toward your section.

Caught your eyes instantly.

Grinned. Winked. Winked.

And the whole stadium erupted like he just hit a three-pointer from half-court.

Your face burned as you sank lower into your seat, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

He played like a man possessed — quick, reckless, cocky as hell — and you hated how your heart raced every time he scored, flashing a grin like he knew you were watching.

But then late in the third quarter, It happened.

Rafe drove toward the basket, got clipped mid-air, and hit the court hard.

The whole stadium gasped.

You shot to your feet before you even realized it.

Trainers rushed onto the court. His teammates circled him. And you — heart hammering against your ribs — could only watch helplessly.

He sat up after a few tense seconds, rubbing his knee, wincing — but waved off the stretcher.

Still, he limped off the court, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Stubborn idiot.

Your friend grabbed your arm. "Stay calm. He’s fine. You know he’s a cockroach."

You wanted to laugh. You wanted to scream.

You wanted to see him.

As soon as the final buzzer blared — the win barely registering in your brain — you bolted toward the tunnels, trying to push through the crowd.

Security immediately stepped in, blocking your path.

“No entry, miss.”

“I’m not — he knows me! Rafe Cameron, we grew up together, I swear—” you said quickly, heart racing.

“Sure, sure," the guard muttered, already looking away.

You were about to lose it —   Until a familiar voice called out:

"Yo! She’s good."

You whipped around.

Jordan.

He jogged over, flashing a grin. "Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure he's been waiting for you all damn night."

You sagged in relief, flashing him a grateful look.

Your friend squealed as Jordan casually threw his arm around her, steering her back toward the players' lounge with a wink.

You barely heard them — already jogging toward the locker rooms.

You hesitated outside the heavy door, nerves buzzing under your skin. This was dumb. He probably had trainers, doctors, managers — a whole parade of people taking care of him. 

He didn’t need you.

You were about to turn away when the door cracked open.

And there he was.

Rafe stepped out into the hall, towel slung around his neck, hair damp, white tee stretched across his broad shoulders. His knee was wrapped, but he was walking — stiffly, carefully — and thank god he wasn’t seriously hurt.

He froze the second he saw you.

The cocky grin slid across his face like it was second nature, but there was something softer hiding underneath it. Something almost careful.

"Told you the jersey'd look good on you," he rasped.

You tried to glare — you really did — but your chest was too tight, relief crashing through you like a damn tidal wave.

"You scared the shit out of me, Cameron," you said, punching his shoulder lightly.

He shrugged, easy and casual — like it was nothing — but you saw the way his eyes clung to you.

Like you were something he wasn’t ready to let go of again.

You shifted on your feet, hesitating, then blurted it out before you could lose your nerve:

"Are you okay?"

The words were barely a whisper over the noise of the stadium still echoing down the halls.

Rafe’s smile tilted, slow and lazy — but his eyes... His eyes softened in a way that punched the air right out of your lungs.

He stepped closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough.  "I am now."

And the way he said it — low, certain, like it was the only thing in the whole damn world that mattered — made your heart break and heal all at once.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

It was just the two of you standing in that too-bright hallway, years of mistakes and missed chances hanging heavy between you.

Then he nudged your chin up with the back of his knuckles — soft, careful — and gave you that shit-eating grin you used to hate, but now... Now it just made your knees a little weaker.

"Come on, Trouble," he drawled. "I’m driving you home. Doctor’s orders."

You tried to roll your eyes, but it came out more like a breathless laugh. "You're not a doctor, Rafe."

"Good thing you are," he quipped, already steering you down the hall with his hand resting low on your back. "Means if I pass out behind the wheel, you can save me."

You snorted. "You're unbelievable."

He winked as he pushed open the side door leading to the players’ lot.

The inside of his blacked-out Mercedes was warm and quiet, a weird little bubble separate from the world.

You watched the city lights blur past the window for a moment, trying to get your heart to slow down.

"You sure you’re okay?" you asked again, voice softer this time.

Rafe glanced at you sideways, something serious flickering across his face.

"I’m good," he said. Then added, lower, "Better now."

Your throat tightened stupidly.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. "So cocky."

"You love it," he said easily.

You opened your mouth to argue — but stopped.

Because honestly? You kind of did.

Loved the way he made you feel seen. Loved the way he didn’t let you hide behind your walls. Loved the way he was trying — really trying — even if he still did it with that reckless, arrogant Rafe Cameron brand of chaos.

The drive continued in comfortable silence until Rafe pulled off the highway. The gentle rumble of the engine and the hum of the city around you felt like a little private bubble.

 “Uh…” Rafe glanced over at you, a little unsure. “I, uh, I was thinking... you wanna come over to my place instead? I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind, and honestly, I could use some company. Unless, you know, that’s too much or something.”

His voice trailed off at the end, but you could feel the tension in his hands tightening on the wheel.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the invitation. “You’re asking me to your place after all that... cocky, charming stuff?”

He gave you a look, the one that said don’t test me, but it was softer than usual. “Yeah. And if you say no, I’ll just drive you home, I guess. No big deal.”

You smiled, and maybe you surprised yourself more than you surprised him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Rafe’s grin was back in full force as he drove toward his apartment, the city lights flickering outside like a trail behind you. Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop the excitement that curled inside you.

You hadn’t expected this — hadn’t expected the nerves and the awkwardness that hit you as you stepped into his apartment. It wasn’t anything like you remembered. No more leftover pizza boxes or half-empty beer cans scattered across the place. This was clean. Sophisticated. Almost like he was trying to give off a “mature” vibe.

You could feel Rafe's eyes on you as you took in the space. It was cozy, but minimalist. The kitchen was sleek, the furniture modern and dark, the walls adorned with framed art you figured he probably picked up on one of his international trips. He’d clearly put thought into it, something that made you feel like you didn’t really know the guy who’d once been so reckless with his life, so careless about everything that mattered.

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, throwing an arm across the back like he owned the place. His gaze flicked toward you, cocky grin in place, but there was something else there too — something softer.

“Make yourself at home, Trouble. Gotta warn you though, I’m a pretty bad roommate.” His grin spread wider.

You arched an eyebrow as you slid onto the couch beside him, the comfortable distance you used to maintain now completely absent. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, mixed with the fresh smell of his apartment. It was strange, this feeling of both familiarity and unfamiliarity all at once.

"Let me guess, you leave your dirty socks everywhere?" You smirked, trying to fall back into the old rhythm.

He chuckled, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. "I was gonna say I don't do dishes, but sure, I leave socks everywhere too."

You laughed, but your heart wasn’t really in it. There was so much you wanted to say to him. So much that you didn’t know how to say.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you glanced at him, trying to gauge where his head was. "You’ve changed, you know that?"

He turned his head, meeting your gaze, a small frown forming on his lips. "You mean for the better, right?"

You shrugged, leaning back on the couch as your eyes met his. "Maybe. It's just... I don’t know. You’re different now. But you still have that Rafe Cameron cockiness."

"Can’t get rid of that if I tried," he said with a wink. "And I’m not sure I want to."

His eyes softened, a glimmer of something deeper flickering in his gaze. The cocky front was still there, but now there was more to it — something vulnerable, something real.

You shifted, suddenly feeling more exposed than you had earlier that night. "I just... I don’t know how you do it. You left. No calls, no texts. Nothing. I had to move on, and you just... disappeared." The words came out sharper than you intended, and you winced.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a long breath and sat up, turning toward you. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I never wanted to make you feel like you were... nothing. I was an idiot. I didn’t know how to handle everything back then. I thought distancing myself would make it easier for both of us.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap. "It didn’t. I spent years wondering what happened, why you didn’t even try. And every time I saw you on TV, I hated myself for still caring."

Rafe’s expression hardened slightly, but he didn’t look away. "I get it. I was selfish. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess, and I was so consumed with the game... I pushed everyone away. You didn’t deserve that."

The air between you grew heavier, but there was something else too. Something you hadn’t expected. A quiet understanding. The gap between the past and the present was closing, but there was still a lot left unsaid.

He reached out slowly, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand — a soft, careful touch. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that until now. It was like he was giving you permission to let the past go — permission to not carry that weight anymore.

But instead of responding right away, you just nodded, your hand still resting in his. "It’s... it’s okay. You’re here now. And I guess that’s all that matters."

For the first time that night, you saw the cocky edge fade entirely from Rafe's face. It wasn’t just an apology. There was something deeper there — regret, pain, maybe even longing.

He gave a small smile and pulled back a little, then grabbed the remote from the coffee table. “Wanna watch a game? Or... I don’t know, we could binge-watch something ridiculous?”

You snorted, a smile tugging at your lips. “Do you even know how to relax without a ball in your hand?”

His grin was wide and mischievous. “Not really.”

You didn't remember falling asleep.

One second you were side by side on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous show Rafe picked out, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. The next, the world blurred into darkness.

When you blinked awake, early morning sunlight was bleeding through the blinds, casting lazy strips of gold across the apartment.

And Rafe was still there.

Your head was on his chest. His arm was draped around you, loose but steady, like he’d just anchored you there without even thinking. His hoodie had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of warm skin, and you hated — hated — how good it felt to be this close again.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

You could feel the slow, even rise and fall of his chest beneath you. You could hear the faint, steady beat of his heart.

It felt safe.

It felt dangerous.

You shifted slightly, trying to untangle yourself without waking him — but the second you moved, his arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer.

"Where you going, baby?" he mumbled, voice rough and sleep-warm.

You froze, caught.

"I should..." you started, words catching awkwardly in your throat. "I should go."

His fingers brushed lightly up and down your arm, a slow, absent-minded touch that made your skin shiver.

"You don’t have to," Rafe said softly. No cocky smirk. No teasing. Just honesty. "You don’t have to run."

You closed your eyes, fighting the sting behind them.

He made it sound so simple.

Like after everything — the missed calls, the empty silences, the years of pretending you didn’t miss him — you could just stay. Like it was that easy.

"You don't get it," you whispered, voice shaking despite your best efforts. "You broke my heart, Rafe."

You felt him go still beneath you. Completely still.

And then he shifted — slow, careful — until you were looking at him.

His hair was a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something raw in his gaze. Something that stripped you bare.

"I know," he said, voice low and rough. "And I'd spend the rest of my life trying to put it back together if you'd let me."

Your heart cracked wide open.

You shook your head, blinking fast. "You can’t just... say things like that."

"Why not?" he said, and there was no hesitation, no bravado.

Just Rafe. The boy who used to follow you anywhere. The boy you used to trust with everything.

"Because I might believe you," you whispered.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, so carefully you barely felt it — Rafe reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jaw.

"I'm counting on it," he said.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it..

You weren' sure when it had shifted. When seeing Rafe everywhere stopped feeling like an accident and started feeling... inevitable.

It wasn't grand gestures. It wasn't sweeping apologies or dramatic confessions.

It was the way he kept showing up. Quiet. Consistent. There when you needed him. There when you didn't even realize you did.

A coffee left on the hood of your car after a brutal shift. A smoothie shoved into your hand after pilates with a lazy "you're welcome, Trouble."

A quiet presence leaning against his truck, waiting outside the hospital just to walk to your car.

You told yourself you were annoyed. You told yourself it didn't matter.

But somewhere along the way, the anger stopped feeling sharp. And started feeling a lot like hope.

Today, today he was pushing a little.

You were stepping out of the hospital after another brutal shift when you spotted him, leaning casually against his car, cap low.

He straightened up when he saw you, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth.

You groaned immediately. "What now, Cameron?"

"Good shift, baby?" he asked, ignoring the bite in your tone.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."

He grinned wider, cocky and smug, but there was something softer under it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"So," he drawled. "Got plans tonight?"

You eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

Rafe shrugged, all casual arrogance. "Big game. Afterparty. Open bar. A table reserved. Could use a date."

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he could still do that to you.

"Get Jordan to be your date," you said dryly, stepping around him toward your car.

Rafe matched your pace easily, his voice dropping low and teasing as he followed. "Jordan said he's busy. Something about your friend. Looks like it’s just you and me."

You threw a glare over your shoulder. "I'm not your backup plan, Rafe."

He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop. Not hard. Not demanding. Just... there.

"You were never a backup plan," he said, voice quieter now. "Not then. Not now."

You stared at him, your heart hammering.

For once, he wasn’t hiding behind cocky jokes or stupid winks. He just looked at you — the way he used to, before everything got so damn complicated.

"Come with me," he said. "Tonight. No games."

You swallowed hard, the war raging inside you — old anger, old hurt, old love — crashing like waves.

But somewhere deep down, you knew...

You were tired of pretending.

Tired of lying to yourself.

Tired of pretending he didn't still have you.

You exhaled slowly. "Fine," you said, pretending to be annoyed. "But if you start acting like an arrogant asshole, I’m leaving without saying goodbye."

Rafe grinned, that cocky light flickering back into his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Trouble."

The bar was packed.

Rafe was still in his post-game clothes — black jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up, cap tugged low.

You wore simple jeans and a leather jacket over his jersey, feeling oddly exposed but somehow right next to him.

People kept coming up to him — fans, random strangers — and he dealt with it all with lazy charm.

But his hand never left the small of your back.

Every time someone tried to pull him away, his fingers would brush your hip, reminding you: I'm still here.

And when Jordan finally showed up his arm slung around your best friend, who looked way too happy for someone who’d spent the whole night pretending she didn’t like him — Rafe leaned down, voice low against your ear.

"Wanna get outta here?"

The brush of his lips against your skin made your whole body tense.

You turned your head, your breath catching when you found yourself inches from his face.

“Where would we go?” you asked, voice lower than you meant.

His grin was slow. Dangerous.

"Anywhere you want, Trouble."

The air was cool and crisp when you stepped out into the parking lot. The noise from the bar faded behind you, swallowed by the night. You tugged your jacket tighter around you, feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed.

Rafe stayed close behind, just like he had all night — his presence a solid, steady thing at your back.

His hand brushed yours — light, casual, but not accidental. You knew him too well.

You reached his car and paused, the sharp scent of leather and cologne wrapping around you as he leaned lazily against the door.

He was looking at you — really looking — like he wasn’t in a rush, like he had nowhere else to be but here, waiting for you to decide.

"You're thinking too much again," he said, his voice low and warm, almost a smile.

You huffed a laugh, pushing a hand through your hair. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Rafe tilted his head, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes, but you could still see it — the softness. The patience. The want.

"You don’t have to figure it out tonight," he said, voice a little rougher now. "You don’t have to figure me out, either."

You stared at him, chest tight, heart stupidly loud in your ears.

Because he meant it.

For the first time ever — no games, no cocky smiles covering it up — Rafe Cameron was standing there asking for nothing but whatever you were willing to give.

No pressure. No demands.

Just... him.

And something in you — something tired and stubborn and scared — finally cracked wide open.

You stepped closer before you could think, before you could stop yourself. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Rafe froze, his body going perfectly still — like if he moved, you might bolt.

You stared up at him, at the familiar tilt of his mouth, the blue of his eyes, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then — almost without meaning to — your hands found the collar of his hoodie.

You tugged him down.

Soft.

Careful.

Like you were remembering him all over again.

You kissed him — a brush of your lips against his, fleeting but so full of everything you’d left unsaid.

You pulled back barely an inch, breathing hard, heart crashing against your ribs.

And Rafe... Rafe just stared at you, dazed, stunned.

Like you’d just punched him in the chest.

"You’re dangerous, Trouble," he rasped, his voice wrecked and raw, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth even as something fierce and bright flared behind his eyes.

You smirked up at him, cocky and confident and shaking like a leaf inside.

"Payback," you whispered.

For leaving. For hurting you. For making you fall first.

You started to pull back — teasing, playful, in control again.

But he didn’t let you.

One of Rafe’s hands caught your waist, the other finding the side of your neck — big, warm, a little rough — and then he was kissing you back.

Deeper. Slower. Like he had all the time in the goddamn world to undo every bad thing he'd ever done.

You gasped softly into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he kissed you like he was trying to memorize you. Trying to make up for every second he hadn’t been there.

The kiss broke finally, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the dark.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to.

"You kill me," he whispered against your skin.

"You deserve it," you whispered back, but it came out more fond than cutting.

He chuckled low under his breath, that soft laugh that you hadn’t realized you missed until now.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you — really look — and god, the way he looked at you.

Like you were it. Like you always had been. Like you always would be.

“Come home with me,” he said quietly, almost like a question.

Your heart slammed against your ribs — because you knew he didn’t mean it in a reckless way.

He meant just this. Tonight. Simple. Safe.

Just you and him and nothing else.

You nodded once, biting your lip to hold back the smile that wanted to escape.

He exhaled a shaky breath like you’d just given him the world.

And when he opened the car door for you, slipping into the driver’s seat with one last, lingering glance your way, you realized maybe — just maybe — you were finally ready to let him have it.

Not all at once.

Not perfectly.

But piece by stubborn piece.

The way only Rafe Cameron ever could.

The drive to his place was quiet, a different kind of quiet this time. Not awkward. Not tense. Just full — with things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.

When he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, he looked over at you.

No cocky smirk. No teasing grin.

Just him. Open. Real.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice low.

You smiled, small but sure. "Yeah."

That was all he needed.

Inside, the place was dim, the city lights spilling in through the windows. You dropped your bag near the door, kicking your shoes off. Rafe followed behind you, quiet, his hands jammed in his pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you too fast.

You sat on the couch, pulling your knees up under you.

He dropped beside you — close enough that his thigh brushed yours, but not pushing.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. The TV was on low — some mindless highlights from the game — but you barely heard it.

You turned to him slowly.

He was already watching you.

Always watching you.

"What?" you whispered, a tiny smirk tugging at your mouth.

Rafe shook his head, his grin soft — the kind he never showed anyone else. "You," he said simply. "Just you."

You felt your face heat, and you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "You're gonna make me puke with all that sweetness, Cameron."

He chuckled under his breath, looking down like he was debating something. When he looked up again, his eyes were brighter somehow — rawer.

"I’m serious, Y/N," he said, voice rough. "I spent so long being a selfish asshole. Pushing you away. Chasing shit that never meant anything."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling loose — a picture of casual, except for the way his shoulders were so tense he looked ready to snap.

"And all it did was make me realize..." He swallowed hard, shaking his head like he hated how stupid he sounded. "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught — sharp and sudden.

He glanced at you — fast, nervous — like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going.

But you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t move at all.

"I still love you," he said, quieter now. "Probably always will."

You stared at him, chest aching, every part of you thundering.

Because this wasn’t some big, planned speech. This wasn’t him trying to win.

It was just him.

Simple. Messy. Real.

Exactly the way you needed it to be.

You shifted closer without even thinking, until your knees brushed, until you could feel the heat rolling off him.

Rafe let you, his hands twitching like he wanted so badly to reach out but was waiting — waiting for you.

"You’re an idiot," you whispered, voice trembling.

He gave a soft, crooked smile — a little helpless, a little hopeful. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me."

You stared at him — at the ridiculous, reckless, beautiful boy who’d broken your heart and then spent every day since trying to piece it back together.

And you realized — you weren’t scared anymore.

You nodded once, voice barely there.

"I love you too."

The second the words left your mouth, something inside Rafe broke — his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally let it out.

He leaned in, slow enough that you could have stopped him. You didn’t.

You met him halfway, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was soft and deep and sure.

When you pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"So," he murmured, voice teasing now but thick with something heavier underneath. "Is this where I ask if you wanna be my girlfriend?"

You laughed, breathless, curling your fingers in the collar of his hoodie. "You planning on making it official with a handshake or something?"

He huffed a laugh, nudging your nose with his. "Nah," he said. "Gonna keep kissing you until you say yes."

You smiled against his mouth, your heart full to bursting.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good," he said, kissing you again, softer this time. "Because I’m not letting you go again, Trouble."

A FEW DAYS LATER

Hand in hand, you and Rafe walked down the crowded sidewalk, coffee cups in hand, the afternoon sun warm on your backs.

You caught people staring — double takes, whispers.

You didn’t care. Neither did he.

Rafe squeezed your hand a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, and leaned down to brush a kiss against your temple without breaking stride.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t running anymore.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

With him.

Home.

[poppyseed-cheesecake]

Caleb starts feeling like your panties aren't enough anymore and you're a heavy sleeper, so what's the harm in masturbating over you?

I dunno be warned mc is asleep for all of this and obvs can't say yes or no in this situation

1465 words

It had started off innocently enough.

Sometimes, when it was his turn to do the laundry, he'd take some extra time. Sometimes pieces would get...lost.

Sometimes they'd reappear after a while.

"Eh, it's an old machine. Half of my socks are missing too."

And you'd believed him. Of course you did. There'd been no reason for him to lie. And it was harmless, wasn't it?

He always made sure that no evidence was left of what he did when your panties would reappear.

But at some point that wasn't really enough anymore. Of course it wasn't.

You were just a room away, whenever he came home from the academy. And you'd grown up. You'd gotten taller, fuller, more muscular. You were training to become a hunter.

And you weren't aware in the slightest of how enticing you looked. When you came back from training, sweat slick and still flushed.

Or when you fell asleep on the couch after a shower, in nothing but a big shirt and a pair of too short shorts.

It didn't help that gran would go out for card games with her friends, or visit relatives in the countryside more often, now that you were both adults.

So, starved for you after not seeing you wor weeks on end, it was hard to still be satisfied with just a few flimsy pieces of cloth.

During one particular movie night, you'd pretty quickly fallen asleep.

Those aformentioned short shorts barely covering your ass as you curled up tightly. Soft snores echoing through the living room and Caleb white knuckling the blanket he draped over you. Well over your torso.

He knew you to be a heavy sleeper. He would carry you to bed later, in a few hours without you so much as stirring.

It was okay. It was fine. You wouldn't notice. You wouldn't be hurt. It would be okay.

His palms were sweaty and he swallowed hard. With how you were curled up, he could see your panties peaking out under the shorts. It was an old, loose pair.

Trembling, he reached out. A featherlight touch on the underside of your thigh. No reaction.

Emboldened by that, his fingers went further until they finally reached the flimsy fabric. A single, careful finger hooked underneath, and pulled the cloth to the side.

His breath hitched. Immediately, he took his hand back. As if burned.

No no no no he couldn't do this. He couldn't he really couldn't it was too much it was too pretty.

Caleb forced himself to look away, knowing that if he didn't, he'd not be able to hold back.

The finger that had touched you felt hot. He wanted to shove it in his mouth, but he didn't.

Instead, he lightly shoved his own sweats down, just enough to free his dick. He'd been hard for a while. Painfully so.

That very finger now pressed on his slit, his other hand clasped over his mouth. Eyes trained on your form, still avoiding what he wanted to look at most. Horribly aware of how exposed it now was.

How soft it felt, even with that brief touch.

He had to bite into the meat of his palm when he started stroking. Too close.

You rubbed your legs together. Of course. They were still cold, still exposed. Caleb steeled himself to look. Were it not for the hand in his mouth he'd have cursed, and he thought it better to keep it that way. So he used the hand that he'd been stroking himself with to drag the blanket further over your legs, mourning every inch of skin he could no longer see. In the end he couldnt bring himself to cover your ass. Actually, would it really be so bad if he looked a bit more? You were asleep, you wouldn't notice, right? It wouldn't hurt you if he just pulled your shorts and panties down a bit, they were old and worn out, it was easy.

And before he could overthink it, he'd done it. The view was overwhelming, but he could do this. He wouldn't touch you. Just look. Nothing more.

Even though he wanted to spread your lips...lick up and down, suck on your clit...the real deal had to taste so much better than what was left on your panties.

He thought of that alone almost brought him over the edge untouched. He could feel it in his belly, at this rate he wouldn't last long. And honestly he couldn't take it much longer.

With increased pace and force he stroked himself, taking in as much of you as he could, his gasps and moans quieted by his palm.

It was a messy, shameful orgasm, that left him reeling. He knew this was wrong, but he also couldn't go back. Especially after he, still hazy, dragged the tip of his cock along your folds, only once, only to feel them, before pulling your panties and shorts back up. Before washing his hands and carrying you to your room, tucking you in.

And you didn't wake up. You were a heavy sleeper afterall.

It should've ended there. No it should've never happened in the first place but he shouldn't have gone any further.

But how could he go back to just your panties after that? Especially since he'd gotten away with it so easily.

And he was just touching himself. It wasn't like he was sticking it in you or anything.

Sure maybe he'd touch you a teeny tiny bit but you wouldn't notice. It was okay.

So when he came back home for summer break a couple of months later, and he found you sleeping with all your limbs stretched away from you thanks to the heat every night, how could he not?

You slept in nothing but a tanktop and your flimsiest panties. And you even left the door slightly open for more airflow.

He just happened to walk by while getting a glass of water one night, and he just happened to see you.

Half of your upper body was exposed. He only came in to fix your shirt. It wasn't his fault it rode up further. Exposing your breasts.

Soft...untouched by the sun...The cool breeze hardening your nipples.

He quickly turned around. Head in his hands. He couldn't do this again. He shouldn't be doing this.

But he was already painfully hard. And you wouldn't notice.

You'd never know.

So he turned back around. Leaned over you slightly. Your breath was even, deep.

Your chest was rising and falling in a steady rythm.

Three finger. No more. Three fingers ghosted over your belly first. Gently pressing into the soft flesh, before daring to move up when you showed no reaction.

That was a mistake. Three fingers quickly became a whole hand cupping your breast, and once again he had to stifle a moan with his free hand.

This was dangerous. He had to stop.

It was impossible, with more urgency than he intended he pulled your panties down to your thighs.

For some reason he climbed onto your bed, your breathing still steady.

His face mere inches away from your pussy, he took his hand off his face, and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

All reason was gone, and his toung dipped below, the taste something he'd only dreamed of, a far cry from licking up what little was left in your panties.

Your breath hitched, and he stilled.

Listening, begging you to stay asleep. And after a few dreadful seconds you returned to your peaceful slumber.

But he couldn't risk any more, so he tore himself from you. Now kneeling over you, your hair splayed all around your pretty head, your body exposed to him, he could have cried.

Okay, he'd allow himself one more thing, before he would just...take care of himself.

He freed his cock from his boxers, revelling in its shadow on your belly. Slowly, softly, he touched the tip to your lips, then your chest, and in the end, once again, dragging it between your folds.

The smart thing - the right thing would've been to run to his room. To finish there and leave you alone.

But how could he? You were so beautiful.

And he was already so close. Fisting his dick while biting on his hand, he hovered over you.

Watching your beautiful form, so exposed to him.

When he came he had to scramble off the bed as to not let anything get on you. As much as he wanted to paint you with it.

Pulling your clothes back in place he was overcome with shame and guilt.

The next day he couldn't look you in the eye.

He had to stop this. This couldn't go on.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, abuse/violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky sets you up on the couch. It feels intentional. You'd rather be in bed, alone. You're not just hurt, you're embarrassed.

You warned him over and over. You're out of practice; out of shape; out of everything. 

You sigh. Just the deep breath makes your back tweak. It's just another wall to your prison.

When did you start thinking about this? Maybe the months you spent alone here... Did anyone check in? Steve's wife now and then but she's young and naive and it only reminds you of how bitter you've grown.

"Found it," Bucky startles you as he struts in. He's in sweats and a take, his hair slick from a shower. You smell his body soap wafting in the air.

"Found... what?" You ask, only just able to see him over the armrest.

"Body oil," he wiggles a bittle at you. "When's the last time we had fun with this?"

Frustration swells in your chest. What the hell? That shower must have been a full reset. He didn't say a word on the way home. You didn't either. Now it's like everything is daisies.

"Fun?" You mutter.

"Doc says a massage. You pulled a muscle." He nears and puts the oil on the end table. "Mm, you know I got good hands."

You look at him. Is he try to fix this or forget this?

He bends to nudge your side, "shimmy over."

You can't move much. He helps you turn so you're facing the backrest and he sits on the edge of the cushions. He pushes your shirt up and tugs until you whimper and lift your arms. You twist around to free yourself.

He reaches over you and snatches the bottle. The click of the cap makes you flinch. He smears the oil over your back as you shield your chest. The coolness of the liquid makes you tense.

You're quiet as he traces his thumbs along your flesh. His touch is firm but soothing. You groan and close your eyes.

He works your neck and shoulders before moving down to your ribs where the muscle tremors. He pushes into it and you whine. He tuts.

"Gonna hurt a bit 'til I loosen it up."

You can't speak. You merely wiggle your head in acquiescence. Something about this is disarming. It's like he's reclaiming you. A reminder of his strength. He has you in the palm of his hands, almost literally. 

His hand slides up to your side and toward your hip. He squeezes and you grit your teeth. He fingers curl around to your stomach. You stop him.

"Gonna work on it," you say. "No more fast food."

"Does that mean the rest of the snack cakes are up for grabs?" He teases. He found your stash when he tore your dresser apart.

"In the cupboard now," you assure him. Can you help that you missed him? That you just wanted some comfort?

"It doesn't bother me, baby. More of you to love."

"It bothers me," you snap. "Alright? And... and..." you grunt and roll onto your back. "And you don't seem to care what bothers me."

"You're going to get oil on the couch--"

"Bucky. I didn't ask you to..." you huff and push yourself up, scowling at the effort. You keep an arm across your chest. 

"I'm helping," he argues.

"I know you're trying to but I need-- I need space."

"I'm here. Trying to listen like you want--"

You close your eyes, exasperated. 

"Yeah, well," you flick your lashes open, "I don't really know what to say anymore."

His expression darkens. He stares at you. A shiver ripples over you. You gulp and reach for your shirt. He gets it first.

"You're setting me up. You want me to fail." He accuses. "You're trying to make me the bad guy--" he stops as he twists your shirt, "because you did something...."

"Did something... Bucky I waited for you--"

He startles you as suddenly he swoops the shirt around your neck. He twists the ends together until it's taut around your throat. He keeps the fabric in his metal fist and jerks you. You gasp at the pang it sends down your spine.

You grab onto his hand as your face contorts in horror. "Bucky, you know--"

"Do I know you anymore? I come home and you're cold. All I did was my job. Went out to make the money to support your fucking doodles--"

You slap him. You choke on his name as his reels back and keeps a hold of you. His lip curls and his eyes dialate.

He stands and rips you off the couch. He slams you to the ground with the snare around your neck. He puts you on your stomach and straddles you as you whimper and writhe.

"You think you can win this?" He sneers as he bends over you, hot breath searing over your scalp.

"Bucky--" you clutch the cotton as it tightens. "Why--" your eyes speckle with tears. "What happened to you?"

"Ask yourself that," he snarls and twists the shirt until you can't speak. "Maybe I just want a little bit of respect from my fucking wife."

You get your fingers under the shirt and wheeze. "Then why don't you act like my husband! "Why didn't you answer me for a whole month?"

"This again," he growls and jerks the shirt.

You cough and reach out, desperate to drag yourself away. You know it's hopeless. When you married him, you never thought he'd use his strength on you. Not like this.

He lens forward and grabs your hand. "You always had more time for those drawings than me. I never said a damn word." He grips your middle finger and you freeze. The tension in your joint is electric. "You need to figure out what's important." He wrenches your finger back and your knuckle pops. The pain makes you shriek. "It isn't the doodle." He grips your index next and bends it back. You wail again, blinded in agony. "You'll see who takes care of you when you got nothing else."

[slimesludge-space]

All because of some stupid pants?- Part 5

《Nothin but misunderstandings 》

Note: °~° the litte serotonins

°~~°~~~~~~~°~~°~~~~~°~~°~~~~°~~°

Waking up one morning with a sketchy black bag tied to your door was not what you expected. It was even less expected when you peeked inside to a crumpled note and pajama pants?

Your chest tightened when you found what was inside, the familiar shitty handwriting of the man who left. Wanting nothing more than to throw the bag away until you recognize what was inside, heart fluttering and sinking at the same time. Did Simon really go to Uncle Will's? Pursing your lips skeptically before chuckling at the image of Simon 'Ghost' Riley picking out clothes that he labeled as shitty. You couldn't help tracing the shaky scratch of his name. Your eyes flickered into the bag with a slight quirk of your lip, William chose those out. Just the sight of them was enough to know that Simon wouldn't be caught dead in picking any of them out. You pulled out the skulls and bones, quirking a brow when you found the receipt peeking out of the pocket.

'I'm not a man of violence little lady, that doesn't mean I can't make it hurt for the bastard. If you see one missing, you know where it's at now -Will'

If you weren't confused before, you definitely were now. Flipping the receipt over and recounting how many were in the bag before everything settled in. Sure enough, one was missing and you definitely don't go for the 3XL comfy Jammies. You looked down at the receipt, a spark of comfort fluttering to life. After days of your friends begging you to go out to the bar to prove to your ex he wasn't something special. Not having the heart to tell them about what really happened and if you had listened to them, it would only prove he was right and that you were just as easy to sleep with as he thought.

Instead you kept your mother's words in mind 'it's not the end of the world when a man breaks your heart. It's gonna hurt just as much as you love him but your world shouldn't stop because of one man. Stopping everything means he's hurt you enough to break you and thats not a man worth keeping in mind'

Just like your mother, seems like William was the only one to understand even when you only gave him the bare minimum of what really happened. Putting the notes to the side and making a mental note to stop by his shop tomorrow. If there's one thing Simon taught you. It was that you needed to learn to stand up for yourself and you couldn't help but frown while rubbing your palm as an attempt to self soothe your nerves.

You weren't afraid to admit that this took a big toll on you in the end. Ripping out the scraps of confidence you had barely built for yourself before and during the relationship. In the back of your mind, you had worried that you weren't Simon's type. That there was an ulterior motive to him loving you and those fears had come true.

You were still a mess, regretting giving him back everything and wishing you had just kept ONE shirt for comfort. It took everything you have to keep your self-respect and not unblock him and beg for another chance. The urge to call him while drunk and tell him you'd throw everything away if it meant he would come back and make everything better. That you wouldn't step one foot near that shop if it would make him happy.

When those thoughts truly sank in, it felt like you were just tearing down what made you the person you were today. Throwing out comfort and the nice old man from the shop who was basically a father figure to you. It made you feel sick and downright pathetic. Simon didn't need a girlfriend like that and you didn't want to live a life without the little things that kept you sane and brought just a little bit of dopamine in your life. A bit of happiness that didn't come from another person or a guy you really wanted to impress and love.

Life had little to offer when it came to comfort, Simon didn't know how much clarity his words brought. And how much destruction it had brought to your little safe heaven that you kept close to your heart.

Sometimes you needed something different than anxiety meds. You just wanted something that would force you to stop thinking for a moment. To be able to wake up tired or feeling like shit and heading to the kitchen forgetting what it meant to function as a human. Shuffling for your favorite mug and pouring yourself a coffee, only to look up and realize that you were wearing pastel pink pajama pants with Bender flashing his ass. There's nothing like turning around slightly and remembering that right over the curve of your ass, custom made by Will himself. In bold hot pink. 'Bite my shiny metal ass'. It never fails in making you nearly snort your coffee.

Shaking off the little hope that Will's note gave you and setting everything aside. You decided to stop wallowing in your own self pity and finally had a day for yourself and enjoy the little things you've always done. Your safe space may have fallen and fractured but you knew that with some time, you can rebuild it. Even if your heart wasn't into it at the moment.

°~~°~~~~~~~°~~°~~~~~°~~°~~~~°~~°

[ashthesalamipiece]

can I request one where reader and katsuki are “best friends” until one day they have a argument and she ignores him and he gets clingy and jealous and finally confesses? please and thank you!

"Say You Won't Let Go"

You and Katsuki Bakugo had been best friends since your first year at U.A., a bond forged through sparring sessions, late-night studying, and silent support during your roughest days. People often mistook you for a couple, but you would always laugh it off — even if a tiny part of you wished it were true.

Katsuki was your person. Always had been. Always would be... or so you thought.

It started with something stupid.

He had been spending more time with Mina, Denki, and the others lately — and you noticed. It wasn't that you didn't want him to have other friends; it was just...you missed him. And when you finally worked up the courage to say something, it came out wrong.

"Maybe you should just go hang out with them then, if I'm so boring!"

Your voice cracked in the middle of it, and instead of seeing the hurt underneath, Katsuki bristled.

"Tch, don't be fuckin' stupid, (Y/N)."

"No, it's fine. I'm tired of being your backup plan, Bakugo."

You left before he could say anything else.

After that, you ignored him.

In the halls. At lunch. During training.

You weren’t cruel — you just... couldn't bear to pretend like nothing had changed.

---

At first, Katsuki thought you needed time to cool off.

Then a day passed. Then two.

By the end of the week, he was losing his mind.

It wasn’t just your absence — it was how easily you seemed to move on without him. Smiling at Kirishima, laughing with Sero, letting Todoroki carry your bag after a mission when you usually made Katsuki do it just to annoy him.

It made him angry.

It made him jealous.

It made him scared.

You had always been there. His constant. His anchor. And now? It felt like you were slipping right through his fingers.

---

He cornered you after training one afternoon, the setting sun painting the gymnasium in fiery colors.

"Oi," he barked, his voice harsh to mask the panic swelling in his chest.

You barely glanced at him. "I'm busy, Bakugo."

Hearing you say his last name so formally — like a stranger — was a punch to the gut.

"Don't fuckin' do that," he growled, stepping closer. "Don't act like I don't matter."

You bit your lip and looked away, crossing your arms defensively.

"What do you want from me, Katsuki?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He faltered. His fists clenched at his sides.

"I want you to stop actin' like you don't fuckin' care!"

You blinked, stung by the rawness of his voice. "You have everyone else now. Go bother them."

"I don't want them!" Katsuki exploded, making you flinch. His chest heaved. His heart felt like it was going to tear through his ribs. "I want you. It's always been you, dumbass."

Silence.

You stared at him, stunned.

He took a shuddering breath, stepping closer, lowering his voice like a secret meant for you alone.

"I'm a fuckin' idiot. I didn't know how to say it. But... you're not my backup plan, (Y/N). You're my everything."

Your eyes burned.

You wanted to stay mad — to throw his words back at him and protect your heart — but the way he looked at you, desperate and terrified, broke down every wall you'd built.

Slowly, you shook your head. "You should've told me sooner, Katsuki..."

He hesitated, then cupped your face with rough, calloused hands, as if he was scared you'd disappear.

"I'm tellin' you now. Don't make me fuckin' beg."

You laughed wetly through your tears, clutching the front of his shirt to steady yourself.

"Idiot," you whispered. "I was in love with you this whole time."

Katsuki kissed you like a man drowning — fierce, wild, full of all the things he never knew how to say. And you kissed him back just as desperately, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Because he was.

Because he always had been.

---

Later that night, as you sat together on the roof of the dorms, his arm slung over your shoulders, he muttered into your hair:

"Never ignoring me again, got it?"

You smiled softly against his chest.

"Only if you promise the same."

Katsuki squeezed you tighter.

"Deal."

And this time, you both knew you meant forever.

[jetblack4realz]

protector - haymitch abernathy

lost

masterlist

your paranoia was correct.

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 2.3k

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

you were lost.

like, seriously, completely, officially lost.

in the streets of the capitol.

"are you kidding me?" you muttered as you slipped into a store, hand covering your face to avoid the flashing cameras of onlookers. the tiny slip of paper in your hand was crumpled and the ink was beginning to run from the sweat of your palms.

you heard your name echo down the street, interested fans and sponsors alike turning with their heads on a swivel trying to get a look at you.

you couldn't even imagine what the papers were going to look like in the morning.

it was embarrassing.

you desperately wished that your grandmother was here, but of course she chose to stay home with your oldest cousin and her terror of a four year old- mags' first great grandchild nonetheless.

and how was it possible that a woman in her early sixties could have a great grandchild already?

three generations of post-reaping teenage pregnancies, that's how.

"damn you, gigi," you muttered to yourself as you glanced around the store for a way out.

there were only two doors in the whole store, the front door and one that said 'employees only' in big red letters, and surprisingly no dressing rooms. the place was luckily sparse, only a few men of varying ages wandering around and shooting you sideways glances.

you heard your name outside again and your head fell in your hands, groaning dramatically.

"can someone help me?" you asked finally, looking around at the men around the store all staring confusedly at you. your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking and that little slip of paper in your hand felt so heavy. "i've lost my boyfriend and i don't know how to get back to my hotel and i just really need some-"

"miss flanagan?"

you shrieked and turned, breathing out a light laugh when plutarch heavensbee steadied you with a hand on your arm.

he smiled warmly. "are you alright?"

"yes, just lost," you admitted.

"yes, i could see that," he chuckled. "you're in the men's store, by the way."

"the men's store?"

he laughed again, though it was a bit more awkward than before. he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "yes, well, just as there are stores specifically for womenly things, there are stores just for men as well, miss."

and that's when you noticed the shelves and shelves of boxers covering the walls, the robes lining the racks, and little purple boxes that you had no interest in staring at much longer.

"oh. right..." you turned your attention back to the novice film director. "can you help me please?"

his kind smile returned and he nodded. "of course. you said you were here with haymitch?"

"yes, i lost him somewhere down main street."

"oh, you would. my guess is he slipped into a little pub expecting you'd follow and you just didn't."

"it's eleven in the morning, plutarch."

he sighed, taking you arm and pulling you gently towards the back of the store. "yes. and you'll find the longer you're with him that no time is too early for booze."

he smiled at the man behind the register before pulling you through the employees' door, the little white sign bouncing against the frame as you let the door slam behind you.

it led to a little brick alleyway that you never would've guessed existed.

"huh," you mumbled.

"neat, huh?" he chuckled. he patted your hand on his arm with his free hand. "now come along, i'm sure he'll just be this way."

you walked steadily down the alleyway next to plutarch until you reached a large oak door. he held an arm out as he reached for the handle, an ironic smile on his face.

"welcome to the panem et pubscum."

the room was dark, and loud with the deep voices of grumbling regulars, and smelled of stale and fresh beer alike.

and it was the most comfortable place you'd stepped into since you got to the capitol.

"he'll be sitting right over there," plutarch told you, pointing over your shoulder to the end of the bar where, indeed, the blond victor sat with a glass of amber bourbon in his hands.

"thank you," you told him with a smile, offering him a quick kiss on the cheek. "you've been very helpful."

"hey, anything for you, my dear," the man said before waving to haymitch. "go on, i'm sure he's been wondering where you ran off to."

you didn't hesitate, breaking for the opposite end of the pub and weaving in between various customers all with the same honey-colored beers in their hands - and it was refreshing to see they weren't some fluorescent blue or purple, and just the regular color of beer.

you wrapped your arms around haymitch when you reached him, your face pressing into his back. "you're not allowed to ditch me in the street anymore, abernathy."

a chuckle rumbled through his ribcage and straight through you before he turned around on his stool and pulled your arms off of him, resolving instead to hold your waist as you stood between his legs.

"oh, you survived, didn't you honey?" he said with a laugh.

"i ended up in a men's underwear store," you deadpanned with a roll of your eyes. "i was being chased down like a rabbit in a field. i was lucky to find plutarch before i died of embarrassment."

"more likely you'll die from dramatics," he told you, shaking his head as a smile pulled at his lips. he squeezed your waist. "do you want a drink, honey?"

"i want to go back to the hotel."

"the drinks here are better than the hotel."

"that wasn't in the question."

"well, it should be."

"it's not."

"come on, let's just stay for a few rounds."

"i want to go back to the room, haymitch, can we please go back to the room?" you asked.

he furrowed his brows and looked you over, pausing when they reached your balled up fist. he mumbled your name, his hands slipping from your waist to grasp your own. "open your hand."

"haymitch, please," you said again, a bit quieter as you noticed the narrow-eyed bartender beginning to take notice of you both.

"open your damn hand," he said again, looking up at you with a deep furrow in his brows.

you relented, sighing, and somehow stepping closer to him as you opened your hand, revealing the small white piece of paper that had once been neatly folded and now laid in a crumpled ball in your palm.

haymitch snatched it quickly, unfolding it and dropping his hands to his knees for the slightest bit of privacy as he read it through. "who gave this to you?"

"a peacekeeper," you answered. "when i told him i lost you he gave me that instead. said he was looking for me. didn't help me find you, just walked off."

"of course he did," haymitch grumbled out, looking up at you again and shoving the slip in his pocket. "stop going to the peacekeepers for help. they're not here to help you, honey, they won't help you. you find me. or plutarch, apparently."

"yeah except you left me in the streets," you told him with a glare.

"i thought you were following me!"

"you turned the other way and let go of my hand!"

"i-" he cut himself off, eyes flickering around the room. his voice fell to a hush. "i'm sorry. look, you're right, we should go."

you furrowed your brows. "huh? that's it?"

"yes, that's it," he said, sliding off the stool and taking your hand again. he pressed his lips to the top of your head before mumbling to you: "people are watching. remember the play."

"it's not a play anymore," you whispered.

"no, darlin', but it's always a game, and we have to keep playing." he kissed your cheek and plastered a grin to his lips. "come on, let's get back to our room."

he was quick paying his tab and then pulling you out of the bar, his grip tight as he laced his fingers through yours.

"shouldn't we get a car?" you asked him, skipping once to catch up to his quickening pace.

"no, we're not too far," he muttered back, eyes on the streets. "and i'm not particularly keen on capitol drivers anyways. they don't always take you where you want to go."

you thought on his words for a few moments before letting out a breath through your nose. "do you think-?"

"honey," he said, tugging your hand so you were even closer to him as he glanced at you with his best attempt at a smile. "not here."

you nodded. "sorry."

"don't be sorry," he sighed. "just be cautious. come on."

he was right that the hotel wasn't too far, just a block over actually, and soon you were back in your room. as soon as the door shut you pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in a thin tanktop.

"what are you doing?" he asked with wide eyes, looking quickly at the softly blinking red light that was sitting in the wall light.

"being cautious," you whispered back, tossing the sweater onto the light over your shoulder and pulling him towards the bathroom. you raised your voice to normal level. "come on, babe, i need you alone for a minute."

he played along quickly. "we have been alone, sweet thing. what, you need a shower or-?"

"a woman has her needs," you told him with a light giggle as you shut the door behind you. he flicked on the shower and pulled the paper from his pocket, both of your eyes falling to it with dread.

grazzidei. 2239 w opaline row, concorde crest, capitol city, 99325. 4pm.

"that's the name of the man from the ninth party," you whispered. "the one dressed like a stock of wheat."

"the one i almost socked in the mouth because he made a comment about your chest?"

"that's the one."

"shit," he muttered. and then he yelled, startling you as he threw the paper at the sink and spun around to swiped at the shower curtain. "shit!"

the microphones definitely picked that up.

"haymitch," you said, grabbing his arm and sobering him almost immediately.

he just looked at you with an apologetic look in his eyes. "this wasn't supposed to happen. we were avoiding this, this was why we were doing this."

"it's not your fault," you told him as you resisted the burning of oncoming tears at the back of your eyes. you took a breath and shook your head. "it's not. he's trying to best us - he has bested us. snow gets what he wants. our appeal has lessened and people want what they want."

"well, they don't get to want you," he answered, shaking his head.

"haymitch-"

"you're not going," he said. "you're not. he doesn't win this time."

"haymitch-"

"you're not going!"

even he was surprised that he yelled, his hand coming up to drag over his mouth as he stepped back.

"i'll go."

"what do you mean? you can't-"

"not to grazzidei, to snow. he, uh, he wanted to speak with me earlier and i haven't gone. i need to speak with him."

"haymitch, i can't let you do that for me."

"well, you have to," he said, dropping his hands. "like you said, snow gets what he wants - most of the time. he wants to speak with me so he will. but you... he doesn't get you. not while i have a say in it."

"he'll hurt you, and the people you love, haymitch, gigi has told me-"

"he's taken everything from me already, honey, don't you see?" he breathed out an ironic sort of laugh, one that made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach and crack from the pain threaded through the words. "you're all i got. and i don't exactly know how i got you, this whole thing has escalated real quickly, but i ain't losing you. i can't."

"you're not..." you stumbled on your words, trying to think of what to say that would comfort him, but falling short. "you wouldn't - you wouldn't be losing me. i'd still be here. i'd still be here with you."

"i'd lose you to snow," he said shortly. "and to grazzidei, and to every other capitol fucker who pays enough to spend a night with you."

"haymitch..."

"it's not happening. i agreed to protect you, this is me protecting you."

"by putting your life on the line?"

"he can't kill me."

his tone and his expression were dead serious as he stared at you.

and then he laughed.

"i'm too beloved. everybody loves me - if i died the public would be a wreck that he'd have to clean up. he wouldn't kill me."

"i don't like tempting fate," you told him, shaking your head. "it's alright, haymitch. i'm not upset with you. we tried and we failed and that's that-"

"you're not leaving this hotel room until i get back and tell you that you can," he said definitively. "promise me that you won't leave. give me a chance to fix this."

you hesitated.

do you let haymitch risk his life for you or just accept that this is your reality now and that this grazzidei man was going to deflower you?

"promise me," he pleaded, grabbing your hands tightly as he tried to get you to meet his eyes.

"promise me you'll come back," you said back, eyes on your hands as he squeezed yours tighter.

"i promise," he said quietly, pulling you gently towards him. "i'll come back, honey. always."

he released your hands to wrap his arms over your shoulders, hugging you into his chest as you returned the embrace tightly.

"okay," you mumbled into his shirt. "i won't leave the damn hotel room."

he breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "thank you, honey. i promise i'll fix this. this isn't allowed to happen. not to you."

[olliesallamericanbitch]

Can't Stop the Raining

synopsis: due to her social anxiety, y/n brings charlie to a race. she also meets a cute guy.

ollie bearman x black! reader

pt.2 of the 'crybaby' trilogy

yn had to support the elderly

tagged; lewishamilton charliebushnell

lewishamilton i'd advise you not to talk abt the person that brought you here

charliebushnell I APPRECIATE YOU unlike so people...

yn fuck off char lol

after the race, y/n and charlie decided to walk around the paddock. Well, more like charlie made they didn't bump into anyone while y/n ranted.

"you know, I thought the break up would help with my writing block, but i'm still stuck. How does taylor swift do it?" y/n ranted while keeping a grip on charlie's sleeve.

charlie chuckled, "what works for taylor doesn't work for everyone. you don't need to write a sad song, and neither of us were particularly sad afterwards."

y/n scoffs and rolls her eyes, "I don't need to be sad in the moment to write a sad song. plus, people love break up songs. they love crying to shit like that."

charlie looks at y/n, incredulously, "yeah, ok miss crybaby."

y/n stops in her tracks, "who is THAT?" she points to the garage a little ways ahead of them.

charlie follows her sight, only to see a tall, brown-haired and doe-eyed boy in a HAAS racing suit. He smirks, "I'm guessing a driver."

y/n nudges charlie, "no duh. he's cute."

"wow... I'm right here you know."

"good. that means you can appreciate his looks as well. as a fellow cutie, of course."

from afar, y/n and charlie have caught ollie's eye. He walks over to them.

y/n sees ollie, "shit! char, he's coming over here. act natural."

charlie shakes his head, "you know, you're probably more famous than him, right?"

y/n tugs on charlie's sleeve, nervous. "I don't care. You know I get weird around good looking people. Remember when we first met?"

ollie makes his way over to them, "Hi, I'm Ollie." He turns to y/n, "you're lewis's niece, right?"

y/n freezes and charlie nudges her, "I have a boyfriend!"

ollie freezes and blinks, slowly, "Um, ok?"

y/n and charlie are on the plane ride back to L.A.

"fuck!" y/n is banging her head on the tray, "i am stupid! i am so stupid."

charlie moves hand between the tray and y/n, catching her head. "it's not that bad."

y/n lifts her head, "not that bad, not that bad! i told him that i have a boyfriend. i lied!"

"you were nervous."

"And you know what makes it worse? he looked at you! to see if you were going to say something!" y/n ranted.

charlie wraps his arm around y/n, "at least it wasn't like when we met, remember? you yelled out, in front everyone, that i was cutest thing you'd ever seen and that you would one-hundred percent smash if you got the chance."

y/n turned to face him, "that's crazy because I was one-hundred thinking "smash" when i saw him. i'm glad i can actually talk to you about this."

charlie looked at y/n like she was crazy, "y/n. we've been friends for a while, and i'm probably the only person you still talk to on a daily basis. i got you."

y/n sighs, "first of all, you did not have to clock me like that. second, i just hate messing shit up for myself. i have got to stop that."

charlie pats y/n's head, "you will. no more rain on your parade."

y/n leans into charlie's hand, "can't stop it, unfortunately."

"maybe next time."

"maybe."

cara's paddock: i have nothing to say other than the lowercase format is intentional. also, this was a long time coming. next chaper will be longer as it is the final chapter.

taglist: @multifantasic70

[takeyrregrets]

Idea! So I was thinking, how about a always cheerful popular reader, like nothing can dampen his mood and no one has seen him upset + a delinquent.

So, the reader is from a poor family and lives in a run down apartment where the doors are squeaky and the elevator always shuts down. He only has his mother left after his father disappeared when he was young. And ever since young he always has been able to make friends easily, except for the fact that they never stick around, always disappearing for odd reasons, their parents getting a new job somewhere else, getting a new friend group, the same thing went for his things like for fucks sake his favorite ball got stolen by a bird. So after a while he starts to accept that nothing will stick around, enjoying his time with people and going out of his way to hang out with them. But, when he meets the delinquent he immediately falls in love never leaving him alone, before realizing that he probably shouldn't try getting into a relationship with him. So he starts trying to ship the delinquent with someone else, not knowing that the delinquent fell in love too and wasn't about to let him go.

Holy shit this was long

-🦭

𝗜 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘅 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 this was a really cute!--And really sad prompt, also I love the amount of detail you put in omg

The elevator was broken again. Of course it was. You huffed a laugh under your breath, sneakers scuffing against the cracked tiles as you started up the stairs. Twelve flights wasn't so bad. You'd done worse. Your backpack swung side to side, stuffed with the leftovers Mrs. Langston had handed you from the bakery — she'd caught you eyeing the cupcakes again for what must be the hundredth time. People are nice, you thought, humming. Even if they don't stick around forever, even if jobs moved them or life swept them away — they stayed, for a little while at least. And that was enough.

You reached your floor, stepping over the spot where the carpet had worn down to nothing. Your apartment door squeaked when you pushed it open. Inside, the lights flickered once, twice, before settling into a dim yellow. Your mom's voice floated from the living room where she sat on the couch, counting out every dollar bill--figuring out how much could be spent for the following month

You smiled. You were lucky. It wasn’t much, but it was home. You liked the creaky floors and the peeling paint. They reminded you that some things could survive even if they weren't perfect.

You first met the schools so called "delinquent" when you were sitting on the curb after school, waiting for a bus that was already an hour late.

He was leaning against the bust stop sign, cigarette dangling from his lips, hoodie pulled up like he was daring someone to bother him.

You waved at him. Big grin, wide and open, like he wasn’t the scariest guy on campus. "You waiting for the bus too?" you asked.

He just stared at you like you’d spoken another language. Then shrugged, unsure, and suspicion all over his face.

You laughed, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Cool. Guess we’re both screwed, huh?"

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t walk away either.

That was enough. After that, you started showing up wherever he was. Park benches. Behind the school dumpsters. At the corner store where he loitered like he had nowhere better to be. You didn't ask permission. You just sat down next to him and started talking.

At first, he barely acknowledged you. But slowly — so slowly you almost missed it — he started listening. Then answering. One-word answers. Shrugs. Then eventually, full sentences.

He even walked you home once, shoving his hands deep into his pockets like he was mad at himself for it.

You thought he was just being nice. It felt better to ignore the fact he only acted this way with you. It hit you one afternoon. You were sitting on the curb again, eating cheap gas station sandwiches, and you looked over at him, and your heart just... ached.

You liked him. A lot.

And because you liked him..., you couldn’t be selfish.

You knew better than anyone that nothing good stayed. You weren’t going to drag him into that. You weren’t going to let him end up another thing you broke just by touching.

So you started trying to set him up with other people. Though he was quick to set you straight...

"You and Mari would be cute together," you said one day, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk.

He didn't even look up from his phone. "No."

You laughed, playing it off. "What about AJ? He’s cool. He’s into the same music as you."

"No."

You frowned. "You can���t just say no to everyone, dummy."

"I can when they're not you," he muttered.

You froze. Your breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

He realized what he said a second too late. His jaw tightened. His eyes darted away, like he wanted to shove the words back into his mouth.

You forced out a laugh — too loud, too fake — and shoved his shoulder playfully. "Don't joke like that!" you teased, heart cracking wide open.

He just stared at you for a long, heavy moment. Like he wanted to say something else. Something dangerous. But then he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and muttered, "Forget it."

You wanted to ask what he meant. You wanted to reach for him.

But you didn’t. Because you were a coward. Because you knew how this story ended.

Instead, you smiled your biggest, brightest smile — the one you used to hold yourself together when you were breaking apart inside.

"Let's go get slushies," you said, yanking at his sleeve. "Race ya!"

He let you drag him along, grumbling under his breath.

But you didn't miss the way his fingers brushed yours when he thought you wouldn't notice. You didn't miss the way he stayed close, always just half a step behind, like if he let you get too far, you'd disappear.

And maybe you would have, once.

But not this time. You were sitting on the curb again. Same spot as the first day you met him. The bus was late. (Of course.) The sky was smudged gray, the air heavy with that feeling right before rain.

He sat next to you, hoodie up, legs stretched out like he didn’t care about anything.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to tell him that maybe you were tired of letting things slip away. That maybe you were ready — terrified, but ready — to hold onto something for once.

But you didn't know how. So you muttered, softly, quietly, almost afraid he would actually hear "Hey Kaz?..What if...things actually stayed you know...constant..?" You looked up into the sky, eyeing the grey clouds with suspicion, avoiding his gaze "I mean, it’s kinda dumb, right? Stuff never stays. It's just better to enjoy it while it lasts." He was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, voice low, rough, like he was dragging it up from somewhere deep, "I'm not going anywhere."

You froze.

You stared at him.

He stared back, something almost desperate burning in his gaze.

Your heart hammered so loud you could barely hear yourself breathe.

"I—" He started, sitting up straighter, fists clenched on his knees. "I don't care if you think it's stupid. I'm not leaving. I don't care if you try to push me away. I lo—"

SCREEEEEECH.

The bus lurched around the corner, brakes screaming as it pulled up in front of you.

He flinched like he'd been slapped. You flinched too, the moment snapping like a rubber band stretched too tight.

He stood up fast, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, scowling at the ground.

You stood too, awkward and breathless, still half turned toward him, wanting to stay in that almost-place just a little longer.

But the bus doors hissed open. The driver leaned out, impatient.

"You getting on or what?" he barked.

You hesitated. He didn't look at you. He just muttered, "Text me when you get home."

You opened your mouth — to say what, you didn’t even know — but the driver honked the horn, and you stumbled onto the bus, half dizzy.

As the bus pulled away, you twisted in your seat to look back.

He was still there, hands stuffed in his pockets, hoodie slouched over his head.

Watching you.

Like he was afraid you’d vanish the second he blinked.

You pressed your forehead against the bus window and closed your eyes. Your heart was still racing.

He wasn’t leaving.

He had almost said it.

And you — You almost said it back.

Maybe next time.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 52 Chapter 52 | the sacred and the stupidly loved⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Eventually, the two of you strolled along the edge of the port now, the salty breeze kicking at the hem of your cloak. The water slapped softly against the stone, sunlight winking off the waves like thrown coins.

You found yourself talking—words slipping easier now, warmer.

"And then," you said, grinning a little, "this merchant—this idiot—tried to back me into a corner."

Hermes' arm tightened slightly around your shoulders, his head tilting toward you in interest.

"He got all handsy," you went on, waving your free hand for emphasis. "Grabbed my waist. So I grabbed him and slammed into the nearest wall, and held him at knife point, like I did you earlier. Even knicked him a bit."

Hermes cackled, loud and delighted, like you'd just given him the best story of the year.

"Gods, I knew there was something vicious brewing under that sweet little face," he laughed, bumping his hip against yours. "Proud of you, little musician. Very proud. Apollo's probably writing tragic songs about your deadly elbows already."

You chuckled under your breath, your body relaxing again, the easy rhythm of the walk carrying you forward.

But then, your eyes drifted to the left.

To the sea.

You weren't even trying to look.

It just... pulled you.

The water stretched out, endless and bright, sparkling under the sun like it had never swallowed a single soul. Like it didn't remember.

You did.

Your laugh trailed off.

Your steps slowed until you weren't moving at all.

You stared out over the waves.

And suddenly—

You could feel it all again.

The burn in your chest.

The way the sea pressed against your ribs like iron hands.

The thousand ghostly voices whispering and sobbing in the deep.

Eurylochus' hollow voice mourning missed time with Ctimene.

Your throat tightened.

Your fingers curled into your palms without meaning to, nails digging against your skin just to feel something solid. Something now.

You didn't even notice you'd stopped walking.

Didn't realize Hermes had kept going for two steps without you before he caught on.

He doubled back, still chuckling to himself—until he saw you.

And then he leaned down, ducking into your line of sight.

He lifted a finger and gave a light, playful tap against the side of your head.

"Knock, knock," he sing-songed, trying to break the tension. "Anyone home?"

You blinked, slow.

Pulled back into yourself like waking from a nightmare you hadn't meant to fall into.

And maybe it was the way your feet dragged. Or the way your arms stayed hugged close around yourself, like you were holding something broken inside.

Because his face faltered the second he saw you.

The grin he always wore—lopsided, too much—dimmed. His hand, still half-raised from tapping your head, dropped a little. His golden eyes scanned your face, and you knew he saw it.

The dark.

The heaviness still clinging to you like seaweed.

The part of you that hadn't really made it back to the surface.

Your throat worked around a dry swallow. You tried to smile. Failed.

Instead, your voice came out rough, smaller than you meant."Do you think..." You bit your lip, then forced the words through."Do you think my title lets me help them?"

Hermes blinked. "Help who?"

You looked out toward the sea without thinking. The waves curled lazy against the docks now — soft, gentle—nothing like the graveyard you'd floated in.

"King Odysseus' men..." you said, quieter. "The ones who never crossed. The ones just...waiting." You turned back to him, the weight thick behind your ribs. "Could I help them?" you asked. "Guide them to the other side? So they can finally get peace?"

You didn't even know what you were hoping for. A yes? A maybe? Something to make that ache less useless?

Hermes snorted through his nose, a little grin tugging at his mouth. "Help them? You?"

You stiffened.

His grin stayed sharp, but not mean. "Sweetheart," he said, tilting his head, "a title's just a prettier word for bait."

You blinked.

He shifted his weight onto one foot, tossing a coin up in the air and catching it without looking. "Makes people think you can do more than you ever promised," he said easily. "That's all it is. A trick. A song. Something that sounds good enough to soothe their fears."

He chuckled at first. That warm, lazy chuckle he always had tucked in his chest.

But then his gaze dropped to your hands.

And he saw it. The way you were twisting your fingers in the folds of your cloak. Knuckles tight.

The chuckle died in his throat.

Slowly, he straightened. His voice softened, lost the edges. "Hey," he said, quieter now. "You don't owe the sea anything."

You stared at him, breathing hard. Your hands stayed clenched at your sides.

He stepped a little closer. Close enough that the scent of him wrapped around you. "Just because someone gave you a title that sounds divine," Hermes murmured, "doesn't mean you became something you're not."

You flinched, a tiny jerk of your chin.

Hermes' mouth twisted, almost regretful. "Especially" he added, "when it was a mortal who gave it."

Your throat burned.

He didn't say Odysseus' name.

He didn't have to.

You already knew.

You shifted your weight, hands clenching at your sides, the knot behind your ribs pulling tighter. "I can heal," you said stubbornly, voice low, hoarse. "I healed that boy, back on Ithaca. I didn't imagine that."

The words came out sharper than you meant.

Maybe because you needed them to be true.

Maybe because you could still feel the cold weight of those soldiers back in the deep—their empty eyes, their forgotten hands reaching for you—and the guilt of not reaching back still sat like a stone behind your ribs.

You wanted to help them. You wanted to believe you could fix it. Anything less felt like leaving them there to rot.

Hermes only raised a brow, almost pitying. "And who do you think gave you that little trick?" he asked easily.

You froze. Your mind reeled back—

The lyre.

The golden light.

The way your hands had moved without you calling for them.

Apollo.

Not you. Not ever you.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

Hermes watched the realization bleed slow across your face before he continued, voice lighter but not unkind. "Divine favor isn't the same as divine appointment. Healing? Sure. A blessing, a trick, a party favor—whatever you wanna call it. But shepherding souls?"

He shook his head, a soft, almost amused sound in the back of his throat. "That's different. That's weight. That's authority. And it doesn't get handed out because someone called you a pretty name."

You swallowed hard, the pressure thickening behind your chest.

Hermes rubbing the back of his neck lazily like he was explaining something to a stubborn apprentice. "If you wanted to guide spirits," he said, "you'd need explicit appointment." He lifted a hand, ticking names off his fingers casually. "Hades could grant it. Hypnos, maybe, if you caught him in the right mood. Me, if I was feeling generous—" He winked at that but you didn't smile. He sighed. "But you don't have that. You don't bear the weight of that law. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

You looked away, chest squeezing tighter.

"And as for those poor bastards down there..." Hermes shrugged one shoulder, careless in a way only gods could be. "That's just how it goes, little musician. Some souls get stuck. Some don't. Maybe, in a millennium or two, long after King Odysseus and his golden boy are dust, Poseidon will finally get bored of holding a grudge. But it won't be because of you. Or anything you failed to do."

You flinched at that—hard enough that Hermes caught it.

You stared at the cobblestones, your pulse pounding in your ears, the salt breeze suddenly feeling a little too sharp in your lungs. You twisted your fingers into the hem of your cloak. Pressed your teeth hard to the inside of your cheek.

You didn't trust yourself to speak.

Not yet.

Not without the grief—or the anger—slipping through.

And Hermes, to his rare credit... let you have the silence. Just for a little while.

Then, you finally let out a breath. More a scoff than anything—a crooked, tired thing that twisted up your mouth as you dragged a hand down your face.

You shook your head once, muttering under your breath. "Grudge," you repeated bitterly, tasting the word like it soured on your tongue. "Tell me about it."

Your mind drifted without permission—sliding back into the cracks you tried not to look at too long.

Aphrodite and her damn curse.

The one that clung to your bloodline like oil to skin.

The one that twisted love into something ugly, something hollow, until it wasn't love at all—just longing and loneliness sharpened into knives.

For years, it had shaped your family. Poisoned every hope. Starved every heart.

Until lately.

Until recently.

Until you finally clawed your way free of it.

But still—you knew the weight of old grudges better than most. You wore their scars, even if no one else could see them.

Hermes watched you a little longer. Long enough that the grin he normally wore thinned into something smaller.

More careful.

Then, voice quieter now—almost hesitant, like he didn't want to press too hard—he asked. "...Is it... something you want done?"

You blinked, the question sinking past your ribs before your mind could catch it.

He didn't mean the curse. He meant the soldiers. The wreckage Poseidon left you floating in. The lost voices still clawing at the back of your ears.

You turned your head slightly—enough to glance over your shoulder, back toward the harbor.

The ocean stretched out, glittering under the sun like it had never seen a corpse. Like it had never swallowed six hundred men and let their names rot at the bottom.

Your throat tightened.

Before you could even think about it, your hand lifted—moving on instinct—and pressed lightly against your chest. Right over your heart.

You remembered them.

The mourning soldiers. The way their voices wept without sound. How they crowded around you—not angry, not hateful—just... broken. How they told you their names. Their wives' names. Their children's names. Only to forget them the next breath. Only to tell you again.

You could still feel them. Still hear them.

The ghosts of their grief brushed your ribs, even now.

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric over your heart.

But you didn't answer Hermes.

Not yet.

Because what would you even say?

Yes?

No?

I don't know?

It felt too big. Too cruel to hope for. Too cruel not to.

The words sat heavy against your ribs, pressing until you thought something might crack from the weight.

And then, barely louder than the lap of the sea against the shore, you whispered—broken, shaking, real. "If I could..." Your fingers dug slightly into your cloak, breath hitching against your teeth. "I would."

It hurt to say it. Like it cost you something. Like naming the want made it heavier, not lighter.

Hermes let the words settle—let them breathe.

And then, after a beat, he hummed low in his throat. "...Suppose," he mused, casual as if he were talking about picking fruit instead of bending fate, "I could pull a few strings."

You froze.

Your head whipped toward him so fast you nearly threw your neck out.

Your eyes were wide, stinging, your heart lurching up into your throat.

"You—what?!" you gasped, almost tripping over the words. "Are you—are you serious?"

Hermes just gave you a crooked little smirk, tilting his head in that maddening way he always did when he thought he was being clever. "When," he said, tapping two fingers lightly against your forehead, "have I ever lied to you?"

You opened your mouth—shut it again—then, before you could even think about it, you launched yourself at him. A tiny squeal escaped your mouth, embarrassing and helpless, as you threw your arms around his neck.

Hermes staggered just half a step back, but he caught you easily—laughing, real and surprised, as he wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you.

You clutched him like he was the only thing holding you to the ground. "Thank you," you gasped, your voice cracking against his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you—gods, thank you—"

You didn't even realize you were crying until your face pressed into the warm curve of his neck, your body trembling with the force of it.

You hid there, burying your face against his skin like you could tuck yourself out of sight, like maybe if you stayed small enough, stayed still enough, the hurt would slip away and leave only this—this warmth, this relief, this stupid, stupid hope.

Hermes' hands tightened a little around you—one rubbing firm, steady circles along your back, the other cradling the back of your head like he was afraid you'd fly apart if he let go.

He didn't tease. Didn't laugh. He just held you.

Letting you cry against him under the bright, endless sky.

For the ones who never got to come home.

For the ones who waited too long.

For the ones still waiting.

And for yourself.

You didn't know how long you stood there—pressed tight against him, fists curled into the loose folds of his tunic like you could anchor yourself there forever. The sea whispered somewhere behind you. The sun pressed warm into your back.

And still—you stayed.

Until finally, Hermes shifted.

Not to push you away.

But to tug you back just enough to see your face.

He tutted under his breath, shaking his head with a fake, exaggerated sigh. "Gods, you're dramatic," he teased softly, one hand sliding from your waist to cup your cheek.

His thumb brushed under your eye—catching a tear you hadn't even noticed had slipped loose.

"All this crying over some dead sailors?" he said, voice light but not cruel. "You act like I'm doing something hard." He grinned lopsidedly, tilting his head. "I'm just moving a few souls. No big deal."

You tried to scoff, but the sound wobbled pathetically in your throat.

Hermes only chuckled—lower, fonder.

And then—so gently you barely felt it—his thumb trailed downward, brushing the faint line of your scar.

The one tucked against your jaw.

The one that marked where a knife had once tried—and failed—to silence you forever.

He traced it slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of it.

Like he had every right to.

Like he already had.

Your breath caught without meaning to.

Hermes' smile faded just a little—softened into something quieter, sadder, more dangerous.

His eyes—normally all gold and sly and sharp—turned molten and warm, like honey left too long in the sun.

He looked at you like you were something sacred.

You blinked up at him, lashes damp, throat raw.

Your lip trembled slightly, and you hated it, hated how raw you felt, but Hermes didn't laugh. Didn't tease. He just held your face in his hands like he was afraid you'd vanish if he blinked.

Like maybe... maybe you were the only real thing he'd touched all day.

He leaned a little closer, grin going sly.

"Keep looking at me like that," he murmured, thumb still brushing slow over your skin, "and I swear—I'll hand you Olympus by sunrise if you asked."

You stared at him.

Wide-eyed. Disbelieving.

He said it so matter-of-fact, like he wasn't promising you something outrageous. Like it would be easy. Like it was already half-done.

Your throat bobbed, your fingers still clinging to the edge of his tunic.

And he just smiled at you—crooked and golden and too big for one god to hold.

"You want a palace?" he added, winking. "A river named after you? An entorague of nymphs to wait on you hand and foot? Say the word, darling. I'll forge a mountain in your honor before Apollo even wakes up for his morning ambrosia."

You let out a cracked, half-soggy laugh, shoving weakly at his shoulder.

Hermes only laughed again—full-bodied this time, sharp and bright as sun on seawater—and caught your wrist easily before you could pull it away.

He pressed your knuckles lightly against his chest.

Right where his heart would be.

And for one strange, quiet heartbeat—you almost thought you could feel it beating.

Steady. Warm. Real.

Another sniffle escaped you—pathetic and wet—and you scrunched your face up in annoyance at yourself.

"You're always so..." You huffed, cheeks burning. "...unserious."

Hermes just laughed.

Not the loud, teasing cackle he usually threw around like coins at a festival.

This one was low. Warm. Private. Like it was just for you.

He wiggled his brows dramatically, still cradling your cheek with one hand like you were made of spun glass. "Of course I am," he said, voice lilting with fake solemnity. "I'm the god of trickery, darling. It's practically a professional requirement."

You shook your head, pushing your palm into your eye, trying to scrub the tears away like they hadn't happened. "Of course you are," you muttered under your breath, voice hoarse but stubborn. "I forgot—gods don't really get it, huh? Stuff that's a big deal for mortals... probably means nothing to you."

Hermes tilted his head at you, his thumb still brushing faint little strokes over the curve of your scar like he hadn't realized he was doing it.

You went on anyway, not angry. Just... trying to explain. Trying to make him see it.

"You—you don't get it," you said, a small laugh slipping out, watery and sharp all at once. "For you, it's nothing. I get it. You move souls all the time. You see death every day. You can just... 'pull some strings.' Another errand to run between playing tricks and delivering prophecies. But for me—" you pressed your hand to your chest, half-punching your own ribs, "for me it's not just... paperwork!"

Your voice cracked a little, but you powered through it.

"You didn't see them," you said, almost shaking now, sadness turning into anger. "You didn't see the way they—" You broke off, grimacing. "They weren't angry. They weren't monsters. They were just... stuck. Forgotten. Whispering the same things over and over because they couldn't remember anything else... Like they didn't even know they were dead."

You breathed out a harsh sound that was half a laugh, half something sharp and broken.

Hermes blinked at you."Huh?" he said, voice small and almost stupidly confused.

You stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or scream. His face was scrunched up like you'd just started speaking another language.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I mean, you're sensitive, sure," he said carefully, like he wasn't sure if he was walking into a trap, "but why are you—what, did you get too empathetic while I wasn't looking? Crying over a bunch of random spirits you didn't even know? That's a little—" He made a tiny gesture. Like "come on."

You cut him off. "No,"you said sharply. "It's not just me being emotional."

Hermes cocked his head, frowning.

You sucked in a breath, words bubbling up before you could even filter them. "I was down there," you said fiercely.

He straightened a little at that, his grin slipping a bit.

"When the storm hit—when the ship almost went under—the sailors panicked," you started, jaw tightening. "There was no offering, so they wanted to sacrifice something—someone. Lady—" your voice wobbled, and you pushed through it— "Someone tried to grab Lady. They tried to take her. Said she wasn't a real person. I stopped them. Offered myself instead."

Hermes' face blanked completely.

No teasing. No sparkle in his eye. Just a slow, cold stillness settling over his features.

"I jumped," you said. "I hit the water. Sank. And then, instead of letting me die, he showed up. Poseidon,"you laughed under your breath, the sound bitter and brittle."All glowy and smug, acting like he was doing me a favor by not crushing the ship to dust." You flung your arms out. "And—AND THEN—he just grabbed my face and—"

You gagged a little on the memory.

"And he kissed me," you burst out, appalled all over again. "Or—no! Sorry! 'It wasn't a kiss,' he said," you mimicked in a high, mocking tone. "It was just him giving me a 'gift'—air. So generous. So considerate. Like that makes it better!"

Hermes' mouth twitched like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or commit murder.

You pointed at him, still ranting, voice shrill now. "I don't care what kind of ancient, majestic 'gift' he thought it was! He could've warned me! Or—I don't know—literally anything except ambush my face like that! Then he dragged me down to the bottom of the sea and dumped me in a godsforsaken graveyard with six hundred dead Ithacan soldiers for three days."

Hermes didn't move.

Didn't even breathe.

You pushed the heel of your palm into your brow, voice dropping into something more tired than angry now.

"I... listened to them," you said. "All of them. Their regrets. Their fears. Their last memories. Over and over and over until I couldn't tell where my thoughts ended... and theirs began."

You dropped your hand limply to your side.

"And now I'm here," you finished weakly, blinking at him. "Trying not to lose my mind every time I hear waves."

Hermes just stared at you for a long second, his arms slowly crossed over his chest.

"...Poseidon kissed you," he said flatly.

"It wasn't a kiss," you snapped immediately. "He called it a 'breathing boon' or whatever godly nonsense."

Hermes' brows lifted almost to his hairline. His voice dropped dangerously soft.

"Poseidon kissed you."

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, still too mortified to look at him.

"Not on purpose!" you mumbled into your palms. "It was survival. He said it was survival. I hate everything."

Hermes made a noise—something between a strangled laugh and a sound of pure homicidal disbelief.

You peeked at him through your fingers.

His face was a study in blank fury.

Like he'd just been informed the sky was falling and it was personal.

The silence stretched, thick and strange between you. The salty breeze tugged at your clothes. Somewhere behind you, a gull cried out—a long, lonely sound.

Then, finally, low and rough, he said, "I see."

No teasing. No jokes. Just two words, heavier than they had any right to be.

And just as fast as that dark look had settled on his face—it smoothed away. Like a ripple crossing a still pond.

Hermes smiled again. Brighter this time. Lighter.

Too light.

He gave a little hop—effortless—and the next thing you knew, he was floating a few inches off the ground, his winged sandals fluttering lazily under him. The feathers stirred the dust by your boots, kicked up little whorls of gold and gray in the sunlight.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard, and before you could flinch away, he reached down and ruffled your hair.

You squawked—actually squawked—trying to duck, but he was too fast. His fingers messed up the top of your head with infuriating precision, then smoothed it down again like you were some cranky little cat.

"There," he said, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "Better."

You shot him a look of pure betrayal.

Hermes just laughed and drifted back a step in the air, hands clasped lazily behind his head.

"Guess I better get a head start on those souls, huh?" he said, his voice still bright, but something... softer hiding underneath it. "Wouldn't want my favorite mortal thinking I'm all talk and no action."

He winked.

And before you could so much as shove him for the hair thing—or maybe hug him again, you weren't even sure which anymore—he spun midair, the wings on his sandals catching the sunlight, scattering it like shards of gold around him.

He was already pulling away, soaring higher, when your mind suddenly lurched back—Nico.

The ridiculous conversation earlier.

The favor.

The promise.

Your eyes snapped wide.

"WAIT!" you screeched, pure panic punching out of you.

Without thinking—pure stupid, desperate instinct—you leapt up, both arms stretching like you could physically drag the god of speed back down.

Somehow, miraculously, your fingers managed to snag his ankle mid-flight.

You grabbed tight around the leather strap of his sandal, your palm half-smacking against the side of his foot—and the second you did, your boots lifted clean off the ground.

Your eyes widened comically, the world tilting as your toes dangled uselessly over the cobblestones.

"Hermes—Hermes!!" you yelped, kicking wildly, the marketplace blurring a little around you.

The god jolted midair, twisting around like a cat yanked by the tail. His sandals fluttered in sharp little bursts as he wobbled, tilted—then cocked his head down at you.

He raised his leg experimentally.

You dangled there—arms clinging stubbornly to his ankle like a barnacle clamped to a ship—feet kicking uselessly above the ground.

Hermes peered at you with a mixture of surprise and wild amusement, one brow arching high.

"Well," he said cheerfully, head still tilted sideways as he studied you, "this is new."

"PUT ME DOWN!" you barked, voice half-mortified, half-terrified you were about to get launched into orbit.

Hermes just grinned wider, like this was the funniest thing he'd seen all month. One hand leisurely scratched at his jaw like he was pondering something very serious.

"Hmm," he mused aloud, voice maddeningly casual. "I dunno. You did grab me without asking. Might be grounds for kidnapping."

Your growl came low and dangerous from your throat, legs flailing harder.

But the bastard only snickered—and floated higher.

You yelped again, clutching tighter as the ground slipped even further away, your cloak flapping wildly around your knees.

In the back of your mind—deep behind the pure panic—you dimly wondered why no one was screaming or gawking.

The market was still bustling. Merchants shouted prices, kids weaved through baskets, and sailors laughed over cheap wine. Nobody even glanced at the sight of a mortal girl dangling from a god's foot like a sack of pears.

You barely managed to piece it together.

Hermes.

Of course.

Probably had some god-trick pulled over the mortals' eyes. Some ripple in the air that made your flailing look like nothing more than a flutter of fabric in the breeze—or maybe they didn't see you at all.

Gods, you were going to strangle him... if you survived.

"HER-MES!!" you screeched again, voice cracking halfway through like a dying gull.

The god just laughed—an actual full, unbothered cackle—and floated in lazy loops higher into the sun-warmed air.

You clung harder to his ankle, teeth gritted, your heart doing little suicidal somersaults in your chest.

Hermes, meanwhile, just peered down at you upside down, his hair flopping wildly in the breeze as he lazily twirled in midair.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, voice bright and merciless. "What exactly are you doing down there, barnacle?"

You spluttered—actually spluttered—trying to scramble your thoughts and your pride back into some kind of order.

"I—I needed to tell you—!" you gasped, legs still kicking helplessly.

Hermes blinked owlishly. "Tell me what?"

You twisted your hands tighter around his ankle. "About the man!" you barked, feeling your face heat from the ridiculousness of all this.

Hermes just floated there like a lazy cloud. "You'll have to be a little more specific, darling," he teased. "I know a lot of men."

You groaned, nearly biting your tongue in frustration. "The inn! Your inn! The Quicktangle—or whatever it was called!" you barked, cheeks burning.

At that, something clicked.

Hermes' face lit up with recognition—and pure mischief.

He burst out laughing, the sound bright and absolutely unrepentant. "I forgot about him!" he crowed, clutching his stomach midair like he was watching the best play of his life.

Slowly—blessedly—he began lowering you back toward the cobbled ground. You could feel the ground pulling at your boots, the dizzy heat in your head slowly cooling as your body stopped swinging like a weathervane.

Hermes floated upside down beside you now, his curls dangling wildly toward the street, sandals fluttering in lazy kicks. His chin was practically at your shoulder level, upside down grin wide enough to split his face in two.

He tilted his head—er, his whole body—sideways and smirked.

"Soooo," he drawled, spinning once like a lazy top, "what does my loyal servant want, hmm?"

You panted, legs shaking, arms still trembling from clinging to him like a mortal lifeline.

You didn't answer right away.

Mostly because you were too busy glaring at him. Trying—and failing—to gather your thoughts back into a straight line instead of the chaotic, tangled mess he'd turned them into.

Finally, you gritted your teeth and barked out:

"He—" you panted, scowling harder, "—he just wanted me to, ugh, mention him next time I saw you. Said he's been a 'faithful and selfless steward of your sacred port' or whatever nonsense."

You waved a hand vaguely at the sky, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

Hermes' upside-down grin only grew.

But then—you paused, brows knitting.

"You know," you muttered, folding your arms, still glaring half-heartedly up at him, "why the Hades do you have a barkeep down here anyway? Shouldn't your servants be, I don't know—running temples? Giving blessings? Whispering secrets? Not...selling fish stew and warm beer to sailors?"

Hermes flipped himself upright midair, hovering cross-legged now like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He leaned in close, eyes glinting with that familiar gleam.

"You ever heard of a better way," he said, voice low and conspiratorial, "to hear every single secret of an island than by running the town's drunk tank?"

You blinked.

He grinned wider.

"Mortals," he said, shrugging grandly, "spill everything after two cups of wine and one good plate of food. Births. Deaths. Murders. Gold hoards. Secret love affairs. Half of the Trojan War rumors started in taverns, you know."

You stared.

He floated a little higher, tapping his temple smugly.

"Who needs temples when you have gossip?"

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

"...You are," you said flatly, "by far the pettiest god I have ever met."

Hermes threw his head back and roared with laughter, arms wide like he was soaking in the compliment. "And proud of it!"

You just stared at him, hands on your hips, heart still half-pounding from almost getting carried off like a very annoyed kite.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you muttered, waving a hand through the air like clearing smoke. "Still doesn't explain why you've got Nico playing bartender. And calling you master," you added pointedly, narrowing your eyes. "What is this? Some weird god-servant thing? Is that how you get your kicks now?"

Hermes floated backward a few lazy paces, arms folded behind his head, sandals fluttering without a care. He snorted. "Gods, no," he said, rolling his eyes like you were the crazy one. "I'm no tyrant. Nico's here because he lost a bet."

You blinked once. Then again.

"A... bet," you repeated flatly.

Hermes grinned, all teeth. "A very dumb bet."

You just... stood there.

Waiting.

Hand on your hip. Brow arched so high it could've scraped the clouds.

"...Well?" you prompted dryly. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

Hermes hummed under his breath, tilting his head like he was considering it. Then he waved a lazy hand through the air, brushing the question away like smoke.

"Nah," he said airily. "Takes the fun out of his origin story."

You opened your mouth—ready to protest, demand, argue—anything—

But before you could even get a word out, "Soooo," Hermes said, voice syrupy and sweet, hands folding behind his back as he bobbed there beside you, "you want to deliver a message to dear Nico for me?"

You squinted suspiciously. "...What is it?"

Hermes hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin like he was crafting a grand strategy.

"Tell him," Hermes said, his voice dipping into a sing-song whisper, "that as a reward for his loyal service, I'm officially granting him his freedom."

You blinked, stunned.

Hermes grinned wider, sharp and delighted.

"But—" he added, lifting a finger like a magician revealing the final trick, "if he wants the title of official Messenger's Assistant—with all the travel perks, godly favor, and free drinks at all Hermes-blessed inns—he has to accept. Immediately. No take-backs."

"And... if he refuses?"

Hermes shrugged, almost too casual. "Then he remains exactly what he is now—my servant. Just... without the perks."

You blinked again.

Still processing.

Your mouth dropped open. "That's not freedom," you said, baffled.

"Sure it is," Hermes said cheerfully, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. Your jaw dropped further when he added—oh so casually—"Freedom to pick which leash he wants."

Hermes floated down until he was level with you—still upside down—grinning like a cat about to push a vase off a windowsill.

He reached out lightly with one finger—and gently booped your chin to close your mouth.

"There," he said smugly. "That's better."

You stumbled back half a step, still trying to wrap your mind around the sheer pettiness of what you were being asked to deliver.

"Thank you, cutie~" he teased, voice lilting with laughter.

And before you could grab his tunic and demand more answers—or throttle him—Hermes gave a cheeky little salute with two fingers

Then he blew you a kiss—actually blew you a kiss, the gust of divine breeze sending your hair flying straight back.

And in the next blink, he was gone.

Up, up, up—vanishing into the blue sky like a mischievous star shooting itself home.

Leaving you there.

Alone.

Basket on your arm.

Hair a mess.

Brain completely fried.

And one very, very unfortunate message to deliver.

You stood there for a beat longer. "...I'm going to kill him," you finally muttered under your breath.

But you were smiling.

Gods help you, you were smiling.

You let out a long, slow exhale and bent down to start gathering the things you'd dropped—your basket, a few bruised figs, the little carved boat for Eben now slightly scuffed along the hull.

You brushed the dust off as best you could, cradling everything awkwardly in your arms.

The market buzzed on around you, oblivious. Voices floated on the breeze. Sunlight dappled across the crooked stones. Somewhere nearby, someone plucked a lyre, a slow, wandering melody curling through the air.

You shifted the basket onto your hip with a soft grunt, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Your fingers smelled faintly like figs and salt and the wax of a hundred sun-warmed stalls.

It was... peaceful, in a way.

The kind of peace that didn't scream. Didn't demand. It just was.

Maybe today hadn't gone the way you'd planned.

Maybe it never would.

But for now, at least—

You were here.

Alive.

Carrying a ridiculous god's message, sure, but also carrying pieces of a day that felt a little too golden to lose.

Small things. Simple things. A handful of bright feathers. A few polished stones. A bolt of blue cloth that caught the light like water.

Gifts for the people who felt like home.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over each one.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought that flickered through your mind wasn't what if it all falls apart?

It was I can't wait to see their faces.

You smiled to yourself, small and crooked, and turned back toward the inn.

A/N: lolol not me being psychic, just got calle din for a shift 💔💔 since imma be doign night shift and will clonk out when i get home, here's the double update ❤️ also i love nico so much! you all are gonna love him too~ and its obvious my type are funny people that hide pains/joke alot cuz i swear i love making ocs like that hahaha don't worry i swear i have more personalities in stock the funny-in-pain type just hits fr 😔 btw forgot to mention, a lot of 'characters' you've seen me spend time describing etc, yet not see them again... it's mostly cuz those will be reccuring characters in the isekai book 👀 like i'm so excited y'all i'm already plotting things out, got the first few chappies in skeleton form/blurbs and pulling bits and stuff from here, so imma be rereading godly things to take notes on what i may include in the iseaki. is there any characters/places you guys would like seen in it??? lemme know, y'all know i gotta short attention span/janky ahh memory and need reminders sometimes 😭😭😩 #overlyconfidentwritertrynajugglemulitplethingswhensheknowsshessettingherselfupforfailure💔

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Walter Marshall

Summary: Walter takes you shopping for a new bed.

Warnings: Size discrimination. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is short, female. No other physical descriptors used.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

"Do we have to do this Walter?" you whine as you get out of the truck.

"If you want me to stay overnight at your place again, yes," Walter replies. "That thing you call a bed can barely support the two of us when we're just resting, let alone when we're getting frisky. And I'm too old for the floor."

"Well why can't I just get you a really big dog bed, then?" You smirk at Walter's fake glare as you scritch his chin. "Fine," you concede. "But I reserve the right to complain the whole time."

"Of course," he nods as puts his arm behind you, gently pushing you into the furniture store. "And I'm okay with you getting a couch instead, just so long as it's got better support."

"Thank you for respecting the limitations of my space," you nod.

It didn't hurt he'd also agreed to pay for half the thing since he was the main reason you were buying it. Or so you let him think. In truth, you knew you'd needed to upgrade your tiny little bed couch for a while now. It definitely wasn't doing your back any favors. You'd added pillows to try to make it cushier, but that was a temporary fix.

But going out to a store and actually buying a better option was its own kind of torture. Salespeople bugged everyone, of course, but they often took your shorter stature as reason to invade your personal space. At least when you were at work your uniform gave you a modicum of respect, a bit of a bubble for your safety. Without it, you were just another short person they could smile about looking down on. You were a target they could push into buying something you really didn't want. You weren't a shrinking violet, and happily bit back at them if they pushed too hard, but it was exhausting and shouldn't have to happen in the first place.

Walter could tell you were on edge but wasn't sure why. He chalks it up to your hesitancy surrounding change and big purchases. He's learned his lesson on trying to speak for you but he's happy to accompany you.

Once inside, you both go directly to the couches. They're more familiar for you and your sleeping habits. The fold out ones are also more sturdy for Walter's sake. There are some things you'd love to do to really test out which couch would be best for both of you, but you don't feel like getting arrested for indecency. He volunteers to scout out other areas but you hold onto his hand to keep him near.

"You're my guard dog right now," you whisper to him. He's not entirely sure what to make of it, but he nods in agreement, if not understanding.

It isn't long until you're approached by a salesman. His name tag says "Pete" and his smile is just shy of sleazy. His focus is clearly on Walter and he greets him with a smile and a handshake, barely looking at you.

"So what can I help the two of you?" Pete offers.

Walter doesn't say anything, just points to you. You smile a little at the double take Pete does but drop it immediately when he gets a little too close.

"So what are you looking for, little lady?" he asks, changing tactics.

"Some personal space," you say flatly as you glare up at him.

For a moment it looks like Pete's smelled something awful but he fixes his composure and takes a step back, almost bumping into Walter. "That's fair," he nods. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You tell Pete the dimensions and requirements you're looking for and he starts walking you towards the pricier options. When you realize what he's doing you immediately turn and start walking towards other, more reasonably priced options. It might be rude, but you've got a budget and he's going to have to respect that.

Walter sees a momentary scowl on Pete's face but keeps his own mouth shut. You're in charge here, and he's happy to see you throwing the guy off. He's definitely understanding more of your request that he be your guard dog. Especially when Pete looks at Walter like, can you help me out here? Walter gives him an unfriendly smile and gestures for Pete to follow you. You're in charge. The sooner Pete respects that, the sooner he can get a sale.

The only time Walter says anything is when you have him try out the couches with you. He gives you honest opinions as he flops down onto them, testing how they handle his weight and rough treatment. He happily steps between you and Pete whenever you need to think. Making sure Pete can't add pressure to the decision.

When you're ready to make a decision you tell Pete which one you want and in what color. He tries to upsell you on a few things and you agree to the one that actually does sound like a good idea. He retains his customer service smile as he gets the paperwork and tallies everything up but the rest of his body language indicates he's not happy. He really should be happy he got anything from you.

The paperwork gets signed and the couch will be delivered to your little apartment in a couple of weeks. You shake Pete's hand and turn to head out. Walter also shakes his hand and Pete grumbles, "I don't understand how you can be so completely whipped for a chihuahua like her."

Walter squeezes Pete's hand extra hard, making the man wince. "Not my fault you can't handle a strong, intelligent, woman with an independent streak. Though now it makes sense why you're still single."

In the cab of Walter's truck you let yourself decompress. He climbs in soon after you do and starts the engine.

"I think I'm understanding a bit more of why you didn't want to do this," he starts. "So I want to thank you, again, for being willing to do so."

"Well, you weren't wrong about the couch needing to be replaced," you confess. "I was just being really stubborn."

"Understandably stubborn," he consoles. "Lost track of how many times I wanted to smack him."

"I'm really glad you didn't. That you let me actually be in charge and didn't step in unless I asked you to. You're a good guard dog."

"Ruff," Walter playfully barks, making you smile. "So, as a thank you, I was wondering if you'd let me treat you to some Dairy Queen?"

"That depends," you tease. "How much of a bill can I run up?"

"Hmm...just don't order everything from the menu?"

"I can work with that," you smile.

Next

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @changenameno; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kingliam2019; @kmc1989; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[cuntyhunty22]

Hope again. (Part 2 )

* fate *

Pairing : Jackson!oldman!joel x reader

Tags : smut, violence, language, age gap, established relationship (sort of ) , oral , creampie,

Blood, murder, death. (Let me know if I missed anything.)

Description : see part 1 for full rundown . It's listed in my materialist! Reader is in a relationship with Joel, she is adjusting to living in Jackson. Battling her demons.

•

A month has flown by, and wow is life different. Jackson has been good to you.. You met the love of your life.. you have people that care about you.. a family really. You have a great relationship with Ellie despite Ellie's issues with Joel. She is a kid it's understandable. Dina has became like your sister, Maria same way. Tommy is like a brother you never had, always annoying Joel together. Then there is Joel.. the man who has changed everything for you. The man who in the darkest time of your life has brought you so much light and you'd like to think you do the same for him.

•

You are on patrol today. It's became a normal part of your routine. Most days it's been easy few infected here and there, no signs of the raiders who murdered your sister. That's not changed, the thing you made Joel swear to you will always remain that.

It's about 6:30 in the morning, staring at the ceiling the opposite side of the bed already empty. The smell of coffee fills the air and slight movement in the kitchen makes you smile.

Sliding on Joel's flannel you make your way to the kitchen. Sitting there glasses on the Rim of his nose reading a book.

"Mornin" you lean against the counter, bare legs exposed as the sunlight hits you illuminating them.

Joel peeks out from his book taking you all in.

"I made coffee, patrol is 8 but we can leave before."

"Okay"

He gets this way when it's time for patrol, all moody and just focused really.

You turn around to grab a cup out of the cupboard, the flannel raising slightly exposing your bare ass cheeks. That is when you feel a hand with a firm grip grabbing your ass making you gasp. Joel now has your body sandwiched between the counter and him. His arm reaching around your body between your legs.

"You start that sir we will be late for patrol and -" he cuts you off by gently rubbing your clit. You moan, feeling his bulge on your back as he kisses down your neck.

"I need you." He growls in your ear.

Footsteps approach and you two quickly stop what was quickly progressing.

"Morninngggggg maybe we should have knocked." Ellie and Dina stand in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ. Sorry um let me change." You blush bright red.

"Oh we can come back we are early anyway" Dina chuckles.

Joel grunts lookin around.

"You two head to town, we will meet there."

Joel comes into the bedroom as you are slipping the flannel off. His eyes on you as he closes the space between you. His hand caresses your face as you stand bare in front of him.

"Lay down." Demanding tone. Eyes dark.

"Baby we don't-"

"I said lay down."

His hand tightly gripping your chin.

Being with you woke something up in Joel, he went from not being with someone for years to wanting you every minute of the day. Even at this age and when his body didn't want to he made himself. He positions you on the edge of the bed, your legs hanging off. He gets on his knees and spreads your legs wide open.

"Joel- we need-"

He licks one big strip across your cunt instantly making your whole body shiver

He does this again a few times until he is literally devouring you . Licking and sucking all over desperately, groaning into your cunt.

You look at the time it's 7:30

"Joel- fuck baby.. we gotta -"

He stops for a second. Looking up at you. His mustache wet from your juices.

"I know. But we ain't leavin till you cum so if you worried about bein late I advise you to do what I say."

He goes right back to where he was before. This time he as he sucks on your clit he swirls his tongue around it as he slides two fingers in..

"Fuck fuck god you make me feel so good"

Joel knows your body and it's like he has since you met.

"Darlin what did I say.."

"Mhm close-" you whimper

He pumps his fingers in a few times more until you unravel under him legs shaking.

He lifts you off the bed up to him kissing you, you taste yourself on him and that turns you on again you reach down to feel how hard he is in his jeans.

7:45

"Fuck."

You and Joel clean up quickly.

You slip on your jeans, boots, tank top and one of Joel's flannels. You quickly grab your pistol, your daggers and your sister's gun.

Thankfully that stables aren't too far, Joel grabs his horse and you grab one as well.

•

8:01

This patrol is you. Dina . Ellie and Joel.

"See told ya they would be late.. and we weren't we should get a prize or somethin."

Ellie jokes.

" hey it's only a minute late! And we are never late.." You laugh.

"Okay patrol leader is obviously Joel.. I don't think I really have to tell you 3 to listen to him. Stay safe report things you see when you come back"

Tommy gives the run down.

You and Joel take the front , Ellie and Dina take the back.

Joel is pretty quiet, you just ride in peace.

"You alright today?" You ask looking over at him.

"Yeah darlin. Just wanna keep my girls safe s'all.. have you been sleeping okay.?"

"Joel you sleep with me like every night."

"I know and you talk in your sleep.."

"Did I say something?"

You stop the horse.

"Nothin it's fine. Let's keep movin"

"Apparently it's not fine because you are acting weird.. you go from "Oh We AiNt LeAvIn TiLl YoU cUm." To not saying anything and bringing up something I said unconsciously."

You still remained stopped as Joel continued. Ellie and Dina have now caught up with you.

"Everything good?" Ellie asks

"Yep just Joel being grumpy."

"Oh so nothing new then." You both laugh.

The three of you continue on the trail until you are met back up with Joel.

"Okay we are gonna leave the horses here, expect this area on foot.. Ellie you are with me.. Dina you go with her."

Joel comes over to you leaving you with a gentle kiss. "Let's get through patrol and we will talk okay."

"Okay."

•

Dina and you go to the left of the mountain.. joel and Elli go toward the abandoned neighborhood.

"Soooo how are things.. hottest couple in Jackson.. well besides me and Ellie..." Dina grins at you.

"Good, really good. It's weird. My life is completely different now. Um but sometimes like today he gets in these moods and I know it's just him, and his trauma."

"He loves you.. has he said that yet?"

"No.. but I think I may have.. he mentioned I said something in my sleep and it could be 2 things.. that.. and something else I'm not ready to talk to anyone about unless I have too.. and wait- how do you know that?

"He looks at you the same way he looks at Ellie.. different obviously.. but I see it."

"Fuck me."

"Speaking off, how is that.?" Dina smirks curiously.

"Oh my god we are not having this conversation it feels wrong."

"But you said I'm like your sister... did you tell your sister everything.."

"Good god. Ok this is all I will say.. I am a satisfied woman."

You both laugh.

•

Joel's pov

"Joel.?"

"Yeah Ellie?"

"I don't wanna pry into your relationship or whatever that is. She's good for you. I like her, Dina likes her. She's helpful and a bad ass.. and she brings light to you.."

"Yeah.. yeahh I know."

"So why are you being grumpy, you were about to jump her bones this morning and now grumpy pants."

"Ellie- let's not talk about me jumpin her bones.. I uh- well you know how I mumble in my sleep.. so does she."

"Okay and?"

"Well she's said two things that worry me.. one about the shit with her sister.. she knows the guys name.. there is history there she don't speak about it.. and I just wish she'd tell me ya know.. let me help her.. and last night she said she loved me.. in her sleep obviously .."

"Okay and you don't talk about your trauma really.. give her time.. do you love her?"

"Yeah.. yeah I do."

"Then maybe tell her old man."

Ellie punches Joel in the arm.

•

Patrol was clear on the path Dina and you took, you made it back to the horses to meet back up with Joel and Ellie.

"Okay let's head home." Joel looks at you three, comes over to you giving you a peck on the lips.

"You're safe." He looks at you.

"And so are you."

•

"Joel and his girls." Ellie says.

You couldn't help but smile ear to ear.

You all hop on your horses begin the short journey back to Jackson when you notice something.

"Joel.."

"Yeah darlin."

You point to what looks like a tent in the woods, still too far to tell.

You become Antsy ready to take off on your horse to see. Your hands shake as you grab your dagger.

"Wait.. let's not ambush.." Joel looks at you, your shaking hands. "Look at me.." he demand.

"Yes" your eyes dark. Rage filled.

"We don't know if that has anything to do with your sister.. we need to be smart here.. I have you.. Ellie.. and Dina.. that's too much to risk without knowin"

"Joel.. you gave me your fucking word." You snap at him.

"I did and I stand by it, but let's not go into a death trap darlin. I just got you in my life..."

"And I don't have my fucking sister in my life Joel.

He looks at you. Really looks at you.

"What." You look at him.

"Nothin let's get home okay.."

"Fine."

Ride back is quiet, you are pissed at him. Between not knowing what that tent was.. if it was even a tent.. and him being short with you. Joel tells Tommy about what looked to be a tent. Tommy agreed that Joel made the right call and deep down you do too, but it doesn't make it feel any better. Joel talks to Tommy for a bit longer as you are standing there letting your anger fester.

"Hey" Ellie says.

"Hi Ellie"

"He's just protecting you.. it's fucking annoying and infuriating.. but that's Joel.. that's what he does for the people he loves."

You look at her dumbfounded.

"Talk to him." She smiles giving you a hug.

"See you later."

You leave Joel and start your walk home. You needed a second to yourself. Once home you pour yourself a drink sitting on the kitchen counter the same one Joel had you pinned against earlier this morning. You sit there and ponder how much you miss your sister.. how you want to avenge her.. about the words Ellie just said.. how Joel was acting earlier.. did you say that in your sleep. Is that why he is being like this. He isn't the best with emotions hell you ain't either. Is it too much.. what if he doesn't love you..

•

"Hey babygirl."

"Hi there handsome."

Joel walks over, positioning himself between your legs, arms wrapping around you. Your face is buried into his chest. He feels like home. The smell of the hot air outside, the lingering of his cigarette. All over him.

" M'sorry For today. For bein short and I don't want it to seem like I dismissed your feelins about the tent. I'm just.. I'm just trying to keep you safe.. to keep you from things in your life that have already hurt you. Maybe that's selfish of me .. I just I-"

"You what." You mumble your face still against him.

"Look at me.." Joel trails off

You look up at his big brown eyes now covered by those glasses you love. His big hand cups your face.

"I love you." Joel stares at you nervously.

"I love you too.. now take me to our bed and make love to me."

•

Joel's lips to yours instantly. Your legs wrapped are around him as he picks you up. You start to worry he's gonna hurt himself but it's hard to stop him from kissing you the way he is. These kisses remind you alot of the first night you spent together. How hungry, how desperate to get more and more from one another. Joel takes you to the bedroom laying you down on the bed. Not missing a beat he pulls your shirt off , his lips just leaving yours for a millisecond.

"Babe-" you speak against his mouth.

"Yeah darling." His lips back to yours speaking between kisses.

"The door-"

Joel pinches your nipples between his fingers making you moan as he moves to be on top of you.

"The- fuck.. the door.. is the door locked."

His mouth moves down your jaw sucking in places that you're sure is gonna bruise.

"Joel" you moan. Obviously he doesn't care about the door. As he unbuttons your jeans pulling them down along with your panties, his hands running down your body. You pull off his teeshirt then straight to unbuttoning his jeans. He stands pulling them off , taking you in as you are laying on the bed waiting for him.

"Fuck I need you. So beautiful darlin I love you."

He opens your legs and puts himself between. His hand glides down your side to between your legs.

"No"

You whimper as he runs his finger through your wetness.

"No what darlin."

"Need you. Just you." Your hand on his face looking intro his eyes

As much as you loved foreplay with him, you needed his body on you. Him inside you. You needed your bodies as one.

That's all he needed to hear as he lifts his hips up lining up with you, with a gentle thrust he invades your whole body. You Throw your head back letting out loud moan. A moan you hope to god the house is empty. Joel thrusts in and out of you. Steady, but deep. Hard but not too hard. Loving but not too vanilla. Nose to nose as he wraps his fingers in the the root of your hair at the nape of your neck. Sex with him has always been fantastic, but this was on another level. It was him giving into love.. him giving his body to you. Him making sure you feel that, that you know that with every thrust, with every kiss down your jaw.

"Fuck sweet girl." He grunts as he thrusts in you grabbing one of your legs pinning it up towards your chest. This makes him sink deeper into you than you could ever imagine.

You go to speak but nothing comes out besides moans. You couldn't believe this could get any better but it did.

You feel your body being taken over the orgasm building but you didn't want it to end. You wanted to be here with him like this forever. But Joel.. Joel knows your body.

Joel pushing his body forward pinning that leg even more, opening you up. His cock right where it needed to be.

"I'm- god -" unable to form a sentence, your body under his control.

" yeah that's it baby give in.. show me how good I make you feel."

Joel cups your face as he slams hard.. once

"Yes baby I feel her on me."

Twice

"Look at me.. it's you and me.. you were made for me.. fate remember."

Third times a charm

"Yes thata girl.. good girl.."

Your body shakes as he talked you through your orgasm. You feel like a puddle under him.

As you are riding your wave you feel Joel twitch in you meaning he isn't far behind.

"Yes baby keep going.." you say.

Joel grunts looking at you, slamming his cock in and out.

"Come from me baby. Mark what is yours."

"Gonna fill you up darlin..fuck."

His body falling on to yours.. not moving his cock out of you. You just lay there.. naked bodies connected in every way.

"Joel... I love you.."

Your hands running through his curls. His head laying on your chest as his fingers run over that scar.

"I hate this.. I hate that someone almost took your heart.. my heart.."

He looks up at you.

"That was a very different part of my life baby.."

His eyes glimmered full of lust and love.

Joel loves being called that, as a rugged old man I guess it made him feel vulnerable in a way.

"I know darlin.. but I feel you are still haunted by that part."

You let out a deep breath

"And you aren't? But that's what makes us.. us.. my past.. your past.."

"Suppose so."

You both lay there for a moment in silence, lazy little touches. The sound of your hearts beating together. Kisses here and there.

"Can we stay here forever" you ask.

"We can.. you.. me.. maybe put a baby in ya if this old man can still even do that."

You just stare at him , realizing he actually means all of this.

"Really? You want that.?"

Still staring at him playing with his hair admiring how soft he is with you right now. Something so beautiful not a lot of people get to see. They only see the hard exterior, not the good man behind it.

"Yeah why wouldn't I.. I'm old darlin you knew this... why wouldn't I want a quiet normal.. well as normal as it can be life. Tommy did it.. "

he lets out a sigh. Realizing maybe he's been too vulnerable.

"I know that's all you have wanted baby.. when you lost Sarah.. fighting to find Tommy.. becoming Ellie's Joel. All you have ever wanted is a family. That's all I have very wanted too.."

He submerges himself even more into you his head buried in your chest. He doesn't have to say anything because you already knew.

"Fate is a funny thing" you chuckle.

You lay there silent for a few more minutes until you and Joel hear the front door close. Typically Ellie is always in the garage unless she needs something.

You both throw on clothes to go see what's going on.

•

Ellie , Dina, Jesse, and Tommy all standing in the kitchen.

Joel looks at them confused. "What's going on."

"So we got word.. that tent she seen earlier.. he instinct's were correct. Late patrol went that direction, they have one of us. Hostage type of situation. The man demanded her.. for the hostage."

They all stare at you.

"Darlin you need to tell me exactly who they are.." Joel looks at you.

You take a deep breath pulling your tank top down to expose the scar above your heart...

"You see this.. this is why... the man who killed my sister... I killed his brother.. I did things I needed to do to survive. I was somewhat in a relationship with him till things got really bad. It all stems back to the beginning.. to home in Ohio. The history goes back that far. Raised as kids together, he was my first love till he wasn't anymore. He was killing anyone and everything. He was also abusing me for years on end. One night I decided to leave.. till he hunted my sister and I down. He said I either go back and be with him forever or he's cutting my heart out. He said no one else was ever allowed to have me... that he or his brother would make sure of that."

You start sobbing.

"His brother had got word, after we fled and we have been running.. that's what happened. He has been trailing me for about a year now. When he killed her he said it was an eye for an eye.. until I stabbed him.. He ran off that's how I ended up here. I'm gonna finish the job.. no one else is dying because of me. Joel you gave me your word.. so don't you fucking dare tell me no"

Tommy looks at Joel.

"You knew?" Tommy questioned.

"Somewhat.. but not the whole story."

Joel looks at Tommy.

"So we kill him. I'm with you." Ellie comes over to stand next to you.

"Same here" Dina joins.

You don't even wait for anyone else to reply. You run out the door, your sister's gun in hand. You hear Joel yell for you but you don't stop. You can't stop. Your whole body has been taken over filled with rage, with need for revenge to finish this chapter. You run.. and run.. and run.. until till you reach the gate. You hear voices everyone frantically chasing you. Then patrol is yelling down saying there is a man outside with a knife to a woman's throat.

"Open it.. let me out."

•

Now you're back right to the spot your sister died in your arms as he stands feet away from you.

"I'm here. Now let her go." You look at the man.

The gate is still open as Joel, Ellie, Dina, Tommy, Jessie and others come behind you.

"So I see you found another family to fuck up. which one is your new man since my brother meant nothing to you for you to just slit his throat and put a bullet in his head."

"Your brother was an abusive piece of shit. And my life and how I heal is none of your business."

You take a few steps toward him. Four people come out of the woods walking behind him guns in hand. Behind you, you hear guns click.

"I'll kill her if you don't tell them to stand down.."

The man tightens the grip on the knife slightly pressing it harder against the woman's throat.

"They will.. if those fuckers do."

"So you never answered me.. who's your man.."

"I'm here right.. I'm the one you wanted.. don't worry about anyone behind me."

Your hand gripping slightly on the pistol

On your right side. Taking a few more steps till you're about two feet away staring the man into his eyes.

"Hey man just let her go.. no one needs to get hurt.." Joel chimes in.

"Oh so that's him.." the man laughs. "You always did have daddy issues.. older man.. makes sense. You're just a whore like your momma."

You seen black shoving the woman out of the way, tackling the man to the ground. The woman runs as gunshots fill the air. You land a few good punches until he has you by your throat. He is crushing your windpipe as he flips you around slamming you to the ground. He has knocked the wind out of you, your breathing is straggling and honestly you are probably concussed. He punches you 1.. 2.. that's when he grabs his knife. He proceeds to slice that scar wide open, you gush blood and your screams fill the air.

"This is for my brother you bitch."

You don't even know what's going on around you besides yelling, and the ringing of gunshots. You feel like you are gonna lose consciousness until the man is knocked off of you like a freight train. You lay there for a second to regain some type of control. You get to your feet completely unaware everything is black besides the fact you see this man lying on the ground. You pull her pistol out shooting him in the shoulder twice.. enough to get him not able move his arms.

"That's for my fucking sister."

You shoot him again in the other shoulder.

"That's for my fucking mother.. for stealing her meds when she was sick."

You get on top of him pulling out your dagger..

"No no please don't."

The man begs.

"Fate led us here.. And this motherfucker this is for me. Rot in hell with your piece of shit brother."

You stab him.. over.. and over .. and over.. and over and over.. probably 50 times at this rate..

screaming with every stab to the man's body. You were like a woman possessed. Blood covering you. You make the same slice above the heart you have but deeper.

You go to cut his heart out when you are pulled off of him.

"No no fucking let me go.. I'll fucking kill you too." you punch and kick whoever has a hold of you.

"Hey.. hey baby it's me.. it's me.."

Joel's hands on your blood covered face.

You drop to your knees and you pass out. Blood leaking from your chest as Joel hold you in his arms.

"Tommy!!" Joel screams. "I need help."

•

A day later.

You wake up confused. You recall some of what happened but not everything. You are connected to a bunch of wires and your whole body aches. You're groggy..disoriented .. you blink a few times finally able to make out what is around you. Joel is in a chair to your right.

"Hey darlin.."

"Hey baby... you kept your word." You make a small smile.

"I did.. but I almost lost you.."

"But you didn't.. I am safe... is everyone safe?"

"Yes few wounds but nothin serious. Well besides you."

"I am fine. Just some stitches and bruises I'll be okay."

Joel looks at you. Like he's almost scared.

"Why are you lookin at me like that."

"You almost bleed out in my arms.. and then.." Joel trails off tears in his eyes.

You realize that you almost bleeding out in his arms probably brought back alot of trauma from Sarah.

"But I didn't and I am here."

"Ummm.. I have to tell you something."

"What?" You look at him confused and worried.

"They found out while they were trying to save you.. that ummm.. you are pregnant."

Tag list: @iknowisoundcrazy @megangovier @littledes1re @pedroscurls @ohhoneypascal @half-moon16

[yourlocalpizzaguyelliot]

Trigger warning ;

VOMIT , BODY HORROR (?)

BLOOD , GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS (?) , ETC

Respawn.. it ached. The feeling of flesh mending back together as if he wasn't just torn apart and eaten. His body ached.

Pulled apart and put back together. Flesh mending painfully. Reattaching itself to his form to create what he was before.

There he was. The cabin. Elliot didn't need to open his eyes to know it was the cabin, to know it was over. The process always left him sore, but he could feel again. It wasn't a dark void anymore devoid of all his senses.

He didn't sit up like he normally would, he didn't move, he didn't leave. He would usually head back to the mansion by now. But he couldn't move. That... What had just happened, it stayed. It stayed in his mind. Builderman ate him. Or well, that's what he could gather at least. Is that what Chance went through?

Why was everything getting so warm again.. Eventually Elliot rolled off the bed, he managed to get to the floor but not to his feet. The pizza man was missing his visor, his hair still unkempt and messy. But the wounds on his arms and shoulder were gone. Mostly.

He breathed heavily, his body aching, his mind spinning in circles. He needed to get back to the mansion, to shedletsky to chance, to anyone.. gods anyone please come looking for him.

His mind couldn't take this. Thoughts, millions of thoughts flooded his mind. Millions of things that stressed him out. What if this, what if that. The voices, the thoughts they all became so damn loud.

"You're a failure. Did you see the look in his eyes. He hates you. He hates you so much. Did you see how he tore you apart. You're pathetic. Everyone despises you Elliot. Do you see how worthless you are."

Elliot felt his stomach churn, he felt it rise to his chest then is mouth. Then out. He vomited, again, and again, and again. He let out shaky breaths, tears sprang to his eyes and wasted no time to fall. Everything was so warm.

Elliot's hands gripped the floorboards beneath him. What was he to do, everyone he cared about was changing or going through some sort of issue. What was he to do.

It wasn't warm anymore. It was hot. Gods it was so hot. He was sweating. His breathing was too quick, his eyes were blurry he couldn't see. Everything felt so far, he felt so deprived.

He vomited again, except it wasn't vomit. It burnt his tongue, the feeling of it was too hot. Hot like a cup of coffee just brewed and served. What left his mouth was burning hot molten magma. It burned the cabins floor. He continued to spew out of him, he couldn't stop it. It hurt.. gods it hurt. It burned in his chest, it burned.

Was this the transformation everyone was talking about? Was this his fate. He couldn't think of it right now. His blood began to boil, his skin began to sizzle. Steam rising off of him as flesh began to melt. Skin falling and meat falling to the floor as he began to melt.

An agonizing scream escaped him as this all happened. It hurt. Admins above it hurt so much. It didn't sound human by any means. How could it, his organs were sizzling in the heat.

The smell of burning meat was evident throughout the cabin. Whoever was here would have to bear witness to the man. He's melting. Quite literally melting. What was left of his skin became all goopy until it eventually fell because it couldn't hold on.

Whatever bones were in his body fell and burnt in the big pile of magma that had formed under the man. His clothes weren't safe from the burning either. You'd think for being in so many ovens they'd withstand heat well, but apparently not.

There was nothing left of Elliot. Only a bubbling hot puddle where he once was. It moved. Hands, well what could only be described as such clawed their way out of the cabin. The mass of molten following with it. He needed out.

Nothing was left behind aside from a trail of burnt wood and grass. It entered the forest. Not to be seen.

A few days would pass before re-emergence.