#look i just want to see this little pre game angst

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 6

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, mentions for Zayne's backstory, very small Zayne foreseer mentions.

Word Count: 5281

Written: 14th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. Sorry to Zayne, but you break my heart (and the game punishes you so much, so I have to do a lil bit too). So this one took a while, because the active start of them having a conversation about Poly, actually busted my brain up for a little while. Especially cause you can't exactly have the real convo until the other participating (or not) party is there. I'm hoping my Caleb brainrot has left me alone enough that I can actually focus on this damned fic again without thinking about mr tall, dark and in need of a slap (affectionate... maybe). Anyway, have at ye! Enjoy (I hope!)!

Now Playing: Good Enough, By Lø Spirit

Masterlist AO3

<- Previous

He has had to adapt to many things, Zayne finds himself thinking on his morning run. He has lived his life in many roles, and with many surprises or struggles thrown at him to handle.

His time as a combat medic, taught him above all else, how to survive, and improvise. How to keep himself and others moving forwards. Even when the nightmares, and the grief of Mt Eternal haunted him.

His struggles to control his EVOL, taught him control. The values of a level head, ways to ease himself down to a steady crawl. He was a healer, he would not hurt anyone because he failed to keep himself in check. Even when he was called cold, or misunderstood as not having as warm a heart as a person can.

Leaving after injuring you with something he could not control, the goal to understand your heart more than anyone else could. The long nights of study, the lack of socialisation, the time spent pouring over books. Desperate for an answer. Taught him commitment and drive. To save you, to be the one who could pull you back from the edge. The person he cared most about in the world.

Leaving him isolated and tired, but closer to his goal.

Zayne has overcome every challenge handed to him, because he has to see his goal through.

He has to see the jasmine bloom.

So, he has experience dealing with things outside of his control and his knowledge. Of finding a way forwards. Surviving or excelling.

He likes to think the current series of events… well he's handling it.

Even if he is hitting the path a little harder with every step. Rushing through his usual route, like he's outrunning something. He's handling it.

"Z-Zayne!" Your call slows his feet, halts him. He looks back to see you bent over, breathing heavily, gasping.

Months away from training, had rusted you a little. Left you stumbling after where you originally could have overtaken him. The regret and irritation at himself bites, so he pushes it down.

Move forwards, always move forwards.

It is almost autopilot that takes him over when you're injured, or unwell. An instinct that pulls his body into routines to heal and ease. As he gets you to a bench to sit, and rest, he checks your heart.

"I'm" You gasp, pushing his hand gently away from where he is looking for your pulse, "Fine, just pushed too hard."

There's a moment where he debates ignoring you. You've lied to him that you're fine before. Haven't shared when you needed help. Have hidden injuries. Avoiding telling him the truth with things such as colds.

Then he thinks about that morning, putting his trainers on. Ignoring the overgrown crow on the sofa who was talking on his phone. He'd heard all of a few words, 'keep him quiet' and had decided it was better to be ignorant to whatever Sylus was up to… Even if part of him wanted to take you somewhere else. Even if his mind was constantly screaming, trying to process everything. Lemurians, the N109 Zone, an immortal prince…

"Zayne?" You stand behind him, old jogging clothes on, fiddling with the toggles on your hoodie.

He stands up to focus on you. Taking in the livening to your eyes, the health returning to your face. His smile is uncontrolled, a natural reaction to your presence. An unnerving feeling of losing his handle on the reins.

A fall with no net.

It is addicting and terrifying all in one, to realise how easily you cut through thorned walls of deadly vines, that keep him under hand.

"What is it?" He manages, straightening the hem of his shirt. Grounding himself, something solid beneath his fingers. It is not as stabilising as your hand, but it is all he can grab without overstepping too many boundaries. One's he's unsure you will rescind, or be pleased to even allow him access past.

If all he ever is, is the man who mends your heart, then he will carry that with him in his own, eternally. Even if it does not beat for him.

"I'm allowed to start exercising again, would it be alright if I joined you? I won't slow you down too much, I promise." You hesitate, stepping up to the door to him, watching as though he'll close it on you.

Wary, scared.

He remembers a child staring back at him much the same. Worried he did not care for them. Worried that they were taking time he would rather have put somewhere else.

Nervous to take his hand, so you took Caleb's instead.

His hand itches, the thorn wall is thick. He knows it will slice his hand open if he reaches through it. The pain would be worth it, just like every stab of his ice is worth the moments he protects your back.

So much wasted time, and he still watches it waste. Still sees moments pass him, where he should be there. Watching, helping, caring.

He feels like a coward, however, because he's too scared to take the step. To walk through the thorned wall… because his pain means little…

Yours, however, he wishes to never cause again.

So he simply nods, pushing down the deep pit of yearning and desperation that wants him to show you every single scar, to allow your passage behind him.

He pulls his hand away from your wrist, assenting with your assurance that you're fine. But he cannot settle, not truly, so he tells you to wait. To sit, and breathe, and he leaves to find a place to buy you a drink.

The park he runs is a quiet place this early, he does not have to worry about the noise, or the crowds. He can run, and he can breathe and he can centre himself. He can grasp his own mind in his hands, and wrangle it. Every morning, the same process. Out, run, breathe, work, research, leave. Repeat.

He has lived his life in a strict routine that he does not break. Not until you.

It has broken even more with the night he turned up to your door, met the other three men in your life, and stitched your open wounds.

It is like being woken with ice cold water in your face, or to the sound of the walls falling down around you. Trembling the foundations.

What was once an absent acceptance of the possible future he could see, has become a solid path he can watch you walking down. Leaving someone who can only hurt you behind. In favour of those who do not have to fight every part of their soul to leave scars.

It is not grief, not really, to watch a future you never believed you could have, disappear.

It's a natural progression of time. The daylight melting soft snowflakes. It is the inevitable.

Like you believe the waiting bomb in your chest is. Unavoidable. He hopes to overturn such a thing, to reach through the thorns long enough to watch your future strengthen into something bright and blinding. Even if they shut afterwards. An inescapable prison, frozen over and forgotten.

His life is a tool to help others, to help you. He has watched his parents follow that path, he has no problems watching himself do so…

Even though they have each other, and even though he yearns to have you.

The cold acceptance is an easy feeling to hold. He's held it for years.

When Zayne returns to you, a bottle of water in hand, he watches your nose wrinkle. "It's cold, and all I get is some water."

He feels the sigh escape him, long suffering, used to the cavalier way you handle your health. Like it doesn't matter, but as you stick your tongue out at him, metal fingers brushing his as you take the bottle from him, he cannot help but feel the warmth of a smile that you bring out with ease.

"I'm not supplying your caffeine addiction."

"I help supply your sugar problem." You pout and sniff, turning your head away as you gulp down long drafts. The sweat beading on your forehead draws his hand.

He absently watches himself place his hand there, the chill of his skin glittering in snowflakes, as he eases the heat from your face.

It is like watching through a hazy glass wall. His fingers twitching against heated skin, the way your eyes turn to his, wide before they narrow, head tilting into his touch as the ice settles over you.

You feel too warm, and his other hand joins the first, skirting over cheeks, seeking out the heat. Drifting over your neck, to the pulse point. It skips under gentle fingers, and his fingers twitch. Just a little. Right over where your heart thrums.

Its odd beat and uneven rhythm, singing in a way he knows better than any other.

When you jump, at the feeling of the ice intensifying against your sensitive skin, he pulls back. Quick, schooling his expression. He isn't sure what his face speaks, but he knows you observe him too easily for it to be left in the open.

"Cooler?" He manages, forced through a tight throat and skin that feels like it burns where he touched you. There is a voice in his mind that urges him to reach out again, to hold your face in his hands and revel in the heat you bring to skin too often torn by cold.

A voice that often reminds him that he's happier to be cold, when he can warm himself at your fire.

He watches your throat work, like you're swallowing down something. He wonders, for a moment, if it's a complaint at his casual contact. A boundary he has overstepped. Before he watches your lip quirk, small smile coming through, as small and crooked as he remembers from childhood, but with sparkling eyes. "Much better, thank you Zayne."

Zayne can feel his routine falling out of his hands, everyday he spends with you, everyday in your apartment with men he does not really know.

He can feel the lack of control, the feeling of not knowing what to expect every day.

He watches the time he should spend running, chased away like the sun chases shadow. He watches you look out, as people enter the park. Families, dog walkers, those alone and with others.

The sun hits the side of your face, catching on a snowflake, melting on the tip of your nose. Showing him glittering mismatched eyes, and the teeth peeking out as you smile.

He leans back next to you, and watches the people pass.

"Gran used to bring me here." You speak, watching an old lady walking with her grandson. He pulls her forwards, and then stumbles, before the woman rights him. Tuts, pokes his nose, and they walk again. "Too much energy, I kept wearing her out. So she'd bring me so I could just… run. Caleb would try to keep up and couldn't."

Zayne thinks about what little time he did get to spend with you, he thinks about being dragged into every game you wanted to play, the excitement at everything new you found. He also remembers far too many containers full of bugs that you shoved in his face to look at. He remembers that you didn't always used to be scared.

Worried about breathing too much. Worried about how you spoke, how you acted. Worried about being too weak.

The day you learned about your heart, he knows you changed. He can see it still, in every time you brush off his concerns at the hospital, at the way you laugh at things you should hurt over. He can see it in how you don't stop, because if you stop, you flounder. You think. You start to slip.

He thinks about every single time you tell him it's not a problem. That you're fine.

It's a lie about your body… it's a lie about your heart.

He's watched so much of you crumble, and break, making yourself into a weapon useful to others. He's had to watch as you rush into battle, not able to follow, not able to help.

He has his own role, his own place, more people he has to save.

It does not make watching you leave any easier. It does not make him stop wanting to follow.

He is relieved for your partner, Xavier, knowing someone is there in most of your missions. Ready to stand at your back. Even if the… time traveling prince, he reminds himself, does not seem to care about his own health. 

He's spent so long watching as you refused to lean on others, scared to seek out help in case they found you too much work, and can see you struggling with the same thoughts with him.

With all four of them. Demanding you lean, does little, you simply laugh and tell him it is not a problem. 'If I get really hurt you'll see me, don't worry.' You've said.

It's a lie though, you didn't come to him when you were injured. The hospital did not inform him that you almost died. He did not know about the extent of what had been done to you, until you told him.

Until he broke through the boundaries of what a doctor should do, to find his way to your side, to look at every injury for himself.

He won't just be handed answers, and he's in no better spot than the other three. Standing at your door, seeking you out when your heart fractures on you, and you shut yourself away in pain you can't process. Feelings you don't understand.

Zayne knows when his feelings waver on the edge, unable to be grasped, hard to process or comprehend. He knows the negative, a haunting nightmare of regrets that do not leave him to rest, and he knows the positive, when his hands help soothe those who need his help.

He knows the name of one very distinct feeling, that is familiar and as dangerous as he can imagine. Something that ripples through every strand of control he demands to keep the cruelty of ice at bay.

He can place that feeling to the eyes that sparkle as you people watch, as you smile at a dog that trots past. As you turn to him, shackles around your body fallen away. Even for a moment.

When the feeling settles in his chest, and cuts a hole through the wall of thorns so that he can see out.

"We're not meant to be alone, I think places like this remind me of that."

You pull him from his thoughts, looking over at him with warm eyes, with your heart so visible in the gaze you offer, that his skips.

"I think I love it here."

He wants to tell you that he does too, because this moment, with your presence next to him, and the view of the world around him… he wishes was the future he could grasp with his hands.

Without the spear of ice.

—---

Zayne thinks he is handling this situation. He's sure of it.

Except every day gets a little harder.

It is the loud noises he's not used to from companions he isn't used to having.

It is the changes to his routine, and though he knows they are necessary, he feels fractured.

Out of control.

It is seeing those around him, moving forwards through a wall that he can't find the door for.

It's the day he is sat in the living room working, while Rafayel and Sylus have yet another argument, that he feels it rippling out.

You have left with Tara, promising you're ready. That it'll be alright.

He had watched the hesitation in everyone's eyes, before you had left.

It was the feeling he knows well, that every day you walk through that door, you may not come back.

Zayne does not want you to be confined to harsh walls. You are you, when you are living. Not just existing.

Xavier is lying on the sofa next to him, curled around a rabbit plushie you own.

He finds himself wondering why they all stay, in this space, when you're not here. Coming and going at will, but Xavier's apartment is above, and yet he stays here, in the spaces you have shaped.

Rafayel complains for the lack of beach, but he still walks around the place smiling, peeking at all of the things you own.

Sylus will hit his head on frames or cabinets, but he scoffed when you had suggested he should stay in the N109 Zone, out of concern.

Zayne could return to his space, but the space where you are is warm. Even if his routines have changed, and left him adrift.

It is as he watches the Lemurian fight with the Criminal, wondering at how you even met them, that he abandons his work… another action he could never have done, until meeting you.

"How long have you known them, Rafayel?"

It's a question that lurks at the edges of his mind, one that he does not ask because he worries for the answer and the boundary.

But the boundaries are fracturing, and the thorns are escaping, to rip through every day he does not hold to the strict order that he has set for himself.

The argument, if it can be called that when Sylus gains great joy from each of Rafayel's barbs, stops.

Eyes focus on him, and he vaguely can tell the sleeping prince has woken, barely looking up but aware.

Rafayel turns away, looking over at his canvas, "A while. Long enough for fish to learn to walk."

It's not an answer, not really. It feels more like evasion, like the way you back away from concern over your health, while still showing more than he thinks you notice.

It's the pain flickering through his eyes for a second, that Zayne has seen in family of grieving patients.

He doesn't want to poke at open wounds, at the cause of Rafayel's pain, that comes out into art you've shown him photos of.

Xavier mumbles something into his pillow, but when he receives only silence, he lifts his head, barely, to try again.

"Aren't you a walking fish?"

Rafayel laughs, a sharp bark rather than the kind Zayne has heard with you, "I learned to walk for cutie."

The prince shrugs in response and goes back to his pillow, but Zayne catches the sharp blue eyes. A question he's decided not to answer.

It's nothing he can learn without asking, and every man in this room holds things they won't share. Not with you, and not with Zayne.

He thinks of the ice spearing your chest.

Even him.

He instead asks something he hopes is easier, "What about you Xavier? You've worked with them for a while, have you not?"

He turns his head against the rabbit plushie, and peers at Zayne through silver bangs. Stares at him for a long time. Zayne does not feel fear at Sylus, the man doesn't actively harm unless necessary, 'violence should be used strategically', he's heard the man say when you try to throw something at him.

He sometimes finds Rafayel unsettling, at moments when the moon catches his eyes and they gleam like a deep sea beast. Yet he also doesn't think there's cause to watch his back… he thinks he can be believed to be moral enough to be certain of that.

Sometimes Xavier has a sharp look in his eyes, that feels like a blade cutting through the air. It is not actively harmful, he makes no means to hurt anyone that you care for, but it is like years have sharpened him down. To a point where he's as familiar with ice as Zayne is.

The look softens though, into his usual starry blue, "I came back to find them again." It's not a number, but Zayne can calculate it in his head. Hundreds of years searching, thinking and hoping.

It is one of those answers that unsettles him. Reminds him how at odds he feels surrounded by people so different to him. A man, amongst what amount to legends.

"You didn't ask me, Doctor." Sylus hums, twirling a knife around his fingers, the blade cuts through the air. It should look like a threat… but Zayne's learned the man has a leash he holds for you. Even if you cannot see it.

"I was getting there." He barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, exasperation sinking into his bones. He understands why Sylus and Rafayel fight… even if he keeps himself level enough to not bite back. It is not worth the bite of ice in return. "So?"

"I didn't hear a question."

This time he rubs at the space between his eyes.

"Do you have any friends, crow? Or does everyone find you this annoying?"

"Well now fish, I was giving you the affectionate package, there are no refunds."

"Can it be binned?" Xavier grumbles from the side.

"It's also only disposable in certain places, for the environment, you see."

Zayne thinks he hears the prince huff a laugh, but his face buries back into the pillow.

"How long?"

Sylus doesn't answer, but he leans back in his chair, one red eye flashing at Zayne for a moment, before he laughs. It is harsh, and biting, and his hackles raise. Leaning away with his laptop pushed forward. "You're trying to puzzle us out. Judge if your beloved patient is safe with us."

"I don't know-"

"Don't bother lying, it wastes all of our time. Not physically though, mhm?"

It's a cool hand down his back, even icier than his own. Like it's ready to tighten around his spine.

He has misjudged the criminal, as the red eye glows, and he leans further forward. "So Doctor, what is it you really want to know?"

Zayne isn't used to losing control. He has held it tight, kept it close. A protector as much as a punishment. His control slips, escaping in a haze of red, "Do you love them?"

Xavier's sword is extended at Sylus when the red filters away. Sharp blue and glowing light, who raises his hands calmly and leans back, "Calm down prince, just saving us time."

He gasps, the ice spreading over his hands, crawling up his arms. A hand is placed near him, a tiny flame extended as Rafayel eases the chill away. Slowly and carefully, it is not a balm to a wound like your resonance is. But it is welcome. He manages a thank you, chokes out, reigning it back. The man doesn't respond, shrugs, but his cheeks colour. As though helping brings great embarrassment.

"What did you do?"

"Just drew out some inner thoughts. If we'd have stayed as we were, he would have kept leading us around twenty questions. I'm a busy man."

"You spent three hours yesterday trying to teach that damn crow of yours how to sing happy birthday."

"He'll need it when Kitten gains a year."

"I'm fine." Zayne manages, easing away from the flame in Rafayel's palm as he wrestles everything back to its proper place. Back to where it should be. Back to where he should be. "Do not do that again."

He's surprised that Sylus tilts his head, looking down at his hands, a flicker of something in his eyes, "Provided it's not necessary, you have my word."

"Necessary?" Xavier scoffs, but settles back on the sofa, next to Zayne.

For a second, Zayne thinks of a knight, not a prince. But the thought is so embarrassing to hold in his head, that he pushes it down. He watches as the man brings his plushie back into his lap, but this time he does not slumber. Simply keeps watch.

Rafayel stays nearby, leaning back, but Zayne notices the way his eyes flicker down at Zayne's hands and away.

He is dangerous. To more than you. He cannot forget that for a moment.

"You want to know if we love them, why?"

It's not a question Zayne can answer. It's the kind of question that makes him want to bury himself in those thorns. If he affirms the thoughts in his mind, he makes them a reality he has to face.

Because he knows he can't?

Because he wants to…

Because he isn't sure where to go from here, with people who have crossed oceans and space for you.

Because he is out of control… and inadequate in all the ways that matter.

"Let's try a different question, how would you respond to a yes? Yes I do adore them, yes I do love them."

It is phrased like a rhetorical, but there's flames in the man's eyes. Like a dragon who has laid claim to a hoard. Like to even think to lie about such a thing, would hurt more than Xavier's sword in his chest.

"I-" What would he do? He has long accepted you following a path away from him, because your happiness is worth it. Knowing he can never hurt you again, is all he wants.

He can be your doctor. Just your doctor. Caring for your heart in at least one way.

"People like you really are interesting, Doctor. Shackles of your own making, keeping you standing where you think you should be. The kind of people that when pushed enough, snap." He can tell there's some amusement in the observation, like the process of pushing him would bring entertainment to the crime lord's life.

Zayne wants to rebuff him, to snap, that it's not his making… he thinks. He's not sure why he thinks it though. Still those scarlet eyes soften, into molten pools and he sighs, "You and kitten are similar. Putting yourselves into boxes that you can't leave. Scared to step outside and find you don't have a place."

The knife spins again, flipped up and caught by the blade between deft fingers, fearless at the idea of being nicked. "You should learn to step outside the box."

"Real cryptic, crow. I'm sure your advice column goes down great."

"It's not that easy." Xavier adds, looking over, "Hedonist." Sylus shrugs and doesn't debate it, whether he agrees with the label or not, Zayne isn't sure. "We're here, it's complicated."

"Is it?"

The response gives the prince pause. It's the surety. Like Sylus has no question for the path of his life.

Like he knows it will always lead to you, and beyond.

"Kitten doesn't run from me, unless they're hurting and nursing their wounds. They care for me, even if they don't have the words for the feeling. So I will be here, until they change their mind. No one else's presence stops or hinders that for me. I may be greedy, but I am not foolish. You do not take from their life, you add to it. To remove you, is to remove parts of them."

Rafayel looks away, "We shouldn't talk about this without them."

"You wish to spring this on them? When we have not discussed it ourselves? 'Ah, kitten, you're here. Pick a lover.'"

There's a growl in the back of the lemurian's throat, and as he leans forward, his hand catches on the side. Knocking a plate off, spilling the macarons Zayne had long forgotten. He catches it in hand, ice sticking it before it can spill contents onto the carpet.

Rafayel stops, looking over at Zayne, the anger trembling down into frustration before guilt takes its hold. He doesn't speak, just offers over one of the sweet treats quietly before Rafayel can speak.

He looks at it momentarily, cheeks flushing, then back at Zayne, and stuffs it into his mouth. He attempts to mumble a response, Zayne assumes a thanks, but it is mostly sprayed out with crumbs.

The man's strain gives Zayne some buoyancy. A grounding place. He is better at speaking for others, than for himself. "So you don't care about our presence?"

"Do you?"

It's… an odd question. Zayne has felt jealousy, he thinks. He has felt it towards these men when they have seemed the future you will walk towards.

He also thinks about days spent with all of you in one room, eating, arguing and laughing.

He thinks about the routine he cannot handle, the shaking to his foundations.

The warm heat of a lemurian's flame, and the sharp glow of a knight's blade.

He thinks about the nature of loneliness. Of fearing his hands can hurt.

"No." Is his honest answer, because he does not hate this place, with these people. He does not dislike the laughter in the room, or the sweets he has been made by the criminal staring at him with garnet eyes. He does not want to leave, even when you are not here. Eased by the space of you, and learning to be comfortable in their presence.

He has been isolated for a while, and while your presence makes it softer, he is eased to not face days alone. To come home to food, he does not have to force his tired body to cook, and people who learn his preferences.

Even if they often seem to be learning boundaries, first.

The shackles, as Sylus put them, are sturdy though. Heavier than anything else he will ever carry. Weighted by guilt and fears that cannot be alleviated in one night.

He wonders, absently, and hopefully, if not walking the path alone, will mean he can walk it easier with you.

That maybe it allows him to care for your heart in all the ways that matter.

Xavier leans back against the sofa, the movement shaking him, and yawns. His head drooping for a moment against Zayne's shoulder, before he slumps back to the other side. Back to his arms wrapped around his favourite plushie. "I like the meals." He mumbles, before he begins to snore softly.

"Should we worry that he's that easily won over by hotpot?"

Zayne retrieves the blanket over the arm of the sofa, to lay over the hunter. "I wonder if it was that easy."

"What about you fish?"

Rafayel turns his head away, conjuring a flame in his hand, that turns into a fish. He watches it flicker, dance, before it swims around his arm. "I've lost them too many times." Zayne feels the weight of his grief then, the pain that pulls through. The ones that feel familiar. "If it means never losing them or being alone again…" The fish dissipates, but not before swimming in a loop, and twirling through the air between them all. "I guess I don't hate you all."

"What a compliment, I'm about to swoon, fish."

"Except for you, stupid crow."

"Well, great alliances are never built in a day."

He looks down at his hands, thinking about the ice and the thorns. The future he can't grasp. He thinks about you watching people on the park bench.

'We're not meant to be alone.'

He isn't sure if this is what you mean, but maybe, one day, when they're ready to talk, and you are ready to hear… it will be.

If you seek him out, none of them, one of the others, or all of them. He will accept, because he knows you care, and that will never be called into question.

Even though, as the crow and the fish begin to whisper insults at each other, he thinks that alliance will take far longer.

[number-one-siffrin-fan]

I have a headcanon (I don't actually know if this has been talked about within canon so :p) that siffrin was significantly stronger than the rest of the party before losing their eye and after was on about their level, this is why he's an equally destructive force at the beginning of the game and how he save mira and isa, plus it explains why the party relies on them so much, they put him in charge of navigation, leading fights, checking for traps, finding useful items, all of that because the party is just used to relying on his strength.

ANYWAY, that run on sentence is to say I want to see siffrin when they first realized that losing an eye made them weaker and how he reacted the first time he couldn't do something or needed to be saved, I want to see him feel like he needs to take on more to compensate for losing his eye and to treat it like a failure just fswgggegydc

[deathbxnny]

Arcane women accidentally confessing to you. | Sevika, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi x Gn!Reader

This is very self-indulgent, so enjoy.<3

Content: pre-season 2 because I want to be happy rn, slight angst if you squint, fluff, accidental confessions, maybe ooc??, cursing, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》SEVIKA

She was resting at the last drop with you during some downtime in between missions. One hand lingered on your hip whilst her metallic one held onto her cigar, eyes focused on the pocker game she was playing with a couple of Silco's other henchmen. She always kept you close this way, a clear sign of who you belonged to despite never having said a word about it yet. It was a mutual understanding only you could have, and so she didn't think a confession was necessary.

Until today, it seemed.

You were secretly helping her cheat a little and eventually told her the winning move, which earned her a large sum of money. Letting out a smug laugh at everyone's angered and defeated glares, she gave you a lazy grin. "Thanks, sweetheart. This is why I love you." She hummed to you, smoke exhaling from her dark lips, before she froze ever so slightly. Well, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise to either of you, and yet she couldn't help but chuckle at your own stunned face.

Looking at the men around her, she threw some poker chips towards them, clearly asking for another round. She wasn't the type to get flustered or shy anyways, so her moving on like nothing happened was on brand.

The only acknowledgment you got, however, was the hand on your hip tightening.

》JINX

She has a hard time hiding her feelings for you due to her rather energetic and extremely clingy nature. But there is still a clear distance between you two that she's too scared to cross. It was a deep fear of ruining everything she had with you in case her confession went wrong. She'd rather you consider her your best friend for life if it meant for you to stay at her side. She didn't want to lose more people after all. And yet, as fate has it, she eventually lost herself in a good and happy moment with you.

You were tinkering on some projects in her hideout whilst listening to music. Her head was leaning against your shoulder as her eyes traced your focused gaze. Jinx felt so content and at peace in that moment that she couldn't stop the words that spilled out of her mouth. "I love you." It took her a second to realise what happened, and her body was quick to flinch away from you. You kept her in place, however, with a free hand placed against her head. "Hey, it's okay. I love you too. I'm not leaving." You reassured her quickly with a smile, one that made her heart skip a beat.

She may not see herself as deserving of you, but she's glad to have you at her side anyway. Hopefully forever.

》CAITLYN

Caitlyn was good at hiding her emotions from you. In fact, she had refused to tell you in fear of breaking the professionalism you two had and, most importantly, your friendship that she cherished deeply. And so, she was very careful not to reveal a single thing... until her confidence betrayed her and caused her to slip up.

You two were reviewing a new case together, and whilst she wasn't paying attention, she accidentally slid you her diary over. It unfortunately looked too similar to her work notebook, something she only realised the moment you opened it and froze in surprise. She may have scribbled your name all over it. She may have childishly drawn hearts around your name. She may have made it awfully clear that she loved you. And it made her wonder if there was a god out there that hated her deeply.

"... My apologies. Please ignore that-" "-Haha, I'm so relieved that I'm not the only one who did this!" You let out a soft laugh before pulling out your notebook and showing her similar pages to her own, just with her name written all over them. Her face was flushed from how flustered and embarrassed she was, but alas, she too couldn't help and chuckle at how silly this all was. At least you felt the same.

》VI

It's not like she didn't want to confess her feelings to you. She just didn't know how! Her confession should sweep you right off your feet in her mind, and yet nothing she came up with seemed good enough. Vi hoped that her flirting would get the point across, but she lacked the confidence to go any further than compliments. She just didn't want you to think differently of her and therefore kept her distance for the most part regarding the subject. That is if she could keep it in for lobger than she already has. She always felt so strongly about others, after all.

So, during a little hang out session in a bar somewhere in Zaun, she attempted to find the courage to tell you how she felt. Whilst she went off to go and get you a drink first, however, a drunken man showed up at your side and started flirting you in a rather uncomfortable way. You tried making it clear that you weren't interested, but as he went to grab your arm, a hand slammed in between you two onto the bar table. "Hey, I think they told you no, asshole." "Who the hell are you?" The man barked back, yet Vi didn't back down and simply blocked you from his view with her body. "I'm their girlfriend, now fuck off." She hissed, and the man just rolled his eyes before walking off grumbling.

Silence filled the space in between you two until you chuckled softly. "Girlfriend, huh? I like the sound of that." You hummed, secretly trying to ease her embarrassed mind, that quickly recovered at your words with a sly grin. "You do?" You mirrored her smile with a nod. "Very much so. I'm glad we think alike."

[corvus-frugilegus]

The real tragedy of the Dellamortes is how inevitable Illario's betrayal was.

Caterina's refusal to really see either of her grandsons for who they are sets all three of them on this path. Lucanis's mother was Caterina's favourite, she was probably the person Caterina had in mind to succeed her. That loss, the loss of so much of Caterina's legacy had to have been devastating. She'd built so much and it was all torn away in a single conflict. All she has left in the wake of it is two young boys and this tenacity that will not allow her to give up on what she's built.

So she puts it all on Lucanis. The son of her favourite (bonus angst if he looks like his mother). She's unable to see this sweet boy who loves wyverns and just had his life ripped apart for who he is. She just see's her legacy. The daughter she lost. She puts it all into him, he's pushed into the role of favourite.

Lucanis responds to this by shoving down the parts of himself she doesn't want to see- his gentle heart, his love of wyverns, the little boy who needs to be loved. If he's good enough, strong enough, the perfect crow, the perfect granson- then and only then will she love him, will he be safe.

And then you have Illario! There isn't as much to go on in the text about his family or what he was like as a boy but there's a few things we can pretty confidently infer. Like Lucanis, Illario violently loses everything he has at a very young age. All he has left are the other two Dellamorte's.

But he isn't the child of Caterina's favourite. She isn't automatically putting all of her legacy on his shoulders the way she does Lucanis. He still gets the training, and what we do see in the wigmaker job and the wake and even in the codex entires in the game is that Illario does become a comptent and capable crow. He has a level of skill that I suspect is broadly expected of house Dellamorte, he was trained by the first talon herself. But the Illario we meet as an adult has this laissez-faire affect and presents himself as a seducer and a bit of a peakcock. He also very overtly refers to himself as Dellamorte-the-lesser and at the end of the wigmaker job when they're discussing the title of first talon you can feel the resentment below the surface.

For Illario it's not about the power and the prestige that comes from the title of first talon. It's not even about having the title itself. It's about FINALLY earning Caterina's love and respect. Things he undoubtly never felt as a boy.

How could he? When he's a child the only two people he has left in the world have this special bond that he never gets to be a part of. His only caretaker has a clear favourite and she shows it. He's lived his whole life in Lucanis's shadow, and a shadow that Lucanis never wanted to cast! Which if anything just adds insult to injury for Illario.

Lucanis has everything Illario wants and he doesn't even want it.

I imagine as a boy Illario tries SO HARD to win her love, her favour, he'll do anything to feel like he's loved and wanted and valued. And when after YEARS it doesn't work even though Lucanis clearly doesn't want the role he's been forced into? Illario gets resentful, he gets angry, he starts acting up. He becomes the suave peacock, the grandson who fucks up sometimes- probably not because he's bad at being a crow but because at least Caterina's ire is attention. It's a scrap of love.

Illario and Lucanis love each other. They're brothers. Illario resents Lucanis for being loved and favoured. Lucanis wants nothing more than to give it all to Illario. Illario doesn't want that he wants Caterina to love him on his own merit. At the same time (pre-inner demons) Lucanis will never actually give the title up because it means he's loved, he's valued, he matters.

The title of first talon has been synonymous with emotional safety and love for these two for their entire lives, and it's twisted them up so badly.

The real irony of it all is that this whole time Illario is so much more like the person Caterina wants Lucanis to be. Her heir, the Dellamorte best suited to be the next first talon has been right there infront of her all along, but she's so caught up in grief and legacy she misses it. She never really see's either of her grandsons for who they are.

I actually suspect that when it all comes to light, even though she's furious with him, Caterina finally starts to see what she's been overlooking in Illario all along. And Lucanis who's started to heal... well I think she's starting to see him too, and the truth of who he is is something she'll struggle to face.

When the day finally comes that Lucanis tells her he doesn't want the job, when him and Illario both accept that their lives have meaning outside of Caterina's opinion of them, is the day that the Dellamorte's can maybe start to really see each other.

[eowynstwin]

Ghoap x reader. Autistic reader. Christmas angst. Allusions to Ghost’s backstory. Salacious use of ribbon. Soap being inappropriate. NSFW.

Soap fidgets on the train the whole way over to the light show. You don’t notice, of course, your earplugs are in, but Ghost, hypervigilant for the season, cocks an eyebrow.

“Itches like mad,” Soap grouses. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, a ghastly thing in fuzzy green, red, and gold, with LED bulbs embroidered down the front.

Ghost scowls at him. Soap purses his lips, not chastened. You sit between them, oblivious, fingering the zipper of your purse.

There’s enough cheer on the train to make up for their collective lack. More than one person wears a dumb Santa hat, and at least every other has on something colorful and festive. It seems like everyone feels some sort of Christmas spirit but Ghost, and it makes his hackles tense up.

Your hand slips into his then, smooth like silk settling over his palm. He looks at you; your gaze is fixed steadily ahead, unfocused. He’s not sure whether you reached for him to find comfort or offer it, but he closes his fingers around yours anyway.

He looks over—Soap has your other hand. Reaching to find, then. He squeezes.

The three of you wait until the very last moment to disembark when you arrive, letting the crowd out first. Ghost’s choice. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose either you or Soap in the stream of people flowing from the train—Soap will get distracted, and you hate it when strangers crowd you. This is going to be a trial as it is.

Ghost has to admit—once they reach the grounds, the displays are something to see. Together, you walk through a tunnel of lights leading you to the beginning of the walk, rings of warm white gently shining overhead, and Ghost, despite himself, can’t help but admire how it makes both of his partners look like they’re glowing.

Then Soap tugs at his sweater again, and Ghost bites down a growl.

“Oh, hot chocolate,” you say at the end of the tunnel, looking over at a cart laden with a few big steel samovars. “I’m going to get some, either of you want any?”

“Cider,” Ghost says, softening the curtness of his tone with the tenner he hands you. “If they’ve got any.”

“Coffee for me, hen, if you don’t mind,” Soap adds with a smile. You nod, and scurry toward the drinks.

Soap eyes him. Ghost knows what he sees—his back has been ramrod straight since the bloody month started. He holds his shoulders the same way he might if he had his rifle across his chest. His jaw has been hard as a cinder block any time the market clerk tossed “happy holidays” at him when he did his best to get away as fast as he could.

“Don’t,” Ghost says.

Soap says nothing.

This is not their first Christmas together, but it is their first with you. The sergeant already knows how Ghost feels about the holiday; you do not, and Ghost wants to keep it that way for a little while longer.

Divining your feelings about anything takes a little longer than it might with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure you’re excited, in your way. Soap, for whom pine trees and glitter and the smell of snow in the air seem to activate a sleeper agent in his brain that orgasms at the mere sight of tinsel, already has a Wellington resting in their shared fridge, and artfully wrapped presents crammed under their pre-lit tree. The two of you together have flooded the flat with lights, candy-cane frippery, crocheted snowflake doilies, and ski-lodge scented candles.

Ghost, for his part, has scrolled various travel websites to figure out if assassinating Santa Claus is something actually feasible. Maybe if he defeats the final boss of Christmas he can actually sleep through the night at least once this month.

It isn’t that he hates it, exactly. It’s just that Christmas, to him, began as a hazy game of roulette, wondering if the wild animal of his father would appear to ruin the exchange of charity-shop gifts wrapped in reused paper, and then solidified as an image reflected in pools of spreading blood.

The last happy Christmas, he had to burn down. That’s no reason that he has to ruin it for everyone else, though.

You return with three paper cups held awkwardly in your two hands, and Ghost and Soap relieve you of your burden. Your cup has a peppermint stick jutting up out of it, and you use it to stir your steaming drink periodically as the three of you proceed.

The path leads through an army of glowing snowmen in mismatched sizes, life-size gingerbread houses, past multicolor balls tossed across the top of a frozen pond. Trees banded with so many strings they look like branches of lightning reaching up from the earth. Electric snowflakes dangling above your heads from netting stretched between lampposts.

Ghost keeps clenching and unclenching his fist. His cider goes rapidly cold in his other hand, untouched. He probably can’t get his money back for it, but he’s agitated enough to start a fight and try.

Meanwhile—it’s obvious, you’re enjoying yourself immensely. You don’t say much as you flit between installations, running a hand over the glowing bulbs, tilting your head this way and that like a curious little bird. You take your phone out more than once to open your camera, and Ghost knows you’re saving pictures to put together a slideshow later on.

More than once, you look back at him and Soap, and grin wide at some novelty or another. Ghost manages to nod his head at you—go on, little birdie, keep having fun.

“Jesus,” Soap mutters, trying to scratch at a spot on his back for the third time.

“Fuck’s sake, Soap, just take the fucking thing off,” Ghost snaps.

“Canna,” Soap says.

“Why the fuck not?”

Soap’s mouth slants sideways. He looks around for spectators, and, finding none within eyeshot, lifts the bottom of the sweater.

Bright, shiny, very red ribbon runs in two lines along the naked cut of his obliques—down past the waistband of his trousers.

Ghost tosses the cider out of his cup and grips Soap by the back of the neck, throws, “OY! Duckie! Bathroom!” at you, and drags his boyfriend to the nearby public loo.

It’s empty, thank god, so Ghost wastes no time yanking the closure of Soap’s trousers open. The ribbon continues downward, downward, the V narrowing and narrowing until—

It converges in a (somewhat lopsided) bow tied right around the base of Soap’s dick.

“Soap, what the fuck,” Ghost says.

The sergeant backs up, and pulls the sweater fully off. It reveals a latticework of satiny red crisscrossing his chiseled torso: lines of ribbon accenting the curves of his pectorals, his toned abdomen, highlighting the small indent of his trim waist.

Soap’s cheeks flush pink.

“Goes further down,” he mutters, not meeting Ghost’s eye.

“What the fuck,” Ghost repeats.

“Was gonna do a big reveal when we got home,” Soap says. “Start stripping when we got the door closed. That rubbish.”

Ghost, incredulously, snorts, and Soap smiles at him.

“First time you’ve laughed this month,” he says quietly. “S’ why I did it.”

Ghost steps up to him and takes Soap’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You fucking idiot,” he says, and kisses him.

The bathroom door opens, letting in a gust of wind, and Ghost and Soap jump back from each other momentarily, before relaxing when your voice reaches them.

“There better not be a handjob happening in here without me—oh,” you say, stopping short.

Shoving the waist of his pants down further, Soap turns around to show off to you the full extent of what he’s done. It gives Ghost a good look at the pretty intersections happening overtop of the muscles of Soap’s back, and the dip of the ribbon down between the two perfect globes of Soap’s arse.

You blink several times. “There isn’t a lock on this door, Soap. If I get down to suck you off, someone is going to come in.”

Impossibly, Ghost snorts again, and then laughs for real, a full-belly guffaw that comes out a little more harsh than it should. But you grin at him, and the line of Soap’s shoulders, which Ghost suddenly realizes has been as tense as his this whole time, relaxes.

He pecks the bare swell of Soap’s bicep, and then the crown of your head as he passes you by.

“I’ll hold it closed, duckie,” he says. “Do whatever you want.”

He only leaves the door once when he hears you shriek suddenly with laughter—to find that Soap has decorated his cock with a peppermint-loop of red lipstick, all the way to the tip.

“Fucking idiot,” Ghost repeats, and cancels his trip to the North Pole then and there.

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[enwoso]

BOUND BY THE PAST | alessia russo x child!reader

it’s another long one, 4.1k words of angst and a small bit of fluff in there somewhere🤏🏼. honestly this was fun to write, and i’ve also in the process lost the request so whoever requested this thank you!

but what i will say is, i really wouldn’t wanna mess with alessia tbh.. especially after reading this. girl goes full on mama protection mode.

anyways enough spoilers, enjoy!

grumpy masterlist | psa: this fic is set after a bridge to cross, so i would recommend reading that to find out who harrison is.

the emirates stadium was alive with cheers as the final whistle blew, alessia felt the familiar rush of victory as her teammates surrounded her. the game had been a triumph and the buzz of the crowd still echoed through the stadium.

alessia's gaze scanned the stands briefly, somewhere closer to the bench was alessia's parents and her older brothers along with leah's family all cheering along, them choosing to sit in the stands for once in stead of the comfort of the friends and family box to be able to feel the excitement of the win as the season was coming to an end.

but her focus shifted as she searched for some other faces entirely, you were seated in the box with your dad, harrison. it had all been alessia's idea, she knew her family were coming but if they were seated on other sides of the stadium.

in alessia's mind the plan was foolproof, she had told her family that you were having a going out with harrison, and she had told harrison step by step what to do to not bump into her family.

even leah didn't know about harrison coming to watch the game.

"so tiny isn't coming today?" leah asked as she sat tying her shoelaces clad in a full arsenal tracksuit, her hair in a messy bun.

alessia shook her head as she finished making her pre-match drink, "no harrison's taking her out for the day, it's the only day he could do this week and i think he said something about taking her to the soft play" alessia explained, it hadn't been the only day he could do this week and he definitely didn't mention a soft play.

alessia in her mind knew the plan would work, she kept it this way, not telling anyone as she knew how fragile yeh situation was. she didn't want to ruin the one of the last home games of the season for anyone or at least have to deal with the inevitable confrontation — at not before she had to.

—

"mummy!" alessia froze mid step, the familiar sound of your voice ringing out through the corridor as she tried to make her way to the family area after having been showered post-match. her heart skipping. a mix of delight and apprehension filling her chest.

turning towards the sound, her breath caught the sight of you bouncing down the hall, your tiny hand firmly clasped around harrison's.

harrison followed hesitantly, probably knowing alessia would say something to chastise him about not sticking to the plan. his tall frame towering over the little girl as he let her lead him.

his posture was awkward, as his shoulders were slightly hunched as a white t-shirt adorned his body his long arms filled with tattoos as he looked as if he wanted to shrink himself.

his eyes darted around nervously, scanning the area. he was well aware this wasn't the plan.

"y/n, slow down," he muttered, glancing back towards the way they'd came. he had hoped to avoid running into anyone, let alone alessia's family.

but you were determined, your hair which was in little pigtails bounced as you practically skipped towards the private family area. you coming to a hault in front of your grandparent, your uncles and leah's family who were in there too.

you looking up at your mummy's shocked face with an innocent grin, "i brought daddy to see you, mummy!" you announced proudly looking between both harrison and alessia as if you'd just presented your mum with the greatest gift

harrison cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly under the weight of several pairs of stunned eyes. "hello" he said softly, giving a weak wave.

the room froze, as alessia's parents exchanged wide eyed glances her mum placing a hand over her chest as if steadying herself more than likely knowing what was about to happen. her dad's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as they flickered to alessia awaiting for her to say something.

but instead it was luca who broke the silence.

"what the hell is he doing here?" his voice was sharp and dripping from venom as he already moved forward as if to place himself between harrison and alessia.

"luca." carol warned but it was too late.

harrison instinctively pulled you a little closer, your hand tightening around his. "i'm not- i don't mean to-"

"you didn't mean to what?" gio cut in stepping up beside luca. his tone was cold as his expression was one of pure disbelief. "show up uninvited? drag her into this?" he gestured towards you as you were becoming more and more closed off.

"i wasn't trying to cause trouble," harrison said quickly his voice calm as he glanced down at you who was looking around and at him with confusion, clearly sensing the tension. "she wanted to see her mum, i didn't want to upset her."

"you've already done enough of that," luca snapped his tone still laced with venom.

the comment from luca, seemed to hit a nerve. harrison's expression shifted, his calm demeanour giving way to frustration. he straightened his posture, squaring her shoulders.

"look, i get that you don't like me, i get that i've made mistakes. but im here for y/n now. i'm not going anywhere no matter how much you scowl at me"

luca scoffed, stepping closer, "you think a few months of effort erases everything you've done? you don't deserve to be in her life"

"luca!" alessia's voice was sharp, but harrison didn't back down as her voice blended into the background.

"you think i don't know what i've done?" harrison shot back, his voice rising slightly. "you think i don't live with that every day? i'm not here to make things right with you or anyone else in the room, expect my daughter. that's it."

"your daughter?" gio crossed his arms, his face hard as he continued, "the one you walked out on the moment things got tough?"

"i've owned up to that," harrison snapped, his calm composure was cracking, fast. "and i'm doing everything i can to fix it. you don't have to like me, but you don't get to decide whether i'm in her life"

"what do you not get, you don't get to just show up and demand to be a dad!" lucas's voice was sharp, his frustration boiling over, "that little girl isn't just some box you can check off to feel better about yourself!"

harrison clenched his jaw, his fists curling at his sides, "i'm not trying to feel better about myself. i'm trying to be a father to my daughter and for what it's worth, alessia seems to understand that — something you two clearly don't."

"enough! stop it" alessia's voice raising as it cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. she stepped forward, placing herself between her brothers and harrison.

"mummy?" you voice was trembling as it broke through the shouting, small and wavering. your tiny hands gripping the bottom on alessia's jersey, her big blue eyes wide and shimmering with tears as she glanced between the adults.

harrison's anger drained instantly as his gaze dropped to his daughter opening his mouth to try and fix it as alessia shook her head for him to back down.

alessia immediately crouched down, pulling you into her arms, "baby, it's alright," she whispered, stroking the back of your hair. but your body was tense and your little fists balled up into alessia's jersey as you buried your face into your mummy's neck, desperately looking for any sort of comfort.

alessia turned to look for leah, leah being stood quietly by the door watching the mess unfold, shock slightly radiating on her face as well as a small pang of betrayal as alessia felt she couldn't tell her that you were coming to watch with your dad.

leah had heard the yelling from the corridor as she surged down still buzzing from the win but her smile quickly turned into a frown when she walked into the room.

"le, can you take lovie out. she shouldn't be seeing this.." alessia begged as you clung to your mummy, tears spilled from your small eyes.

leah nodding as she pushed herself off the wall, her heart arching at the sight of your confusion. alessia tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as she kissed your forehead whispering an 'i love you' before handing you over to leah.

leah shifted you so you rested comfortably on her hip, as she began to turn towards the door, she shot alessia a pointed look. leah's voice dropping to a murmur, "i told you this would happen when they found out."

alessia's jaw tightened, her frustration boiling over, "not now, leah" she snapped her voice sharp as she gritted her teeth together. leah left with you to calm you down as alessia turned to look at the boys who were still arguing.

"you fucking abandoned her, and abandoned that little girl. you don't deserve the right to waltz back into either of their lives like nothings happened.” luca spat back as harrison's jaw tightened as he kept quiet but his mind was definitely ticking away of what to say next.

"and you think showing up here unannounced is the way to do is?" gio added his arms crossed over his chest protectively.

"unannounced?" carol, interjected gently her gaze shifting to alessia, "did you.. know about this?"

all eyes turned to alessia who felt the weight of their stares pressing down on her, as she swallowed hard glancing briefly at harrison before nodding.

"i gave him the tickets," she admitted, "for lovie but i didn't tell anyone cause i didn't want to ruin the day for anyone."

"ruin today?" gio repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief at his sisters actions, "you ruined today the moment you gave him the tickets."

"you think i wanted to ruin today? i'm not here for you?" harrison snapped rising to his feet, his voice was low but sharp, his frame tense as he squared up to gio. "i'm here for my daughter!"

gio stepped forward too, his expression thunderous. "you don't get to act like the hero after disappearing for years. showing up doesn't erase what you did!"

"i never said it did!" harrison's voice rose again, his frustration starting to bubble over. taking another step forward towards gio, his chest puffed out. "but i'm not going to stand here and let you talk to me like i don't care about her. i'm trying to be better-"

"better?" luca barked out a harsh laugh as gio joined in before looking back at harrison with the same thunderous glare.

"alessia doesn't need you, y/n doesn't need you. you don't belong here, mate."

"that's not your call!" harrison shot back, his voice dangerously loud now. he took another step closer his fists clenched at his sides.

"gio stop!" alessia's voice rang out as she begged the two to stop, even now luca was trying to get gio to back down as he reached out to grab his shoulder but it was just shrugged off by the younger russo brother.

"you don't get to decide what's best for her," harrison continued, his voice trembling with restrained anger. "she's my daughter"

"don't you dare say that word like it means something to you." gio hissed stepping closer to harrison, his voice venomous. "you're nothing but a selfish coward who runs away when things get tough!"

harrison's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides, "say that again," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"i said, you're a coward," gio spat, his eyes blazing as he stowed even closer.

the words barely hung in the air before gio swung, his knuckles catching harrison square on the cheekbone which would definitely turn blue by the morning.

harrison staggering back as his expression snapped from shock to fury in a instant. and without hesitation he lunged forward his first slamming into gio's jaw with a satisfying crack.

"you want to say that again?" harrison snarled, his chest heaving as gio was the one to stumbled this time.

gio wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at harrison. "you think that scares me?" he hissed already moving towards him again.

"enough!" mario barked from across the room, but neither of them seemed to hear.

luca rushed forward, shoving harrison back hard enough to create some space, "seriously knock it off!

alessia took the chance to dart herself between them, he hands trembling as she pushed against harrison's chest. "stop it! both of you!" she pleaded, her voice breaking.

her plea was just loud enough to pierce through the tension, as harrison's fists slowly uncurled and gio rubbed his jaw breathing heavily as he halted st him.

alessia turned to her dad, her face flushed and tight with anger, "they're done," she said firmly, her voice trembling with finality as she glanced between them, "aren't you?"

gio muttered something under his breath turning away while harrison stood rigid. the fire in his eyes gradually dimming. but alessia didn't move, staying firmly in place until both men retreated.

"this isn't helping anyone, and i'm not letting, either of you turn this into a war zone-" alessia shouted her voice firm as both boys hands were red with fury and there faces right with frustration.

"i'm not trying to fight, i just want to be there for my daughter" harrison squeaked out his voice low and strained.

“you don't deserve to be here for her!" gio fired back, but alessia spun on him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"gio! enough!" she snapped. "you don't get to decide that. i do. and i've made my decision."

"less-," gio started, but alessia cut him off with a glare.

"no, gio." she said fiercely. "this isn't about you and what you think. this is about lovie. and right now she's down the hallway terrified because of you two"

the silence that followed from alessia's words was deafening and her words must have hit a soft spot as both boys retreated form where they were, moving to be at the side of the room as alessia stayed stood in the middle of the chaos.

"less, we're just trying to look out for you," luca began his voice was calm as he tried to justify his and his brothers actions. "you know we're only trying to protect you and tiny-,"

"protect me?" alessia spun around, her voice sharp and trembling with emotion as her eyes blazed as she stared down her brother. "you think this is protecting me? scaring my daughter? making her cry? how is that helping anyone?"

"less, come on," luca interjected, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "we didn't mean for it to get like this. we just don't trust him, and—"

"and that gives you the right to pick a fight in front of her?" alessia cut him off, her voice rising, her hands clenched at her sides. "she's four, luca! she doesn't understand why her uncles are yelling at her dad. do you have any idea what this is going to do to her?"

"alessia—" gio tried, but she held up a hand, silencing him.

"no, gio. you've done enough damage." she snapped, "all you've done is make everything worse!"

both russo brothers looked visibly chastened, their gazes dropping to the floor. carol stepped forward, her face pale. "alessia, sweetheart, maybe we should all take a moment to cool off—"

"i don't have a moment," alessia said, her voice breaking slightly. "my daughter is crying in the hallway because of all this. i need to go sort out the mess, they've made."

without waiting for a response having heard enough from them, alessia turned on her heel and left the room, her chest heaving as she tried to collect herself.

—

alessia finally found leah after having to take a few minutes herself to let out a shaky sigh. leah was sitting on a bench near the locker room. you cradled in her lap.

your face buried in leah's neck, as your body still trembled slightly from time to time as small hiccups left you. leah's hand rubbing gentle circles on your back as she whispered low and soothing reassurances.

"hey" alessia said softly as she approached the two, her heart breaking at the sight of you being so upset. her body filling with so much mum guilt.

leah glanced up, her expression a mixture of concern and lingering frustration as she shifted you slightly so that alessia could take over. "she's a bit shaken up," leah murmured standing as alessia crouched in front of the two of them.

"thank you" alessia said quietly, her voice filled with genuine emotion as leah nodded lingering for a moment before stepping back to give some space.

"lovie, baby" your mummy whispered, reaching out so gently to stoke the hair out your face as your were sat curled up with your knees to your chest. "it's okay, mummy's here now."

you sniffed, finally lifting your head up out of your knees to look at your mum. your face was red and tear-streaked as your lips trembled. "why was uncle gio and luca so mad at daddy?" you asked so innocently, your voice a little raspy from crying.

alessia's chest tightened, pulling you into her arms holding you tightly as the two of you sat on the floor. alessia's back hitting the bench behind her.

"oh my love" she murmured. "sometimes grown-ups say things they shouldn't when they are upset. but that doesn't mean they don't love you, okay? uncle luca and gio love you very much. they just.. got carried away and shouldn't have acted like that, especially when you were there."

you rubbed your eyes with your fists, your voice trembling as you asked, "am i not going to see daddy again?"

the question hit alessia like a punch to the gut. she pulled back slightly, her hands gently cradling your face as she looked into your wide worried eyes.

"oh baby no," she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. "that's not going to happen, you'll be able to see your dad again, i promise."

"bu-but uncle gio said he shouldn't be here," you whispered, your tears starting to build up again, "d-does that mean he has to go away?"

alessia swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in her throat that was building from your worries as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

"no, baby," your mummy assured you, "uncle gio only said that as he's worried about mummy, not because he doesn't want you to see your daddy. and daddy won't be going anywhere - you'll still get to spend time with him."

"really?" you asked, you voice trembling with hope.

"really" alessia promised as she pulled you into another hug, "you and your dad are creating a special bond and no one is going to take that away from you. not uncle luca, not uncle gio, not anyone."

your small arms tightened around alessia's neck, "i don't want you and daddy to fight" you murmured.

alessia's heart ached at the simple plea, "we aren't going to fight, my love." she said softly, "sometimes grown ups make mistakes, but i promise i'll do everything i can to make sure you don't see that again."

you nodded against your mummy's shoulder, you little fingers clutching the fabric of alessia's hoodie. "okay," you whispered.

leah, who had been standing a few steps away, finally stepped forward again, her expression tender, "hey angel" she said softly, crouching down next to alessia and your level.

"how about we go and get some ice cream? i think we all need a treat after today, huh?"

you lifted you head, your tears starting-streaked face slightly lighting up, "pink one with sprinkles?"

leah smiled, brushing a stray hair from your cheek, "the biggest pink one with loads of sprinkles, as many as you want!"

alessia pressed a kiss to your temple, grateful for leah's presence in that moment. "what do you think, baby? wanna go get some ice cream with lele and mummy?"

you nodded, a faint smile creeping onto your face. alessia stood, holding you close as leah placed a comforting hand on alessia's back.

as they started to pack away there belongings from the changing room, everyone else left seamlessly a good hour ago. a quick redo of your hair and the three of you were ready to go.

as they walked out from the changing room, alessia whispered softly to you, "everything's going to be okay, lovie. i promise."

the three of you only a mere metre from the exit, alessia with her backpack slung on her shoulder and your little one which had left with you this morning when harrison came to get you in her hand as you held the other tightly.

leah chatting and lightening the mood by asking you about your imaginative ice cream order. small gasps and giggles leaving leah's lips.

"can you take lovie?" alessia asked as you held tightly onto your mummy's hand, leah nodding her brow furrowing as to why though. "i'll meet you at my car in five, i have one more thing i have to do before ice cream time!"

alessia's head nodded towards the room where her brother's and harrison were still in, stood in silence mainly giving each other dirty looks. leah nodded smiling as she began to walk out the exit door, continuing to ask you what flavour ice cream you were going to get on this big ice cream you'd made up.

walking into the room the tension was thick — heavier than any moment alessia had ever witnessed between her family and harrison.

it felt like the room was on edge of something much worse than what had already happened. the harsh words, the mistrust, the frustration.

stood looking between the her brothers as gio rested an ice pack on his jaw while harrison rested one on his cheek — the swelling on both of them starting to show slightly.

alessia's arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face a mask of calm resolve but the storm brewing inside her was undeniable.

her brothers stood across from harrison their expressions full of disdain ready for another attack. as for harrison, for his part was still stiff and defensive, clearly feeling the weight of alessia's family's anger but trying to hold his ground.

her gaze locked firmly on her brothers and harrison, as gio opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologise or maybe to carry on the screaming match but you'd never know as before he even had a chance alessia cut him off.

"zip it, you've said quite enough today," she said, her tone sharp and unwavering, "and that goes for all three of you" she added pointing to the three boys before turning her gaze to her brothers.

"you two have crossed the line today. so i'll make it clear, again. in my life, my daughter or my choices are mine to decide — neither of you get to tell me how to handle it. especially when it comes to my daughter."

luca opened his mouth to argue but alessia raised her hand stopping him dead in his tracks, "shut it." she said her voice a low growl that sent a clear message.

"i don't want to hear another peep. not from you, not from you" she pointed to gio who was about to say something too, "or from you" pointing over at harrison.

the room fell healthy silent all them staring at her stunned in disbelief. alessia took a slow, steady breath collecting her thoughts for a moment.

"i get it," she said her voice now steady but there was a fire in her eyes that couldn't be ignored. "you're angry. you're protective. you're all trying to act like the hero and protect me and love. but trust me, i don't need any of you trying to believe you know what's best for me. i've been doing this on my own and i'll continue it that way. and that includes harrison — whether you two like it or not."

she looked directly at harrison, then back to her brothers her eyes fierce with strength she'd been holding back all this time. "i can make my own choices on who's in my daughters life. and if i decide harrison deserves a chance then that's my decision. not yours."

gio's fists clenched as he moved his head as if he were about to say something else but alessia was already ahead of him, again.

"don't you dare," she warned him, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "don't you even think about interrupting me."

her brothers stood there, tight lipped, completely taken aback by the intensity in alessia's voice and the authority in her words.

harrison meanwhile, stood still, ice pack still held to h the side of his face, unsure of what to say, but realised the trust of it all. this wasn't the time for his defence — he had to let alessia take charge.

alessia stepped back, giving them all one last piercing look, "i'm done here. so if you have a scuffle you want to continue, then do it once me, my daughter and my girlfriend are out this building. do not ever bring that type of behaviour around my daughter again, or you'll live to regret it."

the finality in her words echoed through the room. without another word, alessia turned on her heel. her heart pouring as she walked toward the door, he back straight and shoulders square.

she didn't wait for anyone's reaction - this was her moment and she wasn't backing down to any of them. they all had a lot of grovelling to do.

as she reached for the door, she glanced over her shoulder one last time, "bye!" she said coldly, her voice unwavering. "i'll be with my family, where i belong. don't try and talk to me until you've figure out how to respect my choices."

the silence that followed her leaving the room was deafening. luca, gio and harrison all left standing there, two with ice packs held to their faces as the weight of the blondes words sunk in. 

but alessia wasn't looking back anymore, she was done trying to explain and make them see things her way. she had made her choice — you, leah and herself came first.

[mountttmase]

I Bet You Miss Her

Note - Hey guys 🩷 just a cute little baby fic today and thank you to the anon who sent the request in, I hope it’s okay for you 😘 feedback would be appreciated 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 5K

Warnings - angst and fluff

Mason always loved a pre-season party, getting everyone together after weeks apart and excited for the season to start usually meant he was in his element but this year was different. You weren’t with him this time.

That didn’t mean he didn’t see you everywhere he looked. That when he watched one of his teammates wrap their arm around their significant other he didn’t feel a pang of emptiness because you weren’t by his side. He knew he should be there with you and he knew this was all his doing but being here hurt more than thought it might.

He felt lost. His arms limp by his sides as he couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands now they weren’t wrapped around yours. His eyes glued to the floor as he knew he’d still be looking for you even though you were miles away and as he stood with Licha and his family he was trying his best to act normal and not let his inner turmoil spill over.

‘So Mase, where’s y/n?’ Muri asked, a bright and friendly smile on her face as she wrapped her hand around Licha’s bicep and the sound of your name sent shock waves through him. He’d been expecting it for a while but he wasn’t sure if he wanted your name brought up in conversation or not. On the one hand he was desperate for someone to bring you up so he could imagine you once more and have an excuse to talk about you but he also knew the memories would just be too painful just like they always were.

‘Oh uh, she’s on a work trip. She’ll be back in a few days’ Mason lied smoothly. His lips pressed into a tight line as he fiddled with the last button on his shirt but thankfully she bought his excuse.

‘Ah amazing, she doing so well for herself. I bet you miss her though’ she pouted and her sympathy just made him feel worse somehow.

‘Yeah, yeah I really do’ Masons whispered and it was like the words hit him in his soul. Gulping back a lump that was rising up his through far too quickly for his liking before raising his glass to his lips in a final attempt to disguise his emotions.

Today had been a lot.

It was officially three months since the breakup and Mason couldn’t have felt worse if he tried.

Nothing had caused the pair of you to break up, nothing big at least. The move from London to Manchester had been tough for the pair of you and you knew he was finding it hard to settle. The constant injuries meant he spent more time with the United staff rather than his teammates that he should have been bonding with and unbeknownst to you one of them was having more of an effect on him than you knew.

What started off as bickering as you were both on edge became bigger arguments as the season wore on. Mason spending longer hours with his new friend on the physio table and at first you didn’t mind because it gave you a chance to cool off but soon enough it got to the point of no return for him.

You always figured the fighting was a phase and something to move past but the morning of a big away game, his first start since October the year before, he’d told you he couldn’t carry on and felt it was best if the pair of you ended things there so it didn’t get any worse.

You were blindsided, it never being in your head that he would end things as you knew you loved him enough to work through it but as soon as he left for the game you packed your car until it was full and made your way back home to London later that evening.

It felt like he was taking the easy way out. Not giving you a chance to fight or say anything back, just telling you he was done and running away so he didn’t have to face the consequences but if that’s what he wanted then that’s what he would get. Driving back to your best friend's house who was ready to welcome you with open arms whilst you cursed his name all night. Confused as to how you’d even got here but you were hoping that when he returned home he’d feel just as awful as you were.

The game went terribly, Mason not really ready to play the amount of time he had been given and even though he wasn’t really to blame the loss hit harder than most. Not speaking a word to anyone unless he had to on the flight home and once he was back in his car he finally let his emotions get the better of him. Slamming his head onto the steering wheel before letting the first few tears fall.

This felt like rock bottom.

Mason knew you were gone as soon as he got home. Your car was gone and your house keys left in the dish on the console table told him as much when he walked in, but he could also feel you were gone. Your presence had been sucked right out of the home you’d built together and Mason felt awful instantly. He’d known since he stepped onto the plane yesterday morning that he’d made a mistake and all he wanted after an awful 12 hours or so was for you to make him feel better like you always did.

He tried every way known to man to try and get a hold of you but nothing seemed to be working. Even contemplating sending a messenger pigeon if he thought that might have worked but after five days of nothing from you he knew you were done. He’d made his bed and now he just had to lie in it no matter how uncomfortable it was.

In the end he figured he’d just wait for you to come to your senses and reply as you must be missing him just as much as he was missing you but the call never came. Just days that turned into weeks of waiting and waiting and soon enough the inevitable questions as to your whereabouts came.

Muri wasn't the first person to ask after you and she wasn’t the first to have been lied to by Mason. Everyone who mentioned you he managed to fob off with a different excuse and at this point you’d been on more girls trips and work trips than he could shake a stick at. He was running out of excuses though and he’d told his mum you’d been ill for so long that she was threatening to come and look after you herself but Mason always had it covered.

He was surprised he’d managed to get away with it for this long without someone coming back at him, thinking word must have gotten back to you eventually but no one ever questioned him and his spiral of lies just kept getting deeper. Too embarrassed to admit he’d let go of the best thing to ever happen to him so he kept going until the excuses no longer sounded plausible.

Where were you? Oh, yeah she’s at the dentist, she’s gone back home to visit her family for a few days, she’s already got plans she can’t cancel he lied but before he knew it he was paying for his sins.

It was 11pm a few days after the pre-season party and Mason was just about to get ready for bed. Switching his tv off and taking his snacks back to the kitchen but that’s as far as he got. The sudden sound of pounding fists on his door startled him and he froze in fear for a moment before he quickly pulled up the doorbell app on his phone. It was clearly a little slow to alert him to someone being outside but was met with a sight he thought he’d never see again.

He was running to open the door in a flash, pulling it open so quickly you almost fell inside as you were still aggressively slamming your fists on it and once you’d gathered yourself Mason swore he’d never seen you so mad before.

‘Why are you telling everyone we’re still together?’ You demanded, your voice loud and hard and he felt his tummy drop as the seconds went by. A deep feeling of regret but also love for you swimming through him and he didn’t quite know what to say.

‘Wha… what are you doing here?’ He asked, trying to avoid the question a little bit he knew it was for nothing. You were beyond furious.

‘Work trip, funnily enough’ you laughed but he knew there wasn’t an ounce of humour in it. Clearly word had gotten back to you and at this moment he didn’t know if he was happy about it or not. ‘Now answer my question’

‘I- I don’t know-‘

‘‘Keep my name out of your mouth, Mason. You broke up with me, remember? You don’t get to do this’ you cut him off, ready to turn around and leave as you had nothing else to say to him but as soon as you looked away his helpless voice ran through the air.

‘Baby please-‘

‘Don’t’ you snapped, holding your finger up so he would stop talking. Your voice now cold compared to what it just was and Mason realised in that moment he’d rather have you angry at him than whatever this was. ‘Just don’t. You don’t get to call me that’

‘Don’t go, I fucked up but we can fix this’ he pleaded but you didn’t come here to talk. You came to tell him to leave you alone and you weren’t prepared for this at all.

‘No we cant-‘

‘Baby please-‘

‘No Mason! Why are you doing this to me? Have you not put me through enough?’ You shouted as you turned back to him fully, your emotions getting the better of you as you tried and failed to hold in a sob and your hands were now balled up into fists as you were so frustrated with the boy in front of you. ‘I’m trying to move on with my life but I’ve got people asking me about you all the time and bringing you up cause you’re still living in some weird fantasy land!’

‘Please baby, please don’t cry I can fix it’ he whimpered as he moved closer to you but made sure to take a step back so he didn’t get too close.

‘There’s nothing to fix! We’re done!’

‘No we’re not. Don't say that okay, you’re mine’ he sobbed as he ran his fingers through his hair erratically. ‘What do you want from me, huh? What is it cause whatever it is I’ll do it now. You want me on my knees? You want me to beg for you back cause I don’t care I’ll do it’ he told you, lowering himself onto the ground in front of you but all it did was make you sob harder. ‘I don’t care that you hate me, I don’t care that you think we’re done. I love you and I'm not giving up on us ever when I know we can work this out’ he cried. ‘Why won’t you listen to me’

‘Because you’re a coward, Mase! You broke up with me before an away game so you could run away. You didnt fight for me then and you don't get to fight for me now’

‘Please’

‘No’ you told him, hoping that could be the end of it so you turned in your heel and ran away. Knowing that he’d be delayed by a few seconds if he wanted to get up and chase you but by the time you’d got in your car and looked back he hadn’t moved from his spot. His chest now pressed to the floor as he’d slumped forward with his head hidden in the crook of his arm and you could see his back moving erratically up and down from what you presumed was him crying.

There was something in you that made you stop, something that made you want to get out of your car and run back to him. To stand him up and hold him and tell him everything was fine and you were still his but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

That didn’t mean you didn’t think of him over the next few days. Hours spent in your friend's box room as you didn’t have the heart to find your own place yet but the sound of his voice and the memory of him being so heartbroken was etched into your brain and you couldn’t seem to move on from it.

You’d never seen him so distraught before in all the time you’d known him. On his knees in front of you begging for another chance and you’d just ran away and left him sobbing on his drive after pouring his heart out to you.

You hated the way he still occupied your thoughts. Before things had gone wrong you believed he was your forever and would have done absolutely anything for him but all that had changed and right now you didn’t think you could ever fully move past this unless you sat with him and spoke to him properly. No matter how much it hurt.

Mason was absentmindedly watching whatever was on tv when his phone alerted him to someone being outside. He didn’t hear a knock or anything moving outside so he quickly opened the app to put his mind at rest when he was met with your face. Your hand rising and falling as you thought about whether or not you should press the bell but Mason wasn’t about to give you a choice and shot up from the sofa to pull the front door open

You weren't expecting him to suddenly be there, a hopeful look on his face as he tried to control his breathing and you felt your heart leap at the sight of him.

‘You’re back’ he whispered, watching you wrap your arms around yourself as you looked down at the floor and all he wanted was to wrap you up in his own arms. To kiss you and promise you he’d never hurt you again as he hated how you looked so fragile and nervous but he was taking you being as a positive sign.

‘Yeah’ you breathed, nodding lightly. ‘I was just about to knock, I um… do you think… do you think I could come in?’

‘Of course you can’ he nodded, pulling the door open wider before shutting it behind you. Watching you glance around the house you used to call a home before you stood playing with your fingers. ‘Can I get you anything? You want a drink or-‘

‘No, I think it’s best we just talk and get this over with’ you told him. walking right by him to get to the sitting room and the familiarity of the place hit you immediately. Nothing had changed, he even still had the same pictures of the pair of you in the frames by the fireplace and you felt your tummy drop at the sight of them. They felt like they were from a different life at this point and you didn’t know if you’d ever get to be like that with anyone ever again.

Mason sighed before joining you, his shoulders slumped as he thought maybe you’d come here to listen to him and let him put things right but from just that small awkward interaction he knew you were done. He was just praying to anyone and anything he could change your mind somehow.

‘I’m sorry’ he mumbled as he took a seat opposite you but you weren’t here to listen to that again.

‘I don’t want an apology Mason, you’ve said that a million times now. I want an explanation’ you told him calmly. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing… and everything I guess’ he sighed, running his hand over his beard before scratching the back of his neck. All of his tells to let you know he was nervous. ‘Things were rough for a while, I think we both can agree on that’ he said and you nodded lightly. Things had been hard but never once had you thought about ending things with him. ‘It was just a hard year for me… and then were was Jason’

‘Jason?’ You asked, confused as to who he was talking about as the only Jason you knew was Mason's physio and he’d always been sweet to you when you’d seen him so you were confused as to why he was being bought up now.

‘Yeah, he’d been on at me for months about ending things with you’ he confessed and you felt your heart sink. ‘It's my fault, I saw him most days and we got pretty comfortable around each other so I said some things that looking back now I shouldn’t have. It was just guy talk you know? I didn’t mean anything by it at first, we were just moaning about our other halves but then he broke up with his girlfriend and he was going on about how much lighter felt now he was single and maybe I should do the same so we could be single together’

‘What?’ You breathed. Not knowing if this was a joke or not but you knew Mason and you knew he was open to everyone so it was no wonder he took advice from some he thought he could trust.

‘I know, and I know it doesn't make me sound any better. I get that. But we were arguing over stupid things and I had him in my ear constantly like I just lost it’

You didn’t know what to say. You understood a bit better now but it still didn’t make things easier.

‘But I knew it was dumb, maybe in the back of my mind that’s why I did it when I did cause you’re right. I was a coward and I wanted to run away but I knew It’s not what I wanted as soon as I got on the bloody plane to leave. I didn’t get chance to talk to you or do anything until later that night and I tried to call you but I never heard from you’

‘You didn’t even really give me a chance to fight for us. You told me what you wanted and left as quickly as you could. I didn’t exactly feel like giving you a chance to explain anything after that’ you told him quietly and he nodded knowingly. His face crumpling as he tried and failed to hold it together and you couldn’t lie and say the way he was wasn’t having an effect on you and his watery eyes were like a dagger to your heart.

‘I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve never stopped loving you’ he sobbed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye so he could stop crying but it only made your eyes sting in return. ‘That day when I finished things, well I didn’t just hurt you. It's like I tore my own heart from my chest and I’ve never been able to numb that ache. Why do you think I lied and told everyone we were still together?’

‘Cause you’re certifiably insane’ you whispered. Your heart leaping at the way he let out a little chuckle as he wiped his eyes and when your eyes locked you felt your resolve crumble further.

‘Well yes, there’s that, but I couldn’t admit what I’d done to anyone cause I was embarrassed’ he gulped. ‘And I didn’t want to admit it to myself half the time. You’re way too good for me, I know that. Fuck everyone knows that so why would I want to tell everyone I’d thrown away the best thing to have ever happened to me. I know exactly what they’d say and how dumb I felt even just thinking it to myself so I made out you were just busy or something’ he shrugged. His confession melting your cold exterior slightly before he was scratching the back off his neck again. The cogs turning in his brain as he tried to make you believe in whatever way he could.

‘Mums been asking after you loads, I kept saying you were sick or had an appointment. She even sent me those special immunity tea bags to give you like they’re in the cupboard and everything’ he laughed and you felt your heart warm at how kind his family were. You’d missed going to visit them but didn’t want to reach out and have things be weird but now you were glad you hadn’t as clearly they were none the wiser

‘Does she know now?’ You whispered but he just shook his head awkwardly. The bridge of his nose turning a bright red out of embarrassment but your heart was hammering as you always found that to be one of his cutest tells and it was like you had to restrain yourself in your seat so you didn’t reach over to grab his face and kiss him.

‘No, she still thinks we’re together. I'd actually like to keep it that way’ he told you and even though you knew it was coming you weren’t ready to accept what he wanted to say. At least you didn’t think you were.

‘Mason-‘

‘Please’ he pleaded. His big brown eyes melting you even further and even though you promised yourself you’d be strong he was making it difficult. ‘Please, y/n. I said it the other night and I’ll say it again. I really would do anything for another chance and I’ll get down on my knees again if you want me to’ he told you and the tiny smile on your face must have given him the courage to push forward a little bit. Sliding off the sofa before getting himself settled between your thighs and resting his hands on them gingerly. You felt your heart thump as he looked up at you through his lashes and you knew you were putty in his hands at this point no matter how much you didn’t want to be.

‘I’m the biggest idiot known to mankind and I let you go when I should have held you closer. I know I can make you so happy, we were happy once were we?’

‘Yeah, we were’ you agreed quietly cause deep down you knew you really were and you knew I wouldn’t take much to get back there.

‘So we can do it again, right?’

‘I don’t know Mase’

‘Why? What’s holding you back?’ He questioned and at this point you didn’t even know. Only a few seconds away from just agreeing with anything he said as the hopeful look on his face was destroying you but you knew you had more to say.

‘Cause it hurt’ you whispered. ‘I hurt when you left me, it still hurts now’

‘It hurts because it matters’ he whispered, tucking some hair behind your ear and the gesture made you shiver. ‘And it matters because we still love each other. If you didn’t care anymore then it wouldn’t hurt’ he told you and you hated but loved the way he had you on strings. ‘Please baby, please. I can’t be without you anymore it’s killing me’ he told you, his voice wobbling as he looked down into your lap.

You couldn’t take it anymore, reaching down to cup his jaw so he’d look at you and the tears rolling down his cheeks broke your heart. You knew he was right, it hurt because you still loved him but looking at him so devastated between your legs hurt more than anything else.

All you wanted to do was make him feel better and you knew there was only one way to do it. Leaning down and pulling him up slightly so you could drop a sweat kiss to his lips and you knew he was surprised as he froze for a beat.

You both sat there for a few moments, foreheads touching with your eyes closed as it hit you what was happening but the smile on his face made you giddy so when he lent back in you let him take the lead. Kissing you gently as he gripped your thighs, almost making sure that you were actually there and he wasn’t dreaming but you were holding onto him just as tightly before pulling back to catch your breath.

‘I didn’t think I’d ever get to kiss you again’ Mason whispered but you couldn’t reply, Mason pulling you down onto the floor next to him before rolling himself half on top of you so he could kiss you again but the pair of you giggling didn’t help. ‘Is this really happening?’

‘Trust me when I say this, but I came over here with the intention of just putting things to bed and going back home’ you told him. Watching his face drop as things turned sombre. ‘But you’ve just made me realise I am home’ you told him, watching him pout slightly as he was so emotional. ‘I’ve been lost without you Masey, and yeah what you did sucked but I know you’re sorry yeah? I can see it all over your face’

‘I really am’

‘I know you are, and it’s okay. I forgive you’ you whispered and it’s like you felt his body relax under your fingertips.

‘Are you sure? I feel like I haven’t said half of what I wanted to’ he gulped, almost as if he couldn’t believe you’d forgiven him so quickly but you didn’t see the point of prolonging everything.

‘That’s okay’ you whispered. ‘You’ve said enough for me, life isn’t always about big apologies you know? I’d rather you make up for things with actions not words’

‘And I will’ he confirmed before leaning down to kiss you again. You tummy flipping at how gentle he was being with you and even before things had turned sour you couldn’t remember the last time you kissed like this. The last time he made you feel like this but you knew the feelings had never died, other stupid things had just gotten in the way.

You pulled back soon after, the pair of you just looking at each other in awe as you shared tiny kisses and soft stares before you felt his hand on your waist. You’d missed his touch and the feel of him made you wonder what else you’d missed in your months apart.

‘You won the fa cup’ you giggled, your eyes burning again as you thought back to the pictures of him looking so happy with his team mates. A nice end to a hard year he’d suffered and even though you’d been mad at him you knew how much it meant for him to win a domestic trophy and you couldn’t not be pleased for him.

‘I did yeah’ he laughed, tears springing to his eyes once more. ‘And we didn’t get to celebrate it together’

‘We’ve got time to, it’ll just be a little late that’s all’ you shrugged and he nodded down at you enthusiastically.

‘We do’ he breathed. Kissing your forehead before cradling your face so he could look at you properly. ‘And you’re going on work trips?’

‘Yeah, a week or two after I went home I got promoted’ you smiled, rolling your eyes lightly as the pair of you knew it was something you’d been working towards but in your mind it was still a little way down the line.

‘I’m so fucking proud of you’ he told you sincerely, pecking your lips quickly before looking at you again and the smile on his face melted you. ‘Looks like we’ve got a fair few things to celebrate then’

‘I think so, and you know how I like to celebrate’

‘Chocolate cake?’ He questioned, an eyebrow raised but he knew he was right. It was always your little tradition and how you celebrated the small wins.

‘Chocolate cake’ you confirmed with a smile and his bright eyes made you melt.

‘I’m gonna get you the best chocolate cake I can find, yeah. Only the best for my girl’ he smiled before his face dropped a fraction. ‘You’re still my girl aren’t you?’

‘I’m still your girl’ you told him, stroking his cheek as he looked at you softly. ‘Even though I was mad as hell I was always your girl Mase. And I always will be’

‘You and me against the world, sweetheart’

‘Of course, but I have a condition’ you told him, watching him raise his brow at you questioningly. ‘If you get upset again, please talk to me so we can work it out’

‘I will baby, I promise’ he told you sincerely and you knew he meant it. ‘I don’t ever want to be without you again, yeah? I fucking hated it’

‘Me too’ you laughed, pulling him down into a soft kiss that you couldn’t help but smile into as you felt him melt. ‘Now what’s happening with that chocolate cake’

‘Come on, we’ll get it together. Not letting you out of my sight now’ he told you, helping you up from the floor so you could make your way to the car, your heart finally home with your forever person.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed if you feel like leaving some feedback it would be much appreciated 🩷

[forbidden-sin-bin]

Sex and Filthy Smut headcanons

(Eminem x F!Reader Hc’s and drabbles)

Rated: E for explicit… no wait, this needs an X rating for possibly being the filthiest thing I’m gonna write in my life. God save my soul (probably not but hey at least I asked)

Warnings: I mean… look at the title. Need I say more??? Smut. Sex. Lovemaking, Intercourse. Whatever the hell you wanna call it. The whole 10 yards is here. It’s porn, not gonna lie at all.

Tags/Keywords: Smut, Heavy Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, fluff, fluff and smut, Pre-established relationship, Sexual Content, Kink, Overstimulation, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Giving/Receiving, Healthy Relationships, Feel Good, Everything sinful under the sun is found here, Author is going to hell, anyone who reads this is coming with me

A/N: Yes yes, ain’t no fuckbuddies or friends with benefits headcanons here, sue me. There is NO angst or sadness here. None, zero, zilch. Those kinds of relationships almost NEVER end well 98% of the time. This is all about you and him ONLY. Give it up for romance y’all.

Not gonna lie, there might've been more I wanted to add to this hellfire list of headcanons but once you've seen how much stuff there is below I hope you'll forgive me for finally putting this out here.

I hope by reading this, will provide you with comfort and satisfaction.

VERY special thanks to @smutty-books for beta reading and feedback along with helping me with this monster of a list! Please check them out and show them some love! (Seriously thank you Smutty for the additional ideas and content. you made this Hc's list a million times better and twice as much content included.)

(WARNING: Past this point is VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)

General HC's:

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy ohhhhhh boy.

You want sum fuk? You got sum fuk and way more.

As long as you’re his s/o, congrats on your sex life being absolutely demolished and rebuilt by this man. You’ll probably never find a better person in the bedroom for the rest of your life. It literally doesn’t matter if he’s your boyfriend or your husband, sex is a staple activity in your relationship that you both enjoy.

Fast and rough? Slow and steady? Maybe a little bit of both? You bet he’ll be saying fuck yeah to all of those.

His sex drive has always been relatively quite high, even after all these years. Being 50 and counting ain’t gonna stop him anytime soon.

Can, and will, want to fuck you on any and every surface of the house.

Living room couch? Perfect spot for bouncing in his lap or to blow him hard.

Dining room table? He’ll have you either bent over and railing you from behind or sitting on top while he devours your dripping wet pussy.

Taking a shower? You’ll be saving water if you do it together… yeah. Definitely not because of at least a half dozen things you can do in there with soothing hot water pouring down your bodies.

In the studio?…

Okay maybe not the studio he’s gotta work without getting distracted and lord save you two if anyone finds a sliver of evidence that you two fucked in there-

Not a PDA guy much, which also extends to any sexual antics outside. He won’t be taking any risks getting the two of you caught lacking

As long as you two are in the house, it’s free game

His views and methods of sex vary depending on which era we’re talking about

If he were in his 1999’s/2000’s era, then yeah, absolute horndog. He’s constantly so busy and on the move, sex would be a quick trip and onto the next. It would’ve scratched the itch, but arguably wouldn’t have sated his appetite for long. If he ever had a chance to have a good, drawn out sex session, it’ll leave him looking like he had a serious hangover but he’ll be waking up so relaxed.

Him being quick to fuck around and quick to leave was his style pre-Relapse. It’s a common thing you see around music artists in general and he was no exception. That doesn’t mean he was closed off to finding an actual solid relationship, it just becomes that much harder to find someone genuine. Most of the time though, he was busy putting out albums and producing music with a 9 to 5 regimen.

Post-Relapse/Recovery Em had insane stamina due to the excessive amount of exercise he put in. Call me insane, but I have a feeling this may be the time where he had the least amount of sex drive-

NOW HOLD ON HEAR ME OUT

He was starting out his sobriety around this time, I’m no expert but I would have to think that he hasn’t fucked or hooked up with anyone since then cause sex may have been a risk or his body was recovering, therefore most likely putting sex as a low priority. That isn’t to say he wasn’t busting a nut oh no, he probably became best friends with his hands again.

The time between Rap God/Monster Era was slowly building back up his drive, transitioning him to the Revival/Present Day era where he’s back on his blue-balling bullshit. Mans been practically putting out mating calls in his music and in interviews I mean COME ON HAVE YOU SEEN IT

He’s wise enough to not be caught slipping with hoes cause he won’t be caught with those hoes. At all. He’s not a hoe fucker no more. You heard him.

Finding an actual healthy relationship with one person? Someone give it to him, now.

(Anyone who remembers that one shot in that Rainy Days behind the scenes video where he points the camera to his crotch and says “EVERYTHING is for sale.” If that isn’t a man in heat I dunno what is; And that’s just one example out of many lemme tell you)

THE POINT IS, HE CAN GO FOR ONE ROUND, OR MANY, MANY MORE.

He’s determined to make you feel good more than him, but he’ll absolutely be having fun with how you’re gonna come. He’ll love exploring your body, finding out every little spot that gives you shivers down your spine.

Oh yeah, did I mention that he's got a big dick? He's got a big dick.

Don't try to deny it when you can't help but glance at his crotch all the time. It might be bias, or it might be fact that you can see the bulge in his pants.

Dom/Sub Roles:

He’s a dom, no question about that. Most of the time he’s a soft dom, not overwhelmingly asserting himself over you but firm enough to have you listen to him. Of course, he’ll be praising you a ton if you’re doing good and listening. But if you’re acting a little bratty, a little petty… yeah, he’ll make you behave, let’s just leave it at that.

Enjoys having you bent over his knee while he fingers your pussy, making sure you’re all nice and ready for him to enjoy.

If you squirm too much, expect a light spanking and a firm reminder to behave.

Again, not over the top with his dominance, cause at the end of the day, he wants to take care of you, to make you feel comfortable and show you how much he loves you. So praising isn’t just a dom thing, it’s genuinely how he expresses his affection to you.

If you insist on it, he can go even harder as a dom, upping his antics and getting off on seeing you beg for relief. Punishments will be even meaner and if you slip up even just a little, looks like you’re gonna have to start all over. No amount of pleading, teary whines from you will get him to change the cold, hard look in his eyes as he’s watching you.

Absolutely insistent on a safe word, no matter the situation.

Marshall’s immediately shifting to a protective, nurturing caretaker the moment your safe word leaves your lips and making sure your needs are met, completely understanding and shushing any apologies that threaten to leave your mouth for ruining the moment. You come first and foremost.

Amazing with aftercare. Will make sure that you’re okay and well taken care of after a session, praising you lovingly as he holds you close. If it was particularly intense, he’ll be checking in on you for the next day or so whilst feeling quite proud of himself that he can reduce you to a begging, dripping mess yesterday night. But he's by far more proud of you for trusting him and letting him experience you in such a vulnerable position.

All it takes is for him to say: "Such a good girl" and you're all his. (Can't blame you honestly-)

He'll be using your petnames even outside of your passionate sessions, even if it's just coming home to greet you after a day of work or passing by each other in the house to do something, a quick: "Hey peaches" or "How's my babygirl?" never fails to want to leave you smiling shyly, even after a bad day.

While being a sub is not what he would usually do at all, it’s not impossible. Once he’s far into a relationship with you and fully comfortable, he might actually give in to your insistence.

He has a need to feel like he’s in control, like he’s leading; Being on the opposite end is a big deal for him, so if he ever subs it’s a huge fucking compliment and privilege that shows how much he trusts and loves you to bare himself to you.

He’ll definitely be grumbly about it tho, and probably trying to act all teasing at your attempt to dominate him. But once you get past that first phase and he lets himself relax and give into your control… he doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels so fucking secure with you.

When he fully gives in, he’s preening and leaning into your touch. He’ll be such a good boy under your lavish praise and having all of your attention on him.

It feels almost foreign, not being the one in charge and making all the decisions for once. But once he gets used to it, he'll be doing whatever he can to receive your approval.

Seeing him at your mercy, letting you take the reins, makes it your priority to see him come undone by your command, holy shit, it's fucking beautiful.

If he's up for being a little more bratty (not unlike he's been on his petty shit for decades as his core personality trait let's be real here) and expecting to be punished and/or your dominance be harsher, the thought of pushing you to your limits with how much you're willing to keep up with him makes him really, really excited on the inside.

It’s both of your secrets, so don’t fuck it up, a'ight?

Teasing/Body Parts:

Speaking of secrets… he’s incredibly private, but at the same time, don’t be surprised if he ends up writing lyrics that may or may not allude or be inspired by your sex lives. You swear this man will be the death of you, smug bastard.

If you’re ever turned on by listening to his music or his voice, it’ll be such a massive ego boost for him, holy shit. No need to feel embarrassed, cause he’s fucking flattered.

Even tho his residence is far from any neighbors (and definitely soundproof), he’s got a playlist for your ears to get aroused to.

Imagine Marshall whispering in your ear or talking in that low voice of his and well damn now you’re horny is an understatement of the goddamn century.

And it’s not just you! Marshall gets off hearing you moan like crazy, another sign that lets him know he’s doing a damn good job. Hearing you whimpering gets him going, but making you scream? Jackpot.

Unsurprisingly to a lot of y’all, but he loves tits. He loves ass for sure, but feeling your breasts is just- Yes.

Love fondling them, licking, biting, sucking, you name it.

Now do the same for him-

OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’S PECS

MAN’S GOT HUGE FUCKING HONKERS. HOLY SHIT.

(No wonder he’s such a titty guy-)

But seriously, play with his chest and he’ll be moaning and writhing under you. Music to your ears.

Rest assured your ass will not be forgotten or neglected. No fucking way he’ll ever leave any part of you un-worshipped. Even when you’re just passing each other around the house he’ll playfully slap or squeeze your ass with a smirk. Cheeky fucker.

May or may not prompt him to just throw you down and pin you against whatever furniture is closest and have his way with you right then and there.

Or it could be the other way around! You can't help but give his sexy behind a mischievous swat or grab, or his pecs. He'll probably pretend to be miffed but you'll be catching him returning the smirk you have on your face. Oh, by all means, have your way with him right then and there as well. Equal rights, equal sexy times.

Grabbing your backside and pulling you closer to him, pressed against his chest and his growing bulge in his pants oh sweet Jesus-

Will for sure spank you while you’re riding him or he’s railing you from behind, the sounds of skin slapping against skin while he sees your ass jiggle with every thrust is just so fucking hot

He wants to reach deep down, as far as his cock can reach, nothing in the house is safe from him pounding your pussy and giving you a creampie.

Speaking of that, He LOVES to come into you or on you. It gives him a feeling of claiming what's his. Anytime he sees his cum dripping outta you or running down your skin, Marshall’s ready to go again.

Or he could use a sex toy, making sure his cum stays inside and your pussy ready for him in a few.

Kinks

We’ve already covered the dom/sub parts, but there is SO much potential for other kinks that you and him can get into so let’s get right into it

Breeding Kink:

I mean how can we not start this off without mentioning that

Can, and will ram you harder and faster than a piston AND make sure you both cum multiple times

If you’re walking the next morning, that means he failed the assignment so now he’s boutta rectify that

Dirty talk is cranked to a hundred as he’s growling in your ear on how much of a slut you are for his seed, how he’ll fill you up and make sure your womb is carrying his baby, how gorgeous you would look with your belly swollen with your little creation, etc.

Even if he’s sure that he doesn’t want anymore kids (given his age or experience, which is understandable), imagine the baby fever he gets when he sees or imagines you with kids

He’s perfectly happy with just you and him, but the possibility of you, him, and maybe a little one you made together from your love? His pupils are dilating like a cat getting ready to pounce

Even if the possibilities are extremely unlikely, the mere thought of it and he’s giving you the 🥺 eyes. (Every time you see him make those eyes at you, it’s probably cause he’s feelin the breeding urge)

If you're not able to, that doesn't change a thing; he wants to make you feel like you're his no matter what, and you are! He loves you for you.

Obsessed with coming inside you after railing you into the mattress, filling you to the brim with his seed

Loves giving you a creampie and then watching it leak out of your pussy, might take the initiative to stuff his spilling cum back into you

Or he could just fuck you at multiple different times during the day like the stud he is

Hell he may as well just not pull out and you’ll both be falling asleep still connected

You'll be waking up with his member engorged and slowly thrusting in you while he nuzzles into you, taking in your scent, kissing your lips so softly until you both cum. After that he takes you to the shower and you both wash each other

Loves marking your skin with his mouth, letting anyone know that your his and his only

Your cunt and everything else is thoroughly satisfied every time the breeding kink comes on don’t you worry about that honey

Size Kink:

Hey don't judge his 5'7 ass. Marshall's got other big things minus his height; Big hands, big ears, HUGE CO-

If you're smaller than him: He praises you for taking him in so well, whispers words of encouragement with every inch he pushes into you until you can feel his tip brushing against your cervix. Doesn't want to overdo it in fear of hurting you, but with your insistence he'll be going all out in due time

If you're taller than him: He LOVES it. No cap you being taller or bigger than him is so fucking sexy. Makes him more eager to make you come and more confidence in exploring different ways to do so

Takes a hand in yours and guides you both to press against your stomach, feeling for his cock thrusting into you

Praises you constantly as he feels your walls stretch around him so perfectly

Once you feel like you can take all of him, all of his restraint is gone as he pounds your sopping wet cunt relentlessly

Body worshipping is a must regardless of size

Feral/Primal Kink:

You know how possessive he can be, and that still translates to the bedroom. Even when he knows you're his, he can't help but feel turned on by his possessiveness for you.

And when you're all his, he can go fucking. Crazy.

It's also the dom feeling in him as well, but he has a need to claim you: Not out of insecurity, but out of his desire to make sure you know how much he loves you.

Likes biting your ear as an affectionate gesture. Sometimes he enjoys lightly tugging as a playful gesture to get you riled up.

Marshall thinks the growling thing is dumb as hell but if you're into that he'll try to give you some throaty growls in your ear, but expect him to start cracking up at his attempts until he's used to it

He thinks he can't do it yet he doesn't realize the low rumble in his throat whenever he gets a jealous streak

Voice/Audio Kink:

Well, well, WELL. Someone's ego is about to be stroked harder than his cock for once

He’ll absolutely be moaning and grunting more often when you guys have sex

Jokingly asks if you want to put some music on before you start fucking though he probably cringes listening to his own music during sex

Definitely ruins the mood for him when he hears someone that collabed with him on one of his songs or if any of his lyrics mention things that he doesn't want to think about when horny

Whenever he asks what you're listening to and hears one of his songs, he can't help but inwardly smile or smirk with pride. "Good choice." He nods, keeping his face unreadable.

If he catches you listening to FACK he just starts dying with laughter and dying on the inside simultaneously

No but seriously, he's super fucking flattered knowing how much his music or just his voice turns you on

Whispers in your ear during sex, either praising, teasing, or telling you what to do

He'll be observing which tone provokes the biggest reaction out of you so he can remember it for future reference

(People working with him in the studio are gonna be wondering why he's so close to the mic while recording recently)

Might record something just for your ears to listen to when you guys are apart ;)

Sex Positions

Missionary:

Ah, the OG.

Ranging from being the most vanilla to literally breaking the bed and making the house shake. Most people’s go-to position and Marshall is no different.

He’s got full access to your face, neck, and breasts while he pounds you into the mattress, absolutely loves it and it’s no surprise.

Is eye contact a kink? He’ll be wanting to look you in the eyes no matter the pace you’re going. Additionally may often include forehead touching and/or nose nuzzling. Incredibly hot and intimate.

If he’s feeling extra curious or dominant, he might even push your legs back and over his shoulders to reach even deeper into you. (In other words, putting you in a mating press.) You ain’t walking for a few days after this. Catch his freaky ass all smug n shit.

Slow and intimate in this position is SO fulfilling. It’s like baring your souls to one another.

Going fast and rough is just straight up a joyride and a half. It feels carnal in the best way possible.

Overall you can’t fuck this up really. It’s missionary for crying out loud.

Doggystyle:

*clears throat* Ahem. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

If you haven’t seen my fic Heat yet, it’s basically me writing smut for the first time in this position but taken to the next level. Should hint at a lot on what imma bout to say tbh

YES. HELL YES. PLEASE LET HIM RAM INTO YOU FROM BEHIND. HE’LL BE POUNDING INTO YOU SO FUCKING HARD

If you go face down on the bed, ass up? Holy shit

Expect bruises on your hips the next morning… also a very horny man ready to go again or to absolutely worship the fuck outta you for taking it so fucking amazingly

He'll be running a bath for you, being extra doting and attentive, the whole nine yards while also feeing that masculine satisfaction™ at the fact that he's able to get you to that state of bliss.

By far the most feral position. If he’s got a breeding kink I wish you luck on how many times you’re gonna come and he’s gonna come

If you’re also into taking it in the ass I respect you 👀 kinky motherfucker would love to explore some new ways to fuck

Pronebone is also basically the same as mentioned above, but it’s got that intimate feel, you get me? He’s closer to you whilst also able to attack your neck and shoulders, maybe even have a hot make out session with you while he continues to pound your pussy or ass raw.

As long as you love taking it from behind he’ll be on his knees for you. And on top of you.

Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl, You On Top:

Ride him. That’s all I gotta say.

He wants you to ride him. Fuck him silly. He’ll lose it.

It’s a perfect demonstration of him still being the dom. You may be on top, but he’s the one in control.

Might tease you by making you work hard for a reaction outta him. He’ll be pretending to be unimpressed or smug while you bounce in his lap but in reality he’s trying so hard not to break

Either that, or he won’t be holding back on how good you make him feel. Mouth open, quietly moaning, grabbing your ass or your hips.

If he can't take it anymore, he pulls you down to him and holds you tight while he starts bucking his hips, pounding up into you like a piston

Even once you both come he starts back up again before you've even calmed down

Oral (Giving and Receiving)/69:

I mean… are we really gonna question it? Yeah you better give this guy some head he is a slut for it

Give him a blowjob and he’ll be the happiest man alive

You watching his expressions as you’re sucking him off

Might take some practice to take all of him into your mouth cause this man is BIG

Even when he’s got loose sweatpants on you can still see his bulge AND IT’S NOT WHEN HE’S HARD AND HORNY. MARSHALL’S PACKING.

I wish you luck in trying to deepthroat this man

When it comes to oral, he definitely prefers receiving rather than giving

But don’t you DARE underestimate this man’s tongue cause holy fucking hell he’s feasting on your pussy

PLEASE let him suck on your clit while he’s eating you out. That man’s mouth is amazing in many ways for a reason

Imagine having to go out after and if anyone asks him if he wants anything to eat he just replies: “Nah I’m good. I had something earlier.” And then GIVING YOU THE SIDE EYE LOOK-

BEARD. BURN.

Let this man bury his face in between your thighs and imagine the friction of his beard brushing against your skin. If that doesn’t make you cum then him lapping you up will guaranteed

69 turns into a competition to see who can get the other to cum first, or a comforting session of tasting each other

Standing:

Y'all know he can do it pinning you against a wall. Thanks 8 Mile

As hot as it is, take care as not to have your head or back bang against it

Great for quickies but probably not for a long time; You gotta give his back a break lmao

Hugging your waist from behind tho :eyes:

Add a mirror on both opposite ends of the wall and you can watch him thrust into you

He's holding you real tight and close, making sure to hold you up so your legs won't buckle

Spooning:

Feelin real cozy

It can be lazy morning sex; Intimate and gentle as he places kisses behind your ear and buries his face into your neck while he does long, deep strokes in and out of your walls

Or it can be rough: Holding your thigh up while his hips violently thrust into you, only stilling when he comes after you

Another way is his cock slipping between your thighs and humping you eagerly, or his cock rutting against your ass

Push your hips back in time with his thrusts for deeper penetration or the sound of your skin slapping against each other

His hands clutching your hips or grabbing your breasts as he moans in your ear, feeling his cock twitching with his release

- - -

ALRIGHT TIME TO STOP HERE I’VE BEEN KEEPING THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS Anyways hope y’all enjoyed this and then some <3 I might come back to this and and more so who knows? If you enjoyed let me know your feedback and if you have any suggestions!

[bilolli]

Just Dance Care AU!

Ok ok so I thought of a story for this Au but it’s nothing really impactful or full of drama and angst like my other au’s, I wanted to leave this au easy and fun to play around, because, let’s say it. Just Dance and drama in the same sentence makes me laugh. 

story and PNG version under the cut!

(I gave up on Y/n design because I couldn't figure out a general look for them. This is you we are talking about! Draw your own JD fit, I'll draw mine soon XD)

Anyway here’s the story so far: 

Year 2029, videogames industry made a huge step forward and classic consoles and devices were substituted by the new and upgraded VR headsets with full body tracking. It’s something like the NerveGear in Sword Art Online without the kill switch. Some games still require you to actually move your body (like fitness games or sports because yeah, they don’t have a purpose otherwise). 

Y/n wanted to buy the newest VR headset but, while searching for the best offer, they found out FazCo entertainment was hosting a giveaway, the prize? One of their prototypes, a VR meant to be released the next year coinciding with the opening of their first mega pizza plex.

(so the plex doesn’t exist right now). You decide to sign up for the giveaway and after a while you receive an email telling you you won the VR headset and that, to claim it, you need to read and sign a series of NDA policies (understandable, it’s a prototype headset that’s not even in commerce). Some clauses are a little bit concerning but nothing you hadn’t read on other electronics booklets, so you decide to sign. After, like, a day, you have the VR in your hands. 

The box let you know with super saturated and colorful writing, that the VR came with a game pre-installed inside. Uh, that’s why they were giving one away, they wanted a free game tester…but you know what, it’s worth it.

You always liked Just Dance games, they make you think about happy memories of your childhood. This pre-installed game called “Five Dances at Freddy’s” is a close copy of your childhood game with original FazCo songs, characters, environments and also some collaborations with other famous artists. It probably will be the cause of a big copyright infringement report.

There are various ways to play it: story mode, Casual dance, Five Dances, and Just Dance Care.

The first one is similar to the casual dance mode but with little cutscenes between a dance and another to tell a tale, Casual dance is how you can play the collab songs, Five Dances is the multiplayer mode and Just Dance Care is a more uhhhh “hard” way to play the game with all the other modes mixed in it. You stare at the description of the last mode smirking and decide to try it first just to see how far you can get before losing (yes you can lose in hard mode in this Just Dance, but you don’t die, you just have to restart from the beginning). Turns out the FazCo wasn’t kidding when they advertised the new headset as a breakthrough in the world of virtual reality headsets, the thing TRANSPORTED you inside the game itself. 

You almost have a heart attack when you can’t find your VR on your head, but before you can try something you are blocked by two tall individuals who you think are the “tutorial” characters. 

Yadda yadda, tutorial, you can pause the game and exit whenever you need just by opening an hidden menu, you find out your tutorial characters are called Sun and Moon and that you are way worse than you remembered at dancing (damn full body tracking, there is no way you are going to do a cartwheel in the middle of a dance, you still don’t know if your body is inside your home and if you’ll physically feel pain if you fall and you don’t want to find out).

You pass an embarrassingly long time trying to win your first dance battle just to discover it was still the tutorial. 

You try to go on with the story but you fail at the first real battle with a bear character named Freddy. 

And guess what? You have to start again from the tutorial! Y/n is gonna spend A LOT of time with Sun and Moon if this goes on.

[from-the-clouds]

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one.  ♥

“What do you want?” 

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says. 

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference. 

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second. 

He’s covered in blood. 

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow. 

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?” 

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained. 

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?” 

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave? 

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.  

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile. 

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.” 

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue. 

Joel doesn’t answer. 

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard. 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that. 

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict. 

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?” 

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side. 

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.” 

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one. 

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child. 

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips. 

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest. 

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable? 

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand. 

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction. 

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage. 

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy. 

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.  

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” 

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell. 

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.” 

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do. 

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. 

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….” 

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard. 

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you. 

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes. 

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching. 

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges. 

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling. 

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper. 

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide. 

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up. 

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration. 

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing. 

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder. 

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?” 

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed. 

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you. 

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought. 

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk.  Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask. 

“It was sitting out.” 

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits. 

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound. 

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them. 

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?” 

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head.  “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.” 

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection. 

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-” 

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool. 

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done. 

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it. 

I’m sorry. 

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once. 

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward. 

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film. 

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy. 

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide. 

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap. 

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to. 

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase. 

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?” 

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes. 

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts. 

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur. 

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement. 

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans. 

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you. 

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you. 

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.” 

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well. 

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time. 

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate. 

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.” 

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again. 

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known. 

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer. 

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing. 

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling. 

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him. 

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved. 

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles. 

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.” 

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

[tatoda]

You v’s Me || conrad fisher x fem!reader

!!MINORS DNI!!

request

masterlist

summary: you’ve always been in a competition with conrad which grew both of you to hate each other…or maybe it’s love?

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT towards the end but it’s not much, fem receiving, conrad being cocky and hot duh CHARACTERS ARE 18

wc: 1.8k

susannah is not sick in this fic! hope y’all enjoy :)

Ever since you were kids, you and conrad have had competitions every summer. It’s something that was never forgotten and the person who won got bragging rights the whole year until it was summer again. The tradition started when you were 10 and conrad was 11. It started sweet when your families visited the boardwalk but soon enough conrad was the competitive side to you, and he knew he needed to beat you in any game or challenge.

You both were now 18 and 19. You were starting your first year of college and conrad was going into his second year. He bragged in your face for getting into your dream college Brown last year and now this year, you get to brag and tell him you got into pre-med early for Brown during early admissions back in november but couldn’t tell him so you had to wait to see his reaction at dinner.

Everyone saw it but you and conrad. The whole family could see the tension between the two of you guys and your competition. It was declared that conrad had a crush on you the second year you visited cousins, laurel was the first to point it out to susannah, and then the whole family knew by the end of the summer but you and conrad didn’t believe any of it. But you wouldn’t lie, you had a crush on him and were just hoping to hate him to get rid of the schoolgirl crush.

“so y/n,” susannah began “what was the big news you wanted to share with everyone?”

“oh yes.” and put your fork down “i got into Brown pre-med.” you smiled and conrad’s fork froze with his mouth open and all you did was smirk at him “actually susannah, i got in early admissions in november. i’ve just been saving the news up for this very moment.” you gave conrad a tight-lipped smile

“that’s amazing news!” she cheered “we should celebrate with a late movie tonight!”

“a-actually we were gonna head to the country club, they are playing all the avengers movies in order,” jeremiah spoke up stopping his mom from getting too excited

“of course! we can do something tomorrow night.” she gasped “oh gosh connie, that means y/n will be going to school with you!”

“yep.” he moved some food around on his plate not looking up

“don’t sound too excited connie.” you mocked and he rolled his eyes without looking up at you

“yippee, what do you want? a golden star?” he huffed and pushed out his chair before leaving the table

“y/n it’s the first night, lay low.” laurel said from her spot at the table

“you know whoever gets the first point basically wins the summer, it’s guaranteed.”

“you and you’re little competition,” she muttered

After dinner, it was time to head to the country club for the movie. It was only a few people who got invited to the place so you all fit into the movie room. You brought a blanket with you because you know it gets cold there. You all filed into the room once cam arrived and sat down. You went for the top to have some space for yourself. But before you could do that conrad plopped his body in the chair next to you.

“no, absolutely not.” you groaned

“there’s nowhere else for me to sit.” you glanced down and there was a seat next to taylor and steven

“literally right there!” you gestured to the spot

“and watch them make out all night, no thanks.” he reclined the chair back and put the middle console up so there was more room for y’all

“why would you put that up?”

“because it’s a waste of space and my elbow runs into it.” you huffed and fell back into your seat “so, Brown huh?” why was he being nice?

“yeah, so what?” you looked at him but he was looking at cam who was trying to use the remote to get the movie started

“nothing, just congrats. i know you have been wanting to get in your whole life.”

“thanks,” you whispered not used to getting compliments from him

“i’ll still beat your ass at everything there though.” and he was back

“yeah right dumbass.” he flicked your forehead “ow!”

“you’re the dumbass when i get a higher gpa than you.”

“like that’s even possible! you know i’m already ahead of you.”

“you can’t process any information in that pretty little head of yours!”

“you can’t because you’re too busy drinking all the damn time!” you yelled back

“at least i can relax-“

“guys!” jeremiah yelled throughout the whole room “shut the fuck up for once! y’all have to come help with snacks.” you both sighed and got out of your seats. you passed by steven and he winked which you flipped him off

“that was your fault,” you muttered walking past him as he held the door for you—so kind—

“oh yeah, sure drama queen.”

You both followed jere to the kitchen and he opened one of the doors for all of the snacks in a closet before waving at you both and closing the door.

“five minutes to work out whatever is happening and then i’m coming back so we can start the movie!” he yelled locking the door

“fuck you jere!” conrad let out but his brother was long gone “this is all your fault.” he walked around the room. the only light was the upper one that was slowly running out of juice

“oh yeah sure it's all my fault!” you sassed back

“if you would just shut up about always being the better one then we would never be here.”

“oh and you’re so great conrad?” stopped about 10 feet away from you on the other side of the closet

“i mean i won our little contest 5 years in a row so i should get a nice pat on the back.” he shrugged

“you’re so full of yourself.” you laughed

“thank you. i appreciate that.”

“it wasn’t a compliment asshole.” you went and tried opening the door but it was in fact locked

“do you not want to be trapped in a room with me y/n?”

“no, you should have an illness that could spread to me through the air.” you turned to look at him “why can you just let me win, for one time in my life i want to have something to be proud of conrad!” he was taken back by your statement “i never get anything! i have to watch it all get ripped from me and compared to something better! i can never win anything! and you and your rude comebacks don’t help!” you ran your fingers through your hair “belly gets volleyball captain and a new fancy boyfriend, steven get taylor, jeremiah gets into a frat and has a girlfriend! i got pre-med, which is amazing but it’s nothing compared to yo-“ you mouth was shut. no, you didn’t just stop talking. there were hands on either side of your face and lips pressed against yours that were definitely not your lips but conrad’s he kissed you hard and you let your eyes close and fall into the kiss as you kissed him back softly and when he pulled back he looked into your eyes

“shut up.” he breathed out “you are amazing, okay? i’m sorry for the fucking competitions. it was the only way i got to spend time with you.” you were starstruck maybe this was a dream “you’re too good for me, you’re too smart, too beautiful, overall i feel like i should never be seen with you because you’re too good for me.”

“kiss me.” he blinked at you “kiss me again conrad.” he smiled before kissing you again backing you up into a shelf and holding your face tight. you brought one hand to run through his hair and the second one slowly lifted his shirt so you could slip your hand under and feel his skin and he shuttered under you “sorry, are my hands cold?” you didn’t stop feeling around his stomach and chest area which made him breathe out a long breath

“no it feels nice, different.” he moved back down to your lips and your hand slowly went around his body but you two were cut off my knocking on the door

“times up shitheads!” you moved away from each other and conrad fixed his shirt and hair before stepping out of the room and you followed. you made it back into your seats and cam started the movie switching the lights off. conrad’s cheeks were flushed in the darkness as he took some of your blanket from you to cover him and you

The movie went on and everyone was in their own place. Conrad slowly moved his hand to rust on your thigh and you froze as his hand moved towards the waistband of your pants. You looked at him but he was just looking at the screen. His fingers messed with the waistband before going past your shorts and underwear. You slowly moved closer to him and his hand was extremely close to your clit. Before you could say anything he took one of his fingers to rub it softly and you gasped, but no one looked back thinking you were doing it at the movie.

“you have to be quiet,” he muttered into your ear before continuing his movements over your clit faster this time making you open your legs for him

“con,” you laid your head on his shoulder not trusting your head to stay up and he moved slowly to your entrance sliding a finger up feeling the effect he has on you

“i’ve always wanted to do this.” he then slid one finger into you and his thumb rested on your clit adding pressure to the pleasure

“fuck.” he moved his finger in and out feeling the breathing from you on his neck and he was slowly getting hard under the blanket hoping no one could see “another.” you sighed digging your fingernails into his arm and he slid a second finger in moving faster in and out rubbing your clit and he also used another finger to pinch it causing you to jump

“careful.” he moved his hand faster now wanting you to finish, just from him and him alone. “come on baby.” he kissed your head “give it to me” he rubbed your clit harder and his fingers moved faster you could definitely hear the wet sounds if the movie was not at an intense moment

“cumming.” you bit down on his neck cumming on his fingers as he slid them in and out to let you go through your high before pulling them out and slowly bringing his fingers to suck on them “my gosh.” you looked up at him

“if it isn’t clear now, i’m done playing games with you.” he leaned toward you almost enough to kiss

“me too, no more games.”

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[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 2

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability.

Word Count: 4260

Written: 3rd January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. You know I said 'sometime', turns out that was today. I have brainrot. Also, the birth of the group chat!

Now Playing: Hit the Ground, by if found

Masterlist AO3

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You absently stare into the bowl as Zayne sutures your wounds. His hands are steady now, that he has a task. You'd felt him trembling earlier, fingers colder than they normally were, against your skin. At odds with the almost fever you were running.

He's a familiar person to tend to you, you hadn't realised how uncomfortable you'd felt in a hospital without him. Other people putting your broken pieces back together again. Until you'd relaxed at his hands. You're not used to being seen fragile, you don't like it when Zayne sees you like that, but you dislike it even more when someone else sees it.

Though… you can see the others looking at you. Watching as you flinch, at each pass of the needle.

That need to run, to hide, lurks at your back. Trembling. You don't want to be weak for them. Xavier is your partner, he has to rely on you in a fight. You're Rafayel's bodyguard, who can he rely on if he's scared for you. Sylus is far too strong to look at your weakness, and see anything other than a pathetic little cat that's too much work. Zayne will eventually grow tired of helping you, of being there.

Seeing you like this, surely reminds them that you're too much work, that you're a waste of the effort they put into you. Reminds them how fragile the little fluttering organ is in your chest. Pushes you into an unappealing light. Spotlighting every ding and scratch and dent.

Rafayel had eased you through the motions to get clean, gently cleaning around your wounds. Ensuring Zayne could disinfect you, and tend to you. He had kept his face controlled. While you had barely wanted to look at his face, the lack of expression on him had made you peer into his eyes. Seeking out an explanation, information… anything. Desperate to understand what was going through your fish's mind.

Too scared to ask. In case he was disgusted, horrified… hated you. When he'd noticed you trying to catch his eyes, he'd turned towards you. Hand stiling, soap suds on his own skin, soaking through his white shirt. After a moment, his smile, small but familiar, had returned.

"Are you comfortable?"

It was a hard question to answer. You weren't sure you could ever be comfortable, not before, not now. Your body felt off, wrong. Twisted into shapes that didn't fit under your skin.

He ran the sponge gently down your arm, gentle circles against your skin. His other hand on your waist, carefully avoiding any injuries and bruises, thumb rubbing circles, putting pressure in a spot you could fixate on. The heat of his skin a familiar brand. Not unlike the brand that glowed on his neck.

You wanted to reach for his hand, but the limb that wasn't there couldn't move. It couldn't grasp him, and the choke in your throat startled him upright. Hand moving to your face, holding your cheek and grounding you. "It's ok cutie, it's ok." Pressing his forehead to yours and pressing a kiss to the side of your face, "I'm not going anywhere. You have this fishie for life, got it?"

The nod you offer back to him is weak and numb, but you find yourself nuzzling him, seeking him out, eyes closed so you don't have to worry about what you'll see in his eyes. Just what you feel in his hands. Hear in his words.

As Zayne finishes up his work, gently applying bandages to your now clean, freshly tended wounds, he exhales relief. Warm breath against your back, before helping you slip into an overly large button-up of Xavier's to keep warm.

You stare at the sleeve, empty and fallen against your side… you want to tear it off.

It's a violent, angry feeling. Vicious and snarling in your gut. Hissing.

Your hand reaches up, but you wince at the pull on your sutures, and it falls back down. Xavier reaches over, one hand soothing your fingers from where they've tensed into a claw, "Eat, Starlight." before he begins to roll the offending sleeve up. Rafayel hands him some of the bandage pins, and eventually it sits at your shoulder.

It's better. It's not perfect. It's better.

Even if it makes it harder to ignore.

You hesitantly reach for the spoon, lifting it, spilling some of the soup over onto the pillow you'd been clutching on your lap. You ignore it, hunger snapping, and focus on food. The food you haven't eaten since the hospital let you go. It doesn't take long before you're shoveling it into your mouth, hand shaking, and spilling down your chin, but finishing the bowl. Ravenous. You come close to licking the bowl clean, but it's taken away, and refilled before you can. So you resume feeding the beast in your stomach.

Finally, you are sated, and calmer. There is a mess on the pillow you can't even bear to think about cleaning, and you're licking at the mess that spilled down the spoon onto your hand. Before Sylus has a wet wipe in his own, wiping at your cheeks. Cleaning your chin. You blink up at him, his controlled expression. Nothing shining through his eyes, though he laughs a little, "Messy little kitten, aren't you?"

It should be embarrassing, you think it is. You know it should be. You aren't a child, you don't need tending to… but you're so tired, and already so full of emotions you can't name. Twisting around your heart. That this is the lowest concern for you.

If he was going to hate you for being messy, then it's just another thing he can find disappointing about you.

Rafayel laughs, and it sounds more like him, "I told you I make the best fish, cutie." You look over, seeing him watching you.

You feel naked under the adoration in beautiful eyes. Turning away, to look back at the others.

It's… odd seeing them all in your apartment, the little dumb part of your brain provides. It's definitely not big enough for five people. Zayne is next to you on the sofa, packing his tools away. Raffy is sat on the floor, legs crossed, he is playing with party fish in his lap. Squishing its cheeks. Xavier is leaning forwards against the table, arms crossed and chin resting on them, while he has his eyes focused on you. Sylus is leaning against the wall, he has opened the window, so Mephisto has settled on your lamp as a perch, and he flips a coin around his fingers.

You realise absently, that he's ready incase you need something, to move and grab it. Or to refill the bowl again.

When you finally manage to speak, it's a dumbfounded question, asked in a hoarse, sore voice, "When did you all meet?" It's not the most pressing issue, but you cannot seem to move forwards from the image of the four of them here.

Standing in front of you. Not… killing each other? Or at least, not trying to kill Sylus. Maybe they just didn't… know who he was. You'd only ever talked about him as Skye.

Zayne lets out a sigh, pushing his glasses up, and looks over at the others, "Today. Outside your door, except for Xavier, who I ran into when I was chasing up information about you at the Association."

"You have a lot of friends, cutie." Raffy pouts, resting his cheek on the top of party fish's body. "Here I was thinking I was your favourite fish."

It's not really a laugh that you respond with, but it's as close as you can get, "You're the only fish I know, Raffy, of course you're my favourite." His responding smile is soft, eyes wavering like flames, as he looks right at you. Happy to hear even a small bit of joy out of you.

"That needs explaining." Zayne looks over at Rafayel, an eyebrow raised, "Along with the Crown Prince, nonsense from earlier."

Xavier's shoulders jump and he pouts, "It's not important."

"What a terrible lie from a prince." Sylus purrs from where he stands, canines sharp and glinting.

"Says the crime lord."

"Excuse me?" Zayne's hand reaches out to pull you back and a little closer to him, eyes narrowing on both Xavier and Sylus now. "Skye is who?"

"Sylus, actually, dear doctor. Don't worry, I don't bite." His head tilts, looking at you with a smirk, "Unless I like you."

You jump, cheeks heating up a little, turning to look at Zayne who looks ever more like a headache is brewing, and his blood pressure is rising. "The leader of Onychinus… Didn't he try to kill you?"

"How cruel, I wasn't the one shooting the gun."

"What?"

You cover your face with one hand, rubbing at the space below your eyes, where strain is setting in. They notice the reaction, quietening down as you shrink back in on yourself. Tired, worn and aching.

"Take these." Zayne extends the medication you threw, as Sylus hands you a glass of water.

You want to throw them back. If you take them, it means you need them. It makes this reality.

You know that the fact they're seeing you, right now… like this, means its reality. It doesn't make it any easier.

Zayne takes your hand, firm, stable, and cool hand easing yours open, rubbing a circle into your palm with his thumb, before putting the tablets in it. Counted out properly. "Take them." It's as close to an order as you can get, and it's enough to make you ease them into your mouth, taking the glass from Sylus to wash the vile taste away. You almost sputter, but a warm hand gently eases the back of your neck. You see bright red eyes watching you, narrowing, as he helps you swallow.

You feel like you're staring into the abyss for a moment, before they melt into lava, and soften into concern. When he sees you're alright, he releases, but not before tracing your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"You should sleep, starlight." Xavier frowns, he looks like a sad rabbit, ears drooping. You want to reach over to pat his head, but your arm is sore and tight where the stitches pull. For a moment you look at the prosthetic where it sits on the table.

You'd spent this whole time ignoring it, like if you ignore it, it won't turn into a monster and rip you apart. It sits there, silver metal and black leather. The urge to throw it doesn't come back, which surprises you.

It doesn't look like a beast. Like a monster.

It's just a piece of technology, sitting there, staring at you.

"Or can you tell us what happened? If you don't want to sleep." Xavier adds. Watching where your gaze settles. He reaches out, hesitates, then pulls his hand back. Like he's scared to touch something that hurts you this way. Normally so willing to jump into danger for you, but this… it's a different kind of pain, he can't fight for you.

The offer is said softly. Your partner wasn't there when you got hurt, the guilt in his eyes, for not being there when you needed him most. You have to alleviate it.

He isn't to blame.

You are.

So you put the pillow aside, reaching for one that doesn't need cleaning, and pull it to your chest, needing something to hold to process. They watch as you do, and then you slowly speak.

Explain to them it was just another mission.

Metafluctuations, weak but present, in an old apartment building that was due for demolition. It was a quick check, if anything happened, you were to contact Tara. Hunters in the area ready to step in if it was worse than expected.

There were some knaves in the building, weak and easy to deal with, but too close to populated areas to be left alone. Once they had been dealt with, you checked for any other fluctuations. Nothing had stuck out, your resonance hadn't returned anything to be concerned about.

Until the Myst appeared, another of Ever's twisted tools, swinging its horrific battleaxe around the area, destroying everything in its path. You'd been surprised but you were capable, you'd sent the message to Tara. You'd been ready to fight, before the building shook, its foundations cracking, the walls falling in.

The ceiling falling down.

Debris raining down on top of you, and the framework of the building smashing down around you.

The Myst had gone to attack you, but the pain, the bloodloss, the metal pinning your arm had made you useless. Unable to protect yourself or fight back. You'd pulled against the metal, struggling, but too slowly.

You remember gunshots. Other hunters yelling, but that was when you'd blacked out. Relieved someone had reached you, stopped this monster from hurting anyone else.

If you were going to die, at least you knew one of Ever's tools wouldn't be out destroying more lives. Yours was an easy trade to make for that.

You'd woken up in hospital, arm already gone, wounds sutured, body bandaged. Numb to the world thanks to the anesthesia. Drifting in and out of tormented sleep. Remembering flames, and metal pinning you, as you watched it burn. Watching bones turn to ash, and skin ripping against the strain of your struggle.

You'd been sent home to rest when they thought it safe to let you go, giving you instructions for a psych eval, and the information for your physical therapy. Tara had brought you home, you'd felt numb and empty… but aware enough that you didn't want anyone else to know. No one else to see.

She's suggested calling people, you'd begged her not to. Limbs so weak she had to struggle to help you around. She'd brought you to the apartment, helped you get into bed, and asked if she could stay.

You'd promised to be fine, you'd call her. You promised you'd call her.

You were a liar. Just like Caleb. Promising when you'd wake up, you'd see him everyday.

You'd tried to sleep, you had, but it ached, everything ached, and you kept reaching for your phone with an arm that wasn't there. You kept trying to roll over, but pulling stitches.

The fabric on your bed began to itch and hurt, and bother every part of you. So you'd pulled yourself, heaving, nauseous and dizzy out of your bed. Falling to the floor, where you'd stayed, unwilling to struggle anymore. Not wanting to look at the world around you anymore.

Then they'd found you, a few days later. Exhausted, hurting and just existing in a space where you could only crave a release from it.

Dragging you back into the land of the living.

Zayne looked even more exhausted than he normally did, leaning back a little into the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. Sylus was watching you with a look that indicated he had a lot to say, and was unsure where to start, arms folded across his chest. Rafayel had slinked forward, and had placed his cheek against your lap, hand reaching up to hold onto your leg. Keeping you there, with him. Xavier hadn't stopped staring at you, his starry eyes had dimmed, losing the bright light in them, as he watched you.

Disappointed in you.

You'd messed up, and he'd realised.

Pity.

You were pitiful.

"You're alive." Zayne exhales, voice breaking, as he leans back forward. "You're alive, and that's what matters."

It surprises you. You're not sure why. Zayne has told you many times… all he wants is for you to be alive. That no matter what else, that is what matters. For you to be there, no matter what form you hold. To keep moving, to keep breathing, to keep living.

To live.

You'd teased him for having a low bar for happiness, and he'd smiled, that small but warm smile, looked at you and told you that with you, the happiness came from you being there.

It is a low bar, you suppose, but you are hunted, and hated by people whose faces you cannot even know. You have a job where you fight everyday, to protect others. You exist in a world where your heart could fail you, any moment.

To be alive, means you have not been defeated yet.

It is a low bar… but you suppose it is a starting point.

"I'm alive." You affirm, even though you feel fragile and broken and worthless. Even though you feel like you did all the way through your teen years. Waiting for Caleb to turn his back on you, stop caring for you. Think you are too much work.

You are alive, against all odds, and against anyone's attempts to change it.

Despite fate biting at your heels, to hold you back with thorned chains.

It's enough… maybe. For now.

Xavier stands as your head begins to droop, the days of struggle catching up with you. He crouches in front of you, "Can I please, take you to bed? You need to sleep, starlight." Your nod is unbidden, because truly you can't focus on anything now. The medication is working, and it is moments before you pass out.

The blood loss, the pain, the fear. You are a puppet whose strings are cut. Left in the hands of artisans who have mended broken parts.

"We'll be here when you wake up, cutie. Promise."

"Good night, kitten."

Warm arms lift you like you are a feather, pressed against familiar heat and scent, carried gently. Gliding. You barely register the blankets, but your bed is remade. It no longer smells metallic. As you're tucked in carefully, your lone hand grasps at Xavier, keeping him from pulling away. Scared to face the inevitable alone.

Scared to be alone.

No one there to help when you're at your lowest.

No matter how independent, no matter how long you've fought and moved forwards alone, you don't want to be alone now. When everything is crashing down, and you feel worthless.

"I'll stay." He promises, brushing your forehead, pressing a kiss there. Cool and calm, and tranquil. A starry sky you've stared at every day.

It is enough to push you to the edge, and down into the quiet.

—---

When Xavier reenters the room, he's yawning. Made tired by watching you fall into sleep himself.

He closes the door behind him, hearing hushed conversation and approaches the living room. This time everyone is sitting, even Sylus. Who has settled somewhat since you had left the room, no longer on guard. No longer waiting to appease a desire. Any desire.

"Let me get this straight, you're a lemurian… as well as a famous artist-"

"I'm actually more insulted you don't know my art at all, doc." Rafayel pouts, tightening his grip on party fish. There's the small look in his eye like he wants to throw it at the other man's head, but reigns in the urge. Like a cat debating knocking a glass off the table, but getting caught.

Zayne sighs, and continues, "You're the crown prince of Philos, who… traveled back in time?" He turns to look at Xavier, who settles himself into some of the cushions you kept in the living room for gaming with him.

Xavier shrugs, unconcerned with the title, he hasn't held it after all for a very long time, "I'm just Xavier."

The doctor rubs his eyes again, hesitating on the edge of just walking out. If it weren't for the figure in the other room, sleeping through the pain. This time he looks at Sylus, who is leaning back in a chair like a king, arms crossed and head tilted back. "And you?"

"I'm just Sylus." The man teases, flashing canines that shouldn't be as sharp as they are. "I just happen to run the N109 Zone."

"Right. The natural enemy of the Hunter's Association, and the people who wanted the core in their heart."

"You can mistrust me if you like doctor, but kitten is in no danger from me."

"Hard to believe."

"Well, the best things often are." It sounds like a jest, but for a second the man's eyes soften. Looking for a second at the closed door before they sharpen into gems again, "But whether you believe it or not, I'm here for them."

The doctor looks at Xavier, who barely reacts, face downturned, buried in pillows, he can already tell what question is coming.

Don't you have anything to say?

Can he be trusted?

"Does it matter?" Xavier manages, his finger pointing at the little crow charm on the man's phone, "They trust him."

Zayne and Rafayel both look, then at their own phones. A tiny snowman and a little fish.

Xavier knows his own sports a little star.

Mishapen and messy, made with Tara on an outing you and her had gone on, eager to keep the other hunter company for things. Hungry for friendship.

Companionship.

Connection.

Rafayel groans, leaning back on his hands, legs stretching out, "Cutie makes all the worst friends."

Sylus scoffs, "Friends."

Agitation makes the fish glare, eyes narrowing, and this time the plushie flies at Sylus, who catches it in his EVOL with a laugh. Gently placing it down, so he doesn't damage something you value. "Stupid crow."

"Calm down fish, someone will think you're steamed and take a bite."

No one misses the small blush over the man's ears at Sylus' purr, which just makes the man laugh a little more.

"Well, if no one is leaving-" Xavier starts, yawns, and then forces himself to sit up a little to continue, "we should figure out what to do. Otherwise this will happen again."

Rafayel shrinks, "I've never seen cutie like that. They're always so…" his sigh carries the weight of years he can't share, and he shakes purple hair like he's trying to shed the memories, "strong."

"The strong can't always be strong." Sylus offers, turning a coin in his fingers again, staring off out the window.

Zayne hums his assent, "They need to go to physical therapy, pick themselves back up again. Adjust, as hard as it will be. I can attend their therapy sessions when available, moral support can make the difference between failure and success for some."

"I can help around the house, visit them. I'm just upstairs after all."

"They'll need to eat, and get out of the apartment. See people." Sylus adds, he pulls out his phone, typing a message to Luke and Kieran to prepare a replacement for the door. Sooner than possible.

"I suppose between us we can make sure this works."

"You want us to work together?"

Zayne sighs, "As much as the idea of asking a wanted man-"

Xavier laughs under his breath, but doesn't explain. He does think about the three wanted posters, however.

"for assistance, taking care of someone important to me, I would rather have all of our bases covered, and then to have a wider support system in place. Unless anyone has any objections?"

There's nothing, just a quiet accord between four people. Thinking about the room near them, full of something precious. Worth protecting.

"I suppose we've got a deal, doctor." Sylus nods, standing, "I'll be back in a little while to fix the door. Until then I'll move some things around so I'm more available."

Rafayel hops up, "I'll be right back, I'll grab my current project so I can work from here. Maybe some…" he looks about, "extra blankets."

While Xavier wants nothing more than to sleep, to sit at the door to guard it, to keep watch. The fridge is empty, the bandages have run low, and he wants to look around the area. Wary, on edge. Worrying that Ever have lurked too close.

So he pushes himself up, removing himself from pillows that smell of you, and heads to the door too, "Grocery shop." He offers, through another yawn.

As people filter out, Zayne leans back into the sofa, before rising and heading over to the bedroom. Quiet and careful, he checks on his favourite patient. Though he desperately wishes he didn't need to be your doctor. Didn't need to stitch up torn skin, bandage wounds. Watch you suffer. It tugs at his heart, watching you force yourself ahead.

Rafayel was right. You'd never shown anything other than strength to them. Fighting through injuries, being reckless if it meant protecting others. Taking on mission after mission. He thinks the only time you've relied on them, is when there's no fight to be had.

Relaxing in your personal time, as rare as it is. He's seen you injured, of course, and at your checkups for your heart. But you've always met those with jokes that belittle the seriousness of the situation. A readiness to make light of pain. He has never seen you crumble, hurting and wounded. In a way you don't just bounce back from, because you can still fight injured.

As he strokes your head, gentle and careful not to wake you, he is both aching and relieved. That you'd finally lowered part of your mask, but that it took such pain to do so.

They've at least owned a door for you to step through, easier if someone is waiting on the other side…

Even if the most wanted man on earth had broken it open…

That's going to take some getting used to.

[buddierecs]

jealous!evan buckley buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

if i need to rearrange my particles - i will for you by: dylaesthetics "buck joins a support app for first responders and matches with a firefighter who has ptsd and a kid who likes giraffes, apparently" word count: 45k important tags: secret identity, anonymous messaging, angst, mental health, ptsd, anxiety, panic attacks, sexuality crisis, mutual pining, fluff and smut, masturbation meet me in the middle (underneath a little bit of mistletoe) by: princessfbi "buck and eddie agree to fake date each other to get through dinner with their parents during the holidays!" word count: 40k important tags: fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, smut, protective!eddie diaz, getting together, slow burn

finally found what i've been looking for by: fleetinghearts "buck's good at basketball, eddie's trying really hard not to commit an act of public indecency about it, and maybe, just maybe, a slightly bloody beachside pick-up game can be the start of something new" word count: 5k important tags: 7x04 spec, friends to lovers, fluff, unsafe sex, dry humping, hand jobs, praise kink 'till storm breaks loose by: markofalover "how an elbow to the face changes everything." word count: 6k important tags: 7x04, mutual pining, accidental injury, love confessions, getting together, possessive behaviour, sharing clothes, blow jobs, come eating, praise kink my home is your body by: coldbam "buck and eddie have vastly different nights at pride. then very similar summers" word count: 16k important tags: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom!eddie diaz, top!evan buckley stay here, honey (i don't want to share) by: stockholm_syndrom "six months after eddie comes out to the team, and three months after eddie confesses his feelings for buck (and buck rejects him), eddie starts dating men. and buck is totally fine with that. really." word count: 9.6k important tags: mutual pining, oblivious!evan buckley, anal sex, oral sex, service top!evan buckley, bottom!eddie diaz, praise kink hot and heavy by: 42hrb "five times eddie had casual sex with someone who wasn't buck and the time they finally got their shit together" word count: 9.4k important tags: 5+1 things, slutty!eddie diaz, mutual pining, idiots to lovers, casual sex, porn with feelings, oral sex seen by: snailboat64 "hen lets it slip that she knows eddie is a great dancer, and buck is determined to see him in action. when he does, it's a revelation" word count: 14k important tags: eddie can dance, insecure!evan buckley, smut what a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you by: prettyboybuckley "the au where they're both strippers and buck goes from "i hate this guy" to "oh fuck, i think i'm in love with him" word count: 21k important tags: stripper/exotic dancer au, college student!evan buckley, eventual smut, grinding, anal sex, praise kink i only ever want you by: bucksclipboard "there’s jealousy, there’s fighting, there’s delicious makeup sex" word count: 2.7k important tags: pre-relationship, getting together, team as family, porn with plot, grinding, blow jobs, make up sex possessive behaviour by: whiskis "buck gets really possessive when he’s jealous and just wants eddie to remember that he’s his." word count: 2.8k important tags: possessive behaviour, established relationship, fluff and smut, blow jobs, teasing no one's touched me there in a damn hot minute! by: bisexualbuckley "buck is a little shit during their lunch date and eddie puts him in his place. but he can't help giving buck everything he wants either, not when he's that pretty." word count: 4.8k important tags: established relationship, brat!evan buckley, possessive behaviour, boys in love, praise kink, prostate massage, orgasm control, anal fingering, aftercare

[unholyhelbig]

the oversight part 5? i love that series!

Title: The Oversight [Part 5/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 7589

Warnings: Blood, guns, general violence, empty threats, angst, and horrible grammar.

[A/n: Listen, I straight up just finished watching 'The Iron Claw' and if you value your ability to hold it together, I suggest not seeing it. But also... go see it because it's phenomenal. Oh, and Happy Holidays!, like with most things, I regret my direction on this.]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Softly, you denied the small wooden bowl that was passed person to person, filled with numbers scribbled haplessly on strips of paper. There was a pit of guilt in your stomach for not bringing a white elephant gift- but as the honorary plus one of Darcy Lewis you succumbed to your fate. She’d drawn a middle grade number and sidled up next to you with her third vodka tonic.

You took a swallow of your own cranberry flavored drink, something that masked the sharp taste of alcohol. You were feeling fuzzy, but in the light way that would assure you’d get through the rest of party and the competitive game of gift swapping.

“Thanks for doing this,” Darcy said to you, nudging your shoulder “it was a little too fancy for my liking.”

She had stressed that she needed your presence to get through all the small talk about science. Darcy was an expert engineer but she could only go so far when it came to awkward co-workers murmuring amongst the twinkling Christmas lights and pre-paid meals. She got along well with most, but you could sense her anxiety well.

“Of course, you know I’d never turn down smoked salmon.”

Truthfully, it sounded a lot better than what your own work was planning. It took some quiet background checks and calling babysitting references, but you eventually conceded to a teenage girl that was certified in CPR and didn’t charge interest.

Your own holiday celebration at the Diner had been lackluster and consisted of much more alcohol. This was quiet and subdued, and a welcome break from the usual chaos that surrounded your life. You were more than happy to watch people tear paper from candles and blankets and ornaments.

“How much money do you want to put on Jimmy bringing some sort of magic kit?”

You hadn’t noticed the girl that hugged the side of the bar, waving down the bartender wordlessly. She was drinking something sweet and garnished with orange. She had a beautiful smile and the clearest eyes you had ever seen. Darcy smiled at her with familiarity and it eased you.

“I don’t bet on things I’m going to lose.” Darcy said with finality. “Y/n, this is Monica Rambeau.”

“It’s nice to meet you,”

Her grip was firm, and you squeezed her hand back with the same amount of pressure. Her smile widened at that before the bartender returned with a fresh drink garnished with another twirled orange peel. The two of you separated.

“So, Monica, what do you do?”

Something in science, the answer was obvious if she was at this holiday party. But she humored you all the same, turning her back to the counter and leaning close to you. There was pride in her answer, and it bloomed in her chest.

“I’m a mechanical engineer, specializing in astrophysics and astrobiology.”

“Don’t’ sell yourself short.” Darcy interjected with a watery laugh “She’s the head of our S.W.O.R.D division.”

Darcy had spoken about this before and the name rang familiar. Her company was looking at alternative fuel sources that could supply space exploration. All the while, they focused on vertical growing and bettering the community. From what you understood, this was a big deal. She was a big deal.

“Wow, that’s very impressive Ms. Rambeau”

Your voice was filled with genuine awe, but your conversation was cut short when the number sixteen was called out. Monica sheepishly pulled herself away from the bar and held her strip of paper up before approaching the table filled with wrapped gifts. She went for a medium-sized one adorned in reindeer.

“Oh wow!” She forced a smile, voice sweet like honey “A magic kit!”

The air in your room was stale and fought you as you pulled it into your lungs. You’d, at some point, kicked off your comforter and were splayed out on your sheets in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and an oversized shirt. Sweat hat soaked through both and the fabric clung to your skin.

On a blind instinct you grabbed at the gun under your nightstand, fastened by nothing more than duct tape. You could feel your heart in your throat and struggled to swallow it down again. You weren’t sure when this became second nature for you, something within the last two months of accompanying Natasha to the gun range for hours a time.

All the same, you held the tip of the weapon to the ground and rounded the corner of your bedroom into the dark hallway. You were unsettled from the dream you’d just had. The memory. Your subconscious had finally connected the woman who stood at Carol’s side. Her familiarity.

Monica Rambeau.

It was true, there was a stark coldness to her when you’d met at a Christmas party just the year before. It was only in passing and there were moments, like at the fair, when Darcy would mention her co-worker.

This changed things. Anxiety spiked haplessly, even as you diligently searched and cleared each room the way you had been taught. Keep your gun down, keep your eyes on the darkest corners of the room, ready to fire your weapon at any point. Especially if it was aimed at Natasha.

There was the slight movement of a shadow to your left and you quickly raised the gun, aiming it directly at the disturbance. Veronica stood on a chair in the kitchen, struggling to fill a glass with warm water, the only temperature that the faucet would allow.

You let out a quiet, mortified sigh before tucking the weapon into the waistband of your shorts. Your daughter blinked with wide eyes and that same guilty feeling flooded you at once, overtaking the anxiety.

“Baby,” You breathed, closing the distance between you and flicking on the overhead lights. You both flinched at their harshness but eventually blinked the shock away. “What are you doing up?”

You didn’t expect an answer, nor did you get one. Instead, you scooped her up under her arms and set her gently on the linoleum. There was water in the fridge, but she always had issues pouring it from the large jug. Ronnie was stubborn and shot you a frown at your intrusion.

“Don’t give me that look, kid.”

Her expression eased and you dumped the water down the drain before refilling the glass with something colder and more refreshing. Ronnie gulped it down eagerly, soaking the collar of her shirt with the liquid. She let out an appeased noise and wiped the rest of the water away from her mouth. She stood on her tip-toes and placed the glass in the sink.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh? Me either.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She blinked tiredly at you, your heart melting at the sight. It was easy to remember the words Natasha had trusted you with on the Ferris Wheel. Veronica would talk when she wanted to, but you had become quite good at reading her expressions and movements. Within the last month, you had stopped the long drives and the specialists. It eased you both.

“How about a sleepover?”

The exhaustion turned into joy and then combined within her look. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you scooped her up. She was getting too big for this, but you didn’t much care. You’d gotten stronger in the last few months and even if you hadn’t, you’d do the same.  

With a show of dramatics you tossed her onto the bed and replaced the duvet that you’d flung off. Carefully, as Ronnie’s stare averted, you placed the gun in the drawer next to your bed. The last thing you did was prop the window open, letting out the flat air and letting in the sound of the city.

Ronnie was pulled flush against your chest in a matter of moments, though you had suddenly lost all exhaustion. You listened to the sirens, to the calls of people just ending their nights. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the horns of the boats that settled into the harbor.

“I love you so much.” You whispered into the small of her neck, “One day I’m going to get us out of here.”

Veronica didn’t respond, but the squeeze her little hand gave yours was all the reassurance that you needed.

Clint swallowed down steaming black coffee without blowing on it to cool it down. The nutty scent filled the cab of the car and warmed your nerves. He drank like your daughter did, but with the purpose of waking himself up before the sun. You never did get back to sleep and were wired enough to refuse the cup he offered you this morning.

He’d knocked on your door as the orange sun moved over the horizon. You were to accompany him to the docks to check on business. This somehow seemed less intimidating than the dinner you’d attended with Natasha.

“It’ll be easy. We have a chokehold on the harbor, we just have to check with a few of the vendors to collect their dock rent and call it a day. Everything else is done under the table. People aren’t too happy because at the end of the day, we’re the ones that take money from them. But it’s a necessary evil.”

You nodded and watched as the city went by. It was peaceful, quiet. There had been a single foster home that you stayed in that had a view of the entire skyline. You were too far away to see the bustling people and the everyday chaos that accompanied it.

There were, of course, moments of calm when you would work the early morning shift at the diner. But that would always shatter by the time you made the two minute walk from your apartment to the back door that was choked with the scent of garbage and cheap cigarettes.

“We have some invitations to hand out too. In the glovebox.”

You furrowed your brow and popped it open. His weapon (or his second, or third) sat upon a stack of manilla cards with elegant writing on them that had to be done by hand. You inspected them but didn’t’ dare separate the paper.

“What are these for?”

“Nat throws a party for her benefactors every single year. It’s real fancy, a suit and tie thing. Her renters are invited too and if they have the balls to show up, they always have a good time. She makes sure of it.”

“We’re expected to attend?”

He nodded, “It’s a requirement, really. As Natasha’s right hand. You go where she goes and once your probationary period is over, you’ll be on her like glue. Though, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem.”

You frowned at his statement, his insinuation. Sure, you had gotten close to Natasha, had even grown to like her. She had a way of getting under your skin until it felt like she lived in it. Otherwise, you would have cut your losses long ago and let her slit your throat the first moment she met you.

There was a feeling of devotion that you felt the need to uphold. She had spared your life, after all. You’d spent the last two and a half months with her guiding you, teaching you how to obey her every word. Without fault, you would. Clint knew it, Kate and Yelena knew it. You knew it.

Instead of admitting it, you frowned and slumped further in your seat, struggling to ignore Clint’s own shit-eating expression. By the time he pulled to a stop, it had started to drizzle enough for him to flick his wipers on. The sound of them scraping against the window filled the silence.

You took careful attention to stay quiet and observe. Your gun was strapped carefully to your side and the invitations rested in your side pocket. You didn’t dare get them wet and let the ink run in a soupy mess. It had been years since you’d been out here and part of you was unsteady on the aged and slick wood.

“Sam is a cool guy. His family has hold on a good portion of the harbor. He likes to joke, so don’t pay him any mind.” Clint jabbed you with his elbow. “And loosen up a little bit, would you?”

You glowered at him and rubbed the stiff spot on your ribs but felt your shoulders lower a bit. There was a lot of weight behind this, that had been made clear to you the second you were inducted into this system.

Instead of heading directly down the long stretches of worn dock, Clint took a turn just before the asphalt ended. A small structure that looked less weathered than the rest of your surroundings rested at the lots end. The windows were thick enough to withstand the watery winds.

Clint stilled his large hand shooting out across your chest. It took you a few seconds to clock the shattered glass on the front door. Small smears of crimson pocked the shards that remained. Much like the evening before, you drew your gun on instinct, and Clint did the same.

He didn’t take care to hide your presence. Instead, he took the brunt of his large boot and cracked through the doorframe with the force of one kick. Wood splintered, raining down on linoleum and a desk that was easily from the 70’s.

You could smell the blood before you saw it, nearly sliding on the flooring. You caught yourself before that happened, heart pounding in your ears. “Fuck!”

“Jesus Christ,” Clint mirrored your sentiments.

Whoever had been here was long gone, but they’d left quite the mess. They’d torn through the filing cabinets, leaving legal papers and folders scattered against the desk and the expanse of cabin space.

You tracked the source of the pooling blood with little difficulty. A man- one that you had rightly never seen before- was laying on his back, facing the ceiling. From edge to edge of his throat was a long cut leaking an ugly red color. His stare was frosty, soaked into his sweatshirt.

It was like a car crash, something that you struggled to avert your eyes from until Clint physically grasped your chin and turned your attention to him. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, yes. Good.” You answered cooly, swallowing whatever dryness was in your throat. “Who would do something like this?”

“Carol… one of her lackeys. This is an eye for an eye thing.”

Even if it was an act of revenge, this was extensive. It sent a clear message even if you didn’t’ exactly know all the specifics of the feud. Of course, you’d seen Yelena at work and even that was mild compared to the brutality of this.

The thought of Monica, if it even had been her, completing a task as unfeeling as this filled your veins with ice. You felt your nails dig into your palms, soft and stinging. There was a surge of anger, and sadness that mixed into resolution. Natasha was right to despise the Danver’s family. Any family that treated the world with this much cruelty.

Natasha was in the gym on the second floor. Large windows overlooked the backyard, and a prolonged view of the harbor. There were blue mats adorning the floor, and a few wracks meant for weightlifting.

You had never seen this part of the house before. Usually the weather permitted sparring outside, but the late summer rain had made that impossible. Sheets of water obscured your usual view, though, it wasn’t exactly trained on the windows.

Natasha had her back facing you, her breathing timed evenly with each punch she threw at an 80-pound bag filled with sand. She wore tight-fitting shorts and a sports bra that left little to the imagination. Not that you had imagined her in that situation before.

Her muscles tightened and relaxed with each movement. They were scarred in a deep orchid pink, long ago healed. At one point, she was lashed. You recognized the damage done by a leather belt and shivered at the memory of it.

Natasha was fit, she was coated in a layer of sweat that dripped across her strength. You had to be clear minded for this and the state of her wasn’t making it easy on you. Her knuckles were wrapped, and she would grunt with each thrust of her fist. For just a moment, you wished you were under her mercy instead of the punching bag.  

That broke when she panted against the bag, stopping its swinging with a firm grasp on either side. “Are you just going to stand there and watch?”

Natasha had focused her green eyes on you through the reflection of the window. Of course, you hadn’t intended to gawk as long as you had. But you were leaning against the doorframe of the gym, practically drooling. You had forgotten yourself and you wouldn’t’ put it past Natasha to notice.

She turned to you, a wolfish smile on her face. “Take your jacket off. Holster too.”

You struggled to ignore the haughty expression on her face when you did exactly what she said without question, almost too eagerly, depositing them on the edge of the mat. You pushed your shoes off too, knowing not to track mud on any of Natasha’s carpets.

Her eyebrow lifted at the action. She’d moved closer during your actions, and you’d nearly run into her before noticing. Her presence was intoxicating. All-consuming.

“You’re here to tell me something,” She proclaimed “you’ve got that adorable look on your face. It’s good to know someone in this house still fears me.”

She was joking and it tugged at your heart to send that mood down to the ground before lighting it on fire. You’d expected her to be in poorer spirits after Clint had called her and let her know what had happened at the harbor. Instead, she responded in her same calculated coolness that she regarded you with now.

There was nothing about her demeanor that eased you, and suddenly, it felt like you were being scolded for a decision you had made. Even more so when she grasped your chin and forced you to look at her.

“That woman with Carol from the other night. I know her. Briefly.”

“Briefly?”

“As in, I met her at a Christmas party a few years back and… left with her.”

Natasha’s grip tightened against your chin, her thumb digging into your jaw. There was too much alcohol flowing that night and after making stinted conversation about how to disconnect two metal rings smoothly, the two of you went back to her apartment.

Before the sun came up, you left. There was shame in it, and the walk back to your own apartment punctuated with Darcy’s scolding was enough to make you forget the encounter altogether. It was one night- a fun night, but singular all the same.

Natasha let out a small noise of disapproval that sunk straight to your core. “Is that so?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Does she remember you?”

“It… didn’t seem like it.”

Her eyes narrowed, nose a short distance from your own. You could feel the hotness of her breath against your throat. How you had disappointed her. That much was clear from the lack of tenderness in her grasp. She eventually released you, trailing her fingers down the expanse of your neck.

She played with the small charm of your necklace, nothing more than a dainty gold chain with the tiniest whisper of a diamond in the center. Your skin prickled at the sensation, breath audibly catching as she worked her fingers over the length of chain.

“Well, I suppose this could be a problem. Especially with Carols violent behavior lately.”

Natasha sighed dramatically, and within an instant her nimble hand had tightened around your throat. She walked you the three steps backwards to the nearest wall. The small of your back landed with a heady thud and you used the last of your available breath to grunt out in protest.

Of course, you had seen her angry before, but it was never directed at you. Not like this. She wasn’t squeezing tight enough to injure you, not really. But the shock of the movement had made you think she would end you all the same.

“You should have come to me right away, pet.” Her grasp tightened; words growled. “And here I thought you were such a good, obedient, girl.”

Her words filled you with an immense shame for letting her down. Over the past few months, it had become impossible to be anything but perfect for Natasha Romanoff. The fact that you hadn’t connected the dots sooner was disillusioning.

The grip against your throat loosened ever so slightly as she leaned closer, her lips nearly ghosting your own. You could barely taste her, a strangled whimper escaping you. She pressed her body close. It was warm and overwhelming.

“I expect you to handle this on your own if it becomes a problem, darling.”

Before you could close the distance, Natasha pulled away from you entirely. It left you panting against the wall, wanting for something more. She knew exactly what she was doing. You craved her more than anything, and she had brought you so close to something you both wanted before denying it altogether.

Natasha sauntered, actually sauntered, across the gym and grabbed a towel from a nearby bench. She regarded you with flushed cheeks, her eyebrow raised as if nothing had just happened and you supposed that nothing did.

“Clint has told you about the party?” It took a few seconds before you found your voice, after her gentle urgings “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes ma’am. He did.”

She reached for a water bottle, exchanging it’s spot on the bench for the towel. She takes three hungry swallows, and you watched the way her throat moved in response to the water. Each of her movements seemed deliberate, nearly calculated to get a reaction out of you.

“Perfect. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours about what to wear. I’ll lay a dress out in your room.”

“My room?” Your words were squeaked.

There was a short hum in response as she gulped down another helping of water before setting it down entirely. That anger had ebbed away from her almost entirely. The fire that had been within her eyes excited you, and despite yourself, so did her demands.

“You’re so skittish. Come here. We need to work on your lead hook.”

Natasha didn’t offer to wrap your knuckles, nor did you ask. Instead, you leaned into the bag, letting the course material cut into your knuckles with a welcoming sting.

There was great thought put into any Romanoff party that was thrown. Lights were wrapped around the banister, and caterers walked through the teems of people with unwavering silver trays of finger food that cost more than your old salary for a number of months.

Back storm doors were opened to the pool, lit up and buzzing with an equal amount of people. Natasha had hired a piano player who haplessly pressed down on keys and drew a small crowd with each song that would crescendo into the dining room.

The overlapping theme was a dark forest green that reminded you much of the paint color slathered on Natasha’s bedroom walls. Something you hadn’t seen in months, but remembered so fondly. It was clear that she wanted to present a united force, something strong and unwavering in their power.

Clint was dawned with a finely pressed suit and a deep green tie that matched the shade of Kate’s dress to the very hue. She wore something silk and modest, reaching down to her heeled feet but leaving her muscular arms entirely bare.

Yelena stunned in a dress of her own, a crushed sage velvet that had a dipping neckline and sleeves that met at her wrist. By the confidence of her stride, you had no trouble believing she had chosen the outfit with the thought of how many weapons she could conceal. Her devilish smile only confirmed your thoughts.

As of you, Natasha had picked out something a little more revealing. Much like the maroon number she wore to dinner the other night, the dress she chose for you hugged every inch of your body. Its fern color complimented your complexion, bringing out the redness of your cheeks.

A slit moved from the base of your dress to the middle of your thigh. A halter neckline clung to your breasts, nearly pushing them up and out. It had been years, high school prom, since you’d worn something even close to this. You felt your shoulders flush red when you descended the stairs and struggled to blend in.

Natasha was sidled up by the mantel in deep conversation with someone who was a stranger to you. Most of the people here were. Though, their hands gave way to their high-ranking positions in the city. Few had callouses or oil stains.

She was in a three-piece suit that was color matched to your own outfit down to the shade. There were gold accents on her jewelry and the neckline of her waistcoat dipped down the tanned expanse of her skin.

Kate let out a low whistle in response to your entrance as she offered you a hand at the base of the stairs. You’d almost missed the last one due to your shameless gawking at the woman of the party. “Quite the looker, y/n. Natasha chose this?”

“Naturally,”

She chuckled softly, a small sound “Nothing if not calculating. Do you know how to socialize at one of these things?”

“Mm, as the caterer, yes.”

This seemed to amuse her more than you’d like. Katherine Elizabeth Bishop was a name that you had reluctantly googled early on in your employment. She had grown up wealthy and well acquainted with gatherings such as these. Of course, that was before her mother wound up incarcerated for white-collar crimes. The skills seemed to benefit her here, however.

Kate did everything with practiced fluidity that you envied. She plucked two champagne glasses from a nearby tray. “Only one of these, nurse it like your life depends on it. That way they won’t keep trying to shove alcohol into your hands. This is work, after all.”

You followed her lead and took a small sip of the bubbling, sour liquid. It was more expensive than anything you had ever had before and far-from-palatable. It wouldn’t be had to keep the drinking at bay.

“The man that Yelena is schmoozing over there is Billy Russo. Jigsaw. He’s in charge of the lower quarter. The Romanoff’s and the Russo’s have a cordial relationship and Yelena is much more feared than him.”

“Why do they call him jigsaw?” You whispered.

“He tends to chop people into pieces until they’re impossible to put back together. And that’s if you find all the missing parts. He has a very nice summer home up in the Poconos, so don’t get on his bad side.”

Suddenly the drink in your hand didn’t look too bad, but you held it right where it was. Clint was laughing by the window, obviously pushing his charm on a woman that you had never clocked before. She was running her fingers up his tie, tightening it before letting her hands drop.

“Barton is with Ophelia Sarkissian, the Viper. She is known for her cunning leadership. She’s got a huge organization in Hell’s Kitchen. Something called Hydra. I wouldn’t worry too much about it though because Natasha is keeping a tight eye on it.”

“Mm, cut one head off, two more grow back.”

“What?”

“Greek mythology. Hydra is a big water snake that has nine heads. Each time one was cut off two more would grow back in its place. It was practically unkillable until Hercules came through the marshes with his nephew. Hercules would slice each head off while Iolaus cauterized the wounds so the heads couldn’t grow back.”

Kate blinked at you with shock in her eyes. You simply gave her a shrug in return. People constantly underestimated you and your intelligence. Besides, when you were a child, you had a morbid fascination with Greek mythology as a whole.

She stared beyond your shoulder, lilting her head to the side.

“I didn’t realize that Natasha’s new plaything was so knowledgeable.”

Ice ran thorough your veins. Your eyes darted to the window where Clint and Mrs. Sarkissian had once been. It was vacant now, and an expertly painted hand drummed past your arm. They were sharp and sent chills down your spine as she rounded you, sidling up next to Kate.

“Trust fund kid, leave us.”

Kate drew in a sharp breath, straightening her shoulders. She nearly opened her mouth to stay something but thought better of it before shooting you a look of apology and vanishing into the crowd in the dining room.

Ophelia was intoxicating in her presence. She towered over you and wore snakeskin heels to widen the distance. She wore a tight-fitted black dress that had cuts on either side, exposing her toned stomach to the world. What she wanted with you wasn’t clear, but her hand toyed coyly with the neckline of your own dress, adjusting it.

“Word travels fast in this city. I just couldn’t wait to see it myself. Hearing that Natasha Romanoff of all people expelled her Winter soldier for a… Summer Sentient. All seasons are temporary, I suppose.”

“Expelled?”

The word had slipped from your tongue, and you quickly thought better of it when she settled her splayed hand against your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. It was cold, unfeeling. Unlike the fire that Natasha had instilled in you earlier.

There was a demonic smile that spread across her face, both of her eyebrows lifting as she let out an exaggerated grasp. It was clear that this woman, this leader, couldn’t keep her hands to herself in any manner, including the internal affairs that she dangled in front of you like a prize.

“Oh, did Natty not tell you? She had Bucky under her thumb for years, nearly a decade. A few months back, he was just gone. There’s a lot of gossip in these streets and not much of it is plausible, but I’d put money on this one.”

 Again, her fingers danced over your collarbone. “Miss Romanoff is not known for her mercy, but after beating the Winter Soldier within an inch of his life, she let him go. He ran like any sensible man would, of course. But he left a trail of blood behind him. I’m quite sure he’s somewhere out west struggling to move in an upper body brace.”

She laughed cruelly at the look on your face. There was no use in masking it. You knew that Bucky had been absent, but through your own turmoil you had forgotten all about it. Your stomach twisted in unease. What if Natasha grew tired of you? It was inevitable, really. You’ only prolonged your fate by bending to her whim.

“Ophelia,” Natasha’s voice drew your attention first, and then the heat of her touch on the small of your back. “Have you tried the lamb?”

The woman faltered, gritting her teeth “I was about to.”

“Oh, you must.” Yelena seemed to materialize out of nowhere, looping her arm around Madame Hydra herself. She pulled with intent. “I haven’t seen you since Moscow. We need to catch up!”

“I was never in Moscow.”

“That’s a shame. I can paint you a brilliant picture.”

Their voices faded away into the rest of the party. It was then that you noticed Clint by the door, his stance stiffened. Kate glowered next to him, not following her own rule and downing the rest of her drink before plucking another off the passing tray.

You stepped out of Natasha’s grasp, not wanting to be anywhere near her at the moment. Her perfume was intoxicating. Its floral scent made you dizzy and took away your ability to think straight. It was part of the reason you had been lulled this far into complicity. It scared you that you were willing to do anything for her.

“y/n,” she urged.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Natasha’s stare hardened. She gripped the back of your neck in a movement that would otherwise be familiar, sweet, even. However, the way she led you down the hallway made your stomach drop in a feeling of doom. “Not here, Malen'kiy krolik.”

Natasha’s office was strictly off limits, but you found yourself in the warmth of it in a matter of moments. There was no wall that wasn’t adorned with floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a large cherrywood desk was at its head. It was kept neat like the rest of the house.

There was a PHD on the wall, and an associates under that. Each bore Natasha’s name. She closed the doors behind her. Without regarding you, she went to a shelf in the back of the room, pouring herself a glass of bourbon, much like the one she was drinking when you stirred in her bed.

She swallowed it back, before pouring another. This time she sipped it. Your own back was against the far wall, heart pounding mercilessly through you. Yelling at Natasha had a lot more weight behind it than you anticipated.  

“You’re going to do the same to me.” You eventually whispered.

Her body stiffened, muscles tightening and then releasing before she turned to you, her eyes reddened. “What?”

“I’ve been entirely blind to my purpose here. I’ve never… I’ve never understood why you chose me. Why not go for someone who knows what they were doing? Who knew how to protect you and care for you? You had that with Bucky.”

Her eyes hardened. “Don’t you ever mention that name in this house.”

“It’s the truth, Natasha! You could have let me die, just like that, and you didn’t. Instead, you took me in and trained me, and for what? Just to throw me into the harbor with cement blocks chained to my ankles.”

“That is an entirely outdated practice and frankly, it’s insulting.” Her words were soul deep, but they barely broke your skin. “I would never do that.”

“A bullet through the head, then?”

“No.”

You were gaining traction enough to pull yourself from the wall and take heady steps towards her. If you didn’t do it now, you would never. Part of you was certain that you’d never see the outside of this room again. That she’d snap and do exactly what you were imploring her to.

“He served you for years and within a singular night you nearly kill him.” Your breath shook, you were so close to her now. “What is stopping you from doing the exact same to me?”

“No, no” She reached up and grasped both sides of your face. There were tears against your cheeks, something you hadn’t realized dripped from your chin. “Malyshka, no don’t cry.”

Everything had come to a head; the months of non-stop training, the pressure of keeping this side of your life away from your daughter, away from Darcy. A true friend that you had been lying to. And now, knowing that it could be all for nothing. It was easy to dispose of someone like you.

There was no reason to show weakness in front of the woman who was training you not to feel anything at all. Above everything, you found yourself ashamed. She still held your face within her grasp.

“He hurt you.” Her jaw clenched and unclenched, there was a fuzzy vulnerability in her green stare. “I can show mercy, y/n. But I’ve learned, not when it comes to you. Even before all of… this, there was something that I saw within you. Something that made what I did to Bucky all the more worth it.”

You breathed in a watery sniffing sound that was replaced by nothing but a whimper. Natasha softened even more, letting her shoulders fall. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He was pulling back for months, and you were the final straw. I had never seen someone so resilient, someone who didn’t beg for their life but recounted it. In a moment of weakness, I let you go. I thought that training you, that making you mine, would absolve my sins but it’s only deepened them. My feelings for you have only deepened.”

Her forehead was pressed against yours, her ministrations, and God help you, her apologies were startling. Her lips were so close to yours; you could nearly taste the liquor on her breath “Natasha,”

Suddenly, she was all you could feel. Her hand was against you back, pulling you into her body to fit directly on hers. There was such a strong guiding power to her. Your shock was muffled by her mouth on yours, your whine swallowed in moments.

You melted into her, kissing back with enough fever to leave you both breathless. There were stars dancing in your vision, you lungs burning eventually pulling you both apart. She panted twice before pecking your lips once more, you nearly chased after her.

“Fuck,” she growled “you… are absolutely delicious.”

Your cheeks suddenly heated up and you hid your face in the small of her neck, letting out a small groan in embarrassment. You felt Natasha’s laugh rumble through her.

“No need to be timid, pet. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She raked her nails up your back, “Right now, I have a snake to behead.”  

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[pure-smut]

say red: part 2

featuring: Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

contains: academic rivals to lovers, dom!Iwaizumi, degradation, dirty talk, rough s*x, creampie, some angst at the end

note: all characters are over 18!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 1.5k

series: 1. say red | 2. say red | 3. say red

masterlist

Iwaizumi Hajime nibbles his bottom lip when he’s concentrating.

You play with the straw of your iced coffee as you watch him, his eyes fixed on the notepad in front of him, scribbling furiously. His roommates are hosting a gaming marathon, complete with snacks, soda, and copious amounts of BO, so Iwaizumi had asked you to meet him at a coffee shop instead.

You’ve been meeting up twice a week for over a month now, as you’d both agreed. About 20% of that was actually working on the project. Which is probably why Iwaizumi is so focused on his notes right now, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You could help, y’know,” he mutters, not looking up or breaking pace from his writing.

“I’m providing emotional support,” you say brightly, taking a sip of coffee.

Iwaizumi sits back with a sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“That means so much to me,” he says flatly, before gesturing at his notepad. “I can’t figure this out.”

You peer over, obnoxiously slurping coffee from the bottom of your cup.

“Oh, that?” You point at one of his answers. “You’re mixing up the numbers here.”

“What?” Iwaizumi shoots forward, eyebrows furrowed. “Where?”

“Here.” You drag your finger down the page. “And here.”

You sit back, rattling your straw through leftover ice. Iwaizumi stares at the page.

“How do you do that?” he says quietly.

“Do what?”

He turns to you, frowning.

“You don’t even bring a pencil to class. You file your nails when you’re meant to be paying attention. You don’t even try.” Iwaizumi’s voice breaks slightly, his jaw clenching. “How do you keep beating me?”

You avert your eyes, smoothing your features into something detached. Iwaizumi doesn’t know how much you study after class, how you do listen when you’re filing your nails or playing on your phone, you just pretend not to. That you record every lecture to listen back to later.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know you looked at his notes all evening yesterday, working them out in advance.

You give a bored shrug.

“Part genius, I guess?” You flash him your sugary smile. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

You reach forward and slide your hand over his thigh.

“We’re finished studying now, right? Let’s go back to mine.” You squeeze his hard muscle.

You have't brought him back to your place before, favoring his bedroom instead, but that's not much of an option right now and you're getting horny from the way his forearm muscles move when he writes.

Iwaizumi studies you a moment longer, giving you that same intense look you recognise from the first time you tried, and successfully, seduced him. Like he can see exactly what you’re doing. You’ve been physically exposed in front of him numerous times already but when he looks at you like this, it’s like he’s stripped you bare.

Your smile doesn’t falter despite your thumping heart and eventually, Iwaizumi sighs.

“You’re incorrigible,” he says, rolling his eyes, but he stands up and gets ready to leave regardless.

When you get back to your bedroom, it doesn’t take long for Iwaizumi to bend you over the desk. Since the first time you slept together and he ripped your panties, you’ve made sure you go commando every time you know you’re going to meet up.

Iwaizumi grabs you by the back of your neck, pinning you to the desk as he runs a thick finger along your slit.

“You’re always so wet for me,” he murmurs. “Such a good whore, begging to be fucked.”

You groan as Iwaizumi sinks a finger inside you, curving so he can stroke the sensitive spot he knows so well now. He’s right – there’s something about him that makes you so wet, makes your body respond to him before he’s even touched you. You can feel yourself dripping down your thigh.

“You want to be fucked, little slut?”

He presses his finger deeper and your breath hitches. When you don’t respond, Iwaizumi withdraws his finger to land a hard slap across your ass. You yelp, skin stinging.

“Yes, Iwa,” you say, pushing your hips back to rub your ass against his crotch. “I want it.”

Iwaizumi spanks you again at the use of ‘Iwa’, marking his handprint in bright red against your ass cheek. But he doesn’t scold you anymore – he hates how much he likes it now. How cute you sound, how bratty, even as you’re so lewdly on display for him. You’d called him Iwa once during class and he had to put his bag on his lap to hide the boner it gave him.

“Say red,” he tells you, leaning forward to whisper against the shell of your ear. “And I’ll stop.”

At your needy whine, Iwaizumi pulls back to unzip his jeans, pulling his cock free through the hole. It’s an unspoken rule between you both – no one gets naked. Your “project meet ups” involve hiked up dresses and half-pulled down jeans, just enough for the two of you to fuck and no more. Iwaizumi’s hand hovers over the hem of your dress, wanting to strip you of it fully and have you, all of you, beneath him.

“Iwa…” you mewl, not able to see what he’s doing with his hand on your neck. “Stop teasing.”

You wiggle your ass, the flesh moving hypnotically, and Iwaizumi pulls back to line his cock up with your entrance instead. You give a content sigh as he slides himself in.

“So fucking needy.” He strokes himself in and out a few times, coating his cock in your arousal. The sight is beyond erotic and he has to tighten his grip on your neck to stop himself from moaning.

Iwaizumi doesn’t give you much time to adjust, slamming himself up to the hilt and making you cry out. The desk rattles against the wall with each thrust as you’re pinned in place, helpless to move.

“T-too… deep...!” you cry out, hands splayed against the desk.

“Say red.” Iwaizumi slaps your ass again before spreading your cheeks, giving him better access. “Say fucking red.”

You say nothing, your hands fisting the loose paper around you. Your whimpers mix with the squelch of your sopping cunt, filling the room. It feels like Iwaizumi’s using you to get himself off and the thought makes your thighs tremble.

“You gonna cum already?” Iwaizumi taunts. “What a good little slut.”

His words spur you on, nudging you over the edge of euphoria. Your legs buckle as Iwaizumi pounds away at you, his cock hitting just the right spot inside you. Your walls clamp down around him, pulling him in every time he withdraws like you don’t want him to leave.

Your orgasm always triggers Iwaizumi’s, your pussy milking him too fucking tightly for him to think straight. He wants to last longer, wants to prolong this time with you, but you make it impossible. A trail of curses falls from his lips as he explodes inside you, marking you on the inside with his cum. He slows only after the last spurt of his seed dribbles inside you, his softening cock overly sensitive.

You don’t stand straight away, your legs like jelly, so Iwaizumi quickly grabs a towel from the floor and holds it against your puffy lips.

“T-thanks.” You huff out laughter, taking the towel from him. “Always a gentleman.”

“Not when I fuck, apparently,” he replies, a rare smile playing on his lips.

You quickly make your way to the bathroom to clean up, leaving Iwaizumi alone in your room to tuck himself away again. When you return, he’s still smiling.

“What’s funny?” you ask, readjusting the hem of your dress.

“Nothing,” he shrugs but his smile doesn’t leave.

Before you can say anything back, Iwaizumi crosses the room and kisses you. It’s not like his other kisses, rough and demanding. This one is soft and sweet. He cups your cheek with one hand as the other pulls you to him by your waist. You melt into him without thinking, your eyes fluttering closed as you kiss him back.

When he draws back slightly, your heart is thumping so loud you think it might burst out of your chest. Iwaizumi looks down at you, olive eyes glinting, and you find it suddenly hard to breathe.

“What…” You swallow past the lump in your throat and step back. Iwaizumi’s hands fall to his side. “What was that for?”

He shrugs.

“Do I need a reason?”

“I… you…”

It’s like your brain has short circuited. You scramble for a cutting retort but your mind is blank, like it’s been wiped clean. Your detached veneer that you work so hard to maintain has evaporated. Iwaizumi watches you with that same damn look, like you’re under a microscope. Like you’re naked.

Smart, cool, unbothered you has come undone by a fucking kiss.

“You should leave,” you eventually manage to say, voice hoarse.

Iwaizumi frowns, eyes narrowed. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room and you find yourself breathing hard, cheeks hot.

You think he’s going to put up a fight but all he says is, “Fine.”

When the door closes behind him, you press your back to it, sinking down to the ground. Six weeks ago, you didn’t even register who Iwaizumi Hajime was. Now it feels like he’s got a fist around your heart.

What happens if he decides to crush it?

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