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darksturnz · 3 days ago

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CHEATER CHEATER . . . PUSSY EATER ?

CONTENTS: smut-heavy plot ・oral (f! receiving)・bf!matt ・AFAB!reader + more WC: 2k

The suitcase slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull thud against the hardwood floor. Your heart pounded in your ears, the moans echoing down the dimly lit hallway making your stomach twist into a sick knot.

It was late. Past midnight. You hadn’t even told Matt you were coming home early, wanting to surprise him after your work trip had been cut short. Three days. Three fucking days early, and this is what you come home to?

Your fingers curled into fists as you stormed down the hallway, the moans getting louder with every step. The door to your shared bedroom was slightly ajar, a faint, flickering glow seeping through the crack. Your mind was racing, every worst-case scenario hitting you all at once.

Matt. In your bed. With someone else.

The girl’s high-pitched cries sent another sharp pang through your chest. You didn’t recognize the voice, but it didn’t matter.

Bile rose in your throat.

Three fucking years.

You shoved the door open, already bracing yourself for the worst—for Matt’s horrified expression, for some half-naked girl scrambling under the sheets, for the complete and total destruction of your relationship right in front of your eyes.

But that’s not what you saw.

Instead, Matt was slouched against the headboard, bare chest heaving, his cock twitching in his hand as he stared at his phone screen. Alone.

Your heart was still hammering, your breath still ragged as you processed the scene. Matt, blinking rapidly in confusion, jerking upright the moment he realized you were standing in the doorway. His phone fumbled in his grasp before the screen went black, and he hastily yanked a pillow over his lap like a teenager caught in the act.

“Jesus Christ!” he gasped, eyes wide. “What the fuck are you doing home?”

For a moment, you just stared at him, chest rising and falling with the force of your adrenaline. The room still echoed with the sounds of the porno—some dramatic, exaggerated moan ringing out before Matt frantically hit the volume button, effectively silencing it.

Then, the reality of what was happening finally sank in.

“You—” You exhaled sharply, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up from your throat as you pressed a hand over your face. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Matt, still caught between shock and embarrassment, scrubbed a hand over his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?You scared the shit out of me!”

“I scared you?” Your voice rose an octave. “I thought you were cheating on me, Matt!”

His eyebrows shot up. “Cheating?”

“What the hell else was I supposed to think?” You threw your hands up, your heart still racing, blood still hot from the blind fury that had propelled you into the room. “I walk in and all I hear is some bitch moaning like she’s dying—”

Matt groaned, dragging the pillow higher up his lap like it could somehow shield him from the entire situation. “Oh my god.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Now that the initial rage had worn off, you were left standing there, exhausted, overwhelmed, and, honestly, kind of confused.

“So what?” you said, narrowing your eyes. “You just—” You gestured vaguely toward him, still trying to process the fact that you had just caught your boyfriend jerking off. “You couldn’t wait three more days?”

“I didn’t know you were coming home tonight!” Matt shot back defensively, his face still burning red. “What do you want me to do, put my dick in storage until you get back?”

“I don’t know, Matt, maybe not blast it at full volume like a goddamn IMAX movie?”

“It wasn’t that loud!”

“It was fucking loud enough to hear from the front door!”

Matt groaned again, tilting his head back against the headboard with a long, suffering sigh. “Jesus.”

The room fell into silence, except for the distant hum of the city outside. You stood there, arms crossed, the weight of your suitcase still digging into the back of your mind, while Matt sat there, still clutching the pillow like a lifeline.

Finally, you exhaled, rubbing your temples. “This is not how I expected my night to go.”

Matt peeked at you, lips twitching. “Yeah? What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, suddenly feeling stupid. “Maybe a cute little reunion? You’d be all excited, we’d cuddle, maybe I’d let you rail me into next week.”

Matt made a pained noise, squeezing his eyes shut like he was physically holding himself back from combusting. “You cannot say shit like that while I’m still hard.”

Your lips twitched. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh my god.”

You finally let out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing as the absurdity of the situation caught up with you. Matt groaned again, rubbing his face, and you stepped forward, climbing onto the bed beside him.

“So…what were you watching?” you asked innocently, peeking at his phone.

“Absolutely not,” Matt said immediately, shoving it under the pillow.

“Come on,” you teased, nudging him. “If you’re gonna cheat on me with your hand, I at least deserve to know what kind of competition I’m up against.”

“Not a chance.”

“Let me guess—Furries?”

Matt shot you a look. “Do you think I hate myself?”

You snorted. “Taboo?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So, lesbians?”

Matt groaned and dropped his head onto your shoulder. “Can we not?”

You hummed, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Matt’s breath hitched, his entire body going still against you. Even with the pillow clutched desperately over his lap, there was no hiding how painfully hard he still was.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna tell me?” you murmured, tilting your head to brush your lips against his temple.

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah, not a fucking chance.”

You smirked. “That’s fine.” Your hand slid down, nails trailing over his bare chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “I was just gonna suggest we recreate it. Y’know, make it a little more immersive.”

Matt groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “You are evil.”

You giggled, shifting closer until your thigh brushed against his. The heat radiating off of him was scorching, his body coiled tight with restraint. You could feel the way his fingers flexed against the pillow like he was fighting every instinct screaming at him to grab you instead.

“Well? Are you gonna just sit here and suffer, baby?” you taunted, voice sweet as you traced slow, teasing circles.

Matt inhaled sharply, and then, in one swift motion, he tossed the pillow aside and grabbed your wrist, yanking you into his lap. You gasped, hands splaying against his bare shoulders as your knees bracketed his hips.

“You think this is funny?” Matt’s voice was low, rough, his pupils blown wide as he glared up at you.

You bit your lip, feeling his cock twitch beneath you. “A little.”

Matt’s grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as he tilted his head back against the headboard, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to hold himself together. His jaw was tense, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, but his hands were anything but still, roaming up and down your sides like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to punish you for teasing him or worship you for coming home early.

“You’re annoying ,” he muttered, but there was no real heat behind it—just a breathless kind of awe, like he still couldn’t believe you were actually here.

You grinned, rocking your hips just enough to feel the rigid length of him pressed against you, still achingly hard. “That’s what you get for trying to replace me with your hand.”

Matt groaned, dropping his head back against the headboard. “Oh my fucking—”

Before he could finish his sentence, he moved—flipping you both over so fast you barely had time to yelp before your back hit the mattress. The world spun for half a second, and then Matt was above you, caging you in with his forearms bracketing your head, his weight pressing deliciously against you.

“-God. You think you’re so funny,” he rasped, his nose brushing against yours, his lips barely an inch away.

You swallowed, your pulse pounding in your ears as his body heat consumed you. “I know I am.”

Matt rolled his eyes and let out a soft, breathy chuckle—then he was kissing you, slow and deep, his lips molding against yours like he wanted to drown in you. His hands were everywhere, skimming down your sides, slipping beneath your shirt to press against your bare skin, like he needed to feel every inch of you to make up for the time apart.

The need in his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and when he pulled back, his pupils were so blown out they nearly swallowed the hazel. “Missed you so much,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

Your chest tightened. “Show me.”

That was all it took.

Matt’s lips trailed down your neck, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone as he worked his way lower. His hands pushed your shirt up, and you lifted your arms to let him pull it over your head before he did the same with your shorts, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion.

He groaned at the sight of you—just a soft sound in the back of his throat, but it sent heat pooling between your legs. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, pressing his lips to your stomach as he slid lower. “Been thinkin’ about this all week.”

You shivered as he kissed just above the waistband of your panties, his fingers curling around the fabric before tugging it down. “Hurry up,”

He paused for a moment, giving you a look that had your own cheeks heating up as you huffed and looked away before he continued. The second you were bare beneath him, Matt’s breath hitched, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he settled between them.

“So beautiful” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. “ always so fucking beautiful “

You can’t help the small whine that falls from your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, your breath catching in your throat as he dragged his lips up, his nose brushing against your soaking cunt before he licked a slow, teasing stripe through your folds.

A gasp left your lips, “Oh-..” your hips arching off the bed, but Matt’s hands were already pressing you back down, keeping you in place.

“Stay still,” he murmured, his voice dripping with heat. “Gonna me take care of you.”

Then he was diving back in, his tongue curling around your clit in slow, torturous circles that had your toes curling. He ate you out like a man starved, like he’d been deprived of you for far too long and was determined to make up for every second.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled hot and tight in your stomach. “Matt,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through your body. His hands slid beneath your thighs, tilting your hips up as he buried his face deeper, licking and sucking like he was trying to ruin you.

You were already close, your body arching, your breathing uneven as Matt worked you closer and closer to the edge. His lips wrapped around your clit, his tongue flicking just right, and the coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves.

Your vision went white as you came, a choked moan escaping your lips, but Matt didn’t stop. He groaned against you, his hips rutting against the mattress like he couldn’t help himself, desperate for friction. The realization sent another rush of heat through you, and you reached down, threading your fingers through his hair to pull him up.

His lips were slick and swollen when he looked at you, his pupils blown wide. “Kiss me please,” you whispered.

Matt surged up, pressing his body against yours, his cock hard and aching between you. His lips crashed against yours, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the need in his kiss making your head spin. He shifts a little so his cock hits your inner thigh and with a low groan, he thrust against you—and the moment he did, his body stiffened, his breath hitching as he moaned into your mouth. His hips jerked against yours as he came, the tension finally snapping, and the sound that left him—deep, breathless, wrecked—was enough to send another wave of pleasure through you.

For a few moments, all you could do was lay there, tangled together, panting in the aftermath.

Then Matt looks at you, a small frown on his face before he spoke,

“Did you really think I’d cheat on you?”

authors note: i need to make a tag list post but im actually so lazy after writing it’s not funny

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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

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Such A Mystery - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Currently thinking this will have like 5-7 parts?

The sheets didn't smell like Max anymore. Colette had changed them over a week ago.

She ran her hand over the empty space next to her, the sheets cool to the touch. Empty. Alone.

Colette wished Max was there. That she could simply turn around and he would be there. But he wasn't.

Bébé took that moment to kick her bladder and she sighed as she pushed herself to sit up.

The sun was lower on the sky an she knew that she must have napped at least a few hours. "Bathroom and then we can see what we'll have for dinner," she suggested to the baby.

She got an answering kick in response that made her snort.

After taking care of her business, she made her way to the kitchen, feeling a rumbling in her stomach.

To her surprise, Colette wasn’t alone in their apartment. "You do know that I am adult, right?" she asked her mother and her oldest brother drily as waddled into the kitchen. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, probably busy with his actual job. "I can be left alone. Chances are I'll just go back to watching reruns of Real Housewives this evening," she said drily.

Neither of them laughed at this. She looked up from opening the fridge to see their...very serious expression. Colette paused, a cold feeling of dread worming its way into her stomach. Something was wrong, she could tell by their expressions. "What?" she asked, closing the refrigerator door.

Was something wrong with Max? With Cha?

She had never outright believed in the whole idea of twin telepathy or anything like that...but Charles and her had this...thing. If something was really wrong with each other...they could feel it.

And she couldn’t feel anything…not like that, not right now.

"Did...did something happen to Max?" Colette asked shakily, almost afraid of the answer. Her mind instantly went to the worst-case scenario. "Is he...okay?"

Her mother and brother traded a glance, which did nothing to calm her nerves. "Max is fine," her mother promised her. "Why don't you sit down, Choupinette?" This also wasn't calming her.

"Enzo?" Colette asked, her voice shaky.

"Nobody is hurt or dying," Lorenzo promised her quickly. "It's...complicated."

Colette nodded, lowering herself into a seat at the kitchen island. Her heart was still racing, palms a bit sweaty.

"Complicated how?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.

"I would like to preface this by saying that Arthur didn't...think this through," Lorenzo said with a grimace.

Colette's eyes widened in disbelief. "Arthur...what did he do?" she asked immediately.

"He may have posted that post you made on your stories in his," Lorenzo said carefully.

Colette's jaw dropped open in shock. "He...he WHAT?!" she nearly shrieked, hands gripping the edge of the table.

What? How could her brother do this? How could he...

That ill-thought out post she had made...with a Taylor Swift lyric that she had thought was cute...to her less than 200 followers that all knew about her and Max anyway…

What? How could her brother do this? How could he...

Colette's hands were shaking now as she tried to process what her brother had done. "Are you serious?" she finally managed to whisper.

And now it was out there. For EVERYBODY TO SEE. Everybody. Everybody could see her post about Max. Everybody could see her saying that Max came straight home to her.

They had spent 15 years keeping their relationship a secret. And now...now there they were.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm the panic that was welling up inside of her. "Oh god...oh god," she muttered, her mind racing.

"People are going to see that. Max's fans are going to see that," she whispered, her stomach clenching. "Oh god, they're going to see it and figure things out."

Her mother reached out, placing a calming hand on her arm. "It's okay, Choupinette," she said gently. "It's going to be okay."

Colette shook her head. "No, it's not," she said, her voice shaky. "How could Arthur do this? He knows...he knows that I didn't want anybody to know," she whispered, tears biting in her eyes. She wasn't even sure what to do. She wasn't even sure what to think.

Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, worry, frustration...and anger. So much anger at her brother, for not thinking, for not asking first, for not considering the consequences.

"How could he just... do this?" she said again, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo tried to come closer, but she held up a hand to stop him. She didn't want his touch, not right now. "Arthur should have asked me before doing something like this," she said, her voice shaking. "He knows...he knows that Max and I...we keep our relationship private."

"I...I need some space right now," she choked out, pushing her chair back and standing up. She had to get out of here, get some air.

She left the kitchen, leaving her family behind.

She found herself in the living room, collapsing onto the couch, her hands covering her face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She couldn't believe what her brother had done.

And now...now it was out there. Their secret, Max's secret, their life...everything.

She tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm down, but she couldn't. She was angry, hurt, scared…

Their relationship...it had always been a safe space to Colette.

Somewhere where she could just be herself. With Max, she felt loved and safe and quite frankly, spoiled rotten by his attention. She didn't need to think about what she said, she could just be comfortable. And nobody had an inside look into that relationship that she didn't want to. They had admitted it to people over the years, to friends and colleagues and family members. But to the public they had never been connected beyond Colette being the twin sister of one of Max's biggest rivals.

She had liked her anonymity. Had liked that nobody paid her a second look on the street. That nobody even thought twice about her.

Her role could just be Charles and Arthur's supportive sister. Nothing more, nothing less. Max knew that she loved him, that she supported him in the privacy of their relationship. It wasn't something she needed anybody else to know.

But now it was out there.

Colette buried her head in her hands, letting out a soft sob. It was out there, and it couldn't be taken back. No amount of damage control, no amount of apology was going to take those words back.

She could already see the headlines in her head: “Max Verstappen’s secret girlfriend”

It was so much worse than she had expected. The idea of being exposed like this...it made her want to crawl under a rock and hide for the rest of her life.

Colette didn't want to deal with the media circus, the gossip, the speculation. She didn't want to deal with any of it.

She didn't want her life to be dissected. She didn't want everything to be picked apart.

But that's what was going to happen. The vultures were going to descend, the media was going to hound her, her inbox would be filled with requests for comment and statements.

She was going to be the topic of everyone's conversation, speculation, and judgment.

She wanted to cry, scream, and throw something simultaneously.

She didn't ask for this, she wasn't built for this.

She wanted her anonymity, her simple life, her relationship to be private. That's all she had ever wanted...was that too much to ask for?

But now it was all in jeopardy, because her brother wasn't able to keep his mouth shut. She knew that he hadn't done it to hurt her...he had just been a idiot without a brain. But that didn't make the situation any easier for her.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to gather her thoughts.

But now it was gone. The secret was out, and there was no turning back. She was going to be under the microscope, every move she made, every word she spoke, every expression on her face would be analyzed and scrutinized.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Colette leaned back against the couch, feeling the weight of the situation crashing down on her.

She had always known that Max's life would come with a certain amount of spotlight and media attention, but she had never expected to be dragged into it.

She had always been in the shadows, quietly supporting him from behind the scenes, but now she was being thrust into the bright light of the media spotlight. And she couldn't help but cry her eyes out about it.

She let the tears flow, feeling the sobs rack her body. It was too much, all too much. She was exposed, vulnerable, and raw. And she had no idea how to handle it.

"Choupinette," her mother said softly, sitting down besides her.

Colette barely registered her mother's presence, too consumed by her own despair. But she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, gentle and comforting.

She buried her face in her mother's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her mother just held her, stroking her hair and whispering soothing words of comfort. "It's going to be okay," she promised. "I promise, it's going to be okay."

"Maybe it won't even be so bad," her mother tried to comfort her. "It will blow over. You do love Max and he loves you."

"It was going to get out sometime," Lorenzo said quietly. "It was question of when not if, Colette. It was a miracle that you were able to keep it quiet for so long."

This only made Colette cry harder.

She hadn't wanted anybody to know. She had wanted privacy. She had wanted…

She had wanted it to just be her and Max, living their life together, without any outside interference.

She knew it was foolish to think that it could last forever, but a small part of her had hoped.

Now it was going to be ruined. And it was all because of her stupid brother and his impulsive behavior.

She didn't want the attention. She didn't want the speculation, the questions, the accusations.

All she wanted was Max.

She wanted him, his warmth, his soft reassurances, his quiet love. She wanted him with her and just to curl up in his arms. Where she could forget everything else and just be.

But she couldn't do that. The truth was out there now, and there was no way to erase it.

She was Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, the public knew, and there was nowhere she could hide from it.

And that thought terrified her more than anything else. She didn't know how to handle the public eye, the media interest, the gossip. It was like a massive wave that was about to crush her, and she had no life raft to hold onto.

She leaned closer into her mother, feeling like a child again. The sobs continued to rack her body, and all she could do was hold onto her mother's comforting embrace.

She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to handle this.

***

This was the last fucking news Max wanted to hear before qualifying. The absolute last.

He loved the Leclercs. He did. He loved Colette’s family like his own. And he loved her brothers like his own.

But this was making him absolutely furious with Arthur.

And he would have liked to destroy his driver’s room in a fit of rage, but he wasn’t going to do that. He was not going to let his emotions get the best of him.

Not when he understood where Arthur was coming from. Even when he hated the way he had gone about it.

Max had half a mind to simply throw the towel. To give up. What did it matter anymore? He had won his 4th World Championship title…Red Bull wasn’t in the running for the constructor’s championship anymore…that was between Ferrari and McLaren… so did it matter?

Wouldn’t he be more useful at Colette’s side?

But he knew that if he asked her…he knew what her answer would be.

She wouldn’t stand for it.

She knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself for this. He wanted to win. It was in his DNA. It wasn’t in him to leave things unfinished.

She would tell him to do it. To finish that race. And then to come straight home to her.

But it was hard, especially when he knew that the media was going to be all over this. The vultures were going to be circling, waiting for any slip up, any moment of weakness.

It wasn't like he cared if his and Colette's relationship became public. He was content with screaming it from every rooftop. He would happily post his beautiful girlfriend on his Instagram daily. He was more than willing to take her to some charity gala and kiss her in the view of every camera that was there...but he knew how important it had always been for Colette.

And now she was exposed, without warning and without even knowing.

Max wanted to find her brother and wring his neck for this. How could he be so careless, so thoughtless?

He knew how important Colette's privacy was to her, how much she valued it. And now it was gone. Just like that.

Colette wanted to keep a low profile. She was more than happy to be the always supportive sister to her brothers, to cheer them on from the sidelines...and she herself was happy to work in her mother's hair salon, and dabble at playing the piano and violin…and content to simply be.

He had always loved that about her…how happy she could be with the most simple of things.

Colette didn’t enjoy the spotlight, she preferred the shadows. And now she had been thrown into the whirlwind of media attention.

He knew that she wasn’t going to handle this well.

And he was seriously considering throwing the towel.

To say fuck it all and go back to Monaco.

His father didn’t want to hear a single thing about it.

Jos had never really approved of Max's relationship with Colette. He thought it made him weak, he thought Max needed to focus on racing, not on some girl… but Max had been stubborn.

Colette was everything to him. Colette’s place in his life was not something they were going to argue about it. It was set in stone.

And so, through the years his father had realised that Colette was there to stay.

And he may even had started to respect her place in Max’s life, realised that her presence calmed him and focused him in a way nothing else did…Realised that Colette was good for Max.

And even for his relationship with his father.

Nowadays…they got along better than they ever had and quite frankly they had Colette to thank for that. She had softened his father with her calm, gentle and yet incredibly stubborn nature, unwilling to take any of his bullshit and willing to call him out on it, constantly.

Still, Max wanted to get to Colette. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that everything was going to be okay eventually. He wanted to place a hand on her swollen belly and feel bébé rumble underneath her skin…wanted to see that everything was alright with her and their baby.

“You have a job to do,” his father said drily. “Colette isn’t alone. She has her family with her.”

Max didn't answer, just clenched his jaw.

He knew his father was right, he had a job to do, a race to focus on. But the thought of leaving Colette to deal with that by herself…it didn't sit well with him.

“She’s pregnant,” he hissed. “You want me to care about a race while my pregnant girlfriend is an ocean away, distraught, because our relationship just became public knowledge?!” Max asked sharply.

His father scowled.

“She has her brothers and her mother with her,” he repeated sternly. “I’m sure they can calm her down and make sure she’s taken care of in your absence. But the team needs you to focus on the race. Besides…It has been a long time coming…”

He knew he had a job to do. He had a race to focus on, a team that was depending on him to be at the top of his game. It was his job to win, no matter what was going on at home.

“Fine,” he gritted out, turning around to leave the room. “I’ll focus on the damn race.”

He took a deep breath, trying to push all thoughts of Colette out of his mind. He needed to focus. He needed to push aside his emotions and put his game face on.

He was a professional and he had a job to do.

He could deal with driving. He could deal with managing a respectable 5th place on the grid in Qualifying…he couldn’t deal with the press afterwards.

He was surrounded by reporters, camera flashes and microphones. They were all firing question after question at him, shoving the microphones closer and closer to his face.

"Max, is it true that you and Colette Leclerc are in a relationship?"

Max clenched his jaw, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t want to give them any ammunition, anything they could use to try and dig deeper into his personal life. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the question either.

“I don’t see how my relationship status is relevant to the race,” he snapped back. “I’m here to talk about the race, not my personal life.”

They happily ignored that: “What’s Charles’ reaction to your relationship?”

Max clenched his jaw again, the anger starting to boil over. He hated this, the way they felt like they had the right to just poke and prod at his life like it was some kind of spectacle for them to enjoy.

“I’m not discussing my personal life,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “I’m here to talk about the race.”

But the reporters weren’t interested in the race. They were only interested in the juicy gossip of Max Verstappen dating Colette Leclerc.

More microphones were shoved in his face, more questions were asked, each one more invasive than the last.

“How serious is your relationship with Colette?”

“Are you engaged?”

“What did you think about what she posted on Instagram?“

“I think that Colette’s Instagram account is private for a reason,” he said tightly.

The reporters fell silent for a moment, surprised by the harsh tone. Max knew he was skating on thin ice, but he didn’t care. He was angry, frustrated and upset. He wanted nothing more than to find a quiet corner to just brood and worry about Colette in peace.

“I think that George overreacted about something that was posted on a private Instagram profile that has less than 200 followers. ” Max bit out. “There is a difference between posting something for your friends and family to see and complaining about this to the press when George knew it would be put all over the media.”

The reporters were stunned into silence at his outburst.

Max knew he had crossed a line. He knew he shouldn’t be snapping at them like that, but he couldn’t help it. He was so frustrated and upset, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew he had to reel it in before he said something he would regret even more. “I have already lost all respect for George Russell before, but he has crossed a line when he dragged this into the public sphere,” he said flatly.

The reporters' eyes widened, surprised by the ferocity of his words.

Max knew he was being harsh, but he didn’t care. He was furious, enraged. How dare Russell expose their private life like that?

Max took another deep breath, trying to calm himself. But it was hard. The anger was like a living thing inside him, seething and burning. He wanted to storm over to the Mercedes garage and punch Russell in the face, to wipe that smirk off his face for good. But he knew he couldn’t.

So he stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to keep the anger at bay. Trying to ignore the way the reporters were looking at him with greedy, excited eyes.

He knew they wanted him to explode, to lash out. They wanted him to go off the rails and say something even more incriminating. Something they could use to make more headlines. But Max couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t let them get a rise out of him. So he stood there, trying his best to remain calm and collected.

But it was hard. So goddamn hard.

He could feel the tension in his body, feel the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to do something, to take action and make the situation right. But he didn’t know what he could do, how he could make it right.

He didn’t know how he could fix the mess that had been made, how he could turn back time and undo the damage that had been done.

"Do you have any questions about the race tomorrow? Because otherwise I am done," he asked.

The reporters stood there for a moment, frozen in shock. Then, a few of them started to ask questions about the upcoming race, but Max could tell that their hearts weren’t in it. They were too distracted by his outburst, too eager to keep prodding at the sensitive issue of his relationship with Colette.

The reporters looked at each other for a moment, unsure whether to press him further or not. Max could see the wheels turning in their heads, could see them trying to decide whether they would press the issue or let it go.

Eventually, the more sensible reporters began to ask questions about the race, steering the conversation away from the minefield of his personal life.

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bunny-1111 · 4 months ago

Note

I LOVE UR STORIES

could you write hufflepuff reader meeting theos friends for the first time?

Of course, I can! Thank you for the request. This is my first time writing for anything Hufflepuff, I tried my best. My inbox is always open for suggestions so I can improve and write as specifically as you like!

THEO NOTT X HUFFLEPUFF!READER

2.6k words, fluff.

...

Not edited or reread, likes, reblogs and comments appreciated my loves <3

....

You stood not too far from the entrance of the Slytherin common room, fingers nervously twisting the hem of your jumper as the low hum of conversation reached your ears.

You were here in Theo’s world, at its opening.

When Theodore had asked you to meet his friends, you knew it was important to him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t quite belong. You tugged at the sleeve of your jumper, eyes darting to Theo for reassurance.

You couldn’t stop pacing.

Back and forth across the stretch of the corridor, your fingers twisted in the hem of your jumper, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t seem to stop or even quiet down.

“They’re going to hate me.”

Theo, leaning against the cold stone wall, watched you with a patient expression. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he wore that familiar look of quiet amusement like he was waiting for you to finish running through every possible worst-case scenario before telling you that none would happen.

“Have you finished your marathon of the corridor yet? You’re making me dizzy, baby, you have no reason to freak like this” he teases gently

“I’m not freaking!” You insisted as you spun around to face him, your eyes wide and slightly panicked. “What if they think I’m boring? Or I can’t keep up with conversation o-or too different, too Hufflepuff? What if they look at me and wonder what you’re doing with someone like me?”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Too Hufflepuff?”

“Yes! Too-” you took a breath before continuing, “nice. Or quiet. Or something.” You groaned, running a hand through your hair.

“I mean, have you seen them? Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson? They’re—well, they’re intimidating. They’re the kind of people who could look at you and make you feel two inches tall without even saying a word.”

“They’re not that bad,” Theo said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “And they’re not going to make you feel two inches tall.”

“They might!” you protested

“I am intimidating, darling? I’m one of them, too, remember?” he teased

“You can be, actually, Theodore. It’s different alright” you huff

The nerves bubbled up again as you resumed pacing. “What if they think I’m some—some soft little Hufflepuff who can’t hold her own? What if they think I’m not good enough for you?”

Theo’s expression softened at that, and before you could spiral further, he grabbed your wrist gently to stop you from wearing a hole in the floor. “Hey,” he said softly, pulling you close until you stood between his legs, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“First of all, you are good enough. More than good enough. They’re going to like you because I like you.” His voice was calm and reassuring, like the steadying weight of a blanket when you couldn’t stop overthinking. He balanced you.

You bit your lip, glancing down at your feet. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

Theo tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “You couldn’t embarrass me if you tried.”

You managed a small smile, though your stomach still twisted with nerves. “I just… they’re your friends. I want them to like me.”

Theo’s gaze softened further, his eyes filled with quiet affection as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re going to love you,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beat of your heart. Theo had a way of doing that, making everything feel just a little less terrifying when you were with him.

They were the opposite of everything you were used to. You were soft-spoken, more comfortable with a book in your lap and a cup of tea than bantering or exchanging sharp remarks in a dimly lit common room. You wished in that moment that you had more wit, more anything really.

“Alright,” Theo said, straightening up and giving your hand a final squeeze before leading you down the dim corridor. “Ready?”

“They’re all—” You hesitated, your voice soft. “They’re all so—” Slytherin. You left the word unspoken, but Theo understood. He always did.

“They’re protective of me,” Theo said, and you could hear the affection in his voice. “But that just means they’ll be protective of you, too.” He smiled, the corners of his lips quirking upward in that way that always made your heart flutter. “Besides, I think they’ve been dying to meet the girl who’s turned me into a sap.”

You flushed, the warmth of his teasing easing some of your nerves. “I haven’t turned you into a sap.”

His lips twitched, eyes glinting with amusement. “Whatever you say, Hufflepuff.”

Before you could protest, he led you forward, keeping your hand tightly in his.

“I want you to meet them, too, y-know,” he had said, his voice low and soft, the way it always was when he was coaxing you into something you weren’t sure about. His hand had brushed against yours in the hallway, a quiet reminder of his presence, as if you could ever forget.

And so, here you were, standing just a step behind him, your Hufflepuff yellow standing out in a sea of emerald and silver.

The low-lit room starkly contrasted to the bright, open spaces of the Hufflepuff common room. Here, the walls seemed to lean in a little closer, the air thick with an intimacy you weren’t sure you belonged in.

As soon as you walked in, the room felt even smaller than it had in your imagination. The firelight flickered against the dark green and silver tones, casting long shadows over the walls. A few students lounged on the couches and chairs, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Mattheo leaning against the mantle, Draco perched on one of the armrests beside him. Blaise was already sprawled on the couch with Pansy tucked under his arm, her sharp gaze immediately landing on you.

They all stopped what they were doing when they noticed Theo, and then their eyes flicked to you.

Your nerves spiked an all time high.

“They’re staring at me,” you muttered under your breath to Theo, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure they could hear it.

“They’re just curious,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And they’re waiting for me to introduce you.”

You swallowed hard and tried to keep your smile from trembling as Theo’s hand gave yours a gentle squeeze. “Well we’re here now so you lot can finally stop nagging me about this introduction, and yes I’m looking at you, Zabini” Theo beamed pointing towards Blaise

Blaise was the first to speak, lounging lazily across the couch. “Well, well. Look who finally decided to show off his girl,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as his dark eyes flicked over you. “I was beginning to think you didn’t actually exist, Y/N.”

“Finally!” Enzo grinned, sitting up slightly as he looked you over. “now a face to the name.”

Draco’s cool gaze swept over you, but there was no malice in it, just curiosity. “So, you're the secret he's hidden from us,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. “About time, Nott.”

Theo sat down on one of the empty chairs, and after a moment’s hesitation, you followed suit, sitting beside him. He rested his hand on your knee, a subtle gesture of comfort, and you relaxed slightly under his touch.

Your eyes widened slightly at how they were all so focused on you. You could feel the words bubbling up, all your anxiety about this moment suddenly spilling out before you could stop it.

Enzo, sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinned up at you, his easygoing nature a sharp contrast to the more serious expressions of the others. “You look terrified,” he said with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’re not that bad, promise.”

You stopped yourself, taking a shaky breath. “I’m just a little intimidated.” you almost laughed

There was a beat of silence, and you wanted to melt into the floor, but then Mattheo, who had been watching you with a serious expression, chuckled softly. “You don’t need to be intimidated,” he said, his voice a little rough but not unkind. “We don’t bite.”

“Most of the time,” Blaise added with a teasing grin, earning an elbow from Pansy.

You blinked, surprised by how their teasing wasn’t as sharp or biting as you’d feared. They weren’t making fun of you but trying to make you feel comfortable.

Draco leaned forward slightly, his gaze softening. “You’re with Theo,” he said simply. “That means you’re with us now. No need to be nervous.”

Your breath fluttered at the unexpected warmth in his tone, and something inside you relaxed. Theo’s hand was still in yours, and you could feel him watching you, his quiet presence steadying you.

And just like that, you found yourself smiling, the knot in your stomach loosening as you spoke again, this time with a little more confidence. “I just didn’t know what to expect,” you admitted softly. “But, um, I’m delighted to be here.” you smile

You’ll get used to us,” Blaise said with a shrug, his casual tone almost reassuring. “We’re not all bad.”

Mattheo grinned, his usual dark demeanor lightening as he caught your eye. “Yeah, once you survive a few Quidditch matches with us, you’re practically family.”

Mattheo nodded, his gaze still fixed on you. “So what do you do, Hufflepuff?” he asked, though there was no challenge in his voice. It was a genuine question, his curiosity piqued.

“Oh, well, I love reading,” you said, your voice softening as you began to talk about something familiar. “Mostly novels—fantasy, mysteries, things like that. But I also love writing in my free time, you know, just stories about anything that pops into my head. Theo gets annoyed when I spend too much time on it, I get lost in it sometimes. Minutes become hours, that sort of thing”

As you spoke, the nerves you’d been feeling faded, replaced by the warmth that always filled you when you talked about the things you loved. “Big fan of herbology too; Professor Sprout and I get up to some fascinating stuff.”

You hadn’t noticed that the others had gone quiet, listening intently as your voice grew more animated. Even Draco, usually stoic and guarded, seemed genuinely interested.

Theo’s eyes hadn’t left you the entire time. He watched as you opened up, his expression softening into something so tender it made your heart skip. There was a quiet pride in his gaze, the kind that made you feel safe, like no matter what, he was always going to be there, silently rooting for you.

Mattheo nodded approvingly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah I like herbology too, not your kind, but our first commonish ground” he said, with a grin pulling the ends of his lips

Pansy smirked, leaning forward with her sharp eyes twinkling. “I like to read too, we can go to the library together sometime soon”

You smiled, “Sure.”

Theo’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your hand, and you glanced at him, finding him watching you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with something so deep and warm it made your heart swell.

The conversation picked up again after that, the group falling back into their usual rhythm, though you could feel their occasional glances in your direction. It wasn’t as bad as you had feared, though. Theo’s friends weren’t as intimidating as they seemed at first. Well, maybe Pansy was, but even she had softened after her initial teasing.

Blaise asked you a few questions, mostly harmless ones about classes and Quidditch, and though you were still a little shy, you answered as best as you could. He seemed amused by your nervousness, but not in a cruel way.

Before you knew it, it had reached just before curfew. Theo stood up, his hand still gently wrapped around yours.

"Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though he didn't want to disrupt the calm that had finally settled over you. The soft flicker of firelight caught the warmth in his eyes, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

You said your goodbyes, much more confident now than when you’d arrived. Pansy waved with a smile, and Blaise offered you a wink, his playful teasing from earlier now feeling like a distant memory. Even Draco, in his own subtle way, had seemed to warm to you.

"Don't be a stranger, Hufflepuff," Mattheo called out with a crooked grin as you and Theo approached the door. You gave him a slight nod in return, still a little shy but much more at ease than you'd been at the start of the evening.

Once outside the cool dungeon corridor, Theo’s hand found yours again, pulling you close to his side.

“See?” he said quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “I told you they’d like you.”

You smiled, leaning into him as you walked. “Yeah,” you admitted softly, your heart feeling light for the first time all evening. "I’m not sure 'like' is the word I’d use just yet," you teased lightly. "But they were welcoming. I had a good time tonight."

Theo chuckled, his hand still holding yours as you walked through the dimly lit corridors. "They do like you," he repeated, a little more firmly this time. "But I like you most, and I’m happy you all got along, still wanna keep you for myself, though," he said before he placed what felt like a thousand kisses around your face.

You giggle against his kisses. It wasn’t just what he said, but the quiet confidence in his tone, the way he made you feel so effortlessly secure. "You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?" you said softly, leaning into him a little more.

"Comes with the territory," he quipped, flashing you a brief smile, but there was a sincerity behind his eyes that told you he wasn’t just being flippant. He meant it, every word.

As you reached the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, you turned to face him, not quite ready to say goodbye just yet. Theo leaned against the stone wall, watching you with that familiar, soft gaze, his hands slipping into his pockets as he waited.

"Thank you for tonight" you said quietly, the words feeling like they didn’t quite capture everything you felt.

Theo’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression turning serious for a moment. "You don’t have to thank me," he said, his voice gentle. "I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant making you feel more at home."

You smiled a soft, genuine smile that reached your eyes. "You do, you know. Make me feel at home."

Theo’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, he looked like he was about to say something more, something deeper, but he stopped himself, simply nodding instead. "Good."

"I’m gonna miss you once you get to your dorm you know that?" Theo smiled, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was light, almost invisible, but it sent a warmth spreading through you all the same.

"I miss you already, and you haven’t even left me yet, Teddy," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper, before he crashed his lips to yours

With one last lingering kiss, you turned and gave the password to the barrel that led into your common room. As the door creaked open, you stepped inside but couldn’t resist glancing back at Theo one last time.

He was still there, his eyes glued to you, following you with affection. And as the door swung shut between you, you were both right. You did already miss him, and surprising yourself, you were excited to spend some more time with his friends.

#slytherin #hogwarts #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin boys #harry potter #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott fluff #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theo nott imagine #theo nott fanfic #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x Hufflepuff!reader #theo nott x hufflepuff #theodore nott x fem!reader #theodore nott x y/n

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allthingsfangirl101 · 2 months ago

Text

Not Hangman To Her – Jake "Hangman" Seresin

"We are about to embark on an emergency rescue mission," Maverick said. Instantly, all of the pilots straightened up as he continued. "The U.S.S. Reynolds set off three days ago. Their mission was supposed to be simple but it took a bad turn. After a dogfight, three out of their four pilots were killed."

"What about the fourth?" Rooster asked.

"She's MIA," Maverick sighed. "We are close to her last known coordinates. We've been asked to complete a search and rescue."

"Who's the pilot?" Phoenix asked.

"Her name is Lieutenant Y/F/N Y/L/N."

Hangman's heart jumped into his throat when Maverick put the pilot's picture on the screen. His mind raced as his eyes and thoughts were glued to the girl he met in training.

Y/N? There's no way she would be mixed up in all this. She's the best pilot. Whatever happened was not pilot error. Y/N didn't do anything to put her in this position. She's too. . . perfect to make a mistake that would cost her her life or the lives of her team.

"Hangman."

Hangman jumped when Rooster walked by, kicking his shoe. "You good?"

"I'm fine," Hangman said, clearing his throat.

"You sure?" Payback scoffed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Do you know someone on the U.S.S. Reynolds?" Phoenix asked.

"No," he said a little too quickly. "Why would I know anyone on the U.S.S. Reynolds?"

Before his team could tell he was lying, he left the room. He went back to his bunk and slammed the door shut behind him. Hangman frantically searched through his stuff, and at the very bottom, finally found the picture of him and Y/N in training.

~ • ~

"Keep up, Seresin!" Y/N laughed as she ran ahead of me.

As fast as I pumped my legs, I could never outrun Y/N. Then again, I didn't try to. I couldn't help but like the feeling I got when she bragged about being the better pilot. I loved how happy she got as she excitedly jumped around after beating me. I liked that it made her so happy.

"I win again!" Y/N giggled as she jumped and spun around. "Say it. Say that I am faster than you, Seresin. Say it. Say it. Say it."

I pretended to be angry as she jogged around me and chanted for me to say it. I didn't mind saying it but she expected me to push back, so I did.

"If I say it, will you stop circling me?"

Y/N stopped right in front of me. She smiled cheekily at me as she bounced on her toes. "Did you have something to say to me, Seresin?"

"You are the faster runner, Y/L/N," I recited just for her. "You're better than me."

"And don't you forget it!" She giggled as she went back to jumping up and down. Suddenly, her ankle gave out. I instantly caught her and pulled her close to my chest.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice soft.

"I think so," she said slowly.

"Are you sure?" I asked, starting to panic. "Maybe I should take a look at it. Here, sit down and I will. . ."

"I'm fine, Jake," Y/N chuckled as she patted my shoulder.

She turned away from me and stretched her legs as I overthought the last 2 minutes. The thought of Y/N in pain made me want to do anything I could to make sure she wasn't in it anymore.

I'd do anything to make sure Y/N was happy, healthy, and safe.

~ • ~

Hangman snapped out of the memory, his hands shaking as he held the picture. The idea that Y/N was out there somewhere, lost and alone, filled him with more fear than he knew what to do with.

"She's okay," he mumbled to himself. "She's safe. We are going to find her. We are going to find her. I will find you, Y/N, I promise."

* * * * *

The next few hours went by in a blur for Hangman. The ship changed course toward Y/N's last known location. When they got there, Hangman and a few others took off in their planes and began searching the water for any sign of Y/N or her plane.

As he searched, all Hangman could do was think of the worst-case scenarios.

What if they're looking in the wrong area? What if they find her plane but not her? What if they find her but it's too late? What if they find her and get her back to the ship, but can't save her? What if he never finds her? What if he loses her? What if he loses her before he gets a chance to tell her how he feels?

"We got her!" Rooster yelled, pulling Hangman out of his spiral.

"Well, we got pieces of her plane," Payback sighed.

Hangman quickly turned around and flew to them. He started searching the sea for any sign of the girl he was crazy about. Finally, his eyes landed on something that instantly burned into his brain - Y/N unconscious on a piece of her plane.

"I got her," he said, his voice not nearly loud enough. He cleared his throat and tried again but louder this time. "She's over here!"

"Maverick, we got her! We need a search and rescue party now!"

"Stay there," Maverick instructed through their headsets. "We're sending one to your coordinates now."

Hangman didn't move his plane an inch. Instead, he stayed right where he was and kept a close eye on Y/N's unconscious body. He wanted nothing more than to dive into that water and swim to her. Instead, he hovered close enough to keep an eye on her as the ship sent a medical boat to their location. Hangman watched as the divers pulled her out of the water and safely onto the boat.

Once they had her, Hangman sped back to the ship. He landed and instantly jumped out of his plane and ran as fast as he could to the infirmary. When he got there, they were just bringing her in.

"Y/N?" Hangman panicked. His heart jumped into his throat when he caught a glimpse of her unconscious and pale body.

"Woah, stop," Maverick said as he grabbed Hangman before he could run into the exam room. "The doctors have her. They will do whatever they can to help her."

Hangman looked behind Maverick to see the exam doors close, separating him from the girl of his dreams.

"They will come get us as soon as they have any news about Lieutenant Y/L/N's status," he said with a knowing look in his eyes. Maverick wasn't sure how Hangman and Y/N were connected, but one look at the worry in his eyes and Maverick knew there was something.

"I just want to. . . I wish there was. . ." Hangman stuttered. "I just want to help her, Mav."

"All we can do now is relax and wait," Maverick said gently. Maverick studied him briefly before finally asking, "How well do you know Lieutenant Y/L/N?"

"Y/N and I were in training camp together," Hangman sighed as he sat in a nearby chair. "Some guys in our group were giving her a hard time. I defended her and after that, we got close. We ran together, trained together, studied together. We did everything together until we got our orders to ship out. We were sent to different ships and. . . I haven't talked to her since she shipped out. I tried to keep track of her but. . ."

Maverick waited for him to continue, but Hangman got distracted by his memories. Maverick sat next to him and gently patted his shoulder. "The good news is we found her," Maverick tried to comfort him. "The doctor told me that he thinks we got to her just in time."

"That's good," Hangman said numbly, "I guess."

The rest of their team slowly trickled in as they waited. Two hours later, the doctor finally came out.

"How is she?" Hangman panicked as he jumped up and met the doctor.

"She's okay," the doctor reassured. "She's dehydrated, a little sunburned, and has a slight concussion from the crash. Honestly, she should be way worse. She's extremely lucky."

"So, she's going to be okay?" Hangman double-checked.

"She's going to be fine," he nodded. "All she needs is a couple of good nights' sleep and some healthy meals. She should be back on her feet in a few days. I would, however, recommend that she not return to her ship just yet."

"Why not?" Bob asked.

"Well," the doctor sighed, "if we send her back to her ship, they will most likely put her back in a plane. She may be physically alright, but we have no idea how she is mentally. And that's something we can't check or test until she wakes up."

"Thank you," Maverick said, shaking the doctor's hand before he went back to Y/N.

"Wait," Hangman said, jogging to catch up to the doctor. "Is there. . . I was just wondering. . . I know her and. . . I was hoping. . ."

"She's not awake," the doctor said gently, "but you can sit by her bed until she does."

Hangman took that invitation and instantly went into Y/N's room. When he saw her asleep in the bed, his heart broke. He numbly walked over and collapsed into the chair next to the bed. He scanned her, searching for any injuries. She had a pretty big gash on her forehead, pieces of glass were taken out of her face, and she had bruises across her chest from her harness.

With shaking hands, Hangman reached over and gently grabbed Y/N's hand. "I'm right here, Y/N," he whispered. "And I'm not going anywhere until you wake up."

* * * * *

Y/N was unconscious for the next 14 hours. Hangman stayed by her side the entire time. His crew tried to get him to leave, but he refused. He barely ate and didn't sleep as he waited for her to wake up. He was starting to fall asleep when he felt her hand tighten around his.

"Y/N?" He whispered.

"Jake?" Hangman instantly leaned forward when he heard her beautiful voice whisper his name. "What are we. . . I thought you were. . . Where am I?"

"It's okay," he instantly soothed. "What matters is that you're safe. What do you remember?"

"I don't know," she said, shakily. "It was supposed to be a simple mission. But. . . I was shot down."

Hangman tightened his grip on her hand and scooted closer to her. He watched, his heart breaking as she remembered what happened. When the tears started streaming down her face, he gently caught one with his thumb. He kept his hand on her face as he tried to comfort her.

"Y/N," he said gently, "everything's okay. You're safe, okay? We found you and we are going to take care of you."

"Jake?" Her voice broke. He moved his hand from her face and scooted closer to her.

"Yeah?"

"Were you the one that found me?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I just. . . My whole team was there."

"But you found me," she said, already knowing the answer. "Right?"

Hangman laughed awkwardly as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

"I knew it," she chuckled weakly. Hangman felt his face burn as she smiled at him.

"How'd you know?" He chuckled.

"I like to think I know you pretty well, Seresin."

Hangman smiled when he remembered why she never liked calling him Hangman. She actually hated his callsign. She always said it didn't fit him. And when it came to her, she was right. He'd never hang her out to dry.

"Because," she continued, "You always find me when I'm in trouble."

"I would've searched the entire ocean for you," Hangman mumbled. Y/N's face softened when she saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"Jake," she whispered as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. He didn't fight her as she pulled him down so he was lying next to her.

"I'm really glad you found me," she whispered, cuddling into his chest.

"Me too," he mumbled as he looked down and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. "I promise I won't let you out of my sight this time."

She let out a small giggle causing him to tighten his arms around her.

"I've really missed you, Seresin."

He looked at her and watched her eyes flutter closed. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I've really missed you too, Y/L/N."

#Top Gun #Maverick #Hangman #Jack Seresin #Glen Powell #Glen #Powell #Glen Powell Imagines #Glen Powell Fanfic

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sweetbans29 · 6 months ago

Text

Hesitation - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Carrying a lot of baggage, Caitlin's patience shows you there is hope (based on THIS request)

Warnings: Caitlin with kids (yes in my mind this is a warning)

Word Count: 4.7k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Our girl is too cute when it comes to kids...tell me I'm wrong. This is also set in like 2027...

"Mommy! Come on, Mommy!" Carson yells as he is dragging you through a crowd of people trying to get to the front of the crowd. The grip you have on his hand is frightening, you could feel his little hand begin to slip out of yours.

"Baby, slow down," you say in a rush as your heart begins to race. His hand completely leaves yours as you begin to panic.

"Carson!" You yell pushing past people. You can feel your throat closing as more seconds pass without Carson by your side. You mutter 'excuse me' as you continue to make your way up to the railing. When you reach the railing, Carson is nowhere to be seen.

You eyes frantically scan the crowd, looking for you little boy. When your eyes land on his curly hair you feel your whole body ease. You watch as he turns around and looks at to ground as you approach him.

Running up to him and sweeping him into your arms, you finally are able to breath.

"Sweetie, you can't run away like that," you say as his arms come to wrap around his neck. "Are you okay? You scared me baby." You are too caught up in the moment to see who is standing in front of you.

"I'm sorry Mommy," you little boy says. "But look!" Carson yells as he swings and points at someone. You are still too caught up in making sure he is truly okay. The time you were away from him wasn't enough for something to happen but your mind went to the worst case scenario.

"I would have made sure he got back to you," a voice says and your eyes finally meet.

You stand there speechless as the Fever guard looks at you with a soft smile.

"It's Clarky!" Carson yells in excitement. Caitlin smiles at the nickname coming from the little boy.

"I'm Caitlin," she says as she extends a hand. It is extended for an awkward amount of time before your hand meets her. You laugh at the fact that she introduces herself when the whole arena knows exactly who she is. You introduce yourself and then Carson.

Caitlin's only thought is how soft your hands are. She hears her name being called by Lyss as they are about to be called out.

"Well, it was nice meeting you Caitlin. Good luck," you say.

"Go Clarky!" Carson yells, causing Caitlin to give off a goofy grin. As she walks back to the court she can't help but look back where you were standing. She sees you walking back to your seat, making note of where you were heading, and sees Carson waving at her. Caitlin offers the little boy a wave as his head drops to your shoulder.

Caitlin doesn't know why but her heart swells. She turns away smiling once again as she thinks about how Clarky might be her favorite nickname.

The game is the most exciting of the season yet. You watch as Caitlin and Aliyah lead the Fever to another win in Gainbridge. Carson, like every game, having the time of his life. After the team secures the dub, Carson is asking if he can go back down to the railing.

"You already got her autograph baby," you tell him.

"I wanna give Claky a high-five," Carson says. You lean over to him and adjust his glasses that are slightly crooked and smile at him. How could you say no to his cute little face.

"Okay, but you are staying right by my side," you say as you lead Carson down to the railing next to the team's tunnel.

You put Carson right in front of you as your legs box him in against the railing. He sticks his little arm out and you see his hand rotate back and forth as he waits for the team to walk past. You can't help but smile at your boy as the team begins to walk by.

Lexie is the first to give him a high-five, then followed by KLS. One by one the Fever team heads back, Caitlin being one of the last to make her way through the tunnel.

Caitlin is typically one of the first people back to the locker but she took her time on the court greeting people and secretly scanning the crowd. She takes time looking at the section she saw you make your way back to only to come up empty handed.

When she finally decides to give up, she makes her way back when she stops to sign a few more autographs. Rarely looking up as she makes her way down the line. That is until she is met with a little hand and a familiar nickname.

"Clarky!" Carson yells with a smile that could turn anyones bad day into a good one.

"Carson!" Caitlin yells in equal excitement.

"Mommy! Clarky knows me name," Carson says with pure excitement. You look down at him and rustle his hair.

"She does sweetie," you say.

Caitlin turns to her security and whispers something to them and they give her a nod.

"Hey Carson, how would you like to come and meet the Fever team?" Caitlin says and then looks up at you. "But only if Mommy is okay with that."

Hearing Caitlin refer to you as Mommy has more of an affect on you than you ever realized it would. You know it is completely innocent, but you feel your cheeks heat up.

"Mommy, can I? Can I?" Carson is jumping up and down and pulling at the bottom of your shirt.

"And you would be there too, of course," Caitlin says, her eyes meeting yours. You keep the contact for a second - everything else falling away and you know you are in trouble. You slowly nod and before you know it security is leading you through the tunnel.

Carson's hand is in yours as he swings your connected arms in excitement. Caitlin wants to get in on the action but doesn't want to overstep. That is until Carson's free hand comes and grabs Caitlin's, starting to swing the newly connected pair.

Caitlin can't help but smile as she lets Carson swing away. The trio walks into the locker room and Carson's eyes light up.

"Team, we have some visitors," Caitlin says. Lexie is the first to come up and introduce herself. The team come up one by one saying hi and having little conversations with Carson. You watch as Carson is on cloud nine.

While you are watching Carson, Caitlin is watching you. She watches how you smile any time Carson smiles. She watches how you are never more than an arms length from the little guy. She watches as your hands run through his curls and she wonders what it would be like to have such soft hands run through her own hair.

"Okay baby, I think we should let the team get to their meeting. Can you say thank you to everyone?" You tell Carson and he lets out a giant 'thank you'. In the few minutes you have been there, the whole team has fallen in love with Carson and his quirky personality. He balances the quirkiness and sweetness well.

"I'll walk you out," Caitlin says, not wanting your time to be up just yet.

The three of you walk out and she stops right before heading back out to the court.

"Thank you for this, it was not necessary but I know you have made Carson's whole year," you say to Cait. She smiles at the thought.

"Of course, I love getting to do things like this," Caitlin says as she watches Carson look at the basketball the team had signed and given him. "You have a special one there."

You smile at Caitlin's words, a fact you knew since the day he was born.

"I know, don't know what I did to deserve him," you say looking at Carson with so much love in your eyes.

Caitlin takes the moment to look at you, she feels like she could look at you forever. She looks down but doesn't see a ring on your left hand and decides to be bold.

"I'd like to see you again," Caitlin says, eyes now back to yours.

"Well we are season pass holders, so I am sure Carson will be looking to give you another high-five," you say with a little laugh, thinking back to how a high-five led to meeting the whole team.

"I don't mean at a game," Caitlin says, hoping you would take the hint.

You look at her, head tilting a little but then realizing what she was was saying.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"Just think about it," Caitlin says as she hands you a little piece of paper with her number on it. You hesitate but end up taking it.

Before you can say anything, Carson comes running to hug Caitlin's legs.

Caitlin leans down and gives your boy a real hug.

You say your final thank yous and goodbyes before parting ways.

That night, after putting Carson down, you lay in bed looking at the piece of paper. Your phone is next to you but you haven't moved to pick it up. You just stare at the 10 digits. It was a bad idea. Thinking back to your last relationship and the fact that you are no longer thinking just for yourself, decided it was a bad idea. You put the piece of paper on your side table along with your phone and get some much needed sleep.

You can't take Carson to the next few Fever games which you feel bad about but have plans to go to the next one in a few days.

You have the day off and decide to take Carson to the park. You are watching him on the playground when you feel someone come up and take a seat next to you. You give a quick glance then turn your gaze back to Carson. It isn't until a moment after that you realize it is a familiar face.

"Hi there," a smiling Caitlin Clark says.

"Hi," you say with a polite smile.

"You never called," she says, her eyes never leaving yours.

You turn to get eyes on Carson and also to ease the tension Caitlin is so clearly bringing into the conversation.

"You told me to think about it and I did," you say remembering your thoughts.

"And you didn't call," Caitlin says, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Well, even though I didn't call, you got your wish," you say with a little smile. A smile makes its way to Caitlin and she nods.

"I did," Caitlin says. "And I am glad considering you didn't call."

You roll your eyes as you see Carson run over.

"Clarky!" Carson yells as he practically throws himself at Caitlin.

"Hey little man!" Caitlin says matching his energy.

You sit there and watch as Carson tells Cait all about his imaginary world that he build while being at the park. Before you know it, he is running back to the slides and it is you and Caitlin alone again.

"Carson really likes you," you say to Caitlin as Carson waves back to the two of you, knowing he is really just waving at Cait.

"I like him, he is a sweetheart," she says. "How old is he?"

"He's 5," you say looking at your little boy.

"And how long have you and his dad been together?" Caitlin asks boldly. She doesn't know what it is about you but she has now made several bold moves with you.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You say teasing the girl.

"I would, that's why I asked," she says with a little laugh. You like her laugh.

"Carson's dad and I are not together, haven't been since before Carson made his debut," you say.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says and you shrug.

"What happened?" Caitlin's curiosity getting the better of her.

Before you can answer, Carson is running over telling you he is hungry. Caitlin sees your time coming to an end. She helps as you pack up your stuff.

"It was great seeing you," you tell Caitlin.

"Can Clarky come to lunch with us?" Carson asks. Caitlin gives you a look, waiting to follow your lead.

"Oh Sweetie, I don't think today is a good day," you say and Caitlin hides her disappointment well.

"Next time?" Carson asks.

"Maybe next time baby," you tell him as you ruffle his hair. He nods with a smile.

You look over at Caitlin.

"When do I get to see you again?" Caitlin asks.

"You are a persistent little thing," you say but give the girl props.

"It's all Carson," she says.

"And to think I thought you wanted to see me," you tease.

Caitlin liking the light flirting going on between the two of you, reaches up and brushes a strand of hair that the wind blew across your face. You freeze as she fixes it, then brushes her thumb across your cheek.

"We will be at the game this weekend," you say and Caitlin smiles.

"Another chance for me to ask you out," she says. You shake your head with a little laugh.

"Bye Caitlin," you say as you and Carson make your way home.

"Bye Clarky!" Carson yells with an adorable wave.

"Bye little man!" Caitlin waves back.

"Mommy! Clarky called me lit-tle man," Carson says to you with a giant smile.

Caitlin hears Carson's remark and can't help but watch you until you are out of sight. She makes her way back to her apartment and opens up IG. She heads to her recent search history and clicks on your profile. She scrolls through the photos and clicks on a photo of you and Carson laughing. She looks at how much joy each of you holds and only hopes to be apart of that in the future.

Saturday rolls around and the Fever are back in Gainbridge. You decide to take Carson to the game early to watch the team warm up. You are surprised as each member of the team comes up to give Carson a high-five and say hi to him.

Caitlin comes over and messes up Carson's hair.

"Little man! How would you like to come out onto the court?" Caitlin asks and Carson lights up brighter than a Christmas tree. He nods his head with speed. Caitlin looks at you for approval and you nod. She lifts Carson over the handrail and takes his hand as they jog over to the court.

You watch as Caitlin passes him a ball which he begins to dribble in a circle. She helps him with his form and tells him to pass it to her. Carson throws the ball at Caitlin and she puts it up, draining a three. Carson runs around cheering and you take you phone out to record the moment.

You watch as Caitlin is practically perfect with Carson and it makes you question why you are still hesitant to let Caitlin into your life.

Caitlin brings Carson back over, leaning on the rail after passing Carson back to you. He sit in his seat as you give him an apple sauce.

"That was very sweet," you say.

"You'll have to send me that video," Caitlin says, happy you will finally have a reason to use the number she gave you.

"Okay Clark," you say and she holds her hand up.

"It is Clarky to you," she says with a smile. You return the smile.

"Okay, Clarky," you say. "If you put up 30 points this game, I'll do you one better."

She quirks her eyebrow, intrigued by your proposal.

"Put up 30 and I'll use your number to set up dinner," you say and Caitlin lights up.

"A date?" Caitlin asks with a wide smile on her face.

"Dinner," you clarify, still hesitant but willing.

"Deal, I will take what I can get," she says. You extend your hand to shake on it and Caitlin meets you half way. Her thumb rubbing the soft skin of your hand before letting it go.

Caitlin returns to the court and the game begins. She has 11 in the first quarter and you can see the work she is putting in. You would like to think you played a little part in her dominant start but don't get your hopes up.

Caitlin has her 30 points in the third and you sit in the fact that you are going to be scheduling dinner with the all-star.

The game ends with the Fever win. You don't wait around at the end of the game due to both your hunger and Carson's. Caitlin looks everywhere for the two of you but never finds you - she would be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed.

It is later that evening when Caitlin hears her phone go off.

[Unknown number: Looks like I owe you dinner]

[Clarky: Looks like you do]

[Clarky: What did you have in mind?]

[Carson's Mom: Do you have plans tomorrow?]

[Clarky: I'm all yours]

You send a time and address. When that time rolls around Caitlin is knocking on your door.

She had actually arrived about 15 minutes ago but sat in her car when she realized she would be having dinner at your house. Part of her was glad that you had chosen a private place to have dinner, so private in fact that the typical wave of anxiousness that she felt about leaked media went flying out the window. But the other part of her was nervous, she hasn't dated anyone since her rookie year.

Once the door opens, Caitlin is met with what at first glance seems like no one.

"Clarky!" Carson yells as he immediately hugs her legs.

"Hi," she says with a little laugh and rubs his back.

"You got me flowers???" He says with pure joy. Caitlin looks at the flowers in her hands and nods. As much as she was hoping you would be answering the door, her heart couldn't help but swell at seeing the excitement on Carson's face.

"I did," she says and she hands him the flowers. Carson runs back to what she imagines to be the kitchen yelling 'mommy' several times. Caitlin closes the door and follows.

When Caitlin sees you in the kitchen, she feels like she could fall in love with you.

"Caitlin!" You say with just as much excitement as Carson did when he answered the door.

Yes, Caitlin is indeed falling in love with you.

"Mommy, Clarky got me flowers." Carson says, showing her the bouquet.

"Wow, those are beautiful. I wish someone got me flowers like that," you say. Caitlin holds back her comment of how she chose this specific bouquet because when she saw it, it reminded her of your smile and the joy it brings her.

"Don't worry Mommy, we can share," Carson says as he hands you the bouquet.

"Thank you baby," you say and them in a vase with water.

Caitlin looks around and by the looks of it, there hasn't been much cooking yet.

"So, Caitlin, have you ever made pasta before?" You ask, setting the the vase down on the table.

"I have not, but I have a feeling I am going to tonight," she says playfully.

"You would be correct," you say and hand her an apron.

The three of you spend the night making pasta and enjoying each others company. You show Caitlin how homemade pasta isn't too hard to make and Carson shows her how good he is a kneading the dough. You through a sauce together as Caitlin and Carson watch over the pasta and set the table. Dinner itself was delicious and the three of you sat around the table laughing and talking about all of Carson's favorite things. When it is time for you to put Carson down, he gives Caitlin a big hug and whispers something in her ear. It causes Cait to smile and whisper something back to him before you swoop him up and take him away.

As you are tucking him in, you ask him what he said to Caitlin.

"I told her I wish we could do this forever," Carson days with a tired smile. "I like having Clarky around, she is funny." Carson then rolls over and your rub his back as she drifts to sleep.

As you sit there rubbing Carson's back, you can't help but think about what it would be like if this was the normal. It has been so long since you have done life with someone other than Carson and you were terrified of changing that. Even in your fear, Caitlin has showed you no reason not to trust her but then again so did Carson's dad.

You head back to the kitchen to see Caitlin drying dishes.

"You didn't have to do that," you say taking a stack of plates and putting them away.

"It's a rule of thumb, one person cooks while the other cleans," she says lightly.

"But we all cooked," you say and she shrugs.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Once the dishes are dried and put away, you grab two wine glasses and grab a bottle.

"Care to join me on the porch?" You ask her and she nods with a smile.

"I would love nothing more," she says following you.

The two of you are sitting on the porch siping wine, looking out at the quiet neighborhood you live in.

"I really enjoyed this not date," Caitlin says which earns her a laugh from you.

"I also really enjoyed this not date," you say. The two of you are sitting side by side on your porch swing. Caitlins arm is slightly touching yours but stays at a respectable distance. A comfortable silence sets in again as Caitlin begins to slowly swing the two of you. You lean into her a little which encourages her to bring her arm up, wrapping it around your shoulder as you lean into her more. It's comfortable.

"You scare me," you say breaking the silence.

Caitlin doesn't say anything, but she begins to brush her thumb along your arm.

"Not necessarily you but the idea of you scares me," you say. "Carson's dad left me when he graduated and I was going into my senior year of college. No warning, no explanation, just decided that one day he was done. It was right after I had found out I was pregnant with Carson."

Caitlin squeezes your arm but remains silent, listening to every word you say.

"I decided not to tell him about the pregnancy because I couldn't stand the thought of him only staying because there was a baby involved. He made it clear he was done with me. My parents told me I needed to tell him since he was the father but when I finally mustered up the courage to tell him, he was already dating somebody else. After having Carson, my life changed for the better. I tried dating a little when Carson was a toddler but being a single mom was a big turn off for a lot of people. It was then that I realized I didn't want or need anyone else because it would be me and Carson against the world."

"I have gotten so comfortable with it being just the two of us. I also know how much people cycling in and out of a child's life can affect them. Carson is such a sweet boy that I would do anything and everything I can to make sure he has what he needs. He pushes me to be a better mom and better person. He understands so much and just enjoys life. He is my reason."

"You scare me because Carson is getting comfortable with you. He's getting comfortable with you and it terrifies me because I don't want there to be a day when I have to tell him we won't ever see you again. It is early enough now that he would remember you but not be too attached, but if I do open up our lives and you enter, I am terrified of how that would affect the two of us. Carson has never experienced heartbreak and he shouldn't have to until he is old enough to date for himself."

You shift to look at Caitlin.

"You scare me because of how amazing you are with him. You don't treat him like he's a child but bring lift him up. You scare me because every time I see you with my son I think about what life would be like if that was the normal. You scare me because I have never felt the way I feel with you, you scare me Caitlin."

You are looking in her eyes and she can see the sorrow and love and conflict all swirling in your eyes. Her arm comes down to hold your hand. You look down at her intertwining her fingers with yours.

"Your fears are real and understandable. You aren't just thinking about you and I completely respect that. I am not here to storm into you life and then leave it once I am satisfied. You are not someone I want to be casual with. I don't want a fling. You are someone I want to pursue."

"I know we are just getting to know each other and we are in a fragile state because you are right, you are not just thinking about yourself, you are also thinking about the best little man this world has ever seen. But even in the little time that we have had with one another, I know you are worth pursuing. I don't plan on going anywhere and we will take this as slow as you want."

"Slow is good," you say looking at her in awe. The fear and anxiety you were feeling have has been suffocated by Caitlin's understanding.

"I can do slow," she says.

You look in her eyes and decide to be bold. You remove her hand from yours, taking both of your wine glasses and putting them on the ground. When your eyes meet hers again you bring your hand up to cup her cheek. Leaning in, you kiss her.

Caitlin's hand finds your neck, pulling you in closer to her as your hand falls to her chest. You pull away from her, just long enough to take in her beauty before kissing her again with a little more heat than before. She pulls you onto her, your legs straddling her on the swing.

Her hands massaging your waist as yours find their way to her hair. Cait's fingers slip under the bottom of your shirt touching your warm skin. You pull apart from her, leaving you both breathing heavy.

"I'm sorry," you say as your begin to move off of her but her grip on your hips tightens. She shakes her head no as she pulls you in for a hug. She wraps arms around you as you lean into her. The two of you stay pressed against each other.

When you finally part it is past midnight.

"I had a really great time tonight," Caitlin says.

"I did too," you say with a light smile.

Caitlin pulls you in for a hug and you let her. She kisses the top of your head.

"I know this was a not-date but I was hoping I could take you out on a real date, when you are ready of course," she says and you let out a little laugh.

"I would like that very much," you say and Caitlin smiles. She wants to kiss you again and you can see that in her eyes. You pat her chest and part from her, taking a few steps back. She feels empty without you in her arms.

"Slow Clarky," you say, now standing in the doorframe.

"Llke I said, I can do slow," she says. "But that doesn't mean it won't be hard."

You blow her a kiss and watch her leave. You close your front door and smile.

AN: I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it! Let me know what you think. And as always, thank your for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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nerdy-novelist017 · 7 months ago

Note

Benny x bunny, where she faints and she gets taken to the hospital but he wasn't around when she fainted, so once he gets to the hospital and asks what happened she completely downplays it. Also if you could write him getting the call it would be 10/10.

You guys are so self-indulgent and I love it! This was really fun to write so I hope you enjoy! Benny's really just a stressed little muffin in this

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 2.2k

Summary- See request above.

Bruised Ego (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

The cue ball struck against the green stripes, a significant clack echoing in the clubhouse as he sunk the last ball into the pocket. With a smirk around his cigarette, Benny straightened to his full height, hands sliding down the cue stick smugly.

“That’s two games in a row, kid,” Wahoo groaned as he rounded the pool table to throw another five dollar bill into Benny’s winnings. “You must be lucky.”

“We can see if my luck will make it to an even 3,” Benny chided. He knew it wasn’t luck, Wahoo just sucked at playing pool. The slow afternoon was passed by the few integral members of the Vandals hanging out in the clubhouse, drinking, smoking and razzing each other. There was going to be a race tonight at the club bonfire; some newcomer kid on a piece of shit hand-built bike thought he was going to take on Cal’s racing Harley. Everyone knew he was going to blow him away, but it was still free entertainment and a chance for the club to meet again.

“Yeah fine, but I want the stripes this time.” Wahoo grumbled.

“You know what the definition of insanity is, Wahoo?” Johnny asked over his shoulder. He sat at the bar, counting a few stacks of cash as he and Brucie worked on the finances of this month's dues.

“Well, your boy keeps doin’ all these trick shots,” Wahoo retorted as he began to rack for the new game.

“Of course he is,” Johnny looked over his shoulder, smirking. “I taught ‘em how.”

Johnny turned back to his task at hand before he could see the bird Wahoo flipped him. The phone rang from the back of the bar and Cal went to answer it.

“I’m feeling pretty lucky for this game too,” Benny laughed as he bent forward to position the first shot. Clack, another shot that sent multiple solid colors spiraling around the table.

“Benny,” Cal called, holding the phone up. “It’s for you.”

“Okay,” Benny nodded, chalking the end of his cue stick. It was probably you calling to tell him you missed him. You often called him at least once if he was gone for a few hours, your way of checking on him as you worried about him. He’s tried telling you multiple times that you don’t have to worry about him, he’d be more careful because he had you to come home to every night. You promised you'd stop calling so much but he told you he didn't mind hearing your voice so sometimes, you’d call and ask him to pick up something from the store, too. “Tell her I'll be over in a minute.”

“No,” Cal said slowly, voice tight. “It’s Kathy. She said somethin’s happened to Bunny.”

Benny’s heart stopped. “What?”

“She’s at the hospital–”

Johnny turned to Cal and said something – asked a question maybe – but that was all Benny needed to hear before he tossed the cue stick onto the table and turned for the door. He shoved it open and fished his bike keys out of his pocket as he tossed the rest of his cigarette onto the sidewalk. He set off for his bike, throwing his leg over the seat and flipping the ignition switch.

He brought his foot down onto the kickstart but it only sputtered. He tried it once more. Twice. And Benny felt tears of frustration burning in his eyes as he pictured you laying lifeless in one of those awful hospital beds, every worst case scenario running through his mind. He kicked it again. “Fucking, c’mon!”

“Benny,” Johnny’s calm but assertive voice cut through the ringing in Benny’s ears. “I’ll drive. Get in.”

He nodded, wanting to say thanks, but he found his mouth too dry to speak, jaw clenched too tightly. He followed Johnny to his car, quickly sliding into the passenger seat. Johnny twisted the key in the ignition, threw it into reverse and peeled out as he drove in the direction of the hospital.

“Kathy said she’s okay,” Johnny assured, his voice composed as Benny’s knee bounced up and down with anxiety. “Said she was up and talkin’ to the doctors.”

“I can’t – I can’t lose–” Benny started but his voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of something happening to you.

“She’s okay, Benny,” Johnny repeated, firmer this time. “She’s okay.”

******

Benny practically ran through the hospital waiting room to get to the front desk, skidding to a stop and asking the nearest nurse where you were. Johnny had dropped him off at the door, saying he would find a place to park and be in as soon as he could.

“Benny!” Kathy called out for him down the hall. He abandoned the nurse’s station and approached her.

“What happened? Where is she?” he asked, swallowing hard in an attempt to control his nerves.

“I’ll take you to her,” Kathy touched his arm gently and led him down the hallway of ER rooms. “We were outside workin’ in my garden, ya know? A–and she just fell over, like completely onto her face, didn’t even try to catch herself. She hit her head pretty good when she landed so they’re runnin’ some test.”

Benny nodded, trying to process her words in his jumbled brain. She stopped in front of a room and motioned for him to enter. He took a deep breath, hoping his shaking hands weren’t noticeable and pushed the door open.

And the sight of you nearly crushed his heart. You looked so small sitting on the hospital bed, legs dangling off the side, hand pressing a blue ice pack to the side of your face. When you looked up and noticed him, you sat up straighter and squeaked out, “Benny!”

He was at your side in an instant, hands carefully roaming in an attempt to find anything physically wrong with you besides the obvious head wound. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” you said, taking his hand in your unoccupied one and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s nothing, Benny.”

“It wasn’t nothin’,” Kathy spoke up from the doorway, nervously glancing between you two. “You were out for a good couple minutes. Scared the livin’ shit outta me. ”

You shook your head, shooting her an exasperated look around Benny’s shoulder. “I told you not to call him.”

“Bullshit,” Benny interjected. “You get taken to the hospital and you think I shouldn’t know ‘bout it?”

“I’m fine, really,” you said with a sigh and you looked so . . . tired. Benny wanted to scoop you up in his arms and take you home in that instant. “The doctor said I just got overheated. You know how hot it’s been.”

Benny’s hand gently encased yours holding the ice pack, pulling it away so he could inspect the damage. He grimaced at the sight of the nasty purple and red bruise forming around your right brow bone and down to your eye socket. Despite his best efforts, his hands still shook as he pulled away. He’d seen his fair share of bruising – most of the time it was from his own reflection in the mirror after a fight. But the sight of the injury coloring your beautiful skin. . . it made his stomach flip. You were so frail, so breakable and the realization squeezed at Benny’s heart. He was supposed to protect you and if he could, he��d shrink you down and put you in his pocket, safe and secure. He looked over his shoulder to Kathy, “Would you. . . would you let Johnny know what’s goin’ on?”

“Sure thing,” she answered and disappeared out the door.

Silence fell heavy between you and Benny desperately searched for something to say to make you smile again, to make you blush . . . but his heart still pounded too hard and his stomach still churned from the uncertainty to come up with anything. So he did the only thing he could in that moment; He pulled you into a tight hug, hand cradling the back of your neck as he fought back that awful sting of tears again.

“I’m okay, Benny.” Your voice was muffled against his chest. “I promise.”

“You can’t–” his voice broke and he had to swallow thickly before continuing. “You can’t scare me like that, Bunny.”

“I didn’t mean to–”

“I just– I just love you so much,” he breathed out as he pulled you impossibly closer.

“I know you do,” you whispered gently and he couldn’t understand how you were always so strong, so resilient. “I love you too, Benny.”

You gave him a moment to compose himself, to slow his erratic heartbeat and melt into your sweet touch before you pulled back, lowering the ice pack and said, “There is something that will make me feel better.”

“What’s that?” he asked, heart softening at your brazen smile.

“A kiss.”

“Is that so?” His gaze fluttered over your angelic face, still beautiful despite the bruise.

“Mhhm, it’s what the doctor ordered, actually.” Your grin grew wider as he put both hands on the sides of your face, thumbs sliding gently along your jaw. He kissed you softly, lips barely ghosting over yours in fear of hurting you as if you would crumble beneath his touch. That wasn’t good enough for you apparently as you leaned forward to chase him before he could pull away completely. Your hands came up to hold his in place over your face and you returned his kiss with such vehemence that Benny’s brows pinched together in enthrallment.

The distinct clearing of a throat broke you both apart and Benny caught sight of the doctor standing in the doorway, hand rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. You blushed and looked away as the doctor entered, apologizing for the intrusion.

“We got the test results back,” he said and Benny straightened, feeling his heart rate pick up again. “Bad news is we figure you passed out due to heatstroke. With this severe heat wave hitting Chicago, we’ve had multiple patients come in from it so don’t feel bad. Good news is you were able to get here quick enough that we could get your core temperature brought down before any damage was done. As far as your head, you don’t appear to have a concussion, but you will have a pretty nasty bruise for a while.”

“So . . . she’s okay?” Benny asked, hand finding the top of your thigh to ground him.

The doctor nodded. “Yeah she’ll be just fine as long as she takes it easy for the rest of the day. No more gardening in this weather, okay?”

You giggled abashedly at his joke and Benny breathed a sigh of relief.

The doctor continued, “I’ll have the nurse bring around another ice pack for you to take home before we start your paperwork to leave.”

Benny held your hand as he stood beside your bed faithfully while they worked on getting you discharged of the hospital. You were okay, he repeated in his head like a chant. You were okay and that made him okay.

“You know since I'm gettin' out of here early we’ll still be able to go to the race tonight,” you pointed out with a small smile as you nudged him with your foot to get his attention.

“No, I’m taking you home where you’re going to lay your pretty little butt down in bed for the rest of the day,” he said firmly with a shake of his head.

“I don’t want you to miss Cal’s race!” you said as you tugged on his hand gently, lip pouting.

“I don’t care about the race,” he replied flippantly.

“Well, I do! Plus I want to see the girls, too. C’mon, please Benny?”

He shook his head, trying to remain firm in his decision even as you gave him your irresistible puppy eyes.

“Please Bennyyyy?” you dragged out his name in that adorable way you did when you wanted something. “I’ll sit in the shade and I’ll let you know if I’m not feeling good, I promise.”

He contemplated it. The race wasn't until later in the evening and the temperature should be cooler, but still. . . “You’ll go home and lay in bed until then?”

You nodded, holding your pinky out to him in a silent promise.

Unable to deny you of anything, he reluctantly looped his pinky with yours. “Fine, but we’re only stayin’ for the race. No bonfire afterwards.”

You beamed at him and he knew you were proud of yourself for once again swaying him with your charms.

******

Hours later, as the picnic was just getting into full swing, Johnny couldn’t hide the smile on his face as Benny pulled up with you on the back of his bike. Though surprised, he was sure you had roped the kid into coming, you seemed to be able to get away with just about anything when it came to Benny. He shook his head, as he watched Benny help you off and the two of you approached his picnic table filled with the core members of the Vandals, noting how he seemed to hold you a little tighter as if you were bound to trip and fall.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be takin’ it easy?” he badgered as he stood to give you a hug.

“And miss out on a race?” you grinned as you gave him a quick hug before looping your arm back through Benny's. “Never.”

“Well, it’s good to see you’re feelin’ better, kid,” he said honestly.

Funny Sonny caught sight of the reunion and hollered as he approached. “Hey Bunny, I’d hate to see the other guy!”

You blushed as you remembered the bruise forming on your face and before you could say anything, Benny spoke up from beside you. “Yeah, she got ‘em good with her mean right hook.”

You grinned at him as Sonny laughed. “Hell yeah! Bunny’s a fighter now, boys!”

They cheered and you rolled your eyes playful as you leaned up on your tippy-toes to plant a kiss on Benny’s cheek.

-Tag List-

@imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @eugene-emt-roe @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @charmingballoon @sunnbib @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @twisteduniverse5 @justsomewritingblog @nhlfs @dudii4love @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @butler-trouble @autumnleaves1991-blog @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters

#the taglist is getting so long omg #might have to switch to post notifications instead #angst with a happy ending #benny x bunny #benny cross #austin butler #the bikeriders #austin butler x reader #benny cross x reader #benny x reader #imagine #fluff #johnny davis #tom hardy #jodie comer #motorcycle #austin butler fandom #the bikeriders fanfiction #fanfic

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gothcsz · 2 months ago

Text

part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital.

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—” You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex.

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on.

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in.

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them.

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you.

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.”

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor.

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good.

You should have listened to him.

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting.

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying.

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out.

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask, barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening.

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

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#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfic #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fic #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña narcos

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gloomskulls · 1 month ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after finding the courage and the balls to ask you out, Peter couldn't help but test the waters.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNINGS ୨୧ dub/non consensual (reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

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siddyyyyyyyy · 1 month ago

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Hello! How are you? Can I lose for a reader with chronic leg pain? After an accident they chose not to amputate their leg and they feel very strong pain and were recommended by doctors to use marijuana and the reader kind of doesn't tell Jason? 🌸🌸🌸🌸

You smoke?

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 0.6 K summary: Jason finds you smoking weed for medical purposes warnings: use of weeds, fluff, mentions of chronic pain a/n: I'm good, thank you!!! I won't put any pretty pictures in here because I'm afraid of it getting taken down😭😭😭but the divider is really pretty (here): @animatedglittergraphics-n-more, also sorry this came out so short, enjoy!!

After moving in with Jason, you didn‘t think of telling him about the weed. It was necessary, so you feel sure that he won‘t mind if you get to tell him one day. As usual, you build a joint on a peaceful evening, and settle yourself on the balcony. You watch as the busy streets of Gotham fill with hundreds of cars, passing by under your balcony and create a rather relaxing atmosphere. Finally, you take a drag and exhale slowly, waiting for the drug to work.

The first drag feels like a relief, feeling light tingles across your body for a moment before you relax into the chair. You take the moment to calm down and close your eyes, to forget about everything around you. The rough back pain that was lingering on you, slowly fades into the background, finally starting to enjoy the light breeze around you.

It works, after a few more drags, however you jump up at the big figure beside you, not having noticed it before. You act on instinct and throw the lit joint at it, seeing how it falls to the floor after hitting its chest.

Jason keeps his eyes on you behind his mask, staying as still as possible. He doesn‘t know how to react, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind, many of them being possible worst case scenarios.

Before he could think of something to say, you exhale and speak up, realising who it is.

»Jesus, don‘t scare me like that… I was just taking some drags, no need to give me a bad trip.« You mumble out and get off the chair with a low groan, suddenly not as relaxed as before. Jason keeps standing in front of you, finally gathering his thoughts.

»Since when… why do you smoke that?«

You pay attention to him, realising you still haven‘t told him about it. Sure, he knows all about your chronic back pain and how it came to that, but he doesn‘t seem to connect the dots.

So, you try to explain as best as you can, while being high.

»I, uh… you know, my back? The pain? I have to… to smoke because of that. Doctor told me, I have two doctors, one to give advice for the best weed and the other—«

»The best weed? What, is he a drug dealer or something?« Jason interrupts, gently guiding you back inside with his hand on your lower back.

His retort made you chuckle, resulting into a brief giggle-fit before being serious again.

»No… maybe. I don‘t know, but it works. Really, I‘m not joking, I tried to tell you before, but… never came to that.« You shrug and slowly sit down on the couch. He follows suit.

»And how long have you been doing this? How many times a week?«

You think briefly before answering him, easing his nerves at the same time.

»Only when the pain becomes unbereable, like now. So… probably, like, about every three months. Once, I mean.« He nods in thought and sighs out in relief, finally taking his mask off after hearing your reply. Jason was genuinenly afraid this was something you struggled with and was a serious problem he somehow didn‘t take notice of before.

Seems like there‘s nothing to worry about after all. He carries you to bed and gets out of his suit before joining you in bed and caressing his hands over your back soothingly. You end up falling asleep in no time, curled up against his chest and dreaming about whatever your high brain comes up with.

a/n: i think he would be really scared when he catches you smoking, but he is an understanding man, so there's nothing much to worry about. maybe he'll try to sneak in 'healthier' methods whenever you're in pain

←MASTERLIST

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httpvomitello · 3 months ago

Note

your writing is amazing! Do you mind if I make a request?

So, reader and the guys are already in a relationship and have been for a good few years now, but one day, reader stops answering phone calls and texts for afew days. Worried, the guys come to their apartment to find them throwing up with a positive pregnancy test on the side of the sink, only to find out reader is absolutely terrified of their reaction. How would they react?

No pressure whatsoever to do this ask, I still love your writing! Have a good day

Awwn, reading such nice comments makes me very happy. Hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Leo was used to you being independent. He admired that about you

How you handled your life and problems with confidence

But after two days of silence, unanswered calls, and no texts, his patience wore thin

He’d tried to convince himself that you just needed space, but as a third day passed without a single word, he couldn’t wait any longer

Leo made his way to your apartment, a knot of anxiety twisting in his gut

He didn’t want to overreact, but something about the silence felt wrong

You never went off the grid like this

He knocked on your window gently at first. “(Y/N)?” he called out

When there was no response, he knocked harder

Still nothing

He pressed his ear to the window, listening for any sound inside, and when he heard a faint noise, like retching, his heart leapt into his throat

He hurried through the apartment, following the sounds from the bathroom

Pushing the door open, he found you hunched over the toilet, pale and trembling

“(Y/N)!” he exclaimed, rushing over to you

As Leo knelt beside you, his eyes caught something on the sink: a small, plastic stick with two pink lines

A Pregnancy Test

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly realized what it meant. “Oh… oh no…”

You glanced up at him, tears brimming in your eyes. “Leo… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m so scared…”

Leo’s heart broke seeing you like this

He knelt beside you, placing a steady hand on your back, his touch firm but gentle. “(Y/N)...” he called softly. “You don’t have to do this alone. I'm here now, my love.”

Despite the panic rising in his chest, Leo kept his voice steady

He couldn’t let his own fear show, not now

You needed him, and he wasn’t going to let you face this without him.

Raph hated waiting

When you stopped answering his texts, he tried to play it cool, telling himself you’d get back to him when you could

But as the hours turned into days, his patience evaporated

By day three, he was convinced something was wrong

He wasn’t one to sit back when the people he cared about were in trouble, so he took matters into his own hands

Raph stomped over to your apartment, his mind racing. What if something bad happened to you? What if you were hurt? His thoughts spiraled into worst-case scenarios as he banged on your door

“(Y/N)!” he called, his voice rough with worry

When there was no response, he didn’t hesitate

He forced the door open and stormed inside, searching for any sign of you

The faint sound of you throwing up in the bathroom was all he needed to hear before he rushed in

He found you crouched over the toilet, your body shaking as you threw up

His heart dropped at the sight, but before he could say anything, his eyes landed on the small plastic stick on the sink

His whole world seemed to tilt for a second as he processed what it was

“Babe…” he muttered, his voice suddenly soft. “Is that what I think it is?”

You turned to look at him, tears rolling down your cheeks as you nodded. “I didn’t know how to tell you...” you whispered

Raph felt his chest tighten as he knelt down beside you

He wasn’t good with emotions, but seeing you so vulnerable made something click inside him

He gently pulled you into his arms, his touch tender

“Hey, don’t cry,” he murmured. “We’ll figure this out. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You ain’t gotta do this alone, okay?”

Donnie was practical, rational

He didn’t panic easily, but after three days of unanswered texts and no response to his calls, even he started to worry

He ran through every logical explanation in his mind

Maybe you were busy, maybe your phone died, but none of it sat right with him

His concern finally pushed him to action

He made his way to your apartment, his heart racing with a mix of worry and curiosity

When he knocked on your door, there was no answer

He called your name softly, but the silence that greeted him made his stomach twist

He let himself in, hoping to find you safe and well

But when he heard the sound of you crying in the bathroom, his concern shot through the roof

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Donnie’s voice was filled with worry as he rushed into the bathroom

There you were, hunched over the toilet, pale and shaky

Before he could even reach out to help, his eyes fell on a small object sitting on the sink

A positive pregnancy test

His brain momentarily short-circuited as he stared at it, trying to process what it meant. “Are you…?” He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper

You turned your tear-filled eyes to him, your voice trembling. “I’m pregnant, Donnie… and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Donnie’s mind tried to piece it all together, but nothing in his years of scientific training had prepared him for this

He never thought something like this would be possible to happen

He swallowed hard, moving closer to you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said softly. “We will do our best to take care of this baby. ”

Mikey wasn’t usually the type to worry

He tried to keep things light, stay positive

But when you stopped answering his texts, he couldn’t help but feel like something was off

Five days without a word from you? That wasn’t like you at all

At first, he sent funny memes and jokes, hoping to get a response, but when nothing came back, his anxiety bubbled up

He didn’t waste any more time, he went straight to your house to make sure everything was okay

When he knocked on your window, there was no answer, so he let himself in, calling out for you. “Babe? Where you at?

But there was no response

The sound of you in the bathroom was all he needed to hear

“Angelcakes? You okay?” he asked as he peeked into the bathroom, only to find you hunched over the toilet

Mikey rushed to your side, worry etched all over his face

But then he saw it, the positive pregnancy test sitting on the sink

His eyes widened, and his brain struggled to catch up. “Wait… are you…?”

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m so scared, Mikey....”

Mikey’s heart practically broke at the sight of you so scared and vulnerable

Without missing a beat, he knelt beside you and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly

“Babe, you don’t have to be scared,” he said, his voice full of warmth and reassurance. “We got this. We’re gonna be the best parents ever, I promise!”

His infectious optimism made you feel just a little bit better, and even though you were still scared, you couldn’t help but smile through your tears. “Really?”

“Really,” he grinned. “I’m gonna teach our little dude... uh, or dudette, all my best moves!”

#reader #x reader #y/n #tmnt #tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader #f!reader #tmnt bayverse #bayverse leonardo #bayverse mikey #bayverse donnie #bayverse raphael #x pregnant reader

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rafesapologist · 3 months ago

Text

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part seventeen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

author's note: this series has been a long time coming and i am so happy it has taken off the way it has. i appreciate all the love and support you all have given this story, but we have reached the end. i do not want to overkill this story or beat a dead horse, because the longer it goes on it leaves room for more to happen than i planned for. i plan on pursuing other stories from here but this one will always have my heart because it was my first ever on tumblr. <3

Sofia’s admission hit Rafe like ice water on a fevered brow, jolting him out of his haze with a suddenness that nearly knocked the air from his lungs. The dim, pulsing lights of the club blurred as he shoved through the writhing crowd, his mind teetering on the edge of panic. Every step felt like wading through quicksand, the noise of laughing strangers and the thrum of bass only deepening his disorientation. His chest tightened, his breaths coming short and rapid as the realization of your danger tunneled his vision, choking his throat with an unfamiliar dread.

By the time Rafe burst through the doors and into the humid night air, he was gasping. His hands gripped his knees, his body doubled over as he fought for control, the sharp sting of fear pumping through his veins like a poison. The streetlights cast jagged shadows across the cracked pavement beneath him, their orange glow flickering with every unsteady breath he drew. His heart hammered against his ribs as if it were trying to tear free, every pulse of it screaming a warning that reverberated through his entire being.

His thoughts came in fragmented bursts, spiraling—she’s in danger—a relentless echo. He pictured you, vulnerable, caught in some trap his father had set. His mind spun with worst-case scenarios, each more terrifying than the last, while the terror of losing you drove him to the brink of collapse. A wave of nausea hit him, but he forced it back, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing down the panic threatening to unravel him.

He couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not like this.

Standing upright, Rafe ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat surging beneath his skin. The world outside the club seemed to spin in slow motion, people passing by oblivious to the storm raging within him. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus, adrenaline igniting something feral and primal in his chest. He knew only one thing: he had to find you, and there wasn’t a second to waste.

Rafe’s eyes darted wildly around the street as he paced, his mind racing with chaotic thoughts that he struggled to piece together. His fingers raked through his dirty blond hair, pulling at the strands in frustration, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. Every muscle in his body was tight with anxiety, and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. He had to calm down—he knew that. But the fear gnawed at him, relentless, pulling him deeper into a spiral.

Get it together. Focus. He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rush of his own breathing. The thought of you being in danger sent another wave of panic through him, but he forced himself to push it down. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. He couldn’t afford to. Not with you on the line.

The idea of getting in his truck crossed his mind, but the very notion of driving in the state he was in felt like a death sentence. His body still buzzed with the remnants of coke and alcohol, the drugs pulsing through his bloodstream, clouding his judgment. If he got behind the wheel now, it would be reckless, maybe even fatal. And then there was Topper—no help at all, slumped somewhere back in the club, likely even more wasted than Rafe was. No, he was on his own. Or at least he thought he was.

Then it hit him like a bolt of clarity: Barry.

He grimaced at the thought, but desperation left him with no other choice. Barry was the last person he wanted to rely on, the kind of person you only called when things were far past the point of no return. But that’s exactly where he was now—past the point of no return. If anyone had the connections, the means to track down his father or whatever shady plot Ward had concocted, it would be Barry.

Rafe’s phone trembled in his hand as he pulled it out of his pocket, the screen blurry as he scrolled through his contacts. His fingers hesitated above Barry’s name, but he took a breath and tapped the call button. The dial tone seemed to stretch on forever, each ring tightening the knot of anxiety in his stomach.

Finally, a gravelly voice answered on the other end. “Rafe? The hell you callin’ me for at this hour?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his voice strained as he spoke. “I need your help, Barry. It’s… it’s about my dad. And it’s about her.”

There was a pause on the line, a low chuckle from Barry that sent a chill down Rafe’s spine. “This better be worth my time, Cameron. You know how I work.”

“I know,” Rafe gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the situation settle even heavier on his shoulders. “Just meet me at the docks. I’ll explain everything.”

With that, he hung up, his jaw clenched as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. His hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t just from fear—it was anger. Anger at his father, anger at Sofia, anger at the world for putting you in this mess.

Rafe’s feet pounded against the pavement, the night air sharp against his flushed skin. His vision tunneled once again, the world around him reduced to nothing but a blur of shadows and streetlights. His breath came in ragged gasps, the sting of adrenaline burning in his lungs, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. His legs carried him forward with reckless speed, driven by the sheer force of desperation.

The dock wasn’t far, but it felt like miles as he sprinted down the road, heart hammering in his chest. Maybe it was the cocktail of substances still coursing through his veins, or maybe it was the raw fear gnawing at him, but he ran like his life depended on it.

No, not his life—yours.

Every thought, every heartbeat, was consumed by the image of you in danger, your face flashing before his eyes as he pushed himself harder. The world around him felt surreal, distorted, like a fever dream where time slowed and sped up at random. The night sky seemed to tilt above him, the ground swaying beneath his feet, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t.

The familiar smell of saltwater hit his nose as he neared the dock, the wooden structure looming ahead, dimly lit by a few flickering lamps. His steps faltered for just a second as he spotted a figure leaning against one of the posts, the outline unmistakable even from a distance. Barry.

Rafe forced himself to slow down, his heart still racing as he approached. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice, but there was no turning back now. He needed answers. He needed you safe.

Barry lifted his head as Rafe came into view, his smirk visible even in the low light. “You look like shit, Cameron.”

Rafe's words came out in a frantic rush, barely coherent as his panic clawed its way to the surface. His breath was uneven, and his eyes, wild with desperation, darted toward Barry with an intensity that made it clear how urgent this was. “We have to find Y/N. I need you to help me find her, please, I—”

Barry narrowed his eyes, exhaling another lazy stream of smoke, clearly enjoying watching Rafe unravel. "Whoa, slow down," he said, his voice thick with amusement, like he was savoring Rafe's desperation. "You're all worked up for what? A girl? I thought you'd grown a spine by now."

Rafe took a step closer, fists clenched at his sides, his voice strained as he tried to steady himself. “This isn’t a joke, Barry. My dad’s involved. Sofia’s involved. They’re coming after her, and I can’t—” his voice broke for a moment, "I can’t let them hurt her."

Barry tilted his head, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding it under his heel. “Ward’s always got his hands in some deep shit, doesn’t he?” His smirk widened, but his eyes sharpened with interest. “So, you’re saying there’s trouble. Sounds like a dangerous game, Rafe. How do I know your daddy won't turn around and fuck me over next?"

Rafe’s jaw tightened as Barry’s smirk deepened, the question lingering like a taunt. He knew Barry wasn’t the type to jump into anything without weighing the risks—especially when it involved the Camerons. Taking a shaky breath, Rafe tried to steady himself, to present some semblance of control. "Because I’ll make sure it doesn’t. This is on me, not you. I just need your help."

Barry let out a low chuckle, amused by Rafe's desperation. "Oh, so now you're the hero? What makes you think you can keep me out of the crossfire when your whole family’s knee-deep in it?"

Rafe ran a trembling hand through his dirty blond hair, feeling the weight of the substances in his system pulling him down. "You won't be on the radar. My dad won’t even know you're involved. This is between me and him. Sofia’s already in, so you’ve got leverage."

Barry’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as he considered the offer. His fingers drummed against his side, eyes studying Rafe. “Leverage, huh? Sounds like you’re neck-deep in something nasty. And if it backfires...”

“It won’t,” Rafe interrupted, his voice sharp and pleading all at once. "I’ll make sure it doesn’t."

Barry stared him down for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally, he flicked a glance at Rafe, sizing him up. “Alright,” he said, his voice slow, calculating. “But if this does turn sideways, I’ll bury you before Ward even gets a chance. You hear me?”

Rafe nodded quickly, the words slicing through his panic. "Yeah, I hear you. Just help me find her."

"Well alright," Barry sighed almost in defeat, his shoulders slumping as he turned his heel, motioning Rafe to follow, "let's get goin'."

Rafe let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his pulse still racing but with a flicker of hope now threaded through the fear. He quickly followed Barry to the beat-up truck, the gravel crunching under their feet. The night air felt heavy, thick with the tension of what they were about to do.

Barry opened the driver’s side door, glancing back at Rafe with a half-smirk. “Get in. And try not to puke in my truck, yeah?”

Rafe ignored the jab, climbing into the passenger seat as Barry started the engine. The old truck roared to life, and they took off down the road, the headlights slicing through the dark.

As they sped away from the dock, the inside of the truck was filled with the low hum of the engine and the rattling of loose parts. Rafe stared out the window, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the knot in his stomach tightening with every mile. He couldn’t stop imagining what his father might do, or what Sofia’s resentment might lead to.

Barry, sensing Rafe’s silence, glanced over, his eyes flicking between the road and his passenger. “So, what exactly does your daddy have planned this time?” he asked, voice casual, but there was a sharpness behind it.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he replayed the chaotic events of the past few days. Ward’s betrayal, Sofia’s confession, the looming threat that seemed to press down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know all the details,” Rafe finally muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “But it’s bad. Real bad.”

Barry raised an eyebrow, his hands steady on the wheel as they sped down the dimly lit road. “Define ‘bad,’ Rafe. You’re talkin’ like your old man’s about to blow up the island or somethin’.”

Rafe shook his head, running his hand through his disheveled hair. “He put a hit out on her. On y/n.” His voice cracked slightly, as if saying it out loud made the threat even more real. “He thinks she’s tied up with John B and the Pogues, thinks she’s some kind of liability. But she’s not, Barry. She’s innocent.”

Barry let out a low whistle, shaking his head slowly. “Ward Cameron never could tell the difference between business and personal, could he?”

The truck hit a bump in the road, but neither of them flinched. The silence stretched, the gravity of the situation settling between them like a storm cloud.

“So, you’re up against Ward now,” Barry said, glancing sideways at Rafe again. “Man, you’ve got balls. Most people would’ve run for the hills by now.”

“I’m not running,” Rafe snapped, his anger flaring up again. “I’m not letting him ruin her life like he’s ruined mine.”

Barry grinned, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that familiar, crooked way. “Alright, man. I’m in. But just know, whatever comes next—it’s gonna get ugly.”

Barry's truck roared down the deserted streets, the engine's growl a constant, urgent reminder of the time slipping away. Rafe sat in the passenger seat, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat, knuckles white and strained. The road stretched out before them like an unending ribbon of asphalt, the dim streetlights casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to dance with his growing panic.

Every minute felt like an eternity as they drove through familiar yet alien landscapes. They passed by the docks, the bars, and the places you’d once frequented. Rafe's eyes darted around, desperately scanning for any sign of you, but the night remained stubbornly indifferent. The neon signs of local bars blurred into a chaotic smear of color, each one a reminder of how many places he had searched and how many hours had slipped by.

“Damn it!” Rafe yelled, his voice cracking with frustration. He punched the dashboard with a force that made the truck’s interior shudder but didn’t quite break anything. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he tried to keep himself calm, but the fear that something terrible might happen to you was relentless.

Barry's eyes flickered over to Rafe, a mix of concern and impatience etched on his face. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, the knuckles on his hands turning a stark white. ��Look, we’ve been driving around for half an hour, hitting all your usual spots. There’s no sign of her,” Barry said, his voice steady but edged with frustration. He glanced at Rafe, who was staring out the window with a look of desolation.

Barry’s gaze shifted back to the road, then to Rafe. “Alright, look, why don’t we just show up at John B’s and ask ‘em where she’s at? I mean, it won’t hurt to check. We might find something there.”

Defeat etched over Rafe's features as he slumped down into the passenger's seat, momentarily peering over at Barry as if he was contemplating his suggestion. Everywhere else seemed to be a bust, therefor it was the only option left for him to go. "Alright," he sighed, throwing his hands up, "let's go."

Barry's eyes softened with a hint of empathy as he observed Rafe's expression. The stark contrast between Rafe's usually confident demeanor and the current look of defeat was jarring. Without a word, Barry turned the truck around, the vehicle's headlights slicing through the night, leading them back toward familiar terrain.

The road felt endless under the truck’s tires, each mile stretching out with agonizing slowness. The lights of bars and shops, once vibrant and promising, now seemed to mock Rafe’s anxiety with their indifferent glow. He sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the window, eyes following the blur of passing streetlights and shadows.

As they approached the chateau, Rafe’s mind raced. The enormity of the situation pressed down on him, the fear for your safety overwhelming every other thought. Barry parked the truck outside John B’s place, the vehicle’s engine rumbling to a stop. The street was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of a late-night radio.

Rafe glanced over at Barry, his face drawn and weary. “Thanks for doing this,” he said, his voice heavy with gratitude and exhaustion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before they approached the front door.

Barry nodded, giving Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping out of the truck. They walked up the path to the house, the porch light casting long shadows that danced with their footsteps. The door loomed ahead, a barrier to answers and perhaps, hope.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked. The sound of the knuckles hitting the wood was sharp and clear, breaking the silence of the night. The minutes felt like hours as they waited, the anticipation almost unbearable. Rafe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind replaying every possible scenario.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a groggy John B with disheveled hair and a puzzled expression. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Rafe and Barry standing on the doorstep.

“Rafe?” John B’s voice was a mix of confusion and concern. "What are you doing here?"

Rafe’s voice trembled with urgency as he stepped into John B’s living room, his eyes scanning the space frantically. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you. “I need to find y/n. Is she here?” he asked, his voice laced with desperation and a tinge of fear.

John B’s expression shifted from surprise to a mixture of concern and secrecy. “No, she’s not here.” He swallowed thickly, his gaze darting away briefly as if grappling with something unspoken. His demeanor was tense, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing nature.

Rafe’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean? Where is she? John B, I need to know.”

John B hesitated, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. “Look, Rafe, there’s more to this than you realize. We’re trying to protect her. Ward’s threats— they’re serious. If we don’t keep her hidden, things could get worse.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, panic and anger mixing in his gaze. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re hiding her? Why wouldn’t you tell me? She’s in danger, and I need to find her!”

John B’s face hardened with resolve. “We’re hiding her because it’s the safest place for her right now. Ward’s dangerous, and if he gets a whiff of where she is, it could end badly. I know you’re desperate, but honestly, you’re the last person who should see her right now. You’re the reason she and all of us are in this.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t you dare say I did this to her.” His voice cracked with a mixture of outrage and anguish.

John B’s expression softened for a moment, but his resolve remained firm. “He’s your dad, Rafe.”

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting through the tension like a knife. Rafe’s face contorted with a mix of pain and frustration. “What does that have to do with anything? You think I’m just going to sit back and let him hurt her? I don’t care who he is—he’s not going to touch her.”

John B’s gaze was steady, though there was an undercurrent of sorrow. “It’s not about who he is. It’s about what he’s capable of. He’s dangerous, and you’re right in the middle of it. That makes it harder for us to protect her if you’re involved.”

Rafe’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait? I can’t do that. I need to find her.”

John B stepped closer, his tone firm yet sympathetic. “I get that you want to help, but right now, the best thing you can do is stay away. We’ve got a plan to keep her safe, and bringing you into it could complicate things further. You need to focus on dealing with Ward.”

Rafe wasn't simply going to let it go, not when it involved your wellbeing. His frustration began bubbling higher and higher, his anticipation eating away at him as time passed. John B's refusal to give up your whereabouts only complicated things for Rafe further, leaving him to feel like he was backed into a corner waiting for a war to erupt. He knew John B was not one to back down when he stood his ground, but neither was Rafe.

"Look John B, I know we have never gotten along and probably never will, but for just this instance can you please just put that aside and at least give me a clue to where she could be? I've looked at every corner of the Cut and you guys are my only chance to figure out where she is."

John B's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he considered Rafe’s plea. "You think I’m just going to give her up? After everything?" His voice was sharp, defensive.

Rafe stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "I’m not asking you to trust me, or even forgive me. I just need to know that she’s safe. Ward’s not going to stop, John B. And if I can’t find her, he will."

John B's hardened expression faltered for a moment. He could see the desperation in Rafe's eyes—the desperation of someone who was genuinely afraid for you. Still, he shook his head, taking a breath as he crossed his arms. "Rafe, I don’t trust you. And I don’t trust that you won't lead your dad straight to her, even if you don’t mean to."

Rafe’s shoulders slumped in defeat, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I would never let him touch her. I’m trying to protect her—same as you. I just—" His voice wavered, barely a whisper. "I can't lose her."

John B hesitated, his brow furrowing as he watched Rafe. There was something different in his voice, something more genuine than he’d expected. He wasn’t used to seeing Rafe like this—vulnerable, pleading. It made him hesitate.

"She’s safe," John B finally said, his tone quieter now. "But that’s all you need to know. You need to back off. The more you push, the more danger you put her in."

Rafe’s frustration flared again, but he swallowed it, knowing that arguing more would get him nowhere. He stared at John B for a moment longer, feeling the helplessness creeping up on him. "Just… just tell her I’m trying to help. Please." His voice broke on the last word.

John B nodded stiffly, his expression unreadable. "We’ll make sure she knows," he said, turning to walk back toward the house. "But you need to leave this alone, Rafe. For her sake."

Rafe swallowed hard, the fear and frustration mixing with a sense of helplessness he hadn’t felt in years. "I don’t know how to walk away from this," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I can’t just leave her in danger."

John B’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You love her, don’t you?”

Rafe’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He looked away, staring at the floor as he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

A silence settled over the room, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, John B placed a hand on Rafe’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Then trust us,” he said quietly. “Trust me. We’re on the same side here.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Rafe had never been good at handling silence, and the last three weeks had felt like an eternity. He’d made it through plenty of rough patches before, but this time was different. There was an emptiness he couldn’t shake—a nagging, constant fear gnawing at him from the inside out. The usual distraction tactics weren’t working anymore.

He'd spend hours at the golf course with Topper and Kelce, making small talk about future trips and complaining about the latest club drama. But every time he lined up a shot, his mind wandered back to you. He could see you in his peripheral vision, your smile, your laugh—always just out of reach. Even at the Pelican Yacht Club, with its sun-drenched decks and cool sea breeze, he found no comfort. He'd sit there with a drink in hand, zoning out as his friends talked about plans for the next regatta. It felt like they were in another world, one he couldn’t access.

Rafe had told himself you were with the Pogues, hiding out, and that they were probably getting into their usual reckless trouble. At least if you were with them, you weren’t alone. It should’ve been enough to reassure him, but it wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he knew that if Ward had any idea where you were, he’d already have made a move. The thought made him nauseous. Ward was gone too—radio silent. It wasn’t like his father to stay off the grid this long, and the eerie stillness around his disappearance made Rafe’s skin crawl.

Every time his phone buzzed, his heart would leap into his throat. He'd drop whatever he was doing, half expecting your name to light up his screen. But it never was. It was always Topper asking about plans for the night, Kelce wanting to hit the links again, or one of the Kook girls trying to make conversation. He was slipping—losing his grip on his usual cool demeanor. His patience had worn thin, and the smallest annoyances set him off. He could feel his friends’ stares when they thought he wasn’t looking, exchanging concerned glances behind his back.

“What’s with you, man?” Topper had asked him last night, standing on the deck of the club, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’ve been out of it lately.”

Rafe had forced a smile, brushing it off with a shrug. “Just family stuff,” he’d said, offering no further explanation. Topper didn’t press, but the worry in his eyes lingered, as if he could see the cracks forming in Rafe’s facade.

In moments of quiet, when the noise of the club died down and the laughter from the other tables faded into background chatter, Rafe felt the crushing weight of his own powerlessness. He didn’t know where you were, if you were safe, or if you were thinking about him at all. And the thought of you being hurt—or worse, alone and afraid—made him want to tear apart the entire island until he found you.

It had never been like this before. He’d never cared so deeply for someone that their absence felt like a physical wound. And now, with both you and his father missing, Rafe felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath his feet.

He pulled out his phone again, his fingers hesitating over your contact. He hadn’t called you in weeks, not since the last time you’d spoken—the argument you’d had before you disappeared. He wanted to hear your voice, to know that you were okay, but he was afraid you wouldn’t pick up. Afraid you would, and he wouldn’t know what to say.

In the end, he just stared at your name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. He hated how weak he felt, how much he needed you. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair, staring out at the horizon.

Rafe couldn’t stand the noise anymore. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the mindless chatter—it all grated on him like nails on a chalkboard. He clenched his jaw, feeling the tension building in his chest, and before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed back his chair and stood up abruptly.

"I'll catch you guys later," he said, his voice flat.

Topper and Kelce exchanged puzzled looks, caught off guard by his sudden departure. "You good, man?" Kelce called after him, but Rafe didn’t even bother to turn around. He gave a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he made his way out of the club, ignoring the murmurs of confusion from the group behind him.

He needed to be alone, away from the forced smiles and meaningless conversations. He needed to escape the pressure building inside him like a storm ready to break. His feet carried him quickly to his truck, his hands already fumbling for his keys as he approached. The second he got inside, he slammed the door shut and let out a long, shaky breath.

For the first time all day, he felt a sliver of relief. The silence of the truck enveloped him, offering a brief respite from the chaos swirling in his mind. He leaned back against the seat, staring at the steering wheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was the first quiet moment he’d had in weeks, and he felt like he could finally breathe.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, as if the pressure could somehow force the pain out of his head. The knot in his chest tightened when he thought of you—where you were, if you were safe, if you even missed him. He was used to feeling in control, to having answers, but right now, he felt like he was spiraling, clutching at straws to make sense of it all. And then there was Ward's disappearance, which left an eerie silence hanging over his life, amplifying his uncertainty tenfold.

After a few minutes, he exhaled deeply, starting the truck. The engine’s rumble filled the air, grounding him in the moment. He pulled out of the lot and headed back home, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He needed to get away from it all, to shut the world out until he could figure out how to mend the mess inside him.

As he drove, the familiar scenery of Figure Eight blurred past him, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows on the road. It was a drive he’d made a thousand times, but today it felt different. The wind blowing through the open windows didn’t bring its usual comfort; it only reminded him of how empty everything felt without you by his side.

When he pulled into the long driveway of his family’s estate, the house loomed before him, its white facade glowing in the fading light. It was eerily quiet. He cut the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the mansion he’d grown up in. It was supposed to feel like home, but right now, it felt like a prison—a stark reminder of everything that was slipping through his fingers.

He made his way inside, letting the door click shut behind him. The silence of the house was suffocating. Rafe threw his keys on the table and headed up the stairs to his room. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he took in the familiar sight of his space. It felt just as empty as everything else.

He sank down onto the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands. For once, he didn’t try to push the feelings away. He let them wash over him—the fear, the frustration, the longing. He knew he couldn’t hide from it anymore. You were gone, his father was missing, and everything was falling apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering into the darkness of his room, “Where are you?” The words were a plea, a question directed at you, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. He just hoped that, wherever you were, you were thinking of him too.

Rafe's chest tightened, and the room seemed to shrink around him as his emotions threatened to boil over. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears, but they welled up regardless, turning his vision blurry. His eyes became red and glossy, the ache in his heart growing unbearable with every passing second. It was like a ghost of you lingered in the room, haunting him with memories he couldn’t escape—your laugh, the way you’d look at him, the feel of your hand in his. Now, all he felt was emptiness.

He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that this was his fault. He had made a grave mistake, he was sure of it. If only he had kept a closer watch, if only he had been more careful, maybe you wouldn’t be in danger now. The thought of you being out there, vulnerable and alone, tore him apart. He could almost see you, scared and needing him, but no matter how hard he tried to reach out, you slipped further away from his grasp.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he bit down on the words. The apology felt hollow, echoing back at him in the empty room. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to make the pain stop—but he was trapped in this limbo of not knowing, of being helpless. And for someone like Rafe, who thrived on control, the helplessness was its own special kind of torture.

His hand tightened around his phone, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it like it was the source of all his pain. In a sudden burst of frustration and grief, he hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, then fell to the floor, the screen shattering into pieces. For a moment, the silence after the impact felt almost comforting. He stared at the wreckage, chest heaving, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

But the brief satisfaction faded quickly, replaced by a hollow ache. He started pacing, the walls closing in on him as his thoughts spiraled out of control. His mind raced with all the worst-case scenarios, images of you hurt or scared flashing in his head. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it as if the pain could snap him out of this nightmare.

“Dammit!” he shouted, his voice breaking with a mixture of anger and desperation. He felt like he was losing it. He needed to do something—anything—but there was nowhere to go, no one to fight, and no way to find you. He was stuck, and it felt like drowning in quicksand.

Rafe stopped pacing, leaning against the wall as his body sagged under the weight of it all. His fingers dug into the plaster as he tried to ground himself, taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm the storm raging inside. The tears he had been holding back spilled over, streaking down his cheeks. He wasn’t used to this—crying, feeling this vulnerable. It made him feel weak, and he hated it. But right now, he couldn’t help it. He felt broken, shattered like the phone on the ground, and the pieces were too scattered to put back together.

He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. He couldn’t escape the thought of you—your smile, the way you’d look at him like he was more than just a Cameron, more than just the troubled son of Ward. He hadn’t realized how much he needed you until you were gone. And now, he was left with nothing but the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he heard the knock echo through the house, slicing through the heavy silence. He froze, wiping his tears quickly and forcing himself to compose. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours, and he certainly wasn’t expecting company. The confusion quickly morphed into paranoia. He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to the front door. His mind raced, imagining who it could be. His father? Back from wherever he’d disappeared to, ready to follow through on his threats? The thought alone sent a chill down his spine.

He needed to be ready.

Rafe’s gaze shifted to his bedside table, where the knife gleamed under the dim light. He reached for it, gripping it tightly in his hand, finding some comfort in the cold metal pressing into his palm. He moved cautiously, his steps light and silent, like a predator stalking prey. As he descended the stairs, every creak of the old wood sounded like a gunshot in his ears, making his heart hammer against his ribs. He held his breath, trying to keep quiet as he approached the door, his pulse throbbing in his throat.

He reached the bottom of the steps, his eyes locked on the door. It was slightly ajar, as if whoever was outside had hesitated, not yet willing to push their way in. Rafe moved closer, his back pressed against the wall, knife held at the ready. He strained to listen, trying to pick up any hint of who it might be on the other side. He didn’t hear much—just the faint sound of someone shifting their weight, maybe a shaky breath. His grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles turning white as he mentally prepared himself for an attack.

With a deep, steadying breath, he reached for the doorknob. His fingers trembled as they wrapped around the cool metal, twisting it slowly. He pulled the door open just a crack, peeking through the small sliver to catch a glimpse of whoever was on the other side. He gulped, his throat dry, as he took in the figure standing in the dim porch light.

Rafe's breath hitched as he stared at you, feeling a wave of emotions he couldn't quite place. Relief, disbelief, anger, and something else he couldn’t name all swirled together, leaving him speechless for a moment. His hand trembled, the knife still held in a death grip at his side. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He just stood there, taking you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real and not some figment of his imagination.

"Y/N?" he whispered, voice cracking. It was as if saying your name aloud might break the fragile spell of the moment. He’d pictured this reunion a thousand times—what he’d say, how he’d react—but now that you were actually here, all those plans evaporated. He felt paralyzed, his eyes scanning you up and down, searching for any sign of harm.

But you looked...fine. Unscathed. Healthier than he'd expected. It threw him off completely. He’d been imagining the worst for weeks, thinking you were in danger, or worse—hurt. Yet here you were, standing on his porch, seemingly calm and collected.

Rafe’s shoulders slumped, his posture collapsing under the weight of all the worry he'd carried. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, feeling the knife slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. He didn’t even care. He just took a step closer, his eyes fixed on yours, desperate to make sense of what was happening.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he croaked out, his voice breaking. “Where have you been? Why—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”

“I’m tired of hiding, Rafe,” you said flatly, your voice carrying a strange calmness in the chaos of his thoughts. “Nobody else knows that I’m here. I left without telling them.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed in confusion, his mind trying to connect the dots. His heart still pounded in his chest, the weight of everything he’d been through over the past few weeks making it hard to focus. “I... I don’t get it. I thought you hated me because of all of this. I don’t get why—why you’re here.” His voice was shaky, filled with uncertainty as his gaze darted between you and the ground, as if the truth might be hiding in the space between.

"I never hated you," you said, your voice surprisingly steady. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes unflinching, though there was an underlying tension in your shoulders. "I did what I had to do to stay safe."

Rafe's brows furrowed as he processed your words, a painful confusion swirling inside him. "Why didn’t you call me? Why did you disappear without telling me where you were?" His voice cracked with the strain of his emotions. Every inch of his body screamed for answers, for the clarity he'd been missing for weeks.

You stood there, taking a deep breath before answering, the calmness in your voice betraying the storm brewing in your chest. "Because I didn’t want you to come looking for me. Ward knew you would be wherever I was, and I couldn’t risk it."

The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, and he felt his world tilt for a second, the weight of your actions now making sense, but only in the way that left him struggling to breathe. He didn’t know how to feel. His hands tightened at his sides, fists clenching as the frustration built up inside him.

"Of course I would look for you, Y/N," Rafe finally choked out, his voice rough with emotion. "I had to make sure you were safe, and it was killing me having to just sit here and hope you were protected."

Your gaze softened, the conflict in your eyes clear as you watched him struggle with the words. You could see the hurt, the years of worry in his eyes, and it made your heart ache in return. But there was something else there too—something you couldn't ignore any longer.

"I know, and I’m sorry." Your voice came out quieter, more fragile, as if it hurt you just as much to say those words. "But I don’t want to do this anymore. No more games, no more hiding, no more danger."

Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he took in your words, his chest tightening. His first instinct was to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and keep you safe, to make up for the weeks of fear and confusion. But there was something else behind your words, a finality that stopped him in his tracks. He stared at you, disbelief and pain mixing together.

"What do you mean, Y/N?" His voice cracked again, and he fought to steady himself. "What do you mean, 'no more hiding'?"

You took a deep breath, stepping forward slightly, your posture firm but vulnerable. "I mean I want to stop running. I want to stop being afraid. I’ve been through enough, Rafe. And I don’t want to keep living in the shadows, waiting for the next threat to come."

Rafe’s eyes softened, a mix of guilt and understanding crossing his features. He wanted so badly to fix things, to make everything right, but the weight of what you were asking him to do loomed heavy between you both. The past few weeks, the pain, the fear—it was all more than he knew how to handle. But looking at you, standing there, finally free of the fear that had controlled you, he knew what he had to do.

Rafe’s heart hammered in his chest as he processed your words. His mind raced, but the ache in his chest intensified. "What do you want to do, Y/N?" he asked, the rawness in his voice betraying the vulnerability he couldn’t hide.

You didn’t hesitate. Your expression was steady, determined. “I want to leave this place,” you said softly, but with the weight of everything behind it. “I want to go somewhere nobody can find us. Somewhere we can live a normal life, without the constant fear. I can’t take this anymore, Rafe. I need out.”

His breath caught in his throat as you stepped closer. “I want a new life," you continued, your eyes locked on his. "A life where it’s just us, without all the chaos.”

The words hit Rafe like a storm. For a second, he couldn’t find his voice, too overwhelmed by the possibility of a life with you that didn’t have to be defined by the fear and danger that had haunted him for so long.

“You… you really mean that?” he choked out, the doubt evident in his voice. “You want to leave all this behind? For real?”

You nodded. “Yes, Rafe. I’m tired of running, tired of being afraid. I want to build something different. With you.”

Rafe’s chest tightened at the sincerity in your words. He had always known you were strong, but this—this was something different. The weight of what you were asking, what you were willing to risk for the two of you, settled in the pit of his stomach. It was overwhelming, but it also felt like the right kind of overwhelming.

“You’d really leave it all behind? You’d trust me with that?” His voice cracked on the last word, the depth of his feelings for you surfacing in a way he hadn’t expected.

You took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “I trust you, Rafe,” you said, your voice unwavering. “And I’m done with this life. I want more than this. I want a future. With you.”

Rafe stood there for a moment, his mind scrambling to catch up with the magnitude of what you were saying. The idea of a life without his father’s control, without the constant tension, without all the chaos—it was almost too much to comprehend. But the one thing that stood out, clearer than anything, was you. You were standing there, offering him everything.

He stepped forward, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if trying to ground himself in the reality of what was happening. “Then let’s do it,” he said, his voice fierce with determination. “Let’s leave this place behind, together.”

The words hit you like a breath of fresh air, lifting the heaviness that had been suffocating you. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to hide behind walls of fear or uncertainty. You could finally see a future, a future with him, far away from the chaos and the danger. Your heart swelled in your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine smile spread across your face.

Rafe noticed it instantly—how your eyes softened, how the sadness and strain seemed to melt away. The corners of your lips curled upward, and without thinking, you stepped into him, closing the space between you. His hand tightened around yours, but before he could say anything, your lips found his.

It was sudden, but it was everything. The kiss was deep, urgent, and filled with the unspoken promises you both had carried in silence. Rafe responded instinctively, pulling you closer, his hand sliding to the small of your back as if to hold you in place, as if he could anchor you to him, keep you safe, keep you close.

In one swift motion, Rafe lifted you off the ground, his arms strong around you, as if he could carry all of your burdens with the ease of holding you in his arms. You let out a soft, surprised laugh as he kicked the door shut behind him, still holding you against him, your lips still locked in a kiss that spoke louder than any words could.

Once he gently set you back on your feet, he didn’t immediately pull away. Instead, he carefully brushed a lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering on your skin. His eyes softened as he looked at you, a mixture of love, relief, and something deeper—something raw that he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

“I’m gonna give you the life you deserve,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the conviction in his expression. This was no longer about survival or fear—it was about a future that was finally within reach.

You smiled, your heart full, your gaze unwavering as you met his. “You already are,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath, but it was enough. “Just being here with you... that’s all I ever wanted.”

Rafe’s expression softened further, a slow smile spreading across his face, and in that moment, you saw the man he could be—strong, protective, and driven by love rather than chaos.

"I love you, Y/N." The words hung between you like a promise, deep and unwavering. Rafe's breath caught for just a moment, the weight of what he'd just said settling in. He'd said it before, in fleeting moments, but now, in this moment, it felt different. There was no fear of loss, no uncertainty clouding his mind. It was just the raw truth.

"I love you, too, Rafe," you whispered back, your voice steady and sure. This time, you didn’t have to doubt it. It wasn’t just about the words—it was the way you felt in this moment, with him. Your pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the certainty of what was to come.

He pulled you closer, his arms strong around you as if to keep you tethered to him, to the life you were about to build. His lips brushed over your forehead, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze unwavering, filled with all the raw emotion you’d both buried for too long.

With a soft smile, Rafe leaned down to kiss you again, this time more tender, slower, as if savoring the moment, cherishing the bond that had been built through all the chaos and uncertainty. This kiss was a promise—one of protection, of understanding, and above all, of love.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

taglist: @rrosiitas, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87,

@augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols, @fastlovela, @wickedlovely121, @fals3-g0d, @givemylovetoall, @lucfics, @briefwinnerpersonaturtle, @maybankslover, @peachy4u2, @hockeybabe87, @yeosxxx, @zizouu23, @h34rtsformilli, @maybankslover, @yawnzshit, @rubixgsworld, @tsumudoll, @nosebeers, @literatureluster, @wearemadeofstardust0

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks #obx 4 #rafe cameron imagine

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polarisjisung · 5 months ago

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LOVE ON THE COURT | 16 LOVERBOY #1 & #2

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | sexual innuendos, swearing, mentions of sleepwalking

NOTES | written cut ahead!! followed by more smau slides :) jaemin redemption arc is about to be in full swing but trust that does not mean sunshine lollipops and rainbows for our girly y/n also I'm actually a sucker for dystopian movies, like the maze runner trilogy??? 🙏🙏🙏🙏 i feel like I've watched every dystopian movie out there but if anyone has any recs send them throughhh or just to geek over the movies then my inbox is open 😭‼️

Minjun was nothing short of everything to y/n.

When she woke up to find him gone, her front door ajar, she felt the room close in on her. Her heart raced like a runaway train and panic gripped her chest. In no less than a few seconds, beads of sweat formed over her forehead, her breaths shallow and rapid.

She had rushed out of the apartment in a frenzy, calling out his name like her life depended on it. Constricted for air, her body ran on autopilot, down the dimly lit hallway and then down the stairs to search each floor the same way she had searched her own. To no avail. With each step her stomach churned further, sinking, overwhelming. The feeling of nausea ran deeper, stronger, her heartbeat beginning to sound in her ears. Loud and so painfully unforgiving.

She couldn't lose him. Not now, not like this.

Every noise seemed amplified, every shadow morphed into a lurking threat. She felt trapped in a whirlwind of far too many emotions she couldn't recognise. Her mind had become a storm of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. Time seemed to slow down as her panic escalated, consuming her every thought and sense.

Where could he be?

Useless, she felt so utterly useless. She had raced a thousand times, millions of laps of the track during practise and yet when it really mattered, she couldn't find her feet moving fast enough, she couldn't run with the same speed no matter how hard she urged herself to. Her life was on the line, her everything, and her attenpts seemed futile as she raced up the stairs again, across each floor and down again, over and over. How could she have been so careless?

Her pants grew in their depth, the lack of oxygen getting to her brain and causing her vision to blurr— mixed with the tears that overcame her vision, y/n was struggling to keep going.

She couldn't breathe.

Her legs threatened to give way beneath her and yet the determination that coursed through her veins wouldn't relent.

There was no way she would give up without finding him. She wouldn't be able to live with herself. Her motivation, her happiness, her reminder to keep going and keep trying, Minjun had been every single one of those things and more, her family, her best friend, so utterly irreplaceable that she already felt the hole within her heart widening.

Circles. She felt like she was running in circles, searching the same corners of the same floors she had already looked over a hundred times, desperation evident in her frantic movements, worry painting her features.

It had been 20 minutes and she hadn't found him, not a single sign of him— she'd lost him. She was so sure. He was gone and it was all her fault.

Y/n had given up on far too many things in life, but if there was one thing she knew she couldn't give up on, it was him. Minjun was her purpose, in every meaning of the word. She could give up on herself, but she could never give up on him.

She forced herself to think, though her thoughts had become slow, foggy as she repeated the words in her head, think y/n think.

Where could he have possibly gone?

When she finally arrived on the 7th floor again, ready to search her apartment, considering the small chance he may have returned, y/n felt her heart drop. The feeling of inadequacy overcame her being— unable to stand her body found the floor.

And the feeling of relief, though present was so agonisingly fleeting that she couldn't push herself any further.

There he was, sleeping peacefully in Jay's arms, safe and sound. The Park let his eyes land on y/n, sleepy gaze softening at her panicked state. desperately wanting to ask if she was okay but not knowing how to.

He was barely conscious himself, struggling to make sense of the situation in front of him. All he knew was that he'd found Minjun banging against his door no less than a few seconds ago. The traces of slumber were still visible in his squinted eyes and messy hair.

He couldnt find himself to care, not when she was like this.

"Y/n what hapenned?" his voice was hoarse, but soothing, "are you okay?"

The words rested at the tip of her tongue but she couldn't bring herself to speak, shaking her head. She took ragged breaths and gasps for air, a broken eyed stare on the younger boy, her hand clasped across her mouth for the fear of waking him.

Jay found himself conflicted, at an inner battle with himself, not wanting to leave the girl in this state for even a second, but not wanting to wake the sleeping boy in his arms either.

"He sleepwalks" was all she could breathe out, her voice cracking sharply. How he had made it out of the front door in the first place, she had no idea. It had never been this bad, but she knew it was no excuse. If only she had been more careful, none of this would have ever hapenned.

Jay's mouth fell open, finally piecing together the information as he crouched down beside her, cradling her head in his free arm, rested against his chest

Her tears flowed so incessantly, pained and burning against her cheeks, the bitter feeling of guilt caught in her throat, heavy. Shoulder slumped as her body rested against the railings of the staircase behind her, her soft cries echoing throughout the empty space, loud enough for the door opposite to swing open to reveal a concerned, but equally as confused jaemin.

"I've got her" jaemin said, immediately letting his arms wrap around her, rubbing small circles against the small of her back, her tears soaking through his shirt. And though hesitant, Jay nodded, earning a puzzled look from jaemin when he stepped into y/n's apartment to tuck minjun back into bed.

But that was the least of jaemin's worries when y/n, the girl he had always seen so strong, unbreakable in fact, now shook in his hold, suddenly seeming so fragile.

"It's okay peach, I've got you, let it all out"

Something about his voice, his presence, something about that moment washed over her like a gentle wave, soothing the knots of worry that had twisted tight within her. And though nothing could negate the pain, the disappointment and the thoughts of self doubt playing in her mind like a broken record, his hold had offered her worlds of comfort. Even if for a second, y/n felt the weight lift off her shoulders and her racing heartbeat began to settle.

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TAGLIST (open): @jenobubbles @justalildumpling @nanawrlds @222brainrot @sungookie @pepperedthot @dinonuguaegi @haechansbbg @90s-belladonna @bath1lda @jeongintwt @daegalfangirl @ahnneyong @jammingjaem @paper-boats-rose @iraa567 @errrrrat @kyusqult @suzayaaa @jising-jisang-jisung @soonyoonswoo @nctrawberries @wonbin-truther @sunghoonsgfreal @lotties-readings @onlyhyunjin @swee7dream @girlz4jaem @beomgyusonlywife @nanaxwi @nosungluv @tommina @sinisxtea @20sdiary @otblous @p-d1ddy @lostinneocity @soobs-things @odxrilove @buns-inhiding @busy-daydreaming02 @starfilledgaze @papichulomacy @grassbutneo @iwilleatyourgod @jeeluv @mystverse @meowtella

#jaemin #jaemin smau #nct jaemin smau #jaemin social au #jaemin social media au #nct smau #nct dream smau #nct jaemin #nct dream

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killerlookz · 8 months ago

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hiiiii i adore your writing soooo sooo much!! i was literally dancing in my room to joosts music and i thought of a new fic idea:3 can you write something where Joost comes back home and the reader is dancing to his songs in their apartment, the reader doesnt notice him at first, completely in the moment and when they do, they get all embarrassed and its all fluff and cute??(((:

awww this is so cute <33 ty sm anon!!!

Dance With Me? | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, no warnings rlly! just fluff :-) the song in question for this fic is Joost Klein 2 btw! this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 1.2k(just a wee little blurb!)

Sundays had always been your least favorite day of the week, a bleak reminder that the hours of the weekend were waning and you'd have to return to the monotony of the weekdays. Perhaps the worst part of Sundays was that they were your designated cleaning day, you would much prefer spending your last day free from work lazing on the couch or curled up in bed, but instead, once again you found yourself bouncing around your apartment straightening up whatever cleaning you had left unfinished throughout the week.

The silence of your empty apartment had been getting to you, bored out of your mind as you stood on a chair to dust off a bookshelf. The only thing you figured that would this slightly more tolerable was music at least the apartment wouldn't be so damn quiet.

You hop down from the chair, scurrying into the living room to turn on your speakers. It wasn't long until music was flowing into the apartment, loud, and probably obnoxious to the neighbors, but it hadn't been late enough to warrant a noise complaint- so they would just have to deal with it for now.

Among the many plusses of having a musician for a boyfriend, you had to admit being in possession of a stellar stereo system was definitely one of them. You had been able to hear the music just as perfectly as you pranced back into your bedroom, not exactly eager to get back to cleaning.

Though it would seem not much cleaning would get done after that point, more focused on the music than any of the tasks you had at hand.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" You sang along with the lyrics that boomed over the speaker. Another plus of having a musician boyfriend was that he was a damn good musician., "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!"

You had found yourself jumping around to the music, a smile pressed onto your face as you swayed your head back and forth in time to the beat.

Still jumping, your arms in the air you start to spin around when suddenly the breath is knocked out of you at the sight of a figure in the doorway to your bedroom. Your body grows rigid, stopping dead in your tracks as your mind races to the worst-case scenario.

Luckily it hadn't exactly been the worst-case scenario, as your eyes focused and you were able to see your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Why'd you stop?" He asks, clearly amused, "I was enjoying your performance. I think you might put me out of a job."

"Joost!" Your voice is sharp like you're scolding him for being in his own home. Your eyes widen at the shock, not having expected him to be home, much less having even heard him walk through the door, "I thought you said you'd be running errands all day."

Embarrassment begins to grow on your face, your eyes refusing to meet Joost's, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as your body grows hot.

"I've actually been gone awhile," He chuckles, "I finished my errands."

"Hmm," You hum, looking down at your feet, "Time flies." You mumble.

"It does when you're having fun, which you looked to be having." Joost muses, an eyebrow-raising behind the thick rims of his glasses.

"Cleaning was getting boring," You shrug, still refusing to make eye contact out of sheer embarrassment.

Joost can clearly sense your unease as his smile still rests on his face, beginning to bob his head up and down, slowly walking towards you with some grove in his step,

"Maar ik blijf Joost en ik bleef in de derde zitten," Joost lowly sings along to his own voice over the speaker, his movements becoming livelier as he gets closer to you, "Soms haat ik kittens en haat ik ook science-fiction."

He grabs your hands, as to ask you to dance with him, but you're reluctant, only holding his hands in front of him as he dances on his own continuing to sing along to his own song.

"C'mon," He urges, "Dance with me?" An exaggerated pout rests on his lips as he stares down at you with big, blue, puppy-dog eyes. You can't exactly resist that look, slowly stepping back and forth to appease his request.

He pulls at your arms as he jumps up and down to the music, just about forcing you to move with more excitement, your embarrassment quickly subsiding as Joost dances in a manner similar to how you had been just moments prior.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" Eventually, the two of you are singing, bouncing up and down in sync with each other and you can't believe you had ever been embarrassed in front of Joost in the first place. It had seemed so trivial now that the two of you danced together, after four years together you were sure you had seen each other in much more embarrassing situations, you knew better, that he would never pass any judgment on you, "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!" You practically yell to each other, oversized grins burned into both of your faces.

The song soon fades out, allowing for a song that wasn't Joost's to start playing.

"You've got some good music taste," Joost teases, the two of your movements dying down.

"Meh," You shrug, "Joost is kind of mid, I think Ski Aggu is better,"

Joost clicks his tongue, shaking his head in joking disapproval,

"You're lucky you're cute." A kiss is pressed against your forehead. The small gesture leaves you with butterflies in your stomach, despite the length of time the pair of you had been together, every touch from him seemed to feel like you were falling in love for the first time all over again.

"You get much cleaning done?" He pulls back

You look around the bedroom, the bed still unmade, clothes strewn upon your dresser, various items scattered around your desk. You feel yourself becoming stressed again at the task ahead of you.

"Not quite." You respond sheepishly, you sigh, "I should probably-"

"It can wait, relax, liefje," Joost cuts you off, "I think we should continue our little dance party."

"Easy for you to say when you've gotten everything you need to get done today,"

"Hmm," Joost puckers his lips, twisting his face into an expression that makes it obvious he's thinking, "How about..." He trails off for a moment, inching closer to you, "You stay here and dance with me, and I'll clean the whole apartment while you're at work tomorrow."

It's an easy proposition to accept, not having to clean? Fine by you.

"Deal?" He asks, smiling down at you.

"Deal," You quickly nod.

"Eh," he holds up a finger, "We need to seal the deal."

You raise your eyebrows up at him, waiting for what he's going to say next,

"You gotta give me a kiss to seal our deal,"

You giggle, standing up on your tip toes, placing both of your hands on Joost's shoulders as you reach up to press your lips to his.

He's quick to kiss you back, resting his hands on your waist as he engages you in a soft, passionate kiss.

"Okay," He nods, "Now it's a deal."

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #rpf #joost klein rpf

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soulofapatrick · 11 months ago

Text

Broken Showers Aren't All Bad - Alec Lightwood x female reader

Summary: You use Alec's shower as yours is broken

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

As I stumble back to the institute, my muscles aching and my clothes stained with sweat and demon ichor, I can’t help but feel a sense of exhaustion weighing heavily on my shoulders. The fight against the shax demons had been relentless, each blow and dodge taking its toll on my body and spirit.

Dragging myself to my room, I’m grateful for the ensuite bathroom, the promise of a hot shower offering a small sliver of comfort amidst the chaos and danger that constantly surrounds us. But as I step into the shower and turn on the water, my relief quickly turns to frustration as the pipes splutter and the flow of water comes to an abrupt halt, leaving me standing there in disbelief.

With a groan of frustration, I pound my fist against the tiled wall, feeling a surge of pent-up anger and exhaustion bubbling to the surface. It's the last straw in a long line of setbacks and challenges, and I can't help but feel like I'm at the end of my rope. They said they had fixed my shower earlier today but it’s still fucked.

Desperate for a solution, I run through a mental checklist of every member of our group, trying to determine who might be willing to let me use their shower. Clary and Jace are out of the question—they're probably lost in each other's embrace, lost in their own world of love and passion. And Izzy, well, she doesn't know the meaning of privacy, likely to barge in without warning at any given moment.

That leaves Alec—the one person in our group who values his privacy above all else. It's a long shot, but I'm left with no other choice, especially as he’s out on a mission currently.

As I tiptoe through the dimly lit corridors of the Institute, my heart races with anticipation and a tinge of nervousness. I know I shouldn't be doing this, sneaking into Alec's room while he's away on a mission, but my own shower has been malfunctioning for days, and I can't stand the thought of going another day feeling unkempt.

The door to Alec's room creaks softly as I push it open, praying that no one hears. Stepping inside, I quickly make my way to the bathroom, feeling a rush of relief wash over me as I shut the door behind me. The warm steam soon envelops me as I strip off my clothes and throw my towel aside, longing for the hot water.

As I step into Alec's shower, the warmth envelops me like a comforting embrace, easing the tension that had been coiled tightly in my muscles. The steam fills the small space, wrapping around me like a gentle cloud, washing away the lingering remnants of fear and adrenaline from the encounter with the shax demons.

I close my eyes, letting the water cascade over me, each droplet a soothing caress against my skin. The scent of Alec's shampoo and soap fills the air, a familiar and comforting aroma that helps to ground me in the present moment.

With each passing second, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by a sense of relaxation and relief. The hot water works its magic, easing the ache in my limbs and soothing the bruises that litter my body from the fight.

I tilt my head back, letting the water cascade over my face, feeling the weight of the day's events slowly lift from my shoulders. In this moment, there is nothing but the sensation of warmth and cleanliness, a temporary reprieve from the chaos and danger that constantly surrounds us.

As I stand under the warm cascade of water in Alec's shower, a sense of tranquility washes over me, momentarily banishing the worries and fears that had plagued me earlier. But as the sound of footsteps approaches the door, my heart lurches in my chest, and panic sets in like a suffocating wave.

Alec’s footsteps are unmistakable—steady and purposeful, devoid of the usual warmth or joviality. My mind races with the worst-case scenarios, imagining his stern expression and sharp reprimands as he discovered me here, intruding upon his private space and using his stuff.

With trembling hands, I reach for the shower curtain, hastily pulling it closed around me as if it could shield me from the impending confrontation. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the steamy air feeling suddenly stifling as I await Alec's inevitable discovery.

The moment the bathroom door creaks open, my heart feels as though it’s lodged in my throat, and I shrink back against the tiled wall, desperately trying to make myself as small as possible on instinct. Through the opaque curtain, I can vaguely make out Alec’s silhouette, his presence looming like an impending storm.

“Who’s there?” His voice pierces through the heavy silence, sharp and authoritative, sending a shiver down my spine.

I swallow hard, my throat feeling dry and constricted. "It's me," I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper, my words muffled by the fabric of the curtain.

Alec’s footsteps draw nearer, and I can feel the weight of his gaze boring into me, even through the barrier of the shower curtain. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, bracing for the inevitable backlash of his discovery.

“What are you doing here?" His voice carries a note of incredulity, mixed with a hint of confusion.

I bite my lip, my mind scrambling for an explanation, any excuse that could possibly justify my presence here. "My shower... it's broken," I stammer out, my words coming out in a rushed tumble, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

There’s a moment of tense silence, broken only by the sound of water cascading from the showerhead. I brace myself for Alec's anger, fully expecting a sharp rebuke for my audacity.

But, to my surprise, when Alec finally speaks, his voice carries a note of understanding, his tone softer than I had anticipated. "Well, I suppose you can finish up here," he says, his words tinged with a hint of amusement.

Relief floods through me like a tidal wave, and I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension in my muscles slowly begin to ebb away.

As I finish my shower, hastily drying off with a fluffy towel, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I realise my oversight—I forgot to bring clean clothes with me. With a frustrated sigh, I wrap the towel tightly around my body, hoping it provides at least some semblance of modesty as I prepare to face the inevitable embarrassment of leaving Alec's bathroom in just my towel.

Steeling myself for the inevitable, I take a deep breath and push open the bathroom door, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I step into the room beyond. My eyes dart nervously around the familiar surroundings, searching for any sign of Alec's presence.

And then, I see him—standing by the window, his back turned to me, his gaze focused intently on something outside. Relief floods through me at the sight, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the awkwardness of the situation.

But as if sensing my presence, Alec turns, his eyes widening in surprise as they travel the length of my body, lingering for a moment longer than is strictly necessary. A flush of crimson creeps into his cheeks, and he quickly averts his gaze, clearing his throat in a feeble attempt to disguise his embarrassment. "Uh, sorry," he mumbles, his voice slightly hoarse, his eyes fixed resolutely on the floor. "I didn't realise you were... uh... here.”

I swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to my own cheeks as I struggle to find the right words to break the awkward silence that hangs between us. "I, uh... forgot to bring clean clothes," I mumble sheepishly, feeling like a fool for my forgetfulness.

Alec nods awkwardly, his cheeks still tinged with a faint blush. "Right," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well, um... I can, uh, go get you something to wear... if you want.”

Instead of leaving the room to head to mine he moves to his chest of drawers, searching for something for me to wear. I feel a mix of gratitude and nervous anticipation, never expecting Alec to share his clothes with me let alone his shower. When he returns with a black t-shirt in hand, I accept it with a grateful smile, clutching it tightly against my chest as I wait for him to realise that he needs to turn away.

For a moment, Alec seems to falter, his gaze lingering on me expectantly until the realisation dawns on him. With a slight cough, he quickly averts his eyes, turning away to give me the privacy I need to pull the shirt over my head. As I slide the shirt on, I'm struck by how it drapes loosely over my frame, reaching down to mid-thigh and resembling more of a short dress than a typical t-shirt. The fabric is soft against my skin, imbued with Alec's scent, a comforting reminder of his presence.

When Alec finally turns back around, his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of me in his shirt, his gaze lingering on the way it hugs my curves and falls to the length of my thighs. A faint blush creeps into his cheeks once again, but this time, there's a hint of something else in his expression—a mixture of admiration and something deeper, more intimate.

"You, uh, look good in that," he stammers out, his voice slightly hoarse, his eyes flickering uncertainly as they meet mine.

I can't help but smile at his awkward attempt at a compliment, feeling a warmth spread through me at the genuine sincerity in his words. "Thanks," I reply softly, feeling a flutter of excitement in the pit of my stomach at the realisation that Alec's gaze lingers on me a moment longer than necessary, his eyes filled with a warmth that sends a shiver down my spine.

As I stand there in Alec's room, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air, I can't shake the feeling of reluctance that settles in the pit of my stomach. Despite the lingering warmth of Alec's gaze and the newfound connection between us, I know that I can't stay here forever.

With a soft sigh, I muster up the courage to break the silence, clearing my throat awkwardly as I glance towards the door. "I should probably get back to my room," I say softly, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.

Alec nods in understanding, his expression unreadable as he steps aside to let me pass. "Yeah, of course," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

As I make my way towards the door, a pang of regret washes over me, aching in my chest like a physical weight. Part of me had hoped that Alec would stop me from leaving, that he would reach out and pull me back into his embrace, unwilling to let me go.

But as I glance back over my shoulder, Alec's expression remains stoic and unreadable, his gaze fixed resolutely on the floor. With a heavy heart, I push open the door and step out into the hallway, the sound of it closing behind me echoing in the silence.

As I return to my room, the echoes of Alec's presence still lingering in my mind, I quickly slip on a pair of panties before reaching for the black t-shirt he lent me. With a momentary pang of guilt, I peel off the shirt, feeling a sense of loss as I momentarily remove the comforting fabric from my skin.

But the need for cleanliness overrides my reluctance, and I hastily pull on a clean bra before slipping Alec's shirt back over my head, the familiar fabric enveloping me once again in its warmth. Bringing the collar to my nose, I inhale deeply, breathing in the scent of Alec that lingers there, a mixture of soap and sweat and something uniquely him.

Lost in the comforting embrace of Alec's shirt, I'm startled by a sudden knock at my door, the sound jolting me back to reality. Swinging the door open, expecting to see Izzy, my breath catches in my throat as it’s Alec standing there instead. His expression is wrought with anxiety and before I can even utter a word of inquiry, he closes the gap between us in two swift strides, his hands reaching out to cup my face in a surprisingly gentle yet urgent grip.

The world seems to tilt on its axis as Alec's lips crash against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending my heart into a frenzied rhythm. His kiss is passionate and breathless, a whirlwind of emotions and desires unleashed in a single moment of raw vulnerability.

I'm momentarily stunned, my mind struggling to catch up with the sudden turn of events. But as Alec's lips move fervently against mine, a surge of warmth floods through me, melting away any doubts or reservations I may have had.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him closer, losing myself in the intoxicating sensation of his touch. His hands are rough and calloused against my skin, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips as they trail a fiery path along my jawline and down my neck.

In that moment, there is nothing else but Alec and me, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of passion and longing. The world outside fades away, replaced by the electric intensity of our connection as we become entangled in each other's embrace.

And as Alec finally pulls away, his chest heaving with exertion, I'm left breathless and exhilarated, a million thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind. “Do it again,” I s all I can breathe, Alec’s response immediate and impassioned. With a hunger that matches my own, he presses me against the nearest wall, his lips claiming mine with a fervour that leaves me dizzy with desire. In that moment, it feels as though we're the only two people in the world, lost in the intensity of our connection.

His hand finds its way to my bare thigh beneath his shirt, hitching my leg around his waist, pulling me impossibly closer as if he can't bear to be apart from me even for a moment longer. The sensation of his touch sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both. Every caress, every kiss feels like an affirmation of the bond between us, a silent promise of things to come.

But our stolen moment of passion is abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. Reluctantly, we break apart, our breaths coming in ragged gasps as we turn to find Izzy standing in the doorway of my room, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"Welllllll" she says, her voice laced with amusement. “Sorry to interrupt this but I need to steal Y/N,” she adds with a wink, "you two can continue this later. Preferably with the bedroom door closed this time.”

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position, burying my face in Alec’s shirt who's gaze remains unwavering as he meets Izzy's teasing grin with a smirk of his own.

“Later Izzy," he replies smoothly, his tone laced with amusement. “10 more minutes.”

With that Izzy snorts and closes the door on her way out, a fond smile on her face and Alec pulling me into his arms, a hug that has me nuzzling into the crook of his neck not sure what this is between us.

“I never thought I’d be happy about a broken shower.”

“Me neither.”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

#Alec Lightwood #Alec Lightwood fluff #Alec Lightwood smut #Alec Lightwood angst #tmi #the mortal instruments one shots #the mortal instruments #Alec Lightwood x reader #Alec Lightwood x you #Alec Lightwood x y/n #Matthew daddario #shadowhunters

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