#no more chucking bottles of water at each other

[cupcakesinfedoras]

NO LONGER ERASED FROM EXISTENCE

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

‎ ‎ [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying

word count: 13.4k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.

daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.

he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?

daryl clings back.

“Cookies?”

The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score. 

Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.

“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up. 

Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got. 

Plans and Rick’s hope. 

You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out. 

So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.

You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad. 

“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal. 

You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t. 

Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit. 

There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes. 

“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off. 

It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are. 

All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose. 

Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?

The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder. 

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies. 

“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up. 

But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -

“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes. 

You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?

Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough. 

But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold. 

Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?

It made the world feel a little less broken.

────

“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.

Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general. 

“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings. 

But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”

Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing. 

Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.

Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor. 

You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him. 

“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail. 

Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce. 

You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call. 

One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times. 

You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best. 

After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you. 

Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love. 

A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep. 

Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you. 

You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too. 

It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night. 

You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.  

“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that. 

He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”

“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more. 

You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy. 

“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days. 

Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him. 

You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp. 

“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you. 

Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except - 

You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick - 

Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.

────

Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing. 

You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?

Sushi.

“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure. 

Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”

Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.

Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time. 

The thought makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.” 

“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.

It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after. 

But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you - 

No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile. 

On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago. 

The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.

You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it. 

“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something? 

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”

You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.

“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”

You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?

Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.

────

The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.

But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.

There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes. 

And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else. 

Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him. 

You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck. 

“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit. 

You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code. 

You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and - 

Derek is still talking.

You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch. 

“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?

You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?

You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times. 

Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.

You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.” 

Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive. 

That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.

So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -

“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”

The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap. 

You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching. 

Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?

Does Daryl know?

You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face. 

The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he? 

It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says. 

Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his. 

You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.

Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag. 

A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation. 

He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you. 

“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off. 

“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do? 

You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go. 

And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore. 

But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want. 

After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -

Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist. 

“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.

Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.

Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies. 

He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.

You feel special.

“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain. 

Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying? 

A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.

“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”

────

“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.

Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back. 

You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough - 

And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you. 

Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp. 

When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days. 

“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good. 

Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh. 

“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second. 

Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand. 

“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.

You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -

But god, the way he kisses. 

Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has. 

He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -

When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise. 

There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard. 

Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever. 

Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before. 

Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper. 

He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -

“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again. 

Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl. 

You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains. 

“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket. 

“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck. 

There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly. 

“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone? 

Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder. 

If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is. 

“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -

He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it. 

You nod eagerly. 

“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off. 

Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you. 

“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.

────

At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him. 

You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around? 

You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night. 

Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying. 

Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well - 

He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way. 

“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh. 

“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?

You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally. 

“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard. 

You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that. 

What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot. 

Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run. 

“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face. 

You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject. 

“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.

“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps. 

Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”

────

The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center. 

When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips. 

“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?

The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone. 

In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer. 

When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back. 

“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again. 

“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike. 

Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”

It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease. 

“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure. 

Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave. 

Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that. 

He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do. 

Except maybe Derek. 

And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.

Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs. 

“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod. 

“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself. 

Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though. 

You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt. 

Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.” 

That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs. 

You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick. 

You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back. 

“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube. 

“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours. 

“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you. 

It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle. 

Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle. 

“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -

Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea. 

He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him. 

You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit. 

“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.

“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”

He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.

It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet. 

“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too. 

“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes. 

You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.

Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little. 

“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -

Daryl Dixon blushes red.

────

“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run. 

It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place. 

Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you. 

“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.

But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses. 

“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”

Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time. 

It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone. 

You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do. 

“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl. 

“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off. 

You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.

You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”

You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.

“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.

You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do. 

“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”

You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you. 

“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.

“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.

“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.” 

Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.

“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.  

“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.

You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -

Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name. 

You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head. 

He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker. 

Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight. 

Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees. 

“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns. 

But you don't want Daryl to do it.

No, this is a job you can do. 

Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want. 

Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.

────

You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.

What scares you the most, is how little you care. 

After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.

Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought. 

But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn. 

Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is. 

But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive. 

The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new. 

You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing. 

Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -

The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.

It’s Daryl.

“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”

Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset. 

“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.

It’s the best compliment ever.

You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.

It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.

It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.

Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue. 

It’s a cookie. 

Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face. 

“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes. 

“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face. 

“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms. 

His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking. 

Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are. 

Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts. 

“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours. 

You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run. 

“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?” 

Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means. 

You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.

And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world. 

You found each other. You have each other. 

You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”

[finelinevogue]

gingerbread men

summary - christmassy vibes fic where you’re baking gingerbread and harry is being his usual self

word count : ~1k

pairing : husband!harry x reader

The front door closed, signalling that Harry’s home.

“Hello, my gorgeous girl.” Harry didn’t say to you, but your black and white cat Circe.

You smiled to yourself as you heard Harry talk to Circe. As Harry greeted your cat, you took out the gingerbread men from the oven and placed them on the side.

The kitchen smelt amazing, full of Christmassy scents like cinnamon and ginger. It was sweet and comforting.

And soon as Harry walked into the kitchen, there was another level of comfort.

He stood in the doorway, holding his car keys and his water bottle, smiling at you. He had this soft smile that he only reserves for you. One that could melt away a thousand problems and make your world feel safe.

“Something smells good.” Harry said, watching the kitchen floor as Circe passed him by.

“I got bored. Decided to bake and voilà… Gingerbread men.”

“You’ve had a productive day then.”

“I actually did. I did the washing and—”

“Well you didn’t wash everything baby.” Harry gave a knowing smirk at the t-shirt you were wearing.

It was the t-shirt Harry’s been wearing to bed for the past week. You were going to add it to the wash, but it smelt of Harry and you missed him today, so wearing a piece of him sounded like a good idea.

“Oh yeah. I’m wearing your t-shirt if that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” He glazed his eyes over you, like he often does when he’s having an ‘i-love-y/n’ moment.

“Stop simping for me, you simp, and come and give me a proper hello.” You rolled your eyes at him.

Harry immediately walked over to you, chucking his keys and water bottle on the side. You patiently waited for him to walk over, arms crossed over your chest as you watched him.

He was slow with his movements, but the space wasn’t too far between you. He met you with a kiss on the forehead, wrapping his arms low around your waist so his hands could rest nicely at the bottom of your spine.

“That’s not a proper hello, mister.” You tutted, tilting your head up to look at his looming figure.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leant down to kiss your cheek once.

“Try again.” You said.

So he kissed your other cheek.

“Harry. I swear to God, if you don’t ki—”

Harry’s lips pressed onto yours before you could finish telling him off. Your lips moved knowingly over each others, pressing yourselves into one another with ease.

Before it could get too heated, Harry pulled away slowly.

“That was better.” You hummed in delight.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, kissing you lightly once again.

“I missed you today.”

“Not as much as I missed you.” He kissed you again, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to stop.

“Did you write about me?” You teased.

“I can’t disclose that information yet.”

You groaned in frustration, since that’s all he ever told you about his new album he was working on. You knew it was a gift from himself to the fans, as always, but you often wondered what his inspiration for the day was and how that was channelled into a song.

“You’re so annoying.” You pushed his chest so he stumbled away from you.

“I know, and yet you still love me.” Harry shrugged.

You turned back to your tray of gingerbread men. “Think he could love me better.” You turned around to Harry holding up a gingerbread man to him.

Harry instantly leaned forward and took a great, big, bite out of the gingerbread man’s head. You stood there in shock over his territorial move.

“H-harry!” You laughed his name. “Babe, what the hell?”

“Damn, that’s a good gingerbread man.” Harry wiped his lips with a cheeky grin.

“He’s not a man anymore, you dickhead. He’s a headless body...” You giggled in shock still.

“Would you still love me if I was a headless body?” Harry asked you, finishing off his mouthful.

This would seem like a really random and weird question to anyone else, but these were actually the types of conversations that you two had with each other.

“Yes, ‘cause I wouldn’t have to see your stupid face anymore.”

You threw the headless gingerbread man down on the tray in disbelief.

“Heyy.” Harry pouted.

“No. You’ve done the damage now, babe.” You pretended to be mad.

“This is unbelievable…” Harry mumbled, before stepping to cup your cheeks and pull your lips to his. You instantly responded by moving your lips in sync with his, getting a taste for the remanence of your gingerbread men.

Harry pulled away once he was satisfied that he had been forgiven.

“They are pretty good.” You said with a smile, referring to the gingerbread men.

“Told you.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik turns 50. TF 141 throw him a surprise party. (As the author continues to build their voices and headcanons in his head.)

cw: none.

“I can't believe Nik’s going to be fifty next week. The man's aging like a fine wine. It must be something in the water over there.”

It had been a fairly innocuous comment by Laswell over one of their frequent phone calls, but it had sent Price into an unfathomable tailspin.

Fifty.

Fifty was a big birthday where Price came from. The kind where the extended family, and wider community around them, were invited to a village hall for an old fashioned knees up, and you ended up carrying your uncle Rodney home so your aunt didn't smother him with a throw pillow after he pissed all over the doorstep.

Price had never really thought much about the families and wider lives of his contacts. They got the job done and then they parted ways. In every sense, a contact held the same position in Price's mind as the weapon in his hand; a tool to be used and then set aside once you were done.

But Nik… Nik was becoming more than a contact. A lot more. Price knew there was no uncle Rodney for Nik. There was no family whatsoever. No one special to mark half a century with, except maybe… fuck.

Price didn't share scotch with just anyone, let alone pass his cigar over for them to take a toke. As much as he respected Laswell, he was never inclined to spend hours with her chattin’ shit, until the sun broke through the blinds and they both had to slam some black coffee so they looked remotely presentable for their operators. His hand never lingered on anyone else's carrier vest, and no one else's voice made warmth and light curl in his chest.

No one else slotted against Price's... everything quite like Nikolai.

Price wasn't stupid. He knew what these signs meant, but that didn't mean he had any idea what the fuck to do about them. It was safer to just… be, too cowardly to progress any further. And yet, this felt like a milestone somehow.

“Captain, are you there? John?”

“Rog, yeah… uh. Continue.”

By the time Price had hung up, he had resolved to do something to mark Nik’s birthday. Laswell had coughed up the exact date and then slyly asked why Price was so interested. Her tone suggested she already had a hunch. “141 tradition,” he'd said, before hanging up. Rude, but she'd cope.

He finished some paperwork and turned in for the night, but sleep didn't come easy. His plans played out across the dark ceiling above his head and each time he settled on a course of action, he picked a hundred holes in it and cast it aside.

“Buy him a bottle of vodka and put a bow on your prick,” Simon said over eggs and bacon. The majority of the base was still asleep, with only a few other troopers skulking around the canteen.

Price choked on his gulp of tea and thumped his chest. “Classy, Simon.”

“You’ve been dancin’ round each other for years,” Simon murmured, rubbing at the stubble below the line of his mask. “Best time as any to pull the trigger.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black,” Price said as he stabbed at the bacon on his plate to emphasise each word.

“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled, “sir.”

Price snorted a laugh and they finished the rest of their breakfast in companionable silence. After a session in the gym, a myriad of brain-numbing meetings and supervising some training runs, Price was no closer to shaking out of his decision paralysis. If they were on mission he could have hashed out a plan without taking a breath, but he… didn't want to fuck this up. It felt too important.

Price was left with no choice but to consult professionals.

“Surprise party,” Soap said gleefully, chucking his playing cards onto the coffee table. “In th’ hanger, we invite him over tae ‘discuss an op’,” Soap lifted his fingers to emphasise the spoken quotation marks, “get Laswell tae send the invite.”

Gaz nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, then he won't suspect anything - oh, oh, I've got Farah's number, we can get her in on it. She’ll know if he’ll want anyone else, and… uh, you know, we’ll get clearance.”

“Right,” Price leaned back, arms folded over his chest. “So, what… we need food, and cake.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said, squinting. “And booze. Gaz an’ I'll sort the logistics, and ye jus’ need tae sort the pressie.”

“We’re on it, sir. Leave it to us.”

The present. Price could do that. No worries.

Two days later, he stared down at the forty item long Amazon wishlist he had titled “Operation Black Hawk” and had no idea what to get. Something that walked the line of funny but sentimental, that said ‘you’re hot as fuck but I'm not desperate but I absolutely wank over you in the shower’.

“Fuckin Christ,” Price whispered at this office ceiling, slouched deep in his chair. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to quiet but for thoughts of Nik. Think, think.

So many conversations, ice tinkling against glass, low chuckles and borish jokes; a warm palm on Price’s shoulder and a smile so toothy it was contagious. Endless memories of time at Nik’s side. There had been that summer Nik had come fishing with him. Just a few days of peace before they both returned to the field. Nik had snoozed through most of it, exhausted by their previous mission, but in between he had surveyed the lake, watching the insects flit across the water.

“Poprygun'ya strekoza, leto krasnoye propela,” Nikolai had murmured.

“Cursing my ancestors?” Price had asked before gulping down a mouthful of beer.

Nik had chuckled. “Nyet, captain. It means a playful prankish Dragonfly, the whole summer have sung out. It is a poem by Ivan Karylov. One of my favourites.”

“Yeah? What's it about?”

“It is a fable...”

“Oh bloody hell, not another Russian morality lesson.”

“Pssh, this is good one. You will like it,” Nik had sat up in his camping chair. “It is about a beautiful dragonfly who spends her summer dancing and resting, while the hardworking ant prepares. When winter comes, she begs the ant for help, but he refuses, because he worked hard and she did not.”

“Harsh but fair. Work hard, play hard, them’s the rules..”

“You see, I knew you would like it. You are an ant. You earn your rest. This,” Nik had gestured at fishing tackle, the camping equipment, and the lake, “is the fruit of your labour, and I am privileged to share it with you, my friend.”

“And I you, mate.”

They had knocked their bottles together and moments later one of Price’s reels had begun spinning out. By that point they'd drunk so much that landing the damn carp had left them both up to their knees in lake water, pissing themselves laughing on the bank. It had been both the worst and best fishing expedition of Price’s life.

Price opened his eyes in the present and grinned at the ceiling, digging his phone out of his pocket. He knew exactly what he was going to get Nik.

The rest of the week sprinted by quicker than a RAF pilot on his way to a champagne dinner, and before he knew it Price was standing on a rickety plastic chair hanging a bloody banner from a rusty nail high on the hanger wall.

“It's wonky, cap,” Gaz said just as Price was climbing down.

“I think you'll find your eyes are wonky, sergeant.”

“Of course, sir. I'll get that sorted.”

Price pressed his hands to the small of his back and glanced around at the preparations. The sergeants had done well. Soap had even managed to draft Simon in on the booze run and there was a healthy selection of spirits on the buffet table by the birthday cake. It was a Colin Caterpillar from Marks and Spencers, one of Nik's favourite shops to visit when he was in the UK, with a joke candle stuck in the top that he wouldn't be able to blow out. Soap's idea.

The majority of Chimera had turned up to mark the occasion, as had a few faces Price recognised from previous ops with other organisations and task forces. Soap had said a few didn't quite pass the bar for security clearance, which wasn't surprising.

It was just as Gaz and Soap were bickering over the playlist that they heard the telltale drum of helicopter blades beat overhead. “Places, places!” Soap crowed from the hanger door, slamming the lights off. Booted feet scuttled across the dusty floor to find hiding places behind the vehicles and crates stacked around the edges, and Price joined Soap by the door.

Several minutes passed, and then… “And you have no idea where the weapons store is?”

“None at all, Nik. Price should have more intel,” Laswell replied. She had rendezvoused with Nik in Germany as part of the plan. Her wife was currently squatting behind a crate with Gaz.

“I hope so or this will be a difficult mission.”

Soap was practically vibrating at Price's shoulder as Nik rounded the corner. He slammed on the lights and everyone erupted from their hiding places on cue. Price didn't miss how Nik’s hand dropped for his sidearm, his eyes blown wide.

“Laswell, what is–?”

“Happy birthday, Nikolai,” she said, walking by to plant a kiss on her wife's cheek.

“I–” Nik glanced around the hanger as he accepted hugs from Gaz and Syd, handshakes from others, still bewildered. “How–?”

“It was th’ captain's idea,” Soap said, jutting his chin at Price. “He told us ye were hittin’ the big five-oh, old man. Ye not gettin’ off that easy.”

“Here, drink,” Simon grunted, pressing a glass into Nik's hand. “I'm startin’ the food, Johnny. I've been patient.”

“Aye, L.T. Bust open th’ sarnies. Farah, th’ ones on the left are halal - aye, bet.”

Nik was drawn into conversation briefly and Price hung back, glancing at the badly wrapped parcel he'd stashed on top of an empty oil container. He was so focused on his internal misgivings that Nik’s hand on his elbow made him startle. “Oi, give me a bloody heart attack…”

“You did this?”

“MacTavish and Garrick did this,” Price said.

Nik, who knew that the 141 did nothing without Price's express permission, grinned toothily. They stood in silence as he surveyed the many faces scattered around the hanger, some shoving sandwiches in their faces while others swigged from freshly open bottles. “I… have never had a birthday party before.”

“What? Not even as a kid?”

Nik shrugged one shoulder. “Nyet, it was not a… priority.” He looked back at Price, dark eyes heavy with something complex and unreadable. “Thank you.”

Price swallowed and tried to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “You're uh… you're welcome, I… got you something. But, uh…” Before he could wuss out, Price grabbed the poorly wrapped parcel and shoved it into Nik's hands. “Happy birthday.”

Nik set his glass aside. “Your wrapping skills are…”

“Bloody fantastic.”

“...unique.”

“I'll take it.”

Nik huffed a laugh as he tore the brown paper away and flipped the book over in his hands. Price was relieved to see his face brighten. “Aesop’s fables. Captain, this is beautiful…”

To be fair, it was a damn pretty book. The hardcover was illustrated with the animals from the fables, the pages edged in gold, and the inside cover was patterned. You know… posh. And then Nik found the second part, tucked about a quarter of the way through. It was a photograph from their fishing expedition. A rough selfie, with half a fish head in shot where Nik was trying to display their catch, and Price’s face smeared with mud from where he had stumbled onto the bank.

Nik's eyes lingered on it, his fingertips brushing over their grinning faces, and he swallowed.

Price panicked. “I'm sorry, it's shit, I'll uhm–”

Nik pulled him into an embrace that crushed the air from his lungs. There was definitely a stutter in Nik’s chest, and Price wrapped his arms around him in return. If he happened to turn his nose into Nik's neck, and Nik happened to press his face a little closer, then that was fine. More than fine.

Price's toes curled in his boots, his fingers tightened in Nik’s shirt, the aching in his chest becoming that much harder to ignore. “You alright?”

“Da,” Nik said tightly. “I just need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” Price murmured, closing his eyes as he cradled Nik against him. He didn't mark the time, happy to revel in the warmth of the solid body in his arms, and the smell of Nik's skin, pressed so close Price could feel the thrum of his heartbeat.

When Nik finally pulled away, slightly reddened eyes lingered on Price’s lips before turning to the rest of the party, who were doing a shitty job of pretending they hadn't all been watching. “Later, I would… like to spend some time with you.”

Price didn't want to examine the heat under his skin too closely, lest it be entirely misplaced. “Course.”

“Nik, get over ‘ere tae blow th’ oot before Ghostie eats yer cake’s face!”

Nik tucked his book under his arm and walked over to the buffet table with Price to a horrifically off-key rendition of ‘happy birthday’. Once Nik had worked the candles out, flicking them at Soap with a loud Russian cuss, festivities descended, as they usually did on base, into raucous drinking games and whatever the sergeants decided passed for dancing. Simon lost the Ring of Fire and had to down the filthiest pint Price had ever seen in his life, Laswell thrashed them all at beer pong and Gaz tried to teach Farah how to do the worm. As far as fiftieth birthday parties went, it definitely beat out the village hall knees up.

Later, when the majority of the party had slunk off to dark corners, fallen asleep where they sat or retired in good order, Nik pulled his captain back into his arms and kept him there until the sun rose. Except, this time, they did a damn sight more than talk.

[butchreg]

cg ! caitlyn kiramman with a baby boy regressor headcanons !!

requested by 🦁 anon. hai new anon ~ヾ(＾∇＾) . i've been cooking up a storm in the past few days hehe. 1 more request after this one then i will likely turn anons back on if any of my lovely anons would like to chat / request some more or if anyone else is itching to do so but shy. i'm also getting pretty close to 100 followers ! wowowowow :O thank you all sm ! i'm wondering if there's something i should do to celebrate? lmk if there's anything special you'd like to see from me to celebrate that milestone. okay yap over thanks for listening ! arcane masterlist here , upcoming list here

caitlyn loves to play peekabo with her baby boy, getting really into it. babies aren't good with object permanence though so if you're to get fussy she drops it right away. "shh, baby. no need to cry, mummy's right here !"

she's so attentive to your babbles, nodding along as if you're speaking coherently, encouraging you. "uh huh, is that right my love? you're so smart, who's mama's smart little boy?"

caitlyn loves seeing you smile, often tickling your tummy or chucking your chin to hear your little giggle. she always kisses your dimples which makes you giggle as well.

she's taller than you and is able to lift you onto her hip which you love. you're always making grabby hands at her, wanting her to pick you up. you love being carried so much, it makes you feel so tiny and loved.

caitlyn picking out your outfits, telling you how handsome you look. she loves shopping for you buying more clothes than you'll ever need.

she also buys you so many toys. she knows a lot of facts, telling you all about each of your dinosaur figurines and animal toys. she doesn't know much about cars but she looks up facts about the ones you like the best.

she buys you special patterned diapers with dinosaurs and jungle animals on them. if you're feeling fussy about needing a change, she'll talk you through it having you pick which diaper you want and praising you when you're done. "there, all done ! you're such a good boy, feeling better now?"

caitlyn is one of those mamas who soothes their baby by bouncing them on her hip, or carrying them around. she boops your nose, or rubs your back until you doze off in your mama's arms.

caitlyn bottle feeding you because you're too small to eat solid foods. :( she's got you on one hip while you fuss as she warms your bottle. "shhh shhh, it's coming silly boy," she chuckles, testing the temperature before sitting down in a comfy spot with you so you can nurse it. "is that yummy, hmm?" she smiles, holding your head up with one arm and the bottle with the other. your eyes slowly begin to flutter sleepily and she coos. "there we go, all done?"

caitlyn bathing you oh so gently, getting fishy bath toys for you to play with. you love baths with mama, sometimes if you're feeling especially tiny and clingy you'll bathe together, not wanting to break contact with your mama. caitlyn letting you soap up her hair and play with it, laughing at the silly styles you come up with. caitlyn giving you a soap beard and being so careful when she's washing you, checking in periodically to make sure you're still comfortable. you never want to get out, crying when the water gets cold and mama makes you get out. you have a bunch of animal head towels, which she wraps you up in immediately. she wipes your tears away, soothing you verbally as she gently dries you off. "i know buddy bathtime's fun, huh? don't cry my love, we'll have another bath soon."

[girliism]

girl dad!art hasn’t had to stay home only with your daughters since she’s been born so when he sees you getting ready for a night out he’s confused.

“where on you going?” art stands behind at your vanity. “tashi invited me out and i haven’t been out since the bean was born so.” you shrugged retouching your lipstick. art follows behind you while you pack your purse. “is your mom coming over to watch bean?” you tell him he is and watch him freeze up.

art loves his daughter but watching her alone without you. what if something goes wrong. “baby, you’ll be fine. it’s almost ten and she’s been fed all you need to do is change her then put her to sleep.” you reassure him. “oh and remember to warm up the bottle under hot water. she likes to hold it herself while someone rocks her to sleep.” you kiss your daughter and art goodbye heading out to tashi’s car.

“alright looks like it’s just you and me bean.” art picked her up the two of them smiling at each other his full mouth of teeth and her five tiny ones. three at the bottom two at the top. “so what do you wanna do first.” art pokes at her cheeks. she opens her mouth as if to answer but instead throws up all over arts white t-shirt. “fuc-fudge.” art stops himself from cursing looking at his daughter in disbelief. she just giggles.

back at the club you are a worrying mess. “ok you’ve been setting here for thirty minutes staring at your phone.” tashi plobs down next to you. “this is supposed be girls night out no kids no husbands just girlfriends.” you sigh. “i know i know, but i’ve never left art alone with bean before, and it’s just been me and her her and me for so long. i think i’m having separation anxiety.” you rant. “i don’t even know why i came out it’s not like i can drink yet.” tashi shushes you. “no none of that no mopey mom feelings ok. trust i know how you feel but think about how much when we need this. we have been sitting at home with nothing but shitty diapers and achy boobs. who cares if we can’t drink yet let’s just dance and let loose. art and patrick have everything under control ok.” you nod your head standing up to go hit the dance floor with tashi. this night out is more than deserved. “wait you left lily home alone with patrick?” “course not my moms there. now let’s go.”

“ok bean, daddy’s got a new shirt you’ve got a new diaper now drink this bottle and go to sleep.” art’s seated in the rocking chair handing her the bottle. she immediately chucks it across the room laughing. art goes and picks it up trying again. only for her to throw it again laughing even harder now. art stares at her in shock. “so you think this is a game?”

after 20 minutes of trying to get her to sleep he finally succeeds laying her down in her crib whispering a good night.

art sets down on the couch with a beer flipping through the channels. “god, how does mama do this every night.” he turns on adult swim cause why not and then he hears it. the sound of banging and giggling coming from the baby monitor. picking it up he’s thinking there’s no way that could be bean cause bean is sleeping. but there she was on the monitor screen bouncing in her crib hitting her toy against the rails.

art opens the door to her nursery and is greeted by a very smiley and very awake baby. “you’re not gonna go to sleep are you.” she just laughs making grabbing hands at him.

the next hour art spends playing peak-a-boo, pretended to steal her nose and she still wasn’t a little bit tired. “come on baby cut me some slack here. what does mommy usually do to get you to sleep?” she perks up at the mention of her mother. “ma ma ma ma ma ma.” shes babbles. “yea mama what does mama do? does she read to you or sing you lullaby’s?” your daughter does her little baby dance when art mentions lullaby’s. and art can do that he can sing lullaby’s it’s just he doesn’t know any. so he improvises.

“okay lullaby time. time to sing a lullaby.” art thinks hards but none are popping into his mind. “looks like we’re gonna freestyle this bean.” art clears his throat. “bean bean one year old bean i really need you to go to sleep. sleep sleep is pretty neat especially if you’re a one year old bean.” art looks down at his daughter resting on his shoulder playing with his necklace. assuming the song is working he repeats it three more times before they’re both passed out on the couch.

“thanks for tonight tash i’ll call you in the morning.” you watch her car drive off making your way to your house.

pushing open the front door walking into the living room to be met with a mess of toys and your husband and daughter asleep on the couch. you snap a picture before running your hand through arts hair waking him up. “hey you’re back.” art whispers moving to sit up slowly as not to wake your daughter. “did you have fun?” you nod your head. “looks like you and bean had your own fun.” art stands. “love, she just would not sleep i had to made up a lullaby.” you laugh the both of you walking to her nursery to put her down. you guys watch her sleep for a while before leaving.

“thanks for doing this.” you reach up places a kiss on arts lips. he shrugs. “it’s nothing. watching after her is my responsibility to. i’ll start doing it more so you can go hang out you know start having a life again.” even though it’s truly the bare minimum you still feel happy that he would suggest such a thing. you give him one last kiss before walking off to get ready for the night.

“you look hot by the way.”

(i nicknamed the baby bean for this cause i didn’t wanna keep calling her daughter .)

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: Girls Night

————————————————————————-

Summary: girls' night out with a couple of the other WAGs and you wear something that you'd usually never wear out. It was only ever worn in the confines of your and Joe’s bedroom just for him. He wasn't home when you left, but he sure was there when you got back.

(Part one to - Part 2)

Warnings: illusions to smut, jealous Joe

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

————————————————————————-

*Off-season before the 2023-2024 season.*

(y/n’s pov)

“Wait so does Joe even know that you’re here, or did you tell him?” - Tianna

Today the other WAGs and I went out for some drinks as a way to have a big meet-up before our lives solely revolve around our men and football.

It was also a great way to include the girlfriends, fiances, and wives of players in their first season with the team.

After that was over me and Tianna decided to get drinks before heading home.

Tianna Robillard, new Bengals player Cody Ford’s girlfriend is one of the most recent women added to the crazy bunch of amazing women with Bengal boys.

Tianna was so sweet and emitted such great vibes.

“He knows I'm here yeah. He just wasn't there when I left… and doesn't know I'm wearing this little number.” - you

Tia looked over my body to take in the black lace bodysuit with black high-waisted bootie shorts.

“Emphasis on the little. You look really good though, it's super cute. Actually, mind sending me the link?” - Tianna

“Of course!” - you laughed

“Joe doesn't strike me as the type of guy to tell you what you can and can't wear.” - Tianna

“He isn't… but this one’s kinda special to him. He's the only person that's ever seen me in it and it's his favorite outfit that I own.” - you

“I'm sure there isn't anything to worry about, it's not like you're with some other guy while wearing it.” - Tianna

“Yeah, you're right…” - you

“Just chill. It'll be fine. Let's have some fun tonight, starting with me getting another drink...” - Tianna

I laughed at the moment and followed her to the bar, on our way there some whistles were sounded out and directed towards me. Turning around to see who the origin was I found myself asking are they even 21?

Flashing my bright, shiny, big, expensive diamond engagement ring, I was met with a few annoyed groans and one shrug.

“I love it when you do that.” - Tianna laughed

“I love doing it myself. I love Joe with my entire being, it feels nice to show it.” - you

She gave me a warm smile before we grabbed more drinks.

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, stories, and getting to know each other a lot more.

It was thirty minutes till midnight when Tianna dropped me back off at home. I was expecting Joe to be asleep, so when I walked into the house with my heels in hand and he was sitting on the couch I was confused.

“What are you doing up?” - you smiled

“Waiting for you. I didn't know what shape you were in and wanted to make sure you got home and to sleep okay.” - Joe

“Thanks, babe.” - you

“No problem…” - Joe

He leaned back, stretching his back and long arms with a big yawn as I made my way into the kitchen.

I placed my purse and heels on the kitchen counter before shrugging my light jacket off.

“Hey can you throw me a bottle of water please?” - Joe

“Sure. Catch!” - you

Joe sat up and turned around in the direction towards the kitchen and put his hands up to catch the bottle.

As it left my hand and I chucked it, my outfit registered in Joe’s mind, instead of the bottle hitting Joe’s hands it hit him smack in the forehead.

“Oww!” - Joe grabbed his head

“Joe!” - you

I ran out of the kitchen and into the living room to where Joe was on the couch.

His face was scrunched up in pain as he held his forehead.

“I'm sorry, baby. You zoned out on me when I threw it. I didn't mean to hit you…” - you

“Yeah, no shit.” - Joe grumbled

His tone made me mentally wince and I backed away from him slightly. Joe immediately noticed the change of my body language and how the room felt more tense.

I sighed as I stood up, grabbed my stuff, and walked upstairs to our bedroom.

Not long after I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, Joe went to open the door. I heard him cuss under his breath when he realized it was locked.

“Hey, baby? Can you open the door for me… please?” - Joe

His tone seemed slightly pleading, hoping he hadn't messed up too severely. Joe knew I hated it when someone was mad at me, and that I was a raging people-pleaser, so when someone acted slightly mad at me I shut down.

I slowly opened the door and Joe looked down at me with an apologetic look on face.

“Look… I didn't mean to come off like that. I know you didn't mean to hit me, it was my damn fault for zoning out and not catching it.” - Joe

I stared up at him as I chewed on my lower lip, Joe had worry written on his face hoping I wasn't mad at him.

“I'm sorry…” - Joe

“It's okay, I guess.” - you mumbled

“It's not okay, don't lie. I need to learn to stop being such a dick sometimes.” - Joe 

“You’re not a dick, Joey… I love you.” - you

Joe smiled slightly as he pulled me into a hug. His body was warm and his big hands running over my back caused goosebumps.

“I love you too, baby.” - Joe kissed your temple

“Can I ask you something?” - you pulled back and studied his expression

“Of course.” - Joe kissed your cheek

“What gave you the deer in headlights look before I threw the water?” - you

Joe chuckled as he pulled me into his chest, his arm looped around my waist to hold me into him tighter.

He pressed his lips just under my ear and his deep voice whispered into it.

“That black lace on you. You know it's my favorite.” - Joe

“Mmm… you know I love wearing it for you.” - you

“Did you change in the garage or something before walking in then?” - Joe smirked

“No…” - you nervously chuckled

“Oh, so you had something over top of it and took it off to surprise me?” - Joe

“No…” - you

My heart rate shot up when Joe cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brows at me, please don't get mad.

“You wore that out tonight?” - Joe

“Mhm… is there a problem with that?” - You

“No ma'am. I know you're mine, it's just that not every guy in Cincinnati knows that.” - Joe

“Don’t get jealous Joe. I got catcalled once and flashed this pretty ring in the prepubescent-looking guy’s face.” - you

I laid my left hand on Joe’s chest to point out the engagement ring on my ring finger, to which Joe smirked.

“So you did get hit on?” - Joe

“I can't control that, Joe.” - you sighed

“Oh, I know you can't. I’m fully aware of how fucking gorgeous my girl is. Right now I'm just feeling like I need to show you who you wear that shit for.” - Joe

All at once every pulse point in my body set off. God, he hasn't even done anything yet and I'm already turned on.

“Who do I wear it for?” - you

“Me and me only. You understand?” - Joe

“Maybe, but I think you should really drive the point home.” - you smirked

Joe’s big hands grabbed and squeezed at my hips immediately understanding what I was insinuating.

“Be a good girl and go put it back on for me. I'll be waiting out here.” - Joe

“Yes, sir.” - you grinned and bit your lower lip

His hands pulled me flush against him and his lips were rough on mine. Joe’s tongue was gently pushing against my lower lip, asking for entrance. When I parted my lips, his tongue was tangling with mine.

“Joey” - you moaned into the kiss

That's when he pulled away and with a harsh smack on my ass, he grinned down at me.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long.” - Joe

“Of course.” - you grinned and walked into the closet before pulling it out of the dirty clothes hamper.

Joe was going to show me exactly who’s I was.

————————————————————————-

Authors note: this ending sucked… part 2 of the real smut??

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[breezy141]

the evening | dr mike x f!reader. masterlist.

sum: after a long day of work it was finally time to cozy-up on the sofa. author note: i am so obsessed with this man ☹️

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

the rain hit hard against the large apartment windows, it was relaxing, since the beginning you have enjoyed cozying up with a good book, a small glass of wine, and a fuzzy blanket. the gorgeous pup, bear, was also cozied up, he lay against the sofa not wanting to leave your side.

as you felt yourself nodding slightly, you closed your book and placed it on the side table. almost perfectly timed, you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling at the door. bear shot over towards it, wagging his tail and whining in excitement.

“hey hun” you heard a quiet voice speak out to you, slowly pulling yourself off of the sofa you made your way over to them. “hey mikey, how was work?” you asked taking the many bags he carried from him, hanging them on the rack.

“it was good, thank you, kinda of drained me today though. i may go to sleep pretty soon” mike spoke as he walked over to the fridge getting a bottle of water. nodding along as he spoke, “i’ll join you, i’m very tired. i wanted to wait till you were home though” he smiled at and made his way over to.

“c’mere” he said wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a tight hug. “i appreciate you so much, more then what you probably think” he spoke, kissing the top of your head to solidify that statement even more.

you pulled away and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, “likewise, come on let’s go sleep. i’m tired and i’m in need of hugs. as is bear i’m guessing” you took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

you both began undressing and getting ready for bed, brushing teeth, skincare and getting the bed all cozy. you stretched your arms in the air and slid into bed. sighing in happiness, you loved the coziness of the bed.

mike made his way over to you, he smiled as he got up real close to you and pulled you to his chest. “i’m proud of you” you tiredly mumbled, “why?” chucking he asked confused.

“you do these crazy hours and yet you still stay so motivated and are able to look after bear and myself, and i love you for that, so much. thank you” you spoke with admiration. he kissed your temple and smiled sweetly.

“i love you baby, thank you” you smiled into his chest.

“goodnight mikey” and with that, you both fell asleep in each others arms. bear soon jumped up and nestled his way into any free space on the bed.

[octuscle]

Bowling Night

"Bowling? Really?" Francis was fuming with rage. His friend was finally back home after two weeks away on business. He had dressed up. He had been looking forward to a romantic evening. And now his friend was taking him to a shabby bowling center full of fat rednecks. "Darling, please! I had five-course dinners every night for two weeks, had to make small talk in a suit every night. I was looking forward to seeing you so much. But I want to do something really simple tonight. I don't know how I came across bowling myself, but I passed this place on my way from the airport. And somehow I really felt like it now." Konstantin took his friend tenderly in his arms and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Francis tapped his pink sneakers on the floor. Konstantin knew his friend only too well. He knew he couldn't stay angry for long. He gently pulled Francis out of the parking lot and towards the bowling center. Maybe it was going to be a nice and relaxed evening after all. He had always loved going bowling as a child. He had loved celebrating his childhood birthday at the bowling alley. But it must have been…. "YUCK!" Francis cried out. "I'm not wearing those shoes in my life. They're disgusting. What brand is that anyway?" The young man at the counter rolled his eyes. Konstantin tried to calm everything down. Francis struggled to calm down. Konstantin had promised him a glass of sparkling wine. He could usually always calm Francis down with that. And it seemed to be working now too. Konstantin took Francis in his arms and they walked to their train together. Francis continued to grumble quietly to himself. "And when is my champagne coming now?" he asked. "Yo, two brewskis for two browskis?" Francis looked at the young man like an insect to be squashed

"I've already got a beer, you can have that. I'll get a second one for you, buddy." The young man pressed an ice-cold bottle into Francis' hand. He smelled of sweat and Axe. Francis almost had to hold his nose. But then he looked the waiter in the eye. Beautiful blue eyes. Damn, what a face. Features as if chiseled from granite. And even though he didn't know what was coming over him, he gave the waiter a fist bump and said, "Thanks buddy, you're such a lifesaver!" And to Konstantin he said "Come on then, let's throw some bowling balls." Shit, for supposedly still bowling, he was good. Damn good, Konstantin thought to himself. And how did Francis know the waitress? The two of them seemed so familiar, as if they'd known each other since kindergarten? A burp from Francis snapped Konstantin out of his thoughts. "Bro, like seriously? Wake up, it's totally your go!" Konstantin's eyes were almost watering from the stench of nachos, beer and cigarettes that Francis had belched out. They didn't have any nachos. And Francis didn't smoke. "Yo, Chuck! We're all thirsting for another round of brewskis, and hey, you got any cancer sticks on deck?" Francis called out to the waiter. The legs of his sweatpants were tucked into white socks that were no longer quite clean. And what had he done to his hair? Konstantin threw his ball. Strike! He turned around. And saw Francis openly grabbing the crotch of the waiter, who had just returned with beer and cigarettes, and sticking his tongue down his throat. Francis registered Konstantin's horrified look with a grin. "Yo fam, Chuck is gonna roll up later on. I'm thinking a triple threat situation would be straight fire to cap off this lit night, amirite?" Francis stood up, took Konstantin's head and pulled him towards him. And then he gave Konstantin a deep, long French kiss. Konstantin felt dizzy. Francis stank. No, he smelled male. Very masculine. And he tasted masculine. And he felt masculine. Konstantin wanted to run Francis through his curls. But there were no more curls. There was only cropped hair. Francis pressed his crotch against Konstantin's. Both their cocks were hard as steel. "We gonna have that lit threesome later, but right now, I need you, like ASAP, like yesterday! Hurry up, babe!" Francis whispered in Konstantin's ear. And pulled him towards the toilet.

Always when Stan rolled back from a away gig, Frank went total cray-cray like a hyped-up rabbit. Those two went at it like wild animals in the john. Chuck totally saw that coming, no more bowling for them today, duh. When Frank and Stan finally strolled back, Chuck was there waiting with three brewskis like a boss. "Yo, chill out outside while I dim the lights. Hope you've got some juice left for me!" Stan and Frank just grinned and nodded. They sauntered out to the lot, Stan sparking up a ciggie. The night was just getting started, y'all! 🍻💥✨

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Even If It's a False God, We'd Still Worship This Love

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 9

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

7k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking, some drunken spiciness, family teasing, very brief uses of my terrible Spanish, lots and lots of pining, angst, Roy is an idiot

A/N: There's a couple of Selena songs in this chapter. I highly recommend these covers, especially while reading!

-I Could Fall in Love

-Dreaming of You

Roy glanced up over the top of his book across the plane. She was curled up in her seat, eyes fixated on the notebook in her hands. They’d both been sleepy as they boarded the plane early that morning, not saying much to each other as they settled in and accepted water bottles from the lone flight attendant.

Initially, the ‘couple’ had sat side-by-side, with the singer dozing off quickly, her head nestled on Roy’s shoulder; he'd heard her get up well past their agreed upon bedtime to go work at her piano until some ungodly hour. While she dozed, Roy reflected on the night before, on the feeling of his breath skimming over her bare skin. Even that brief, barely there contact had been enough to send Roy reeling for the rest of the night. Had she felt his kiss (if he could even call it that)? What was she thinking? Why hadn’t she said anything?

And what the fuck was wrong with Roy?

Eventually, she stirred, offering Roy a sheepish grin when she realized she’d been using him as a pillow. Some little part of him wanted to assure her she was fine, she could sleep on him whenever she wanted, hell she could lean on him while she was awake if she wanted. He was half tempted to wrap an arm around her and tug her back to himself- and not for the benefit of the flight attendant who smiled knowingly at the pair.

Instead, Roy watched as the singer had settled herself in a window seat across the jet, scribbling furiously and hardly paying any attention to Roy. Roy, meanwhile, had hardly absorbed a word of his book. He wondered what she was writing and, more importantly, who she was writing about. Curiosity, he assured himself as his eyes darted back to the words currently swimming on the page. It was simple curiosity. Same thing that made him try to kiss her neck. He cringed internally at the memory.

“What’s up with you?”

Oh shit. Maybe his cringe wasn’t completely internal. “Fuck d’you mean?” Roy grumbled, trying to act like his usual aloof self, the self he realized he had been acting like less and less lately.

She cocked her head at him. “You’re making this weird face.” She smirked. “Dreading having to meet my folks, Kent?”

Alright. So, either she had no idea he’d tried to kiss her, or she decided to pretend it never happened. Either way, Roy decided to shift focus. “What’re you working on over there, sunshine? Something about me?” He hoped his voice was light and teasing; ever since their holiday at the lake, he was desperate to get back to that joking, playful place they’d finally gotten to.

Even though her eyes went wide and she clutched the notebook to her chest, Roy definitely caught the way the corner of her mouth ticked upwards. “No previews,” she chucked. “But when this one’s done…” Her gaze turned warm. “You’ll be the first one to hear it, Roycito.”

~

My heart skipped a beat as I glanced across the backseat at Roy. During our flight, he’d been content to read and watch movies; in between, he’d teased me about whatever I was writing and tried to sneak peeks. Now, he sat facing the window of the SUV that had picked us up at the airport, fingers drumming on his good knee. As if he could feel my gaze, he glanced over at me and cocked an eyebrow.

“All good, sunshine?”

Hmm, I thought sarcastically, let’s see. You gave me a thoughtful gift and tried to kiss my neck, didn’t say a word about it and then accused me of not liking your admittedly super sweet and gorgeous ex-girlfriend. You’re about to meet my entire family, and oh, yeah, I am desperately in love with you. Yeah, everything’s definitely all good, Kent.

Instead of blurting out the word vomit in my brain, I simply shrugged at Roy. “Just a little nervous about introducing you to my parents,” I murmured, turning to look out my own window. “But it’ll be fine,” I assured him. “Just be yourself.” Deciding we needed to ease the tension in the car, I turned back to him and raised a cool eyebrow. “Or maybe a better version of yourself,” I teased.

That did it. Roy cracked a smile and reached across the seat to shove my thigh gently. “Fuck off,” he growled, totally unaware of the way his touch sent my heart into overdrive- especially when he left his hand there for the rest of the drive.

Neither of us said another word until the car pulled up in front of the house- the one gift my parents had ever accepted from me- and I laid my hand on top of Roy’s. With a deep breath, I hummed, “Showtime.”

I clutched Roy’s hand in mine as we entered the house; despite my hammering heart, the sight had my shoulders relaxing immediately. Although this wasn’t the house I’d grown up in, it was filled with all the furniture, photographs, and nicknacks from my childhood. It was warm and familiar, like the old blanket that I still kept folded neatly at the end of my bed in England. Roy blinked as he took in the sight of my childhood photos, the ones that featured embarrassing haircuts and ice cream-covered smiles.

“Ma!” I called as I tugged him towards the kitchen. “Dad!”

In a blur of squeals and Spanglish, I was wrapped in the most familiar arms in the world and enveloped in the ever-present scent of rose perfume. My mother squeezed me tight, too excited to decide if she wanted to chatter away in English or Spanish. When she finally let me go, I saw the soft look in Roy’s eyes, the look I sometimes spotted when he thought I wasn’t looking. Offering my shyest smile, I took his hand and tugged him close.

“This is Roy,” I said simply, ignoring the gnawing voices reminding me that this would be the only time my family would meet the footballer; the next time I came home, this fake relationship would be nothing but a distant memory.

“Mucho gusto,” Roy said, his voice dripping with uncertainty.

Despite the years of being on me and my siblings about our broken Spanish and imperfect accents, my mother fawned over the four stiff little syllables Roy offered. She pulled him into a hug, chattering about how nice it was to meet him, how handsome he was, until finally, the expected question flew out of her mouth:

“Are you hungry, Roy?”

Clearly remembering my warnings, Roy simply smiled and nodded; even if he said no, she’d make him a plate anyway. So, he allowed himself to be led to the dining room table that was older than both of us and plopped down in what was usually my seat. I sat beside him and laid my hand on top of this.

“Mucho gusto?” I teased as my mother began scurrying around to load a plate of rice and chicken. “I didn’t know you knew Spanish, Kent. I guess I should’ve asked.”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards. “I… asked Rojas to teach me a couple things,” he admitted quietly. “Nothing to brag about, just a few things to impress your parents.” He winked. “Plus all the good swear words.”

My heart slammed against my chest as Roy thanked my mother for the food she set in front of him. He learned Spanish, I thought dreamily. For me.

Before I could linger too long on those words, my father ambled in, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face. Roy was immediately on his feet, extending his hand towards my dad.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Roy said after I’d made introductions. Something told me Roy Kent didn’t often call people ‘sir’.

“Nice to finally meet you, Roy,” my father hummed. He turned to me with a hug that, while not as smothering as my mother’s, was just as warm. “Mi Estrella,” he murmured as he squeezed me tight.

When he let me go, Roy was looking at me with curiosity. “Estrella?” he repeated quietly.

I nodded. “My dad’s nickname for me,” I explained. “It means star.” I grinned at my dad. “He says that ever since I was a little girl, he knew I was going to be a star someday.”

“Guess I should start calling you starshine instead of sunshine,” Roy joked with a wink.

While Roy continued eating, my parents gushed over the details of my niece’s quinceañera, about the venue and the dress and how beyond stressed my sister was.

“I’ve got to go help your brother find a new jacket,” my dad grumbled to me with a wrinkled nose. “Leave it to my sons to leave everything until the last minute.” He eyed Roy carefully. “Want to come, Roy?”

Roy nearly choked on the last bits of rice as he turned to me. “Er…”

I shrugged. “If you want to,” I said. I laid my hand on top of his. “It might be fun.”

His shoulders relaxed as he looked down at our hands. “Sure,” he murmured. “Might be fun.”

~

Como la flor

Con tanto amor

Me diste tú, se marchitó

Me marcho hoy, yo sé perder

I closed my eyes and swayed my hips as I clutched my pastry blender in my hand, mixing the ingredients in the glass bowl on the counter. With Roy out with my father and brothers, I decided to enjoy some rare alone time in my L.A. home, in the kitchen I used all too rarely. Music blasting, cookies baking- just like when I was a teenager in my grandmother's kitchen, dreaming of the day I’d be as famous as the singers I listened to.

“Are you making cookies?”

Roy stood in the doorway, twirling a set of keys around his finger; I recognized the keychain my mother kept around her copy of my housekey so she could check on the house while I was gone, despite my insistence that I could hire someone to do it for me.

He stepped closer, eying the dough I’d been working on. “Your dad just dropped me off,” he explained. “Hope that’s alright.”

I nodded and continued mixing my dough. “Of course,” I assured him. “You have fun?”

“Believe it or not, I did.” Roy chuckled and took his phone out of his pocket. “It was your dad and your brother and a couple of your uncles, just shopping and fucking about. They’re actually pretty cool.”

“Please don’t tell them that,” I snorted. “They’d never shut up if they thought a professional athlete called them ‘cool’.”

Roy grinned and showed me some photos of him and the men in my family, screwing around the way they always did; he was smiling and laughing the way he did when we were alone. “We had a good time,” he said, sounding even more surprised than I felt. “I’m… actually looking forward to the party tomorrow.” He nodded towards the speaker my music was playing from. “This the kind of stuff they’ll be playing?”

I nodded, suddenly excited. “Oh, definitely. It’s not a party without our queen.” When I saw his puzzled expression, I went on, “This is Selena. She’s one of my heroes.”

“Like Linda Ronstadt?”

His response was so effortless and automatic I nearly flinched. Part of me couldn’t believe he remembered the offhand comment I’d made about my childhood hero; another part of me wasn’t surprised at all that Roy Kent would be so damn thoughtful.

“Yeah,” I breathed, nodding. “Like Linda Ronstadt.” I cleared my throat. “You ever dance cumbia before, Kent?”

“This is cumbia, I assume?” he asked with a smirk. When I nodded, he shook his head. “No, never danced cumbia.”

Without thinking, I held my hand out to him. “You should practice,” I teased with a quirked eyebrow. “Otherwise, you’re going to embarrass me in front of my whole family, and then I’m going to have to fake breakup with you already.”

Roy let out a playful scoff, matched by those familiar rolling eyes. “I know how to fucking dance,” he huffed, taking my hand nonetheless. “We’ve danced plenty of times.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “That was at clubs. You weren’t dancing, you stood there while I danced on you. You’re welcome for the experience, by the way,” I joked, deflecting from the thoughts I had about dancing so close to Roy. “But for this, you need to actually dance. Move your feet.” I swayed my hips dramatically. “Move your hips.”

Roy’s eyes were glued to my hips in a way that had my face burning. “Hips,” he echoed absently. He gave a little cough. “Like this?” He attempted to swing his hips the way I had but wasn’t quite smooth enough. He rolled his eyes, clearly aware of how awkward he looked. “Alright,” he conceded. “I could use some fucking practice.”

Placing both hands on his hips, I pressed myself a smidge closer to him. “Come on, Kent. You’ve got this.”

He watched my hands, my feet, my hips as we moved to the song, the one I’d been singing and dancing to my whole life. I hummed along, nodding when I saw him begin to relax and feel the rhythm. As his confidence clearly grew, he reached down and took my hands from his hips, holding them in that now familiar warm grip. From there, his eyes never left mine, carrying that intensity that I saw in my dreams every night now. Without warning, he gave me a tentative little spin, causing me to squeal in surprise.

“You’re a fast learner,” I teased as one Selena song gave way to another. “First the piano, now cumbia. Are you trying to come for my job, Kent?”

Roy offered a pleased little chuckle and whirled me in another spin, smoother now. “I must have a good teacher,” he hummed. He brought his free hand to my waist and tugged me close as we continued to dance around the kitchen. “You ever think about how, somewhere out there, some kid is dancing ’round her kitchen to your music, dreaming of being like you?”

For the first time in years, my feet stumbled off-beat. He meant it. Roy meant what he said. Even if I didn’t know him as a genuine person, I could see it in his soft eyes. It felt like a punch to the butterflies in my stomach every time I caught glimpses of that kind, authentic guy, the one I wished I could bring home to see my parents over and over and dance with in my kitchen all the time and kiss in private.

Beep! Beep!

The sound of the oven brought me back to reality, prompting me to take a step back from Roy and drop his hand. “That batch is done,” I blurted out. “I, uh, promised my sister I’d make some cookies for tomorrow, for this giant dessert table she’s doing. So, I’ll be in here all night.”

Roy nodded slowly, taking in my rushed explanation. “Right. You’re really good at baking, right? I remember reading that somewhere.” When all I did was nod, he shrugged. “Lemme go grab a book, I can hang out here while you work. Is that alright?”

My eyes fluttered as I tried not to dwell on the idea of Roy reading about me and remembering the details, the way he’d remembered Linda Ronstadt. “Sure, Roy. If you want to.”

He shrugged, the smallest smile on his lips. “I want to,” he assured me.

Roy came back quickly and settled himself at my kitchen table with one of the million books he’d brought with him. He didn’t say much, but he nodded along to the music and offered me tiny smiles whenever our eyes met. And for the rest of the night, I let myself live in a little fantasy, one where, after a night of baking as he relaxed with a book, we could head to bed together, and I could sleep in his arms instead of down the hall.

~

“Hey, Roy?”

Roy looked up from his book. Those familiar pretty eyes gazed at him from the doorway to the guest room, where he had settled in the night before. She cleared her throat and shifted her weight, something clearly on her mind. Behind her back, he spotted a guitar in her hands, an old, worn one, different from the shiny ones she kept around her London home. Probably from the early days of her career, he pondered as he appreciated the way the morning light caught the smooth surface.

Her smile was soft and timid, reminding him of the time they’d spent together on their holiday; so different from the glittering, shiny popstar he thought he’d be spending time with and, somehow, even more lovely than the glamorous celebrity the rest of the world got to see on red carpets and onstage. She was real like this, in jeans and no makeup and that tiny, infectious grin that made her eyes sparkle.

“You wanna hear that song I was writing on the plane? I finished it.”

He hoped the way he hopped off the bed was enough of a yes for her. He followed her down the stairs and through the house, out the back door and into the garden. She plopped down, gesturing for Roy to sit in the grass beside her. As she took out her phone and began tapping away, Roy couldn’t help but smile at the serious look on her face.

When she looked up and saw that smile, she wrinkled her nose playfully. “Don’t laugh,” she chided lightly. “I know I’m being dramatic, making you come outside and all, but trust me. This song needs to be played out here.”

Immediately, Roy shook his head. “No fucking laughing,” he promised.

As if he could ever laugh at her.

Nodding at Roy’s promise, she positioned her guitar on her lap, balancing her phone on her knee. Roy snapped a quick photo before stuffing his mobile back into his pocket; Keeley had texted him that morning to remind him about posting photos from this little trip. But he didn’t want to focus on Instagram or publicity right now. No, he wanted to hear this song, the one he’d be the very first person to hear.

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before she began strumming the guitar, creating a homey melody that nestled itself deep in Roy’s chest. She was right, he realized immediately; this song was meant for the outdoors.

Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?

I'm not cut out for all these cynical clones

These hunters with cell phones

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I'm setting off, but not without my muse

A lump formed in Roy’s throat; her voice was a smidge lower than usual, thick with longing. It was heavy, and so beautiful. He’d heard so much of her music over the last few months, including songs that had truly touched his grouchy heart, but this was different. The song felt so heavy, filled with something he couldn’t place his finger on.

What should be over burrowed under my skin

In heart-stopping waves of hurt

I've come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze

Tell me what are my words worth

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I'm setting off, but not without my muse

Her eyes alternated between closing and focusing on her phone and gazing out into the garden, lit with the late morning sun. Some part of Roy wanted to take a million photos and videos of this moment, of how beautiful and vulnerable and sunlit she was, pictures that would surely thrill their publicists, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Her song had cast a spell on him, and he was in no rush to break it.

I want auroras and sad prose

I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet

'Cause I haven't moved in years

Her eyes flickered to his, something he hadn’t realized he was craving, holding his gaze steadily as she continued to sing-

And I want you right here

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground

With no one around to tweet it

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

Roy couldn’t help but crack a smile at the way her mouth ticked up in the corner at the word calamitous. He remembered the night of their first sleepover, playing Scrabble and refusing to believe it was a real word. One of her favorite words, he recalled. One she was dying to put into a song, but it had to be the right song.

This song. A song he got to pretend was about him.

And somewhere, deep inside his chest, in a place he refused to explore, Roy suddenly felt a sharp pang wishing that he wasn’t pretending. Somewhere deep and buried, Roy wished he could stand up with pride and tell everyone around him that this song, this beautiful, poetic, stunning song was about him, Roy Kent. He’d never fucking shut up about it if it was.

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I'm setting off, but not without my muse

No, not without you

No, not without you

A few strums of the guitar guided Roy back to reality, to a timid smile that was waiting for him to share his thoughts. And this time, unlike the other times, Roy was determined not to fuck this moment up. He licked his lip and shook his head with the softest sigh.

“That,” he murmured, “might be my fucking favorite song, sunshine.”

Her smile widened, glowing with pride as she took in his words. “Mine too, Kent,” she hummed. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was debating having the whole strings and drums thing, or if-”

“Just the guitar.” Roy was surprised by his own audacity. He shook his head. “Promise me you won’t change a fucking thing. Because that was magical.”

“Just the guitar,” she repeated, her fingers gliding over the smooth wood of the instrument. “Alright, Kent.” She winked at him. “Maybe I’ll have to give you a producer credit or something for your input,” she joked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with just pretending to be your muse.” He smirked, pretending the idea wasn’t gnawing at him.

Instead of laughing along, she cocked her head at him, her eyes filled with racing thoughts. Roy’s heart stuttered, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing, if he’d gone and ruined what he had to admit was one of the most tranquil moments of his normally unruly life. But before she could share whatever thought was going on in that pretty little mind he admired so much, her phone vibrated, nearly falling off her knee. She broke eye contact- and that spell Roy had been under from the first note she played- and glanced down at the lit-up screen.

“My sister,” she grunted, declining the call. She sighed and looked back at Roy, the sparkle gone from her eyes now. “We should head on in and start getting ready,” she announced. Some of the happiness returned to her face as she smirked at him. “You ready for your first quinceañera?”

Roy chuckled and stood, offering her his hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s fucking do it.”

~

Originally, the idea of bringing Roy Kent to my niece’s quince had, to put it plainly, horrified me. Bringing that surly, swearing, grump of a man to such an important family event sounded like a nightmare. Even after discovering the Roy that had become my friend and- fine­- my crush, I was still nervous about introducing him to the most important people in my life, the people who had supported and encouraged me, who sacrificed to make all my dreams come true. Would they like him? I had wondered. And some small, insecure part of me had also wondered- Would he like them?

Every single one of those worries was shattered as I watched Roy interact with my family. He used the short phrases Dani had taught him on my tíos and tías, bringing surprised smiles to the faces of my uncles and aunts who rarely got to meet the men I ran around with. He greeted my brothers with firm handshakes, laughing about the previous day’s outing like they were old friends, as though he was just any old boyfriend of their younger sister and not a soccer legend dating a professional singer. He took selfies with my way too bold cousins and easily sidestepped the flirting of some of their nervier girlfriends, who would then turn around to let me know how much they loved my music and how expensive tickets for my concerts were; the laughter in Roy’s eyes made the irritating interactions worth it.

But, best of all, he treated my nieces and nephews with the same enthusiasm I had seen him have with Phoebe. He listened intently as the boys chattered on about their favorite teams and asked incessant questions about his career and the players he knew; he even managed to talk about Jamie Tartt without swearing. Even more endearing was the way he allowed my three-year-old niece to lead him by the hand to the dessert table and point out all the treats she wanted him to hand to her.

And the black ensemble he wore- which he admitted Keeley and Dani had put together for him- didn’t hurt either, with the top buttons of his shirt undone just so and the pants that fit far too perfectly to be fair.

As I pondered the sight of him taking selfies with my oldest niece and her friends, my sister sidled up, that familiar knowing smile on her face.

“I thought he was supposed to be a grouch,” she teased, nodding towards the smirking coach.

“Believe me, he is,” I chuckled, unable to suppress my grin as I thought about the swears and eyerolls I now thought of as oddly charming. “But he’s also… nice.” I didn’t know what else to say as she raised an eyebrow at me.

Finally, she just wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “That’s good,” she said. “You deserve nice, cariño. Mom and Pop, they’re so tired of seeing the rock stars and the bad boys. They want to see you happy, with someone who cares about you.” She squeezed me close, knocking her hip to mine, the way she did when we were children. “Does Roy care about you?”

It was such a loaded question. Yes, Roy and I were friends now, and he was one of the most protective and supportive people I had in my life, something I felt truly grateful for. But the kisses and affection and the sparkling looks he gave me, they were all for show, for the cameras, for the job. My heart was heavy every time I remembered that all of this, like every relationship I’d had, would end, leaving me once again with nothing but a broken heart and inspiration for sad songs that the internet would both love and mock me for.

But then those brown eyes found mine, and that smirk became a wide grin, and I felt myself melt into my sister’s embrace.

Even if it wasn’t the way I wanted, I knew I could answer her question truthfully-

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Roy really cares about me.”

~

Roy tried to remember the last time he’d had so much fun at a party. He was grateful for his kitchen dance lessons, because he found himself gravitating towards his fake girlfriend, wanting to dance close to her to the music that pulsated through every inch of his body.

She was glittering, magical, as she danced under the party lights, moving her hips even more fluidly than she had in the kitchen the night before. Her hair, her makeup, that fucking dress- everything about her was stunning. Roy marveled at how easily she glided back and forth between looking like home in her jeans and sweatshirts and looking like a goddess in dresses and heels.

Her eyes were bright as she pressed her body close to his, laughing as she sang along to the song he didn’t understand a word of. He probably could have stayed on the dance floor all night, admiring her and doing his best to keep up with her dreamy moves. Roy was something close to disappointed when she tugged his hand and pulled him over to their table, where a few of her family members sat drinking and chattering.

“I’ll be back,” she promised over the music, pressing a kiss to Roy’s cheek.

Roy must have had more shots than he’d counted, he figured. That had to be why he reflexively turned his head to steal a kiss, probably deeper than he should have in front of her brothers, he admitted. But fuck, her lips just felt so soft against his cheek; how was he supposed to resist?

When he pulled back, she blinked at him before offering a tiny smile. “Don’t miss me too much.” With a light touch to his shoulder, she was gone.

“Really?” her oldest brother scoffed, giving Roy a playful shove. “We’re right here, man. You’re going to lose all those points you’ve earned with your shitty Spanish.”

Roy let out a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry,” he apologized, clearly not meaning it.

Her brother shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We just like seeing her happy.” He nodded to the stage, where the DJ was setting up a lone microphone. “Did she tell you what song she’s doing?”

“What song?” Roy repeated incredulously.

“She always sings a little something when we have big parties,” her dad explained from Roy’s other side. “Almost always a Selena song, usually ‘Dreaming of You’. It’s always been one of her favorite songs.” He beamed with that pride only a parent could have. “She sings it beautifully.”

Roy sat up as he watched her climb the stage, that old guitar in hand. “I bet she does,” he murmured, more to himself.

The teenagers on the dance floor shrieked with excitement as she approached the microphone, her bashful expression nothing short of lovely. The birthday girl, in her big poofy dress that Roy couldn’t believe she could walk in, was pushed to the front of the crowd, beaming up at her aunt expectantly; clearly, she had been looking forward to this part of her party.

“So, someone’s been spreading a rumor that I like to sing,” the popstar joked, winking at her niece. “So I’d like to sing a little something for my beautiful niece. Happy birthday, mijita.” She blew a kiss to the birthday girl before strumming her guitar and taking a deep breath, preparing to sing, the way she had in the garden that morning.

Late at night when all the world is sleeping

I stay up and think of you

And I wish on a star

That somewhere you are thinking of me too

Her eyes found Roy’s, immediately softening and sparkling as she continued in that voice wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of.

'Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight

'Til tomorrow

I'll be holding you tight

And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be

Than here in my room

Dreaming about you and me

Wonder if you ever see me

And I wonder if you know I'm there

If you looked in my eyes

Would you see what's inside?

Would you even care?

I just wanna hold you close

But so far

All I have are dreams of you

So I wait for the day and the courage to say

How much I love you, yes I do

Eyes closed, she leaned back from the microphone and continued strumming on the guitar, the tune shifting into something different, but just as soft and wistful. Out of the corner of his eye, Roy caught flashes of confusion on her family’s faces, their expressions telling him that this wasn’t her usual performance.

When her eyes opened, she winked at her still beaming niece before looking back at Roy, her gaze aflame with something he couldn’t quite name.

I could lose my heart tonight

If you don't turn and walk away

'Cause the way I feel I might

Lose control and let you stay

'Cause I could take you in my arms

And never let go

I could fall in love with you

I could fall in love with you

Her brother leaned close to Roy and murmured, “This is new. Usually she just does ‘Dreaming of You’ and that’s it.” He nudged Roy pointedly. “Three guesses who inspired the change,” he teased.

All Roy could do was chuckle awkwardly and shrug, unable to tear his eyes from the singer as she sang, her voice thick with emotion, as though the song was made for her.

I can only wonder how

Touching you would make me feel

But if I take that chance right now

Tomorrow will you want me still?

So I should keep this to myself

And never let you know

I could fall in love with you

I could fall in love with you

And I know it's not right

And I guess I should try to do what I should do

But I could fall in love, fall in love with you

I could fall in love with you

She played the outro to massive applause, especially from the teenagers on the dance floor. She leaned down from the stage to hug the birthday girl tightly and blow kisses to the young people screaming her name. She practically floated offstage and back to Roy, who stood up so he could wrap her in a hug.

“That was beautiful,” he gushed. “Seriously, you’re fucking amazing.”

“Anything for Roy Kent,” her older sister called out in a mocking voice, sounding like some sort of inside joke Roy didn’t quite get.

The sour face she made at her sister told Roy that yes, there was a joke happening. “Just be glad I’m not charging you for the performance,” she quipped. She turned her attention back to Roy, offering him that beaming smile.

“You ever think of doing an all-acoustic album?” he blurted out without thinking. “Just… that song you played this morning, and then this…” He shook his head. “It’d be fucking amazing. Just you and your guitar. It's fucking magic.”

She studied him for a moment, looking like she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Finally, and reached down and took his hand in hers. “Come on, Kent,” she chuckled. “Let’s get you a drink and you can try to become my new producer.”

~

I giggled as Roy and I stumbled through the front door after waving off my driver. After my Selena mashup, we joined my siblings and cousins in multiple rounds of shots, filling the night with laughter and joyful shouts. Now, at nearly two in the morning, the two of us staggered into my house, Roy’s arm wrapped loosely around my shoulders as he hummed the song that had been playing in the car before we got out.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he sang, his voice gruff and off-key. “The downtown lights.”

Once we managed to make it upstairs, I pulled him into a tight hug. “Thanks for tonight, Kent,” I murmured. “You were the perfect boyfriend.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “For you, sunshine? Anytime.” He gave me a small squeeze before pulling away and taking a backwards step towards his room, down the hall from mine. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I echoed, watching his receding figure before ducking into my own bedroom. Once inside, I kicked off the ridiculously high heels I’d been stupid enough to dance in and removed my jewelry. Impatient to get some pajamas on, I reached for the zipper on my dress so I could take it off and leave it in some corner instead of hanging it up like a civilized popstar would.

Too bad I couldn’t reach the damn zipper.

“Fuck,” I hissed, wondering how the heck I’d managed to get dressed. Right, I reminded myself: I’d changed at my mother’s so I could get ready with my sister and niece. One of them had zipped me up.

Too tired and drunk to feel embarrassed or timid, I yanked my bedroom door open and poked my head into the hallway. The light coming out from under the guest room door told me that Roy was still up.

“Kent!” I whined.

From the other side of the door, I heard a grumbled, “Yeah?”

Pouting for an invisible audience, I shouted back, “Come help me with my zipper.” Without waiting for an answer, I turned back to my room.

I could hear the long sigh from his room, but, sure enough, his door opened. I heard his footsteps approach slowly. When I glanced over my shoulder, Roy was in the doorway, already changed into the plain t-shirt he usually wore to bed. My skin warmed at the sight of his boxers, but I waved him over, pretending to be much more casual than my racing heart felt.

His fingers were warm on my back as he found my zipper, reminding me of when he’d put the Scrabble necklace around my neck; I wondered if he could feel me shiver at his touch and the memory. Slowly, he guided the zipper down, down to where it ended just above the curve of my ass, exposing my bare back.

Roy could have left, right then and there. He could have turned and walked out, grumbled a tipsy goodnight, and returned to his room. That was what I fully expected him to do.

Instead, when I turned my head to thank him for his help, his hand hovered over my shoulder as he stared at me with wide eyes. With a visible gulp, he took the shoulder of my dress between his fingers and tugged it down deliberately, as though waiting for me to tell him to stop, to ask what he was doing, to order him back to his room. Rather than do any of those things, I let him slowly guide the dress down my shoulders until it fell in a puddle at my feet, leaving me in only my panties and bra.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, eyes on my lips. “Really fucking beautiful.”

Before I could think of a single word to say, Roy crashed his mouth into mine, hungry and reckless. I quickly turned my body to face him, to press myself against him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He groaned into the kiss and slid his hands down to my ass, just like he had that day at the lake. My desperation for him finally winning, I reached down to the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor carelessly. He reattached his mouth to mine seamlessly and began urging me towards my bed.

I tugged him along until we were both horizontal, mouths and hands everywhere, soft groans filling the silent room. Something hard pressed against me deliciously, even harder than that afternoon making out in front of the paparazzi.

My heart soared when I remembered that there was no paparazzi, no audience. This was just me and Roy, in my bed, touching each other because we meant it. I pulled him closer, feeling like finally, finally, I’d done the impossible and caught lightning in a bottle. Maybe, just maybe, I had found that love I’d spent my whole life singing and dreaming about.

Roy’s hands felt like home and his lips tasted like paradise as I began to squirm beneath him, appreciative of the friction he gave me. We could go back to London together, I thought as my hands wandered down those perfect arms, arms I dreamt about each night. Every love song on my tour would be for him. Hell, I could tell him that my new album really was for him. This wouldn’t have to end, my soaring heart thought. We could stay like this, me and my muse-

“Fuck.”

The curse that hissed past the lips I was kissing froze my movements. I pulled back, eying Roy’s flushed face and feeling his ragged breath against my own.

“Something wrong?” I breathed, begging him to say no. Begging him to stay.

Of course, he didn’t say no. He didn’t stay. Instead, he climbed off me and off my bed, shaking his head sadly.

“I’m sorry.”

That was it. Two words. Two little words and he’d sent me back to that place I’d been so many times, that place of loneliness and doubt. Without looking back at me, he walked towards the door, pausing only to pick up his shirt and tug it back over his head. He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving me alone.

The sound of footsteps trudging downstairs finally had me able to move. I tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack, revealing Roy hurrying down. His footsteps made a beeline for my backdoor, which quickly opened and shut.

Part of me wanted to run after him, to demand to know what had just happened and what it meant. To beg him to come back upstairs and try to love me. Please.

But for once, I didn’t. I wanted Roy Kent to choose me, and I wasn’t going to beg. Not this time. This time, I turned off the light and crawled back into bed. The memory of his hands and his lips played over and over again in my head until, finally, I drifted to sleep.

~

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@alicedsworld@222333777@thegivenvoid @tortilla-maria1 @treblebeth @maackiimoo

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Boston Bears: Off-Limits - Rugby Player!Chris x Reader (Part 7)

Summary: It's your first time back in LA following what went down with Bryce. You expected it to be uncomfortable, you didn't expect almost everything to explode in your face

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Fluff! Angst! Brief Minor Violence! Talk of Sexual-Misconduct! Poor Self-Confidence! Mention of Vomit! Talk of Anxiety!

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Chapter 7

The stadium was already full when Chris stepped out onto the pitch to warm up. The LA heat was almost unbearable compared to the East Coast spring weather. Chris scanned the crowd which was full of LA Lions fans but to Chris’ joy, he could still see the occasional blue shirt of the Bears fan. Dedicated fans who made the long trip or kept their allegiance after moving. 

Today was the first away game for a few weeks. It was an important match as the Lions were the main competition for the playoffs and championship, but also because it would prove that the current winning streak wasn’t because the Bears were at home. 

Training had been intense the past week, Coach blasting the heating so the change in temperature wouldn’t be too stark. They also arrived in LA Wednesday evening despite the match not being until Saturday. It allowed them to train in the heat and recover from the flight so they were all fighting fit. 

As Chris warmed up he glanced over to the bench where you were stood with the other medics. You looked good in shorts and a sports vest instead of the tracksuit you normally wore, but Chris kept spotting you glancing over at the Lion’s bench nervously. 

You hadn’t told him exactly why you left the Lions so suddenly but he guessed it wasn’t for a happy reason. You seemed hesitant to be back here. Chris had a suspicion though, one he had when he was doing his research for tonight’s match. 

He had watched all of the Lion’s games from this season to fully understand how they were trying to play. Despite knowing you obviously worked there, He was surprised when he first saw you on the footage, he wondered how he never noticed you before because now he couldn’t stop looking for you. It was one match that caught his attention though, it was the last match the Lions played before you left. 

He could see in the small glimpses he got of you that you were acting different, acting like you were now Chris realised. In the footage, he watched as the Lion’s fly-half, Bryce Langley, went down and you jogged onto the pitch. Unlike all the other times you saw to Bryce in previous matches, you seemed pissed off, you snapped at him and even chucked a water bottle at him.

If Chris had to guess, Bryce was at least part of the reason that you left so suddenly. He just hoped Bryce stayed away today and didn’t cause you any more trouble. 

Chris went back to warming up, practising his kicks. The crowd were doing their best to put him off, jeering as he did his run-up. But to his delight and their disappointment Chris slotted the ball between the posts each time. Chris grinned when he bent down to grab his tee, sending a winning smile to the crowds as he turned around only to see Bryce was watching him from his side of the pitch. Chris barely acknowledged him as he walked off to join his team for some drills.

When it was time to head back into the changing rooms to get ready for the match, Chris timed it so he walked by the bench next to you “You okay?” he asked quietly, pausing for a moment. 

You gave him a small smile and nodded “Good just promise me you’ll beat the crap out of them” you asked. 

Chris grinned and nodded his head “It’ll be my pleasure” he promised as he carried on towards the changing room only to notice Bryce once again watching him. 

Soon enough it was time for kick off and both teams came out of the starting blocks with fire in their veins. It was a brutal first half and hard hits and each team scrapped to get over the try line only to be unsuccessful. The only points on the scoreboard were from penalty kicks. 

There had been plenty of breaks as different players on either team needed some medical attention. Whenever there was a break the medic team would jog on, a couple going to the players that were down, the rest bringing water on for the rest of the team. 

You had been mostly on water duty and whenever you came over Chris somehow always managed to end up standing up next to you. You occasionally brought on some instructions that had been radioed down from your dad. 

After the most recent break when you went to leave the pitch, you gave one last instruction from your dad directly to Chris. Chris nodded and patted you on the shoulder as you left before moving to get back into position for the restart. 

As he took up his position ready to kick the ball ready to start the next phase of play he spotted Bryce was watching him intensely and not because Chris was about to kick the ball, Bryce was also looking at you as you walked off the pitch. 

Chris decided to take this moment since Bryce was clearly distracted, he checked the ref was ready to go and kicked the ball the restart the game. It was another rough ten minutes that ended with the ref calling both Captains over for a talking too, which to Chris’ annoyance meant Bryce came walking over. Chris ignored him as the ref told them both to get the penalties under control otherwise players would start getting sent off, but when they went to walk back to their respective teams Bryce spoke up. 

“See you’re close to our old medic,” He said. 

Chris arched a brow but didn’t engage.

“She’s a bit of fun isn’t she” Bryce smirked with a disgusting wink before turning away. 

Chris clenched his fists as he took in that snippet of information. You and Bryce had been in some sort of relationship, one that clearly didn’t end well. Chris knew that it had to be Bryce’s fault and the reason why you were so nervous to be here and it made Chris’ blood boil. If he hurt you then Chris was gonna kill him. 

Thankfully for Chris, he played the perfect sport that allowed him to dispense some justice, he just needed to play it carefully. 

It was only a couple of minutes until half-time when the perfect opportunity presented itself. Johnny had kicked the ball down the pitch and it was going straight into Bryce’s hands. Chris timed his run perfectly, hitting Bryce with a hard tackle as soon as his boots touched the ground. The ball was knocked free the hit was so hard, yet Bryce just laughed as he lay underneath Chris. 

“You can do better Evans” he chuckled. 

Chris bit back a growl as he went to push himself up and rejoin the game but Bryce spoke up again. 

“And I don’t mean the tackle, there better lays out there, she’s shit in bed” Bryce smirked up at Chris. 

Chris saw red but still had enough reason to stop himself from punching Bryce. If he threw the first punch he would be sent off for the rest of the game, he wanted Bryce to throw the first punch. So instead he grabbed Bryce by his shirt, lifted him up and slammed him back into the ground before standing up so he looked more innocent. 

Bryce took the bait, jumped to his feet and swung, his fist connecting with the side of Chris’ face. The crowd exploded as the two teams piled in, it was only once Chris and Bryce were surrounded and hidden from the cameras that Chris threw a punch, but not before getting a couple more to his face. Chris could feel blood trickling down from his forehead and he was pretty sure his lip was split. 

Eventually, the teams and refs were able to break the fight up. Ari had his arm around Chris’ shoulders as he led him away to ensure Chris didn’t go in for round two even though they both knew Ari was more likely to go in again out of the two of them. 

The medics ran onto the pitch, you ran straight to Chris “What the hell happened” you hissed as you passed him a water bottle and held some gauze to his eyebrow which was bleeding. 

Chris squeezed some water into his mouth to sloosh out the blood before spitting it back onto the pitch “Don’t worry about it” he muttered.

A worried look passed over your eyes as you glanced over toward Bryce who was also being treated, when you looked back at Chris it looked like you wanted to be sick. 

“Chris-” you started but Chris interrupted. 

“Later” 

You nodded and returned your attention back to getting the bleeding to stop. As you did so the ref who had been talking to the TMO walked over and showed Chris a yellow card. Chris sighed, it wasn’t great but at least it wasn’t a red which was the card that was shown to Bryce. 

Since the fight had started in the 40th minute the ref called the end of the first half allowing all the players to head back to the changing rooms. 

“Hold onto this and I’ll patch you up better in the changing room” you instructed as you grabbed your bag and stood up.

Chris did as he was told and held onto the gauze as he started to walk off the pitch, as he did so he glanced up to where all the coaches sat and watched the game. Even from this distance, he could see the look of fury on your dad’s face telling Chris he was about to get a bollocking in the changing rooms. 

Once inside, Chris sat down in his cubby and let you carry on treating him. The cut on his brow had stopped bleeding allowing you to apply butterfly stitches to keep the cut shut. You then added a bandage to help protect it while allowing him to continue playing. 

You were just cleaning up the small cut on his cheekbone and split lip when your dad finally stormed into the changing room “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT EVANS!” he bellowed loud enough to make the entire team flinch. 

“I’m sorry sir, I just saw red” Chris apologised. 

Your dad shook his head “That isn’t like you Evans! What on earth was he doing that provoked you” he asked. 

Chris noticed how you froze for a second, a flash of fear passing over your eyes that only Chris could see. 

“He was trash-talking Jensen and it just pissed me off” Chris lied, Jake looking over at him surprised. 

“It's true I heard it, he deserved it” Johnny piped up. 

Chris shot Johnny a thankful look, he knew Johnny hadn’t heard a thing but he clearly put two and two together. 

“Right well good for you for sticking up your friends” Coach Y/L/N sighed “At least you didn’t throw the first punch” he then turned your attention back to you “Is he good to back on?”

“Just about to do the head injury assessment now” you responded. 

Your dad nodded “Okay well it’s going to be 14 men on both teams for the first ten minutes of the second half so we should expect them to hit us hard during those ten minutes, but as soon as we get 15 men back on the pitch we need to hit them hard and make them regret losing Langley”

As he continued on with his halftime talk, you did the head injury assessment on Chris which involved a lot of you looking into Chris’ eyes. He just hoped you could see the reassurance he was trying to convey in them. 

Today had been a disaster. You really regretted coming back to LA. Your dad had said that you could stay back in Boston if you really wanted to but you wanted to prove to yourself that you weren’t haunted by LA. Tommi was here, you needed to be able to visit her and the team would always play here at least once a season. 

You had felt sick the entire time you were in the stadium, you could feel a thousand eyes on your back. The only time you felt better was when you felt Chris’ eyes on you, they felt like a gentle touch in between the stabs of pain.

It was enough to make you feel better, feel safer. You could do this, the tightness in your chest dissipated. 

That was until the fight broke out between Chris and Bryce. You knew it had to be over you. You didn’t know exactly what Bryce but you had a good idea and all the progress you made was gone in an instant. 

You had been feeling better about yourself following your night out with the ticket office girls. Whether he knew it or not Chris had built you back up by making you smile, he took you to bed and seemed to worship you. You felt more like the person you had been before everything happened. 

But now Bryce had poisoned it. He has told Chris about you and you felt like you were back to square one. 

Chris had said ‘later’ when you tried to ask him and you couldn’t work out if it was a good or bad later. Considering you had yet to speak to him following the match you felt pretty confident it was a bad later. 

You had eaten dinner with your Dad who wanted to make sure you were okay being back in LA. When everything went down with Bryce you had called your dad in tears, you hadn’t told him every detail just that you had been in a relationship with a player and it ended so badly that you needed out. Your dad went into instant over-protective mode and you had to convince him not to jump straight on a plane over. 

To anyone else, it would have been awkward talking about this sort of thing with their dad, but it had been just you and him, he’d been your mom and your dad so it felt normal. He didn’t know that the fight between Chris and Bryce was because of you, he’d believed the lie Chris had told him. Whether he lied to protect you or himself you didn’t know. 

Now you were just sat alone in your hotel room, chin resting on your knees as you hugged them close to your chest. It was late but you couldn’t sleep. You were still waiting for Chris to come to discuss what had happened. He hadn’t texted you or said anything since the game but you knew it was only a matter of time. 

It was half an hour later that you heard a light tapping of knuckles on your hotel room door. You took a deep breath and pushed yourself off your bed, wrapping the loose long cardigan you wore around yourself tightly. 

Like you suspected you found Chris on the other side of the door, an unreadable look on his face “Can I come in?” he asked quietly. 

You swallowed and nodded as you stepped aside and let him in. He walked in and took a quick look around your room before he turned back to face you. He had changed into comfies, grey sweatpants and a navy blue tee. The cuts on his face looked better even if bruises were starting to form. 

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly. 

Chris nodded “I just thought I’d find out why I took a total of 3 punches to the face for you today” he said. 

“Chris I-” you started before your voice gave out, your own body silencing you. 

“You left LA because of him right? You were dating him and it went bad” Chris stated his hands buried in his sweatpant pockets probably to hide the fact that they were clenched. 

“Yes,” you whispered. 

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” Chris pressed taking a couple of steps forwards towards you. 

“He- he uh - it-” 

“You can tell me” Chris promised.

“I know I just- it’s just-”

Chris let out a long sigh and dropped his head “It’s okay don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay” he said softly. 

He lifted his gaze to meet yours and you could see the sincerity in them. It made your heart completely melt. It was at that moment that you realised that you did want to tell, you wanted this all off your chest even if it meant he left you because you couldn’t live the lie anymore. 

“I want to tell you, I do…” you muttered looking down at the floor, fiddling with the sleeves of your cardigan “It’s just difficult” you admitted.

Chris nodded his head “That’s okay, take however long as you need” he said softly.

You bit your lip and nodded your head. Your mind was running at a million miles per hour trying to work out what you wanted to say or how to say it. You took a few deep breaths and tried to talk but every time you opened your mouth nothing came out no matter how hard you tried. 

You looked back up at Chris and saw him patiently waiting for you. He wasn’t trying to rush you, he looked sympathetic and understanding. Which actually made it worse because you weren’t sure you could see that face change to disgust as you told him everything that happened.

“I’m sorry I- I can’t look at you when I… I just can’t” you said before turning around so your back was to Chris. 

You took a couple more deep breaths, once you got going the rest would just fall out. You just needed to take that first step. You’d done it before with your Dad and Tommi so why was it so hard now? You’d done it before, you could do it again. You could do it.

“I had a crush on Bryce for a while, I never properly knew him but I thought he was hot and he seemed nice, he was a good laugh” you finally managed to say “Then at the Christmas party he finally reciprocated, I thought it would be a one-time thing and I was okay with that too but he kept coming back and I kept letting him in” you explained trying to keep your voice level, “he asked to keep it quiet, said it was to protect me, made me think it was exclusive when it wasn’t” you swallowed as you prepared yourself to recall the hardest part of the story “at my last match for the Lions I overheard him talking about me and not just him telling the team that we were together he told them everything, told them so much that I may as well have walked in naked and given them the information myself and it wasn’t like he was bigging me up, here was tearing me down, saying how shit I was- the disgust in his voice… I tried to brush it off and say it was just locker room talk but all of them just looked at me like I was naked and I felt so violated I-I had to leave”

You had to take a moment as the tears streaming down your face made it near impossible to talk but the floodgates were open and truths you hadn’t even voiced before came streaming out.

“It made me feel like spoiled goods, I’m not someone who asks for reviews and the first I got was the worst you could ever get and my confidence just went. I tried to get myself back on the horse to prove him wrong but that voice was still in my head, it still is telling me how disgusting I am and how there was no way that you’re enjoying this as much as you say” you shuddered “and even if you didn’t realise it then I’m sure after hearing all this you do now and it’s fine if you want to stop, want to leave… I wouldn’t blame you” 

Silence fell in the room. The only sound was your sobs that you tried and failed to hold back. You covered your face with your hands to hide your tears, tried to stop them.

It felt like an eternity had passed, so long that you were certain that Chris had left and you hadn’t heard him go. That was until you felt his arms wrap around you tightly, holding you up as you completely broke down. 

You were so distraught that you hadn’t even registered that he’d turn you around until your head was buried in his chest. Your fist clutching his tee as your tears soaked the fabric. He rubbed your back soothingly, his other hand cradling the back of your head.

You were faintly aware of him whispering comforting words in your ears as he pressed kisses to the top of your head. It was soothing and heartbreaking all at the same time. Chris was being so sweet and it pained you to think that you thought he wouldn’t. He’d given you no real reason to think the worst of him yet you did and you felt awful about it.

Your body began to shake with exhaustion. All the adrenaline that had been pumping through your body all left at once making you feel weak. Chris instantly picked up on it though as he scooped you up and moved to sit on the bed, you curled up in his lap.

With the exception of the comforting words he was whispering, he just let you cry it out, he didn’t try and get you to stop he just held you. It was only when your sobs receded and turned into hiccups that he spoke. 

“Firstly I am so sorry you had to go through all that, I would have hit him harder today if I’d known” he sighed “But secondly… don’t you dare believe a word he says, you are not spoiled goods, you are not disgusting, and you can be damn well sure I have never felt that way about you either” he continued cupping your cheek as he tilted your head back so he could look into your eyes “when I’ve told you how much I enjoy our time together and how fucking good it makes me feel it is 100% the truth because I would never, ever lie to you about something like that” 

“But-” you started but Chris silenced you by running his thumb over your lips.

“You are easily the sexiest woman I have ever had the pleasure of spending time with, you are like a drug that I cannot and do not want to quit” Chris stated, his voice full of conviction. 

“Then why did he-” you sighed shaking your head.

Chris shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know, Bryce is so fucked in the head that I don’t even want to dive into his messed up mind to try and figure it out but I can guess that like all bullies he was projecting his own insecurities onto you and decided he needed an ego boost and so he started to brag” he sighed “all of it is on him not you”

You let out a long sigh and rested your head back against his chest as you thought back to all the times you had spent with Bryce, the memories completely different without the rose tint “he definitely isn’t the best I’ve had” you muttered “that award goes to you”

Chris snorted with laughter, and shook his head “I can say the same thing about you” he said softly. 

“Thank you” you whispered “I am sorry you got punched by him today, I should have told you about all of this before”

Chris shook his head, his hand running soothingly up and down your back “It’s okay you weren’t ready to tell me, plus if you had I probably would have been the one who got given a red card because I would have outright punched him the first chance I got, I should really give you the man of the match medal” he chuckled. 

“I thought Johnny got player of the match” you pointed out, brow furrowed in confusion. You could definitely recall Johnny showing it off in the changing rooms despite how awful you were feeling at the time. 

“He gave it to me, said if I hadn’t taunted Bryce into the fight we wouldn’t have had the 1 man advantage and he wouldn’t have been able to score as easily as he did” Chris explained “So remind me tomorrow morning to give it to you” he smiled softly.

You shook your head “You keep it, you deserve it for sticking up for me” 

Chris nodded but you had a sneaky suspicion that it would somehow end up in your possession anyway. 

“Can I ask you something?” Chris then asked, you nodded your head to tell him to go on “Did you report what he did to you?”

You let out a long sigh and nodded your head “Yeah I went straight to the head coach after the match, to his credit he was really good about it, he launched an investigation into it but all the team took Bryce’s side and said he never said anything about me, it was my word against all of theirs and while the head coach believed me he said his hands were tied” you recalled.

Chris swore under his breath “That’s utter bullshit, he could have done so much more” he said his voice almost like a growl “I’m glad you left, seems like that entire club is backwards and not a safe space for anyone” 

You nodded and let out a sigh “You’re right, it would be nice if there was some justice” 

Chris hummed in agreement “I know, but there will be, these things have a way of working themselves out, and in the meantime, Bryce is walking around with a nasty black eye so he won’t be getting any attention for a while” he smirked.

You chuckled softly before yawning, the exhaustion from today finally catching up with you. You were finding it difficult to stay awake, especially in Chris’ warm and safe embrace. 

“You tired?” Chris murmured as he looked down at you. 

You looked up at him with droopy eyes, there was no denying that you needed to go to sleep but you really didn’t want Chris to leave “Not really” you said. 

Chris gave you a knowing look “C’mon let's get you to bed” he hummed standing back up. 

You tried to protest but it was an impossible battle as Chris pulled back the covers and guided you to climb in. You managed to grab hold of his hand as he pulled up the covers.

“Will you stay?” you whispered.

Chris smiled softly as he nodded his head “I’m not going anywhere” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You watched as he stood back up and pulled his tee over the top of his head, turned off the lights, before climbing into bed with you. As he settled he pulled you into his side so you could rest your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you securely the weight of his arms comforting. It didn’t take long at all for you to fall asleep, only faintly aware of Chris kissing the top of your head as you drifted off. 

To Chris' relief, you fell asleep quickly. He watched as all the tension and worry left your face and you completely relaxed as you slept. It took him a bit longer to be able to fall asleep himself. His mind focused on replaying back every interaction he’d ever had with you, noticing all the signs he’d missed. 

Like how you were so set on making sure you were on the same page on exclusivity and how many details would be shared with others. He could tell it was important to you at the time but now he knew it was because you were trying to protect yourself, trying to ensure Chris wouldn’t do what Bryce had done. 

He could also recall all the times an odd look would pass across your face. While he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking in those moments, he knew there were doubts and fears that only existed because of the damage Bryce had done. 

Chris now understood why your dad was so adamant that none of the players messed with you. Hell Chris would be the same if his daughter had been so broken by a rugby player, heck Chris might even try and convince them to leave and use their skills elsewhere. He just hoped that Chris’ good reputation would be enough to convince your dad not to kill him. 

Chris took one more look at you and studied your peaceful face for a few moments before deciding he should try and get some rest. It had been a long day afterall and his face still really hurt. The pain subsided though as he held you closer, breathed in the smell of your shampoo and let himself fall asleep.

Chris wasn’t sure how or why he woke up, all he knew was that he felt you tense in his arms before quickly climbing out of bed to make your way to the ensuite. He waited in silence for you to come back but what felt like an eternity passed and you didn’t. He waited long enough that he too climbed out of bed to make sure you were okay.

He tapped his knuckles gently against the hardwood door, he heard you suddenly sniffle in response “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah,” you responded, your voice weak and shaky.

You weren’t okay, he’d known that from the moment you woke “You decent?” He asked, you hummed in response “Good, 'cause I’m coming in”.

Chris heard you protest, you said you were fine but Chris knew it was a lie. He got his confirmation of that fact when he found you sat on the cold tiled floor, knees hugged close to your chest. Sat right by the toilet which had its lid up ready to be used.

“I’m fine” you repeated weakly, but Chris saw the shiver that ran through your body.

Without saying anything Chris grabbed the fluffy bathrobe that hung on the back of the door and draped it around your shoulders “You’re not, and that’s okay” he said gently as he sat down next to you.

“It’ll pass, it always does” you whispered as you wiped your fingers under your eyes. All the colour had drained from your face and you looked exhausted, like someone who was about to be sick. 

Chris’ brows pinched together “This happens regularly?”

You let out a long sigh as you hugged your knees closer to your chest “Ever since… you know…”

“Oh”

“Not every night, it comes and goes sometimes for long enough that I think it’s not gonna happen again and then it does”

Once again Chris was thinking back to all the times he’d spent the night, or you had come back to his. Trying to remember a time when you’d crept out of bed and he didn’t notice. The only time he could think of was the first night you spent at his house, you hadn’t shared a room let alone a bed but Chris remembered finding you downstairs. He cursed to himself that he hadn’t noticed it then, with hindsight he could recall how you didn’t look quite right and you seemed skittish.

“You had this the night of the Barbeque didn’t you?” he asked wanting to confirm his suspicions, you gave him the smallest of nods “Why didn’t you say?”

You shugged your shoulders weakly “I don’t know, the feeling had mostly gone by the time you came downstairs, maybe I was trying to rationalise it and say it was the alcohol and honestly… I just didn’t want to talk about it” you admitted.

Chris nodded his head understandingly “Have you spoken to anyone about it?”

You nodded your head “Yeah I told Tommi, she made me take a test, multiple tests, but they were all negative so at least it's not that but I don’t know what it is, I just get this sudden wave of nausea that wakes me up, my heart is pounding like I’ve just run miles but I’m never actually sick it feels like I’m on the verge”

Chris nodded slowly as he took in all that information, he studied you and was able to recognise a lot of what you were doing, he’d done it all before in his past.

“It’s anxiety” Chris answered, your head snapped over to him in surprise “I used to get that exact same feeling when I suffered from anxiety, still get it occasionally” 

“But why?”

Chris shrugged his shoulders “Nobody really knows, but you told me something that happened to you that was traumatic to you and it was probably playing on your mind even if you didn’t realise it and triggered this”

You heaved a deep breath as you nodded slowly before resting your chin on your knees “I guess that makes sense”

“It’ll get better, I promise” Chris reached out to gently take your hand and hold it “How do you feel now”

You shifted your head so you could look over at him “It’s gone, I’m just very tired”

A gentle smile tugged at Chris’ lips “That’s normal too, people think anxiety and other mental illnesses are just mental, but they affect you physically too” You gave him a weak smile “C’mon let’s get you to bed”

He carefully helped you to your feet, holding you steady knowing your legs would feel weak. Once up on your feet, you looked up at him and Chris could have sworn he saw the start of tears in your eyes but before he had a chance to ask you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Chris wrapped his arms around you in turn and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. He’d seen a completely different side of you tonight, the side you’d kept hidden. He felt his heart race as he recalled how broken you looked when you explained everything, how you seriously expected him to leave afterwards like you were undeserving of any form of care. 

He wished he’d gotten a bigger punch in at Bryce for causing all this pain, he wanted blood even though deep down he knew that wouldn’t help you and helping you was more important. He was gonna be there for you, whenever you needed it but he wasn’t going to tell you that because he knows that just being told that it’s okay and someone is there to help isn’t enough, you needed to be shown it. Actions speak a thousand words. So in that moment, Chris swore he’d be there for you whenever you needed it, he’d show you that you were deserving of care and how exactly you should be treated, he’d build you back up piece by piece so you could never be hurt like this again.

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Series Masterlist / Masterlist

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[cyberg4n]

✧ 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄

paring: earth42!miles x fem!reader

warnings: nothing, fluff, lowkey short sorry😭

a/n: i saw a movement test clip of him earlier on tiktok and i was SCREAMING and it just fueled me to make this

summary: you stop by during miles’ training sesh.

you walk up the stairs, hearing music blasting from aaron’s apartment. you knock on his door, waiting for someone to answer. you stand there for a few minutes, awkwardly looking down at your phone. you knock again — but louder. you hear someone approaching, so you back up. aaron opens the door, his brows raising once he sees you. “oh, hey.” aaron says. you greet him back. “uh, is miles here?” you ask, he turns around, nodding. he opens the door wider for you to enter. once you step inside, you see miles swinging at the punching bag in front of him. you hear the door close behind you, aaron walks over to miles. he stops the bag with his hand, “your girlfriend’s here.” he says, nodding his head over to you. miles raises a brow, looking over aaron’s shoulder. once he spots you, he smiles widely.

miles takes off his boxing gloves, walking over to you. “how you doin’ ma?” he kisses you, pulling you into a hug. he looks down at your hand. “what’s that?” he asks. you smile, “takeout,” he grins, kissing you on the cheek. “you always treat me, don’t you, princesa?” you hear a cough, looking over behind miles. aaron turns down the music, standing there awkwardly. “you two have fun, i gotta go run some errands.” he says. whenever he says he has to got run some errands, what he really means is he has to go buy more items for explosives. miles laughs, saying bye to him. once aaron leaves, miles pulls you over to the couch. you open the plastic bag, grabbing a few boxes out. the food neatly arranged on the coffee table. as you tear open the containers, you can’t help but admire him.

you watch miles devour his dumplings. you stare at the veins running down his arms as he lifts each bite to his lips. he looks over at you, a smug look on his face. “what?” he asked through a mouthful of food. “you’ve gotten so big, i guess aaron’s really working you hard with all that prowler stuff.” you say. he grins, “what you don’t like it?” he asks while purposely flexing his arms. you laugh, shaking your head. he reaches over to the table, grabbing the remote and turning on the tv. “so, how’s your prowler business going?” you ask. miles’ eyes light up as soon as you ask, “fucking amazing,” he says. “you know, the other day, me and aaron completely messed up these guys. it was crazy, i mean i—” you quickly raise a finger, shushing him. you point at the screen.

the news flashes on, bright letters on the bottom of the screen reads “the prowler strikes again — with a new apprentice.” when miles realizes what he’s reading, he immediately stops eating. you gasp, snatching the remote out of his hand, turning up the volume. you listen to the reporter as she stands by a large building, a visible chuck of it missing. “holy shit,” you mutter, you laugh as you realize half of the building has been blown up. “you blew it up?” you ask. his eyes are glued to the screen, “yeah, i did.” he replies back. the two of you laugh as it switches over to another angle of the building being even more wrecked. “i hate that they’re calling me an apprentice though,” he says while continuing to eat his food. you lean back, tilting your head to the side. “is that not what you are?” he looks at you, shrugging. “i mean, yeah — but you know.” you roll your eyes sarcastically, giggling. “i’m so proud of you, my baby finally made it onto tv.” you say as you pinch his cheeks teasingly. miles grabs your wrist, laughing. “aight, chill.”

he finishes his dumplings, placing the box back on the table. he gets up, grabbing a cold water bottle from the fridge before sitting back down next to you. he opens the bottle, gulping down his water. “i’m glad you’re having fun with all this, haven’t seen you genuinely happy in a while.” you say, he looks up at you, his gaze softening. “yeah,” he murmurs. “all of this prowler stuff really helps me ease my stress,” you smile at him, playing with one of his braids. “and your mom, she doing okay?” miles nods, “yeah, she still doesn’t know about it yet though.”

miles sighs loudly, laying his head down into your lap. he looks up at you, pulling you into a kiss. “and i hope she doesn’t find out any time soon.” he mutters. he turns in your lap, watching the news. you hear him hysterically laugh under you every time the reporter mentions the damage he’s done to the building.

please do not copy or repost my writings to any other sites !

[dc-takeover]

Batfam and who I love think they’d be closest to in the Foxes.

Bruce and Wymack. They bond on being a single dad of “I lost track at some point” many kids that were in shitty situations that only one of which is biological. They’d get together every so often and eat pizza and drink (Wymack would at least) and share stories of the insane things their kids have done that week.

Dick Grayson would be Kevin because they both strive to be the best. Or at least the best they can. They both have the most and more extensive experience. (It’s totally not bc they’re both hot and know it and their confidence bounces back and forth between them expanding even more and more and they live for then high that is confidence.)

Jason’s would be Andrew. They both have irreparable trauma and pain caused by a “family” member and have agreed to never talk about it but they were safe places to let anger out in. It’s very much a “I hate you /srs” but it’s mutually beneficial. (He’d also befriend Seth if somehow he’s still alive *cough cough* Lazarus pit *cough cough* they’d be “why can’t you just let me die?” buddies.)

Time Drake would probably be closest to Neil (esp post trk). I don’t know a whole lot about Tim’s character but I heard he harassed Batman into letting him be Robin? It just seems like something Neil would do. They’re enablers for each other before anything else in their friendship.

Damian would try and avoid the entire team but found himself enjoying Rene’s presence. He found her non-forceful openness about her religion comforting and they bonded on having a sense of spirituality and religion. (Idk if it’s canon but I’m assuming the LOA have a form of religion/worship).

The girls would befriend Allison bc Allison is at heart a girls girl and they’re tired of being surrounded by men and boys. Barbs doesn’t even get a break bc all she has otherwise is her dad. They go on girls days and have movies nights and stuff and they’d all three rock shit for either of the other two. (Metal water bottles have been chucked and some noses broken)

Dukes would be Aaron. I don’t much about duke but from the few medias I’ve seen he’s very intelligent and I assume he likes learning new information so they would gravitate towards each other bc Aaron wants to yap and Duke will not only listen to the yapping but yap back to ask questions.

[seulszn]

#RedFlags

Warnings: cussing

Tags: @grosspube @vienwood @valalice @halle5s @soniiyi @baylegend6. And to the people I couldn't tag I'm sorry. series masterlist

The cozy, inviting scent of vanilla candles welcomes you as you step into Lena and Julie’s shared house. Their place radiates a sense of comfort, a safe haven you didn’t realize you needed after the chaotic events of the day. You’re grateful to have friends with their own space, a reprieve from being cooped up at your parents’ house day in and day out.

You settle onto the couch, grabbing the remote to turn on the TV. Julie is already sprawled across most of the cushions, her green hair barely visible under a fuzzy purple blanket she’s cocooned herself in. Her legs stretch out, leaving you with just enough room to sit.

Lena disappears into the kitchen, rummaging for snacks, while you glance over at Julie. “Thanks for letting me crash here,” you say, your voice soft but sincere.

“Duh,” Julie replies without missing a beat, chucking a pillow at you with just enough force to make you flinch. “This is kind of your home too, you know. I mean, you helped us find this place.”

You glance at her, half-smiling. "I guess I did, huh?" You sink deeper into the couch, adjusting your position to settle in for what will hopefully be a relaxing night.

Lena returns with a bowl of chips, a plate of cookies, and a bottle of soda, setting everything down in front of you both. "I swear," she says with a grin, flopping into the armchair beside you, "this place wouldn't be the same without you." There's a sincerity in her voice that makes the whole room feel warmer, like the simple act of being together was enough to make everything right.

Julie, ever the affectionate one, pulls Lena into her arms, her green hair falling over her face as she smiles at her girlfriend. They share a moment, their eyes locking in a way that only the two of them can understand. It's a look full of comfort and love, and for a moment, you're reminded of how much they mean to each other.

Lena turns to you, popping open her soda with a flick of her wrist. "So, Julie texts me saying you bumped into Vi during gym class. What’s this about?" she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.

You glance at Julie, who grins at you like she knows something you don’t. She leans back, crossing her arms, clearly enjoying the moment.

"I leave to grab my water bottle, come back, and Vi’s over there cornering Y/N like a damn police officer," Julie says with a teasing smirk, her tone a mix of concern and amusement.

You can feel your cheeks heat up as both Lena and Julie turn their attention to you. The weight of their gazes is almost too much, and you awkwardly shift in your seat, trying to gather your thoughts.

"Cornering, huh?" Lena raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful but knowing smile. "Sounds intense."

"Yeah," you say, trying to brush it off. "She just started talking to me. It wasn’t... anything crazy." But the truth is, you felt cornered. Vi’s presence had been suffocating, and you still couldn’t shake the way her eyes had roamed over you.

Julie snorts. "I’m not buying that for a second. Vi doesn’t just ‘talk.’ She makes her intentions pretty damn clear."You glance at Julie, giving her a look that says, really? but she just shrugs, her smirk never fading. "What do you mean by intentions?" Her voice drops, more serious now. "Vi’s not someone you want to mess with, Y/N."

"I know," you mumble, shifting in your seat again, your nerves growing. "It’s just... she was kind of in my space, you know?"

Lena groans, leaning onto Julie with a dramatic sigh. She mumbles something under her breath before speaking louder. "Y/N, why do you have to be the trouble magnet?"

You wince at her words, not meaning to cause any chaos, but it feels like that's all you ever end up attracting lately. Julie snickers beside you, giving Lena an amused look.

"I swear, it’s like the universe just loves throwing these people at you," Julie teases, poking you lightly in the side. "I mean, Caitlyn and Vi? Really?"

Lena rolls her eyes, sitting up straighter. "You need to start wearing some kind of repellent," she jokes, though her tone is tinged with concern. "Something that screams ‘stay away’ to people like them."

You laugh nervously, though it’s half-hearted. "If only it were that easy."

Julie raises an eyebrow, leaning forward like she’s piecing together a puzzle. "But wait... Caitlyn talked to you in biochem, and now Vi’s cornering you in the gym? That’s not a coincidence, Y/N. They’re up to something."

The implication makes your stomach twist. You try to wave it off, though you’re not even convincing yourself. "It’s probably nothing. Maybe they’re just..." You trail off, not really knowing how to finish that sentence.

"Obsessed," Lena interjects flatly, crossing her arms. "They’re obsessed. Caitlyn and Vi don’t go after anyone without a reason. They’ve got their sights set on you, Y/N, and it’s not gonna stop until they get whatever they want."

You glance at Lena, silently pleading for her to say it’s a joke, to tell you that you’re overthinking everything. Instead, she leans forward, her expression firm and unwavering. Julie nods beside her, her usual playfulness replaced with an unusual seriousness.

"She’s not wrong," Julie says, her tone low and steady. "Caitlyn and Vi don’t just play around. When they decide they want someone, they don’t back off. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen before."

You lean back, the weight of their words sinking in like a heavy blanket. "But... I haven’t done anything. I barely know them," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lena tilts her head, her expression almost pitying but still sharp. "You think that matters?" she says, her voice laced with blunt honesty. "You’re a girl they haven’t fucked yet that’s enough to get them intrigued by you.” Her words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you speechless. Julie flinches, giving Lena a pointed look. "Geez, Lena, maybe soften the blow a little?"

"I’m just being honest " Lena responds, crossing her arms. "They’ve got this... thing. It’s a game to them chasing someone who doesn’t fall at their feet right away. And you? You’re like a neon sign flashing challenge"

You rub your temples, overwhelmed. "That’s ridiculous," you mumble. "I’ve literally done nothing to encourage this.” Julie sighs, her tone softer now. "You don’t have to, Y/N. They see what they want, and they go after it. And the fact that you’re quiet and reserved? That’s probably making them even more interested. You’re different."

you groan, the sound sharp and full of frustration, cutting through the tense atmosphere in the room. "Can you stop using that shitty-ass word?" you snap, your voice louder than you intended. You hate it. That word. Different. It’s been thrown at you so much lately it’s starting to feel like a curse. "I don’t think I’m different. I’m just me. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

Lena arches an eyebrow at your reaction but stays silent, her sharp eyes fixed on you as if she’s dissecting your every word. She leans further into Julie, her body relaxed but her expression serious, waiting for you to finish venting. Meanwhile, Julie looks at you with her usual softness, though there’s an undertone of worry behind her green eyes.

"Y/N," Julie says, her voice dipping into a calm, measured tone as though she’s trying to coax a wild animal. "We’re not trying to make you feel bad, okay? It’s not your fault. It’s just... you don’t play their games like everyone else. That’s why they’re so fixated on you."

You feel your chest tighten at her words. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you say, your voice wavering as frustration claws at your insides. "I don’t want to stand out. I just want to be... normal. I just want to live my life without constantly feeling like I’m some target for... for this."You wave your hands in the air, gesturing vaguely, struggling to articulate the mess of emotions building up inside of you.

The weight of everything.

The lingering stares, the cryptic messages, the suffocating attention from people like Caitlyn and Vi is pressing down on you, threatening to crush you.Lena shifts in Julie’s arms, sitting up straighter. Her expression hardens as she interjects, "Life doesn’t work like that, Y/N. Whether you want it or not, you’ve got their attention now, and it’s not going away just because you wish it would."

Her bluntness stings, but it’s not surprising. Lena’s always been the one to cut straight to the point. No sugar-coating, no hand-holding. "Yeah, but why me?" you say, your voice cracking slightly. "What makes me so damn special? There are hundreds of other people at that school. Why are they wasting their time on me?"

Julie, ever the wildcard, leans back with a smirk. "Maybe it’s because they’ve already fucked, like, half the school," she quips, her tone light and teasing.

The room goes dead silent. Both you and Lena turn to stare at her, disbelief written all over your faces. Julie’s smirk falters, and she quickly holds up her hands in surrender, muttering, "Okay, bad timing. Sorry."

Lena pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. "Jesus, Julie."

You can’t help the dry laugh that escapes your lips, even if it feels slightly forced. "Really helpful," you mutter, shaking your head. Despite the tension, Julie’s attempt to lighten the mood eases some of the pressure in your chest.

"Look," Lena says, cutting back in with her no-nonsense tone. "What Julie meant is that Caitlyn and Vi get bored easily. They’ve been with half the school because it’s easy for them. But you? You’re not easy. You’re not throwing yourself at them, and that pisses them off." Julie nods along quickly, clearly eager to redeem herself.

"Yeah, exactly. You’re, like, this shiny new toy they can’t figure out how to play with yet," Julie says with a shrug, but the second the words leave her mouth, she winces. "Okay, that sounded bad, but you know what I mean," she adds quickly, glancing at you with an apologetic grimace.

You sigh heavily, sinking deeper into the couch as the weight of the conversation presses down on you. "So what?" you say, your voice cracking with frustration. "Am I supposed to put on some fake facade to keep them intrigued and then throw myself at them like I’m some world-class whore?"

The words come out harsher than you intend, but you’re too stressed to care. Your fingers automatically move to pick at your nails, an anxious habit you’ve had for years. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even notice Julie and Lena exchanging concerned glances.

"Nobody is telling you to do that," Lena says firmly, her voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can pick at your nails any further, she reaches over, gently taking your hands in hers to stop you. Her grip is firm but comforting, grounding you in a way that catches you off guard.

"Y/N, stop," she says softly, her tone gentler now. "You don’t have to be anyone but yourself.” Julie leans closer, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, and honestly, they’re probably obsessed because you’re not flaunting yourself at them. That’s what’s driving them crazy because they’re not in control, and they hate that."

You glance between the two of them, their words sinking in slowly. "But what if they don’t stop?" you ask quietly, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even yourself.

Lena’s expression hardens slightly, her protective side kicking in. "Then we’ll make them stop," she says without hesitation. "You’re not dealing with this alone."

Julie grins, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Yeah, we’re your unofficial bodyguards now. Vi and Caitlyn won’t know what hit them."

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, a small smile tugs at your lips. Their unwavering support doesn’t erase the anxiety gnawing at you, but it helps. At least for now.

"Thanks, guys," you mumble, squeezing Lena’s hand briefly before pulling back.

"Anytime," Julie says brightly, tossing a chip into her mouth. "Now, can we stop talking about them and focus on something less depressing? Like a movie or pizza or literally anything else?"

Lena chuckles, reaching for the remote. "Agreed. Let’s do something that doesn’t involve school drama for once."

As they start flipping through the movie options, you settle back into the couch, grateful for the reprieve. But in the back of your mind, Caitlyn and Vi still linger like shadows, their presence impossible to ignore entirely.

—

As the night wears on, filled with laughter and the comforting sounds of a movie playing in the background, the cozy energy in the house begins to wind down. Eventually, the three of you are yawning more than talking, the warmth of the evening settling over you like a heavy blanket.

Lena stretches with a groan, running a hand through her hair before grabbing a soft blanket from the back of the couch. She walks over and places it in your arms with an easy smile. "Alright, time to call it a night," she says, motioning for you to follow her.

She leads you to the guest room, the room that’s practically become yours over the countless nights you’ve spent here. The familiar space feels like a second home, with its neatly made bed, soft lighting, and the faint scent of lavender from the diffuser on the dresser. It’s simple but comforting, filled with little touches that make it clear you’re always welcome here.

"Here you go," Lena says, leaning against the doorframe as you step inside. "Sleep well. You know the drill if you need anything, just yell."

"Thanks," you say softly, clutching the blanket to your chest. Lena gives you a small nod before heading back down the hall, her footsteps fading as her voice carries faintly, saying something to Julie. The warmth of the moment lingers as you glance around the room. The silence envelops you now, a stark contrast to the laughter and noise from earlier. It’s calming, even if the quiet feels just a little too heavy.

But as you settle onto the bed, adjusting the blanket around you, the muffled sounds of voices drift in from down the hall. Julie and Lena are talking or rather, yelling. Their tones rise and fall, sharp but not overly harsh. You recall Lena mentioning earlier that she needed to talk to Julie about something, and now it seems that conversation is happening.

Curiosity prickles at you as the noise carries on. For a moment, you’re tempted to slip out of bed and quietly edge closer to the door, hoping to catch bits of their exchange. But the thought feels invasive, like crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed. You shake your head, dismissing the idea, and force yourself to settle back against the pillow. It’s probably nothing serious, you tell yourself maybe just something about Julie’s failed trigonometry test.

Still, the muffled voices pull at you, keeping you from fully relaxing. The soft glow of your phone screen catches your eye, and you pick it up, hoping to distract yourself. You scroll idly, trying to ignore the tension in the air, but your mind keeps wandering back to the distant argument and whatever it could mean.

You scroll through your Instagram feed, casually liking and commenting on your friends’ posts. It's a quiet, mindless routine that helps you unwind. But then something catches your eye—a notification. Someone’s been liking your posts.

You pause, frowning slightly. It’s strange. You don’t follow many people from school—just Julie and Lena. The rest of your followers are online friends, mutuals, and a few celebrities.

You swallow hard, brushing the thought aside and going back to your feed. *It’s not a big deal. Just keep scrolling,* you tell yourself.

But before you can fully relax, another notification pops up. This time, it’s not just likes, it’s a message.

*“@caitsworld sent you a message.”*

Moments later:

*“@vi.unfiltered sent you a message.”*

Your heart skips a beat as the notifications sit there, glaring at you from the top of your screen. For a second, you don’t even move, your thumb hovering over the screen.

Deciding not to open the messages just yet, you swipe down to check your notifications instead. Your stomach drops when you see it.

Caitlyn Kiramman and Vi. They’ve found your account. Not only that, but they’re liking your posts you’ve shared weeks, even months ago.

Your eyes widen, your heart hammering in your chest. How did they even find you? And why now?

Your thoughts race as you stare at the notifications, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. Caitlyn and Vi the Caitlyn and Vi were combing through your profile like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

One by one, more likes roll in, filling your screen. Nine posts. That’s all you had on your page, and they’d liked every single one. Every photo, every memory, now tainted with their sudden attention.

It felt suffocating, invasive, like they were picking apart a piece of your life you had tried so hard to keep private. And yet, you couldn’t look away from the barrage of notifications lighting up your phone.

Then, something new catches your eye. Caitlyn had left a comment. The bold text of her username sat under one of your photos, mocking your attempt to ignore it. You hesitantly click to see what she said.

“Didn’t know Julie was such a cute friend,” Caitlyn wrote.

It was under a picture of you, Julie, and Lena at a festival last summer. Her words carried a familiar charm, but they felt calculated, as if she wanted you to know she was watching. You swallow hard, glancing back at the post. Caitlyn knew Julie and Lena. She’d interacted with them before. The comment wasn’t random, it was deliberate, targeted.

You decide to ignore the comment, shutting off your phone and placing it facedown on the nightstand. Whatever Caitlyn and Vi were trying to do, it could wait until tomorrow. Right now, you just wanted to sleep.

As you shift under the covers, trying to get comfortable, the sharp slam of a door echoes through the quiet house. You freeze for a moment, remembering the argument Lena and Julie were having.

Your first instinct was to get up and check on Julie. She’s always the one to take these things to heart, even if she tries to act tough. But you hesitate, knowing how they both get when they’re upset. They need space to cool off, and the last thing you want is to get caught in the middle of it.

You sink back into the bed with a sigh, pulling the blanket up to your chin. You’d check on them in the morning when things had hopefully calmed down. For now, you focus on blocking out the muffled voices and letting the exhaustion of the day pull you into sleep.

——

Walking into your biochemistry class with your headphones in, you glance up and spot Caitlyn sitting in her seat, her eyes glued to her phone with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you’re tempted to turn around and walk out before she sees you.

But after a moment of hesitation, you push forward and walk to the seat by the window, just inches away from Caitlyn. As soon as you approach, she looks up and grins. “Hello, pretty,” she says with a playful smirk, scooting her chair slightly to give you space to settle in.

You don’t respond to her greeting, instead focusing on getting your notes and supplies out of your bag, keeping your eyes fixed on the task at hand.

Once you settle into your seat, you open your notebook, take off your headphones, and start doodling absentmindedly, waiting for the professor to walk in. The room fills with the usual low hum of students settling in, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to break the silence. Instead, she just stares at you, her eyes fixed on your face as if trying to figure out what to say next. You feel her gaze but keep your focus on your doodles, pretending not to notice.

She doesn’t speak, continuing to study you quietly. Her intense stare doesn’t waver, not even when the professor walks in.

“Welcome back to class, students. I hope you learned something useful yesterday,” he says, setting his bag down on the desk. He writes his name on the board, followed by a few important points for the day’s lesson, but you can still feel Caitlyn’s gaze lingering on you from the corner of your eye.

She leans in slightly, her chin resting on her hand as she glances at your notebook. “So,” Caitlyn murmurs, her voice soft enough that the professor doesn’t notice. “Did you enjoy my little... Instagram surprise?” Your pen freezes mid-word. You glance at her, trying to gauge if she’s joking, but her smirk tells you everything.

Your pen freezes mid-word. You glance at her, trying to gauge if she’s joking, but her smirk tells you everything it wasn’t a coincidence. Caitlyn leans in closer, her elbow propped on the desk, looking thoroughly entertained by your reaction.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice,” she continues, her voice low and teasing, her eyes flicking toward your notebook before returning to your face. “I mean, Vi and I don’t usually go through that much effort for someone. You should feel special.”

You press your lips into a thin line, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you go back to doodling, pretending to be unbothered, though your grip on the pen tightens.

Caitlyn doesn’t stop. “You didn’t even comment back,” she says with a dramatic sigh, as if truly offended. “I thought maybe you’d appreciate the attention. Isn’t that what people post for, anyway?”

The professor clears his throat, scanning the room for the source of the talking. When his eyes land on Caitlyn leaning toward you, a smirk spreads across his face. “Ms. Kiramman, talking in my class?” he says pointedly. Caitlyn turns to him with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, clearly unbothered.

But Jayce isn’t done. “I wonder what your mother would say about you being disruptive in my class,” he adds, his tone sharper now.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow slightly, her posture straightening. The room grows tense as a few students glance over, sensing the brewing confrontation. “I wonder what she would say about you...” Caitlyn pauses, her lips curling into a sly smile, “...if she knew you spent more time nitpicking your students than teaching the actual material Jayce.” Her voice is calm but biting, and the class collectively holds its breath.

The professor’s smirk falters for a split second at Caitlyn’s casual use of his first name. A wave of whispers ripples through the class, and a few students stifle laughs, eagerly watching the tension unfold.

Jayce straightens, gripping his marker a little too tightly. “Ms. Kiramman,” he says, his tone clipped. “I don’t recall giving you permission to address me so informally.”

Caitlyn leans back in her chair, arms crossed, exuding unbothered confidence. “Oh, my apologies... Professor Talis,” she replies with a mock sweetness that only sharpens the edge in her tone. “I’m just trying to meet the same level of professionalism you bring to the classroom.”

The room is silent now, the kind of silence that feels heavy and electric. Even you can’t help but glance at her in disbelief. Caitlyn’s audacity seems boundless, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can’t deny how effortlessly she commands attention.

Jayce takes a deep breath, visibly attempting to maintain his composure. “Perhaps if you put as much effort into your studies as you do into your... commentary, you’d actually excel in this course,” he retorts before turning back to the board, clearly signaling the end of the exchange.

Caitlyn doesn’t seem fazed, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she leans back in her chair. Her eyes, however, drift right back to you. You feel the weight of her gaze before she even speaks.

“You can ignore me all you want, Y/N,” she whispers, her tone dropping into something softer, more persuasive. “But we both know this isn’t over.”

Your stomach twists. You keep your eyes fixed on your notebook, pretending to focus on the professor’s notes, but the words blur together. Caitlyn’s presence feels suffocating, her voice still lingering in your ears. You silently curse yourself for not just skipping class altogether.

The lecture drags on, the professor’s words a distant hum in the background as your thoughts race. Every so often, you catch Caitlyn shifting in her seat, her pen tapping against the desk in a rhythm that feels deliberately designed to remind you she’s still there, still waiting.

When class finally ends, you’re the first to pack up, eager to escape the suffocating tension. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make a beeline for the door, but Caitlyn’s voice stops you just as you step into the hallway.

“Y/N, wait up!” she calls, her tone casual but laced with that same infuriating confidence.

You stop reluctantly, turning just enough to see her strolling toward you, her usual smirk firmly in place.

“What do you want, Caitlyn?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “Just wanted to check in,” she says smoothly. “You seemed... distracted today.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter under your breath, turning to walk away, but Caitlyn matches your pace effortlessly.

“Come on, pretty,” she says, her voice dropping into something almost playful. “No need to be so defensive. I was just trying to make things interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” you shoot back, keeping your eyes forward.

“Then what word would you use?” she asks, her tone lighter now, teasing.

You don’t answer, refusing to give her the satisfaction. But Caitlyn doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, your silence only fuels her.

“See you around, Y/N,” she says finally, her voice carrying that same confidence as always. And just like that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in the hallway with a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite name.

—-

You walk over to Julie’s locker, spotting her staring at her phone, absorbed in whatever’s on the screen. You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to bring up the argument she and Lena had last night. You don’t want to interfere or make things worse. But before you can decide, Julie looks up, catching your gaze. Her face softens, and she forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She walks over to you and gives you a hug before interlocking her hands with yours. You smile at your best friend before breaking the silence “You’re not gonna tell me what happened?” you finally ask, breaking the silence. Your voice is soft but edged with curiosity.

Julie glances at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s nothing, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

You stop walking, forcing her to pause and turn back toward you. “Julie, come on. I’m not stupid. I heard you two arguing last night, and it didn’t sound like ‘nothing.’ What’s going on?”

Julie sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly as she pulls her hand out of yours and runs it through her hair. She glances around, almost like she’s avoiding eye contact, clearly wrestling with whether she’s ready to open up. “It’s just... a lot, I guess,” she starts, her voice softer than usual. You nod, silently encouraging her to continue. You’re here to listen.

“I love her,” Julie says quietly, her words weighed down with emotion. “I really do. But it feels like I’m the only one trying to make this work.” She shakes her head, frustration lacing her voice. “We live together, Y/N, and anytime we argue, I have to be the one to step up, apologize first, even when I’m not the one in the wrong. I shouldn’t have to do that every time we disagree about something, you know?”

You give her a small nod of understanding. This isn’t the first time Julie’s expressed her frustrations with Lena, but you can tell this time feels different. There’s something heavier in her words.

Julie pauses for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "I know I’m... insufferable to be around sometimes. But I do try. I try to change…for myself, for her. Every single day. Because I do see a future with her." Her voice falters, and you can see the deep-rooted frustration written all over her face. She’s holding back, trying so hard not to directly criticize Lena, but it’s clear this is all weighing on her.

You step closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Julie, you're not insufferable. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask for."

Julie doesn’t immediately respond, but the quiet look she gives you speaks volumes. You know she feels torn between the love she has for Lena and the frustration of trying to make it work alone. And as much as Julie tries to protect Lena, she can’t hide the exhaustion in her eyes.

Julie takes a deep breath, her eyes dropping to the ground as she searches for the right words. "I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining or ungrateful. She has her own issues, too. She’s not perfect. But... when we’re together, it feels like she’s always pulling away. Like she has her own life, her own priorities, and I’m just... not a part of it sometimes. She says she wants space, but honestly, it feels more like she’s just trying to get away from me."

Her voice wavers slightly, and you can see the hurt in her eyes. "I’m trying to understand, Y/N. I really am. But sometimes, I wonder if she even wants this relationship as much as I do."

You feel a twist in your stomach, knowing how much this is weighing on your friend. You gently ask, "Have you tried contacting her? Reaching out?"

Julie shakes her head, glancing down at her phone in frustration. "I’ve been texting her nonstop since yesterday. Back to back. But she’s been leaving me on read every time. Now I don’t know what to do."

her lips pressed together as if holding back the weight of everything she's been carrying. "I just wish we could communicate better. But when we talk, it feels like we’re speaking two different languages. She needs her space, but I need her to be present. And lately, it’s felt like we’re just... drifting apart."

A silence falls between you both, and you can’t help but feel for her. Watching Julie go through this isn't easy, but you know she needs to hear this. "Have you told her how you’re feeling? About needing more communication and time together?"

Julie looks up at you, her eyes tired but thoughtful. “I’ve tried. But it doesn’t always come out the way I want. When I talk to her, it feels like I’m being needy or demanding. Like I’m suffocating her when all I want is to be with her. And then I wonder if I’m the problem.”

"You're not the problem," you assure her gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Relationships have their ups and downs, and communication is key. But it has to go both ways. She needs to understand where you’re coming from too."

Julie nods slowly, taking in your words. "I know, but sometimes it feels like we’re just... stuck. Like we’re not moving forward." She exhales heavily, a mixture of frustration and resignation in her tone.

"I just want us to be okay, Y/N. I want to feel like we’re on the same team again."

You squeeze her hand tighter, offering her all the support you can. "I know you do. And you deserve that, Julie. You both do. I think it’s just going to take some time and effort from both of you. But I believe you’ll figure it out. You’re strong, and you know what you want."

She smiles faintly, the weight on her shoulders slightly lighter. "Thanks, Y/N. I’m glad you’re here. I really am."

"Always," you reply softly, pulling her into a quick hug. You know that things won’t change overnight, but you also know that whatever happens, you’ll be by her side through it all.

—-

Julie gives you a small smile before walking off to her next class, thanking you for your advice. You return the smile, watching her go before turning to enter the library.

The usual silence of the library wraps around you as you walk toward the back, where your favorite spot awaits. It’s tucked away, hidden behind a few tall bookshelves, far from the hustle and bustle of the main area. Not many people venture back here unless they’re really looking for solitude, and that’s exactly why you love it.

You settle into your spot, setting your things down on the table with a quiet breath. The calm of the secluded space fills you, and you’re grateful for the moment of peace. With your books open and notes in front of you, you try to focus on the material.

But as you read, your mind drifts, and Caitlyn and Vi start to occupy your thoughts. You can’t help but think about how persistent they are, how desperate they seem to get to know you. It’s almost endearing in a way, but then again, you know them well enough to understand they do this with every girl they want to get with.

You pause, wondering if you could be different. Maybe you could somehow befriend them, keep things casual and not get caught up in whatever relationship they might want.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? They don’t just want a friendship. Whatever they set their sights on, they get, and it’s hard to imagine anything else.

The confusion still lingers. Why are they putting so much energy into getting your attention, only to act like you don’t exist the very next day? It doesn’t make sense. The whole situation feels like a mess, and you’re left wondering where it could all go or if you even want it to.

The soft hum of the library fades into the background as you try to refocus, but that nagging feeling of being watched doesn’t go away. You glance up briefly, scanning the room. At first, everything seems normal: students hunched over textbooks, a librarian quietly organizing a cart of books. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot two familiar figures strolling through the library doors.

Caitlyn and Vi.

Your stomach drops. It’s not that they haven’t been everywhere you’ve turned lately, but this feels different, almost deliberate.

Caitlyn spots you first. Her sharp gaze catches yours, and a smug smile spreads across her face. She nudges Vi, who glances your way. Her expression isn’t one of amusement it’s more intrigued, like she’s sizing you up. Together, they start making their way through the aisles, their footsteps casual, like this is just another random stop.

But you know better. You can feel the weight of their attention on you, and you’re left wondering if this is just another game they’re playing, or if they actually want something more.

You try to bury yourself in your notebook, pretending not to notice them. Maybe if you ignore them long enough, they’ll lose interest and leave.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Caitlyn’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

You look up reluctantly to find her leaning against the edge of your table, her usual confident smirk firmly in place. Vi stands beside her, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked on you.

“I didn’t know you were the library type,” Caitlyn continues, tilting her head slightly. “Always so studious, huh?”

“Or hiding,” Vi adds, her voice low and teasing.

“I’m not hiding,” you snap before you can stop yourself. The last thing you want to do is engage, but they have a way of pulling words out of you.

“Relax, we’re just here to say hi,” Caitlyn says, her tone dripping with amusement. She reaches out, tapping your notebook with her finger. “Working on something important?”

“Class notes,” you reply shortly, keeping your answers brief.

“Class notes?” Vi echoes, her brow arching. “Sounds thrilling.”

Caitlyn chuckles, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down without so much as an invitation. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you? It’s such a cozy little spot you’ve got here.”

Your pulse quickens, but you force yourself to stay calm. “Actually, I was just about to leave.”

Caitlyn’s smirk deepens. “Oh, don’t go on our account. We’re harmless.”

Vi finally takes a seat as well, leaning back in her chair like she owns the place. “Besides,” she says, her voice smooth and deliberate, “you’ve been on our minds lately. Haven’t you noticed?”

Your stomach twists as you remember the Instagram notifications from last night. They know exactly what they’re doing.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice steady despite the unease creeping up your spine.

“Who says we want anything?” Caitlyn replies, feigning innocence.

“But since you’re asking...” Vi leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. “Maybe we just want to get to know you better.”

Their words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Every instinct screams at you to leave, but something keeps you rooted to the spot. Caitlyn’s smirk, Vi’s intense stare it’s like they’re daring you to make the first move.

Their words hang in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Every part of you screams to leave, but something keeps you frozen in place. Caitlyn’s smirk, Vi’s intense gaze it’s as if they’re daring you to make the first move, to fall into their game.

You gather your things quickly, heart pounding in your chest as you try to create distance between yourself and their electric presence. You’ve had enough of their games. The last thing you want is to be pulled back into whatever twisted power play they’re weaving.

“I’ve got to go,” you mutter, grabbing your backpack, but before you can make your escape, Caitlyn’s arms slip around your waist, pulling you back toward her. Her chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you can feel her breath against your skin, warm and steady.

“Where do you think you’re going, Y/N? Hmm?” Caitlyn’s voice is teasing, but there’s a definite edge to it, like a warning that settles heavily in your chest.

“Let me guess,” Caitlyn continues, her voice dropping lower, controlled yet laced with amusement. “You’re going to leave, pretend like nothing’s happening, and we’ll just fade into the background, right?” Her chuckle is soft but sharp. “You think that’s how this works?”

Vi steps closer, resting her arms on the table with a deliberate motion. Her eyes track you, unwavering and intense. When she speaks, her tone is unyielding, the words slow and deliberate. “You can leave, Y/N. But it’s not going to change anything. We’re still going to be here. And we’re not going to let you walk away like it’s nothing.”

You freeze, your body tensing as the weight of their words settles over you. It feels like you’re caught in a web, each strand tightening with every second. Caitlyn’s arms are still around your waist, and Vi’s gaze never leaves you, unwavering and calculating.

You freeze, the weight of their words settling over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Each second feels like the strands of a web tightening, pulling you deeper into their grasp. Caitlyn’s arms are still wrapped around your waist, possessive and firm, while Vi’s gaze is locked on you, intense and predatory.

“Please... let me go,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you try to steady it. You attempt to pull away from Caitlyn’s grip, but she just tightens her hold, keeping you in place, her touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” you beg, your words catching in your throat. “Please... just leave me alone.”

Caitlyn’s breath is warm against your ear as she chuckles softly, the sound both teasing and dangerous. “Game?” she murmurs, her voice rich with amusement and something darker, more insistent. “We’re not playing games, Y/N. We’re simply trying to get to know you better. You’ve been avoiding us long enough.”

Vi steps closer, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes flicking over your face as if searching for the truth behind your mask. “We’re not trying to make things complicated,” she says, her voice smooth and coaxing, though there’s an underlying edge to it that makes you doubt her sincerity. “But you’re making it hard for us to just let this be... easy.”

Your pulse quickens as the air between you all thickens with tension, the weight of their presence smothering you. You’re caught between the desire to escape and the unsettling feeling that there’s nowhere to run. Caitlyn’s touch sends a shiver down your spine, her grip on you almost possessive, like she’s marking her territory, and Vi’s eyes intense, unwavering make your skin prickle with heat.

You struggle to breathe, the proximity of them suffocating you, the room feeling smaller with every rapid heartbeat. The air is thick, and the weight of their presence presses in on you, making it feel like you’re trapped in a cage. You’re on the verge of breaking down, the fear and frustration bubbling to the surface. All you want is to escape, but Caitlyn’s grip doesn’t loosen; if anything, it tightens, holding you in place. Even if you could break free from her hold, you know Vi would just step in, blocking your way with her calculated intensity.

“Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go,” you beg, the words slipping from your lips like a desperate plea for mercy. Your voice cracks as tears begin to sting your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You look at Vi, your eyes wide, shaking your head as your breath comes out in uneven gasps. “I don’t want any part of this. Please, just let me go,” you plead, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration. Every part of you screams to break free, but the tension in the air weighs you down, making it feel impossible to escape.

Caitlyn’s fingers continue their slow, deliberate circles on your waist, each touch igniting a sense of helplessness that makes your skin crawl. “You keep saying that, but you're still here,” she murmurs against your ear, her lips brushing lightly against your skin. “We’re not making you stay, Y/N. You choose to stay, every time.”

Vi watches you, her eyes cold and calculating. She tilts her head slightly, studying your face as if she’s savoring your reaction. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says, the words dripping with something darker than just coaxing. “You can walk away. But you’re still here. What does that tell you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and unease coursing through your veins as you struggle to catch your breath. “I don’t want this,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes flicking nervously between them. Yet, the air around you feels charged, their presence heavy and impossible to ignore, like a force pulling you under.

“Then why haven’t you walked away?” Caitlyn’s voice drips with quiet challenge, her words laced with a teasing edge that sends a shiver down your spine. She releases her hold on you, her gaze never wavering, and with a firm but unhurried push, she guides you down into the chair. Before you can process, they close the space around you, their proximity overwhelming, leaving you breathless and cornered.

Caitlyn’s fingers trace along your jawline, her smile deceptively soft as she leans closer, her breath warm against your skin. “We just want to be your friends,” she repeats, her tone sweet but layered with something far more sinister. Her eyes bore into yours, as if daring you to contradict her.

Your chest tightens, your pulse hammering against your ribs. You hate this, everything about it feels wrong but your body refuses to move, locked in place by their unrelenting presence. The air around you feels heavy, suffocating, and no matter how much you want to get away, it’s as if the weight of them keeps you tethered.

“What do you want from me?” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

Caitlyn tilts her head, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, it’s not what we want from you,” she murmurs, her fingers gently pressing your chin up so you can’t look away. “It’s what we want with you.”

Vi steps closer, her presence looming over you like a storm. Her hands grip the back of your chair, boxing you in even further. “The question, Y/N,” she says, her voice low and rough, “is what you really want. You can keep pretending, keep fighting it, but we can see it in your eyes.” Her gaze is unwavering, and it feels like she’s stripping you bare with just a look.

Caitlyn’s lips brush the edge of your ear as she whispers, “So, tell us. Are you going to keep lying to yourself, or are you ready to stop running?”

Ⓒ︎ seulszn

[cuffmeinblack]

Game On

Garreth Weasley x f!reader

See the full art

Tags: explicit | modern AU | rugby player!Gar | semi-public sex | blowjobs

3.3k words

Summary: Garreth draws attention whenever he plays, but you've had enough of the spectators' ogling and decide to show them who he belongs to.

A/n: Big rugby men make my brain go brrrrrrrr. Anyway this has zero plot and finesse as expected but damn it's a good time.

The midday sun blazed, grass beneath your shoes crunching, scorched to a crisp. Early Summer had brought with it an unseasonable heatwave, such that the air grew stifling and stagnant like a swamp. What scant shade was produced by the nearby brutalist concrete structures which housed your university’s young hopefuls had been gobbled up by enthusiastic spectators, huddled together with expressions of possessive ire, fearful that they might lose their prime positions. You walked on towards the front of the stands where the heat was at its most intense yet afforded you the best view; it would be worth it, after all. 

If you were suffering simply sauntering by, Garreth must have been sweltering in that stuffy changing room—you'd had enough after-practice rendezvous to know just how thick the air could get, mingled with sweat and shower vapours and the heady scent of sex. But despite the uncomfortable heat, you would never dream of missing a match for two very important reasons: the first, that showing your unwavering support of your boyfriend in his endeavours boosted his morale immeasurably; the second, that Garreth looked so unintentionally tantalising when he played that the whole eighty minutes was akin to watching an exotic dance performance, with more bruises and aggression that only added to the allure.   

The boys were already on the pitch warming up by the time you sat down, all clad in red shorts and vests emblazoned with the uni logo that left little to the imagination. You caught a number of groups of giggling girls in the stands blatantly pointing and ogling; irritating, yes, but Garreth saw you and waved enthusiastically, unperturbed by all the attention he was drawing. One could never be too smug in such a situation, and so you flashed him a toothy smile in return.

He knelt in the grass as he adjusted his ridiculous hairband (that you teased him about endlessly), stretching out his adductors with a concentration befitting a professional. For all your idle fascination with his thighs, he was a dedicated sportsman through and through. He took his rugby career seriously, throwing as much energy into training as his actual degree, whilst endlessly hoping to be scouted by one of the union clubs. The other lads had similar aspirations—it was surely the only reason they'd be out here in this absolute furnace for a friendly game. 

You fanned yourself with a leaflet you found in your bag, chugging water as you waited for the game to start. The crowd was already starting to get restless as the stands filled and all around you many of the spectators made it clear that they weren't here for the sport.

“That ginger one's fit,” a young blonde said, followed by a fit of giggles.

You held back the urge to chuck your plastic bottle at her head, thankfully distracted by the referee's appearance onto the pitch. With a lurch of your stomach, you saw that he was in conversation with a young woman with the telltale lanyard and clipboard of a club professional. Of course they would be scouting on today of all days, the blistering heat weeding out the weakest players with subpar endurance. Garreth had noticed her too, nudging his teammates as shock and awe passed over their faces one by one. 

The rest of the team melted away as you kept your eyes on Garreth, taking up his position behind the scrum. This was generally when you started to feel the prickle of excitement and nerves as the teams eyed each other up and the field fell silent, waiting for the whistle.

As soon as play started, all hell broke loose. Garreth played with such focus and ferocity, entirely the opposite to his laidback and cheerful self off the pitch. He directed his team without hesitation, attacking more aggressively than usual, always driving forward. By half-time his team were leading by ten points. You could already see a tear in Garreth’s shirt, dust caking his knees and a smile between his pink cheeks, but the heat was starting to sap the energy of every player as they panted and stretched in what little shade they could find.

When play resumed, only the presence of the club scout could explain the carnage that ensued. The game was so incredibly vicious, the contact between bodies so intense that the crowds erupted in hisses and roars so innumerable they blended into a singular jarring uproar.

Hands grasped at shorts, wrapped around waists and heads buried between muscular thighs as the clash ensued, a ferocious battle that you couldn’t help but find erotic.

Garreth held the ball in the final few minutes of the match, and he decided to make a run for it. The scrum of bodies was still but a flailing mess as he sprinted around and launched the ball back at his mate in the wing; back and forth it went, attacks from every side until finally Garreth found himself curled on the grass, the final try before a shrill whistle ended the game and the crowds erupted.

You were shouting and clapping with the rest of them as the players exchanged handshakes, the euphoria practically oozing from every pore. Garreth was in your eyeline, but he was the subject of many other hungry gazes, including the young woman with the lanyard. They shook hands and talked, Garreth beaming all the while as a swell of pride bloomed large in your chest. But the blonde you’d instantly taken a dislike to was weaving her way through the crowds, muttering something to her friend as they linked arms. You decided to follow whilst keeping those distant copper curls in your sights.

The friend was asking blondie a question, making a show of leaning in in some conspiratorial manner. “Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?” 

“Don’t know, don’t care. I don’t see one, do you? He’s probably gagging for it after that game.”

You almost laughed at her crassness, inching closer towards her as she teetered along in ridiculous heels that sank into the dusty ground. She smoothed her hair, and Garreth finally looked in your direction, finished with his conversation. She must have thought he was looking at her as she gave a small wave and the girls devolved into more giggles as Garreth smiled back with an adorable head tilt of confusion. You should have said something, but the scene was far too amusing, and so you hung back, listening to blondie use her best flirtatious purr at your boyfriend.

“You were amazing. Could I get your autograph?”

You couldn’t help it—you snorted with laughter. Garreth blinked and grinned like a cheshire cat, looking over blondie’s shoulder at you with an expression that screamed ‘help me’. It was about time you put a stop to this charade. Overtaking the pair at a jog, you flew into Garreth’s arms, his emerald eyes only for you, and his lips finding yours with a relieved sigh. You heard the scoffs and disappointed huffs that only made his kiss sweeter, the wolf whistles that ensued when his tongue slipped eagerly into your mouth.

Perhaps she’d been right; he probably was gagging for it, given the intensity of the match and the proceeding victory. Garreth held you firm against his sweaty skin even as you broke apart, still smiling, but now his eyes thoroughly smouldered—a look you knew all too well. It tugged at your chest and something writhed, hot and insistent, low in your abdomen; the tingle of arousal you’d felt the moment you laid eyes on him now a barely contained flame.

There was no point in being subtle in your intentions. You took his hand from your waist, dragging him through the thinning crowds to the first private place your mind had sprung to. 

“You’re eager. Where are you taking me?” he asked, unable to keep the sheer joy from his voice.

You turned to tug his drenched vest, a voiceless hint at urgency. As you turned a corner behind the back of the changing rooms, a small alleyway led out into a private car park. Your car sat inconspicuously in the corner in the shade of a towering oak tree, far from the distant spectators, still chanting in jubilation.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to drive us back to my dorm,” Garreth teased, grabbing a handful of your behind as you came to a stop next to the vehicle. 

“No, I’m not sitting in traffic when I could be—”

You were promptly spun around and pulled in for another kiss, your response muffled into a pleased moan. Fumbling for your car keys whilst Garreth fumbled with your breasts, you heard the click of the lock and flung open the back passenger side door, diving across the seats with a giddy laugh. You gave the car park a cursory sweep but it was still quiet and empty. 

Garreth climbed in after you, a much harder feat given his size, clambering on top of you as soon as the door shut. Your lips were glued, tongues dancing over each other. Garreth's weight felt good on top of you, even more so the thigh he'd slid between your legs. Corded muscle pressed against your heat, firm and solid. Your hips rose to meet him, shamelessly seeking friction to relieve the ache between your legs. He helped you along the way, pulling your hips to grind harder into his thigh. He must have felt how wet you were already, underwear soaked through to his skin.

You needed more than just his leg, as deliciously thick as they were, but Garreth was far too tall for the back seats to do much of anything in that horizontal position. You urged him backwards, and he got the idea soon enough, inching back to sit upright. You wasted no time climbing onto his lap, straddling his thighs as the muscles twitched from exertion, wrapping your arms around his wide shoulders as you looked at him—really looked at him, now that you had the time. He was smiling of course, glowing almost; eyes tracing down the curve of your neck with a predatory lick of his lips. You wiped a white smudge of sunscreen from his cheeks and finally pulled off his hairband, letting the copper curls fall freely over his sun kissed freckles. Then you pressed your lips to his, without inhibition, and the flood gates opened.

Garreth groaned at your exuberance, fingers grasping eagerly at your flimsy vest top that peeled away from heated skin with a mere suggestion. He didn’t stop there, apparently desperate to see you completely bare in the back of your car with no regard for the consequences. Perhaps it was the sweltering heat that urged him onwards, the cracked window doing little to help. What little layers clothed you came off, his lips and hands trailing silent love letters to every peak and crevice. He nibbled at the nape of your neck as your face buried in his hair, the scent of him drawing out your own tongue; he shuddered as you laved at his ear, the skin salty from sweat.

“Is this all because I caught the attention of that scout or are we celebrating something else?” he murmured into your ear, making you shudder as his breath caressed your skin.

You were down to just your knickers now whilst Garreth still wore his shorts, the thin fabric leaving no doubt as to how much he was enjoying the attention. The playing field wasn't quite even. 

“That, and I want to make it perfectly clear that you're well and truly mine.”

He chuckled and lifted his hips as you slid off his lap to tug down his shorts. “There's nobody else here, babe.”

“Well they can imagine where I dragged you off to.”

His underwear peeled off with them, the rolled fabric falling to the footwell with a gentle thump. You weren't paying the slightest bit of attention to where any item of clothing had ended up when Garreth sat entirely naked in front of you. He looked rather pleased with himself, stretched out in what little space there was with his arms behind his head and his heavy cock laying proud across his abdomen. 

You just about suppressed a groan as you dipped your head, much to his surprise, bracing your hand on his thigh as you took him into your mouth without a second thought. Garreth gasped and swore, fingers winding their way into your hair from the first teasing lick. His scent was heavy, musky, but by no means unpleasant, and the salt on your tongue tasted like victory. His girth filled your mouth, every moan stifled somewhere deep in your throat. 

“Fuck, fuck…” Garreth whispered, his voice hoarse and laced with desire.

You kept a steady rhythm with a hand firmly planted at the back of your head whilst the other roamed the bare expanse of your skin—tracing the contours of your back with a featherlight touch that belied his complete loss of control. His hips snapped up to meet your mouth, almost choking you in the process.

“Babe, I'm gonna come if you keep this up.”

With a final firm lick up the length of him, your mouth left his cock swollen and twitching against his stomach once again. You smiled up at him, hair mussed and a faint sheen of sweat beginning to form across your body. 

“Don't you dare.”

“Come here then,” he grinned, tapping his leg whilst simultaneously manhandling you on top of him.

Garreth buried his face against your chest, groaning into the flesh, ready to devour. You played idly with his fiery curls in a blissful haze as his tongue flicked and twirled around your nipples; teeth grazed those sensitive peaks and you toed the line between exquisite pleasure and pain. You pulled at his hair in response, his ensuing moans causing a ripple of arousal, a flutter deep in your very core.

“Gar…”

His name sighed so sultrily seemed to spark something in him. Strong hands gripped your waist and pulled you against his broad chest, holding you firm, and before you could question a thing he brought you down on his cock. He impaled you in one swift motion, leaving you breathless with the sudden fullness. Your mouth fell open in shock, clinging to him so tightly a more fragile man might have broken. But he didn't shatter, not even as your nails raked his skin and drew blood. His teeth nipped at your neck, the familiar sting of fresh bruises blooming.

Your hips moved of their own accord, slowly at first but growing more insistent. One drawback to being crammed into your car was that your head bumped on the roof the more enthusiastic you were bouncing. 

“Fucking…car…” 

Laughing at the ridiculousness but still frustrated you slowed your pace and leaned back, rolling your hips until you found that sweet spot. Your moans entwined in the muggy air, a blissful delirium taking over. Garreth's head fell back against the headrest but still his eyes lingered on you, lidded and full of hunger as they flitted across bare swathes of skin to meet your own gaze. His hand cupped your arse, squeezing in rhythm to your movements whilst the other trailed a path down your waist to your hips, his thumb pressing firm against your clit.

A great swell of relief, pleasure flooding every extremity until your body threatened to fall apart under his digit’s tight circles. You looked at him so deep in concentration whilst he brought you to the edge, licking his lips in anticipation as your legs started to shake. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and come for me?” he teased. 

You could only manage to stutter a ‘yes’ before the coiling tension snapped and launched a thrilling cascade of pleasure through your already limp body. You fell against Garreth, his arms ready to catch you as you rode out your orgasm, muttering sweet nothings in your ear. Tangled in his hair, whimpering until the last wave.

He was still buried inside you as you stilled, so very tired but still wet and willing. You felt the twitch of his cock, his steadily thrusting hips that yearned for more. Your own legs quaked as you adjusted yourself, ready to start your gentle rocking once again, but Garreth had other ideas.

Eyes glittering and practically feral, they bore into you with such intensity it made your heart skip a beat. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger—as if you needed to be guided to look at him—and he smiled at your blissfully dazed expression, satisfied that he'd done his job.

“Let me take over, okay?”

Garreth didn't wait for your assent, pulling you in for a searing kiss, his arm locking around your waist. You were pinned against him, sweat-slick skin pressed hot together. You expected him to flip you over, struggle around on the tiny back seats, but instead he lifted you off him, until only the very tip of his cock remained nestled inside your heat.

You whined at the loss of him, grasping at his hair. 

“What—”

His answer came with a hard thrust from below. He held you tight, hovering just inches above his lap as he drove his cock inside you again and again. It was beyond comprehension how he had enough energy after his match to fuck you so hard, but he was absolutely relentless in chasing his release. Moans, whimpers and the wet slap of skin created a deafening cacophony. You tried to form a coherent plea, but it was swallowed by Garreth's greedy kisses, his tongue delving deep into your mouth.

“Ha-...harder,” you managed to sigh against his lips.

“Harder? God, you're such a fucking greedy girl.”

You grinned deliriously as Garreth laced his fingers into your hair and did exactly as you asked. His pace was brutal, and so deliciously bruising; Garreth fucked as rough as he played rugby, if you so asked for it. 

His breath was starting to falter, you felt the hitch against his chest and the sharp intakes of air as he stole your very oxygen. He was close, so close.

“Gonna come for me?” You echoed his earlier tease.

“Mmmh-...gonna fill you up.” 

You whined into his mouth, walls fluttering around his cock as you felt another orgasm mounting. Garreth moaned louder now, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth delving against your neck to leave yet more love bites in the throes of passion. They would remind you of this very moment, such treasured momentos. As he drew your skin between his teeth, your orgasm hit, and so did his.

You fell into his lap in a heap as he lost control of his limbs, cock pulsing and filling you with hot ropes of his release. His muscles twitched and body shuddered, the suction on your neck abating until his head fell back.

He was beautiful this way—mouth agape with kiss-swollen lips of cherry red, the flush of his skin a delicate rose beneath smatterings of freckles. His eyelids fluttered over mossy irises, glittering and unfocused in his fucked-out daze. The corners of his mouth curved into a smirk as his body finally relaxed, every last drop of energy spent. His release had filled you so completely, but you didn't squirm, only relished the way it felt dripping down your thighs.

“Congratulations, Gar,” you said with a breathless giggle, laying your head against his shoulder.

Garreth kissed your head and stroked your hair, so gentle in contrast to how he'd been only seconds before that spoke volumes of his love for you. His embrace was safety and happiness.

“I definitely feel like a winner today.”

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Hey bee! I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is in 1D and she gets in a water fight with Liam and Louis and one of them accidentally throws a security guards hot coffee on her?

A/N: Thank you for the request! Idk if this is what you were hoping for but it was super fun to write. I did it quickly, so hopefully it's good and hopefully you enjoy it.

Warnings: Some explicit language, water fights, thrown beverages

"I don' think I wanna be a par' of this…"

"Don' ya dare bail on me now." You whisper through gritted teeth, giving Zayn as intimidating of a scowl as you possibly can. "They soaked me on stage. I need payback. And I need your help to do it."

Your friend and fellow bandmate rolls his eyes, followed by a quick shake of his head, crouching down behind the racks of clothes in the boys' dressing room.

Footsteps become audible, and you begin to settle into your spot, readying yourself for the plan you are determined to execute.

You can make out the mumbles of both Louis and Liam, the ones who you hope will think twice about including you, unwillingly, in their onstage water fights.

You jump up, being met with wide eyes and shocked expressions as a sarcastically evil expression pops through your facial features.

"This is for last night!" You shout, chucking half a bottle of water towards each boy, watching as their shock grows even more.

"You lil shit!" Louis yelps, squinting his eyes to avoid the water irritating them, but also to glare in your direction.

"Karma is a bitch, Tommo."

"Well, so am I!" He exclaims, swiveling around to the nearby table and grabbing the closest water bottle he can get his hands on.

"No, no, no. M'sorry." You immediately state, holding your palms out in surrender as he stalks towards you. "C'mon Louis… ya don' really wanna do this…"

His crooked smile does nothing to ease your worry as you watch Liam begin to grab his own ammunition and join your other mate.

"Payno… boys… le's talk about this, yeah? We…" As you prepare to embarrass yourself by begging them to stop, your calves hit against the edge of the couch, causing your body to fling down onto the cushions. "We… can work something out!"

Liam makes it shoulder to shoulder with Louis, standing right in front of you.

"Don' ya dar-"

Suddenly, the splash of cold water washes over your hair and streams down your face, causing you to squeal in discomfort and the boys to cackle with triumph.

"I can' believe you two idiots!" You exclaim, immediately standing up, pushing past them, and grabbing a couple of bottles for yourself. You stand on the opposite side of them, a small table being the only thing separating you from your opponents. The three of you glare into each other's eyes, all fidgeting with the plastic in your hands. "This is war."

"Bring it on." Liam replies, eyebrows raised with anticipation of your reaction to his threat.

"Le' me leave first!" Zayn pleads, rushing to safety within the doorframe.

"Hello, lovers! What's-" Niall stops next to Zayn and his eyes widen at the sight in front of him. "What's… goin'… on…"

"Payback." You quickly state, flickering your gaze to him for only a split second, instantly returning it to the ones across from you.

"Jesus Christ…" He replies. "This'll be fun to watch."

"What will?" You hear Harry ask, not daring to turn his way in fear of the battle beginning while you're not looking.

"Everyone shut up!" Louis shouts, squatting down slightly in preparation.

You take a deep breath and suddenly the sound of the plastic bottles being crushed fills the air. The feeling of water running down your back giving you chills, but your feet swiftly moving around the room helping you to get in some shots of your own

Bottle after bottle is being swiped from the table as the insults and liquid go flying.

"What the hell is going on here?" Someone yells from the doorway, grabbing half of the attention of each of you as you continue to dodge Liam and Louis' attacks.

Your eyes manage to catch a glimpse of John, one of the band's security guards, bolting into the room, quickly placing a cup on the coffee table and maneuvering to grab a hold of whoever he can catch first.

Liam is the first to be stopped, with John pushing him towards the direction of the innocent bystanders.

"Jus' you and me, darling!" Louis proclaims, a mischievous laugh following the comment dripping with sass.

"Don' call me darling, you wanker!" You shout back, running to grab yet another bottle.

You quickly rush past him, spilling about half of the bottle down the back of his shirt, and as he yelps out, you see him twist his way out of John's reach and grab more ammunition from the smaller table.

Louis lunges towards you, throwing his hand out in an attack, and as the liquid hits your arm, a heat penetrates through your jumper.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You scream, grabbing your wounded limb and flopping to the ground.

"Oh don' play victim, love." Louis quips, turning around and displaying an abundance of regret as you begin to wince at the pain. "YN?"

All five boys turn to you, immediately rushing over to your side, and you see John hurry out through the door with his walkie-talkie pressed up against his mouth.

"Bloody hell, Tommo! What did you do?" Liam asks, kneeling down beside you with a hand gently placed on your back.

"I just… I didn't…" He stutters, looking at the ground and bending down to reveal the cup John had put down, before his attempt to end the water fight. It is empty of whatever beverage it had contained and all eyes turn to your jumper, a stain appearing of what smells like coffee. "Shit! YN! M'so sorry!"

"Ge' your jumper off." Harry states, his eyes full of concern as he stares at the spot you're grabbing onto.

"What?"

"So it doesn' injure you more." He replies, nodding down as if to encourage you to grab the hem.

"Umm… m'only wear-... wearin' a bra underneath…" You utter, watching as the expression of each boy turns into one of awkward uncertainty. They've seen you in that predicament before, but usually during a quick change. The close proximity now makes this situation a bit too intimate for everyone's comfort level.

"Hold on." Liam states, jumping up and striding over to the closest rack of clothes, swiping the first t-shirt he sees, and making his way back to you. He tosses it over, and each boy twists around in a slightly different direction while you remove your wet top and immediately replace it with the clean, dry one.

"Alright." You mumble, watching as the five of them turn back to you.

Louis glances over your attire and you look down to see that the article of clothing now on your body is actually his. Ironic.

"Serves me right I s'pose." He chuckles under his breath. "YN, m'really sorry."

"S'alright." You quietly respond, dropping your gaze to the floor, displaying sadness, pain, and a mild amount of embarrassment.

"Come 'ere." He states, his arms stretched towards you to offer an embrace. You scoot on your knees, inching a little closer to him, and wrap one arm around him. He gives you a little squeeze, and as he pulls back, you bring your other arm around him, causing him to lean back in to prolong the hug.

"Guess we were both right." You utter in his ear, keeping a hold on your bandmate.

"Bout what?"

The hand you last reached around him lifts over his head and turns down, pouring the contents of a bottle you had been hiding at your side, waiting for the right moment to exact your revenge.

"Karma is a bitch." You laugh, letting go and pulling back to see him frantically wipe the water from his face. "And so are you."

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