#she has thrown in the towel it seems

[fazcatz]

At the local thrift store

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 4

paige x azzi

warning: fighting, blood

word count: 9.7k

a/n: honestly only got this out because i barely slept a lick last night so here’s to delusional writing at 3am! this chapter has the long awaited fight. let me know what you think or leave a comment if you can, i love reading them honestly. thank you for always reading 🫶🏼

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The door of Paige’s gym creaked open with the sharp jingle of the bell Cam annoyingly put up that Paige still hadn’t bothered to take down. Paige didn’t look up at the sound, her gloves continued to thud into the heavy bag in sharp, rhythmic bursts.

“Yo,” Cam said, her voice echoing through the mostly dark gym. “You live in here these days?”

Paige kept her same rhythm for a few more hits before she stopped, breathing heavily as she grabbed her towel that was thrown to the side. “What do you want?”

Rickea offered her usual input saying, “Wow. You’re so warm tonight.”

“It’s late,” Paige mumbled, rubbing her forearm across her forehead.

Rae wandered toward the wall of gloves and pads, curious about the gym she had never seen before. “This your little batcave?”

“Something like that,” Paige said, eyes flicking toward what she was messing with on the back wall before looking away.

Cam looked back at Paige. “We were at the facility late. Figured we’d come check on you before your fight.”

“You checked. I’m alive,” Paige said flatly, taking off her gloves with a quick tug.

Azzi trails in just them, seemingly having finished handling a phone call. She held the door long enough to keep it from slamming behind her and she didn’t say anything at first. She just walked in quietly, her eyes drifting to Paige as she did.

Paige’s eyes flicked to her for a second, lingering just slightly before she looked away.

Rickea wandered past Paige, picking up a mitt and making a show of putting it on like she was going to do something with it. “You actually training or just stress-punching?”

“Both,” Paige replied dryly.

“You need a target? Rae’s here.” Cam playfully offered.

“No.”

Azzi stayed quiet, but Paige glanced back toward her again, longer this time.

Azzi didn’t say anything, she tilted her head to the side slightly and gave her a look. Paige mirrored it without much expression somehow.

Cam interrupted the moment without realizing it when walked over and stood in front of Paige giving her a once-over. “You look lighter.”

“I lose anymore and I’ll disappear,” Paige mumbled.

The others started to wander around the space—Rickea trying on gloves and Rae asking Cam a million questions. Azzi leaned against the far wall, just watching Paige mess with her hand wraps again.

“You sleep at all?” Azzi asked, quietly, just enough for her to hear.

Paige’s hands didn’t pause, but she answered with a small shrug. “Some.”

“Eat?”

“Some.”

Azzi squinted her eyes at her. “Lie better.”

Paige’s mouth twitched at this, almost a smile, a tiny smirk maybe. Paige didn’t respond instantly, but when she finally glanced up, her eyes held a softness.

“I’m alright, forreal,” she said.

Once her wrap was suitable to her liking she slipped her gloves back on and started hitting the bag again. It wasn’t with the same force, but seemed more controlled and the gym echoed with each snap of her gloves to the bag.

The others continued to mill around, talking quietly between themselves, occasionally throwing out a comment toward Paige that she barely acknowledged.

After about 10 minutes Paige’s fists slowed again and she walked over to her water that was sitting on a bench, her gaze landing on Azzi first before anywhere else.

She stood slightly to the side of where Azzi was standing. “Ready for your game?”

Azzi nodded, shifting her weight against the wall. “Yeah. It’s Golden State, so…”

Paige unscrewed the bottle, taking a long drink, before glancing at her again with a faint smirk. “Easy win?”

Azzi laughed. “Should be. If we don’t fuck around.”

Paige’s eyes lingered on her before she looked down, screwing the cap back on her bottle.

“You weigh in tomorrow, right?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah like 10AM.”

“You close?”

“1 or two pounds out,” Paige replied. “Water cut’ll handle it.”

Azzi smiled at her a little before saying, “You say that like it’s casual.”

Paige shrugged, wiping her hands down her thighs. “It is. Just part of it.”

Azzi didn’t press the topic, just gave her a look that said she wasn’t entirely buying it, but she'd let her have it for now. Paige looked back toward the bag, then back at Azzi. “Appreciate you checking, though.”

Azzi smiled again saying, “Of course.”

After their short conversation the gym settled into a quietness, Rae was scrolling on her phone near the cage, Rickea was recording a TikTok, and Cam was eyeing the small fridge Paige had in there like she was trying to will actually food into it.

“So what time’s weigh-in?” Cam called across the gym.

“Ten,” Paige answered without looking up, her response clipped.

“That’s lowkey nasty,” Rickea muttered. “You really just gotta let people stare at you while you stand on a scale in your underwear.”

Paige nodded saying, “Pretty much.”

“You into that?” Rae asked, teasing her a little.

“No.”

Cam changed the subject saying, “You ever think about trying to get them to let you fight somewhere fun? Like in Miami or something? I’d fly in like three days early for that.”

Paige didn’t look up from her phone. “Great.”

Cam narrowed her eyes at Paige’s answer. “Okay, so we don’t get real sentences tonight, noted.”

“No.”

Rickea’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t even pretend to be nice.”

Azzi, still leaning against the wall with her arms folded, smiled behind the water bottle she had grabbed. Paige passed by her, dropping her phone on the bench, and Azzi waited a second before asking, “When are you heading to Vegas?”

Paige paused, then said, “Early tomorrow. It’s a short flight. Forty-five minutes maybe.”

Her tone was different—more open, barely noticeable but enough that Cam, who’s known her since they were kids, looked up like she’d caught something worth noting.

“Why only go the day before?” Azzi asked.

“If I go too early, I overthink. Just wanna keep my rhythm and stay in my gym as long as I can.”

“That’s smart,” Azzi said.

Cam blinked and mumbled to Rickea, “Why do we only get grunts but Azzi gets full sentences?”

Rickea crossed her arms. “I didn’t even get a hello today.”

Rae didn’t look up from her phone. “Y’all ever think maybe she just doesn’t like us?”

“Definitely feels personal,” Cam added, squinting toward Paige and Azzi.

“You already packed?” Azzi asked.

Paige shook her head. “Nah. I’ll toss some stuff together when I go in the house.”

“That’s bold,” Azzi responded, a little amused by Paige’s disorganization.

“I like pressure.”

“Clearly.”

Rickea watched the exchange. “Is she flirting? I feel like she’s flirting.”

Cam squinted toward them, her arms crossed as she watched. “I can’t tell.”

Rae let out a mock sigh, fake pouting. “She’s never flirted with me.”

Rickea turned towards her. “That’s ‘cause you probably actually like her. Don’t think she’s interested bookie.”

Rae looked offended. “Me and Azzi look alike.”

Both Rickea and Cam replied at the exact same time, “No you don’t.” But it was Paige, still across the gym, who also said it dryly, like it slipped out before she could catch it, that got a reaction out of everyone. “No, you don’t.”

Cam and Rickea laughed, Azzi smiled, and Rae mumbled, “Rude,” under her breath.

Paige didn’t even blink. “Just being honest.”

Rae narrowed her eyes at Paige. “You’re lucky you hit people for a living.”

“I’m sure I am,” Paige said plainly, finally looking over with the faintest trace of amusement on her face.

Rickea laughed and leaned into Rae. “Don’t worry, I still think you’re pretty Rae Rae.”

“That makes one of you,” Rae grumbled.

Cam shook her head and laughed before she clapped her hands together once. “Alright, we should leave the scary girl alone now.”

“Thank God,” Paige mumbled, putting her gloves back on.

Cam rolled her eyes as they turned to leave. “See you on fight day, Paigey.”

Paige ignored her completely. As the four of them made their way to the door, Azzi hung back just half a step, glancing over her shoulder. “Bye, Paige.”

Paige’s hands paused for a moment before she looked up. “Bye.”

Then she dropped her gaze again, flexing her fingers before throwing another punch into the bag like none of them had ever been there. But Azzi smiled to herself all the way out the door.

…

On the day of the fight the plane ride to Nevada was smooth. Between some of the LA Sparks players and Paige’s family, Paige’s jet felt full. Small conversations came and went in pockets, laughter from Rae here and there, quiet murmurs between Azzi and Cam, Rickea sharing a row with Paige’s younger brother Drew, the two of them playfully arguing about who knows what.

By the time they arrived in Las Vegas, there wasn’t any time for wandering around or settling in besides dropping their bags off at the hotel. The venue the slated fights were scheduled in was already pulsing with life, every corridor buzzing with preparation. When they got there security ushered them through the back entrance, down a narrow hallway that led to the fighter’s wing.

When they got to Paige’s room she was in the far corner of the room, her legs wide, forearms resting on her knees as she focused on the wrap in her lap. Her headphones were in her ears. She didn’t look up and acknowledge anyone when they entered.

Not her dad, who had his arms crossed near the door. Not her mom, who excitedly moved toward her before hesitating when her daughter didn’t even glance up. Not her younger siblings who were wide-eyed but staying close to one another.

Paige was threading wrap around her left hand with practiced efficiency and the wrap unrolled in clean pulls. Her knuckles already tight underneath. Her mouth moved slightly, like maybe she was counting, maybe repeating something to herself.

There wasn’t an ounce of anything playful in her energy tonight. No dry humor. No clipped sarcasm.

The door swung open with a sharp creak before a loud, animated voice cut through the quietness of the room. “Alright, who missed me?”

Paige’s trainer, Marcus, stepped in like he owned the place, slapping a hand against the doorframe as he walked in. His outgoing energy filled the space immediately, his sneakers squeaking slightly as he made his way in with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and mitts hanging from his hands.

Paige gave him the briefest glance before looking right back down, finishing the final wrap on her right hand.

“She locked in?” Marcus grinned to himself. “Good. It’s what I like to see.”

The others gave him small nods, acknowledging his presence, but no one tried to break the energy Paige had centered herself in. Her family had gathered near the corner of the room, speaking in hushed tones. Cam, Rae, and Rickea stood closer to the wall, watching the card before Paige’s play out on the TV screen bolted in the corner. Azzi lingered by the wall as well, her arms folded. Every so often her eyes would move between Paige and the broadcast.

When Paige finally tied off the wrap and flexed her hand, she stood up and grabbed her gloves. Her neck rolled to the side, left, then right, until a soft pop echoed in the room. She put on her gloves then crossed the floor until she was near Marcus who was already slipping the mitts on.

“You look calm,” he said, nodding in approval.

“I am.”

“You’ve seen the tape. You know what she’s coming in with.”

“She’s coming in hot,” Paige said, nodding. “Gonna try to take my head off in the first two minutes.”

“And you?”

“Imma let her.”

Marcus raised his eyebrow.

“Wear herself out a little. If she swings like I think she will, she’ll gas out before the third.”

He nodded at her thought process. “Smart. But if it gets ugly—if I don’t like what I’m seeing—I’m pulling you.”

Paige shook her head. “You pull me and you’ll need a new job before I step outta the cage.”

He paused his movements.

“I’m serious,” Paige said. “Don’t throw the towel. I know what I can handle and I’ll pull myself if I need to.”

Marcus, always needing to be the practical one on fight days, stared at her. His eyes tracking her demeanor for a few seconds he let out a slight exhale and mumbled, “Alright.” He brought his hands up. “Let’s move.”

Paige nodded her focus shifting as her first punch snapped against the mitt.

…

The muffled yelling of the crowd seeped through the walls as the fight before Paige’s ended. People in the room stirred a little. Her family stood, stretching their limbs that had grown stiff from sitting. Cam, Rae, and Rickea lingered exchanging glances before following the usher out toward their reserved seating.

Marcus gave Paige’s shoulder a brief squeeze before he grabbed a towel and followed them out knowing she liked to have a few minutes alone before the fight, leaving only her and Azzi by the door.

Azzi hesitated for a second longer, not in a rush like the others. Paige hadn’t stopped moving, throwing punches into the air, moving around the room, a routine that was rooted deep in her brain. As the door creaked slightly as Azzi moved to leave Paige glanced up briefly and their eyes met.

Azzi didn’t say anything, just offered a small smile before she turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Paige stood there for a second longer, her eyes lingering on the space Azzi had just left. Then she started moving again.

The lights outside the tunnel were blinding and hot like always. Paige barely registered them, her body was ahead of her mind as she walked out and stepped into the cage, the cheers from the crowd melting into static.

Across from her, her opponent was pacing in the challenging corner, bouncing lightly on her toes with her chin tucked, fingers flexing.

Paige moved to sit in her corner and closed her eyes for a breath. Then another. Slower. Deeper. Easing her heart rate in the midst of the chaos like she’d done a thousand times before. The world outside the cage faded, replaced by the thrum of blood in her ears, the scrape of her feet on floor, the feel of her pulse settling into something steady.

Behind her, Marcus leaned in quietly. “Breathe. Don’t give her more credit than she deserves. You know how to win this.”

Paige gave him a tight nod.

The fabric of her shirt pulled across her shoulders as she took it off, handing it to Marcus. She rolled her neck, shook her arms loose, then stepped forward toward the center.

The referee stood between them, rattling off the final rules and instructions. His voice was quick and practiced, but Paige barely heard him. She nodded when she knew she was supposed to but other than that she just stared in front of her blankly.

Everything was just noise now.

Round 1

The moment the bell rang, the girl from Houston exploded forward like she had something to prove to everybody in attendance. Paige of course expected it—had counted on it, really.

She didn’t move around much at first. She let her come.

The first few seconds were just noise and flash. A wild overhand right that whistled past Paige’s head, followed by a front kick aimed at her body. Paige leaned just enough to the left, the kick brushing past her ribs without real contact.

She’s fast, Paige thought. Not too sharp right now though.

Her opponent kept pressing, jabs flying in quick succession, combos that were more about the speed than actual substance. Paige kept her guard high and her footwork was calm, letting each strike graze her forearms or miss altogether. Her body easily flowed just outside each blow’s range.

She felt the girl’s rhythm. It was impatient, rushed even. She was throwing hard too early. Paige kept her own hands mostly holstered, throwing a jab here and there, not to actually connect, but to measure distance. To poke at the pace and figure out her angles.

Her opponent threw a spinning backfist next. It was reckless and flashy. Got the crowd a little excited but Paige dipped under it easily.

Arrogant, Paige thought, her eyes tracking the way her opponent’s feet reset sloppily after the spin. She’s trying to finish this too early. Too much ego.

Midway through the round, the crowd started to shift slightly. The early momentum hadn’t done any damage. Paige could feel the shift in energy. Confusion at her lack of output from newcomers in the crowd.

The Houston fighter threw a hook that Paige blocked with her elbow, rolling her shoulder forward as she absorbed the impact. A second later came a right hand straight down the middle. It was telegraphed and Paige slid back, just out of reach.

Paige’s thoughts started connecting. She’s overreaching. Her left side drops when she resets. She leads with the same combo every time. Gets predictable after the second one.

The bell rang, and Paige backed into her corner.

Round 2

The bell sounded again, and this time, the energy changed before a single strike was thrown.

The girl from Houston didn’t charge like before. Her footwork slowed, became more methodical, her hands were tighter, eyes a little sharper. Paige noticed the change immediately.

Someone told her to calm down, Paige thought, adjusting her stance slightly.

The first jab that came Paige’s way wasn’t rushed this time, but it snapped quickly and for the first time in the fight, made direct contact with Paige’s cheekbone. Just enough to sting.

Paige’s head turned slightly with the hit, absorbing it without panicking. She stepped back once, regrouping and her eyes were brighter now.

Her opponent moved forward, throwing another combination. Paige blocked high, checked the kick, then slipped inside the next right hand to answer with a heavy body shot that landed just under the ribs.

That one got a reaction.

From the crowd. From her opponent. From Azzi, who leaned forward in her seat.

“Oof,” Cam muttered next to her. “I know that shit hurt.”

Paige was already adjusting to her opponents new tactics. She felt the girl trying to tie up, wrap her arms around her waist, pull her into the clinch. Paige let her, just for a second, then she broke it.

After she broke it Paige took a quick step back and threw a sharp elbow that clipped her opponent’s lip before disengaging. Blood began to pool there, just barely visible.

Her opponent was tough, though. After a brief reset, she shot low, driving into Paige’s legs and pushing her against the cage. The crowd yelled at the quick shift in momentum, some jumping to their feet as they battled for control inside the octagon.

Paige’s back hit the chain-link, but she didn’t panic. She got an underhook, her forearm pressed hard against the girl’s collarbone. She twisted her hips and reversed the pressure, pinning her instead. Her knee drove into the thigh, once, then another time. Then she threw a quick right hook to the temple before she broke free.

The crowd surged again.

Rickea looked truly entertained by the fight.

“She’s bleeding,” Rae said, pointing toward the girl.

Paige wasn’t unscathed either. A short elbow thrown while in the clinch had opened a nick beneath her left eye. She wiped it with the back of her glove and moved forward again.

Another exchange came and it was more calculated from both ends now. Hooks, low kicks, faint level changes. Both women landed clean a few times. Paige caught a stiff jab. Her opponent took a clean left cross that made her stumble back.

They locked up again, their arms tangling, legs moving for leverage. The Houston fighter tried a trip. Paige stuffed it, twisting and almost getting her own takedown before time ran out.

The bell sounded and a scattered cheer rang from Paige’s section, mixed with nervous murmurs and impressed whistles from everyone else in the crowd. Everyone was on their feet now.

In the break, Paige’s cut man crouched in front of her, pressing a cold swab under her eye.

“You good?” he asked. She nodded once.

Across the cage, her opponent’s team was tending to her lip, now clearly split and swelling. The blood was thicker now, dripping as she spat into a towel.

Round 3

By the time the third round was about to begin, the energy in the arena was more charged. Everyone was excited about the show the two women in the cage were putting on. Both of them finally having an opponent to go rounds with.

Cam was leaned forward on the guardrail, her arms pressed against the rail. Rae stood silently, her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes darted between the cage and the screen above. Rickea mumbled something that no one heard. Azzi stood to the side of them all, her gaze fixed on the cage the entire time. The bell hadn’t even rung for the third round yet but she couldn’t look away.

Inside the cage, Paige stood in her corner, her hands on her hips. Her chest was rising and falling slowly. Her face was glistening with sweat and maybe a little blood and the area under her left eye had begun to swell slightly, the skin around it softening and tinting purple.

Across from her, the younger fighter bounced on her toes. The blood from her lip was stianing the top of her mouth guard, and one eye had started to redden slightly.

The bell sounded.

Paige stepped forward with her chin tucked, breathing steady.

Her opponent came forward a little faster than before. Not wild anymore, but definitely not timid in her movements. She looked coached and calibrated. There was a sting in her throws now. They were more selective and therefore more successful. The first jab touched Paige’s jaw and a follow-up kick slapped against her thigh. Paige checked the second one but didn’t respond, just absorbed the pace.

She was reading again trying to feel out the rhythm that seemed to constantly change. Then she responded with a tight right hand that found the other girl’s cheekbone, and the sound of the glove landing landed over the excitement of the crowd.

The girl answered with a knee that caught Paige’s side.

It stung but Paige didn’t shift much.

They clinched near the cage and for a few seconds, it became less about hits and more about finding control. Paige’s arms locked around the back, trying to angle her opponent’s hips. The girl countered, dragging Paige slightly sideways. Their feet scraped, and one of Paige’s gloves pushed up into the girl’s jaw, forcing space before she threw a quick elbow.

The girl stumbled back and Paige followed, another elbow aimed higher but this time the girl ducked and answered with a right hook that landed across Paige’s face.

Paige’s head turned slightly, and for the first time in the fight, a flash of blood sprayed into the air from her nose and cheek.

Cam winced.

Rae let out a breath. “She’s fine right?”

“She’s fine,” Paige’s dad confirmed calmly, his arms crossed as he watched his daughter. His eyes never left the cage. “Let her work. She’s got it.”

Inside the cage, blood was dripping into Paige’s mouth now. Not too much, just enough for her to taste the metallic taste. Enough to push her forward a little.

The next exchange was ugly and messy. Strikes and elbows thrown, knees and shoves. The crowd had stopped analyzing and just started yelling. Some of them leaned over the front barriers, screaming names, muffled by the yelling around them. Blood was on both fighters’ bodies. It slid across their gloves, making clinches harder to hold and strikes harder to gauge.

Both of them were tired now and their breathing was heavier than it was in the rounds prior.

Paige felt the welt rising along her cheekbone and her body ached. She could feel the bruises forming, the scrape on her ribs from the cage, the faint pulse of pain in her shoulder. But she kept pressing.

A right elbow split the air and landed causing the girl to reel back. Then came a left throw from her opponent. Paige ducked and responded with a throw to the body; then again to the ribs.

Paige’s opponent grabbed her, dragged her back into the fence. Grappling now a little clumsily.

Ten seconds left.

Azzi leaned forward slightly, just as Paige got enough room to throw a final punch over the top that landed. The bell rang, singling the end of the round.

They didn’t move for a second before they slowly separated. Both of them were sweating and panting and blood was mixed into the chaos and was dotting the floors of the cage.

Paige turned and walked to her corner. Her cut man met her halfway, towel already in hand. “Hold still,” he muttered, wiping around her cheek and nose. There was blood across her neck and chest. Some hers. Some not.

“Yours isn’t the worst,” he said, brushing beneath her eye. “She’s leaking.”

Her trainer leaned in close. “Talk to me. You okay out there?”

Paige didn’t even sit down. “I’m good,” she said. When she said it her voice was rough, clipped.

He studied her, his eyes scanning her face. Blood was still sliding down her cheek and her breathing was heavy, but her stare was in the distance.

“You sure? We can slow this down if you need to…pull back until–-”

Paige cut him off. “I said I’m good Marcus.”

He gave a short nod, slipping the towel from her shoulder and dabbing near the swelling under her eye. “Alright. Keep your lead hand up. You’re letting her crowd you when you drop it.”

“She’s sloppy,” Paige said, absentmindedly. “She’s never fought this long, getting desperate.”

“Exactly,” he responded, stepping back to give her space. “She’s frazzled. Never experienced anything like this before you got that on your side.”

Paige’s jaw tightened.

“All you gotta do is finish it.”

She nodded once and he tapped her on the back.

Round Four

The bell rang, and Paige stepped forward again, the wear of the previous rounds visible in her shoulders, the rhythm of her breathing. Her opponent mirrored the fatigue, but there was a new wildness in her eyes, a last-ditch hunger to end it this round.

They circled.

The first few exchanges were calculated: a leg kick from Paige that was checked cleanly; a body shot from her opponent that landed with a thud; a jab from Paige that snapped the girl’s head back. They were both moving trying to find the right moment.

But then a left hook landed harshly against the side of Paige’s head, just above the temple. Her body staggered from the impact, legs briefly unsure beneath her as her brain fought to analyze what was happening. The lights blurred for a second and her ears rang. She blinked, trying to get everything back into focus.

From the seating section, Cam shot up halfway from her chair. “Shit,” she muttered.

Paige’s father shook his head. “She’s fine,” he said. “She’s still in it.”

Paige shook the daze off, just enough to reset her stance. Her opponent charged in, eager to capitalize on Paige’s haziness, but Paige ducked a looping right and grappled, locking her arms under the girl’s and forcing her against the cage. The two fought for leverage with their sharp knees. Blood poured from a fresh cut just above Paige’s eyebrow, leaking down the side of her face and blurring the corner of her vision.

They broke apart and reset. Then in another flurry a jab-cross from Paige, and a clinch, her opponent trying to muscle her into a takedown that Paige blocked with experience.

Off a failed swing from her opponent, Paige slipped under and shot for the hips, driving through and dragging her down. In a blur of motion, she transitioned from half-guard to mount, then sliding behind as her opponent rolled in slight panic.

Paige had her hooks in and arms around her neck. The crowd erupted as Paige cinched a choke tightly.

A few seconds passed and Paige prayed to God that this girl wasn’t stupid enough to risk brain damage for a fight. To her relief Paige felt frantic tapping after a few more seconds.

The ref dove in, pulling her off as Paige released her immediately and sat back with blood pooling from her eyebrow. Her opponent was on her knees coughing against the mat in front of her, blood dripping down her face as she shook her head.

Paige sat there for a moment, still on the mat, her knees bent, forearms resting on them as her chest rose and fell unevenly. Her ears were still ringing with a sharp, high-pitched sound that was driving her crazy on top of the crowd’s yelling. She blinked a few times, trying to force the haze from her head but the lights above her were blurred. Her vision sharpened, dulled, and sharpened again.

The ref moved beside her, gripping her wrist and tugging her upward, announcing the win. She barely registered it as her head spinned.

Her cut man appeared almost immediately, reaching out with a towel to stop the flow across her face, but Paige brushed him off with a slight shove, not roughly just her being resistant. Silently telling him not now.

Her head was down as she walked out of the cage and instantly moved to the back toward her assigned room. The sound of the arena faded behind her with each step and it was replaced by the echo of her footsteps and the relentless ringing in her ears.

All she could do when she got to the back was grab a towel, pressing it to the side of her face as she slid down against the nearest wall. Her legs giving out without much of a fight. Blood was smeared across her cheek and neck as she wiped at it with shaking hands, but it kept coming.

The ringing in her ears felt sharper now, pulsing in rhythm with the headache that pounded behind her eyes under the harsh lights of the room. She closed them tightly just to breathe. Just to exist in the darkness and silence for a second.

The door opened followed by footsteps and excited voices.

Cam was in first, trying to bring her usual energy as she walked in with a grin. “Let’s fucking go! Paige, that was—”

“Not right now, Cam,” Paige mumbled, her voice strained enough to stop Cam mid-sentence. She raised her hands in surrender, backing off immediately. But her family followed, trailing in excitedly behind her. Their voices were full of pride, relief and adrenaline. Way too loud.

Paige winced and her face contorted in pain as her head throbbed. The room spun slightly as the noise closed in on her.

“I need everybody to get the fuck out,” she said suddenly.

Her family was completely stunned. Some of them blinked like she personally insulted them with the statement. Her mom opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself when she saw Paige’s face.

“Somebody has to stay with you, P,” a voice said softly. Maybe Cam, Paige couldn’t tell.

She didn’t even bother to look over. Her head stayed resting against the wall with her eyes shut tight. “Whoever’s gonna sit here and shut the fuck up can stay,” she mumbled.

There was a moment of hesitation before Rickea pressed her hand lightly to Azzi’s back, pushing her forward.

“You heard her,” Rickea said softly, glancing at the others. “Let’s go.”

Azzi hesitated for just a second before walking fully into the room while the others shuffled out.

Azzi eased the door shut behind them and stood still for a moment. Paige hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and the towel in her lap was stained with smears of red. Even without looking over, she seemed to know who was there.

“You still here?” Paige questioned.

Azzi whispered softly, “Yeah.”

“Figured it was you. Everyone else talks too damn much and doesn’t listen.”

Azzi didn’t answer, she just stepped further inside Paige adjusted her position still not opening her eyes. “Can you turn off the lights for me?”

Azzi walked over and flicked off the switch and the room sank into darkness. The only light coming from the hallway slipping in under the door. Paige exhaled quietly at the instant relief. Azzi let her eyes adjust to the slight darkness before making her way toward the corner where she spotted the ice bin. She scooped some of it into a bag and wrapped it tightly with a towel.

Just as she was finishing up a knock sounded. It was gentle, but loud enough to make Paige flinch slightly.

Azzi crossed to the door and cracked it open.

Paige’s cut man was standing there holding a small vial and a long large cotton swab in his hands. He looked past Azzi at Paige on the floor then handed her both items. “She won’t let me near her again tonight,” He said. “She knows what to do. But just in case, clean the blood off first. Pour this on the swab—not too much—then roll it gently over the cut.”

Azzi gave him a quick nod as she took the items and quietly shut the door again.

When she turned back around, Paige was still in the same exact spot and the towel she was using was useless now, covered in red more than white at this point.

Azzi moved quietly as she sat down beside her. “Can I help you?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just let her head roll to the side, eyes cracking open to look at her. Even in the low light, Azzi could see the exhaustion etched into every part of her face. Her jaw was tight, her cheek was bruised and the cut over her eyebrow still bleeding in a stubborn line down the side of her face.

Paige gave the smallest shrug. “Haven’t gotten an ass whooping like this in a while,” she mumbled.

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she reached for a fresh towel. “Yeah, well…you still won.”

“Barely,” Paige mumbled, letting her eyes fall closed again.

Azzi shifted, her knees brushing against Paige’s thigh as she gently tilted Paige’s chin toward the light. Paige’s jaw clenched and she drew in a sharp breath but she didn’t stop her.

Azzi began to wipe her face slowly despite the amount of blood. She grimaced here and there as she worked. The smears across Paige’s temple, the streak down her neck, dried and fresh blood all blending together.

Paige caught the expression and cracked a barely there smile. “Squeamish?”

Azzi smiled, her eyes flicking up for just a second. “Maybe a little.”

Paige lifted her hand to take the towel, but Azzi caught her wrist and pushed it back down. “I got it.” She said it softly, but firmly enough that Paige didn’t argue. She just dropped her hand back to her lap, and she let her head rest against the wall again. Azzi wiped away the last of the blood. When the towel did all it could, Azzi reached for the cotton swab and the vial. She didn’t say anything about it, just soaked the tip and leaned in.

The moment the antiseptic touched the gash over Paige’s eyebrow, her body got rigid. Her jaw clenched and her eyes squeezed shut, a sharp breath hissing through her teeth.

Azzi whispered, “Sorry,” but didn’t stop rolling it over the cut.

Paige didn’t respond, just exhaled hard again as Azzi moved to the cut beneath her eye, rolling the soaked cotton along the split. Paige winced again, but didn’t move.

Once she was done Azzi paused and let her hand linger near Paige’s cheek just a moment longer than necessary. She grabbed the towel-wrapped ice from earlier and pressed it gently to the side of her head. Paige’s hand came up to take it from her and hold it in place.

“You have a concussion.”

Paige nodded once. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”

Paige let out a quiet scoff. “I’m not,” she mumbled. “I just don’t have the energy to be pissed out loud right now.”

Azzi responded with a small, almost sympathetic laugh, leaning back against the wall beside her. “Fair enough.” She sat with her knees pulled up, glancing over at Paige every so often. After a minute, she asked, “Was it worth it?”

“Ask me again when the ringing stops.”

Azzi add’s, “At least you didn’t tap, that's a little embarrassing.”

Paige gave a tired breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah, well. Pride’s a hell of a drug.”

They sat there quietly for a few moments then Azzi nudged Paige’s leg gently with her foot. “You know,” she said casually, “I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to somebody covered in someone else’s blood until today.”

Paige’s lips twitched, and before she could stop it, a small smile cracked through. Just for a second.

Azzi’s eyes lit up. “I did it.”

Paige blinked. “Did what?”

Azzi grinned. “I got a smile.”

Paige shook her head, still smiling faintly. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late,” Azzi said, leaning back like she’d just won something important. “I’m remembering this moment.”

Paige shook her head, the smile still hanging on her face even as she sighed and mumbled, “I need to shower.”

“Okay, come on.” Azzi stood and reached out her hand.

Paige grabbed it, groaning softly as Azzi helped her to her feet. Her body protested with every movement, and a sharp twinge in her side made her wince. “Jesus Christ,” she mumbled under her breath as she walked toward the bathroom.

As the door closed and the sound of the shower running steadily Azzi sat down in one of the chairs pulling out her phone to send a quick text to Cam. A few minutes later everyone cautiously trickled back into the room silently.

Cam looked toward the bathroom, then turned to Azzi who was still seated in the chair by the wall, towel and gauze discarded beside her.

“How’s she doing?” Cam asked gently.

Azzi glanced toward the closed door, then back at them. “Pretty sure she’s got a concussion,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but other than that…she seems pretty ok.”

Rickea exhaled, shaking her head. “That shit was crazy.”

Paige’s dad stood near the back, replaying the fight in his head. “She’ll be alright. Always is.”

“Still,” Cam said, “that was a lot. You could see it in her face, especially in the third.”

They all nodded in agreement, the low conversation filling the room just as the bathroom door opened.

Steam came out first, followed by the slow steps of Paige herself. Her wet hair was down and her skin was still flush from the heat of the shower. She had on a pair of dark sweats that hung a little low on her hips and a plain sports bra that revealed the fresh bruises starting to bloom along her side and shoulder. She was moving like every joint ached, like gravity had doubled just for her tonight.

The room quieted again.

“You alright?” Cam asked gently.

Paige’s eyes moved to her, and she gave a tired thumbs up before walking toward the chair near the wall that had her bag in it.

Paige slipped her hoodie on over her sports bra, tugging the hood low enough to shield her eyes from the fluorescent lights she knew was in the hall. Even the bit of brightness flowing in from the cracked door made her blink a few times, her temples throbbing in sync with the buzz of every overhead fixture. The sound of voices around her felt amplified, like her skull couldn’t contain the noise.

She brought a hand up to her temple, rubbing it a few times.

“You mind driving the car I got?” Paige said to Azzi. “I can’t deal with all this right now.”

Azzi nodded. “Of course.”

Just behind them, Rickea made a dramatic gagging sound, sticking her tongue out and jabbing her index finger toward it like she was about to puke. “God, you’re actually disgusting.”

Paige turned her head just enough to throw Rickea a look, but even that shift made her grimace slightly. She mumbled, “You’re lucky I can’t feel my legs right now.”

Rickea snorted and lifted both hands like she was surrendering. Whispering, “Love you Paigey.”

Azzi just chuckled, looping the keys around her finger.

The walk to the car wasn’t long, but every step was a reminder of how fucked up Paige’s body felt. Every sharp laugh or car engine in the distance made her jaw clench. She kept her head down, her hoodie a weak but welcome shield against the chaos of the world.

Azzi stayed next to her, guiding her through the parking lot. When they reached the car, Azzi unlocked it and opened the passenger side for her. Paige slid in with a soft grunt as Azzi put her bag in the backseat before she rounded to the driver’s side and started the engine. Paige immediately leaned her head back and shut her eyes. For the first time all night, she let out a breath that sounded almost like relief.

Azzi kept her eyes on the road, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel while the other rested on her thigh. The sound of the tires on pavement and the occasional sound of passing cars were the only sounds filling the vehicle. Paige was slumped back in the passenger seat and the faint blue light from the dashboard cast shadows across her bruised face.

That silence lasted almost the entire drive until the car’s Bluetooth kicked in and Paige’s phone started ringing abruptly. Paige let out a long loud groan.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, squinting one eye open. The name on the screen read CUT MAN. She sighed and answered it. “I should fire you.”

Her cut man laughed on the other end of the line. “I got a physician heading to your hotel room before you call it a night.”

Paige blinked slowly. “Why,” she asked flatly, not even trying to hide her exhaustion.

“Shut up and just let me do what you pay me for.”

She didn’t bother responding. She just let her hand drop to her lap and ended the call.

From the driver’s seat, Azzi glanced over. “Everything—”

“Sshh no talking,” Paige cut her off gently, her eyes already drifting shut again as her head leaned back against the window.

Azzi nodded, lips twitching into a quiet smile at Paige’s bossiness as she let the silence settle again.

Once Azzi pulled into the hotel parking lot, she slipped the car into park and glanced over.

Paige didn’t move.

Azzi let a few seconds pass before gently saying her name. “Paige?”

Paige still didn’t move. Just the slow rise and fall of her chest as her cheek leaned against the cool window.

Azzi reached over and nudged her arm lightly. “Hey.”

Paige shifted, and a tired mumble escaped her lips. “Wassup…”

Azzi smirked. “We’re here, princess.”

Paige didn’t move, from her position in the seat. “Your parents clearly failed…didn’t teach you not to insult someone who could beat your ass,” she whispered.

“I’m pretty sure I could take you right now, honestly.”

That got a huff of amusement from Paige, her lips twitching upward as she slowly peeled her eyes open. They were glassy, heavy-lidded, but there was a small glint of life in them again.

She turned her head, and Azzi was already looking at her, a soft smile on her face.

For a moment, they just sat there, the engine clicking softly as it cooled, the hotel looming behind them, and the world feeling a little quieter inside the car.

Then Azzi tilted her head, grinning wider. “I know I’m pretty, but we should probably get you upstairs.”

Paige just shook her head slowly, the ghost of a smile still on her face as she reached for the door handle.

The walk up to Paige’s room was slow—Paige leaning a bit into the wall every few steps and almost falling asleep again in the elevator, but they made it without much fuss. When they reached her hotel room, she fished the keycard from her pocket. “You coming in?”

Azzi didn’t answer, she just followed her silently.

The room was modest, just big enough. A king bed sat in the center of the room, with a set of tall windows next to it overlooking the city lights of a city that never sleeped. Paige didn’t bother with pleasantries; she tugged her hoodie off the second the door shut and tossed it onto a chair before stumbling toward the bed. The mattress gave under her weight as she dropped onto it and she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all night.

Azzi, meanwhile, wandered over to the other side of the room and reached for the bathroom light, flipping it on just enough to cast a glow into the room without overwhelming Paige. She walked to the large windows and stared out at the city below.

She stayed by the window for a moment, the city lights painting her silhouette in soft golds and blues. Then, her gaze drifted to the bed where Paige was stretched out like she’d melted into the mattress. “You look real cozy over there,” Azzi said quietly, walking back toward the center of the room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you brought me here just to watch you sleep.”

Paige didn’t open her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tilted up slightly. “I bring you around to boost morale.”

Azzi smiled, sinking onto the foot of the bed. “You sure you don’t just like having me close?”

“I’m concussed,” Paige said but it came out muffled against the pillow. “Flirt with me when my brain isn’t soup ight?”

Azzi laughed at this and turned a little, watching Paige’s breathing slow. The silence stretched comfortably between them but then Paige’s breaths started to even out a little too much, her body beginning to relax into sleep.

“Hey,” Azzi said gently, scooting a little closer. “Don’t pass out yet.”

A groggy grunt came in response.

“You got a physician coming to check on you, remember?”

Paige groaned into the pillow like the words personally offended her. “I hate my life.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “Yeah, well, hate it with your eyes open for ten more minutes.”

Paige waved her off before her hand flopped back to the bed. “You’re the worst.”

Azzi grinned. “I thought I boosted morale?”

“I take it back,” Paige said dryly, her face still buried in the pillow.

The room fell quiet again, the sound of the AC humming in the background filling the space perfectly. Azzi took the moment to pull out her phone, scrolling through notifications before opening the group chat with Cam, Rickea, and Rae.

Azzi [11:49 PM]: we’re back at the hotel. they have a physician coming to check on her.

Cam hearted the message. And a second later, Rickea responded.

Rickea [11:51 PM]: you in the telly? 😏

Azzi held back a laugh and quickly typed out:

Azzi [11:51 PM]: GOODNIGHT.

She was barely able to hit send when there was a knock at the door.

Paige once again groaned and pressed herself deeper into the mattress like she could disappear into it and make everybody go away.

Azzi stood up and was already moving toward the door when she said, “Physician’s here, princess. She opened the door and greeted the woman quietly.

The physician stepped inside, hesitating slightly as her eyes adjusted to the dim room. “It’s a little dark in here.”

Azzi gestured toward the lump of Paige on the bed. “If I turned on the lights, she probably would've tried to kill me.”

From across the room, muffled by the pillow, Paige said, “Still will.”

“Unfortunately, I need some light to actually see her.”

With a resigned sigh, Azzi walked over and turned on the two bedside lamps. A warm glow lit up the room just enough to make Paige wince.

“Paige, I’m gonna need you to sit up for me.”

Paige exhaled slowly, pushing herself upright with one hand while the other braced her sore side. She moved like her body weighed twice as much, before she finally settled on the edge of the bed.

The physician set her bag down on the nearby dresser, pulling on a pair of gloves before crouching in front of Paige.

“Alright let’s take a quick look at these cuts first,” she said, inspecting the one along Paige’s eyebrow and just beneath her eye. She leaned in, carefully tilting Paige’s chin with two fingers. “Clean. No stitches needed. Just keep them clean and apply this.” She reached back and grabbed something from her bag before holding up a small tube of ointment, setting it on the nightstand. “Twice a day.”

Paige gave a slow nod, her eyes half-closed. “Cool.”

Then the physician moved to her ribs where she gently pressed at one of the darker bruises on Paige’s side, and Paige’s whole body tensed as she tried to breathe through it.

“Bruising’s not bad, not too deep” the physician murmured, more to herself than anyone.

Paige gave a bitter laugh under her breath. “Not bad my ass.”

Azzi, who was sitting near the window, cracked a faint smile but stayed quiet.

“Alright,” the physician said, stepping back slightly and reaching into her bag again. “Time to check on the concussion.”

When she pulled out the small flashlight, Paige’s eyes barely cracked open before she grimaced. “Yeah…that’s not happening.”

“I need to check pupil dilation sweetheart,” the physician said calmly.

Paige just shook her head, shifting slightly as she leaned her elbows onto her knees. “You can guess. Just go with your gut. I trust you.”

The physician laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I’d be out of a job if I did that.”

Paige let out a slow breath. “I can offer you a job. Problem solved.”

That earned a genuine laugh from both the physician and Azzi. The moment settled lightly, but Paige eventually resigned and opened her eyes again muttering, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The physician raised the penlight and gently swiped it past Paige’s eyes. Paige immediately flinched, her face tightening as she shut her eyes again.

“Sorry,” the physician said softly, giving her a moment. She waited patiently until Paige blinked her eyes open again, and this time she managed to keep them open long enough for the exam.

“Did you lose consciousness at any point?” she asked, clicking the light off and slipping it into her coat pocket.

“No.”

The physician nodded, peeling off her gloves. “It’s a Grade I concussion. You’ll have some light and noise sensitivity for a few days, but it shouldn't last longer than a week. If it does, schedule a follow-up with your physician.”

“Mhmm. Thanks,” Paige mumbled, already shifting back toward the pillows as she lowered herself onto the bed again.

The physician turned toward Azzi as she packed up her bag. “Acetaminophen only for the first 30 hours or so. After that, if it’s not doing enough, you can switch to naproxen.”

Azzi nodded, trying to lock the instructions into memory.

But the physician kept going, her tone professional, “And I wouldn’t recommend any sexual intercourse for at least—”

“I’m not—you know, I mean…we’re not—” Azzi quickly stammered, cutting her off mid-sentence, eyes going wide as she stumbled over her words.

From the bed, Paige let out a low laugh, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Real smooth.”

Azzi shot her a glare, but even the physician cracked a small smile as she zipped her bag closed.

The physician gave a polite smile as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “Rest, hydrate, and no blue light for a while unless it’s absolutely necessary. If anything feels off, call your trainer or head straight to urgent care, okay?”

Paige gave a lazy thumbs-up without lifting her head. “Noted.”

Azzi followed the physician to the door, holding it open for her. “Thanks again,” she said, a bit sheepishly.

The woman nodded at Azzi before glancing back at Paige one more time. “Take care of yourself, champ.”

“Tryin’,” Paige mumbled.

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Azzi turned back toward the room, sighing as she leaned against the wall. “I panicked,” she said.

Paige cracked one eye open. “Couldn’t tell.”

Azzi walked over and lightly tapped her on the leg. “I was trying to protect our virtue.”

“My virtue was gone the second I stepped in the ring tonight,” Paige mumbled, shifting slightly on the bed. “You hear the part where I’m not allowed to look at screens because I got hit so hard?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, pulling out her phone. “So I guess that means no checking Twitter to see if they’re already fantasizing about you.”

Paige groaned at the thought and turned her face into the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”

Azzi smiled, “On the bright side, I’ve now officially been mistaken for your girlfriend and given the role of your nurse. We’re really hitting milestones tonight.”

Paige reached blindly to grab a pillow and toss it in Azzi’s direction—but it barely made it halfway before falling on the floor. “I have no strength.”

“I noticed,” Azzi said, already picking it up and placing it back by Paige’s head.

Azzi grabbed a water bottle from the nearby counter and handed it to Paige. “Here. Drink. And no sarcasm until you’re at least 60 percent.”

Paige took the bottle, her fingers brushing Azzi’s. “You sticking around?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You want me to?”

Paige didn’t answer right away—just unscrewed the cap and took a long sip. When she set the bottle down on the nightstand, she said, “Wouldn’t hate it.”

Azzi shook her head at the nonanswer. “Do you have clothes?”

Paige vaguely motioned toward the corner of the room without fully lifting her arm. Azzi followed her gesture to a half-zipped suitcase.

She walked over, rummaging through the bag until she pulled out a large t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts. She disappeared into the bathroom and she took a few minutes to freshen up, throwing her hair into a bun.

When she stepped back into the room, the only light still coming from the side lamps now that she turned off the bathroom light, she grabbed the extra blanket draped over the chair. “Scoot over, drama queen.”

Paige let out a theatrical sigh as she sluggishly moved to one side of the large bed.

Azzi climbed in the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much as she settled beside her. Not too close, but close enough that Paige would know she was there if she moved in the middle of the night. She fluffed the blanket over herself and looked at the ceiling for a second before glancing at Paige again and saying, “Wow. She listens.”

“Only ‘cause I can’t argue right now,” Paige mumbled into the pillow.

“Yeah, yeah. Save the threats for when your eyes don’t look like a sad puppy when you open them.”

Paige opens her eyes at this, and Azzi immediately regrets her wording. Not because they were wrong, but because they were too right. Her blue eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and they were dull from the headache, but they still held a beautifulness, soft and glassy like she was seeing the world through crystalline water.

Azzi held her gaze for way longer than she meant to before clearing her throat and looking away. “Okay, maybe a cute puppy,” she said.

Paige gave a weak smirk, her eyes fluttering shut again. “Nice save.”

They settled into a nice quietness, the tension slowly draining from Paige’s body. The buzz of life outside their door fading into the background.

Azzi adjusted the blanket over her legs, glancing at Paige who was curled loosely on her side now, facing her. “Hey,” she said softly, almost hesitant to say something. “You did good tonight, y’know.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but her lip twitched like she heard her.

Azzi kept going anyway. “I know it sucked, and I know you probably feel like shit, but you kept your head in it and you won.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to make Azzi think maybe Paige had drifted to sleep. But then, Paige responded, “Don’t think I’ve ever been so appreciative of a concussion.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the random comment. “Why?”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be too pissed. Too in my head,” Paige said with her raspy voice. “I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to you…definitely would've been an ass. Probably pissed you off or sum.”

“Don’t worry. I like it when you’re an ass.”

Paige let out a small laugh with her eyes still closed. “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Real sexy,” Azzi replied with a smile of her own, her voice dropping playfully.

That made Paige laugh again.

A comfortable silence settled in for another moment before Paige said, “Don’t let me sleep through breakfast…feels like I haven’t eaten in years.”

“I’ll have you up bright and early.”

“Not before nine,” Paige said, already half asleep.

“8:59,” Azzi said smugly as she leaned over and turned off the lamps.

She settled back beside Paige in the dark, a tiny smile still on her lips. “Goodnight, Paige.”

There was a pause before Paige’s barely-there voice responded back, “’Night, Azzi.”

Just as Azzi’s eyes were fluttering closed, Paige spoke again.

“You won the bet, by the way.”

Azzi smiled in the dark. “I know,” she whispered back.

[rafeysbunny]

rafe saves you from drowning

a/n. based on this ask.

"she can't swim, top!" by the time sarah shouts at him, it's already too late.

topper has thrown you inside the cameron's pool, despite how desperately you were squirming in his arms while you begged him to put you down, really hoping he wouldn't be and ass just for once. unfortunately, the guy seemingly cannot stop being a dickhead.

you're panicking, kicking and flailing your arms in the deep end of the pool to try and stay afloat, but there's no use. you struggle to keep your head from sinking under the water, taking quick breaths whenever you are on the surface, panic clear on your face. but then you swallow some water, and as you start coughing strongly, trying to swim gets even harder

you can't avoid sinking for much longer. and when you submerge, you can't physically bring yourself back to surface anymore.

sarah's scream has silenced everyone's laughter, but no one moves a finger to help you —even though you're obviously drowning in there. no one, except rafe cameron, who doesn't even hesitate to dive into the water so he can take you out. he reaches you just in time, grabbing you tightly and pulling you to the edge; his heart is racing as he does so.

still coughing and sputtering, you look up at him, and he can see the exact moment in which your panicked expression softens in a mix of relief and gratitude.

topper approaches the two of you quickly, worried, while everyone whispers around you, looking at you like you're some kind of freak show, some of them even recording the whole thing —are they for real right now? you almost died.

"stay away from her, topper," rafe snaps at him, and the guy immediately stops on his tracks, clearly knowing he's fucked up. "the rest of you, get the fuck outta my house!"

you're shocked.

rafe doesn't pay attention to anyone but you as he helps you stand up carefully, his arm around your waist at all times. your clothes are completely soaked through, as well as your hair, and you shiver a little at the cool summer breeze.

"let's get you some clean clothes, yeah?"

when he talks to you, his voice is completely opposite to the gruff tone he used before; now it's sweet and caring. you nod in response, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders in a protective manner while he guides you inside the house. he doesn't seem to care that he's dripping too, his entire focus put on you.

rafe takes you to his room and he closes the door behind him so no one bothers you. he gently hands you a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which smell so, so good —just like him, and then he takes you to his private bathroom.

"you can use the shower if you want," he says, opening some drawers to grab clean towels for you. when you simply stay silent, looking at him like a fool, he adds, "are you okay, y/n?"

you hesitate, fidgeting nervously, before you finally gather the courage to speak, "why are you doing this?"

"what?" he seems a little confused by your question.

"why are you, uhm, helping me?" you ask, staring at him as he drops the towels on top of the sink to go start the shower for you.

when the water's running, he turns around to face you, his gaze so intense that you swear it's piercing holes right through you.

"isn't it obvious?" he smirks; a little lopsided smirk that has a lot of butterflies fluttering around in your belly. "i like you, silly."

more.

[defmaybe]

She’s American

LE SSERAFIM’s Huh Yunjin and MEOVV’s Lee Gawon x Male Reader

2.8k words

Title Inspired by The 1975’s She’s American

A/N: Part of @woollypoison's prompt event! The ending's a little rushed lol, sorry about that.

—

Being a gold-badge tennis umpire is, obviously, not simple, especially when you're the youngest one to ever do so. (The entire neighborhood came over to your house to celebrate upon the announcement.) Sure, the federation give you the women's matches. It's shorter during the Grand Slam, they said, but the sheer concentration needed is still pretty damn daunting. It took some time before those raised-by-television ticks are gone, but you made it, eventually.

Before every match, you have to learn about your players—style of play, cultural background, temperament. You've seen the racquet breakers. You've seen the profanity merchants (yes, you can curse in over twenty languages, that's one of the perks). You've seen the sweet-mouths. A lot you've come across during the first year you've officiated, and that has expanded your worldview by a lot.

—

A grunt, service.

The tennis ball bounces off from the racquet, flying over the net to the other side. Your eyes follow, fingers tapping on the armrest. It ricochets off the acrylic surface once.

A groan, forehand groundstroke.

The ball darts back to the opposite side. It hits the ground once; the sound echoes through the court. The seats are filled. There has never been any vacancy from the semi-finals onwards. The crowd is silent during the rally, locking their eyes on the ball. They are composing themselves well.

A cry, two-handed backhand.

The players' benches are full of belongings—towels, spare racquets, water bottles. Both of them don't seem to be the dazzling type with their possessions. The clouds make way for the not-really-summer-but-not-quite-autumn sun to stare down at the people below. Glistening skin. Loud breath. Squinted eyes. That's New York September for you.

The rally goes on. Both women voice with each of their hit. The sounds of the shots intersect with the movements. Your eyes focus on the ball intently, watching for an error. The ball seems to handle itself well, though, always landing inside the lines. It's probably twenty strokes already.

Then, a slice. The green ball floats awkwardly over the net. It lands inside the service box, bouncing forward shorter than it should. Loud thuds of the steps reverberate through the arena. A reach, defended. It flies over the net, albeit weakly. Then, a sprint. A slide. A remarkable volley. Oh, no chance of defending that.

"Forty, fifteen," you announce, and an applause follows.

—

Now, the benefits of being a gold-badge umpire aren't as prestigious as everyone makes it. You still have to cover the expenses for your trip first. The food is edible. There's no protection from the dipshit players on the courts. The salary is pretty much what you'd expect from a standard job. It's not that great.

You get this, though, at least.

Gawon's head is thrown back as your tongue drags along her neck, gathering the saltiness of her post-game sweat. Being slightly shorter than her makes it easier to do so. The nape is at your tongue level. Her body shudders every time your flesh plants itself on her skin, accompanied by a guttural groan with each lavish. The scent of her is overwhelming, yet so intoxicating. A hint of that player. What's her name again?

That doesn't matter, just lick Gawon's neck.

On your back, Yunjin digs her hand under your shorts, running her fingers along your perineum, starting from the base of your balls to the rim of your asshole. You spasm with each touch, barely controlling your moans from reaching the outside of this damp, heated locker room. Her tongue laps the side of your neck, savoring the late summer taste on your skin. No player is going to have the Tropical Boy title, because this young little referee is having it.

"You do this often?" Gawon asks, fingers digging into your scalp. She cut her nails, obviously, a standard for athletes.

"Once a month," you huff. It's an honest answer, just that you don't know how to classify it as: usually or sometimes or seldom. It's definitely frequent enough for you to come across an array of female players, at least.

"Slut," Yunjin scolds. Her hand grips on your balls tightly, making you squirm between the women. And of course, she giggles.

Gawon yanks your head away from her neck, boring her eyes into yours. There's nothing but lust on her face—the wanting eyes, the shaky breaths, the lip lick. Yunjin's still on your neck, getting that saline dripping down your skin from sitting in place for two hours, lazy ass. Her grip on your testicles loosens, going back to teasing your taint and keeping you on the edge.

Suddenly, Gawon presses her lips on yours, a little chapped. Her hand grips your hair ever so tightly, burning your scalp with her sheer force. The pain is always worth it, of course—mixing your sweats together, tasting that body salt lingering on your players' bodies, inhaling the scent of their perseverance from the last two hours. You're so much of a whore for it.

Yunjin pushes forward, teasing the edge of your boxers along with your shorts, threatening to pull them down in a single swoop. She runs her fingers towards your front. Oh, how you shudder when she grabs your length from the back. Yunjin then starts to rub your cock softly, all while planting her tongue on the back of your neck.

"I wonder what ITF would say if they know that one of their umpires is a sweat-obsessed whore," Yunjin coos, making sure to take a swipe at the tip of your cock. Your frame jolts in response. You know she's smiling, she always does.

You can feel Gawon slightly grinning against your lips, a more devilish one than that of Yunjin's. Her tongue attacks the inside of your mouth so easily, making you melt within her embrace. She's just so good at this. The sloshing sound of the kiss rings inside your ear. It's pretty ugly, nothing majestic like in the movies, but it feels like heaven.

Her hands slide into the space between you and Yunjin, landing on your plump ass. Gawon then gives the pair a squeeze, and you can only moan softly under the kiss. How nice it feels to be handled like this, and she shoots back at you, "God, your ass is just so, ugh, fuckable. Fucking dump truck of an ass."

Again, you just whimper whorishly into her mouth.

In a sudden, Yunjin pulls your garments down. They pool idly at your ankles. Your cock springs free in front of Gawon, so excited, as sweat falls onto the ground. Gawon hastily wraps around your cock with her gorgeous hand—long fingers, cut nails, rough palm. It's everything you want in a player—proper for a threesome session. Gawon takes a swipe on your tip, and this time, you feel the cold of your arousal smearing your head.

"Such a slut," Gawon sneers against your lips, rubbing the top of your cock with her thumb. She then pulls back from the searing kiss, taking a look at your twitching length in her hold. "A referee shouldn't be this leaky. You need more self-control."

"There are no regulations on that," you retort, shrugging. "You don't like leaky dicks?"

From behind, Yunjin is observing the exchange. She laughs occasionally at your banters, intersecting with licks on your neck that make you shudder.

"Too easy to be exploited. You'll sway too easily," Gawon says sternly, but she lets go of your hair, kneeling. Her hands rake on your shirt as she moves down your body, until her face is just right in front of your cock. The intoxicating scent of her body is gone, but your cock in her mouth is a pretty good exchange.

At the same time, you can feel the absence of Yunjin's tongue, replaced by the hot breaths against your ass. She spreads your cheeks open slowly, exposing your heaving hole to the heat.

"Yum."

And Yunjin's tongue dive into the between of your plumpness, tasting the fever that has been building up for the last few hours. You cover your mouth tightly as the wet flesh touches the rim of your asshole.

Gawon says nothing, instead envelops your cock with the warmth of her mouth. She makes sure to keep her tongue dragging against the underside of your shaft—more cum upon orgasm this way.

Your hands press onto the back of the women's heads, burying them in your sweaty body. Oh, to have your cores stimulated like this. You wish you could just do this fucking forever.

—

It's a wonder how nobody has come into this room for the last … how long has it been?

The room is definitely hot enough to keep Yunjin's body sweating. God, the smell of her cunt is just the fucking best. Your hand grips onto the side of her thick thighs. Her skirt blinds you from your surroundings completely. The inner shorts are gone; she might give them to you if your tongue is good enough. To wake up every morning and inhaling in her essence is just—

"Your tongue is just the fucking best, baby," Yunjin rasps, gyrating her hips on your mouth recklessly, spreading her tartness on your lips as you lie on the bench. Her hand grips onto the top of your head. You feel the crushing weight of her body on your lips. No relenting, of course. You're eating her pussy until she becomes a fucking faucet.

Yunjin isn't the only one who's enjoying your body, though.

Gawon's hand presses hard on your ribs, all the while impaling her pussy with your throbbing dick over and over. You feel her skin tremble on top of your chest—rhythmic. It's thrumming through the dust surrounding you. Her walls clench and heave and contract around your manhood. There's not a single ounce of oversensitivity plaguing beneath your skin after that dumping inside Gawon's mouth. Fuck, it feels too good. Those moans are a song—stuttered, airy, yet so consistent. Her shorts are probably somewhere in the room. You're being a good boy; she'll let you take it home. Your frame is taking a lot. But if that means your cock will pulse inside Gawon's cunt, and your tongue will dance on Yunjin's clit, you're more than happy to trade in your remaining years.

"Whore."

Gawon's word spurs you on, of course, and Yunjin is the victim of it. Your tongue works harder on Yunjin's swollen nub—sucking, nibbling, tugging on it. Your fingers penetrate her tight asshole with ease; the sweat helps a lot, and Yunjin can do nothing but convulsing on top of your face.

"Fuck, baby," Yunjin whines. Her clit pulses against your tongue in that rapid tempo you've always known. "Your mouth can do more than calling for outs, huh?"

She's close.

You don't reply, now pushing with your tongue into Yunjin's cunt. Your nose presses against her hair. She cries out in ecstasy, trembling and writhing on top of your head. Your thumb moves towards rubbing her clit frantically. Her moans grow louder and more chaotic with each passing second. You're ready to take her nectar, all of it, mixed with her filthy sweat, and you're going to love it.

Gawon ups her ante, grinding on your cock even faster. Her sweat falls on your dampened body, marking you as hers (co-opted with Yunjin). You're doing well, almost perfectly even, judging by those frenzied moans leaving her lips. The room is just their moans at this point, and you're more and ecstatic that they're the product of your doing.

"Mmm, yes, I'm fucking close, baby," Yunjin shouts. The slickness of her nectar and athletic filth drips down your cheeks. You're definitely not washing your face for a few days. Her tempo reaches its peak. Your lips can barely catch her movement, and she's not going to stop until she cums.

"Don't you fucking dare leave me behind, slut," Gawon huffs, slapping your waist to remind you of her presence. It's like you're forgetting her. She's lighting your nerves aflame! "Better breed me with this baby batter."

No pulling out.

Yunjin's moan climbs the scale. Her hold on your head trembles. She's going for it—to use your face as her canvas—and you're going to let her do it.

"Fuck!"

From your experiences, Yunjin's mouth is going to make an "O" shape. Her eyes will roll up in pure bliss. Maybe her tongue will even loll off her lips. You're pretty certain of those.

Though, what is definitely going on is her folds gushing clear liquid on your face. Her entire frame is shaking, spasming in a certain rhythm. You open your mouth wide, taking in her taste. It's saline, a unique kind of saline, and it's fucking delicious. Oh, you're drinking her filth gleefully.

"Drink it, baby, fuck, and tell me what it tastes like."

Yunjin continues to ride your face away with no caution. The spurts slowly subside. Shame. You cling on to the last remnants of her essence desperately, so eager to drink in as much as you can. Your tongue reaches for her core, getting that heavenly taste from the source. When the cascade stops, you can only lap at her sensitivity, and Yunjin lets out an wild wail, unable to stand against your lavishing any longer.

"Baby, baby, I-I can't …" and Yunjin detaches herself off your needy mouth. A string of something stretches between your lips and her wetness. God, you're such a whore for her pussy.

Light hits your eyes again, letting you watch Gawon's elated face. Her head tilts up. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth opens slightly, letting out those sinful moans and have them bounce off the walls. She's hugging you tightly with her walls, attempting to coax another wave of cum out of your balls.

"That was good," Yunjin says on your side. Her sweat falls down on your frame as she wipes her forehead with her hand. Indeed, you stick your tongue out for her taste. A little difficult with Gawon riding you, though.

"You really are a sweat slut, aren't you?" Yunjin coos, before kneeling down close to you. "Open your mouth, then."

She then hovers her sticky fingers over your mouth, slowly descending into it. The salty taste of her skin hits your tongue as you wrap your lips around her digits. And god, she just tastes so fucking good. You really are a whore for it.

"Bitch," Gawon huffs. Each contact of your thighs reverberates through the steamy room. Your body strains and jerks under her. Yunjin's fingers are silencing you, at least, lessening the risk of people entering.

Gawon's signs intensify. Her moans reach higher notes. The arms on your ribs are trembling. Her breathing quickens. She's close.

Gawon is not the only one close to bursting. You can feel the pulsing of your cock within her cunt. Your lips suckle on Yunjin's fingers more and more fiercely. That familiar feeling is building up inside your loins. You're close.

"I-I'm cumming, Gawon," you rasp with Yunjin's finger inside your mouth. Your hands go for Gawon's lean waist, brushing your thumbs against the lower swell of her chest.

"Don't fucking pull out. Don't fucking pull—"

The first of her juice touches your skin. Her face lights up in ecstasy—mouth agape, eyes shut, breathing halts. The entire body of hers freezes, unable to find any word to describe the state of her own heaven. Her cut nails dig into your flesh harshly. Oh, she's loving this. She's loving your cock.

You follow suit. The second orgasm of the day crashes over your body. You writhe under the immense pleasure, cock pulsing inside the warm, velvety walls of Lee Gawon's cunt. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with Yunjin's digits inside your mouth.

"My goodness, it's coming out so much. It's hitting my womb so well," Gawon sings.

You gradually come down from your peaks, moans grow quieter and quieter. Gawon merely sits on you with a cock inside of her pussy, drizzling globs of cum into her wet, pretty insides. You just bred her good.

Yunjin pulls her fingers out of your mouth, leaving you feeling empty again. Gawon lifts herself off you, sending that oversensitivity all over your body. Strings of your sticky cum connects your cock and her puffy cunt. What a sight.

"Since you bred me a little too good, I'll give you my sweaty, smelly shorts. How does that sound, huh?" Gawon asks. Your cock leaves her with a small pop.

"Mine too," Yunjin adds. "Don't wash it, baby."

This is one of the easiest questions you've ever gotten in your life.

"Sure."

—

[seraphicsentences]

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

~

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

[cheralith]

— say all that you have to say.

oliver aiku — he says that the kiss that he gave you one evening "didn't mean anything", asking you to forget about it. but he has trouble believing his own words when you do act like it didn't happen, his heart heavy when you go back to treating him as just another friend. okay, so maybe it didn't mean anything to mean to him, but surely it had to mean something to you... right? (wc: 10.6k)

contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, jr manager!reader, misunderstandings, fluff, angst with comfort, aiku doesn't understand feelings, happy ending i prommy, not fully edited as of 03/23 a/n: trying out some new headers! are these ok? are the old ones better? lmk!!

“Coach is going to murder you.”

“I’ll let you give my eulogy then.”

Sendou snorts obnoxiously as Oliver buries his face in rough hands, groaning. The gigantic weight on his chest has yet to go away and unfortunately for U-20’s captain, he doubts it’s going to dissipate into thin air any time soon. Especially with how dense the tension in the room is now, everything in the world just seems to be against him right now.

His lips tingle a bit. Oliver puts a finger on the plushness of it, feeling another warmth rush to his cheeks when his mind flashes back to last night, the little incident involving their junior manager, who was also under the title of being their coach’s niece. If word got out about what happened between the two of you to him, Oliver was sure that he’ll lose his captain position that he’s worked towards in the blink of an eye…

… all because he couldn’t contain himself.

Alcohol is a funny thing. It’ll make you feel the high of a plethora of emotions in just a few hours the longer it stays in your system, restraints against the world’s expectations gradually disappearing and an arrogant confidence growing within oneself. Oliver likes to think of himself as a rather resilient person, one that knows his limits all too well, even when drunk. So what exactly took over him in that singular moment, he doesn’t know. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to believe that what he did was from his own accord. That his actions were based on something other than impulse.

And he wasn’t even that drunk! He would’ve totally passed a sobriety test at the time if it was handed to him. 

The more he tries to figure out a reason for his actions, the more Oliver comes to dead ends over and over again, and he thinks his headache is now caused by his overthinking rather than the remnants of his hangover.

Oliver leans back and throws an arm over his eyes, the bright lights making his eyes pulse. “Promise you won’t tell anyone else about this? I don’t want a shitstorm blowing up.”

Sendou slyly smiles, but hums regardless. “Yeah sure. Anything for my best bud.”

And in comes the rest of the U-20 team ready to change for practice, chattering about, seeping into the locker room one by one. Oliver hears them greeting their ace and captain, but he can’t be bothered to try and put in the effort to say a polite hello back given his current dilemma that he doesn’t know is going to get worse in a second,

Sendou, always having a slight knack for a kick of drama, juts his thumb at their disoriented captain. 

“Oliver kissed (Y/N) yesterday night after karaoke, by the way,” he says casually as he examines his fingernails. “When he was dropping her off.”

Oliver sits up and gawks at the striker, Sendou only throwing a casual smirk at him—consider this payback for when Oliver whipped his wet towel at his rear yesterday a little too harshly.

Chaos ensues, clearly. The atmosphere within the locker room levels up by threefold, with his teammates scattering around him, question after question being thrown his way faster than he can blink. Neru shakes him like a saltshaker, desperate to try and get an answer out of him. Kitzunezato scolds him heavily like a mother to a child, demanding what overtook him to do something so reckless. Darai, the most level-headed out of all of them, even goes to pinch his brow and ask why he’d do such a thing towards their junior manager.

And that’s the thing. Even if he wanted to answer, it’ll all just come out in jumbles and clusters that can’t fit properly together no matter how hard he’ll try to fit them together. He didn’t know yesterday, he didn’t know this morning, and he doesn’t know now. Frankly, Oliver thinks that he might not have an answer for a while and he’ll be leaving not only his team, but himself in the dark for sometime. Maybe he deserves it, to wallow in his own worries, especially after doing something like that. It might give him time to properly analyze a headspace he hasn’t visited in sometime.

He stands up abruptly, silencing them at last. Inhale, exhale… inhale exhale… just to properly gain his proper semblance back again. Oliver then says something that’ll help shut them up for good, at least for the time being. 

“I’ll say this once and I’ll say it once only,” he starts sternly as he looks at all of his teammates in the eyes to ensure his message gets across and to end the commotion. “Yes I kissed (Y/N), but we were drinking prior, neither of us were thinking properly. That’s what happens when you’re drunk—you get impulsive. Don’t think about it too hard. It didn’t mean anything. So let’s not dabble on this any longer and get to practice, yeah?”

He finishes his closing statement, shunning them and before they say anything, he claps his hands together to indicate everyone be quiet and prepare themselves for practice. Oliver’s austerity echoes through, seeing as how they all tighten their lips and start shuffling around the locker room. He sighs, shoulders dropping.

It didn’t mean anything…

The bitterness of the words sting his tongue, sourness spreading on his palette. When he swallows them, or at least attempts to, it almost… burns. Like the shots he consumed yesterday, they roughen his throat almost like a punishment, the words unwelcomed. An unease lingers about, clearly indicating that to him, something felt wrong about saying it. 

His head says he’s right—that it was just a casual kiss. He greeted a lot of people like that when he was leaving, a signature almost. So really, there shouldn’t be a difference when it comes to you. He was just simply saying goodbye in his own style.

His heart, however…

The elevator’s gateway to the hallway has a slight hitch to it, one that the tip of your shoe grazes against as you step, or at least attempt to, out of it. 

“Woah, watch your step,” Oliver warns when you yelp and begin falling forward, an arm catching your own to pull you back. “You’re only a couple feet away, don’t go dropping dead on me now.”

You laugh quietly, apologizing for your clumsiness. A warmth pulses through Oliver’s chest when he hears the whisper of a giggle, and it’s not because of all the booze he consumed earlier, either. “I’m sorry… I guess I’m just a little tired.”

Oliver quirks up a grin as he drags your arm over his shoulder to keep you steady. “Only a little? Says the one who kept yawning on the way here.”

“Not my fault,” you roll your eyes, a heavy fatigue in them that sags your eyelids slightly, “you guys were the ones that kept making a mess that I had to clean up constantly.”

“‘You guys’?” he feigns a hurt in his voice, a rawness starting to embed itself within it from the aftermaths of karaoke. “Don’t lump me in with those chumps. I at least helped you.”

You blow a stray piece of hair out of your face in annoyance, and when it does go out of the way like you desire, Oliver goes to tuck it behind your ear when you whine. “Whatever. You only did it ‘cause you’re the captain.”

He gives a boisterous laugh at that, one that may wake your neighbors up to your displeasure. 

“In what way does being captain have to do with me being a decent person?” he guffaws. “What if I just wanted to help you out?”

“If you’re trying to get something out of me by doing so, fat chance,” you huff, pout forming on your lips that glisten a little brightly at him. “I could’ve taken care of it myself.”

He sighs with a grin, understanding that there may not be a way out of this conversation that doesn’t gain a win in his favor. You were quite stubborn and adamant, after all, a trait that made you a rather good manager to a bunch of boys who were just starting to get their acts together, never swaying to their bribes or pleas. 

You start mumbling things to yourself suddenly, something about getting groceries and tomorrow’s breakfast plans, an incoherency running back and forth that Oliver listens somewhat intently to. He always liked it when you talked, since you often had to keep to yourself and just simply jot down notes in the shadow of your uncle—it gave him a sense of closeness to you to be able to have a conversation with you that didn’t involve the team. 

“We’re here,” he chimes, head fuzzing a little when he reads the letters of your apartment. He lets go of your arm, letting you balance yourself on the doorframe as you rummage about your bag and fetch your keys. He has to fight a chuckle when he sees your keychains—he’s never been too familiar with the specific names of Sanrio characters, but he can tell you’re quite the fan of this specific little one by the many decorations that hang from the chain. Cute, he thinks.

Oliver watches as you fumble around trying to fit the key into its designated hole, your drunkenness making you a little more prone to mismeasures. When you begin to grow frustrated, he gently cups your hand that clutches your key in his and slowly leads it into the keyhole in a steady motion. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, twisting your hand so the latch clicks as he notices how nicely your hand fits in his. A softness in his eyes seeps itself within when he stares at them connected. 

You thank him quietly, body moving forward to enter your apartment and away from the shelter that is Oliver Aiku. A chill runs through him when you move from him, your body warmth no longer radiating onto him.

“Well…” you clutch the side of your apartment door, staring up at him, eyes a little wondrous. “This is where I leave you.”

Oliver scratches the back of his neck, trying to ignore the heaviness in his feet that seem to want to stay where they are. “Yeah, haha. Should start heading back soon.”

Your gaze softens and Oliver can feel his breath hitching when he sees a fondness swimming in it. A fondness just for him.

“Thank you for making sure I got home safely. It means… a lot.”

He likes the way you fidget a little bit, shy and meaningful. A side of you revealed to him that he hopes you’ve never shown anyone else. 

“Of course, I’d hate for anything to happen to our precious manager.” he whispers, fingers twitching. “Also your uncle would have my head if something did, really.”

Shared laughter bounces between you both, a quiet understanding between you and him that your uncle was not a force to be reckoned with when it came to his niece.

You begin to close the door, indicating your leave was starting and that you wanted him to head home as soon as possible before the nightlife of the city really began to reach its heights. Oliver stills, something in his chest burning when he watches the door’s gap get smaller and smaller. 

All it takes is that doe-like gaze you give him for him to lose a sense of himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow th—!”

And Oliver, for whatever reason, dips his head towards you and gives the softest kiss he’s ever given to anyone to you. 

A silk-like movement flows between your lips, synchronization naturally flowing. The warmth from earlier blooms in his chest, vining it through his body. Nothing but affection ebbs and flows within your lips and his, no other hidden intent behind his kiss other than the passion he’s harbored for you for the past few months you’ve been a part of his life. 

You and him break away. Funny how a kiss lasting five seconds or so feels like it’s lasted a lifetime, because the clock has barely ticked. Even the incredulous stare you give each other lasts longer than your kiss. 

You slice through the silence first. 

“I–”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Oliver chokes out abruptly and turns on his heel towards the elevator, praying you don’t see the flush of red that he can feel rising at the tip of his ears.

He swallows thickly once he’s inside it, feeling your burning stare on his back when you gaze at him from the hallway. He doesn’t want to turn around, scared for what expression you may behold. Without looking, he presses the lobby button on the button-pad and seals his fate as the doors close.

… clearly wants to scream at him, wants him to face the music and grasp the reality of the situation.

But he can’t. Not when he has so much at stake.

Oliver gives a sigh audible only to him as he begins to exit the locker room, letting his thoughts from the locker room be left in the locker room and his execution plans for this practice taking over. 

That is until he sees you standing outside, next to the door. 

He jumps slightly, eyes widening when he sees how close your presence was to it. You hold two rolls of athletic tape in one hand, scissors in another. Your face lifts from the ground, flat lips you transform it into a smile that almost looks screwed on to reflect at him.

There was no way you had heard him, right? Not with such a thick wall separating the two of you.

He stutters, but you beat him to his own words.

“(Y/N)–”

“Hey there,” you greet a little too sweetly, “can you give this to Hayate, please? It’s for his shoulder.”

Oliver pauses, looking at the two items you hold out in front of him in your hands. He stares and blinks slowly at them, your words clearly delayed in his ears. He suddenly blinks hard and gains back his consciousness, and his vision focuses on the beige tape and scissors before him.

“Sorry, yeah,” he mutters and takes them from you, trying not to graze your palms in fear of your warmth scorching him. “Um… did you happen to–”

“Coach says you guys need to hurry up, by the way,” you cut him off again, smile still on your lips that when Oliver sneaks a glance at, feels that fizzy feeling on his own again. “He wants everyone to be out on the field in five.”

You give him a nod of acknowledgement, turn on your heel, and stalk off, leaving him alone in the corridor. 

It was barely there… and if he were to blink, Oliver was sure that he would’ve missed it. 

But it was there, the dejection on your face revealing itself when you took your mask off once he wasn’t in view.

Your figure just barely appears in his vision just as he turns his head, a sweat misting on his skin.

Just before you’re able to round the corner, Oliver grabs your shoulder and forces you to look at him.

“Hey,” he breathes, “can we talk?”

You give him that artificial smile again. Your eyes don’t move when you lift your lips almost forcibly and the emptiness within them remains. “Sure,” you reply simply.

Oliver scans his surroundings first, making sure there are no additional ears to hear this conversation; he doesn't want another storm swirling. Scornfully, he takes you to a more secluded corner, one that shadows itself with darkness to fully ensure no attention would be brought to you and him.

He only has five minutes until their break is done, so he supposes that he should just rip the band-aid off and get it over with. For the greater good. 

“About yesterday,” he starts, scratching the back of his heating neck. “Listen, I’m sorry. What I did… it was just something I did accidentally ‘cause I was drunk. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable in any way.”

Oliver looks up and flinches at the blankness spread across your face. As though you’re unconvinced by his words. As though his words sound meaningless like the kiss he insists is.

You say nothing, just blinking honey-slow. Oliver takes the chance to try and say something, to take a jab.

“It’s just—I often say goodbye like that to people, y’know? Well, maybe less on the lips and more on the cheek and forehead,” he mutters, throat constraining a bit at the unnecessary add-ons. “You can ask any of the guys, I’m sure Sendou is sick of my shit, haha…” 

He manages to get a monotone hum from you, a paced nod indicating his words were somewhat getting through to you. 

Oliver purses his lips, trying to search for something in your empty stare. Anything will work, really, just something that he can grasp to get a feel of your emotions so he can plan how to go about this. 

“I think that—”

“Is it true?” you cut him off, capturing his attention. Oliver raises his eyebrows and lets out a confused sound. “What you said in the locker room.”

Guilt seeps into him. So you did hear him, even through the concrete walls and iron door. He supposes such weighty words are bound to break through the barrier to get to you in some aspect or another. 

“W-what did I say? What’d you hear?” he asks. 

You challenge his gaze, something forcing him to look at you pulls him into you. 

“That it didn’t matter,” you state simply. “That it didn’t mean anything.”

Oliver feels a heaviness on your shoulders when you echo his words through your own voice that he can’t detect the emotion of. He opens his mouth, trying to choose his words carefully, but it takes him a few seconds to gather his act.

“I—” he pauses, jaw gritting. Oliver fights the urge to hang his head in shame, forcing himself to look at you. Your gaze is testing; you really are their coach’s niece, given how there’s a similar pressure radiating off of you that mirrors your uncle. It’s waiting patiently, though with a certain standard in mind.

Oliver swallows thickly before spitting out a half-baked answer, one that adds another weight to his shoulders. Whether he believes it or not… that didn’t matter. Because he ultimately says something that will better the trajectories of tomorrow, not something that will entertain his own wants. He can’t afford to do that right now… not with you, at least.

“Yes,” he says, the familiar bitterness from before scattering on his tongue again. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean anything else by it other than goodbye. I hope that I didn’t give off a wrong impression of some kind.”

You go still again, motionless. 

And then your face cracks a smile, the same uncharacteristically wide one that doesn’t seem to fit your face quite right. 

“Okay,” you state simply with an assured nod, sighing in what seems to be relief. “Just wanted to make sure so we don’t run into misunderstandings. Thanks for clearing it up, Captain.”

Oliver thins his lips at your response. You don’t seem to be too phased at his words—unlike the other girls that came before you whose faces would contort into irritation, sadness, or confusion. He was ready to tackle all of those emotions he’s grown familiar with, but the content shown on your face is unlike anything he has ever seen.

And he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“So,” he starts slowly, “what should we do now? Or, what do you want to do?”

Your head lilts to the side. “Well, you said to forget about it… so, let’s do just that. If that’s what you think is best.”

Your words feel strange when they register in his mind, but Oliver gives a quick nod. 

“Yeah. Let’s just… forget about the entire thing. For the better of us and the team. And also so your uncle doesn’t kill me.” Oliver attempts to crack a joke to ease the tension in the air, but he doesn’t think this is the time. Not when you look like that. 

A familiar laughter is nowhere to be heard, and your smile feels unsettling the more he looks at it. It doesn’t feel like it’s yours, but rather a stranger’s. But you keep it on your lips regardless, showing amiability of some kind. 

“Alright,” you nod. “Then let’s agree to never talk about this again? Go back to our normal life?”

You put your hand out for him. Oliver takes it, your palm so oddly cold it makes him shiver a bit. You and him shake on the agreement, hand in hand, eye to eye. 

The deal is settled. History has been erased.

There was no kiss between you and him. Nothing has happened. 

All is well…

… he thinks.

A week passes by. 

You and Oliver have gone back to the way things were before instantly, talking and chatting just as friends like you always have been. He still receives the warning glares from your uncle to not get too close to you, but he’s able to bypass them just as he had been doing since you first got here on behalf of your university.

He reflects on that day fondly. How awkward and quiet you were when you first introduced yourself, stating that you would be interning as a junior manager on behalf of your major for their season. How Oliver was the first person to make you feel truly comfortable without having to worry about your uncle’s wrath, how conversations began to flow within you and him more easily rather than just the typical morning greetings and after-practice wrap-ups. 

When he looks at you now, you’re akin to a flower. One that has bloomed in the right environment as time passes comfortingly. You’ve grown to be friends with everyone on the team, his teammates holding you to a high regard that mirrors Oliver’s own status. It took awhile, like everything does, but you’ve blossomed. You show more of your true nature nowadays as a result.

He thinks that the new hairstyle that you adorn today is quite cute, fitting for your face. He especially likes the little clips of your favorite Sanrio character that he can’t ever seem to remember the name of that clip back your hair a bit to fight against the warming weather. 

“—ku.”

He likes that lip color on you that kind of matches with your outfit right now, a little detail he’s noticed you do sometimes.

“Aiku.”

Oh, that bracelet is new. Looks expensive, too. He likes all those charms that hang off it, the metal clinking harmoniously to him—

“Aiku!” 

The snap of your fingers and your voice finally breaks him out of his trance of admiration. He spurs, blinking rapidly. The giggles of his teammates float about from where you all are on the field. 

“You good, man?” you ask. 

“Huh?” he questions for a bit, trying to remember his current predicament. Oh yes, that’s right. The after-practice wrap-up where you summarize all their coach’s analysis to them and discuss plans moving forward. “Right, yeah. Uh huh.”

You roll your eyes, sighing and going back to your tablet. “As I was saying, Captain,” you throw a narrow-eyed glance at him, a doubt in his beholding of his title visible, one that makes him chuckle. “Try to sharpen up your skills as best as possible. I think it’s advised for you guys to showcase the best of your capabilities rather than dwell on your weak points— especially with how close the Blue Lock v. U-20 Match is.”

With that, you dismiss them, his teammates giving a loud thank you to you. Oliver is last to follow, with you tagging along behind him just before he enters the locker room.

“Hold on, Captain,” you call for him, tugging on his sleeve. “We’re still on for Shibuya later, right?”

Oliver nods affirmingly at you. “Yep. Need to get some new cleats before the game.”

“Oh okay,” you throw him a thumbs up, “but uh. Sendou won’t be able to make it. Says he’s got some sort of dinner with his brother. You okay with it just being us two?”

Oliver’s eyes widen, purple and green revealing themselves in full in a state of mild surprise. Originally, you guys were supposed to go as a trio, with Sendou wanting some new earrings for his piercing and you wanting to look at a new brand’s collection. But with the former out of the question… Oliver realizes it’d just be you and him.

Something in him stirs.

“Yeah,” he says a little too simply, trying to fight a grin rising on his lips. “That’s all good by me.”

You pat his arm affirmingly when you nod. “Alright then. I’ll meet you outside the facility’s entrance. Rest up while you still can.” 

With that, you take your leave and throw him a friendly wave over your shoulder. Oliver watches as you exit the field a little too intently, your perfume lingering in the air. 

He had been with you alone on some occasions, since he was the captain and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be called in privately, but it was almost always soccer-related. And the few times it wasn’t, it was often with the team like karaoke or a group dinner. So, he supposes that this would be the first time ever that you and him have actually hung out as… friends?

Friends.

Right. Yes, that’s what you were to him. Just friends. You’re a friend, and this is a friend-oriented shopping hangout. 

Oliver trails back into the locker room, ignoring the tingling on his lips.

“Those are nice,” he says when he peeks over your shoulder, watching as you examine a pair of earrings. “Pretty.”

You give him a glance from the mirror, sighing when you put them down and return them into their little slot. “Nah, I don’t really suit chunky earrings. Would like to, though.”

Strange how you say that, considering Oliver thought they looked quite nice on you—just like how every single clothing item you’ve been trying on has been. 

“I think they look alright,” he remarks, plucking them out of the display stand and holding them to your face again. “Yeah, they look fine to me?”

“You don’t get it ‘cause you’re a guy,” you give a light titter, shaking your head. “Plus they’re a little out of my budget.” 

Oliver goes to glance at the price and doesn’t really think much of it. Maybe his perspective is a little skewed, considering that your salaries as an intern versus a professional soccer player were quite spaced out. 

“Hm,” he mumbles, “want me to buy them for you, then?”

You gawk, a choked sound coming out of your throat. “What?! No. I-I wouldn’t wear them anyways, I don’t think they’d look good. You’d just be wasting your money.”

“Well I think they look good, so I’m sure everyone else thinks they’ll do,” Oliver playfully cajoles to your dismay. “Maybe just step out of your comfort zone.”

“I know when to step out of it,” you groan as you stalk over to another area of jewelry. “I just don’t think those specifically will do me justice.”

Oliver hums quietly, still examining the earrings from his distance. A store assistant suddenly appears from behind, a smile on her face when she shares Oliver’s view of you. 

He jumps a little when she makes her presence known. “I think your boyfriend is right, ma’am. I think those earrings will look lovely on you, really,” she chimes. 

You pivot your attention to her and chuckle mirthlessly, not really convinced by her words that you’re sure she’s adding sugar to help you buy it. “Haha, thank you, but I’m okay… also,” you gesture to you and Oliver. “We’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

Oliver winces at the word. It takes a small jab at his chest. 

“Oh! My apologies,” the assistant excuses. “Sorry, you two just looked so lovely together—my mind just automatically assumed!”

You reassure her that there were no worries with another fleeting laugh, one that’s a little too dismissive of her assumption. “No worries.”

You excuse yourself and stalk off to another branch, Oliver watching you from his peripheral vision as you examine the bracelet section of the department store. He supposes that looking into the mirror at oneself for too long can disfigure a person’s self image—since he doesn’t seem convinced that you think you look bad in the earrings. When he can detect you’re out of view, he murmurs the same assistant over.

“Would you mind wrapping this up for me?” he asks quietly, sliding over the pair of earrings to her. “Preferably somewhere out of her view.” He goes to jut his thumb over his shoulder, indicating your presence from behind him. “I’d just like to get them for her as a gift.”

The store assistant draws her gaze over to you, ignorant to their interaction when you admire the articulation of a specific necklace in the display case. She nods affirmingly, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“You know, we have a special gift box for couples for jewelry, if you’re interested,” she inquires, making Oliver’s eyes widen. “It’s a white velvet box to help properly store the jewelry.”

“Oh, haha,” he laughs, attempting to remind her of your current status with each other. “We’re not—”

 “I know,” she affirms, winking at him, as if she knew something he didn’t. “I’m just saying.”

The assistant smiles ever so politely. Oliver pauses. He throws a look over his shoulder to see if you were still there, far enough away from him and sure enough, you’re bouncing about the display cases, admiring all the jewelry clearly out of your budget. 

He softens when he sees your eyes sparkle at a specific bracelet, wondrous and amazed. 

Oliver turns back to the assistant, who grins at him.

“Sure, why not?”

And just before he drops you off at your apartment when the day is done, he quietly slips the white velvet box into your bag without a word, hoping that you’ll take the chance and wear them on his behalf.

“Nice earrings, where’d you get them?” Oliver asks the following day when practice wraps up again. The same earrings he had seen yesterday were now adorned on your ears, glinting at him curiously when he pokes at them.

You turn away from him and focus on your tablet, a heat rising on your cheeks. “Found them in the garbage.”

He laughs aloud at your evident embarrassment of your acceptance of his gift. But that’s okay; he figures you’re still trying to get used to them, so he’ll let you take your time. Maybe you’ll eventually see what he sees.

“You still coming to karaoke?” he inquiries when he helps you clean up the team’s remnants of play on the field. He feels a little hesitant asking you such a thing, even though it was quite often the team went out for karaoke to ease up after practice. The lingering tension between you and him from the aftermath of last time has long dissipated, but there’s always that chance it may come back to haunt him. 

“Yeah but,” you groan when you throw some sweat-soaked towels in the bin, “I’m not staying long. I’ve got some homework to finish up on, so no drinking for me tonight.”

The words come faster out of his mouth before he can catch them—reflex taking over consciousness. 

“D’you want me to walk you home later then?”

Oliver flinches. You blink at him, eyes wide, like he has the audacity to say such a thing after the incident. 

But the way your eyes soften so gently at him makes him rethink his assumption and he feels a relief that flows in his chest when you give him a grateful smile. One that he’s quite accustomed to, one that you only give him.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Okay Sendou, your turn!” Neru exclaims and thrusts a microphone in the striker’s hands. 

The karaoke has long been forgotten, now replaced with just a casual truth or dare game since everyone’s voice has finally been roughened up a little too much after shouting and yelling during practice. Oliver has had to admit three truths and two dares so far, with his last dare being to prank call their coach from a payphone in a funny voice and ask him if his refrigerator was running and to go catch it. 

He’s sure that if their coach finds out it was him, he’ll get an ass-whooping later. But it’s okay. He got to see you laugh, so it was worth it.

“Alright, truth or dare, bud!” Neru announces from his own microphone, putting Sendou on the spot. 

“Uh,” he stammers, clearly aware of the heights he’ll have to go if he chooses either. “... dare.”

“Yikes! Wrong choice!” Neru chimes gleefully to Sendou’s horror. He attempts to take back and choose truth when he sees the wicked smile spreading across Neru’s face, but it’s too late. “For your dare, you must chew a piece of chewed-up gum stuck underneath the table!”

“That’s so fucking nasty, Neru?!” Sendou shrieks to everyone’s bemusement. “I might die from that!” 

“Ugh, you’re so boring, this is why no girls like you,” Neru retorts to Sendou’s displeasure. “Fine then, I’ll show mercy. Show us the last thing you saved to your phone from your camera roll.”

Sendou sighs in relief and pulls out his phone to his camera roll, only to gape in horror and flush with embarrassment. His reaction pulls excitement from everyone, Niou and Wakatsuki going to tackle him before he can hide it from view, Wakatsuki obtaining it and laughing hysterically as he shows off what’s on Sendou’s screen.

A rather raunchy picture of one of his favorite Hollywood actresses displayed on his phone, making some people whistle at Sendou’s pervertedness. You sigh upon seeing it, remembering that you were in a room filled with boys that were just crawling out of teenagerhood and that the female body to them was still just something taboo to them.

Sendou snatches his phone back, grumbling to himself. Neru then focuses his gaze onto you, eyes shining with anticipation to your apprehension. You squirm in your seat. 

“Manager,” Neru sings and motions to you. “Your turn! Truth or dare!”

All of the team focuses their attention to you, wondering if you’ll finally pick dare after so long of choosing truth, but as always, you go to choose the safety of truth.

“Boringgg,” Neru drags, but goes on to ask his question anyway. “Fine then. Who was your first kiss?”

Oliver can feel a few of his teammates sneak a glance at him, a clear elephant appearing in the room. But he fixes his stare into your figure, curious about your answer and not wanting to cause more drama. 

You laugh hastily, scratching your cheek. 

“Actually…” you begin shyly, “I haven’t actually had my first kiss yet. I haven’t gotten the chance yet.”

Silence fills the space. Most of your other truths have stirred reactions of all kinds so far, but everyone draws a blank at your answer. Neru flickers his gaze at Oliver and sees nothing but dread written across his captain's face.

Despite the fact that everyone knows it’s a lie, seeing as how Oliver had admitted to them a week prior that he did kiss you, everyone (but Oliver) nods and nervously tells you that you’ll have it one day, patting your back in reassurance. Maybe their captain was lying? Maybe he just simply kissed you on the forehead or on the cheek? Regardless of what they hypothesize, clearly it wasn’t any of their business to try and intrude on, and Neru moves onto his next victim.

Oliver, however, fixes where he is, too filled with trepidation to try and move. Yes, you and him agreed to talk about the matter ever again and to pretend it never happened, but Oliver didn’t think you would take it to such a height that you erased what was your first kiss from existence. Ultimately meaning… he gave you your first kiss, and he asked you directly to pretend like it never happened. He asked you to pretend your first kiss never happened, that it was an accident and that it didn’t matter. 

He’s been told that he’s an asshole from all the girls he’s collected over the years, but in the current heat of the moment, he truly feels like the title bestows him.

The clock moves fast in the moment he contemplates his thoughts, and he feels you tapping his shoulder suddenly. He looks up and sees the warmth of your gaze looking down at him, your coat all buttoned up and bag hooked on your arm.

“You ready to go? I gotta get home soon.”

“Oh,” Oliver steadies himself, not noticing the glances his teammates give him when he fixes himself up. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be there in a second, you can wait by the lobby, if you’d like.”

With a nod of your head, you say goodbye to everyone and whisk yourself out. When they can’t hear your footsteps anymore, everyone scrambles toward their captain. 

“You said you kissed her!” Sendou accuses.

“What, did you just kiss her somewhere else other than her lips or something?” Kitzunezato inquiries with a furrowed brow. “C’mon man, you can’t insinuate something like that so casually.”

“I’ll talk about it later,” Oliver mumbles as he zips up his coat. “Continue without me. I’m gonna walk her home.”

The questions in the air still linger behind him when he exits the room to meet you at the lobby, a casual smile on your face as if nothing happened, as if you weren’t noticing the tension he’s feeling.

Oliver cracks a sheepish grin back. At least, what he can hope for is a grin.

The walk back is quiet. You walk a little bit in front of him while he trails behind. Oliver wants to say something, but he feels as though he shouldn’t. But… something gnaws at him. Something that yearns for an answer, even though he knows he’ll lose sleep over whatever you give him. 

So he asks you, right before you enter your apartment. A ghost of last week’s past in the air, haunting him. 

“(Y/N),” he starts slowly, his eyes filled with self-contempt. “I was your first kiss, wasn’t I?”

Your grip around the doorknob tightens. He can see a slight tick in your jaw when his question comes out. A bitten lip is hidden from view, but you’re quick to replace it with that same uncanny smile he’s not familiar with seeing. 

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” you say simply when you turn to him. 

Oliver pauses, confused. “But last week, we—”

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” you repeat again, a strength to your words that silences him.

Oh.

He takes a step back. He sees what you’re doing. You and him agreed to pretend like the kiss never happened, and clearly here you were, upholding your side of the agreement. Who was he to try and break the contract you and he made?

A silence draws on his tongue, something otherworldly telling him not to say anything more to not worsen the situation. You allow him a brief moment of quiet to say something, and when he doesn’t, when he’s faltered to nothing, you take advantage of the moment. 

“Thanks for walking me home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Aiku,” you mumble quietly, shutting your door and leaving him dumbly standing in front of your door. 

Oliver stays there for a bit, wanting to knock on your door and ask you to tell him without a filter if he was your first, if he stole your first kiss and shoved it right back into your face. But he knows better.

So he turns and walks away, letting it be if that’s what you wanted. 

Apparently, you have a date today.

You didn’t actually say anything, but the rumor floats about after Hayate overheard you discussing some plans with someone on the phone, a giddy smile on your face.

“She literally said ‘I can’t wait to see you’! That’s totally telling she has a date with some guy,” Hayate exclaims.

Darai is unconvinced. “Or she could just be talking to a friend or family member. Let’s be realistic, with how busy she is as a student and a junior manager, I highly doubt she has the time to go around and date.”

Oliver is quiet in his little corner of the locker room, his ears listening despite not facing his team. He doesn’t want them to see the heaviness in his eyes when Hayate first told them about it. He doesn’t want to hear more, but… he can’t help but indulge, irritably curious to see who this person was if he did exist at all.

Neru agrees with him, his eyes dancing over to Oliver’s figure. “Yeah. Let’s not assume anything. It’s her business anyways.”

“But what if this guy takes her away from us?!” Hayate babbles, worry evident on his face. “We’re gonna lose our precious manager! Oliver, surely you’ve got a say in this!” 

A vexation takes over Oliver when Hayate brings up the possibility of you removing yourself from the team. His normally-balanced emotions suddenly unstable for a fleeting moment, making him shut his locker door a little too harshly than normal, making everyone in the locker room flinch at how the room shakes a bit from his strength.

He draws a shaky breath, regaining his balance again before he turns and faces them with his normally calm demeanor slapped onto his face. Don’t mind the small vein on his neck. 

“Neru is right,” he says simply. “Let’s not meddle our heads into our manager’s outside business unless it revolves around soccer.”

With that, he leaves the locker room first, before they can stir up anything that may irritate him any further. 

You leave an hour earlier than normal, wishing your uncle goodbye during one of their matches. Oliver, from the middle of the field, can just barely see your uncle wagging a finger at you and the words “be safe” being read from his lips. He watches as you quietly exit the field, not noticing how Niou had passed the ball to him.

“Aiku!” he shouts harshly. “The ball!” 

“Oh shit,” Oliver hisses, taking notice of the black and white blur at his feet and how close Darai was to taking it. “Whoops. Sorry!”

Curiosity kills the cat, they say. Then collar up Oliver right there and then if he is one, since his curiosity takes over him when he asks out of impulse why did you leave early to his coach when they wrap up practice.

“She’s got a date with my coworker’s son,” Hoichi grunts, a clear disapproval of the date on his face. He supposes that’s what’s bound to come to him seeing as how Hoichi himself has daughters, and this may be a routine he’s grown used to. “My cute baby niece… she’s too grown up!”

Hoichi goes to sob into a handkerchief to Oliver’s contempt and he leaves his coach to wallow in his sadness… before he gets more second-hand embarrassment. 

Oliver drags a hand down his face at the confirmation of the rumor. He keeps it to himself, however, when he tidies himself up in the locker room as everyone stirs about, knowing that something like this would surely ensue chaos amongst the men. But it’s a secret he’s burdened with keeping all to himself, the blatant fact that you may belong to someone else soon if this date went well. 

He bids everyone goodbye, head hung low when he pictures you all pretty and dolled up for someone he thinks doesn’t deserve it. Maybe you’ll be flaunting one of your signature hair clips, or perhaps the earrings he bought for you. It’s been two weeks since he bought them and you’ve been wearing them more often, after all. 

The walk back to his house begins in a quiet restaurant district of the city. He’s used to the hustle and bustle of lines outside some well-known restaurants, everyone donned in semi-formal wear with friends or partners in line. It’s not a place where a singular guy like him seems to blend in with.

He nearly rounds the corner from one restaurant in particular, but stops himself in his tracks when he registers what he sees. 

You sit alone at the table nearest to the window, a poorly-disguised disappointment spread across your face when the waiter comes over and gestures to a couple that’s waiting for a table amidst all the filled ones in the restaurant. Oliver watches as you apologize to him and gather your stuff, exiting the restaurant shortly after the waiter gives his condolences. 

You carry yourself out of the restaurant and Oliver’s breath hitches when he sees how you’ve gathered yourself up for tonight in full. You wear only a blouse and a skirt to match, heels that make you seem a little taller, to seem more confident, though now it’s nowhere to be found given your solemn features. The wind bites almost harshly, making you shiver from the chilled air. 

Oliver is quick to unzip his jacket and his feet carry him to you before he can process where he’s going… what he’s doing. He drapes the thick fabric over your shoulders, the sudden warmth from seemingly nowhere making you look up.

He sees a framing of tears in your eyes that you’re trying not to let fall, and you manage to catch them just in time when you widen your eyes at his sudden appearance. 

“Captain,” you greet softly with a fake smile, clearly taken aback. 

Your voice cracks along the way when you say it. Oliver’s eyes soften when he registers the grasp of the current situation, understanding why you clutch your stomach and why you look dejectedly defeated. 

“I’ll take you home,” he murmurs tenderly, an arm around you to shield you from the cold. “We can get something for you to eat along the way.”

Oliver hopes the sandwiches and ramen he got at the nearby convenience store will ease your growling stomach. He would have treated you for a better meal, one that isn’t loaded with insane amounts of sodium and preservatives, but it was clear to him that you just wanted to go home after a failed date. 

He watches quietly when you insert your keys into the keyhole of your apartment door, but raises his brows when you refuse to twist it to unlock the latch, going to lay your forehead against the coolness of the door instead. A stillness overtakes your body, seemingly paralyzing you to the spot. 

Oliver stays quiet, not wanting to interfere with… whatever it is you’re doing. He just watches from his position near the wall, not wanting to leave until you enter inside the safety of your apartment.

You close your eyes, letting out a stuttering breath to try and compose yourself. Don’t fall apart now, you tell yourself in your head, you’ve been doing so well so far. Just wait until he’s out of view… then drown yourself in your tears. 

But your lips warble. Your chest hurts—you feel a pang every time you reflect back on your mountain of texts asking your date if he was still coming, the empty seat in front of you collecting dust for nearly an hour. You bite your lip harshly to try and distract yourself from the sadness that flows through your veins, but to no avail does it work, because you can just feel the river of quiet tears streaming down your cheeks. The plastic bag of food falls miserably on the floor.

Oliver lifts his head up when he hears a soft sniff. He thinks it’s just from the cold, but when he can see the glisten of tears from your closed eyes, he stiffens. 

“Hey,” he starts softly, a hand going to rub your back to attempt comfort. “You alr—”

“Three times…” you mumble. “Once is just by chance… the second time is maybe a coincidence… But three times? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s not sure if he should, really, considering he has absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, though context comes shortly after without him having to ask. 

“Being stood up three fucking times in a row… how embarrassing,” you lament, a few tears falling from your chin and onto the carpet. 

Oh. He sees the picture more clearly now. Oliver takes a step back to give you space. So this wasn’t your first date, but your third so far of the season. Or, at least an attempt at one. To be stood up and left in the dark three times is what no one wants, as he’s experienced it before and understands the looks of pity from strangers does no good in such a situation, like the one the waiter gave you before he asked you to leave. 

“Shit, is there something wrong with me that I don’t know about or—?!” you draw a breath, turning your somber visage to Oliver suddenly, as if he had the answer. 

He doesn’t. Or maybe he does; it’s just not the one you expect. Because although he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you specifically, he thinks there’s nothing wrong in general. Not with you. 

You’re nothing less of kind and understanding, always attentive to each of the players’ needs. Oliver thinks of you as headstrong, determined to always push people to the best of their capabilities without degrading their integrity. But at the same time, you’re easy to be with, for everyone could show their authentic self around you without much filter needed. 

He had always thought of you as beautiful as well, ever since the beginning from that day his coach introduced you. If anything, your beauty had bewitched him in the first place, and he’s sure it’s had the same effect on others—he even remembers Sendou’s cheeks being humiliatingly pink when you had talked to him for the first time. 

So he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with you. At least not from his angle.

“Not at all,” he whispers, trying to bring you a sense of peace. 

He expects your eyes to soften, your lips to curl—but they do neither. Instead, your gaze hardens at him unexpectedly, one that makes him swallow thickly. 

“Funny how the guy that told me to forget my first kiss is saying that,” you spit cruelly, reddened eyes boring into him. 

Oliver recoils and takes his hand away from you, giving you space. So he was a part of his too, huh? He supposes that he’s not one to try and say something as comforting as what he said when he was just like the others, if not… worse, considering he had kissed you in the flesh and abandoned you all in the same breath, leaving you in the dust. 

You lift your head off the door and face him, a tired look in your eyes.

“I know we said to never talk about it again,” you mutter, “but I think I deserve to know. Tell me, Aiku, was it something I did? Did I say something that made you kiss me? Did you want something? Shit, did my breath smell?”

The words he wants to say knot in his throat again. He opens his mouth, but closes it when he realizes he can’t conjure anything right now. So he just simply stares at you with a longing he hopes you can see.

Clearly not. You grow frustrated at his silence. “That’s not fair. I need an answer. I don’t care what it is, just tell me something at least,” you plead.

A silence whirs by. And again, Oliver cannot come up with a proper response that feels honest, that feels whole. You’d settle for a lie at best, but even that, he can’t come up with. 

Your eyes water when he just continues to stay quiet, lips sealed and locked from his opinion of you. His silence is more suffocating than whatever you want him to give, the worst of your thoughts embedding themselves even further in your mind. 

You give him your last breath. And if he doesn’t respond to this one, you’ll leave him be and enter into your apartment for the night. 

“Was it because it was me that you kissed?” you ask sternly, heart shattering by each second that goes by without another sound. “Did you regret kissing m—”

“No.”

Oliver says his first word to you, clear and true, finally finding something from the knot of words lumped from his throat. He lifts his shameful head up to look at you with an earnest he’s found in himself.

Regret isn’t what he felt in the aftermath… it was doubt. 

Doubt of his feelings for you. Doubt that he could live up to your standards. Doubt that he could treat you as well as you deserved. 

He told you to forget about the kiss because he doubted himself too heavily that he’d be able to be a person worth deserving of your time, because if he wasn’t, he didn’t want the remnants of his thoughts of a chance to exist in fear of looking like a fool. 

Oliver was doubtful of the meaning of the kiss between you and him, not finding a clear answer of why he did it and what it may have meant to you, so instead of trying to figure out a solution, he had chosen to ignore its existence for the better of himself, for his own protection, while completely ignoring your own thoughts in the process. A selfish act, he thinks bitterly.

You blink at him, confused as a few stray tears fall. 

“I don’t regret kissing you at all,” he mutters. “I just… I just wished it didn’t happen in the way that it did.”

You go still, trying to register the meaning of his words. Oliver’s melancholy is radiating all over him, something that is in similar style to yours.

“I wish I kissed you in a better setting. I wish I kissed somewhere more romantic, where I was sober,” Oliver states slowly, plucking out his feelings in a tender manner. “Where I could control myself. Where I could tell you my feelings straight up instead of throwing them in your face.”

When he looks back on the moment where he kissed you on impulse, his alcohol taking over his body and his restraint to fully show his honest feelings toward you, he may feel regretful that it wasn’t as grandeur as you deserved, but kissing you could never be regretted. Kissing you in the moment was a doubtful decision, sure, but Oliver doesn’t regret it for a bit. Not you. Never you.

Not when your lips felt so plush and so fit with his, not when you kissed him in equal fervor that mirrored his own feelings that he didn’t realize you did so until now, because no one would kiss him like that if they didn’t feel the same way.

“I didn’t hate the fact that it was you I kissed, but… more so I hated the way I kissed you during then,” his voice strains, the air in his lungs lessening. “And I wanted to forget about it because I was embarrassed that I did something so impulsive to you.” 

Him telling you to regret it was his version of drawing a blank slate. For him to rewrite something more meaningful with you, if you allowed it. If he knew earlier that it’d be your first kiss, he would’ve had the measures to at least stop himself and give you the experience of what would’ve been a much greater and beautiful moment. 

But no matter how much you and him try to bypass his kiss, try to say it was nothing, that it was meaningless—the more it becomes repressed, the more significance it picks up. And all Oliver can do now is just accept it and to simply go forward. 

So he takes a daring step forward, a distance closer to your radius. 

He steadies his breathing, fixating his vision on the fullness of your face. He wishes it was him that outfit was for, as he curses at the fact it was wasted on such a shitty day like today. He wishes that your face wasn’t stained with tears as it was right now, but instead, featuring a soft smile you’d often give him during fleeting moments between the two of you alone. 

But if you’ll allow him to, Oliver thinks he could still get that smile on your lips tonight. One that he’d be the sole cause of. 

His hands lift to rest on your cheeks, thumbs caressing over them to wipe some tears away. The soft lilt of your head lets him better see you from his angle above. 

He’s sober—you are too. There’s nothing but pure blood running through each of your veins, nothing to cause anything reckless other than his own self.

Oliver asks you quietly, devotedly, “Can I show you the way I’ve always wanted to kiss you?”

He stares into the glimmering pools of your eyes, searching for something to grasp and hold onto, to nurture and take care of. 

Another shuddered breath draws from your lips. You go still again for a moment… before you give him a nod and let him bring you to him.

He kisses you tenderly, his lips capturing your own in an essence he had been craving to emulate with you since the moment he laid eyes on you for the very first time. The warmth from then blooms itself within his chest, and he presses his lips more firmly against yours when you allow him to deepen the kiss after the first few soft, careful grazes.

The softness of your lips he had felt just a few weeks ago sends sparks on his, that familiar tingling feeling they had been yearning for finally feeling satisfaction. His arms go wrap around your waist and bring your bodies closer to each other as you steady your hands on his broad shoulders, distance unheard of between your heartbeats that mirror each other's rhythm. Your lips feel like cotton against his roughened ones, but you still invite him to savor you, to taste you in full awareness.

You’re first to break away to catch some air. Oliver allows you to, his forehead resting on yours as you try to compose yourself as he admires you from the closeness between you and him. You suddenly take the lead this time, hungry and craving for more from him, kissing him again in a manner so passionate, it lands you against the door. But you and him go unfazed from the impact, heads too filled with the yearning for each other to notice. 

Oliver separates slowly from you, lips swollen and wet from the fervor of the kiss. He breathes slowly, synchronizing with your own breaths as you gaze into each other fully. Your tears have stopped, he’s noticed, and on your lips is an ever-so-soft grin melded from the moment between you and him.

A hand goes to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, one that reveals one half of the pair of earrings he gifted you all those days ago, before it cradles your face again. 

“Something like that,” he whispers. “If that was okay.”

You give a soft sigh of contentment. “I think that was more than okay…”

He chuckles lowly, a weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Yeah?”

You lick your lips before you giggle soundly, nodding almost shyly as you feel the leftover sparks from the kiss on your lips.

“Yeah.”

Your hands intertwine with his, sharing a warmth between each other. Oliver brings one of your interconnected ones up and gently kisses your knuckles, a flutter in your chest arising when his eyes soften at you, full of love and devotion solely for you to consume. 

“Twelve more to go, Aiku!” Hoichi hollers. 

Guilt builds itself within you, especially as you trail Oliver’s lethargically-running figure from the stands as he continues running laps around the field. The rest of the team has been long gone, and it’s been two hours since practice has ended, but their captain remains on the field, his punishment for his earlier actions being to run fifty laps. 

What exactly did he do to deserve such a fate?

Ask your uncle permission to take you on a date.

You’ve never seen such a fire rage in your uncle’s eyes when Oliver had brought up the topic, one that even made you flinch at his fury. Men he barely knew were one thing… but Oliver? Someone he’s known for years and has brought up a reputation for being a playboy? Dating his precious niece? How dare he even bring up the topic! 

But you had explained to your uncle as best as possible that all you wanted to do was just go on a simple date with him, just to test out the waters. Nothing too crazy at first. He supposes that your reasoning made better sense, as it managed to relax some of his nerves, but the remnants of his wrath remained and your uncle will grant Oliver permission to do as he wishes under one condition. 

“You wanna earn my blessing?” your uncle had declared with folded arms. Oliver had nodded from his bowed position, only for him to freeze when he heard the singular condition that would grant him permission. “Run fifty laps around the field. Straight. No breaks.” 

“You don’t think you’re being too harsh…?” you question quietly to your uncle, whose hard stare remains on Oliver from above. “I think he’s done enough.”

“If he wants to show that he’s devoted to you like he said he did,” your uncle starts, “then let him work for you. Don’t let him or any man half-ass their way to you if they show they're not dedicated enough.”

You sigh miserably, supposing he’s right in some sense or another. But you just wish that his punishment was much less harsh than over-exhausting his captain.

But when you see Aiku throw a grin your way and a warbly thumbs up mid-run, making you laugh softly, you suppose that this is his way of showing he truly was ready for you, that he’ll earn his way towards you in every possible instance if it means he’ll get to have you as his.

a/n: so this was not supposed to actually be this long... i anticipated it to be somewhere along the lines of like... 4k at most? i apologize that this was extraordinarily lengthy 😭

i almost ended up cutting it into halves/thirds, but i figured i'd be too lazy to try and continue it so i just kept writing and writing. mind you i started this literally yesterday, adhd and hyperfocus is a funny thing. hopefully this turned some of u guys into aiku fans bc he got my ass unfortunately

but regardless, thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support creators you enjoy, and leaving one will always be noticed and appreciated (´• ◡ •`) ♡ !!!!

[burts-baked-bees]

Okay?

OPLA Sanji x Fem!Reader

{masterlist for OPLA Sanji ongoing story}

Tags: Slight angst to fluff, slight pining, Sanji and reader are close friends and have truama bonded, Sanji has no clue he's in love with reader the poor sap

CW: Launguage, mentions of abuse, slight WCI spoliers, mentions of drinking

“I swear I’m one shift away from throwing myself in the godforsaken ocean.” Sanji huffed angrily as he threw himself down in a nearby booth. The Baratie had cleared out for the night leaving the cooks to clean the line and the waiters to clean the dining room, but halfway through the dreaded cleanup Sanji had both metaphorically and physically thrown in the towel. The dish cloth he had been holding went flying across the room as he put his feet up on the booth he was in and groaned indignantly.

“That old shitbag won’t so much as let me breathe on the line! I’m a cook! Not a fucking waiter!” He yelled, turning his head back towards the kitchen, as if Zeff could hear his complaints.

“You think maybe it has something to do with the fact that you call him an ‘old shitbag’?” A voice came from the other side of his booth. A small smile curled his lips as he sat up some and peeked over the rounded edge of the red leather seat.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt your nap time madame?” Sanji laughed as he took in the sight of Y/n laying on her back with her eyes closed in the opposite booth. “So sorry for the inconvenience, but aren’t you meant to be cleaning tables?” He teased as Y/n cracked an eye open and glared at him.

“Aren’t you?” She asked with a sly grin, earning an eye roll and angry huff from the blonde.

“Seems the only thing I’m meant to do is slowly die from boredom in this trash heap of a restaurant.” Sanji sighed as he fell back into his seat, pulling out his lighter and messing with the lid. Y/n laughed softly before sitting up and resting her arms on the dividing seat. She placed her head atop her arms and looked at him with a mock pout.

“Awww is the best chef in the East Blue all bummed that his dad doesn't like his cooking? Again?”

Sanji snapped his lighter closed and raised a finger at Y/n, pointing aggressively at her with a snarl.

“I am the greatest chef in the East Blue. Even if that geezer can’t see it.” He stated, earning a chuckle from Y/n as she sat up and raised her hands in surrender.

“Easy now, no need to shout at a lady.” She cooed as Sanji chuckled and gave her an angry smile, hanging his head.

“How dare you throw my own principles back in my face.” He chuckled as he began fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger. Y/n sighed and rested her chin on her folded arms again, smiling softly at the mop of blonde hair in front of her. She reached over the divider and brushed some of his hair from his face, earning a soft hum from Sanji as he closed his eyes.

“I think we both know he’s only doing and saying these things because he wants the best for you. Though I’ll be the first to admit, his way of going about it is absolute shit.” She laughed as she watched his lips curl into a smile. He looked up at her, her fingers brushing against his cheek as he moved.

“Yeah, I know…” He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. She pulled her hand back and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “But you're a stowaway as much as me.” Sanji joked, “And yet I’m the one being treated like a sniveling child every fucking time I step foot in that kitchen.” He huffed as he looked over at her through his bangs. She chuckled as she hung her arms over the back of his booth and cocked her head to the side.

“My dumbass thought I could be a pirate and got stuck here paying off a debt cuz’ my ship damaged the hull of this ‘trash heap of a restaurant’.” She fired back, using his own words. He opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it again as he shook his head.

“Yeah that was pretty dumb.” Sanji joked as he pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the seat beside him. Y/n gawked at him before laughing and reaching forward to hit him softly on the shoulder. He leaned away from her and shouted

“Oi! Don’t damage the goods!”

She looked at him with mocking wide eyes and barked a laugh,

“Both Patty and I would have to disagree with you on that one, lover boy.” She snarked as Sanji rolled his eyes. A calm silence filled the space as Y/n sat up on her knees and looked at Sanji. She could see something was going on inside his head, and she knew him well enough to infer that he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. She studied the way his brow furrowed and noted how his eyes seemed more gray then blue in moments like these.

There was a profound sadness in him that she had only caught glimpses of in her three years aboard this ship. A profound sadness that he had more or less shared with her one drunken night in the bar when they should have been sleeping. A profound sadness that she wished every single day she could lift from him. The two sat in silence as the ship rocked softly under them; Y/n felt compelled to speak, to do anything that might help ease his overactive mind.

“Still, knowing what I know, having Zeff treating you like this can’t be good for the ole’ psyche…”

Sanji tensed up slightly at her words and Y/n mentally kicked herself for making that insinuation. She wanted to help him, but after the words left her mouth she felt a heavy guilt fill her bones. She watched as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath before smiling ever so slightly.

“Trust me, love. I may complain like this from time to time-”

“Almost ninety-five percent of the time."

“Ooookay. Almost ninety-five percent of the time, but nothing is worse than… what I came from.” He gave her a somber smile and pulled out his lighter again, flipping the lid open and closed in an almost rhythmic pattern. She returned his sad smile and pushed her baby hairs from her forehead.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” She spoke softly as she looked out at the empty dining room; the tables were cast in an eerie candle light and the china adorning the tables glimmered like stars. Sanji looked at her, as her attention was placed elsewhere, and smiled fondly. He felt a warmth rise in his chest as he took in the curve of her profile. The slope of her nose, the length of her eyelashes, the round of her cheeks. The candle light of the empty room cast dancing shadows on her face that made her look otherworldly; he felt his smile, and eyes soften as he looked at her.

“Y/n I wouldn’t have told you about my shitty past if I didn’t trust you to check in on me like this every now and again.” Sanji spoke softly as Y/n turned her gaze back to him. She was almost stunned to see the expression on his face. The look in his eyes was, most of the time, reserved for the elegant ladies that entered the restaurant day in and day out. And yet here he was looking at her like that. She brushed the fond gaze off and swayed her head back and forth while giving him an apologetic look.

“I know, but it’s still not my place to dredge up old memories of abuse when I don’t even know the full story.” She responded, playing with the ends of her uniform shirt.

Sanji smiled at her and leaned forward in his seat, one hand braced himself on the seat top while the other reached forward and pulled her towards him. Y/n closed her eyes as she felt his lips press against her forehead.

“I appreciate you checking on me. It shows that you care.” He said softly, his words muffled seeing that his lips were still connected with her forehead. She smiled softly as he placed a loud exaggerated kiss to the skin there before pulling away and holding her face in his hand. “Okay?” He asked with a huge smile. She laughed at his theatrics and moved to stand up, leaving Sanji sitting alone in his booth as he looked up at her standing form.

“Whatever you say-” She began as she reached out a hand to help him up. He took it with a laugh and allowed Y/n to pull him to his feet. “-My favorite Baratie waiter.” She finished as she dropped his hand and started walking away from him, stifling her laughter. Sanji stood there with his jaw dropped as she walked away from him, his shock soon turning into a smile as he watched her shoulders shake from holding in her laughter. He let a chuckle slip out as he pushed up his sleeves and made a beeline for her.

“How DARE!” He yelled as he grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground slightly laughing as she yelped and then dissolved into laughter when she broke free. She began running to a nearby table to put distance between herself and him as she pointed at him,

“Not fair!” She yelled, watching as Sanji pointed back at her.

“Don’t you dare get me started on ‘fair’!” He responded as he laughed.

____

Zeff stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching as Sanji ran around tables with that wannabe pirate waitress. He observed in silence as the pair laughed and threw dish towels at each other instead of cleaning tables.

The small boy he once knew, terrified of making connections with those around him due to some dark past he kept to himself, was smling and laughing as he chased around what could only be discribed as a friend.

A small smile curled his weathered lips as he shook his head and walked away, the sounds of youth fading into nothing.

“Not bad, little eggplant… Not bad…”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

NSFW + violence/injury

She’s...just a normal looking little kid. She’s absolutely swamped by one of Eddie’s hoodies, and is currently rocking it like a dress, bare legs ending in floppy, too big socks.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to leave her in the fluid spattered, clinical white pajamas she had been wearing.

Her eyes are brown; human looking.

The peach fuzz haircut even kind of suits her. Or at least, doesn’t look out of place. She could definitely pass.

Eddie lets his whole body clench, briefly, in fear. Now he has two unregistered Synths in his apartment. Hadn’t seemed so bad last night in the face of Eddie’s exhaustion, when the kid was an inanimate object on his couch. Seems real now though.

Steve had hugged her. It was the first thing she’d done once she’s blinked alert; thrown herself at Steve. And they'd hugged. For ages.

Normal. Human.

Too human.

Affection of the kind that’s organic, that would be almost impossible to fake. Spontaneous. A need for touch and reassurance that is not, even remotely, born from anything synthetic.

“Eddie, meet Eleven.”

She’d shaken his hand, gentle and warm.

“Yeah, going to need to call you something other than Eleven.”

She’d looked to Steve then, for guidance, “how about just El, for now?”

She had nodded, frowned, and then the first words she spoke were, “where is Henry?”

Steve hadn’t hesitated, “Mars.”

“Do you have anything signal blocking? Preferably static resistant too?”

“I...should do?” Eddie rummages through his things, comes up with an anti-static parts bag and small signal blocking storage box.

“Okay if I break this?”

“I...sure,” Eddie answers weakly, and then watches as Steve cracks the box at the seams with his bare fucking hands. He uses about the same amount of effort Eddie would use to open an envelope. Maybe less.

Steve...makes a thing, while Eddie watches. He lies the bag lining flat inside a small towel, then broken slithers of the box plating, lined up neatly, before folding the whole thing over and trapping the shield inside.

Eddie watches, with no fucking clue what’s happening, as Steve pulls the whole thing over El’s face, like a blindfold, blocking her eyes and tying it at the back, “good?”

“Good.”

“Errr..what are you guys doing?”

“Just wait a minute,” Steve tells him.

Eddie does. He waits. He desperately wants to make himself a coffee, but the apartment is silent, and it kind of feels like he shouldn’t disturb that.

So he stands, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as El...does nothing.

And it feels like it goes on for a while, even if it probably isn’t. Just all the nothing making the minutes drag.

Eddie jumps when Eleven drags the towel off her face. It’s sudden, fast, and then she’s blinking, and there’s a drip of green coolant leaking from her nose.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re here, you’re here with me,” Steve kneels in front of her, letting her grip at his shoulders as she orientates herself.

Steve shakes the loose parts out of the towel and uses the corner to clean the green goop off El’s face, “you’re okay,” he keeps saying, “you’re safe now, it’s fine, you did great.”

Eddie has no idea what she did great at, but he sees now why Steve is the babysitter.

El, finally, speaks. “I found him.”

A little, tiny, prickle of fear skitter up Eddie’s spine, “found...who?”

It’s a redundant fucking question, they all know who she found. Eddie knows who she found, he just...needs to ask.

El turns to look at him, “you have a ship?”

“Oh, wow, no,” Eddie waves his hands in front of himself, “time out. Absolutely not. Nu hu. No way-”

“Henry has an army. That’s what he’s been doing. He has ships.”

“An army?” Eddie asks, feeling kind of like the air has been knocked out of him at the news. At the implication. It comes out sounding weak, fearful, but Eddie is only just being to grasp what it could mean. “He’s been building Synths?”

El nods, “thousands of them...but they don’t look like us.”

“What do they look like?”

“Monsters.”

Steve and El are sitting on the couch, watching Eddie pace.

“I can’t tell the girls, they’ll want to get involved. I can’t...they might get hurt. We can’t do that.”

“I agree,” Steve says calmly, “and we don’t have to take you, either.”

Eddie stops pacing, rounds on them both, “like hell, it’s my fucking ship.” He starts pacing again, “besides, we need to smuggle you out. Get you past customs and whatever. It’s easier, on the way out, they care less about the shit you might want to take away. You kind of need a human.”

Steve concedes with a nod, and they don’t talk about that any more, at least.

“We should tell the government, or something.”

“They would lock us up again,” El replies, immediately.

Eddie huffs, “yeah but you guys are...telling them something that could like, save the world, surely they have to listen-”

“We can’t ignore the probability that they already know.”

Eddie stops pacing again, “what? No…” but Eddie trails off because...that makes a huge amount of sense doesn’t it. Of course they already know. How could they not know? It makes so much sense. The uprising, the death of every human colonizer on Mars. The end of the terraforming project. Synths continuing to mine the belt...if they’re mining...then they’re building.

They would know everything about Henry, because it was the government that fucking built Henry in the first place. And everyone who would have been alive when the project was happening would be...well, they all would have died of old age fifty fucking years ago, so no help there.

“Well why haven’t the just like, nuked him or something then?”

Steve shrugs again, “it would admit culpability. And create a fear of Synthetics if the truth came out.”

“So??” Eddie chews his nails desperately, “worst case scenario Synths get like, outlawed, or something-”

“Eddie, what percentage of the work force is Synthetic? The richest people in the world would not be willing to give up their lifestyles just because of a possible threat from a different planet.”

Eddie paces in a tight circle, pretty horrified by the obvious logic; the richest people in the world almost certainly own the government too, or at least have some good friends there, considering the amount of taxes those companies seem to dodge with no repercussions whatsoever. “Well, fuck.”

“So you will take us?”

“What the fuck are the three of us going to do against an army of fucking Synths on a different fucking planet?” Eddie knows he’s being a little too loud, so he goes back to pacing a chewing his fingernails off.

“Henry is...arrogant. It will have made him careless.”

“And the new Synths are dormant, waiting.” El tells them, “the original Mars Synths are building them...but they’re basic models. Old, now.”

“You guys are old,” Eddie points out, waving a hand.

Steve stands, getting up and moving to block Eddie’s path. He takes Eddie’s hand away from his mouth, cradling it gently. Steve’s hand is warm, human. “There are no Synths like us Eddie, you know that. Nothing like us has ever been built, not before or since. We are the only ones left. Us and Henry. We have to do this. Only we can do this.”

“Oh this is such a bad idea,” Eddie breathes out quietly.

The ship has been fixed up, refueled. Eddie stares down at what he owes, looking, specifically at the labor cost for the airlock repair.

God damn rip off is what that is.

Eddie is very aware of the fact that he might be dead in less than a month, “what can you guys do for like, delayed payment? Or like, a payment plan?” Because fuck these guys, you can’t get cash out of a corpse.

Eddie sits with his head in his hands. It’s been a long time since he’s done this; Chrissy is his pilot. Turns out it all just came back to him, the second he sat in this seat. And now he’s waiting, waiting for the flashing comms light. A small, guilty part of Eddie hopes they get caught, and he won’t have to go through with this.

The light flashes, “clear for departure,” the bored sounding woman tells him.

Eddie remembers to close the channel before he swears up a storm.

“Uhm, here,” Eddie tells El, you can have this room.

She blinks at Chrissy’s unmade nest of a bed, “what for?”

“Just in case you…” well she doesn’t fucking sleep, does she? “want some privacy?” Eddie tries, before he scuttles away.

Eddie peels the foil off the steaming tray, sitting in the cockpit to eat, since he’s the only one on board who does that now. Eat.

The little compartments of vegetables and unidentified meat in semi congealed sauce look even more sad than usual, and Eddie stares at the blinking light he’s been ignoring for a day and a half now.

Once the mostly empty tray is discarded, Eddie hits the overhead lights, and sits in the dark. He watches the stars, and doesn’t look at the blinking red light.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Steve appears with a coffee for him, “thank you.”

It’s shit coffee, but you get used to it. Then you go to Earth, and you drink the good stuff for a few days or a week, and then you’re not used to it any more. Tastes like disappointment for the first fortnight or so, at least.

“Are you going to listen to it?”

Eddie shakes his head, “I can’t reply, can’t risk it being picked up by someone else, it’s not secure, like short range. I don’t want to lie to them.”

Steve nods, like that’s sensible, “you could still listen.”

Eddie rubs his knuckles at the middle of his chest, trying to will away the ache, “no, I can’t.”

Steve sits next to him then, not saying anything else, just solace in the face of all those stars. After what feels like a really long time, Steve speaks again, “you’ll answer it, right before we get there.”

It’s not a question, but Eddie nods anyway.

Eddie can’t do jack shit in the face of a Synth. He’s less than an insect to them, physically. He has a weapon, but realistically even that’s no good if his target can move faster than he can track. At best he’s their get away driver, at worst he will be a sacrificial distraction.

“El will stay on the ship, with you.”

Eddie takes a breath, because although she looks, for all intents and purposes, like a little kid, that does make him feel better, “okay, you going to do your trick with the, you know,” Eddie vaguely mimes pulling something across his eyes.

She nods, “I will help Steve as much as I can.”

“You’ll drop me off, you can safely lower to around forty meters, I’ll be fine from that height at Mars gravity, and El can work from a low orbit. First sign of trouble, you guys get out of there.”

“We’re not going to just leave you-” Eddie starts to protest.

“You will if you have to,” Steve says, and he brooks no argument about it.

“Did you do something? You look different?” Eddie idly tinkers, watching Steve play some sort of Mahjong solitaire type thing with the girls tiles.

“I washed the jump suit last night.” Steve tells him, and yeah. Steve hasn’t changed his clothes since Eddie handed them to him a few weeks ago. But synths don’t sweat or anything like that, and Steve doesn’t have those usual opportunities to drop food down himself that humans have, so there’s been no real need for him to change.

Eddie feels kind of bad, “should have gotten you some actual clothes while we were on Earth.”

“We were a bit busy for that Ed’s,” Steve smiles softly at him. Kind. Full of fondness.

Eventually, Eddie makes himself look away, blush warming his cheeks, but he can still feel Steve watching him.

There’s no fucking chance Eddie’s going to get any sleep. He’s tried. He’s taken his bedding with him, the ship turning chilly through lack of power.

He lies in the cockpit, lights off, seat reclined all the way, the whole ship running dark. It’ll be enough to keep them hidden. In Eddie’s peripheral vision, the message light still flashes dully.

Mars is just visible if Eddie squints.

Close enough to make him nervous. He’s going to get closer to Mars than any human has for a century, more or less.

Only the hushed whisper of the material of Steve’s jump suit gives him away. He makes just enough noise so as to not startle Eddie by just appearing.

“How is she?”

“She’s okay I think, I’ve told her not to do any more today. All of Henry’s monsters are still dormant...she thinks she has a plan.”

“Yeah?”

“She thinks she might be able to wake some of them up, take control. She’s going to try, anyway.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a little while, the ship moving basically on inertia alone now, and the stars don’t really look like they’re moving. It feels unnaturally quiet to Eddie, who has lived for months and years by the hum of the engine.

“Are you going to answer?” Steve finally asks.

“Nah,” and it isn’t like Eddie hasn’t given it plenty of thought, “what the hell could I even say?”

Eddie finally turns, looking at Steve. He’s closer than Eddie thought he would be, having turned the co pilot seat as far as it will go, hunched up with his elbows on his knees, “you can answer them tomorrow, when it’s over,” his voice is whisper soft, but confident.

“Yeah,” Eddie swallows thickly, looking back up at the stars, and tries not to let the fear swallow him.

“I’ve...remembered some more things,” Steve’s voice still low, close by in the quiet dark.

Eddie looks back at him again, hair rustling against the seat, he tugs his blanket up higher, cocooning himself where he’s curled up, “yeah?”

Steve moves cautiously, slow, giving Eddie plenty of time to move away. Steve’s thumb is warm when it presses against the fullest part of Eddie’s lower lip, “yeah.”

Eddie’s tongue pokes out, a cautious touch; Steve doesn’t taste human. He feels human, but he doesn’t have the subtle taste that skin carries with it.

When Steve leans close, Eddie lifts his head a little to meet him. The kiss is soft, gentle. Just a touch to begin with. A soft exploration, a quiet hello.

It turns hungry quickly, Eddie shifting up and letting the covers fall away again, desperately ignoring the chill of the air as it sinks into his clothes. Eddie is half sitting, drags himself closer with fingers tangled in the orange material of Steve’s clothes, pulling fiercely, frantically.

Steve moves easily, half standing out of the chair to hover over Eddie. When Steve easily scoops Eddie up, Eddie goes with it, Steve taking his place smoothly in the reclined pilots chair, it creaks with the added weight of Steve. Eddie grips Steve tighter, not wanting to break the kiss despite the way he’s being manhandled and deposited easily, lying on top of Steve.

“Wait,” Steve speaks in between biting kisses, “wait it’s cold,” and he snags the blankets up, making sure Eddie is covered over where he’s laying over Steve. Eddie’s fingers feel clumsy, trying to work the poppers and zipper to get at Steve’s skin. It’s awkward in the tight confines of the chair, but Steve is just, so strong, he easily manages to take Eddie’s weight and wriggle the material down, the back of his jump suit is caught under his ass, but between them they work it low enough to get his dick out, all the while Eddie making whiny, wanting noises against Steve’s lips.

Steve never breaks the kiss, not for any reason; Steve doesn’t need to breathe.

Steve’s hard and, of course, perfect to look at, thick and heavy. Eddie has no idea just how functional Steve was built, “can you come?” he asks, a little breathless from struggling now to get his own pants off. They should have just stood up and done this, but at least Eddie is still warm. He doesn’t bother trying to strip his shirts off, and when the poppers on the ankle cuff catch he gives up on that too, leaving one leg of his pants dangling from the side of the chair and onto the floor.

“Yeah,” Eddie gives up with his clothes, popping up from under the blanket to kiss Steve again, Steve’s cock long and hot pressing next to Eddie’s, “you can just get inside me, if you want.”

Eddie reaches between them, giving Steve’s cock a squeeze. Steve’s eyes, for a split second, flicker white and back again, “I wanted you in me.”

“Okay. Okay yeah,” Steve’s hand is brushing Eddie’s off, the head of his dick suddenly leaking fucking profusely.

“That works,” Eddie’s already shifting, struggling to wedge his knees up around Steve’s hips, movements sharp and jerky with desperation, Steve’s fingers dripping wet from his cock and he shoves his hand between Eddie’s spread thighs.

They should probably talk about this. Eddie should probably say more than he has. He doesn’t, the need inside him overriding sensible thought. Steve’s hands are smooth and firm and he understands Eddie’s urgency perfectly, easily sliding in one finger, slicking Eddie good, and then following it with another almost immediately.

Eddie’s knees are wedged either side of Steve’s hips, his forearms resting on Steve’s chest so he can grip at Steve’s shoulders, cup the side of Steve’s neck, run a hand into Steve's perfect hair and tug harsh. Steve’s head moves with it, head tilted back, Eddie taking the opportunity to bite along Steve’s perfect, smooth jaw, feeling frantic with it now. Eddie can’t help but do his best to rut his cock against Steve, made difficult since he can’t spread his legs he ends up humping air half the time, until Steve grips his hip with a firm hand and holds him still.

Forces him to be still.

The third finger follows immediately after, feeling like it knocks the air out of Eddie’s lungs.

“Too much?”

“No,” Eddie insists, kissing his way back to Steve's mouth, “don’t stop.” Steve takes him at his word, and Eddie knows it hasn’t been enough before he insists, “in me. Please, now. Please Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You’re so wet, you won’t, you won’t, please, need you.” And Eddie does. Needs to be filled with a burning ache, needs to have Steve close, replace his fear with something else.

Steve pulls his fingers free, guiding Eddie down with the hand resting tight on Eddie’s hip, the head of Steve’s cock breaches Eddie with stinging pressure, but Eddie feels empty, so empty, and he’s desperate to be filled. Steve’s leaking enough that Eddie starts to slip down almost immediately. Steve’s thick and wet and perfect, and Eddie burns to have him inside.

He takes Steve a little too fast, but Steve doesn’t stop him, the pain is delicious, the sting soon soothed by Steve’s fluids.

Steve holds him still, despite Eddie’s best efforts to shift, to move, to somehow ease the feeling of Steve taking up too much space inside him.

Steve holds him still. Forces him to feel it. Bites at Eddie’s lips, licking away the sting of it.

“Steve,” Eddie whines, pants against Steve’s lips, hands clawing at Steve's shoulders, he can’t think past the feeling of being fucking impaled, breath coming short, “Steve please, I need-”

“Not yet,” Steve shushes him, the grip on Eddie’s hip like a vice, like steel, Steve’s hand reaching between them, running fingers through the wet and sticky mess he’d left on his own stomach, before reaching further to grasp Eddie’s cock.

Steve might be underneath, but Eddie is completely pinned, ass forced tight into the cradle of Steve’s hips.

Steve starts to work him, but still won’t let him move. Eddie’s probably going to give himself bruises fighting against Steve’s grip, but the sting is grounding and feeds Eddie’s overwhelmed senses and Eddie can’t help but lean into the touch. He’s desperate, wants to buck his hips into the sensation of being filled, the tight grip Steve has on his cock.

Eddie whines, and Steve just swallows the noise down, Eddie’s eyes screwed tight shut as Steve starts to work him in earnest, firm strokes, and all Eddie’s body can do is clench down hard on the fierce intrusion that Steve is inside him.

Steve works him harder yet, hand jacking Eddie mercilessly, Eddie breaking away with a cry, back arching, muscles fighting to thrust, thighs desperate to pull together as Steve forces Eddie to the precipice far too fast. All he can do is sit and take it, caught between Steve’s hands, completely filled up with Steve, he can’t writhe to get away, he’s pinned, his body clenching rhythmically down on Steve, asshole fluttering and pulsing as his orgasm builds rapidly, forced to feel all of everything.

Still Steve doesn’t move. Eddie forces his eyes open, blinking down at Steve, Steve’s already watching him in return, eyes greener than Eddie’s ever seen them. It’s too much, the build too fast, Steve jacking him now a touch too fast to be human.

“Steve, Steve I’m gonna’ come, I’m gonna’ come shit I-” It’s dragged out of him almost, forced over the edge violently, Eddie’s body gripping Steve’s so tight he feels it when Steve’s cock kicks inside him, pulses. Pulses really fucking noticeably, the rhythmic orgasmic clenching of Eddie’s asshole dripping with bursts of Steve’s synthetic come. “Shit, Steve, Jesus fuck-”

Steve drags him back down, pulls Eddie in for a kiss even as Eddie is still making a mess of them both, last spurts of come dribbling weakly out onto Steve’s fingers.

Eddie ends up lying in it, pulled down flush to Steve’s chest, Steve's softening cock slipping free with a gush of wet, Eddie’s asshole continuing to drool long after.

Eddie’s heartbeat finally slows, his ragged breathing softens, Steve gentling Eddie with soothing touches.

Eddie didn’t realize he was nodding off; tired enough that sleep was taking him quickly, but he jerks awake when Steve shifts, carrying Eddie and all his bedding back to his bunk, one pants leg still hanging off his ankle, “stay?”

Steve doesn’t answer, not really, but he kisses Eddie’s curls and tells him, “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

It’s easy to spot the place where Henry must be. The reddish surface of Mars is littered with black, creeping cables that curl like dead vines across the rocky ground. They all lead inward, circling a central point that’s thickest with Synth activity. It’s easily visible; the largest cables must be thirty or forty feet across. Eddie suspects the veiny network is much larger and more complex than he can see from here.

Any and all human buildings and supplies seem to have been cannibalized by Henry’s efforts.

“Okay,” Eddie tries to reassure himself, it doesn’t work, “okay.” Eddie slowly starts restarting the ship, bare minimum systems so as not to alert anyone too fast, but realistically he has to bring the engines back up, at this kind of range they’ll be caught by Mars’ weak gravity and end up crashing into the surface.

Eddie flicks the comms panel, and the screens above it, bringing up the airlock. Steve is already standing there, waiting, “ready?” Eddie asks.

Steve turns to look up at the camera, “yes,” he answers, nodding for Eddie’s benefit, before turning back to the airlock.

Eddie turns off the comms, looking over at where El is sitting, legs drawn up criss cross in the co pilot seat. She has her makeshift blindfold on, “super girl, you good?”

“Ready, Eddie.”

Eddie does his best to remember he’s piloting a fucking ship and that should be his focus, “okay,” he takes a deep breath, “this is all totally fine.” Once they’re low enough, Eddie deactivates the airlock door, and forces himself to watch as Steve opens it, then clings to the outside of the door, pushing off to push it closed behind him.

The light above the door flashes as the locks re-engage, and Eddie’s stomach feels like it’s trying to crawl up his throat.

“Steve’s out.”

El doesn’t respond. It was probably redundant; she already knows.

It’s quiet. Just the hum of the ship. Eddie can’t see a single thing going on beneath them, just Mars' strange horizon, nothing looks any different.

There’s a thud, it echoes along the empty corridor, and it’s quiet enough that Eddie eventually dismisses it.

Until it happens again.

“Eddie,” there’s green coolant dripping from El’s nose, “Henry’s waking them, there’s too many,” the arm rests of the chair groan and creek under her grip.

The noise startles Eddie half standing; a solid thud. Something that looks like a giant fucking monster bat just flung itself at the cockpit window.

“What do you need?” Eddie turns the ship, twisting sharply away from the cloud of creatures coming for them from the surface.

“I need to get closer.”

“Oh this is going to suck,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, even as he angles the ship down.

There’s hundreds of them, huge leathery looking wings and long articulated tails. They batter the hull as Eddie crashes the ship through them, sounding like the worst hail storm Eddie’s ever heard.

He prays he’s killing them.

Panic rises as more of them latch to the front of the ship, round mouths full of metal teeth banging on the glass, wings obscuring the outside, Eddie’s equipment showing a snowstorm of static and interference, “I can’t see. Can’t land if I can’t see.”

Except, he can land, he knows it, it’ll just be a really fucking bad landing. And he’s close already, they were hovering low, Eddie pulls up on instinct.

El stands, dragging the towel off her face, shards of material dropping away, she roars in effort, flinging her arm out, the windscreen clears of all the creatures, all flung off to the side, moved by an invisible force.

Eddie has a second to react to the freshly cleared view, making a sharp turn, the ships hull scraping along the side of one of those huge cables, an agonizing shrieking of metal on metal feeling like it goes on forever and yet ends almost before it begun, before the ship finally comes to rest in a gully created by two monster cables.

The sudden silence is oppressive, Eddie’s breathing by far the loudest thing over the odd plinking sound of cooling metal and cycling down engines.

Eddie’s voice sounds funny in his own ears when he finally has the wherewithal to ask, “you okay?”

El blinks, wide eyed, she looks as stunned as Eddie. Just like a kid, and she really is a kid, in some ways. But she pulls herself together faster than Eddie does, “I need to get outside.”

It feels like a bad idea, but they’re past the point of no return now. Eddie just nods, hands shaking so badly it takes him two tries to get into the weapons cache. It won’t do him any good, but he feels better for having it.

The outer airlock door is fucked again; of course it is. It gives just fine when El leans against it. Eddie’s panicked breathing is fogging up his helmet, and he desperately tries to slow himself, counting in his head as he looks around. He holds his weapon closer; safety deactivated before Eddie pulled on his gloves.

The sky is a strange reddish pink that distracts Eddie for all of a moment, and then he’s chasing after El as she marches off with no hesitation. Eddie immediately falls behind, stumbling as he leaves the ships artificial gravity. It doesn’t seem to bother El, but Eddie’s steps are suddenly almost bouncy with the lower gravity. It takes Eddie a few seconds to orientate himself to follow her.

She finds a likely spot on the nearest cable, all of the black coated in a fine layer of red dust. She doesn’t hesitate to drive both hands through the cabling wall.

Eddie lets her do her thing, looking back at the ship, she’s dinged up but looks okay, a bat corpse drops off the hull, landing with a dull thud in the dust.

Eddie raises his weapon, looking around warily; the sky is clear. All Eddie can hear is his own breathing and the dull thrum of whatever power it is that’s passing through the cables. Eddie’s sure he can feel it vibrating through the ground under him.

The chittering noise starts quietly, but Eddie looks up. Bats. A fucking lot of bats, “uh. El. Kind of have incoming.”

“I can stop them,” she frowns, Eddie backing up as much as he can to keep El and the cloud of bats in line of sight, side pressed against the black material.

“Uh hu. You sure? You better be sure?”

“Eddie.”

“Right, right yeah,” the nearest of the bats are close enough now that Eddie can clearly pick out the individuals, and he raises his weapon again, “El…”

As one, the whole cloud of them banks away, moving along the path of the cables.

Eddie breathes out a quiet, “holy shit.”

“I’ve found Steve. And Henry.”

Eddie has never, not once, felt more useless in his entire life. So helpless. All he can do is stand here and wait.

The boom is loud enough that a shock wave travels ahead of it. A cloud of dust and sand lifted and billowed out in a wave that batters and coats everything in it’s path. Eddie covers El with his body as best as he can, she has her eyes squeezed shut in concentration anyway. It takes minutes for the dust to settle from the air, the sound so loud Eddie feels like his ears are actually ringing, his brain shaken around in his head.

Eddie has to resist the urge to brush the dust out of her peach fuzz hair, but he can’t disturb her from where she’s elbow deep. There’s a faint blue glow beginning to shine around her forearms from where she’s entrenched in the cabling.

Eddie keeps her at his back, sheltered in case it happens again.

In Eddie’s peripheral vision; something moves.

A little red dust falls from it’s white skin as it stands. It’s tall, only vaguely humanoid shaped; skinny, and it doesn’t seem to have a face.

Eddie lifts his weapon, “El,” he whispers, but this time he gets no answer.

The thing tilts it’s head, then it twitches sharply. Damaged, Eddie guesses. It happens slowly, but place where it’s face should be opens up, petals peeling apart, dripping yellow black fluid from row upon row of curved metal teeth.

“Come on El,” Eddie tries again, but still, no response.

More red dust falls from the thing as it moves closer. The red dust sticks thickly to the things leg, mixing with something that’s leaking out, it’s definitely damaged, head twitching again, out of the things control. It charges, moving slow for a Synth, Eddie’s weapon firing reflexively, the thing twitching with the hit, a smoking black smear left on it’s shoulder. Eddie twists away on instinct, getting the danger away from El, the Synth suddenly moving faster than Eddie can track, he fires blindly. The Synth crashes into Eddie, and they both go down, Eddie can feel it when something in his chest cracks at the impact.

His weapon caught between them, Eddie pulls the trigger, the monsters wide open face dripping crap all over Eddie’s breathing mask.

The heat between them is beyond pain, but Eddie doesn’t take his finger off the trigger, the weapon whining as it fires repeatedly, Eddie’s mask scratched and then cracking as the thing bites at him, long clawed fingers slicing into the flesh of Eddie’s arms and shoulders.

Eddie doesn’t have the air to scream, the thing on him is so heavy, the burn from firing the weapon point blank searing Eddie’s skin.

The creature on top of Eddie suddenly seizes, becomes even more of a dead weight, and it takes several seconds for Eddie to realize he can stop, and takes his finger off the trigger.

Eddie lies there, panting. Pinned by the creature, he can’t get a full breath in, and he can’t see through the mess of his mask. He can taste chemicals and burning in the air where his cracked face cover must be leaking. He can’t feel his hands, the burning pain across his stomach is all consuming.

It’s all Eddie can do to wriggle, screaming with the pain and effort, twisting sideways just enough that the thing slides off him, and Eddie can just wriggle out from beneath it.

Eddie’s gasping now, short on air, he wipes his bare hand across his mask, smearing the goop and shit but making just so he can see movement, the outline of something coming for him, blurry and indistinct as Eddie’s vision fades.

It uses the last of Eddie’s energy when he raises his weapon.

Eddie’s eyes are gummy and his mouth is dry and shitty feeling, but Eddie’s pretty sure that means he’s not dead.

Yet.

He might be in a minute, if the searing pain is anything to go by. Eddie tries to get away from it on instinct, twisting sideways in pain fueled panic before strong hands press him back. “Hurts,” Eddie manages to whimper.

“I know, I got you,” Steve’s voice answers. The pain recedes, and Eddie floats off to a place that is half awake and half asleep. He’s pretty sure he can hear himself snoring, but he feels pretty out of it and it’s easy to dismiss.

El is there, the next time Eddie blinks awake, peering down at him, “hello Eddie.”

“Hi,” Eddie croaks, immediately relieved that he’s in very familiar surroundings. He can’t hear the engines, but years and years of familiarity tells him that they’re running fine. He can feel it in his bones.

El is passing him a coffee mug of water, keeping hold of it for him so he’s not fully responsible, guiding the straw around with her free hand.

After sloshing some around his mouth and taking several long pulls, Eddie feels better. “Does this mean we won?”

“Yes, I am sorry you got hurt. There were too many.”

“That’s okay super girl, I know you were doing your best. You helped Steve though right? Henry’s dead, so you saved the whole world.”

“Yes,” she smiles, but it’s sad. She has a look on her face that’s far too knowing, far too worn for the young face it’s on.

“I...he must have been your friend once, right?” And despite how fluffy Eddie’s head feels with the painkillers, it’s not until now, with that look on El’s face, that Eddie makes that connection.

“He was my brother. Steve says the...things that were wrong with Henry, they weren't all his fault. It wasn’t his fault he was built.”

She’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for Eddie to throw his hat in the ring. Doesn’t feel fair to have this kind of pressure on him within minutes of waking up, “yeah, I think Steve’s probably right. Regular plain old people are good or bad, too.”

She nods, clearly absorbing that, “I’m going to try and be good,” she says, child like and earnest again.

“Yeah. You and me both, super girl.”

Eddie’s picking at the bandages when Steve walks in, “I wouldn’t.”

“Is it bad?”

“In places,” Steve hedges, taking El’s empty seat.

He goes to take Eddie’s hand, then stalls out, like he’s not welcome. Eddie drops the edge of the bandage, laying his hand on the covers instead, palm up and open in invitation. Steve watches him for a long time, but whatever he sees in Eddie’s face means he’s linking their fingers together a moment later.

“So uhm...what happens now?”

Steve shrugs, “I have Henry’s remains-”

“On my fucking ship-!”

Steve shushes him, squeezing his hand, “what’s left of Henry’s remains. I’ve been salvaging some of his memories.”

Well that’s only vaguely terrifying, “put him out the airlock the second you’re done.”

“I will, but I need to keep El safe. His memories are...proof.”

Eddie tips his head, looking at Steve though slitted eyes, “you mean insurance?”

Steve smiles, “that too.”

“And...blackmail material?”

“Just a tiny bit.”

“Ohhhh,” Eddie nods, grinning at Steve’s mock innocence, “just a tiny bit.”

Steve shrugs, “might get us some identification. Get us left alone, at least.”

“Does that mean,” Eddie flinches as he sits himself up a little better, stomach muscles pulling and burning, “that you guys are going to be looking for work? Might have an opening.”

“Maybe,” Steve smiles again.

Eddie had insisted that he could fucking walk himself, thank you very much. Turned out pretty fast that he couldn’t, like, at all. His collar bone is broken, and the pain is sharp at the strangest times.

Steve carries him through the ship, wrapped safe in a blanket. When Steve sits him in the pilots chair, Eddie feels himself blushing at the memory. Steve smirks at him, before telling him, “when you’re better,” voice prim.

And then Steve leaves Eddie alone with the flashing comms button. Eddie doesn’t bother to listen to it. Eddie takes a moment, centers himself, before flicking a switch to start recording his own message instead, “ladies! Settle yourselves in for an epic tale of heroic derring-do...”

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You and James are friends with benefits until daisies and an incident with one asshole Quidditch player stirs up some hidden (or not-so-hidden) feelings

Genre: Fluffy fluff <3

Warnings: swearing, slut shaming, mentions of sex, pranks

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Since you met him in Charms class your fourth year he'd been a nuisance. In the beginning, you didn't even consider him; he was just some boy who was consistently louder than anyone else in the room and incredibly obnoxious.

Only eventually, it became obvious he'd somehow wormed his way into your heart when in the first month of your seventh year, three drinks in and one drunken kiss later, James Potter had ended up taking more than just your heart.

Your mutually-beneficial-arrangement, which has blossomed since then, is the reason you're now standing in front of the Gryffindor changing room. The boys' changing room.

You and James have this new tradition where, after he wins an important game, you'll meet him in the changing room after his teammates had left and, well, you were his reward.

Slowly, you run a hand through your hair, fixing the barrette you have pinned on one side, and then smooth your hand down your uniform. Hesitantly, you turn the handle.

Once you walk in, it takes approximately less than three seconds for you to realize you made a terrible mistake.

Inside you're met with loud, bustling, chatter as Gryffindor boys you only know by name and Quidditch positions pack their equipment and uniforms into their bags. You freeze.

One of the boys turns around, "What the bloody fuck is a girl doing in here?" He exclaims, sounding truly horrified.

Immediately, you spin around to leave but without warning another boy seemingly materializes next to you and slams his hand into the door. You almost bump into it as it shuts directly in front of you. You swallow nervously as you have no choice but to turn around.

"Y/n?" You hear your name and an immediate sense of relief rushes over you. You watch James walk in. His hair is still damp from a shower and a towel is thrown over his shoulder.

His look of confusion quickly turns into realization when he scans you and sees the small flower in your hand. Usually, when he wins you gift him a daisy and he likes to keep them all in the pocket of his Captain's uniform as good luck charms.

James's eyes then jump to his teammate and when he sees how close his arm is to your head and how close he is to you in general, he frowns, "Hey O'Conner, back it up, buddy." He says, hiding his annoyance behind a joke as he quickly makes his way to you.

O'Conner huffs but listens to James anyway. He sends you a look and then laughs to himself, "Is this your girlfriend, Potter. Seems like she has a little present for you." O'Conner looks at the daisy in your hand and you quickly hide it behind your back, cheeks burning hot.

When James reaches you, he gently holds your shoulder and turns you around. His mouth is pressed near your ear as he whispers, "Come on," and leads you out the door.

Even when James shuts the door behind you, you can still hear mocking and whistles from inside the changing room and you've never been more embarrassed in your life. You're sure James can sense how anxious you've become because he runs his thumb over your knuckles, "It's okay, love. You're just a little early. You can come back in thirty minutes and it will just be just us, like it usually is."

You stare at him and, after a moment, shake your head. You don't have to speak or explain yourself for James to understand as he kisses your forehead, "Ok, I'll see you at Honeydukes in a bit then? Pads and Moony said they invited you already?"

"Yeah." Is all you say.

James gently slides his hand down your cheeks and uses his thumb and index finger to tilt your chin up, "Gimme a smile, love?" He asks seriously.

You look into his eyes, rolling yours, but smile at him anyways. You hear him mumble something and then he swiftly plucks the daisy from your hand and, because he doesn't have any available pockets, puts it behind his ear.

When James sends you his signature smirk, you think you're melting.

"Bye Jamie," You whisper as he turns around to walk into the changing room again. The door opens and you can hear the laughter inside but they don't bother you anymore when you see a glimpse of James giving one of his teammates the middle finger as the daisy stays in his hair.

* * *

Honeydukes is known to be busy after Quidditch matches and it's especially busy when Gryffindor wins. It's a tradition that originated from James, Sirius, and Remus, and now almost everyone just comes along until it's turned into a full party.

James has his arm draped over the booth behind you as he leans against the corner. He laughs as Sirius chugs Butterbeer as quickly as possible. Your nose scrunches in disgust and Remus quickly snatches what was his drink away from Sirius's hands, "You're a pig." Remus reprimands gently and rolls his eyes.

Sirius just winks, licks his lips, and leans in to wipe the side of his mouth on the collar of Remus's sweater, to which the latter smacks him over the head and earns an amused, still muffled, laugh.

You smile. You're lost in thoughts when you suddenly feel James's fingers draw circles and various shapes on your back. It's something he does almost routinely. You turn to him, but he doesn't look back at you as his fingers find your hair and play with the strands. You admire how his hazel eyes dart from Remus to Sirius depending on who's talking. You like the way his messy black hair, now dry, is curling around his forehead and you have to resist pushing up his round glasses, which sit a little low on his nose.

You have completely lost track of their conversation and when you're pulled down to earth by a shout from another drunk student, you avert your gaze from James and instead focus on your nearly finished Butterbeer. A blush of embarrassment heats your cheeks and you slide out of the booth.

"Everything ok?" Sirius asks and the boys look at you.

You smile and lift your glass, "Yeah, I just want another round."

"Alright, love." James says, turning his head a little. You can see the daisy still hiding in his curls and your chest tightens.

You really wish you'd known in fourth year how badly you'd fall for James Potter, because maybe then you could have prevented the pain of how shitty it feels to only admire him from afar.

Pushing past a bunch of students, you go to lean against the bar as you wait your turn to order. You hadn't heard someone come up to you until you feel someone's shoulder close to yours. Because of the intimacy, you think it's one of your friends, "Hey–" You start and look up, only to jump a little as O'Conner grins down at you.

Quintin O'Conner is a rather tall, handsome boy with short, thin, auburn hair. His vibrant green eyes shine as he tips his full glass of beer with an obnoxious smirk, "Hey, stalker."

You frown at the nickname, "Can I help you?" You ask.

"Sure." O'Conner licks his lips, "Potter didn't say you were his girlfriend, so I'm wondering if you're free tomorrow night? If I'm honest, I'd love one of your good luck daisies too." His hand slides over the counter and hesitates at your hand. You shift.

James told his teammates about your daisies? You blush, "Oh um, no, those are for James." You try to explain without sounding creepy and possessive. O'Conner fakes a pout and this time his hand reaches yours and his thumb caresses along your palm.

"Yeah, but like, he's not your boyfriend is he?"

"He's not but,"

"Listen, it's pretty obvious whatever activities you and Potter do in private has caused you to fall in love with him but, clearly, he just doesn't feel the same," O'Conner now grips your hand and leans in way too close, "Y/n, if you were mine I would never take you for granted." He looks you over, his eyes more sinister than his words.

You feel like someone has just choked you. Has James been going around telling people you've been hooking up? You thought you'd agreed you wouldn't even tell Sirius and Remus? You stare at O'Conner, "How do you know that?" You stutter.

"Please," O'Conner rolls his eyes, "It's quite obvious you know? You didn't just walk into the boys changing rooms looking for Potter to have a chat, did you? Plus, anyway, Potter told us the moment you left."

You shake my head automatically as his hand grips yours and somehow leans in even closer. "What's he doing to you that I can't do?" O'Conner's lips are close to your ear now and a shiver runs down your spine. Quickly, you pull your hand away and swoop under and around him.

"Sorry, I have to go." You mumble and start to make your way back to the booth, head spinning.

"Slut," You hear O’Conner shout over the chatter and you wince, closing your eyes.

When you find your way back to Sirius, Remus, and James empty handed, they look at you confused, "What's wrong, love?" James asks, sitting up in his seat. His eyes look you over and you can tell just by his eyebrow scrunch he knows you're upset.

Sirius and Remus look equally concerned and they look towards the bar, only by now O'Conner has probably gone to bother another unsuspecting girl.

When you don't move, James is up on his feet and is making his way towards you. He holds out his arms and tries to wrap them around your shoulders comfortingly but you push your arms outwards and up so he can't touch you. You shake your head. Now, the boys look even more concerned, "Seriously, what happened, Y/n?" James whispers and crosses his arms.

You look at him and the daisy in his hair just pisses you off now, "Did you tell them?" You ask, the butterbeer in your system creating a light buzz, making your head feels fuzzy, "James, did you tell them?"

"What?" James's eyes round.

"You heard me." You hiss. Sirius and Remus look at each other confused.

"Please, just tell me what happened." James pleads in another whisper as he starts to walk towards you again, only this time you move away from him.

"Oi, Potter, next time keep your bitch on a tighter leash. She was all over me a few moments ago." You suddenly hear O'Conner taunt and your head snaps towards the sound. O'Conner's arm is swung around another girl's shoulder as he grins at you.

"What the fuck did you just say, man?" Sirius exclaims as Remus instantly holds his arm back.

You glance at James and you can see his mind racing. He's staring at O'Conner but he hasn't reacted or even moved in any way. Instead, he looks at you, and his eyes soften, "Y/n," He starts but you don't wait for an explanation and just turn around.

You've barely gone out the door when James is behind you again, "Wait, please. Talk to me." He says and his hand skims your arm. Reluctantly, you pause and let out a sigh,

"I'm so fucking mad at you, James." You exclaim.

"Okay," James's voice is calm and he guides you to turn around and look at him, "Why is that, love?" He's eerily calm, especially since he has a few drinks in him, and you're extremely suspicious.

"Why are you so calm?" You ask lightly, only a little hurt he didn't stand up for you in Honeydukes.

James tilts his head, "After what O'Conner said? Sweetheart, I'm fucking furious but that wanker isn't who I care about right now." He takes a breath, "I want to know what happened to make you so mad at me."

You glare at him, "We promised we wouldn't tell anyone about us."

James looks flustered, "Yeah? And I haven't." He defends.

You roll your eyes, "So why did O'Conner come up to me asking me about what you do to me, James?"

James looks like he's seen a ghost. He shakes his head and his hands come up to your shoulders, he’s gentle as he holds you, "Y/n, I never told him anything. Bloody hell, I'd never brag about shagging you to anyone, you deserve so much more than that."

He looks so sincere you sigh, "You think he just figured it out then?" You ask.

James smirks and plucks the daisy from behind his ear. He twirls it in front of you, "I mean this is pretty damning, isn't it?"

Your smile weakens, "Do you not like them?"

James laughs a little and his hand comes up to hold your cheek, "I love them, love." His hand lingers on your cheek and he starts to move his thumb, "Come on, let’s go back in, yeah?”

He starts to turn around but you grab his wrist, "Promise you didn't tell them about us?" You whisper, still feeling insecure.

"I promise." He reassures you. When a small bell chimes, he looks back to the door which swings open and Sirius and Remus come stumbling out.

Remus is holding onto Sirius's collar, helping him stay on his feet, "Mates, let's leave. Pads has had way too much to drink and he almost knocked O'Conner's teeth out in there." He groans. You and James look at each other, laughing.

"I'm seriously debating going back in there and punching that asshole myself." James jokes, swinging his arm around your shoulder and Sirius grins drunkenly.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Prongs?" He asks, staggering on his feet.

"Oh, I sure am." James says, smirking.

* * *

It happened a week later. All week, James had been visibly agitated after his Quidditch practices and he wouldn't tell you why.

It's Saturday morning now. Mail time. You're sitting in your usual seats: James and Sirius on one side, You and Remus on the other. James is directly in front of you and he’s been playing footsies since you all sat down. You can't hide your giggles and he can't hide his smile.

"Hey, hey, the show is starting soon."Sirius leans in after a while and smirks. James looks around excitedly as owls start to swoop in from the sky. You look at them: they look like giddy children that have just been allowed to have candy after 8pm.

"What did you guys do?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Remus chuckles from beside you, "You'll see."

You glance at him, surprised, "You're in on it, Moony?"

"Of course he is, this was a group project, doll." Sirius winked and then his eyes follow a brown owl. You recognize it as James's owl, only it isn't flying towards you guys.

"Where is your owl going, Jamie?" You frown

"Somewhere special." James says nonchalantly and turns to watch, his arms crossed as he leans on Sirius: who is leaning forward himself and resting his chin on his hand as he wears a smug grin.

You watch his owl swoop down near where some Gryffindor Quidditch players are eating, O'Conner being one of them. He's laughing obnoxiously and anger bubbles inside you.

Remus leans in to you and whispers, "3…2…1," Pause and then James's owl drops a letter in front of O'Conner. Sirius first pumps the air as James smirks.

"You sent O'Conner a letter?" You ask James, hesitantly.

"Better." He grins. As if in clock work, a loud voice booms over the dinning hall. You recognize it immediately, it's James. Well, it kinda sounds like James only he's making an exaggerated, frankly mocking, Australian accent. Quite like how O'Conner sounds normally.

James is also clearly attempting to sound more feminine and you cover your mouth in shock as James from inside the howler begins to talk, "Quinnie, this is mummy," You look at James and Sirius, who look like they're already pissing their pants with laughter.

"Hi my darling. I'm replying to your earlier letter. Daddy and I think you should get that itchy rash on your penis checked out sooner rather than later, honey. You've been a good boy and used protection, right?"

Remus snorts from next to you as you hear some laughter resound around the room. O'Conner looks absolutely mortified as his friends laugh around him. His misery isn't over as the howler continues, "Try Granny's cream every night, ok? Daddy and I hope you feel better soon, lovie. Kisses, your Mummy dearest." James ends the letter with a loud, slobbery, kiss and then the letter rips.

Sirius has his head in his arms and his shoulders bounce as he hyperventilates quietly while James looks extremely proud. Even Remus is wearing a shit-eating grin. When O'Conner looks at you all, his cheeks dusted pink from embarrassment and anger, James simply blows him a kiss and sends him the middle finger.

You laugh behind my hand, "Why did you guys do that?"

Sirius shrugged, "That bloke has always been an asshole,"

"And he was extremely disrespectful to you yesterday, Y/n/n." Remus points out, to which James nods as he eats a mouthful of scrambled eggs. You scrunch your nose at him and eat your toast. Occasionally, you'll look over at O'Conner, who looks absolutely infuriated as his friends tease him endlessly.

"Seeing his face turn that red was pretty satisfying." You point out.

"Anyways, he should have seen it coming. No one messes with my girl without consequences." He says it without a second thought and he doesn't even look phased. You on the other hand? You're extra aware of the dryness in your throat as you try and process what James so casually said. His girl? You look at Remus and then at Sirius almost for confirmation that he had indeed said it. They look a little unsure but more awkward than confused.

"Okay well, we have Potions. See you later." Sirius stands, looking at Remus and gestures for him to stand too, "Coming, Moons?"

Remus nods quickly and walks out behind him, leaving you and James alone.

You find it incredibly annoying how nonchalant James can be sometimes. "So, your girl, huh?" You ask, hesitantly.

James pauses and looks at you, something sparks in his eyes but it quickly dies as he bends his head and continues to eat, "Mmhm." His foot nudges yours a little, "You're our girl, and we take care of what's ours."

Your heart sinks. You don't want to be their girl. You want to be his girl. Instead of the girl he fucks in secret, you want to be the one he kissed sweetly in the hallway. You want to be more than just friends.

More than just fuck buddies.

"Oh." You say, your disappointment hidden behind a small smile and James perks up.

"Wanna ditch?" He asks with a smirk.

* * *

You and James like to play Wizard's Chess.

He's infamously bad at it which means you win everytime. Still, he always loses graciously and plays whenever you ask him.

You're sitting at the edge of the lake, the warm spring air hitting your skin, and the chess board Remus had gotten you for your sixteenth birthday sits in between you and James.

"Checkmate," You stick your tongue out at him as James groans.

James scrunches his brows and then, quite obviously, uses his knee to knock over the chessboard, "Oops." He laughs. You widen your eyes and try to push him on his shoulder but James just grips your wrist and pulls you into him.

He stumbles backwards until he's laying on the grass and you're hovering over him, sitting on his waist. You look at him, breathing heavily, and he looks at you.

You don't protest when James's hand curls around the back of your neck and he guides you down to kiss him. You melt into his arms. His hand finds your hair as he kisses you more passionately and for a moment you're content until James's other hand starts to tug at the buttons of your chemise. You tense and disconnect your lips, holding his hand away from your body.

"You ok?" He asks, sitting up and helping you sit in between his legs.

You can't look at him without feeling shame and embarrassment. Is this over? All because of your stupid feelings? You turn to him hesitantly and when you look at his lips, your heart hurts. Was this the last time you'll ever kiss him?

"Hey, love, what's wrong?" James asks, holding your cheeks in his hands and gently forcing you to look at him.

You shake your head and push him away, "James, no, you know I don't like it when you do that."

"Sorry," He whispers, his cheeks pink. You feel guilty.

"It's ok, Jamie. It's just," You rub your eyes and run a hand in your hair, probably messing it up, "I- I don't think I want to continue this. Us." You pause, "Not like this." You add in a whisper.

"What? Why?" James sounds confused and a little hurt, "Is it me? Have I not been good enough? I- I can learn, love." He stutters and you can't help but wonder why he's insisting so badly.

"No, you've been more than wonderful, James." You admit and then fiddle with your hands, "It's me,"

"Y/n, you're bloody fantastic." James interrupts, voice croaky.

You lower your eyes and smile softly, "No, it's because I think I've been falling in love with you." You say quietly and shut your eyes. You feel sick to your stomach.

James is not talking, he's not even moving anymore. You feel like you could vomit.

"You've been falling in love with me?" James asks.

Hearing those words, you quickly cover your face with your hands, "I- I'm sorry."

James takes your hands and gently moves them away from your face, "You're sorry?" You nod quickly and your heart pounds. Hope is a dangerous game, but James is smiling so maybe hope is worth the risk.

"Please don't be sorry, my love." James brings your palms to his lips and kisses your hand. His lips are light and shivers run up your arms, "I'm sorry. I have been such a fool." He leans his forehead on yours and suddenly, you feel lightheaded in a completely different way.

"James," You start but he interrupts you with a finger pressed to your lips.

"I didn't think you felt the same way as me," He chuckles, "I mean? Why would someone like you: someone so kind and honest, actually want more with someone like me? So, I was happy with our agreement because I still wanted to have you in any way I could. But, you love me? You really love me?" You nod and James's smile widens until it almost looks like it hurts him, "I've loved you since forever, Y/n/n, you can't even begin to imagine how happy you've made me."

"Really?" You ask.

James rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss you gently. He pulls away and smiles that grin you love so much, "I knew I wasn't as obvious as Remus and Sirius said I was." James teases and your eyes round as you lean away from him a little,

"Remus and Sirius know?"

James touches your cheek and looks at you fondly, "Yeah, about how madly in love with you I am, not our extracurricular activities." He jokes with a wink, "I think if I'd been honest to them about that, they would have warned me how dangerous it'll end up being for me, and in the end they would have been right."

You still feel like you're in a dream when you take his hand in yours and play with his fingers, "How's that, Jamie?" You whisper, simply enjoying the new found warmth in your stomach.

"Because it was absolutely torture to have you so close, and yet, so far away from me all the time." James says and you feel validated in your own feelings.

You nuzzles your head in his chest and wrap your arms around him,

"Well, you have me now." You reassure him. He sighs and holds the back of your head and for the first time, you have everything you want here in your arms. You smile against his chest, "Does this mean I can call you my boyfriend now when someone asks."

James huffs and kisses your head, "You better, love."

"And, am I your girl now?" You ask, more timidly now as you sit up and look him in the eyes. James’s hand runs along the grass as he smirks. You see him pluck a daisy from the ground and, as he places it behind your left ear, you feel your cheeks start to burn.

"You've always been my girl." He whispers and leans in to kiss you once more. You think he mumbles, "mine" against your lips again, but at that point you're too busy being lost in the moment.

And, frankly, you don't want to be found.

[latenightdaydreams]

I have an idea that Konig is Ghostface and he's been stalking reader for a while. He found out reader is a bookworm outside but literally a cunt inside. Like she never comes to parties, spend hours with her vibration instead. One night, Konig sneaks in her house and rape her fat unused pussy 😩😩😩

🤭🤭🤭YES😮‍💨

Ghostface!König x Nerd!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫TRIGGERS🚫

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, bondage, voyeurism, stalking

3.1k word count

👻

.

.

The first time König saw you was at the campus Valentine's Day party. You showed up dressed in a festive pink sweater, but then sat in the corner with a stank look on your face. His eyes followed you as you seemingly complained to the girl you came with, a friend? Either way, your breasts and sensual body shape caught his attention.

König walks up to a guy that’s talking to your friend, “Wer ist das?” He asks, pointing to you.

“She’s a bitch,” the girl's friend hits his chest as if to tell him to shut up.

“She’s just shy. She hates parties.” Christa, your friend, defends you.

They all stand there and watch you gather your things and walk out the door without saying bye to anyone, not even your friend. Interesting. What type of woman are you? He was intrigued and wanted to see more of you. See what those bouncy breasts look like outside of that pink sweater.

After this first encounter, he dedicated his time to following you around campus. First, only to figure out what your schedule was. What classes do you take, what teacher do you have, what building the classes are in, etc. Just the basics.

He stalks behind you, far enough behind that you’d never notice; but close enough to listen in on any conversations you had. Which was basically zero. You kept to yourself no matter what you were doing. If someone interacted with you, you’d have such a poor attitude about it. Snappy, short, lots of eye rolling. This went on for two months.

One day, König set up a forced interaction. Dressed casually and slicked his blonde hair back. He looks handsome, standing at 6 '10 and being pure muscle. He knows he is attractive; his personality just sucks, much like yours seems to.

He lingers outside your second class of the day and looks around as if he were a lost student. Once he sees you, he walks over.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Your eyes dart to him as you take out an air pod. “What?” Your tone is unkind.

“I’m lost and I don’t know which room-”

“I’m late for class.” You cut him off and walk past him.

König just watches as you walk away with a smirk on his face. He knows once he has you in his hands, he’d have fun breaking you. After that, he waits for you to leave class and follow you home. Since you would not get to know him the typical way, he would continue getting to know you in the shadows.

You walk fast, but he has no issues keeping up. Your hips sway hypnotically, keeping his attention. Finally, you stop at a cute one-story home. He watches as you take your keys out and enter your home. Waiting a few minutes before he walks up to peek into your windows. He looks around to make sure no neighbors are watching as he walks up to your house, crouching.

Eyes peering through the first window, he sees your living room. Your shoes kicked off by the door, TV turned on already, and backpack thrown on the couch. His eyes scan the room, trying to take in every detail.

Continuing on he comes to the next window. He sees you and ducks back, worried you might have seen him. After a few seconds of no screams, he creeps back to the window. There you are. Taking off your shirt and jeans, just standing there in your beige bra and blue cotton panties. Totally unaware you’re being watched as you check yourself out in your dresser's mirror.

Watching like a hawk as you open the top draw and pull out a pink little vibrator. König could already feel his pants begin to tighten. You walk to your bed, grabbing a towel that’s folded underneath the bed. Laying the towel out, getting your pillows situated, and moving the blanket. It’s almost like a ritual and König’s interest is definitely piqued. 

He watches as you lie down on the bed. Your pretty pussy covered with a little bit of hair, as you spread your legs he can see the pink within your folds. Fuck this is gold…

König quickly undoes his pants as he watches you pick a setting before moving it to your little clit. Through the window he can hear how loud you’re being, your legs twitch from the stimulation. All the while König stands there feverishly stroking his leaky cock. Imagining him running up to you and shoving his cock in that tight little pussy…

Your hips begin to grind into the vibrator as your head drops back on to your pillows. Your left leg is starting to tremble… König watches without blinking as your innocent pussy begins to squirt. Fingers replacing the vibrator, you start rubbing your clit quickly. Your sweet juices are spraying everywhere. He bites his lip as he begins to cum, accidently cumming on the siding of your house. It felt as if he were a wild animal and just marked you, leaving his scent behind to deter other predators.

This became a ritual for König as the school year went on. He would follow you around campus, watch who you talk to, see how you interact with the world. Occasionally he would try to go up to you and just talk nicely, but every time you shot him down. As if you’re better than him. Then he would follow you home and masturbate outside your window as you play with your tiny cunt.

That was until summer break happened. You went away to work as a camp counselor for the summer, leaving König behind. With you gone, König felt lost. He spent most of the summer inside watching porn. Looking for actresses that resemble you, but none could match your perfect breasts or pretty pink cunt.

August rolls around and classes start back up. König walks into his social science class and sees you… perfect. You sit in the front, middle. Teacher’s pet know-it-all, of course you’d pick there to sit.

König sits in the very back, where he has a clear line of view in your direction. He watches as you rest your head in the palm of your hand. How you cross your legs and squeeze, as if you’re trying to stimulate some sort of pleasure. Little slut, you can’t even control yourself in class. All the obsession comes rushing back to him. He needs you.

Halloween rolls around. König is handed a flier for a costume party that will be happening at one of the sororities here on campus.  His new friend Carl, your friend’s boyfriend, goes out with him to buy costumes.

 They both walk through the Halloween store and talk casually. He tries to think of ways to ask about you without being so direct.

“Is Christas bitch friend coming?” König chuckles to make it seem less important to him.

“Y/n? Probably not. She never shows to support anything Christa does. When she does, she’s in a foul mood and just leaves. It breaks Christas heart.” He sounded genuinely upset with you and your behavior.

“What’s her deal anyway?”

“I don’t know. Little stuck up virgin bitch thinks she’s better than Christa because she’s waiting until marriage.”

Virgin. That’s why you only touch your clit; you don’t want to “pop” your cherry.

“Is she religious?”

“Probably. I never cared to ask. Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up and ruin it.”

“Yeah.” König didn’t want you to show up, but for a very different reason. He had something special in the works.

Reaching up, König grabs a Ghostface mask and holds it up to his face. “Hey, what about this?”

.

.

Halloween night, König puts on the black robe over a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a small satchel bag that has duct tape and rope. A real knife in his hand. He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, looking at himself. Blonde hair longer and pushed back, dark circles under her icy blue eyes, and a twisted look on his face.

“You got this. You can do it.” He whispers as he slips the mask over his face.

König leaves his shared apartment on campus and walks down the street while the sun is just beginning to set. Other students rush past him, all heading to their own Halloween parties. Towering over everyone dressed as Ghostface, he had a few people jump out of fear. From behind the mask, he apologizes while laughing. As if he is a normal guy.

Finally, he approaches the steps on the sorority. Walking inside he sees that there are a few other Ghostface at the party already. König rolls his eyes under the masks. His attention turns to the staircase as he hears Christa and Carl arguing. Without being seen, he walks closer to listen in. It’s clear that she’s talking about y/n.

You bailed. Probably home studying or making yourself squirt. The thought gives König a chub. You’re exactly where he hoped you would be. At first, he was nervous this wouldn’t work out for him. No, you never change. Easy to track. Before he is seen, he slips out of the doors.

He blends in easily for once in his life. Everyone dressed up like freaks or sluts. The giant isn’t the main focal point today. Once he enters your neighborhood, he notices the empty streets, but very loud house music. All of your neighbors seem to gather, yet your home's lights are on.

Cautiously, he approaches your living room window. Boom, there you are, asleep on the couch. The TV on TLC, some random trash television show. He attempts to lift the window in front of him, but it’s locked. Moving down a window to your bedroom, also locked. König walks around the back and tries the back door, locked. The kitchen window is a little smaller, but he still tries it. Open.

Carefully, König climbs through the window. His massive body just barely begins to fit, but he manages. Slowly he climbs off of the counter that was right under the window, being sure to not kick anything off the counter and possibly wake you up.

Once stable on the floor he stood there for a while and looked around your kitchen. Your style was quirky, which was odd because you act as if you have no personality. Before waking you up, he goes into the bedroom and gets that towel you keep under your bed. He lays it out on the bed the same way you do. Even arranging the pillows and blanket for you.

Reaching into his bag under his black robes, he takes out the rope and tape. The rope he leaves on the bed as he walks out of the bedroom with the tape. He pulls some and he can be quick to shut you up.

With soft steps he makes his way to the living room. He can see your hands are in your hands as if you fell asleep masturbating. A virgin whore. He’s ready to just make you into his whore. Standing over you as you sleep; eyes drifting over your breast and the tiny bit of midriff that is showing.

Slowly lowering his face closer to you until he sees your eyes open. At first it’s as if you didn’t register what you saw. König tilts his head. Then you open your eyes again and begin to scream. Quickly he covers your mouth with the tape.

“Shhh,” his eyes go wild behind the mask.

You try to stand and get away but his massive body easily overpowers yours and slams you back down into the couch.

“Don’t fucking move.” He hisses as he cuts the tape with the knife. Pulling more, he adds an extra layer.

With ease he lifts your body from the couch, pinning your arms to your side so you can’t hit him. Your legs kicking as he brings you into your room; eyes going wide as you see that he set the bed up the same way you set up when you masturbate.

König giggles looking at your face, “I did good, ja?”

He grabs the rope and tosses you on the bed. As you try to stand up, he pushes you back hard, “Give up Maus, you’re mine tonight.”

Using his massive body to pin you down, he climbs on top of you. Your face down into the mattress as he grabs one of your arms and pins it behind your back before grabbing the other. He uses the rope to tie your hands together, tight enough to dig into your flesh.

“I’ll show you how to have a really good time.”

König stands and grabs your body, turning you to rest on your back, nuzzled in the pillows like when you masturbate. He walks to your dresser and takes out the small pink vibrator. You look up at him with wide eyes, it’s clear that he’s been watching you.

“Now, don’t move, or I might cut you.” He says leaning back over your body as he begins to cut your shirt from your body. Your full breasts come into view and he can’t help the temptation of reaching up and pinching your nipple. You try to scream through the tape, but the sound is muffled.

His attention drops down to the waistband of your pajama pants. Slowly he pulls them down. Seeing your cunt face to face instead of at a distance was breathtaking. Speechless, he moves his fingers through the soft hair that covers your pussy. Finally, he can feel you, smell you, taste you.

“If you move, I’ll gut you.” He threatens as he begins to settle himself between your legs.

He lifts his mask slightly and takes in a deep breath of what your pussy smells like. It’s almost sinful. He has to taste it. Slowly he slips his tongue out and swipes it through your folds. You squirm slightly but stop, remembering the knife. He swipes his tongue up again. If he knew you were this sweet, he would have broken in sooner.

Shoving his face into your pussy he takes a deep breath before sucking on your clit. He bites it lightly, causing you pain as your body jerks away. Not letting you move; he wraps his arms around your legs tightly to hold you still. Spit running down his chin as he aggressively laps at your cunt. He slurps your pussy juice before biting your labia. Again, you jerk in pain and König just laughs as he pulls his mask back down.

Once he stands from the bed he just looks down at your naked body. He begins to pull off the black robe, tossing aside the satchel. Stripping down to his birthday suit, but the mask stays on. His body is massive with a cock so heavy it hangs.

He grabs your pink vibrator and turns it on, gently holding it to your clit. His eyes light up as your legs begin to tremble. Muffled little moans escaping your lips. You can’t help but to feel pleasure, even though you’re in this situation.

“Good…kleine Hure.” He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside. Inching closer to you, he slaps his cock on your pussy a few times.

“Ready?”

You shake your head no and try to scoot away from him, but he grabs your legs and drags you back to him. “No, no, no, you’re not getting away that easy.”

Looking down at your cunt he rubs the head of his cock back and forth over your clit. Slowly he slips down. With one hard thrust of his hips, he bullies his monster cock deep inside of your unused pussy. The tightness of your cunt was something only his hand had ever given him.

“Mien Gott, you really were a virgin.” He chuckled.

König grabs your legs and lets them fall over his arms as he holds your ass up off the bed slightly. His hips rolling rapidly into you, looking down he can see blood on his cock. A soft growl leaves his lips.

He lets your legs drop as he leans over you, one of his hands wrapping around your throat lightly. “My fat unprotected cock just ruined your pretty virgin cunt.”

You try to turn your head away from him as tears begin to roll down your eyes, but he doesn’t let you. He turns your head back to face him.

“Eyes open. I want to see the shame when I make you cum.”

You open your eyes as you have no choice but to listen. His free hand reaches down between your legs and begins to rub your clit. Trying to resist the pleasure was impossible, your legs tremble as your pussy feels as if it were torn in two.

He watches as you shake your head no. Your pussy getting tighter on his cock, he knew. He pulls out quickly, shoving his middle and ring finger into you. He presses down on the lower part of your stomach as his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

You drop your head back and he slaps your pussy, “Eyes on me!” His voice a low growl.

Lifting you head back up to look at him, your eyes cross from the explosion of pleasure you’re feeling. You squirt, hitting the Ghostface mask slightly, getting it all over König’s hands and arms.

“That’s what I want to see!” He excitedly slips his cock back into your pussy. His eyes watch as you wince in pain.

His hips move mercilessly into you. “I’m going to cum deep inside of this pussy. You’re going to get pregnant with my babies. You like staying home anyway, right?”

The look on your face as he talks down to you is full of fear and it’s just enough to get him off. He presses his cock fully into you, your cries of pain muffled buts still so beautiful. König cums deep inside of you. His seamen painting every inch of your velvety walls. A loud groan leaves his mouth as he tries to press in even further.

The look on your face is almost relieved as he cums, that means this is over with. So, you thought. He pulls his cock out, covered in blood and cum. In one quick motion he flips you on to your stomach, pulling you down the bed a little. He sits on the bed now, one leg on either side of you. König leans forward to pull the tape off of your mouth and drags you closer to him by your shoulders.

“You’re going to clean this.” He says slapping his cock on your face a few times. “Open.”

You don’t struggle, opening your mouth wide. The taste of salty cum and blood assaults your taste buds. His hand grasping a fist full of hair and shoving his cock down your throat. Your body thrashes, legs kicking as you gag.

“Get used to it, Maus. My cock isn’t leaving your throat any time soon.”

[fuctacles]

Small World

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

@genderthings Stobin at Work: custodians T | 771 | Hellcheer, Stobin, one-sided Steddie and Buckingham | Hellcheer's POV, pining, Stobin sharing a braincell, Humor, Everybody Lives AU, banter

Life is good. Everyone is alive and well, escaping Vecna with only minor injuries. And now Eddie and his best friend Chrissy, safe and sound, can focus on the mundane things in life once again. Like evading their gay crushes as they try to figure out their sexualities and not make a complete stuttering idiots out of themselves. 

It seems simple, at first--ask the boys of Corroded Coffin to rent movies for them so they can avoid Family Video, or just keep up to date with what's currently showing. 

It's at one of the latter instances when they first learn how difficult it could be to actually avoid them. 

They're at the late night screening of some hyped up thriller. On a weekday, there were barely any people at the cinema, and Eddie was taking advantage of it by having his legs thrown over the backrest in front of him. The lights are already back on and Chrissy is ready to leave, but she settles in to wait him out--he's a firm believer of having his money's worth and he's paid for the whole movie, end credits included. 

The employees usually hate him for it, but worst case scenario they'll start cleaning everywhere around and get to his seat last. But it's not like they come in vacuums blasting as soon as the lights are on. 

Well, unless it's a weekday and there are literally just two assholes between them and going home. 

"Hey man, could you put your feet down?"

Eddie almost falls on his ass in his haste to fix his position. Because he knows that voice. 

He cranes his neck to see down the row of seats, where an unimpressed figure stands with a broom in one hand, the other one resting on his hip. 

"Steve?" he asks, unwilling to believe his eyes. 

"Yeah, don't get so excited." Steve rolls his eyes in that bitchy ways of his. And then he's walking down the aisle towards them, so Eddie straightens himself up. Chrissy throws him a judgmental look, but is otherwise occupied looking for her own kryptonite, undoubtedly hiding nearby. 

Now that he can see him better, he can tell Steve is wearing a shirt in cinema's signature colors, thrown haphazardly over his civilian clothes. 

"Don't you work at Family Video?" he blurts out.

Steve shrugs, stopping next to them and leaning against one of the seats. He finally seems to spot Chrissy, giving her a small finger wave. 

"Hi, Chris. Robin is right behind, had an accident with a butter nozzle," he tells her, because her looking was not subtle in the slightest. Then he turns back to Eddie. "Well, they've cut our hours so we're looking for extra gigs."

Before Eddie can ask any extra questions, there's a clatter at the entrance, followed by a sound of distress. 

"Steve! Everything is buttery!" 

Steve sighs, turning around. 

"I told you to use the paper towels. And the dish soap. You said you had this!" 

"Well, I don't!" Robin pointedly waves her hands around, shiny with, presumably, butter residue. "I had to touch the doorknobs and the sink and the soap bottle and now everything--! Oh, hi, Chrissy!"

Chrissy waves at her, stunned.

"Well, sorry to interrupt your chit-chat but I really need Steve to be doing his job right now."

"I am!" he pointedly waves his broom around. "And what are you doing? Adding more job to our job!" 

"It was not my intention! Now come help me, it's an all hands on deck situation!" 

"It will be an all hands situation when we clean yours from grease!" He sighs, leaning the broom against the wall. "Sorry guys, we'll talk some other time." He smiles apologetically to their friends while trying to dodge the hands trying to oil up his face and hair. "You okay to see yourself out?"

That's a weird question. Eddie has been to the movies enough times to know his way around, and the doors stay open until the last screening is over. 

The credits are still rolling, but he nods his head. 

"Sure, don't worry about us Steve-o." Eddie hastily stands up, pulling Chrissy along. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Bye Chrissy, bye Eddie!" Robin yells as she's pulled into the dark depths of cinema corridors by her wrists. 

"Bye guys!"

"Bye Buckley!"

"Good luck with the butter!"

Once safely outside, they scream into the dark night sky. 

"Nowhere is safe," Eddie sighs, looking at the joke of a universe spreading above him.

"Not anymore," Chrissy sighs along.

"Let's just grab a TV guide on the way back."

[gtgbabie0]

heyy!! i saw that your reqs are open ans i was wondering if i could ask for an "cregan stark x fem reader" in which the reader is giving birth but she ends up having complications during the birth (blood loss or the baby simply taking too long to come out) and she ends up being unconscious for a while... if that's not ok please ignore it, thank you!! <3

Cregan Stark x reader

Synopsis: {The birth of your son Brandon Stark was nothing but stressful, and it makes Cregan face some horrible realisations} CW: descriptions of blood/ reader is giving birth

Hope you enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

It was early in the morning when it began. You were eating breakfast with Cregan when the sharp shooting pain erupted through your lower stomach, it took your breath away and you couldn’t help but reach over to clutch onto his arm with a gasp.

He stops mid-sentence as he watches your face contort with an awful look of discomfort, panic rising in his chest when your eyes meet his.

“My love? What is it?- what happened?” He asks, standing up from his chair. He helps you up, wincing as you scream out in pain. Cregan guides you to the bed his hand soothing your lower back in hopes it’ll relieve your discomfort, but his attempts are fruitless when he notices the tears that fall from your eyes and his heart drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your husband's hands as you try your best to ignore the blood that pools between your legs, “The maesters- please” You gasp between breaths and Cregan doesn’t need to be told twice as he rushes out the door.

It isn’t long before people start to barge into the room, orders being thrown around as the midwives lay you down on the bed pressing a cold wet towel on your forehead.

Your body aches as a hot flush wash over you, and every sensation is far too overwhelming, it certainly doesn’t help that your skin is sticky with sweat. You can hear Cregan outside your shared bedchambers before walking through the wooden door, much to the dismay of the nurses.

“What is happening?- please” his voice is strained and he can’t bear to look down at you, the sound of you hyperventilating is enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

The maester looks up at him, “She has started her labour early lord Stark” he takes a deep breath, watching the worry that deepens within Cregan’s eyes, “You must let us work”

Hours have passed since then, the late afternoon sun is peaking behind the curtains and Cregan hasn’t left your side as your clammy hands squeeze his. He chokes back a sob every time you let out an agonising cry, your face pressed into the sweat-soaked pillow as you grit your teeth.

The nurses tell you when to breathe then push, breathe then push and you know for a fact that your body cannot handle much more pain, exhaustion is creeping through your already weak body.

“Almost there lady Stark, almost there” one of the nurses promises, as she switches your cold rag for a new one, and Cregan doesn’t miss the worry in her eyes as she glances down to the blood-soaked sheets beneath you.

“You hear that my love? Almost there” He leans down to press a kiss to your damp hairline, pushing back the wet strands.

His thumb caresses the space under your eye, wiping your tears away as he holds your cheek. “I can’t- Cregan I can’t” you sigh, trying your best to smile up at him.

He shakes his head, pressing his forehead against yours “Yes you can. You are the strongest woman I know” he whispers.

You nod, taking a deep breath before squeezing your eyes shut, pushing one last time as the nurses and maesters all shout praises. “A boy!” You hear someone gasp but they seem miles away, and then you hear your baby cry as the midwives move quickly to clean him, wrapping him up in a clean blanket.

The noise of the room seems to bleed together, muffled as if you were underwater and with it goes your sight, then everything seems to stop and for a moment, for the first time in the last seven hours, there is clarity and the ache in your body ebbs away as your eyes flutter close.

The moment your grip on Cregan's hand loosens his heart stops, and the sight of your limp body covered in sweat makes his whole world come crashing down. He can’t think straight and the feeling only grows stronger as his eyes drift to the blood-stains all over your legs and bedsheets.

There’s a lump in the back of his throat that chokes him, and all the words he wants to say, needs to say, die on his tongue.

“My wife- is-” he isn’t able to finish the sentence as the Maester hands him his son, his cries hit Cregan's ears, a painful reminder that no matter what happens to you he has to carry on, a harsh reality that he can’t bare to face.

Before he has time to even look down at his child he’s already being whisked away from his arms, wet nurses attending to him. It’s almost as if the world has slowed down, and he can’t breathe.

“She has lost a lot of blood, my lord,” The maester says, his tone soft and gentle as he cleans up, taking out some strong-smelling herbs. “The best we can do is let her rest, if she doesn’t wake within the hour hold this under her nose” he nods about to leave the room.

“She’ll live?” Cregan's voice is weak as he gently holds your hand.

“Of course my lord, as you said, she is a strong woman” he smiles before leaving the room, and it’s only when the door closes that his tears fall so effortlessly from his eyes, and he pleads to any Gods who are willing to listen to him that you’ll be okay.

Cregan doesn’t leave your side once as the hours pass by. His hand gently lays over the top of your heart. The feeling of it beating beneath his palm gives him hope. He gently pushes your hair back, tucking the strands behind your ear as he waits on bated breath for you to wake up.

He watches your eyes flutter and immediately sits up, shuffling to sit closer to you. You groan something incoherent, but he can tell from the way you sound it’s out of nothing but pain. He’s quick to hush you, guiding you to lay back down, to your dismay.

“Y/n, please- relax, my love” he pleads with you as you grab ahold of his hand.

“Our son? Is he-?” You panic, voice hoarse as you try to sit up, ignoring the pain that seizes your body.

“He’s fine, I promise-” He whispers, watching your panicked eyes flicker frantically around the room, "But you, my love- please you need to rest” The way his voice trembles with worry makes you listen, that and the unbearable ache in your bones.

You look up at him, tears in your eyes as the heaviness of the situation finally weighs upon you. “I want to see him, please?” You whisper, and the hoarseness in your voice makes his heartbreak.

He wipes away the tears that fall from your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You will, I promise.” His voice calms your nerves. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? He’s not going anywhere” Cregan smiles as you nod.

“Okay. I do need a bath” You let out a raspy giggle, relief washing over you as Cregan chuckles beside you.

“Of course, my sweet wife” he smiles, his hand gently caressing your cheek before disappearing off, but not without looking back at you, a sad look clouded over his tired eyes.

The water is pleasantly warm against your skin, your hands grasping onto your husband’s shoulders as he helps you into the wooden tub. There’s a thick layer of silence that falls upon you both, it almost feels suffocating.

Cregan doesn’t mutter a word as he washes you. The water sloshing around, and the harsh wind is the only thing you can hear. It’s you who breaks the silence, catching his hands within your own.

You bring his hands to cup your face, “I’m okay. Cregan? Look at me, please?” You plead, noticing how he hasn’t been able to keep eye contact since you woke up.

There are tears that build up in his eyes, a dam of emotions that burst out of him. “I thought I lost you” he whispers, voice strained as he breaks down completely, the last hour finally catching up to him.

“But you didn’t Cregan, I’m right here” You don’t bother trying to hide your own tears, and he’s quick to wipe them away.

He leans to rest his forehead against your own, “I know” his voice is so quiet that if he were sitting any further, you wouldn’t be able to hear him, “But you almost weren’t, and I can’t live without you” he presses his lips against yours in a gentle, loving kiss.

“You don’t have to, I am right here, my love,” you tell him, kissing him once more before he pulls away. “I love you” you smile, as he goes to start washing your hair.

“I love you more… more than words could ever express” he finishes washing you. His touch is overwhelmingly gentle, so full of love that it makes your chest bloom with warmth.

The way his fingertips graze along your arms, how his lips feel as they press kisses along your shoulders. Small whispers of sweet nothings shared between you both in the candle-lit bathroom only ever to be heard by the pair of you.

You lean on Cregan like a crutch as he helps you from the bath, drying you off and changing you into fresh clean sleep clothes. Your bedchambers have been aired out by herbs and incense, and the bed sheets have been changed.

It feels so heavenly as you climb into bed. The sun was well and truly set. “I have a visitor for you” Cregan smiles, walking into the room with your son in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

You gasp as he hands him to you. He stirs from his sleep with the movement. His tiny fingers wrap around your own as you admire him. “He’s perfect” You press a kiss to his forehead. Cregan sits beside you on the bed, the back of his fingers caressing his son's cheek.

“Brandon Stark” you whisper, looking over to your husband as he glances over at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes.

You lean your head against his shoulder, smiling when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer, before pulling the sheets over your legs. “Brandon Stark” he repeats with approval, and you both chuckle as your son gurgles up at you with wide eyes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡A Sky Full of Stars♡

♡ Pairing: idol!dad!hongjoong x fem!mom!reader

♡ Genre: the fluffiest of fluff

♡ Summary: Just some sweet moments you share with Hongjoong when you and your daughter surprise him after their Coachella set.

♡ Word Count: 1.4k

♡ Warnings: If there's any warning it's that your kid has a name. I know some people don't like that. She's named after an artist Joong likes who I think has a pretty name so that's all babes.

♡ A/N: I set out to make this super fluffy summer road/beach trip fic with Joong but I sat down to write and this is what came out instead so I present to you some post-concert fluff and I hope it gives you all the sweet feelings it gave me writing it.

This can’t be real.

It’s all Hongjoong keeps repeating in his head as he steps off of the Sahara stage at Coachella. His ears are ringing, his heart’s beating out of his chest, his throat’s on fire, and he’d walk right back on that stage to keep going if he could.

It seems like only yesterday his group was fighting to debut; now they’re here, performing on a stage some artists can only dream of stepping foot on. The joy on his member’s faces. The sound of their fans screaming for them. It’s a special kind of magic he wishes he could bottle up and keep somewhere safe to treasure forever.

“Captain!” Wooyoung cheers, throwing an arm around him, “We did good?” Hongjoong looks around to see his members staring at him, his approval all that matters in the sea of praise thrown at them by staff. Hongjoong nods, wiping his face with a towel, “We did good!” Smiles perk up their exhausted faces as they drag themselves down the steps leading to the backstage area.

Stepping onto the grass, Hongjoong stares up at the infinity pool of stars that is the California sky. Just when he feels himself begin to float away, a faint tugging at his pants keeps his feet on the ground. It’s so faint that he almost questions if he felt it at all until Yeosang lays a hand on his shoulder letting him know, “You have company.” 

Hongjoong’s eyes dance their way down his leg to find a smaller nearly identical set of eyes staring up at him. All he’d done not to cry is for nothing when he sees the chubby glitter speckled cheeks of his little 2 year old smiling at the sight of him. “Olivia…” he gasps, scooping her into his arms, “What are you doing here?”

The other members gather around like moths to a flame. Of any fan they’ve ever had their niece will always be their favorite. Mingi squats down to eye level with her, pinching her cheek, “Hi, Oli. Uncle’s here.” “Oh look at these” San coos, playing with the two ponytails sat atop her tiny head, “So cute.”

Hongjoong holds her close to his heart, shaking the tears from his eyes. “Daddy cry?” she asks, touching his cheek. Hongjoong smiles, choosing to dodge the question rather than lie, “Um, where’s your mo—” “Here!” you say, hugging him from behind. You had every intention of announcing yourself to begin with but the happiness on his face seeing Oli was too adorable to interrupt.

That same happiness plays on repeat when he feels your arms around his waist. You weren’t supposed to be here. Your flight had been delayed twice and the baby was beginning to get fussy. Hongjoong had insisted you just stay home and watch the livestream. Just knowing you were watching would be enough for him but that’d never be enough for you. If you had to grow wings to fly yourself here you’d have done it to be by his side.

Not satisfied with simply knowing you’re there, Hongjoong reaches his free arm back to pull you around to his side. Time slows when he looks at you this way—like you’re one of the most precious things on this Earth. You’re one of two really, the other’s bouncing in his other arm with her fingers scrunched around his collar.

“Hey you” you beam, wiping a few rogue tears from his face. Hongjoong kisses you, soft lips pressed to yours in what has to be the sweetest, saltiest kiss you’ve ever shared. You don’t care how sweaty he is, only that you’re together. “Hey you” he smiles, his eyes narrowing slightly, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” You shrug, playing it cute so he doesn’t kill you, “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Give him a heads up so he has ample time to play it tough? Never.

“Ahem,” Seonghwa interrupts, “Does that mean you were watching and saw…everything?” The guys look at each other, suddenly mortified at their onstage antics. “Oh, for sure. We saw everything. She’s gonna be an alcoholic now” you tease just to watch their heart’s sink. Hongjoong shakes his head at them, “Shame on you. For the record, my cup was water.” 

Jongho throws Hongjoong some vicious side eye, “Water, right. Oli, your daddy’s a liar.” “Daddy liar” Oli repeats with a giggle. You dip your head down to hide your own laughter as the guys hit an equally amused Jongho with their towels. Seonghwa casually swipes the baby away from Hongjoong to teach her how to throw a few hits. Hongjoong chases them down as if he’ll never see her again, “Be careful!”

“Joong, she’s fine!” you shout after him, “As long as Hwa has her…oh, no…Mingi unhand my child!” 

“Goodnight stars and goodnight air” Hongjoong reads, flipping the final page of a children’s book, “Goodnight noises everywhere.” He closes the book and Oli cheers, flipping it over for him to read again. Propped up in his lap as he longues in a barely comfortable hotel chair, it’s clear her miniature lids are growing heavy.

“Honey, it’s late. No more Goodnight Moon. Bedtime, okay?” His voice is stern, he means business, but so does she. Oli flips the book open, her hand rubbing the first page. Her bottom lip pokes out and he knows he can’t say no to her. “Fine but one more time and then bed.”

You emerge from the shower in time to hear the story start back up again. “In the great green room…” Hongjoong starts in his bedtime story voice. You move quietly around the room, listening to the story for what’s the 1000th time for you too. As you do, you steal glimpses of them holding hands, turning the pages of the book together. Hongjoong pauses to let Oli read or poke around the pages marveling at the illustrations.

“Is bunny?” she asks, pointing to a figure sitting in a rocking chair. “That is a bunny” he cheers softly, poking his two front teeth out to mimic a rabbit. Oli copies him—it’s sorta her thing these days—making you laugh so hard you snort. “Are you laughing at me?” Hongjoong jokes, his mouth still in perfect bunny formation. It only makes you laugh harder. Your two little bunnies, twins in every way they can be. Especially in their silliness.

You approach the them, planting a kiss on both of their foreheads, “You guys are adorable.” Hongjoong leans his head back, allowing it to rest in the palm of your hand. “You are too. So adorable” he yawns, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. A blink and you miss it moment of silence passes before he speaks again.

“Did I do okay, today?” he asks, his tone more serious now, “I don’t want to…I can’t let everyone down.” “God, no. You were amazing. Look at me” you demand, cradling the sides of his face to keep his anxious gaze from drifting. “You. Were. Amazing” you repeat, “Your fans are so proud of you and your members they love you. And that little bunny down there, she loves you.”

Hongjoong looks at Oli who’s fallen fast asleep against his chest, her hand still in his. “We both love you and you fucking killed it. If anyone says any different I’ll kick their ass” you promise and you mean it. “What’d I ever do to deserve you two?” he asks, kissing your inner wrists. You lean in close to him, your lips hovering just above his, “Exist. That’s all you ever have to do, you know?”

Your lips part to meet his and he welcomes them, sipping down feelings there are no words for and pouring the same into you. “I love you” he whispers and you smile. “I love you too.” Easing the book from between them with mom-like precision, you throw a pillow on the floor and take a seat by Hongjoong’s feet. You open the book and begin to read, not to Oli but to him.

Finally relaxing into the chair, he strokes your hair and listens to the sweet sound of your voice. He balances Oli on his lap, his delicate little gem who treats him like the sun rises and sets in his eyes. He’d long ago sworn that he didn’t think he’d ever have everything. What a frighteningly beautiful realization it is that he finally does.

[hazelfoureyes]

Hi there! I hope you’re doing well!

I was hoping to send a request. Do with it what you will…but I had the scenario in my head of reader going on dates and always wearing a lot of makeup. (Nothing against makeup)

Anyway, she and Alastor are friends, although Alastor always thinks the people reader dates are not worthy of her. After this particular date that was maybe a 2nd or 3rd date, she comes home in tears. While he’s comforting her he begins to tenderly wash her face. Eventually wiping off all the makeup and he simply says “There you are.”

I love the idea of Alastor believing that a woman doesn’t need makeup to be beautiful.

Thank you! ❤️❤️

I only began wearing make up like, last month, so I’m purely using info from watching the Welsh twins. personally I like to think Alastor would respect a person taking the effort to express themselves with make up, and also appreciate people who can feel no pressure to do so. There’s something very attractive about people who do things purely for their own enjoyment. Assuming it’s not like—- watching porn in the bus or killing snakes or stuff like that. Anyway what was I supposed to be doing aga-

Alastor x GN! Reader

「warnings/promises: not an ounce of smut, he may love you in any sense of the word, but he does love you dearly, Alastor knows how to remove make up because he likes to sneak up and scare Charlie when she’s getting ready for bed and has had many a product thrown at this head」

It was normally the mornings when he’d see you after your dates, and you’d spill the tea about the good and the bad. It was fun for him, drama was always best enjoyed from a distance.

There was no distance great enough that could make him miss you as you slunk into the hotel quietly, head down and turned away purposefully. Your arms were straight to your sides and balled into fists, back stiff as a board as you power walked through the lobby. How unlike you in every way.

He waited a beat until he was confident you’d made it to your room before following.

You considered not letting him in, but you knew he would come in if he really wanted to. Why pretend?

There was no point either in hiding your makeup streaked face. He clearly knew something was wrong, why else would he have come to your room.

“It went badly?” He asked somewhat rhetorically, closing the door behind him softly. “You know, I could always eat them. Avoid awkward run-ins downtown.”

A laugh, half hearted and more a glorified exhale than anything else.

Alastor came to your bed and offered you both hands. Setting yours in his, he guided you to the bathroom. Odd, a room you’d definitely not shared before, but you didn’t question it.

There was something deeply soothing about the way he moved around you as he led you around your own space. After lifting you onto the counter, he leaned past you to fiddle with something.

You smiled genuinely as you watched him rub your make up removing cleanser between his large hands. His palms were warm on your cheeks, tears both fresh and dried were mixed with the layers of setting spray, powder, cream, and lotion. Closing your eyes was the natural thing to do, but you couldn’t have kept them open if you had wanted to. Your brain was going fuzzy, clashing with the nauseous pain in your gut.

“As much as I adore the way you jazz up your temple, I’m quite fond of your natural features.” His voice seemed so close to you in the darkness. A hummed response was all you could muster.

The sound of running water, a few cabinets opening and closing, and then the soothing warmth of a hot and sopping face towel sliding down your cheeks.

“Another dud.” Alastor announced, the word ‘dud’ popped with an annoyed static. Even with your eyes shut, they stung with newly summoned tears. “The pain of realizing someone is not for you on a third date is much more tolerable than on the third year.” His large thumbs wiped away errant tears and liquified eyeshadow.

“Not to discount your pain!” You heard the facial cleanser lathering between his palms before he began to cover your face in gentle soap. “Just, well, I’d hate to see you cry too long over nothing and no one.”

A nod from you.

His careful fingers rubbed the suds into your skin gently, sharp nails barely grazing you. “I still don’t see how my idea was discounted so quickly!”

He could see your eyes roll behind your eyelids as you ground out, “Alastor I can’t make people be interviewed by an overlord to take me out.”

“I prefer the word interrogate.”

“I don’t!”

He tsk’d, wiping the soap away with wet hands and a damp cloth. “You sure are making your dating life all about you.” His hands left you and as your cheeks began to cool you opened your eyes.

Alastor was beaming down at you. You stayed still and let his finger follow the length of your nose that you cleverly reshaped with your skills,

his palms ran over the redness of your cheeks you calmed and covered before every outing,

his claws brushed over freckles reassuringly,

his eyes settled on your two tone lips,

and he purred happily at the sight,

“There you are.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[sunflowerwinds]

kiss it better [h.c]

summary: after receiving one too many hits in the fight club, hazel tends to your cuts. you test to see if kissing a cut really makes it heal faster.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: mature language, slight violence and blood, hazel being a little cocky flirt, making out, extremely light choking if you squint, reader is smitten.

word count: 1.5K

a/n: based on this request, i wrote a little oneshot for you guys. i’m obsessed with this. also thank you guys for over 100 followers and for all the support and kind words. i hope you all enjoy <3

When you heard about this women empowering fight club, you didn’t expect to actually get beat up. Hazel had approached you in the hallway randomly asking if you wanted to join. Having the most insanely massive crush on Hazel, you agreed like a pathetic idiot. You thought it was going to be practicing on some dummies or punching bags. Not actually throwing punches, kicking and wrestling your friends and peers.

It was the third day and you and Sylvie were in the circle. You had already fought against Isabel and PJ and that had gotten some pretty good punches to your stomach and jaw. You were nervous beyond belief as Sylvie scared you in some ways but all the girls were encouraging the both of you to just take a swing. You shake your hands out and crack your neck as you prepare for anything.

If it was Hazel, at least you could have her hands on you. Sure, it might be a slap or punch but it’ll be from her and not Sylvie.

“C’mon guys. Someone has to punch first,” you heard PJ shout.

Sucking in a long breath and clenching your fist, not wanting to stretch out the tension for much longer. You swung at Sylvies cheek. The contact burned throughout your knuckles all the way to your elbow, muttering curses to yourself. Sylvie held her cheek where you punched, everyone gasping at the sudden blow.

You freeze, waiting for some sort of rebuttal. Sylvie then quickly bops her fist three times to your bottom lip and then the apple of your left cheek. You jerk back at the punches that were thrown. The entire group cheers with a mixture of ‘oohs’ at you tripping over your own shoe-laces, falling to the ground.

You scrunch up your face to in some way ease the pain that was flooding from cheek to cheek. You feel someone kneel down next to you and you look up to see Hazel checking on you.

You raise a hand to feel over your bottom lip to see the deep crimson dripping down the length of your features. Suddenly, everyone was clamoring around your laid out body.

“Shit, are you okay?” Hazel was the first to ask.

You nod and glance at the way she was merely inches from your face. You tense up and sit up slowly, everyone backing up from you except for Hazel.

“God, Sylvie, it was light punching today.” PJ sighed, rubbing at her temple. “You almost knocked her fucking teeth out.”

“Shit, I-I’m sorry. Light punching,” she slowly nodded, glancing over at you. “Got it.”

“I’m alright, guys. Don’t worry about it,” you nod but as soon as you stand up on your feet, your head begins to throb.

Hazel seemed to notice your discomfort and placed a hand on your clothed shoulder.

“I’ll take her to the restroom to, uh, get cleaned up. Someone else go.” Hazel motioned towards the group with her black spiral notebook before jerking her head towards the bathroom.

PJ and Josie seemed to glance at each other knowingly before shouting for someone else to fight against Sylvie. You followed Hazel to the girls locker room in the gym, rolling your bloody lip into your mouth. The metallic taste made you wince.

For a moment, you felt Hazel’s palm on your lower back as she led you to the sink. She grabbed a small hand towel and ran it under the tap. You could hear the echoing of everyone’s shoes squeaking and bodies hitting the ground.

“Hazel, you don’t have to do this. I can clean up this on my own,” you protest but in reality, you knew the second she put her hands on your face, you would flush an embarrassingly deep red.

“I know but I don’t know, you had already taken some blows from fucking Brittany and Josie so I wanted to help.” Hazel confessed, lifting her head up from the running water. “To make sure you’re okay.”

She cares about me? You didn’t even think that Hazel saw you as a friend, let alone someone she cared about. You had only spoken very few words outside of the club in the one shared class.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I just got thrown off guard. Sylvie wasn’t joking with those punches.” You force out a nervous chuckle, fiddling with your bitten nails.

“Still, I wanna help you.” She emphasized, clutching onto the damp towel to ring a majority of the water out. “Can you sit on that bench, please?”

You looked down to attempt to hide your blush. You push your body off the wall to walk over to the red bench, sitting down as you were told. You were thanking all the Gods above that Hazel could not see you shamelessly checking her out from behind. How was her even back profile hot?

You hear her turn off the tap, removing your stare from her beck side and glancing down at your shoes. You feel her hand grab the underside of your jaw, her thumb accidentally pressing into the bruise that was forming from Josie’s swing. You wince and she whispers a soft ‘sorry’, readjusting her hold.

She began to dab the towel onto your puffy and bleeding lip, her face centimeters from yours now. Your eyes stared at the furrow in between her brows as she focused on not pressing too harshly onto the open wound.

“Are you, like, my nurse now?” You break the silence, your words forming a lisp as she was pressing onto your lip.

Hazel cracked a small grin, eyes locking with yours. She shrugged her shoulders, sucking in a deep breath.

“I do have experience of tending to wounds when I would get my ass kicked when I sparred,” Hazel released your face, the now bloodied-towel in her other hand.

“Ah, okay, gotcha,” you nod, reaching a hand up to touch your lip but Hazel was quick to snatch your wrist.

“Don’t touch it. You haven’t washed your hands.” Hazel lightly chuckled.

You blushed, embarrassment flooding through your veins.

“You can’t risk that pretty lip of yours to get even more fucked up with an infection,” Hazel continued to dab at the area for a couple more seconds.

Your eyes widened at what she had just said, trying to keep your cool. Your hand gripped onto the bench, your knuckles turning white. She just said it so nonchalantly. It caught you off guard.

“You think my lips are pretty?” You whisper, your eyes flickering from each of her pretty eyes.

Hazel set the towel on the bench, looking at you with a small smile.

“Yeah,” she nodded as she sat down next to you now, your shoulders brushing. “I think everything about you is pretty.”

Your hands are twiddling with each other as you take in the compliment. You hadn’t said anything yet as you didn’t know what to say to her. Compliments didn’t come your way as often as you desired so when that rare occasion came around, it made you awkward beyond belief.

Hazel whispers your name to get your attention and you lift your head up, turning your neck to face her. In the blink of an eye, her hands are cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a delicate kiss. You gasp but move your lips against hers, a hand holding at her elbow.

You pulled back to whisper, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to touch my cut.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Hazel hummed, her thumb brushing against your cheek the forming bruise from where Sylvie had punched you.

“No,” you press your lips back onto yours, eager and inhaling at the feeling of her hand cupping your neck.

You let out the faintest of sounds as she squeezed lightly. Your hands caress at her arms as she continues to just rest her hand at your navel. The soft sounds of your panting and your lips connecting and disconnecting every once in a while was all your thoughts were filled with. Hazel smiles onto your lips before slipping her tongue past your bottom lip, a slightly metallic undertone from your cut lip.

“Wow,” you jumped away from Hazel’s lips at the sound of PJ’s voice.

Embarrassment floods through your system as the entire group was standing there in the locker room, a variation of reactions on everyone’s faces. Hazel wipes at her own lips, seeing a hint of red on her fingertips. She smiled to herself and looked up at everyone else.

“If you guys wanted to tongue fuck each other, you should’ve told us,” Josie stated with a grimace.

You groaned and rested your head on Hazel’s shoulder. “Alright, leave. We’ll be there in a second,” you tell everyone who scurried out of the locker room.

“Did you wanna… make-out some more or?” Hazel offered with a cheeky grin.

You chuckle and place a kiss on her cheek. “Take me out on a date and then we can.”

“We can do that.” Hazel nodded, her tongue prodding into her cheek.

Maybe you should get beat up more often.

taglist: @matchamilkislover @curiousshifter101 @imjustapearl @seethesin <33

[foxintheferns]

I'd love to see Jacob with a single mama. I'd love it if he imprinted on her while she's playing with her little one on the beach. She could be Charlie's niece who he helped move to Forks to give her a fresh start with the little one. I'm thinkin the kiddo is about 1-2, old enough to walk/play in the sand but still young. I can see Jacob being the best papa ever and the pack just LOVING on the kid <3 Please and thank you! <3

Thank you so much for your patience with this one! Because I made you wait so long, I made it a long one <3. Loved writing such sweet lil fluffy stuff. Please enjoy :)

A/N: AU where Jacob and Bella aren’t toxic & weirdly obsessed with each other, and he has his own life and experiences outside of her! Period.

HOME

You sat on the sand with Lydia between your legs, her wispy, silky auburn hair blowing between your fingers with each soft gust of the salty breeze. You faced the ocean, La Push beach surrounding you in all of its striking glory.

Lydia babbled as she played with the sand, her back to you and her arms and legs quite literally covered in the granules. It would be her second birthday in two months, and you couldn’t understand where the time had gone. She grew so quickly, her chunky little arms and legs getting longer by the day, and you wished desperately that you could pause time.

Your ex boyfriend Noah, Lydia’s father, hadn’t wanted much to do with the raising of his child.

You looked down at the side of her sweet face, the buttery soft skin of her cheek glowing with the orange light of the afternoon. It was despicable that anyone could not want to love this tiny human, you thought, that anyone would even consider leaving her by choice. But that was exactly what Noah had done. His booze and his gambling was far too important to him to bother with the raising of a small child.

It made you angry; you felt a relentless and almost violently intense need to protect her. From everything ugly and awful and false in this world, even if that meant her own father. He had never treated you right, always gone for nights at a time doing who knows what with God knows who. The pregnancy had been an accident, but his reaction was not what you’d expected. He’d seemed to be on-board at first, but was never there for you during your difficult pregnancy. You thought back to how your muscles had ached as you were on all fours scrubbing the bathroom floor that one Saturday night, seven months pregnant and inconceivably exhausted. He had come home after being gone for two days, reeking of liquor and barely having time to slur out his angry question of what you were planning on making for dinner before he’d passed out on the living room couch.

You had been expecting Lydia’s birth to snap him back to reality, to throw things into perspective for him. But the man you had practically grown up with, together since 18, had missed her birth.

“Got caught up at work,” had been his excuse when he showed up at the hospital the next morning. Even the labor and delivery nurse had thrown him a glare.

When Lydia was 3 months old, you were forced to go part-time at the job you’d loved, the one that could actually lead somewhere. Without Noah’s help, childcare was next to impossible. Your neighbor, Jess, a stay at home mom of three, was kind enough to babysit Lydia with her own children for a few days out of the week, but you felt awful not being able to pay her much, if anything, most weeks.

After over a year of trying, of desperately hoping and yearning for the man you had once loved to be a father to your sweet girl, you’d finally thrown in the towel. Noah had made it clear that he had no interest in being a dad, and in one of his more blacked-out stupors, had even remarked that if the two of you hadn’t gotten pregnant, things would’ve been easier. Better.

Noah had been gone 11 days, his longest absence yet.

You’d packed your minimal belongings, gathering Lydia’s too and putting them into her tiny suitcase with strawberries on it.

Your mom had passed when you were 16, and your dad was very much like Noah. Oh, how patterns repeat themselves. You didn’t have much of a support system to fall back on when shit hit the fan.

The one person you knew would answer if you called was your Mom’s brother, Charlie.

“(Y/N)?,” his gruff, tired voice had come through the phone that early Tuesday morning. You knew it was probably only 4am in Forks, where he was, but he’d still answered the phone.

“Uncle Charlie…,” you’d whimpered shakily, “I-….”

You didn’t even know where to begin. Uncle Charlie had always been so good to you, checking in and asking how Lydia was frequently. He’d been one of the few people you’d called to share the exciting news of your pregnancy with, and had been ecstatic, urging that you come visit him and your cousin Bella as soon as you could.

“What’s goin’ on? You okay?”, His voice had become suddenly alarmed, and you’d heard the shuffling in the background of him getting up and out of his bed.

Leaving with Lydia was something you’d been wanting to do for a while, but you didn’t think you could actually follow through with it. Saying it out loud felt impossible.

“I need your help,” you’d whispered, your voice low and on the verge of breaking.

That was two weeks ago now.

You sat on the soft sand with Lydia, her tiny fingers gripping your leg for support as she pulled herself up, and you thought back to the fear you’d felt that day. Charlie had immediately paid for a plane ticket for you and Lydia to fly up to Port Angeles. He didn’t waste a moment in inviting you to come stay with him. He’d been clearly enraged, barely hiding his distaste for Noah’s behaviors once you’d let the floodgates open and told him everything you’d been hiding for months.

“Jesus, (y/n). I thought you guys were doing good…I thought he was different, honey. I’m so sorry, kid,” Charlie had spoken into the phone after the words pouring from your mouth had finally come to a halt once you’d gotten him caught up on the current status of your relationship with your baby’s father. You hadn’t realized it, but you’d been hiding it from practically everyone. Your cousin Bella texted you often, and she knew some of the details of how absent Noah had become, but even she didn’t know the extent of it. You were a single mother, from the moment Lydia was conceived, you’d accepted that. Noah was never a dad to her.

“Mama! San!” Lydia’s tiny voice shrieked out as she grabbed a fistful of sand and threw it in front of her, some of it spraying in the breeze and landing across your chest and arms. She tentatively waited for your reaction. Her eyes scanned your face, her pink cheeks pulled into an ecstatic smile. You laughed, shaking your head, and wiped the rough granules off of your skin as you nodded at her.

“Yes, sand!” You picked up a handful of it, holding it out to show her and letting it spill through your fingers. She shrieked again, excited by your intentional dropping of the sand, and jumped several times, her little legs barely able to lift her half an inch off the ground.

You’d been down at the beach in La Push almost every day now. You’d gotten settled in to the extra bedroom at the Swan’s house, and you couldn’t help but feel like a burden, so you went out with Lydia often. Charlie and Bella had insisted, several times, that they were grateful to have the two of you. That they didn’t feel burdened by your presence. A toddler definitely wasn’t the quietest or most polite house guest, but Lydia was truly the best thing you’d ever done, and you prided yourself that you’d managed to raise such a good tiny human all on your own.

She was kind, and gentle. She loved animals, she loved making new friends. She watched the world around her with curious and eager eyes, anxious to explore and see and feel. She laughed and laughed and laughed; she was the giggliest baby you’d ever seen.

Bella offered to watch her whenever you needed a break, and you hadn’t asked for one yet. She was practically begging to babysit Lydia at this point, which had surprised even her; she wasn’t much of a kid person.

You didn’t want a break. You were soaking up this time with your little one as much as you could. You felt free, for the first time in a long time.

The beach felt like home now, and Lydia seemed to think so too. Every time you walked with her down the dirt path toward the beach, she would screech and try her best to run towards the glistening ocean. You’d been at the beach now for an hour or two, and you reached into your bag to pull out more baby sunscreen for her.

“Lyd, come ‘ere babe.” You reached out, gently pulling her to you, and her eyes landed on the pink bottle of sunscreen. She knew the drill at this point, and gingerly leaned against you as you rubbed the cream across her tiny little shoulders and arms. She giggled and smiled as the cold sunscreen landed on her skin.

“Eeee!” She cried, slapping her small hands against your leg as she pulled her face away in protest to you trying to spread the sunscreen across her cheeks. She still stood in place though, squeezing her eyes shut and pouting as you rubbed it in.

“Thank you, baby. Such a good girl,” you cooed as you snapped the lid of the sunscreen closed and placed a kiss on the tip of her little nose. You continued to pepper her face with smooches until she was a screeching, giggling mess on the sand, her arms and legs flailing every which way. You tickled her, both of you laughing loud enough for the sound to travel over the noise of the rolling waves hitting the beach.

After the tickle attack came to an end, you grabbed some strawberries and blueberries from your bag, pulling open the Tupperware container and holding it out to Lydia. Her eyes lit up (strawberries are her all time fave) and she eagerly grabbed at the berries with both hands. After several minutes of snacking, her mouth and face was stained pink and red, and her fingers were sticky. The sand was still warm, although the breeze was starting to cool off a bit.

“Let’s walk, yeah Lyddi?,” you asked, getting up from your large towel and brushing the sand off of your legs. She bounced around beside the towel, falling a few times onto the soft sand as she lost her balance. You held your hand out and smiled down at her, waiting for her to meet your eyes. She reached out without hesitation, allowing you to envelope her tiny hand in yours, and let you lead her down towards the water.

You walked across the gentle waves, only going far enough so that the incoming swells flowed across your feet and ankles. With each wave hitting the shore, Lydia giggled and gripped your hand firmly, picking her feet up as quickly as she could to run from the water as it approached, only to run back towards it when it receded. You bent down, releasing her hand to skim the ocean water, wetting your fingers to clean the berry juice from her face.

As you were wiping your thumb across the soft skin of her chin, you saw her eyes flicker to something behind you, down the beach. Her gaze was intent and focused, and you glanced over your shoulder to see what managed to catch her constantly fleeting attention. A group of four tall men coming down the beach, kicking a soccer ball amongst their group. Their laughter was just reaching your ears now, and they were coming close enough that you were able to make out their faces.

They were quite large, and all but one of them were shirtless. The image rang a bell: they looked like they could be some of the Quileute boys you’d heard Bella mention were her close friends. You knew the beach was on the local Quileute reservation, but it’d been relatively empty in the days you and Lydia had been spending there, and you’d only seen random tourists walking along the beach occasionally. Bella had complained jokingly to you that these friends of hers were annoyingly always shirtless, impossibly large and tall, and that her boyfriend Edward wasn’t the biggest fan of them.

You smiled when one of them looked down the beach towards you and Lydia, and he seemed to return a polite smile at first, but his face melted into an odd expression when your eyes met. It was an indecipherable look. A look you didn’t understand.

He stopped walking, his body halting while his friends continued to move down the beach ahead of him. For a moment, it almost seemed like he was about to wave or come towards you, as if he recognized you like an old friend. The peculiar expression lingered for a moment before he pulled his eyes away quickly, and you saw his mouth moving as he seemed to speak swiftly to the men around him. His friends stopped walking as well, all turning to face him with bewildered expressions. The eye contact between you had been longer than a typical interaction with a stranger, but you felt oddly unalarmed. You were struck with an odd sensation that felt like you recognized him too.

He was the tallest of the group, his shoulders wide & strong. His frame was long and lean, and he happened to be the only one wearing a shirt, though it was a black cut off tank that didn’t cover much of his chiseled musculature underneath. You brushed the encounter off as random and probably explainable, trying to ignore the odd and unfamiliar sensation that prickled across your entire body like electricity.

You turned back to Lydia, but her curious eyes were still locked on the group behind you, wonder filling her face. A smile crept onto your lips as you watched her blink, her long lashes framing her wide eyes. She was beautiful. She was always so curious, so interested. Strangers made her nervous, like any two year old, though, which is why you were utterly bewildered when she broke away from your grasp and started toddling down the shore towards the group of men. You shot up from your lowered position, chasing after her.

“Lydia!” you called, your feet picking up pace.

It was amazing just how fast a two year old could be when they suddenly decided they had a destination in mind. You caught her under the armpit just as she almost fell across the wet sand in her run, and your knees hit the soft sand as you almost fell yourself. You panted, holding onto her and unable to stifle back a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What the heck! Lyd-,” you started, looking up from where you grasped her. She was frozen, staring up at something.

She’d managed to close the distance between the two of you and the men, quickly enough that the soccer ball they’d been passing around as they came down the beach was only feet away now. You followed her gaze, and saw two large hands come down to swiftly pick up the ball. Your eyes moved up more still, until they landed on the face of the man you’d just locked eyes with moments before.

His gentle brown eyes were wide, his jaw slack and his expression yet again incomprehensible. You still had a smile on your face, and his eyes flicked down to your grin, the corners of his own mouth lifting up slightly. He gestured toward you with the arm that held the soccer ball.

“You’re, uh, Bella’s cousin?” The sound of his voice was rough and deep. Your grin faltered to make way for the suprised expression that came across your face.

“Oh, uh, yeah! Um, you know Bella?” You asked, taking the brief moment to get back up onto your feet and readjust the flowy fabric of your sundress that had gotten ruffled up in the capturing of your tiny escapee. You still held Lydia’s hand, and she stayed unmoving by your side, watching the tall man with the same awed expression. A grin spread across his face, and his eyes maintained the same electric glow they’d had from the moment you’d looked at him.

“Bella’s one of my best friends, yeah. She’s told me a lot about you…and… uh Lydia, right?” He spoke gently, his eyes glancing down at the tiny human to your right. You looked down at her, too, and she smiled timidly up at the man, stepping slightly behind your leg shyly. You beamed back at him, nodding and running your fingers through the soft silky baby hair on the top of Lydia’s head.

“Yeah, this is Lydia,” you replied, ruffling her hair until a soft giggle fell from her lips.

“I’m Jacob Black,” he glanced beyond him briefly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “those are my buddies Quil, Embry, and Jared. You’re (Y/N)?”

You glanced briefly over to the other three men, though they were now immersed in their own mumbled conservation several yards away; one of them was watching you with interest and flashed a warm smile back at you.

You nodded, turning back to Jacob.

“That’s me,” you answered with a shrug and a smile. When you met his gaze again, his eyes were intense, almost pained, his pupils wide. That electric feeling ran through you again. The eye contact between the two of you lingered each and every time it occurred, as if it was an inconvenience to pull away from it for both of you. Jacob knelt down on one knee, tucking the soccer ball under his arm. His eyes only broke away from yours to glance down at Lydia, who was still watching him intently from her place next to your leg.

“Hi, Lydia, it’s nice to meet you,” he murmured gently, “I’m Jacob.”

There was a hesitation, and you were just about to encourage Lydia to say hello to Jacob, but to your surprise she broke away from you once more, ambling across the sand and reaching her arms out towards the soccer ball Jacob held under his arm. In her uncoordinated stumbling over the sand, she started to fall forwards. Before you could even begin to reach to catch her, one of Jacob’s large hands came out in a flash to support her, stopping her mid fall.

“Woah, buddy, careful there!” He exclaimed, a chuckle coming from his chest.

At the sound of his laughter, your baby beamed up at him, her expression suddenly delighted, and after a moment, a giggle erupted from her own little body.

Your eyes widened, shocked as you watched her laugh, Jacob’s large hand still holding her up off the sand. His eyes flickered to you as you broke into surprised laughter as well, and soon the three of you were a giggling mess. Lydia adored making adults laugh. It was the phase she was currently in: to laugh at everything anyone deemed amusing, and it was common that she would even fake laugh to get you to laugh, which would often result in a real fit of hysterics from the both of you

You were astonished that she’d warmed to a stranger so quickly, especially such a large man - a category of human that toddlers tend to decide is terrifying for no reason.

As the afternoon started to bleed into evening, you and Lydia got to know your new friends. Lydia was very opposed to moving away from them, interested in the soccer ball and jumping around in the sand. Jacob continued to stare intently at you every moment that his eyes weren’t required to be on something else, and you didn’t mind it. His energy was warm and gentle, and even his friends seemed to find his behavior entertaining, chuckling and whispering to eachother every time Jacob’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds too long. You couldn’t help but feel the heat rush to your face with his stares. You hadn’t really felt this noticed by someone, a man, in what felt like forever. And he was absolutely noticing you. He was doing more than notice you. He was ogling at you, drinking the sight of you in like fresh air for a suffocating man. His eyes turned gentle and soft whenever they fell upon Lydia, and he spent the time as the two of you spoke truly attending to her and her endless toddler games, showing earnest interest in the shells she had picked up and started to stack on one of his feet.

“Oooh, wow, now that one’s pretty. Definitely my favorite one yet.” He carefully examined the newest purple shell Lydia had found and handed to him for inspection. She smiled and clenched her fists in excitement, eagerly racing to find more shells in the sand to bring to him.

His eyes slowly found their way back to yours as you sat beside one another. You smiled softly, and he returned it, the smile reaching his eyes and crinkling them gently.

There it was again, that electricity.

Six Months Later

It had been a whirlwind, these past six months. Meeting Jacob Black had changed life entirely for you and your daughter. After that night on the beach, you, Charlie and Bella had visited the Blacks’ home a few times, joining them for bonfires and pizza dinners whenever a hockey game was on tv. Bella seemed adamant that you visit Jacob often, even Charlie seemed surprised with how eagerly she encouraged you to join them and hang out with the Quileute boys. You’d met Jacob’s father, who seemed to welcome you into his family without hesitation within moments of meeting you. He had peered at you with an intensely inquisitive expression, something that reminded you of the odd gut feeling you hadn’t been able to shake…that your new acquaintances were far more interesting than they let on. There was just something about them, and it felt like a secret club you were looking in on, one that caused the hushed, private conversations that seemed to happen frequently in their presence. You’d spoken to Bella about your encounter with her friend right after that first night on the beach. As the rest of that week had passed, Bella had begun acting suspiciously around you. Within days of her odd avoidant behavior, she finally sat you down to tell you things that challenged your perception of the world, forever.

Vampires and werewolves.

Insanity, right?

Bella had explained her relationship with Edward, and you hadn’t believed it at first.

Like, at all. Who would?

In fact, you thought she’d been completely off her rocker, crazy.

That was, until she’d claimed that Jacob had something to do with it, too.

“You need to go talk to Jacob,” she’d urged, “only he can explain what you need to know.”

You’d been absolutely confused, unsure what Jacob Black had to do with anything, especially with this absurd tale of vampires.

“I’ll watch Lydia. Go,” she’d insisted, practically pushing you out the front door. You were insanely curious; you’d never had any reason to question Bella’s mental competence before, and with her frantic efforts to get you to talk to Jacob, you had to know what this was all about. You still of course doubted the absurd story, but wanted to get to the root of the craziness, naturally.

When you’d arrived at the Black’s house, it seemed Jacob was expecting you, and he’d grabbed your hand gently, pulling you towards his little makeshift garage in the back.

You’d spent hours with him that night. Jacob had tried, while his eyes watered and his voice shook nervously, to explain the wildly unbelievable, and yet somehow completely sensical and validating reality of his ancestral destiny.

“I know, (y/n). Please, believe me, I know this sounds crazy,” he’d said as he anxiously paced across the garage, his eyes flashing to your face for your reaction.

You’d shaken your head, trying to connect the dots in your mind. It matched up with the absurd story Bella had told you, only this time he was speaking of wolves, wolves with the instinctual duty to protect from the supposed vampires Bella become involved with deeply. Wolves that were not wolves, but men. Men that included Jacob and his friends.

“Come with me,” he’d finally insisted sternly as you’d silently refused to accept the words he spoke, staring at him dumbfoundedly.

He’d led you outside, to the dark treeline, and placed his hands up in front of him before you could protest.

“Listen, I know this is gonna be hard to see, (y/n). I didn’t wanna have to do this but I need you to understand. There’s so much more to this world than you think there is. Please,” he’d begged, pulling you into a tight hug, his eyes wildly urging yours to listen to him, his shaky voice reducing to a whisper against your hair, “I understand if you never, ever want to be a part of this. But you deserve to know.”

You’d shaken your head, bewildered.

“What are you talking about, Jake?”

He stood back and started to pull his pants down, and your eyes widened, your eyebrow cocking up in confusion. A smile flashed across his lips.

“Remember what I just told you. I’d never hurt you, okay?”

Your mind flickered to the story he’d just spent the last hour telling you, but your brain simply wouldn’t allow you to defy logic to consider the possibility that the man was truly actually about to turn into a wolf.

And yet, you stood there with your jaw slacked open and your eyes wide, your body frozen as he stepped back several feet, his body twitching and trembling and twisting oddly before…

A ripping sound rang out, a wildly violent sound that came from deep within his body. The sound echoed against the trees, before it fell hauntingly silent across the dark backyard. Within less than a moment, a massive red brown wolf was standing before you, his huge head only inches away from your face.

Your mind didn’t comprehend the sight, the reality too unreal and too intangible to wrap around and understand. Those same brown eyes you’d come to know and feel safe in stared back at you intently from the massive wolf’s face.

It was the last image you remembered before you’d fallen to the ground, slipping into a shock driven unconsciousness.

When you’d woken, you had been in Jacob’s bed, an ice pack being gently repeatedly pressed to your forehead and neck.

It had been a rude awakening, but one that had forced open your eyes to a world that quickly became home for you, lifting the veil of reality that you’d come know.

Jacob’s next explanation was that of the concept of imprinting. That night, after you’d settled and moved out of your state of shock, started speaking real words again, Jacob expressed why he felt it was necessary to expose you to his world. He’d explained the ancient way of imprinting, what it meant for him, what it meant for you. That first day on the beach, the way he’d look at you, that electricity. It all made sense now.

“It’s you, (y/n). Now that you’re here, I will follow you anywhere. Even if you don’t want to be part of this, I’ll always protect you and Lydia from afar. Always. I can’t imagine a world anymore without you, a life without you. The moment I saw you, I felt it. My heart was yours,” he’d murmured, his arms around you as he rubbed your back to calm your tremors that had come across your body as you tried desperately to adjust to your entirely new concept of existence.

That felt so long ago, now. You’d met the Cullens soon after you were welcomed into the world of the supernatural, joining Bella in her secretive lifestyle of hiding the direct truth from Charlie, only letting him in on what he absolutely needed to know. Charlie was over the moon that you and Jacob got together; he pissed Bella off with how openly he approved of your relationship with Jacob over hers with Edward. Jacob didn’t feel right having you live in a spare bedroom at the Swan house, and had practically demanded you move into a home on the reservation with him. He’d jokingly insisted that it wasn’t his fault, that the imprint had forced him to need you in his sight at all times. You didn’t resist, elated to finally feel welcome in a home with your Lydia. And it wasn’t hard - Jacob made that incredibly simple. He so openly loved Lydia nearly as much as he loved you. Sometimes, you wondered how deeply the imprinting had impacted him. He accepted it and took it on with respect. He never pressured you to be anything but there, in his life. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest or even really notice how slowly you were allowing him into your heart. The relationship you had with Jacob had begun as a deep and true friendship, but the imprint connection was impossible to ignore, and there was undeniable attraction you felt for him, even beyond his beautifully kind heart and spirit. You held hands constantly, even before you’d established any sort of romantic connection. The first night Jacob had kissed you, you’d expressed your hesitation at pulling him into your life. You’d gotten used to men not wanting much to do with a single mom, after Noah had made it clear that you and Lydia were essentially a burden in his life. You were scared, not only for your own heart, but for Lydia’s. You couldn’t bear to bring another man into her life only for him to reject her like her father had. But Jacob? He’d adamantly refused to let your anxieties overcome you. He loved you, he’d insisted. All of you. Lydia was part of you. So, he loved her. It was that simple to him. He was often just as anxious when Lydia was out of his sight as when you were.

You remember the first time Lydia had called Jake ‘Dada’, several months after you’d been exposed to this world of fantasy. Lydia had gotten so comfortable with him, more comfortable than she’d been with any person, besides you, before. She babbled with excitement every time she heard you or Charlie or Bella mention him, and begged to see him frequently. Once you’d moved into the small red house with Jacob, she’d jump and squeal every time his truck pulled into the driveway at the end of the day.

That day she first said the word, you’d nervously glanced at his face, searching for his response.

She’d been holding his hand, walking along the shore at La Push. It was winter by this point, but Lydia needed her regular beach walk, and was bundled in her tiny red puffer jacket and white hat. She’d stooped down to pick up a shell, gripping it in her small fist, and jerked her hand out to him, dropping the shell into his hand.

“Dada!” She’d squealed as she waited for his approval of the shell.

His eyes had lit up and an expression of utter shock, which had quickly shifted into ecstatic bliss, moved across his features. His eyes had flashed to yours, and he clearly struggled, with everything in him, to hold back a massive grin. He was unsure of your reaction. Your eyes had melted back at him, and you were completely unable to resist the smile that crossed your lips. His dark eyes had turned glossy, and he’d looked back down at Lydia’s impatiently waiting face as she’d stared up at him, grasping the shell and embracing her in a massive bear hug. She’d laughed and shrieked, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

At Lydia’s 2nd birthday party, the whole pack had celebrated with you and Jacob at Billy’s house. The rest of the boys had happily taken on the role of proud uncles, practically fighting over who could hold her whenever you brought her over.

Life was peaceful, and you’d taken on a job at the La Push Farmer’s market. Childcare was a breeze now: on any given day while you were at work, either Sue & Charlie or Emily would eagerly babysit Lydia if Jacob was out on patrol or working his shift as a mechanic at the local bike shop. Lydia now had a family that was larger and more loving than you could have ever dreamed for her.

And you couldn’t ignore the fateful gift that you’d received too. Jacob Black was yours, and you were his. And you knew that, without a single doubt, he’d protect you and your daughter with relentless fervor for the rest of your lives.

You were safe. You were loved.

You were home.