#the words fired and let you go were not used | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stylesispunk · 2 days ago

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"Blind faith" part vii

priest!Joel Miller x dancer!reader

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summary: Joel and you are heartbroken because of each other. You crave his touch and he craves yours. w.c: 6,7k warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40 and reader late 30s), angst, violence, a broken finger, mentions of death, manipulation, mentions of politics, mentions of exile. Reader is latina and english is not my first language and i'm stupid. a/n: I know I said I wouldn't make Joel suffer anymore because i'm still grieving and crying for him. But this story has angst and i'm sorry. Everything will be better soon. Thank you for all your love and I hope you enjoy it somehow.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"Yes, and two cups of coffee, please"

His voice this close to your ears felt like a punch to your gut. It disgusted you, the thought of being this close to him, to smell the reeking scent of his cologne, it made you want to vomit.

the waitress wrote down the order while asking directly at you, "something else?"

Gabriel lifted his gaze, locking eyes with you, “waffles? Do you love them”

"I don't want anything, thank you." you replied, in a monotonous voice, fidgeting with your fingers under the table. Your hands were still stained with Joel’s blood and your heart constricted.

“Bring them anyway” he said to the waitress. You could hear the sound of the pen writing down the order in the paper, but really nothing mattered to you right now.

You sat in a booth by the window, pale morning light spilling over the table, highlighting the dried, still darkening stains on your hands. No matter how many times you’d scrubbed them raw in that cracked porcelain sink, it clung to you, under your nails, in the creases of your skin.

Gabriel sat across from you, posture too casual for what he'd done, for what you’d both lived through. His jacket hung from the back of the seat, his sleeves rolled up, his hands pristine.

"Stop with that face and that fucking attitude. The priest didn’t die.” He said, “Besides, you made me look like a monster."

You finally raised your eyes to him, a dull, dead stare. “You are.”

His jaw clenched. “No. I’m not.”

“What you do makes you one.”

“I risked my own life for—”

“How many people have you killed, Gabriel?” your voice cut through the air like glass. “How many have you tortured these last months? How many more because someone told you to? Because you wore that damn soldier uniform and it let you believe you were untouchable?”

He opened his mouth, a retort rising in his throat. “You’re a—”

“Am I what?” you interrupted, pushing him to his own limits, your voice breaking, raw and unsteady. “A fucking burden? A communist? What am I to you, Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw flexing, words hovering unsaid on his tongue like they’d burn him if he spoke them aloud. His gaze darkened, something mean and ugly flickering behind his eyes — and for the first time in months, you weren’t afraid of it. You were too tired, too hollow, too scraped clean of anything but rage and grief. Grieving a life, you couldn’t go back to.

He looked away then, out the window where the pale morning light spilled over empty streets, over a town that wasn’t home to either of you. His hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles pale.

“You were… the only thing that made any of this bearable,” he muttered. “And you ruined it.”

A humorless, bitter laugh clawed out of your throat. “I ruined it? You ruined it. You ruined the moment you lied to me. When you used me. You sold me out to the same people who murdered my friends, who would’ve killed my family, and you’re sitting here, in this fucking café, drinking coffee like any of that can be undone.”

The waitress passed by, hesitating for a second at the tension thickening the air around your table, but neither of you noticed.

“I risked my life to get you out,” Gabriel snapped.

“For what?” you fired back. “So you could drag me back in again? So, you could play savior one day and executioner the next?”

He leaned in, voice low and tight. “I was trying to save you from yourself.”

“No, Gabriel,” you said, finally meeting his eyes again. “You were trying to save your place. Your pride and ease the guilt you must feel every damn night.”

And for a split second — just one — you saw it crack in him. The anger. The guilt. The truth of it all. And you hated that a part of you still recognized the boy you’d once loved in that face.

“I want to kill you.” He spoke.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“I know,” you whispered, voice steady in a way that surprised even you. “And some days, I wish you would’ve done it that day.”

The words hung there between you like smoke, choking, heavy, impossible to take back. His expression faltered, something bleak and tired flashing through his eyes, and for a moment he looked like a man who’d lost every war he’d ever fought, including the one inside himself.

“I wake up every fucking day wanting to forget you,” Gabriel said, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. “But I can’t. You haunt me.”

“Good,” you murmured. “I hope I do.”

Your heart pounding in your ears, stomach twisted into something tight and ugly.

“I moved names for you,” he said, softer now, like it mattered. Like it would made you less frigthened “I bought your family’s freedom. Paid for it with my life, my rank. You’ll never know what that cost me.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” You replied, “You knew what kind of person I was and I am. You were aware of my beliefs and my values.”

Gabriel’s jaw tensed, his hand curling into a fist on the table between the untouched cups of coffee. The silence stretched — thick, suffocating — before he finally spoke again, his voice low, bitter.

“I knew,” he admitted. “I knew you were fire and danger and a thousand things that could ruin me. And I didn’t care. I just… I wanted you. Even if it meant burning for it.”

You shook your head, a broken, hollow laugh catching in your throat. “That’s not love, Gabriel. That’s possession. You wanted me like people want land, or power — to claim, to own. Not to protect.”

He looked at you then, really looked — and for the first time, you saw it: the wreckage of a man he’d become. A soldier stripped of his command, a traitor in his own uniform, carrying ghosts in his chest that no war could bury.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I ruined everything.”

A lump formed in your throat, your eyes stinging with tears you refused to let fall. “You didn’t ruin me,” you said quietly. “I’m still here. Despite you. Because of me.”

You pushed your chair back, the legs scraping against the worn floor. “I don’t owe you gratitude, Gabriel. Not for saving what you tried to destroy.”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

For a moment you forget the man in front of you was the same one who lured you into a fairy tale love story. Through lies he had braided himself because he knew you. He knew what you thought, what you did, what you love and what you hate. He knew your name and what you fought for, and as if you were a witch he tried to hunt you.

But he fell in love with you.

You paused, a breath hitching in your chest, before shaking your head without meeting his gaze. "For what? For killing my friends? For sending your soldiers friends to follow me? or do you want me to forgive you because you are the reason I'm exiled from my home?"

“I wanted to kill you,” he admitted, bitter and broken. “Every day since you ran. I told myself I would, when I found you. That I’d put a bullet in your head between those soft eyes of you and I would bury every part of me you ever touched.”

Your throat felt tight, a war raging in your chest between anger and the ache of remembering the boy he used to be, the one who had lured you, before you met the man in the uniform, before the orders, before blood stained both of his hands.

“But I couldn’t,” Gabriel said, quieter now. “Even with the gun in my hand last night when you looked at me like I was a monster. I couldn’t fucking do it.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast, heart pounding in your ears.

“You were my ruin,” he breathed. “You still are.”

And for a long, terrible moment, the silence stretched between you like a wire pulled taut.

Gabriel let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the kind of sound scraped raw from a man unraveling. He leaned back in his seat, eyes dark, exhausted, something hollow flickering in them.

“What am I going to do to you now?” he repeated, voice like splintered glass. “I should drag you back. Deliver you like they wanted. Let them finish what I couldn’t.”

Your fingers tightened on the edge of the table, pulse hammering. You forced yourself not to flinch.

“But I won’t,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t even know if it’s mercy or cowardice. Maybe both. Maybe I’m more afraid of what would happen to me if I stop knowing you existed.”

You stared at him then — really stared. At the man you once thought you came close to love. The boy who’d once sworn he’d never become one of them. And yet here he was, uniform or not, lost in a war of his own making.

“I don’t want your mercy,” you told him, voice low but unyielding, like a cut that didn’t bleed right away but hurt all the same. “And I don’t want your guilt. I don’t need your ghosts following me around to feel the weight of what’s already been taken.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, the flicker of something — grief, fury, longing, maybe all of it tangled together — crossing his face before he looked down at the table, fingers curling into fists.

“You were my ruin,” he murmured again, as though the words themselves might explain away the things he’d done. “I wake up every day wanting to hate you, and I can’t. I wanted to kill you… I still want to. But more than that, I want to disappear inside you. And that’s the worst thing, isn’t it?”

Your throat tightened. The room felt smaller, the air thick with everything unsaid, everything shattered between you.

“Then disappear, Gabriel,” you said, looking away, the rays of sunshine filtering through the window felt like the hand you should take to in order to escape. “But do it far from me.”

“And letting you to go back to that priest that easily?” he asked, making you freeze.

The words hit you like a stone to the chest, sharp, sudden, heavy. You froze, hand still on the edge of the table, the brittle morning light spilling in around you. Your heart twisted at the mention of Joel; at the blood you’d scrubbed from your hands but still felt beneath your nails.

Slowly, you turned, meeting Gabriel’s gaze. His face was a ruin of its own now, anger and bitterness, some frayed thread of old love barely hanging on.

“He has nothing to do with this.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, cracking at the edges. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Gabriel huffed a humorless breath, leaning back like he needed the distance or he might reach for you. “Isn’t it?” he asked. “It seems to me like he is the one thing you don’t want me to touch now, but he still betrayed you.”

Gabriel stared at you, and for the first time, he looked tired. So fucking tired. “Did you seduce him with lap dances? I mean, the priest?”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails biting into skin as you fought the heat behind your eyes.

“I don’t have to dance for someone to care about me, Gabriel,” you said, your voice low, steady despite the crack threading through it. “Not everyone sees me as a fucking possession or a fucking prize.”

His jaw clenched, something flickering behind those dark, exhausted eyes. The veneer of anger, of bitterness, peeled back for the barest second, and you saw it — the grief beneath it. The part of him that would rather destroy you than admit he never stopped loving you.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Gabriel said, his voice rough, unraveling at the seams. “You think he’s any different? You think he won’t leave you to rot the moment it stops being forbidden, the moment you become a liability?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “At least I was honest about who I was.”

You shook your head, the ache in your chest too deep, too familiar. “You were a lying coward,” you whispered.

For a moment, the world felt painfully, terribly still. The cold air from the open door brushed against your skin like a warning, like a promise you hadn’t made yet.

Gabriel swallowed, his throat working around words he didn’t say. And then, finally, he managed “I should kill you.”

The words should’ve made you flinch. But they didn’t.

You held his gaze, your chin high. “Then why don’t you?”

The room hung on the knife’s edge of that question. Gabriel’s stare didn’t waver, his voice a low, brutal rasp. “Because you’re already dead.”

The words didn’t land at first. Not fully. But then he added, with a cruel, quiet finality,

“Your family. They killed them.”

The air left your lungs in a single, sharp gasp, the room tilting, blurring at the edges. You staggered back a step, your fingers tightening around each other like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You searched his face, desperate for a flicker of a lie, for some crack in the story — but there was nothing. Just Gabriel, emptied out, a graveyard of a man delivering another death sentence.

And he wasn’t done.

“So, you’re lonely in a foreign country,” he went on, the words like daggers dressed in velvet, “with a forbidden lover who traded you the first chance he got. It seems to me like you’re already fucking dead, mi amor.”

He smiled then, if it could be called that. A grim, bitter thing.

“You have nothing left.”

The silence that followed was a kind of violence all its own. You couldn’t feel your hands anymore. Couldn’t hear anything past the roar in your ears.

But you wouldn’t let him see you break. Not here. Not now.

You straightened, the ache in your chest molten, teeth clenched so tight your jaw ached.

“Then bury me, Gabriel,” you said softly, venom threaded through the tremor in your voice. It was breaking but you still keep going, “but you’re too much of a coward to do it yourself.”

“But you don’t get to touch Joel,” you said, and your voice was steady now. Dangerous in its quiet. “He had nothing to do with this. With you. With the rot in your heart, you keep trying to pin on everyone else.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking there. For a moment, you almost thought he’d strike you. Or scream. Or crumble.

But instead, he laughed. A soft, empty sound.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mi amor,” he murmured, though his voice cracked on it. “The moment he touched you, the moment you looked at him like with love in your eyes, he made himself a part of this.”

You shook your head, “You’re still so desperate to make this about you,” you said desperate “What else do you want from me?” you sobbed.

His hand twitched against the table, a flicker of something — violence or grief, you couldn’t tell.

But you didn’t wait for the next venom-laced word.

“I swear to whatever gods are left, Gabriel,” you whispered as you point your finger towards him, “if you lay a single fucking finger on him—”

but you didn’t get to finish before a crack made your vision white out for a split second.

A strangled cry ripped from your throat as pain shot up your arm, blinding and immediate. Gabriel didn’t even flinch, his grip iron around your now broken finger, his face a mask of something monstrous and unrecognizable now.

“You don’t get to threaten me,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your face, voice low and trembling with barely leashed fury. “Not after everything I did for you. Not when you made me like this.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not for him. Not for this.

“You were always like this,” you spat through the pain, your words shaking but vicious.

For a moment, something in his expression faltered, that flicker of the boy you once knew, the one who’d whispered promises against your skin in another life, in another world. But it was gone before you could name it.

He let your hand drop, your broken finger throbbing as it hung uselessly at your side. “Run, mi amor,” Gabriel murmured, almost gentle now, and it made your skin crawl. “You can run if you want but I know where you are.”

Joel's eyes fluttered open, but the world around him felt too bright, too harsh. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing — sterile white walls, the faint beep of machines in the background, the scent of antiseptic heavy in the air.

For a moment, he just lay there, his mind tangled in confusion. Where was he? What had happened?

The dull ache in his head pulsed like a reminder, a warning. He shifted his body, but the pain stopped him, sharp and insistent. He groaned, wincing at the movement, his eyes darting around in a frantic search for something, anything that could give him clarity.

The beeping intensified, and a nurse came into view, her face kind but impersonal. She smiled at him. "You're awake," she said softly, though there was something about her voice that seemed distant.

"Where am I?" Joel's voice was hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in days.

"You're in a hospital," the nurse replied, checking his IV. "You’ve been unconscious for a while, but you’re stable now."

He swallowed, trying to process her words. "What happened? Why… how am I here?"

She hesitated for a second, her eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“You were shot in the leg.” Carmen said, stepping inside the room. Her face seemed tired, full of anger, but also sadness covering her features. "You lost blood and ended up passing out. Billy and Mr. Langdon brought you here."

Joel's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Carmen's voice. His eyes flickered to her, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. His thoughts were still a jumble, but her presence brought a mix of relief and dread all at once.

"Billy and Mr. Langdon?" He repeated her words, confusion furrowing his brow. It was like his memory had been wiped clean, leaving him only with fragments of names and faces that didn’t fit together.

Carmen nodded; her face tight. "We were with you at the church."

He looked at her, his gaze searching, but her expression was guarded. She seemed distant, like there was something she wasn't saying. He wanted to ask more, about what happened, about her, about everything, but his mouth felt dry, and the weight of her gaze made his chest tighten.

"What about her?" His voice cracked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. He hated how weak it sounded.

Carmen’s eyes flickered to the side, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don’t know where she is, father.”

The words hit him like a slap.

"What do you mean?" His pulse quickened, panic rising in his throat. "How many days…?"

Carmen shook her head slowly, her eyes avoiding his. "Five.” She breathed, “No one does where she is. There’s no sign of her. No trace.”

Joel felt his heart drop, his breath becoming shallow, like someone had knocked the wind out of him. Five days? It felt like the world was spinning out of control, slipping through his fingers. You’d been gone for five days, and he’d been lying here, helpless, trapped in his own body while you wherever you were—were out there out of his reach.

His chest tightened, the hospital room feeling smaller, suffocating. He wanted to push the covers off, to stand up, to search for you, but his leg, wrapped in bandages, screamed in protest.

"Where did he take her, Carmen? Where is she?” His voice broke, desperate, raw. His mind raced with images of her—her face, her eyes, the way she looked at him before everything had fallen apart. She couldn’t be gone, not like this.

Carmen’s gaze softened for a brief moment before she looked away, taking a step back. "I don’t know, father," she repeated, her voice quieter now, holding a weight of its own. "We’ve looked everywhere, but there's nothing. Just... nothing."

He could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears, the pulse of panic growing louder with each passing second. "I need to find her," he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Carmen was already shaking her head.

"You’re in no condition to do anything right now." Her tone was sharp, "You can barely stand. You need to rest. Let us help."

"Help?" His eyes blazed with frustration, though the pain from his leg and body was a constant reminder of his own weakness. "I was helping. I—I failed her. I need to fix this, oh my—Carmen. I have to find her."

His hands gripped the sheets tightly, and his gaze darted around the room, as if the walls themselves might give him an answer. There had to be something he could do. He couldn’t just lay here.

Carmen sighed, a long, deep exhale that carried the weight of everything she’d been holding in. She moved closer to him.

“How did Gabriel find her?” she asked, sternly.

“Do you know about him?”

She nodded, “I do, but that’s not what I asked. I asked how?”

Joel’s throat worked around the knot forming there, his pulse a jagged, uneven thing beneath his skin. He looked up at Carmen, her face hard but her eyes carrying something heavier than anger — fear.

“I—I. He came to me t one night, to my office at the church telling me he was looking out for his fiancé who ran from the wedding,” he rasped, though the words felt like a lie the second they left his mouth. His hands trembled as he dragged them through his hair. “I thought “poor guy” you know?”, for a moment he stopped, ashamed of himself,” Then he showed me the picture of the woman and it was her. I just felt so—"

Carmen didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him like she could peel his words open and find the truth inside but that was enough for Joel to stop talking.

“I never knew he was a bad guy.” Joel said, his voice cracking, breaking open in a way he hated. “I was trying to help him.”

“By trading her as she was a fucking object?” Carmen asked quietly but mad enough.

Joel’s stomach twisted. A horrible, creeping thought clawed at the edges of his mind.

“Shit,” he whispered, his heart sinking.

Carmen’s eyes sharpened. “You better pray to whatever God you’ve still got left, Joel,” she said coldly. “Because if she’s dead because of you… I’ll finish what that bullet started.”

And for the first time since waking, Joel didn’t try to argue. He just closed his eyes, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and whispered your name like a prayer.

“What do you know about this?” He asked. Heart breaking at the thought of you being in danger.

Carmen’s shoulders dropped, the weight of it pressing down on her, like she’d been waiting for this moment, for him to finally ask.

She pulled the chair closer, sitting down beside his bed. Her fingers tapped against her thigh, jaw tight, eyes distant like she was staring through the walls of that hospital room and into a past neither of them could outrun.

“I wasn’t supposed tell you this,” she said quietly. “But when you care about someone… you pay attention. You hear things you’re not meant to. See things people don’t think you’ll notice.”

Joel opened his eyes, turning his head to her, silent.

“Well, you know the part she is a ballerina dancer.” Carmen went on, voice low and steady, “She was a really good one, but she also was a really well-known activist too.” She went like she was reciting a ghost story she didn’t want to believe. “You know, things got dangerous for people like her or people who got another belief.”

Joel’s stomach twisted, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“Gabriel was a soldier, well he is.” Carmen whispered. “He was ordered to haunt her, to silence her, so he lured her somehow, but when she found out the truth, she escaped the country and she ended up here.”

Joel’s throat felt raw. “Jesus Christ…”

“And you know what’s worse?” Carmen’s voice cracked, anger bleeding through. “He didn’t just leave her with nothing. He told everyone she was dead. She’s been running ever since. Hiding in places like this, with people like us, because there’s nowhere left for her to go.”

Joel felt sick. All those moments, the way you never talked about your past, how you flinched at certain things, how sometimes your eyes went far away like you were seeing ghosts.

And him? He had just trade you over jealousy.

“She didn’t tell me all of it,” Carmen admitted. “But she didn’t have to. I could see it. And then you showed up… and I saw the way she looked at you. Like maybe… maybe you made her forget for a second.”

Joel let out a shaky breath, guilt gnawing at every part of him. “I never meant to—”

“I know,” Carmen cut him off, softer now. “But meaning doesn’t matter. Not to men like Gabriel. And if he’s got her now…”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “He won’t.”

Carmen met his eyes, a flicker of something like fragile hope in hers. “You are sinner but not for the reasons you think, Joel. You allowed your jealousy won and that doesn’t make you better than him.”

Joel winced like she’d struck him clean across the face. Because she wasn’t wrong. God, she wasn’t wrong.

The truth of it settled in his chest like hot lead, heavy and unmovable. He thought of every moment he’d let anger fester, every time he’d imagined you and Gabriel in the same room and let the bile rise in his throat instead of trusting you. How easy it’d been to believe the worst, to let jealousy twist him up until it swallowed everything else.

“I know,” he rasped, voice breaking on the words. “I know, Carmen.”

She looked away, her hand scrubbing tiredly over her face. “Then fix it,” she whispered. “You owe her that much.”

Joel nodded, jaw tight, his leg throbbing like hell but his mind already racing past the pain. Past the blood. Past the hospital walls.

“I’ll find her,” he said, more to himself than to Carmen. “I swear to God, I’ll find her.”

Carmen stood, the weight of grief and fury still clinging to her like a second skin. But there was something else too, the smallest thread of trust, like maybe, despite it all, she believed he could.

“She’s stronger than either of you deserve,” Carmen muttered, heading for the door. “She is better than any of those people in town.”

Joel’s eyes burned, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything.

“I know,” he said quietly, the words barely carrying in the stillness of the room. “I always knew.”

Carmen paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame, her shoulders tight and stiff beneath her jacket. She didn’t turn, but her voice reached him one last time.

“You’ve got one shot at this, Miller,” she said, low and rough. “If you’re gonna bleed for something, make sure it’s for her.

Then she was gone, leaving him with nothing but the steady beeping of the monitors and the unbearable weight of his own regret.

Joel leaned his head back against the pillow, his pulse hammering in his ears. He didn’t have a plan yet. Didn’t know how the hell he was gonna stand on his own leg, let alone go toe to toe with Gabriel. But none of that mattered. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, the way you used to say his name.

He wouldn’t let it end like this. Couldn’t.

It felt like a lifetime, and somehow no time at all. You’d lost count of the hours, of how many times Gabriel’s hand had closed around your wrist, your jaw, your throat — not always in violence, but always in control. He hadn’t let you out of his sight, not even when he slept. Not even when he pretended to.

The motel room was suffocating. Peeling floral wallpaper, a humming air conditioner that barely worked, and one single window you weren’t allowed near. It wasn’t chains that kept you here, it was him — the way his presence filled every inch of the space, leaving no room to breathe.

He barely spoke unless it was to taunt, to remind you of what you lost, or of what he thought you owed him. Sometimes he’d just stare at you in silence, sitting in the chair by the window with a glass of whatever he could steal or buy, his eyes glassy and distant like a man already halfway dead.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t scream. Not after the first night.

Instead, you waited. Counting every blink, every time he closed his eyes, every time his hand went to the bottle, every time his guard dropped a fraction.

Because you knew one thing: no one — not even a monster like Gabriel — could keep this kind of storm at bay forever.

And when he did sleep, it wasn’t peaceful. He murmured things in Spanish, names you didn’t recognize, curses, threats. And sometimes… yours.

The motel TV played old static-flickering movies in the background — westerns, cheap thrillers. You’d started tuning them out. The real horror was in this room.

But no matter how much you tried to steel yourself, to lock away the softer parts of you that Gabriel hadn’t managed to carve out yet — his name still found you in the quietest moments.

Joel.

You told yourself you hated him. That you had to. That after what he’d done, after the way his jealousy had made you a pawn in Gabriel’s hand again, there shouldn’t be a single piece of you left that ached for him.

But in the dim hours before dawn, when Gabriel was passed out in the chair and the flicker of the TV cast restless shadows on the walls, it was Joel’s face you saw.

Not in the way you last saw him, bloodied and broken in the church when it all went to hell. Not in anger, not in betrayal. But in the way he looked the night he let you fall asleep with your head against his shoulder for the first time. The way his calloused hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face like it meant something for the both of you.

Like you meant something important. And perhaps you’d been a fool.

Maybe in his weakness you made him sin and he despise you.

But you’d still clung to that warmth like a drowning thing, holding it close when the world wanted to rip it from your chest.

Even now when you should’ve wished him dead, should’ve cursed his name and vowed to forget him. It was Joel’s voice you heard in your head, rasped and rough. I got you. I swear. I love you.

And God, you didn’t know if he was okay.

Didn’t know if he was coming to save you from this.

Didn’t know if he even cared anymore.

But you still hoped. And that was the cruelest thing of all.

Because it was easier to survive when you believed no one was coming. When you told yourself you were already dead.

You pressed your face into your hands, the rough skin of your palms catching against the salt of your tears. The room stank of cheap liquor and sweat, of unwashed sheets and stale cigarette smoke, and the air felt so thick you could barely pull it into your lungs.

The sobs came in fits, shuddering, ugly things you’d tried to choke down for days. But tonight, tonight it all broke.

You cried for them. For your family.

For the mother who used to hum lullabies in the kitchen late at night, for the big brother who used to chase fireflies in the yard with you, for the father whose stern words somehow meant safety.

Dead.

They were dead and you wouldn’t get the chance to know see them or ever say goodbye.

Gabriel’s words had cut through you five days ago like a blade, and you’d pretended it hadn’t shattered something vital. Pretended you could outlast it, just like everything else. But it had festered inside you, a raw, gnawing grief that clawed its way to the surface now.

You cried for yourself too. For the girl you used to be, for the future you’d started to imagine, the one with stolen moments of peace and maybe, just maybe, love. A future that had Joel in it.

And you cried for your hand. Because somehow that stupid, broken, swollen finger felt like a final insult. Gabriel hadn’t taken you to a hospital. He hadn’t even wrapped it. Just left it to throb and pulse and turn shades of bruised purple and blue, a small, constant ache to remind you of what he could do.

The bone grated against itself when you moved it, and it made you dizzy with pain, but you clung to that pain. Because it meant you were still here.

Still alive.

And maybe that was the cruelest thing of all too.

You curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed, knees to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller than the grief, smaller than the hatred in Gabriel’s eyes, smaller than the crushing weight of being so utterly alone.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the dark. You didn’t know if it was meant for your family, or for Joel.

Maybe both. Your chest ached, the kind of ache that felt endless, like it might outlive you.

A soft, broken sound left your throat. You didn’t know if it was a laugh or a sob.It filled the stillness of the room, and you didn’t even have time to swallow it down before you heard the scrape of Gabriel’s chair against the floor.

His voice came from the corner, low and coarse. “Why are you crying, cariño?”

You didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. Your throat felt like it had been scraped raw, and your face was wet, the tears burning your skin. You just sat there, staring down at your lap, your good hand cradling the one he’d broken days ago.

The pain had changed over the last five days. It wasn’t sharp anymore, it was a steady, deep, nauseating throb that never really left, radiating up your wrist, making your whole arm feel useless and heavy. The bruising was worse now, swollen and dark, the shape of your finger misshapen.

You lifted your hand, showing it to him without a word.

The light from the old motel lamp caught on the mangled joint. The swelling, purpling skin. Your hand shook as you held it up, but your gaze stayed on him.

For a moment, Gabriel didn’t say a thing.

He just stared at it. At you.

And something flickered there, something too tangled to name. Regret, maybe.

“That why you’re sniffling like a little girl?” he asked, voice dry, like the whole thing bored him.

He took a drink from the glass in his hand, the ice clinking against the sides.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“Are you gonna fix it?” you asked hoarsely, your voice a scrape of gravel.

His brow twitched. He set the glass down on the nightstand with a heavy, deliberate thunk and stood. The room felt smaller as he crossed it, each step measured and unhurried.

He crouched in front of you, too close, smelling of whiskey and smoke and the sickly tang of sweat.

His hand came up, fingers brushing your wrist like a threat disguised as tenderness.

He smiled at you, “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The words sounded like a trick, like something sharp wrapped in silk. He smiled when he said it, but it wasn’t the kind of smile people wore when they meant to help.

It was the kind predators gave right before they sank their teeth in.

“Why now?” you rasped, the words catching in your throat. You hated how small you sounded; how desperate you felt to cling to any scrap of hope and how sick it made you at the same time.

Gabriel’s smile stayed, but his eyes flickered, something colder, something careful.

“Because if I don’t,” he murmured, fingers grazing up your wrist toward your swollen hand, “you’ll lose it.” he shrugged, that easy, cruel nonchalance he wore like a second skin. “I figure you’re not much good to me all busted up like this.”

You swallowed hard, bile burning the back of your throat. It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t guilt. It was practicality. You were his, a possession, and even a broken thing had to be kept in working order.

“Get your shoes,” he said, standing up. “We leave in five.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t waste words. You just moved stiffly toward the corner where your worn boots sat, forcing your uninjured hand to tie them while your broken one throbbed in your lap. Every movement made your vision swim, but you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out.

Gabriel pulled on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and opened the motel room door, letting the stale night air rush in. The moon hung low and thin in the sky; the parking lot empty except for his beat-up truck he had rented.

“You try to run, I’ll break the other one,” he said casually, like it was nothing.

You didn’t reply. You just stepped out into the night, the cold hitting you like a slap, and followed him toward the truck.

But something in your chest stirred, a flicker of defiance even under all the fear and grief.

Because five days was a long time to be kept in a cage.

The hospital lights were too bright.

After five days in that cramped, suffocating motel room, they made your head pound, made your eyes sting. The antiseptic smell hit you hard, thick with bleach and something metallic underneath. You kept your gaze low, shoulders hunched, following the line of Gabriel’s shadow across the faded linoleum floors.

A nurse at the front desk gave you a curious glance, her eyes lingering on the bruises you hadn’t bothered to cover, the way your left hand hung limp and swelling. But when she met Gabriel’s stare, cold and hard like a wolf daring her to speak, she looked away.

“Broken finger,” Gabriel grunted, shoving paperwork at her. “Get it done quick.”

You barely registered the words. Your mind was a storm of noise and memory, a face, dark eyes you still dreamed about even when you tried not to, a voice that rasped your name like a promise.

I swear, I got you. I love you.

Joel.

God. Joel. You thought about him the other night at the church. About his leg and if he was okay.

You could almost feel him in the walls of this place, like a phantom. A brush of breath down your neck, a tug in your chest that you couldn’t explain. Like somewhere close by, something you’d lost was reaching back for you.

But you didn’t look.

Hope was a dangerous thing, and you couldn’t afford it anymore.

Two floors up, Joel lay in a hospital bed he hadn’t allow to leave yet. Carmen had forced him to rest, but sleep wouldn’t come, not with his mind stuck in loops of.

what if, where is she, what have I done.

The steady beeping of monitors, the faint intercom calls, the distant squeak of gurney wheels.

And for one dizzy second, he thought. He thought he caught a scent he knew better than his own

The faint trace of your perfume, buried under smoke.

He turned his head, pulse kicking hard.

Nothing there.

Just a nurse walking past.

Just a shadow at the end of the hallway.

“You’re losing it, old man,” he muttered under his breath.

But he didn’t stop staring at the door, some instinct deep in his marrow telling him that you were close.

And you were.

Less than thirty yards away.

A different wing. A different hallway.

But fate was cruel, and timing crueler.

And the storm hadn’t broken yet.

You were in a cold hallway, feeling the coldness of the air freezing on your skin, the same one that still craves the touch of the same callused palms that welcomed you to daylight the moment you were looking for it the most.

You still crave Joel’s touch on your face, his fingers wrapped around your own.

You missed his eyes finding yours across the room, sharing a secret language only both of you could understand.

And you missed him despite all.

But his cold eyes sliced your heart in half and you still waited for the moment.

Under the same moon.

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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scribblesofagoonerr · 2 days ago

Text

a bit of a wobble | chaos fc

this is an extra one added in because well i'm in the mood to write angst. also big thank you to @wosov for helping me create the idea for this one

pairings: katie mccabe x monkey!reader | kyra cooney-cross x monkey!reader | awfc x monkey!reader

summary: monkey has a bit of a wobble in australia and she needs the comfort of her favourite auntie

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Kyra asked Steph for what felt like the millionth time in the space of ten minutes since they climbed on the bus, “Are you positive? Can you ring Katie? I’m worried about her!”

The bus sat parked out front of Marvel Stadium, awaiting the late arrivals, and Kyra couldn’t stop fidgeting in her seat. Steph, unfortunately, had drawn the short straw and was stuck next to her, constantly hounding her with questions about you.

“I’m sure she’s going to be just fine, Ky. Katie’s got her,” Steph answered, forcing a tight-lipped smile, “Now, will you just sit still and stop fidgeting for five minutes?”

“But… But what if she’s not? What if she’s still upset? What if something’s wrong?” Kyra’s words tumbled out in a rapid stream, her panic growing with every passing second, “She didn’t… She didn’t seem herself back there!”

Steph exchanged a glance with Caitlin, who sat in front of the two of them, and the latter of the two raised an eyebrow, clearly tired of the back-and-forth, “Kyra, let it go, alright? There’s nothing we can do right now. It’s out of our hands,” The girl explained, trying to ground the younger girl.

But Kyra was far from letting it go. She was bouncing in her seat, agitated, half turning to look out the window and expecting to see you walk out with Katie.

“I’m gonna go to her hotel room and check in on her when we get back,” Kyra declared suddenly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ky, she’s not there, remember?” Steph told her firmly, “Katie has her. You need to stop.”

But that didn’t even phase Kyra.

“Fine, then I’ll just go to Katie’s hotel room instead,” The Aussie girl insisted, her eyes bright with determination, “I’m her bestie. I’ll cheer her up!”

Steph and Caitlin shared a look with one another.

“Look, pest, she’s… she just needs to be with Katie tonight, alright?” Caitlin tried to explain in the best way that she could, “Tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll be back to her usual self, bouncing around and annoying all of us. You just need to be patient and wait.”

Steph snorted in amusement, “Patient? This is Kyra we’re talking about here, remember?”

“I have to go and find her. I don’t see why I can’t go and see how she’s doing! Why does it matter if Katie is with her or not?” Kyra was determined to check on you, and make sure you were okay, and she wouldn’t believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. She stood up suddenly, gripping the rail by her seat as if that alone would get her off the bus faster.

And then the bus started to rumble.

The engine fired up beneath them, and Kyra’s eyes went wide, “Wait, wait—Monkey isn’t on the bus yet! We can’t go! We can’t leave her behind!”

Steph was already out of her seat, grabbing the back of Kyra’s hoodie to yank her back into place, “Sit. Down. Monkey’s fine.”

“Ky, relax, Katie and Monkey are getting an Uber back,” Caitlin said gently, though Kyra still looked panicked, “Just sit down, it’s going to be fine. They’ll be back in a bit.”

“Why?” Kyra asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “I… I don’t get it. Why are they coming back separately? Nothing is making sense right now!”

Steph exhaled a sigh and pushed Kyra into the window seat, keeping her arm across her to stop her from moving, “I know you don’t understand all of it, Kyra, but just trust us when we say that she’s in safe hands with Katie, okay? Like Cait said, wait until tomorrow and she’ll be back to her usual menace-self, yeah?”

Kyra huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t like it, though. She should be on here, it’s not right!”

“I know you don’t like it, pest, but it is what it is,” Caitlin murmured, pressing her lips together, “Katie knows how to handle Monkey when she’s like… this, and it’s better this way.”

“Right, our Uber’s here, little lady,” Katie said softly, crouching down to your level with her voice all calm and gentle. Her hoodie was draped around your waist, tied securely to cover the wet patch on your shorts—not a single word of judgement, not even a look. Just care.

She’d of course seen this before.

You sniffled, but didn’t say anything, still sucking your thumb without realiising. You just stared, your eyes a little too wide, too empty. You weren’t really there.

“Hey, Monkey,” Katie reached out and brushed a bit of hair out of your eyes with the backs of her fingers, her expression nothing but kind, “I know it’s been a long day today, hasn’t it?”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.

“We’ll have you back to the hotel soon enough,” Katie pressed on anyway, her voice a careful murmur like she was trying not to startle a frightened animal, “Yer can have a bath and clean up, and then we’ll watch a movie in my bed, how ‘bout that? I’ll even let yer pick it.”

Still nothing. But your head tilted a bit towards her hand.

That was enough. It was something.

It was barely anything. But still—enough.

“Atta girl,” Katie murmured, her hand rubbing gently up and down your back as she helped you stand. Your knees buckled a bit, but she caught you without hesitation, steadying you like she’d done it a thousand times before, “We’ll get yer sorted. No rush. We go at yer pace, little lady.”

Katie had her arm wrapped protectively around you as she led you towards the car park. The Uber was waiting just outside the stadium. She helped you into the back seat, buckled you in carefully as your thumb finally slipped from your mouth. Your eyes were still glassy as you stared at nothing in particular.

You didn’t protest, didn’t react. You just… let her do everything for you.

Katie’s jaw clenched for half a second as she draped her arm around your shoulders and tried not to show how worried she was. She let you cuddle in close, your head falling limply against her shoulder while your eyes remained unfocused as the car began to pull off from the curb.

The Irish girl rested her cheek on top of you as she shut her eyes for a moment, “Soon as we get back, it’s warm jammies and a cuddle burrito, alright?” She whispered into your ear like she was sharing her best-kept secret, “And yer can’t be sad in a cuddle burrito.”

Still nothing.

Katie didn’t speak again. She just held you that bit tighter, and pulled out her phone with her free hand, texting Caitlin with one thumb, her heart sinking a little further with every silent minute.

📲 We’re heading back to the hotel now. Can we rain check on our plans later? Monkey really needs me tonight. She’s not herself at all

Before continuing to keep her arm wrapped around you, holding you tightly as if she was afraid of letting you go, “Bet this feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it? I should probably let your ma’s know what’s happened, and that you’re okay.”

She started typing a second message, this time to Jordan.

📲 Monkey’s had a bit of a wobble, but don’t worry, she’s alright, and I’m looking after her tonight for you both.

Before she could hit send, you stirred. Just a little. A sound, more breath than voice.

“M… Mummy,” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Katie froze, and her eyes widened in sheer panic—She’d seen this happen before with her own eyes, “Oh… shit.”

The message to Jordan stayed unsent.

She tucked her phone away, both arms back around you now. That one tiny word still echoed in her ears, and just like that, all of her full attention was back on you.

Even at the hotel, Kyra was relentless in keeping on going and questioning every little thing.

“We were supposed to have a sleepover tonight! I don’t get why that can’t happen?” The young Australian questioned, confused as she paced the hotel room up and down, “Why is it so important that she stays with Katie? Why can’t I help her?”

Steph and Caitlin shared another look, “She’s not going to give up, is she?” Caitlin asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Steph murmured, exhaling a small sigh, “There’s only one person who can explain this better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Caitlin hummed in agreement, “You’d better get Leah on the phone to have a word with her.”

Steph hesitated. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, thumb hovering over the screen for a second.

“It’s late there,” The older one out of the two muttered, half to herself. But then she glanced at Kyra, who was now pacing the room like a caged animal.

“... She’ll want to know what’s going on anyway, Steph. This is Leah we’re on about here, remember?” Caitlin added, more to justify it.

“Yeah…” Steph mumbled, her thumb hovering over the screen, “Yeah, you’re right there, “ And Steph finally hit call.

After a few rings, the call connected.

Leah’s tired face filled the screen—eyes half-lidded, her blonde hair shoved into a messy bun. But it wasn’t just Leah.

Your 3-year-old sister Buddy was clinging to her, arms wrapped around her neck, her small face blotchy and tear-streaked, “Hey, Leah—Oh no, little miss. What’s the matter?”

Buddy only cried harder, nuzzling into Leah’s shoulder with a tiny whimper.

“Bubba’s not doing too good right now, are we?” Leah cooed, rocking her gently and kissing her forehead, “So we’ve had some Calpol, and we’re having some snuggles while we wait for it to kick in, aren’t we, Buddy?”

“I poorly, Auntie Stephy,” Buddy sniffled, her voice cracking through the phone, “I feel icky!”

“Oh no,” Steph frowned, her voice softening, “It’s a good job you’ve got your Mummy to take care of you. You’ll be better in no time, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh,” Buddy nodded sadly, still curled into Leah’s arms.

“Doing my best,” Leah sighed, “Just what I wanted to deal with today, eh?” She offered a tired smile before glancing up again, “Is everything alright? Please don’t tell me Monkey’s been causing more trouble.”

Steph hesitated, “Oh, no… no, it’s kind of the opposite of that.”

Leah’s expression sharpened immediately, “What d’you mean?”

“Where Monks’?” Buddy asked quietly, rubbing at her nose.

“She’s with your Auntie Katie right now,” Steph answered gently—but the second those words were out, Leah’s face fell.

“... She’s with Katie?” Leah asked slowly, her entire posture changing, “She chose to go with Katie?”

Steph nodded, and Leah sat up straighter, brows knitting together.

“What’s going on?” Leah asked, her voice low and tight, “What’s happened?”

“Well… the thing is, Monkey’s a bit… vulnerable right now,” Steph began to explain, “We didn’t want to worry you, but—”

Leah’s jaw clenched, “You should’ve called sooner. What d’you mean, vulnerable? What’s wrong with her?”

“Le, she’s safe. I promise,” Steph rushed to reassure her, “Katie’s got her. She’s really shaken up, and Katie’s just taking it slow. But the thing is…. Kyra doesn’t understand what is going on, and well, she won’t let it go.”

Leah’s heart clenched in her chest, “Fuck,” She whispered, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, “What d’you mean Kyra won’t let it go?”

“Won’t stop pacing. Keeps trying to leave. Keeps saying she wants to see Monkey. Won’t let it go,” Caitlin chimed in from behind Steph, her voice hushed but exasperated, “And she’s dead set on wanting to have a sleepover with your girl tonight.”

“She thinks she’s helping,” Steph added, “She doesn’t understand. She’s getting really upset about it. Will you try and talk to her?”

Leah sighed and rubbed her temple, already sitting up straighter, “Yeah, alright. Put her on.”

“Thank you,” Steph breathed a sigh of relief, handed the phone off, and Kyra appeared in the frame, visibly frazzled and fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, “Ky? Come here. Leah wants to speak to you.”

Kyra sprinted across the hotel room and snatched the phone out of Steph’s hands, “Leah! Leah, is Monkey okay? She… She didn’t seem right at all!” She rambled her words, trying to get her point across, “She was quiet… and acting weird. And she was sucking her thumb, and she was… she was shaking a bit? That’s not normal, right? I know she’s not okay. I can go and fix it, though, I promise!”

“Kyra,” Leah’s tone softened slightly, but it was still firm–the usual tone of voice that Kyra recognised Leah usually reserved for you and Buddy, “Look, I know you’re worried. I know you care about Monkey. But I need you to listen to me, and I mean really listen.”

Kyra blinked, “But she needs me, I can help—”

“Ra!” Buddy squealed weakly from Leah’s lap, perking up, “Mummy, Mummy, ‘ook! Dat Ra! But where Monks’?”

“Yes, it’s Kyra, isn’t it, Bubba?” Leah smiled tiredly, adjusting the phone, balancing it while still rocking Buddy, “Your big sister is with Auntie Katie right now. She’s not feeling her best, but Auntie Katie’s gonna help her feel better.”

“Otay,” Buddy nodded in understanding, “I wan’ talk to Ra too, Mummy!” The little girl insisted.

“You can soon, Bubba, but Mummy needs to talk to her first, alright?” Leah stroked her hair, “Then you can have a chat!”

Once Buddy had settled back into Leah’s chest, Leah focused on Kyra again.

“Kyra, I know this all seems confusing, and I know you want to help. That’s the difference,” Leah’s voice cut through the room like a knife, “Right now, Monkey doesn’t need a best mate. She needs calm. Quiet. She needs someone who knows exactly how to hold her when she’s too far gone to say what she needs.”

“But I know her!” Kyra protested, eyes glistening, “I can help her! We could… We could do something. And that would cheer her up!”

“I love that you want to help her, Kyra. I love that you care so much about my girl. But that won’t help. Monkey’s got a different way of coping sometimes, alright? She’s… unique, and sometimes, well, sometimes, yes, she does things that seem typical for her age. But that’s just how she copes,” Leah’s voice finally cracked a little, “Monkey’s going through a bit of a rough patch, and when she gets scared like this, her brain checks out. It’s not about cheering her up or playing games. It’s about making sure she’s safe enough to breathe.”

Kyra’s brow furrowed, “Is it ‘cause of her dad? I heard stuff. I know was an ab—well, a proper idiot. That’s why she got adopted by you, and your ex in the first place, yeah?”

Leah looked down for a beat, pressing her lips together, “... It’s more complicated than just that, Kyra. A lot more complicated.”

“But I could—”

“No, Kyra. You couldn’t. And that’s okay,” Leah cut her off, “I know that your heart is in the right place. Do you think I like being on the other side of the world while my kid’s falling apart? No. But I am grateful that she has her Auntie there. She needs someone familiar there. And I trust Katie. Because she knows how to handle Monkey when she’s like this.”

“We were meant to have a sleepover,” Kyra bit her lip, “We… We had plans.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, Kyra,” Leah apologised, keeping her tone gentle and calm, “I know you had plans, but she doesn’t need that. She needs to be with someone who can take care of her in the way that you just can’t, right now. Not because you don’t care, I know you do. But this… this is deeper. Right now, Monkey needs her Auntie. I need you to trust me that she’s safe.”

“But it’s not fair,” Kyra huffed, dramatically flopping down onto Steph’s bed, “What about our sleepover now?”

“There’ll be plenty of time for sleepovers, Kyra. It’s not the end of the world,” Leah reminded her, “I don’t exactly know what has happened, but if Monkey is with Katie, then I really need you to trust me on this. Trust me that Monkey needs her Auntie Katie. It’s important that she has that sense of familiarity around her if she’s feeling vulnerable right now, okay?

Buddy sniffled and looked up again, “I wan’ Monks’.”

“I know, Bubba,” Leah cooed, “Another couple of days, and she’ll be home. And then she can open her birthday presents from us all.”

“When Nana comin’?” Buddy asked, peering up to look at Leah.

“Oh, in a bit, baby. It’s still very early right now, and I think Nana will be asleep,” Leah gently explained, brushing the sweaty hair out of Buddy’s eyes.

Kyra’s voice was quiet now, “I’ve never seen her like that before, she looked so… small, and vulnerable. Kim shouted at her, and she just… shut down. It was like she wasn’t even there—”

“Wait, what?” Leah instantly cut her off, anger quickly taking over her previous worried tone of voice, “What d’you mean, Kim shouted at her?!”

“Oh, umm…” Kyra wasn’t exactly sure how to explain it, biting her bottom lip, “I… I don’t think she meant it, but well, Monkey and I were trying to prank Emily, and it sorta backfired…” She mumbled, turning to look at Steph for her help explaining it.

Steph huffed, rolling her eyes as she reluctantly took back her phone to explain the situation to Leah in better detail, “Right, so Monkey and Kyra attempted to prank Emily, but it backfired, and it ended up that Katie got caught out instead,” She began to explain, “Well, Katie wasn’t too happy about that, and then tried to chase Monkey around the changing rooms—”

“What the hell does any of this have to do with Kim shouting at my girl?” Leah cut the Australian off, feeling immensely protective of you and not liking the fact that Kim yelled at you.

“Mummy, ‘ou swore!” Buddy spoke aloud in realisation, “Dat a naughty word, ‘meber? ‘Ou can’ say dat!”

Leah peered down to look at Buddy, who was lying on her and innocently looking up at her, “You’re right, Bubba. Mummy shouldn’t say words like that. You don’t repeat them, okay?”

“Right, yeah, so Kim walked in and found out what happened,” Steph continued to explain to Leah, “Kim tried to put Monkey in timeout because, well, she’d been pushing buttons a lot throughout the day, and Monkey muttered something under her breath. Kim misheard. It all escalated from there,” She finished filling Leah in on the chaos you’d been causing and the reason behind Kim shouting at you.

“And now Monkey is terrified?” Leah muttered, jaw clenched, “Brilliant. My girl is scared, and I’m on the other side of the world and unable to be there—Great, that’s just fantastic.”

“Katie has her,” Steph reminded her, “She’s got it under control. But… Kim’s really cut up about it. Barely spoke at all on the bus back to the hotel. I think she’d probably benefit from a call to check in as well.”

“Right,” Leah murmured, “I’ll give her a call once we’re done.”

“Mummy,” Buddy piped up, tugging on her shirt, “I speak to Ra now like ‘ou said I could?”

“You can, Bubba,” Leah smiled, gesturing for Buddy to hold her phone as she let the toddler chat away to Kyra–literally about nothing and everything. Her favourite paw patrol pup, the colour of her new juice bottle, how much she missed you, and she couldn’t wait to see you when you’re home.

“Ra! Guess what?” Buddy chirped to Kyra excitedly, “M’ Nana’s comin’ to see me ‘ater! Right, Mummy?”

“That’s right, Bubba,” Leag smiled, brushing a lock of hair from the little girl’s face, “She’s bringing Monkey’s birthday presents, isn’t she? So your big sister can open them when she’s back home with us.”

“Yeah! Monks’ hafta open all da presents!” Buddy squealed, the Calpol finally kicking in as her usual bubbly chatter returned.

“Wow, that’s so cool! Are you gonna help her open them all?” Kyra asked, trying her best to sound upbeat, even though her mind was still tangled up with worry about you.

“Uh huh! Me gonna be the bestest helper!” Buddy declared, puffing out her chest proudly, “Me gon’ rip ‘em all open for her!”

“You’ve gotta save a few for her to open too, you know,” Kyra teased gently.

“Don’ worry, I do dat!” Buddy promised, her whole face lit up with determination.

“Alright, Bubba,” Leah said with a soft laugh, “We’ve got to let Kyra and Steph go now, and get some breaky in that tummy of yours, don’t we?”

“But Mummy, I still hafta talk to Ra!” Buddy insisted, an adorable pout plastered on her face, “I don’ wan’ no food!

“There’ll be plenty of time to talk later,” Leah said, coaxing her gently. She reached out and motioned for the phone, “Let’s let them get on, yeah?”

“Bye, Buddy!” Kyra waved at the 3-year-old.

“Buh-bye, Ra!” Buddy murmbled, waving back as she curled herself back up against Leah.

Kyra gave Leah a wave before handing Steph’s phone back to her.

You’ll text me when they get back to the hotel?” Leah asked Steph, the worry thick in her voice despite her trying not to show it, “And tell Katie… Tell her thank you.”

“Of course,” Steph agreed with the blonde, “Monkey will be okay, Le. She’s in good hands with Katie.”

With some reluctant goodbyes, Leah ended the call, the smile on her face slipping the moment the screen went black.

The guilt sat heavy in her stomach. She hated not being there with you, especially now, when you needed her the most. You might be grown, but in her heart, you’d always be her little girl. And hearing the way you sounded—small, scared—it nearly broke her.

“Mummy!” Buddy piped up again, suddenly scrambling off the bed, “I wan’ Coco Pops! Cos’ dats da one Monkey likes, an’ I eat dem cos’ I miss ‘er!”

Leah blinked back the sting in her eyes, “I know, Bubba,” She murmured, standing to follow her, “I miss Monkey too. But she’ll be back before we know it.

“That was a quick ride, wasn’t it?” Katie murmured gently as the Uber pulled up outside the hotel, “Shall we get out now, hm?”

You didn’t answer as Katie coaxed you out of the car.

“Cheers, ‘ave a good one!” Katie called to the driver, her arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

You didn’t react, eyes vacant, staring somewhere far away. Katie held you close as she guided you toward the hotel entrance, where the rest of the team had already returned.

“Come on, little lady,” Katie said softly, her tone filled with quiet concern, “Yer gonna feel so much better after a warm bath. Loads of bubbles, yeah? Maybe even chuck in a rubber duck or two.”

But you didn’t respond. Still and silent.

Katie’s heart squeezed as she glanced down at you—so quiet, so unlike yourself. But she didn’t push.

With one arm around your shoulders, Katie led you into the lift, pressing the button to head upstairs, “Alright, little lady. Shall we go to my room or yours instead?”

Silence.

“Where’s yer room key, Monkey?” Katie asked, keeping her voice soft and steady, “Is it in yer backpack?”

You barely moved, just gave the smallest nod—enough for her to understand.

“Alright, let’s see if we can find it,” Katie said, gently slipping the strap off your shoulder and rummaging through the bag, “Here we go—victory, eh? Let’s head in and get yer sorted. I’ll start running yer bath. Yer will feel better in no time.”

Still no words from you.

Katie tapped the keycard against the door and led you gently inside, steering you toward the centre of the room, “Right, yer just wait ‘ere and I’ll go get the water started,” She explained softly, trying to keep things simple and predictable, “Do yer want to pick out some jammies while I do that?”

But you just stood there. Frozen.

Katie let out a quiet sigh—not frustrated, just deeply, deeply sad.

“Or not,” The older girl murmured.

Katie stepped closer and crouched down, lowering herself to your level as she kept her voice barely above a whisper, “Alright, how about this—we take it one step at a time, yeah? Let’s go into the bathroom and I’ll start running that bath.”

With gentle hands, Katie guided you toward the hotel bathroom, just enough to keep you within sight while she moved to the tub. She turned on the taps and popped the plug in, watching as the water began to rise. Rolling up her sleeves, she poured in a generous dollop of bubble bath and swirled it through the water with her hands, filling the room with the soft scent of lavender and the growing froth of bubbles.

Katie kept her movements delicate and careful as she turned to you, a soft smile tugging at her lips, “Do yer want me to leave yer in ‘ere to get outta them damp clothes, now? She asked gently, giving you the choice, not wanting to crowd you.

But you didn’t move.

Katie waited a moment longer, watching you with quiet patience. Then she stepped a little closer, crouching in front of you once more, “Alright, okay then. I know yer probably don’t want me to help yer like this, Monkey,” She began to help you out of your damp clothes with tender hands and feather-light touches, every movement slow and careful so as not to startle you, “What kind of Auntie would I be if I just left you in soggy clothes, eh?”

Your eyes blinked slowly, like her words took a little longer to reach you than they should have. You didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. Just stood there, thumb slipping quietly into your mouth as you stared past her.

Katie glanced over at the bath and tried again, “I think one of them rubber ducks should definitely keep you company in there,” She said, nodding towards the bubbles that were now just high enough to hide the bottom of the tub.

There was a pause. A flicker. You gave the faintest nod.

“Good girl,” Katie whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her chest aching as she straightened up, “Right, do yer want to get in?” She asked gently.

You still remained silent.

Katie helped you step into the tub with the same gentleness she’d shown all along, then knelt beside it, dipping the sponge into the warm water and squeezing it slowly over your shoulder.

“Let’s do a bath,” Katie murmured, voice barely above the sound of trickling water, “Then we’ll do jammies. Then we’ll watch a movie until yer fall asleep, alright?”

There was a long pause—the kind that filled the air with everything you couldn’t quite say yet.

And then, just as Katie reached for the shampoo, your voice came out—small, hoarse, and cracked around the edges, “M’ sorry, Auntie Katie.”

Katie froze for half a second. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, little lady,” Katie whispered, her voice trembling with tenderness as she brushed a warm hand over your hair, “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, little lady. Nothin’ at all.”

Leaning in, Katie rested a steady hand against your back as she gently ran the sponge down your arm, “You’re safe now, Monkey. That’s all that matters.”

“Mummy! I hafta eat Coco Pops cos’ dem so yummy!” Buddy exclaimed with absolute urgency, legs swinging wildly beneath the kitchen table as she perched in her booster seat, curls still sleep-ruffled and as she waited not so patiently for Leah to make her a bowl of cereal.

Leah chuckled softly, the sound tinged with exhaustion as she rustled through the cereal cupboard, “Coco Pops, comin’ right up, Bubba,” She murmured, pulling out a Bluey-themed cartoon plastic bowl—because anything else would just cause a national toddler meltdown–and poured in the cereal, filling it just right. Not too much milk, not too little. Just the way Buddy insisted on, lately.

The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a golden glow over the room. There was something oddly peaceful about the hum of routine amidst the chaos of everything else.

Buddy grinned as Leah placed the bowl in front of her, immediately grabbing her spoon with both hands, “I gon’ eat ‘em all an’ get big just like Monks’!”

Leah reached over to gently ruffle her curls, “You’re already growing too fast, baby.”

Buddy chewed happily as the milk dribbled down her chin, utterly content in the moment.

Leah watched for a moment, letting herself breathe and savouring the brief calm, trying to push aside the ache in her chest.

Then, of course, reality tapped her shoulder in the form of her phone buzzing on the counter.

She picked it up, sighing softly as she tapped Kim’s name in her rest calls.

It rang once. Then twice.

Then—

“Hello?” Kim’s voice was small, raw.

Leah didn’t get a word out before Kim broke.

“I’m so sorry,” Kim burst out, already crying, “Leah, I swear I didn’t mean to shout at her, I just—she caught me off guard and I panicked, and I understand if you don’t want me around Monkey anymore. Or Buddy. Or you. I’ll step back. I’ll find a new club. The captaincy can be yours again, you can have it all, I just—I don’t want you to hate me—”

“Whoa, whoa—stop, Kim,” Leah pinched the bridge of her nose and sank into the kitchen chair, “Stop talkin’ for a second, yeah?”

Kim hiccuped and went quiet, save for her sniffles on the other end.

“I get it,” Leah said, softer now, “Monkey can push buttons. Lord knows she’s pushed every single one of mine over the years. These grey hairs aren’t just football related, y’know?”

That pulled the smallest laugh from Kim—wet and broken but real.

“I don’t want you to move clubs,” Leah said, gentler now, “I don’t want you to disappear on me. Or from my girls. Yeah, I was annoyed for a second—until I heard what happened. Kim, come on, let’s be honest… Monkey’s a menace when she’s spiralling. You snapped. It happens.”

I don’t want you to avoid me. And I definitely don’t want you cuttin’ yourself off from my girls. I mean—yeah, I was annoyed at first. But then I heard what happened. And let’s be honest… Monkey’s a menace when she’s spiralling. You snapped. It happens.”

Leah leaned back with a sigh, glancing at Buddy, who was now talking to her Coco Pops like they were people.

“It’s natural,” Leah added, “You are dealing with Monkey and Kyra in the same 24-hour span. That’s enough to send anyone over the edge.”

Kim started sobbing again—relief this time—and Leah let her. Let her get it all out.

Meanwhile, Buddy had finished her Coco Pops and was now standing beside Leah, gripping her knee, “Mummy! Is dat Auntie Kimmy? I heard Auntie Kimmy!”

Leah angled the screen so Buddy could see, “Say hi then, Bubba.”

Buddy squinted at the screen, “Why ‘ou cryin’, Auntie Kimmy? ‘Ou can’ cry. ‘Ou always happy!”

That got a watery chuckle from Kim, who wiped her eyes and waved, “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just bein’ a bit silly.”

Buddy frowned, “No more bein’ sad. I don’ like it.”

“Exactly,” Leah smiled and nodded, passing Kim a soft look, “You have to listen to Buddy on that one, Kim. Now… care to tell me what ridiculous prank my delightful child tried to pull that backfired?”

“Oh, well that,” Kim covered her mouth, half-laughing, “Her and Kyra tried to set it up for Emily to be attacked with silly string, but it ended up being Katie that got caught in the crossfire of it all.”

Leah groaned, rubbing her face, “Oh for f—I swear, she’s dangerously close to losin’ them sweet privileges if she carries on.”

As she said that, she sent a sly text to Alessia to check on Kim.

📲 Lessi, check on Kim for me, please. She’s not okay

Seconds later, Alessia popped into view behind Kim, wrapping an arm around her from behind and making a silly face at the camera.

“Don’t worry, Le, “ Alessia said, smiling softly, “Kim will be fine. She’s got me now.”

“Lessi!” Buddy squealed, seeing the blonde appear on the screen, “Lessi! Lessi!”

“Hi, little miss!” Alessia replied sweetly, smiling at the little girl sitting beside Leah, “You being cheeky this morning? I bet you're missing your big sister, huh?”

“I miss Monks’, an’ she sad right now,” Buddy pouted, lower lip wobbling, “I don' like it when she sad do.”

Leah wrapped her arm around her daughter, pulling her close, “I know, Bubba, but I bet that we can speak to her soon when she’s had a bit of rest,” She reassured her little girl.

“But I wan’ speak to ‘er now,” Buddy whined, not entirely understanding the reasoning that she couldn’t speak to you right now, “Why no’ now?”

“Monkey… isn’t feeling too great right now, Buddy,” Alessia came up with the excuse, as Leah gave her a grateful smile, “You just have to wait until tomorrow and you’ll be able to speak to her.”

“Yeah! I do dat!” Buddy squealed excitedly.

“Right, Bubba,” Leah cooed, brushing a strand of Buddy’s hair out of her eyes, “Let’s let Lessi and Auntie Kimmy go, and we can start our day, yeah?”

“Yeah! Nana’s comin’ to see me!” Buddy shouted with visible excitement, “I ‘cited to see Nana!”

“And I bet that Nana is so excited to see you too,” Leah replied in a playful tone, tickling Buddy, “Right, come on. Say bye-bye and we’ll go find some clothes for you to wear!”

“Buh-bye, Auntie Kimmy! Buh-Bye, Lessi!” Buddy eagerly waved, scrambling down off Leah’s lap, “Mummy, come on. We gots’ to go and look!”

“I’m coming right now, Bubba,” Leah chuckled, shaking her head before she turned back to look at her phone, “Thank you for keeping Kim company, Less. And Kim, I’m not mad with you that you lost your patience and shouted at Monkey—it happens. I know she’s in safe hands with Katie.”

“Anytime,” Alessia replied with a kind smile.

Kim nodded, though there was still guilt in her tone of voice, “I know, I just… I feel so bad for doing it—”

“Mummy! ‘Urry up!” Buddy cut through in a demanding tone of voice, “Ou’ ‘ave to ‘elp me pick out m’ clothes!”

“One second, please, Bubba. I’m just saying bye to Auntie Kimmy and Lessi, and then we’ll go and do it,” Leah told her 3-year-old in a patient tone of voice, “Just give me a minute, and we’ll go upstairs.”

“.... Fine,” Buddy pouted, standing by the door with her arms crossed over her chest, adding a small stomp to her feet to show her disappointment that Leah wasn’t moving quickly enough.

Leah stifled her laughter as she saw her 3-year-old turn extremely grumpy, “Well, at least I know she is feeling better right now,” She murmured, “Listen, girls, I’m gonna have to go before Buddy throws a strop. But Kim, remember? You’re human, and it happens, and regardless of that, Monkey will still love you because you’re her Auntie.”

“I hope so,” Kim mumbled, running her hand through her hair, “I really do. Anyways, I’ll let you go because it sounds like Buddy is getting impatient.”

“Oh, yes, she definitely is,” Leah replied, half-amused as she turned around to see her grumpy girl looking very familiar to you, “I’ll try and call again when I can.”

And with that, Leah ended the call and immediately started moving again—because stillness, in this house, was a luxury she rarely got to keep.

The bathwater had long since drained, leaving only the faint smell of bubble bath lingering in the air as Katie helped you into a set of fresh pyjamas—soft ones with a cartoon print that you’d insisted on packing yourself.

“I thought I recognised them ones,” Katie said in a soft tone of voice as she noted the pyjamas, the set that she brought you for Christmas, “I did good choosin’ them, didn’t I?”

You didn’t speak. You just gave the faintest nod and crawled into bed.

Any other night, you would complain about it being too early to even think about the idea of sleep.

But tonight? You were emotionally and physically exhausted. You didn’t have it in you to argue.

“Here we go, snug as a bug,” Katie teased lightly as she tucked you in, smoothing the covers up to your chin before sitting on the edge of the bed, making sure to stay close to you, “Yer want me to put a movie on now, eh?” She asked gently, reaching for the hotel TV remote.

You gave the smallest nod, thumb slipping into your mouth without you even thinking about it.

Katie smiled faintly, “Alright, I guess I know what to put on tonight, don’t I?” She wondered, already scouring through Netflix to find Shrek, “Bit of familiarity tonight, yeah?”

Katie hit play, the familiar DreamWorks opening comforting in a way that words couldn’t manage. You burrowed a little deeper under the duvet, letting the green swamp and silly jokes pull away from the sting of earlier.

But not enough. Not completely.

After a little while, Katie spoke again, keeping her voice quiet and careful, like you were a spooked animal she didn’t want to startle, “Hey, little lady,” She began, getting your attention, “Yer know that Kim didn’t mean to shout, right?” She said, brushing a stray bit of hair off your forehead, “Things just got a bit… heated. It doesn’t mean Kim’s mad at you.”

You blinked up at her, eyes shiny but dry for now.

“And… about the accident,” Katie said softly, “It’s not a big deal. But yer do need to tell yer Ma about this when yer ready. Or else… I’ll have to tell her. Promise me yer will tell her, yeah?”

You scowled slightly at that—your classic stubbornness creeping back in—but after a moment, you gave a tiny, reluctant nod. A begrudging fine.

“Good girl,” Katie smiled warmly and squeezed your hand, “I know yer don’t want to do it. But she has a right to know, they both do…” She trailed off, a frown tugging at her mouth. She was forgetting something.

Shit—Jordan.

“Oh shit,” Katie swore aloud, scrambling for her phone on the bed to find the drafted message before quickly sending it.

The movie kept playing, Donkey’s chatter filling the silence, but it wasn’t long before Katie’s hand slipped from yours, her head lolling slightly. She’d fallen asleep, right there, still sitting beside you, one foot tucked awkwardly underneath her.

You watched her for a while, grateful she hadn’t left you alone.

But even with her right there, you were too scared to close your eyes.

The shadows were too long. The silence was too heavy. Every noise in the hallway made you flinch a little. So you stayed awake, eyes wide, thumb tucked in, quietly watching Shrek and pretending you weren’t terrified.

You were so caught up in Shrek’s familiar words that you didn’t notice Katie’s phone buzzing softly beside her, Jordan’s name glowing on the screen.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the hallway, Kyra was having her own kind of crisis.

She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, kicking the hotel blankets off, pulling them back on, sighing heavily, and cursing your name under her breath because she was worried sick about you. It was eating away at her, the need to know you were okay.

Finally, somewhere around 2am, she sat up and scrubbed her hands through her messy hair.

“Fuck this,” Kyra muttered to herself, her voice thick with exhaustion but determination.

There was no way she was getting any sleep. Not with you on her mind.

Her gaze flickered over to Steph, who was still fast asleep beside her, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside Kyra. Carefully, she swung her legs out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor as she tugged on her hoodie. Her movements were slow but purposeful. She crept across the room, making sure not to wake Steph, and slipped out into the hall, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Kyra needed answers. And she wasn’t going to get them while sitting around, waiting for someone else to get them.

At the front desk, Kyra approached with an air of feigned calmness, trying her best to look like she knew what she was doing, “Hello,” She greeted, while the receptionist barely looked up from their phone when she spoke.

“So, uh, you’re not gonna believe this,” Kyra said, a forced laugh escaping her as she ruffled her hair, “I’m so dumb, I’ve only gone and lost the key to my room. Any chance I could grab a new one?”

Kyra’s heart raced in her chest as she lied through her teeth, but with the whole team all staying on the same floor and everything booked under Arsenal’s name, it was easy enough to get away with. The receptionist handed her a new key without a second thought.

Kyra walked away, key in hand, but her thoughts were miles away as her mind still spun with worry about you. There was no chance she was going back to her room, not without answers that she desperately needed.

“No going back now,” Kyra muttered to herself, standing outside of your hotel room for a moment as her heart thumped in her chest. She took a deep breath and slid it in the door, the soft click of the lock releasing. The door creaked open, and she paused for a second, half-expecting the room to be empty, just you, curled up in bed.

But as the door fully opened, Kyra froze and her eyes widened in surprise.

It wasn’t just you in the room.

Katie was there too, curled up on the bed beside you, her head tilted back as she slept, clearly exhausted from staying by your side. Kyra hesitated in the doorway, torn between turning around and slipping away quietly or staying and facing whatever was going to happen next.

If Katie caught her sneaking in like this… she’d be in serious trouble.

But before Kyra could even think about stepping back, she heard your voice. It was small, almost a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the room like a knife.

“Kyra?”

The helplessness in your voice made the Australian girl’s stomach twist. She couldn’t leave you like this, not when you were calling for her, sounding so lost and scared.

“I’m here, Monkey,” Kyra said quickly, pushing the door open further as she hurried inside, stepping softly as she crossed the room towards you, her eyes already scanning your face, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Katie stirred slightly, but she didn’t wake up, and Kyra didn’t give her a second thought. Her focus was entirely on you.

You were sitting up in bed, eyes wide with fear, your thumb still in your mouth as you clung to the duvet—you didn’t have Mini with you. You’d insisted you didn’t need her.

How wrong you were, though.

You wish you had her, but she was back in London, probably sitting on your bed, or Buddy was cuddling up with it.

You just wish you had it now.

The moment you saw Kyra, your face softened just a little, like a weight had been lifted. It was the smallest of gestures, but it made Kyra’s heart ache all the more.

“Hey,” Kyra whispered as she sat beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, “You okay, Monkey?”

You didn’t answer, but you shifted closer to her, your body instinctively moving into her space for comfort.

Kyra wrapped her arms around you gently, holding you close, letting you bury your face in her shoulder if you needed to, “I’m here, Monkey,” She repeated softly, rocking you just a little, “You’re safe now, okay? You’re safe.”

Slowly, the tension in your body started to melt away. Kyra’s hoodie smelled like home, like sun and sea and whatever stupid she’d stolen from Steph. It was enough.

Within minutes, you were fast asleep, curled tightly against her chest. Kyra shifted slightly, letting herself get comfortable with one arm slung protectively around you as she tucked you closer. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head without even thinking and then closed her eyes, exhaustion catching up with her too.

The room fell silent again, save for your soft breathing.

Sometimes later, Katie stirred. She groaned quietly as she stretched, her muscles stiff from falling asleep upright. She blinked herself awake, rubbing her face before glancing across at the bed—

And froze.

Kyra was there, somewhat, impossibly, fast asleep in your bed.

You were tucked into the Australian’s chest, thumb in your mouth, looking impossibly tiny and peaceful.

Kyra, the chaotic pest herself, was the big spoon, her face buried in your hair, her hold still protective even in sleep.

Katie’s eyebrows shot up. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Instead, she did what any reasonable person would do—she pulled out her phone, turned the brightness right down, and snapped a quick photo.

The older girl grinned to herself as she typed out a quick message to Leah.

📲 Look who wormed her way into the hotel room for a sleepover. Monkey is fine, promise.

But just as she hit send, her phone buzzed violently in her hand.

Steph.

And immediately after—

Caitlin.

Katie sighed, already sensing the oncoming storm. She answered Caitlin’s call with a weary groan, “Hey, babe—”

“Katie! WE’VE LOST HER! WE’VE LOST THE PEST!” Caitlin panicked, her tone of voice thick with worry, “SHE’S NOT IN HER BED! STEPH WOKE UP AND SHE’S GONE—WE’VE LOST HER!”

Katie winced, holding the phone away from her ear, “Ere’ Cait, before yer say anything else, yer should know that Kyra is here in Monkey’s hotel room.”

“What?” Caitlin questioned, bewildered, “She’s there… In Monkey’s room?” She repeated.

“Yep,” Katie murmured, glancing over at the bed again, “Both of ‘em are fast asleep. Quite sweet, actually.”

“Are you serious?” Steph’s voice appeared on the other end of the phone, clearly taking the phone from Caitlin, “She’s there?”

“Yes,” Katie snickered, “I’ll send yer both the photo. They’re both fine. I guess the pest really did want a sleepover after all.”

There was a stunned pause on the other end, and then Steph spoke up, “That little shit—”

Katie hung up before she could hear the end of it, tossing her phone onto the chair and shaking her head.

“Pest,” Katie muttered under her breath, smiling despite herself.

Katie settled back down into her chair, glancing once more at the two of you bundled up together in bed, and let herself relax again.

Everything was alright.

For now.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal women x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal wfc x reader #kim little x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #chaos fc #katie mccabe x reader #leah williamson x reader

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nugwon · 2 days ago

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baby making s3gss with soft husband jungwon hehe

🐦‍⬛ i’m getting so many jungwon reqs and im lwk here for it. geeling kinda soft so i made this a really sweet drabble 💔

it starts slow, almost innocent, with jungwon brushing your hair back and whispering, “let’s make a baby tonight.” the way he says it, low and serious, makes your whole body heat up instantly. there’s nothing rushed about the way he touches you, but there’s an urgency buried deep under his gentle hands, like he’s been thinking about this moment forever. “do you really want to?” you raised your eyebrow, “we’re so young and..”

“and we’re married.. come on baby. imagine it, imagine us. a family?” the two of you were still young and while jungwon promised you he’d be with you forever… a baby is a hug step. “i really want to.” he smiles, looking at you while cupping your cheek softly. he kisses you like he’s starving, palms roaming your body with purpose, memorizing every inch of skin he’s about to claim.

every time his lips trail down your neck, your stomach flips, because you know exactly what’s coming — and so does he. it’s not just about pleasure tonight; it’s about creating something together, about belonging to each other in the most permanent way. “i’ll make it special,.” he assures you, sitting up and body towering over you. you took a deep breath, he had been asking for updates on your calendar—doing his research for when the best time to get pregnant before he’d even asked you this.

he undresses you, slow and sensual. taking his time—every inch of skin was left with kisses. delicate kisses. jungwon wanted you to know how much he wanted this—how much he wanted you. how he adored you. “i love you baby.” he whispered against your skin, hands caressing it. your bare, cold skin—riddled with chills every time he touched you. jungwon took off his clothes, eyes and lips only leaving your body when discarding of his shorts and boxers.

we could say it was expected but you were soaked.. you loved when jungwon came inside of you but it never lead to what’s gonna happen tonight. “look at me,” he hums, brushing your hair back. he could tell you were nervous, and he wanted to distracted your mind. you’ve talking about expanding your family for so long now.. you knew you wanted this. “it’s gonna be okay baby, i’m right here.”

when he finally slides into you, it’s different. it’s heavier, deeper. jungwon grabs your hips firmly, holding you still under him, filling you so good you’re gasping, clutching at the sheets. he doesn’t hold back — his thrusts are slow but so deep, grinding his hips into yours like he’s making sure you feel everything. he leans down, pressing hot, desperate kisses against your mouth, your jaw, your throat, all while murmuring things that make your body tremble.

“gonna make you mine forever,”

“gonna fill you up so good, baby,”

his words make you whimper, clenching tighter around him, and he groans low in his throat, pushing even deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. his pace gets rougher, needier, the closer he gets, hips slamming into yours with every thrust. you’re barely hanging onto reality, body writhing under his, pleasure building so fast it feels overwhelming.

jungwon grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and pinning it above your head, his other hand gripping your thigh and pushing it up higher so he can get even deeper. every sound he makes — every broken moan, every desperate grunt — feeds the fire inside you until you’re crying out his name, legs shaking around him. he loses it not long after, slamming deep one final time, spilling into you with a guttural groan that sounds almost like a sob, holding you so tight like he never wants to let you go.

he doesn’t pull out right away, buried deep inside you, chest heaving, forehead resting against yours. you can feel him trembling, feel how full you are, and the thought makes you shiver. he kisses you again, slow and messy, and whispers against your lips, “you’re gonna be so perfect, baby. carrying our little one.” and you believe him, because right here, wrapped in jungwon’s arms, nothing’s ever felt more real.

but jungwon wasn’t finished. he was going to make sure, you were stuffed with his seed, there was no excuses tonight. “turn around baby.”

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27spoons · 2 days ago

Text

okay so someone said "nat backshots" and i said "say less" now you get a blurb of nat taking readers strap

nsfw blurb / smut / gn!afab!reader / porn no plot / strap-on used, referred to as cock / some ass smacking / nat cries at some point / size-kink nat agenda / blame the horny asses in the server / it's me I'm the horny ass / not proofread we die like coach ben at nat's hand/ wc: 1569 (nice)

she's already on her hands and knees by the time you pull the harness tight around your hips, her breath hot and uneven where her forehead presses into the mattress. a flush creeps down her spine, bright red that sharply contrasts the pale skin—it makes your mouth water. makes you wanna leave your fingerprints along the bony protrusions, so that she remembers who made her like this.

"last chance, nat," you murmur, voice low as your knees press into the bed behind her, letting the head of the strap brush against the inside of her thigh.

nat can only grunt in response—although it sounds more like a desperate whine than anything else—and her hips tilt back in a silent invitation. you know her well enough to know she isn't going to beg. no, natalie scatorccio doesn't beg. at least, not until she's fucked stupid and barely holding onto reality.

you let her stew in it a while longer. let her squirm. let her feel the size of it, how much you're giving her. when you finally take the translucent blue cock into your hands, you can't help but grin. nat can't fight the whole body shiver that rakes her as you start to run the tip through her folds. she's wet, but you knew that already, didn't you? she's always wet for you.

"oh, nat. look at you. you don't even know what you've gotten yourself into, huh?" you let your spit fall from your mouth onto the toy, lathering it across the ridged surface. "you think you can take all of it?"

"oh my god," nat groans, trying to shift her hips to get you in, "asshole, i've been with dudes before. just... c'mon..."

you chuckle and nudge your knee between her thighs, forcing them wider. she's dripping already, clear slick painting her inner thighs, but you don't let yourself get distracted. not yet. you've got a point to prove.

"yeah? how many of them made you shake like this?"

you let the tip of your cock catch on her entrance��just the tip—and push barely inside, enough to make her walls flutter around nothing, enough to make her hips jerk back instinctively, desperate to pull you deeper.

you hold her still with a firm hand on her hip, fingers digging into the soft skin. "feel that, baby?" your voice drops into a cruel taunt as you roll your hips in slow, maddening circles, just enough to tease the first inch past her entrance. "not even halfway in yet."

nat groans—long, low, and frustrated—and tries to rock back again, only to be met with your grip tightening, a silent order to behave.

she looks good like this. helpless. squirming. needy.

"squeezing me so fucking tight already," you murmur, dragging the words out as you pull back a fraction, letting the ridged head catch on her entrance on the way out. "gonna split you open real nice, huh?"

nat makes a sound of helplessness, and you can feel her walls fluttering, trying to pull you in deeper.

greedy.

you deliver a sharp slap to her ass for that, clicking your tongue. "i thought i made it clear that you're not to move? when did you decide you could?"

nat whimpers, fingers fisting in the comforter to keep from swatting at you, but she stays put. she doesn't push back again. she knows better. you both know that.

"thought you were supposed to be tough?" another inch. slow enough to be cruel. the stretch forces another broken noise out of her, muffled by the thick blanket. "c'mon, nat. take it. take it for me."

when she doesn't respond, you draw your hips back again, just enough to make her feel empty, then immediately push forward and bury yourself to the hilt.

the sound the leaves her is sinful.

it's one of those times where pleasure blurs with pain, a fire burning in her veins as her body attempts to accommodate the sudden, harsh intrusion. the stretch feels like something out of a horror film and like taking a shot of pure ecstasy, and she can't help the moan that rips itself from her throat when your hips start to wiggle.

"fuck," nat gasps, voice cracking as her face presses harder into the mattress. she's practically trembling under you, arms straining to keep her up, muscles in her thighs twitching from the effort.

you let her sit there for a moment. trembling. split wide open around you. letting her feel just how deep you are. letting it burn.

"mm, you feel that, baby?" you whisper against the shell of her ear, your chest pressing flush to her back. "you feel so fucking full, don't you? can't even move, can you?"

nat whines low in her throat. you smile harder.

you hook an arm around her waist and pull her up onto her knees properly, forcing her to arch for you, forcing her to feel every goddamn inch. she scrambles for purchase, a shaky hand reaching back to grip at your thigh, your hip, anything.

"'s too much…" she mumbles pathetically, but she doesn't make the effort to pull away. she doesn't tell you to stop. in fact, her cunt only flutters around you, greedy and overwhelmed and aching.

"nah," you murmur, brushing her hair to the side so you can kiss the back of her neck. "you're taking it. and you're doing so fucking good, nat. so good for me."

and then you rock your hips, just once, just enough for her whole body to jolt forward on the bed, a broken moan punching out of her lungs. she can feel every ridge on the surface—the saliva you spit on, her own juices, everything. it's all too much and not enough at once.

"jesus christ," nat hisses, squeezing her eyes shut like it would help. like it would make it easier to take you.

the grin that splits your face borders on feral as you start a slow, brutal rhythm. shallow thrusts that barely pull out before sinking right back to the hilt, giving her no time to think or even breathe.

no, she can't think when all she can feel is you. inside of her, stretching her out, wrecking her tight, fluttering cunt with each snap of your hips into hers.

nat collapses down onto her forearms with a strangled whimper, thighs shaking violently from the effort of staying upright. her hair sticks to the sweat-slicked skin of her back, panting so hard you can hear every wet breath she fights to take.

good.

you want her fucking ruined.

you fish a hand in her hair, tugging her head back enough to make her arch even deeper. making her take you even deeper.

nat sobs at the angle, but once again makes no effort to pull away.

she doesn't want to.

"shhhh, i know, baby," you mock, low and cooing in her ear, digging your hips back slow and snapping forward hard enough to make the bedframe creak. "doing so good for me. so good."

she nods frantically, barely even aware she's doing it, like her brain's short-circuited into pure instinct. like all she's ever wanted to was to be good for you, to take your praise down her throat and choke on it.

you slam your hips forward again, and nat actually yelps, the sound immediately breaking into a desperate moan as she lets you take.

"such a good girl," you whisper, breath hot against her ear. "taking my cock like this. fucking hell, nat. you're perfect. my perfect girl." you emphasize every word with a snap of your hips, never stopping to cease your relentless pace.

you can practically feeling her tightening, spasming around the strap like she's right on the edge of something, and the thought of her coming just from this? just from the fullness, the stretch, the weight of you inside her? well. it makes you slam your hips harder into her.

"gonna make you fucking come like this," you pant, voice ragged with exertion. "gonna make you fucking break—!"

if you could see nat's face, you would see the tears spilling from her eyes as ragged moans rip from her throat with every thrust you greet her with. what you see is how her body tenses under yours, all her muscles locking up like she's trying to fight it, trying to be 'strong' and not give in.

"don't fight it," you breathe, sweat running down your face in small rivets, "c'mon, nat. be a good girl. be a good girl and come for me. come all over my cock. show me you want it."

the permission was all she needed, and the moan that leaves her sounds like a sigh of relief. she falls apart for you with a raw, broken cry, walls clamping down so hard around your pistoning shaft that it makes your head spin. her whole body trembles and spasms through it, wrecked and ruined and perfect.

you don't stop moving. no, you fuck her through it. slow and deep, grinding your hips into her until her sobs turn into wails from the overstimulation, until she's clawing at the sheets and practically begging you to move faster—but never stop. no, she doesn't want that.

"good girl," you whisper again, brushing her sweaty hair back from her face as she gasps for air. "so fucking good for me, nat. always so good."

#“blurb” is used loosely #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio smut #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets #ladles (fics/blurbs)#steak knives (nsfw)#from the cutlery drawer #q

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faithsmadhouse · 2 days ago

Note

Dear god your max x piastri! Sister smut has me down bad, what do you think about max with a reporter who always riles him up, and after P2 in Saudi Arabia she makes him so mad in interviews he takes her back to his hotel room at the afterparty and makes her pay the price 😼

Pay the price||Max verstappen x Fem!reader

Summary— After a frustrating P2 finish in Saudi Arabia, Max Verstappen is already on edge — and the reporter who’s been riling him up all season finally pushes him too far. When the afterparty fades into flashing lights and adrenaline, Max drags her back to his hotel room to make her pay the price.

Word count

Warnings-Explicit sexual content (18+) Rough sex Dom/sub dynamics (light power imbalance) Degradation (light — calling reader a “fucktoy”) Spanking Breathless/forceful kissing consent is implied but not explicitly discussed Emotional tension / anger sex Minor manhandling (being grabbed, dragged) Possessiveness

A/n — I’m glad you liked it because I’m working on a second part!

The champagne was still drying in his hair when you cornered him.

“Disappointing day, huh, Max?” you asked, voice syrupy sweet, recording device already shoved toward his face.

His jaw tightened. “P2 isn’t bad.”

“But not what you’re used to. Not what you wanted.”

You tilted your head like you were sympathizing. You weren’t.

You knew exactly how to poke him; it was your job, after all and something about him always made you want to poke harder. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like he could set you on fire if he stared long enough.

“Frustrating to be beaten at your own game?” you added, a little too innocent.

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

The PR girl hovering behind him gave a nervous cough, but he ignored her completely. His gaze was locked onto you like he was already imagining all the ways he’d shut you up if he could.

“You love this, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath, low enough the microphone wouldn’t catch it. “Pushing me. Trying to see how far you can go.”

You just smiled sweetly, recording blinking red in your hand.

Max leaned in close, so close you could smell the champagne and sweat still clinging to him.

“Be careful,” he said his voice a threat and a promise. “You might find out.”

—

The afterparty blurred with music and flashing lights, but you knew he’d find you.

You could feel it. The tension, thick in the air, the way your skin prickled whenever you thought about him.

Sure enough, as you sipped from a flute of cheap champagne, a hand closed around your wrist firm, unrelenting.

Max.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

You didn’t argue.

You barely had time to process it before you were in a private elevator, the hum of it rising along with the pulse between your legs.

“You think you’re so clever,” he growled, backing you against the mirrored wall as soon as the doors slid shut. “Running your mouth, laughing at me.”

You smirked, cocky even now. “Maybe.”

Max’s lips crashed into yours, brutal, demanding. Teeth clashing, breath hot and furious. He tasted like adrenaline and resentment, and you drank it down like you were dying of thirst.

When you gasped against his mouth, he grinned a sharp, wolfish thing and spun you, pressing your front against the mirror.

“You wanted my attention?” he hissed in your ear, grinding his hips against your ass. You could feel him, thick and already hard through the fabric of his jeans.

You arched back into him shamelessly. “Maybe.”

The elevator dinged, and before you could move, Max threw his jacket over your shoulders, hiding you from the curious eyes in the hallway as he dragged you down it, quick and purposeful.

The door to his hotel room slammed shut behind you.

And then chaos.

He shoved you against the wall, kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, hands rough as they yanked at your dress, pulling it up around your hips.

“You wanted to make me lose it?” he rasped. “Congratulations.”

You moaned as his fingers slid into your panties, finding you already wet for him.

“Fuck, you’re desperate,” Max muttered, voice thick with disgusted arousal. “Bet you were dripping during the interview, weren’t you? Getting off on making me angry.”

You couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t.

“Answer me,” he snarled, slipping two fingers inside you without warning. Your legs buckled.

“Y-Yes,” you gasped. “Fucking love it.”

Max laughed low in his throat a dark, cruel sound.

“Of course you do.”

He pulled his fingers out and shoved them into your mouth. “Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this.”

You sucked greedily, eyes locked on his.

Max’s control snapped.

He ripped your panties down, turned you around, and bent you over the bed. You heard his belt unbuckle, the sound making your whole body clench with anticipation.

“No teasing,” you whined, wriggling your hips.

He didn’t tease.

He drove into you with one brutal thrust, making you scream into the bedsheets.

“That’s it,” he groaned, gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises. “Take it. Take what you fucking asked for.”

He fucked you like he was punishing you fast, rough, merciless. Every thrust was an accusation.

For the race.

For the interview.

For the way you made him feel.

But you loved it.

You lived for it.

“Look at you,” he panted, voice tight. “So cocky earlier. Now you’re just my little fucktoy.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more, for everything.

“Say it,” he demanded, slapping your ass hard enough to make you cry out. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, the words torn from your throat. “Fuck, Max I’m yours.”

He groaned, hips stuttering. You felt him throb inside you, and with one more rough thrust, he came, spilling deep inside you.

You collapsed onto the bed, shaking, wrecked.

Max pulled out slowly, staring down at the mess he made, at the way you were trembling for him.

Then to your shock he leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, soft and lingering.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered.

You smiled weakly into the sheets. “Good.”

#f1 smut #f1 x you #formula one x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula one x reader #f1 x female reader #formula one x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut

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ay0nha · 8 hours ago

Text

Please Forgive Me | Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

GIF by crushribbons

SUMMARY: You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

Where Robby says, "Please forgive me." The first step in Ho'oponopono.

PAIRING: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!attending!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, mentions of rats, vaccines (anti-vaxxer fuck off), needles, pining, angst, Myrna, incorrect medical things, plot driven by movie magic, flashbacks, arguments, some fluff, me projecting my competency kink, smoking, scrub sharing, word vomit, etc.

Inspired by @skulandcrossbones's post, @xxdrixx's post and @sunkissedburns' post.

A/N: Not quite what I had in mind, but I'm not going to be too hard on myself. This first bit was entirely self-indulgent. Comments are HEAVILY encouraged, they truly keep my going and motivated to write. Many thanks to @hummusforthewin for helping me out again. Enjoy.

prologue

“I could fake a seizure.”

“Too ‘boy who cried wolf’…” You shook your head. The strike of your lighter was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of your newly-lit cigarette, you said, “It has to be a…casual—believable lie.”

“All this for what? Love?” Myrna gestured at the air with mocking disgust. “I know a thing or two about a crime of passion.”

Something swirled in your chest, but you brought the cigarette to your lips to suffocate it.

“Robby’s allergic.” To love. You wouldn’t say the word out loud, afraid you’d catch fire by some divine fury.

“Oh, honey, I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid.” Myrna cracked with humor. Her insults made you feel electric. Normal. They humbled every egotistical vein in your body. “I’d bend him over my knee for what he did to you.”

Your eyes sparkled with the image. You’d pay good money to see Robby’s face painted with discomfort. His self-control irked you, got under your skin without even trying. It used to drive a competitive friction between you both, one that was light, teasing, even. But it festered to the point it controlled you; you relied on proving a point.

“Breach of duty, my ass.” She continued. “So you were a drug dealer, so what! God forbid you did something about healthcare in this country.”

“Myrna,” You warned. You wish you were just a ‘drug dealer.’ Instead, you became the judge, jury, and executioner. “It’s just temporary.”

You said more to remind yourself. It hadn’t quite stuck as a mantra, but it was enough to get you through a shift. It took many years of vomiting up all the filth you’d been taught about yourself, and half believed, before you were able to walk on the earth as though you had a right to be there. You’d be damned to forget that because of him.

“You won’t even spit in his coffee!” Myrna snapped playfully, not letting your eyes glaze over for too long. “You asked me how to get him off your back: seizure.”

“That’ll just give him more reason to bother me.” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought caused your lips to tingle with indifference. Deep down, you knew nothing would change.

“Listen, girlie…” Myrna gave you the least offensive nickname in the ED. It was why you passed the dwindling cigarette to her; you always played favorites. “...whatever you do, don’t bet on a losing dog.”

—

The ED was slow.

No one acknowledged it; everyone was too superstitious to acknowledge it. The weather consisted of sleet that kept everyone off the streets. All that could be done was to wait idly for those who were brave enough to come in and those who had no choice but to succumb to the danger of it all. Slow days brought the worst cases.

The quiet no longer felt like rest. It starts feeling like a missing tooth. You keep tonguing at the space, even when it hurts.

The snow fueled your smoke break; it was a subconscious way to find warmth and stave off subconscious anxiety. Neither was remedied. Your fingers were stiff from the cold, and there was no relief from how the pit in your stomach grew.

“You alright?” Dr. Robby perked from the desktop, cautious enough not the call too much attention but aware enough to know you weren’t.

Robby imagined the way your fingers deftly played with the lighter. The way your side profile was traced as you exhaled the smoke. He resisted the urge to follow you out. But you didn’t smoke often, so he knew nerves formed the habit.

His attentiveness made you nauseous.

“Peachy.” Your sigh was heavy. Your day was not ruined. Your world was not over. Take a deep breath. It’s just temporary.

“Nicotine lowers the seizure threshold...” He hummed. You focused on Robby carefully, watching how his glasses reflected the screen in front of him. “...but there’s no way Myrna can smoke with those handcuffs, right?”

Ignoring him no longer led to guilt. You viewed it as self-preservation. It was the only selfish act you could take in your condition. You’d be stupid not to exercise your only right. Robby continued to push lightly. His attempts at your vulnerability were in vain. It had been weeks, and you’d yet to budge.

You don’t know why, but you were all heart today. Maybe it was what Myrna had said to you. Maybe it was the cold that weighed your limbs down. Maybe it was Robby’s question, an unorthodox olive branch, saying: everyone deserves a break.

You waited for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he doesn’t. The meaning of his words was not lost on you. It allowed something warm to creep through your chest, so you gave him a nod. One that held forgotten gratitude.

It shocked you, how gentle a tug it took to unravel everything that you built up.

Had his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest?

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you picked up any task you could. When things were busier, the trivial things vanished behind the rush, but it was too slow a day to hide behind it all.

“You hear me?”

You hummed, unaware that the way your ears rang consumed your space. You focused back in on Robby, leaned back in his chair, arms tight across his chest. Although in a relaxed posture, Robby looked protective, as if it took a lot of courage to reach out to you again.

“Your scrubs.” Robby’s eyes crinkled, toying with suppressed charm. It made you shy, like you’d done something wrong, gone too far, and lost your defensive bravado. “If you’re going for the tie-dye look, you’ll fit in better with Peds.”

There were splotches across your chest. It looked like dried blood, deep in color that led down to your pants. The droplets looked unprofessional, and you had meant to change, but the few patients that came in commanded your attention instead.

“Oh.” You said. You mumbled as the memory came back to you. “...had to snatch the povidone-iodine from a patient, they saw it had 70% isopropyl alcohol…tried drinking it…”

You’d volunteered for the busy work of stitches, as it was the only thing that you didn’t need to be monitored for. You were already counting down the days until the patient would return so you could remove them; another moment where you’d be able to come up for air.

However, it was the ED, you couldn’t turn your back for a moment because even stitches became overly complicated.

“Excuse me, doctor…”

The voice behind you is so timid, you don’t hear it right away.

“Uh, the scrubEx machine is, uh, broken—” Dr. Whitaker sheepishly interjected, catching the conversation in passing. You eyed him, seeing he wore morgue scrubs too big for him. “I mean–I-I didn’t break it…I think it’s old or it needs maintenance or something…”

You frowned. You were already in your spare.

“Check my locker, I should have extra…” Robby threw the comment passively, not bothering to look away from what he was doing. “504-985.”

Everything stilled for a breath. Nurses who were casually eavesdropping were locked in. Dana’s eyebrows even raised hearing Robby’s code roll off like second nature. Dr. Whitaker blushed on your behalf. You knew his code by heart from years ago: the area codes of New Orleans. He couldn’t let go of the numbers; they followed him everywhere.

The coldness in your limbs vanished. A prickly heat traveled through your fingertips, representing something close to mortification, but ultimately led to confusion. Then, quickly smothered with irritation.

You wanted to be suspicious, to think this was just another test, but that wasn’t in Robby’s motive. He covered himself in sarcastic exasperation, but beneath all the stress and trauma, warmth and wit were his nature. This was genuine, this was not Dr. Robinavitch or Dr. Robby, Michael had offered the clothes off his back to you.

You were like a rabbit frozen in tall grass. Ears perked, heart running, eyes blank and wide. But you didn’t move yet.

“Go on,” Dana jerked her head in the direction of the locker room. “We’ve got a GSW coming in hot.”

—

You didn't have it in you anymore to struggle and fight and suffer; you wanted to be quiet and happy.

The lockeroom wasn’t even a room. It was just lockers tucked away at the end of the hall. The so-called privacy was a small sign that said: staff only. It was between the hallway and the bathrooms, forgotten and small.

Punching in Robby’s code, you were praying for it to be wrong.

It was minimal. There was an unopened water bottle, neatly folded scrubs, and a pen that had been there since before Robby. Everything he needed was in his backpack. It was functional, tactical, his. It was all he ever needed and was there if he ever needed to run.

You felt like you were intruding, like you were moments away from being caught. For what? You didn’t want to know.

You tried to rip it off like a band-aid, grab the scrubs, and go. Something made you jerk. The fabric was scrunched into your fist like it would get away if you let up. The longer you held onto it, the more it tethered you. It was standard scrubs. Unisex and black. You went through the details, trying to be clinical. Professional. They would be big on you, but they would be functional.

You drew the fabric closer, holding the top as if it were going to vanish like a bad prank pulled. You ignored the fact that the action resembled something primal. Brushing it against your nose, you knew these were Robby’s by the faint smell of mint. It lingered from the pocket where he stored his nicotine gum.

“Thought you got lost…”

You paused.

Not out of interest. More like the way a dog pauses before crossing a fence line—aware.

“Checking to see if they’re clean.” You don’t miss a beat with the latent insult. “I know better than to trust you these days.”

There it was, that festering anger that was built on resentment. Your heart had frozen over again. You forced the air colder. It was unrelentless with no room for kindness to settle, it was not the kind of cold that came from a breeze or shade, but from stillness, from the absence of sun and time.

You comment on trust was spat as if the idea itself was revolting. It created a hush so thick it felt like you were walking underwater. Robby said your name.

“Dr. Robinavitch, I appreciate the…” You couldn’t even thank Robby properly. You’ve stood your ground this long, there was no retreating.

You shrugged off your scrub top, your thermal the only layer left. You moved swiftly, the GSW would be here in moments and you already took enough time for yourself. Tugging Robby’s shirt over your head it fit as expected; baggy in areas that didn’t matter and stitched with reliability of the owner.

The smell enveloped you fully. If you let your thoughts linger you’re sure you could figure out Robby’s detergent and what aftershave he used when it was time to trim his neck. You adjusted the collar like it was tight, a nervous tick to reprimand yourself for thinking about how Robby’s chain would hang just where you touched.

Your fingertips tingled with buried emotion. You projected a longing for when things were in a different rhythm, for when Robby was there for you outside of stipulations.

Communicate. Ask for help if you need it. Trust your attendings. We will get through this together.

The words came to you so suddenly, it felt like you’d lost your breath. They wrapped around you like a boa. You heard them when you slept and they loitered until you rubbed the exhaustion from your eyes. It had never cracked down on you like this.

Together was a false-bottomed hope. Together didn’t exist—couldn’t. Your eyes drifted, not unfocused—just distant. Remembering.

The office felt awfully small.

Robby stood far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His hair was a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he was in.

Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. He was absolutely livid.

Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of it, but you didn’t—couldn’t. Now you had to simply stand and take whatever he was about to throw at you.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”

“You—” He straightened himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of it— no, I ordered you to stay out of it. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. The actual fuck were you doing?”

Robby’s eyes narrowed deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest. You flinch. “What makes you think you can ignore the rules? Have you forgotten that I’m your attending? I—”

“Do not pull rank with me.” You snapped. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as competent as you are.”

“Competent doesn’t mean that you’re—” Robby paused taking in a tight breath. His voice stayed level, refusing to let his anger get the best of him. “You were reckless. Out of line. I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of the students. What is not clear here?”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that burst from your lips.

“You can pretend to be Adamson all you want, but this morning, you froze.” Low blow. But the ripple of emotion in Robby’s face was satisfying.“ So, sure, I’m fucking sorry for taking things into my own hands when you couldn’t.”

“This was not your patient, and you are too stubborn to understand that. Now he’s dead.” Robby kept going, cementing your fate. “Gloria is expecting you this afternoon. You will listen to her if you want to stay here. Don’t fuck up again.”

You tried opening your mouth, but nothing came out; your face was too hot, too hurt, too full of rage.

“What the fuck is that?”

You hadn’t realized your wrist had been caught until you were met with resistance.

You pulled back instinctively. “What are you—

A dull pain scratched at your wrist, and Robby was afraid he’d caused it. But he knew what he saw, identifying it immediately.

Robby held onto you steadily. “Did something bite you?”

“What?” Getting your wrist back, you finally looked at it. The bandage was haphazardly put on, now snagging on your sleeve, exposing two pinpricks. “You heard Whitaker, the patient tested positive for rats...”

You cringed, trailing off. It was a cheap joke that landed flatly. A few bubonic plague jokes came to mind, but you swallowed them.

“I’m fine.” You went to push past Robby, but his arm landed against the wall blocking you. His frame didn’t intimidate you, but it made you hesitate with your response. “...I’ll be fine.”

“You need antibiotics, a tetanus shot…” Robby rubbed his hands over his face, rougher than he should have, but it helped restrain his agitation. “Streptobacillosis can happen, rabies—

“Seriously, rat bite fever? I have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting that.” You actually laughed, but it wasn’t appreciated. “We have a GSW incoming.”

“The students need non-cadaver experience.” Robby attempted to be lighthearted, but there was an edge of authority to his voice. “They’ve got plenty of good hands to learn from out there.”

“Don’t be—

“You understand that’s my polite way of saying you will not touch a patient until I clear you, right?”

The words landed like a stone in still water.

They silenced you, but you didn’t shrink. They cut deeper than it was meant to. It seemed to always happen that way, where once the pleasantries passed, what weighed heavily between you only grew in pressure. The guilt was mocking you again.

Robby moved, knowing you’d follow. As he traced the hallway, you recognized what he grabbed: needles, medication, gauze, gloves, and confidence. You could have administered it all yourself, but this was a test of faith, one you were too curious about to challenge.

—

Anytime you went to the doctor, you felt like a child. Like you’d still get a lollipop and a sticker for being brave. It was why you avoided them if you could. You felt pathetic with your eyes wide and naive as Robby pulled the curtain around the two of you.

The irony didn’t go over your head.

His gloves were pulled on with dexterity. Robby mumbled what he would have to a patient, it was a reflex you were familiar with. You just stood there, anxious that you were in too vulnerable a position.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles.” Prepping the syringe, Robby looked you dead in the eyes, working without the need to look. You wanted to indulge in the charm, but you stayed quiet. “Ready?”

You nodded. There was nothing but everything to be afraid of. Doctors never got used to being a patient. It felt like going against the natural order of things. Especially when Robby looked at you so expectantly.

“Don’t think I can get through to your arm…” Robby was waiting for you to catch on. Out of habit you pulled at your long sleeve, as if covering the bite itself would disappear.

Eyeing the needle, you knew it would be intramuscular. It needed to be deep enough to be effective. It was calming to go through the facts you knew, waiting for it all to be over. The muscles had good vascularity. The injected drug would quickly reach the systemic circulation, bypassing the first-pass metabolism.

Robby repeated your name, prompting you to understand so he wouldn’t have to say it. He’d been through the worst imaginable, the grossest, the strangest things. That was life in the ED. But this was new territory.

“If you could…” He instructed you in a low tone, clearing his throat. “Turn around.”

Oh.

You had become so warm, you forgot you intentionally layered for the weather. Your arms were covered. Your legs were covered. The easiest muscle to access caused you to lean against the examination table. The paper crinkled from the slight force as turned your back to Robby.

He couldn’t seem to clear his throat enough. “If you could…”

“Right.” You snapped out of your slight stupor. If you had any conviction left, you’d have scolded him. Instead, you hooked your thumb in your waistband. Pulling the fabric down, you barely gave Robby enough surface to administer the shot.

You could almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down than it had to—how he was tentative to pull at your pliant skin to find the muscle. It didn’t matter how hesitant he was because even through the gloves, his hands were unbelievably warm on your bottom.

“First one…slight pinch…” Robby’s voice was muffled by the needle cap in his mouth. “Alright, one more. Deep breath.”

The cold was catching up to you. So was the exhaustion. It weakened your senses and put your emotions at the forefront. You wanted to be held, to be cared for in ways you couldn’t provide alone. Robby was familiar with the feeling, but was better at hiding the ache.

Instead, Robby, in his own way, cared so deeply for others. His care was written in small things, never said, but done. He’d say he didn’t have any friends, but the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb—always. Yet, he never carved out space for himself to be minded.

“Not too bad, right?” His smile was awkward, but soft. Genuine. Concerned.

“Ouch.” You mumbled, a playful frown pulled at your lips. “I’ll live.”

“Good.” The snap of removing his gloves invited reality back. “This can’t be done without you.”

You were both stalling, not used to being so close for so long. The curtain’s fabric was a safety net in the chaos. He was slow to rub the hand sanitizer on. You both desired one last deep breath, but the air was running out. You both didn’t know how to exist so softly.

“Thanks for—

—I’ve been thinking…” Robby cut you off before you could slip away, hands pulling at the ends of his stethoscope to stop fidgeting.

You paused, letting it sit for a minute. “Dangerous thing.”

You’d been thinking too, but now wasn’t the time to crush the hope in his eyes. The risks outweighed the benefits.

You knew he’d been trying to catch you for days. Weeks. But his irritability got in the way. Impatience for Gloria got in the way. He had trouble sleeping, and when he was awake, he was vigilant. Then, when you didn’t see him, you knew he carried his sadness to the roof.

Even now wasn’t how he’d wanted to approach you.

“Look—I don’t know.” Robby chewed on his cheek. “I just—fuck.” He looked at you with a childlike regret. As if he’d gotten too excited and played too hard. “We can’t keep going like this...I don’t blame you… and I don’t know…”

You knew what he meant: I’m sorry—please forgive me.

You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

“I know.” That smile that you wore—it didn’t shine. Soft and a little sorry. It settled over your guilt for now.

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ekjohnston · 3 days ago

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The Book Club Conundrum

One thing really love about reading fanfic for videogames (Veilguard in particular), is seeing all the other in-game mini-story options that wouldn't have occurred to me in a million years. In Veilguard, for example, there is a large component of the fandom that writes Rook as isolated within the team, someone who is always helping but never gets helped in return. It's fascinating because you can do a lot with it, and also because it never would have crossed my mind otherwise.

I have started to call it The Book Club Conundrum, because you twice find book club notes in the Lighthouse where everyone gives their thoughts on a book they've read together. Rook does not give them, which I assumed meant we were supposed to fill that part in ourself (since Rook is the self-insert character, the game writers try to leave as many of their opinions open as possible), but it's very common in fic to read that Rook wasn't invited, and holds at least a bit of resentment for that, and for the way the team bonds around them in general.

As I said: a lot of mileage, which is great for fanfic, because conflict has to come from somewhere.

HOWEVER

Since I imagined Rook at the book club meetings and adding their thoughts, I did it with other examples of team bonding as well. This is particularly important to the "always helping, never helped" component of the argument, because: the team does try. They try so hard.

Most of them take you to a funeral/memorial at some point (Lucanis does it in a Blighted Treviso; if Minrathous is Bighted, you get it twice: once from Neve and once from The Viper. Davrin takes you out to play with a griffon, over and over, which is just as therapeutic). They take you through their grieving process, for new pains and old. They share their traditions. Their grief. Their anger. They wait for Rook to break.

And they never do.

Solas does a lot of heinous things, on all manner of scale, but something I find EXTREMELY fascinating is that he almost fucked up Rook's relationship with their entire team. Rook's seeming denial of their grief is the one thing that no one can break through. It makes them seem cold and a bit uncaring, like they're willing to push through almost everything to get the job done. And of course they are! Willing, I mean. It's a very Dread Wolf sort of lie: just enough truth to destroy everything.

(If you save "Words of Fire" as long as possible, Taash finally just yelling at you is SUPER affecting, lmty.)

In fanfic, I've seen everything from "it's weird that Rook is talking to an empty room again" to "Rook is grieving in their own way" to "Rook hears a weird humming noise every time they think too much about Varric, but can't do anything about it". Sometimes Rook yells at the team for not noticing (Neve notices IMMEDIATELY, fwiw, the same as Solas tells you immediately what he's done. You just keep going anyway), and sometimes the resolution is more quiet.

It's fascinating to me, both as a writer and a reader/player, that the same common start point (Solas being a manipulative jackass "for the greater good"), can have so many divergent paths. It's not just "Rook ignores the team and they all die" or "Rook moves heaven and earth for her team and they all live". There's a lot of space in that second one, and fanfic lets us wallow in what the game sets up.

Veilguard is a game of mirrors, obviously, but it's also a game where all of your companions could have been the protagonist, except all of the good guys are DESPERATELY trying not to be the main character. The villains are all like that too (especially Johanna, who is barely aware the risen gods are there), only they WANT to be the main characters. And that's usually what leads to their downfall.

Varric wrote pulp fiction. The kind reviews denigrate as trashy while millions of people have fun reading them. He wants a main character, a hero he can pin a tragedy on. He made one, and propped up another. Rook was going to be his third, and Solas (accidentally) almost made sure it happened. But Rook gets free of that, wins themself out by sheer friendship and the willingness to move forwards.

And no matter what kind of angst you want to put into your fanfic (and please, continue to do so; I am having fun!) that is pretty great.

#dragon age #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age rook #dragon age solas #dragon age varric #dragon age meta #fanfiction

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godricgryffinsnore · 15 hours ago

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The Photo In His Wallet ♡ : A Sirius Black Fan Fiction.

pairing : Sirius Black x female!reader

summary : When a picture of his girl falls out of Sirius Black’s wallet, Remus and James seize the opportunity of a lifetime—and Sirius? Well, he doesn’t go down without screaming. And you? You grab the perfect opportunity to tease the shit out of him.

warnings : Fluff overload, Secondhand embarrassment, Sirius Black being a hopeless romantic (and dramatic menace), Mischievous Marauder teasing, Mentions of laminated photos, Light language and chaotic energy, Excessive cuteness and mutual pining. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 2k

main master list <3

banners : @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune

It started with a perfectly innocent game of Exploding Snap.

At least, that’s what Sirius would tell you later, when he’s lying across your lap dramatically, whispering about “the betrayal of brotherhood” and how “even James turned on me, my dearest heart, the pain—the agony—you can’t possibly understand.”

In reality, it started with Sirius refusing to lose.

“Just give it up, mate,” Remus said, smirking as he laid down a perfect pair. “You’ve only got two cards left, and I can see the panic in your eyes.”

“I never panic,” Sirius huffed, slapping a card down with such force that it ricocheted off the table and nearly set Peter’s sleeve on fire. “I’m Sirius Black. I am the panic.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Pads? You’ve been weird ever since we got back from Hogsmeade yesterday. You’re not still swooning over her in that new dress, are you?”

Sirius went very still. “I wasn’t swooning. I was… appreciating.”

“You tripped over a display of pumpkin pasties because you were too busy staring at her,” Remus added helpfully.

“Pumpkin pasties are a hazard to us all,” Sirius replied solemnly.

They all laughed, Sirius included. And just when things seemed like they’d settle into a normal rhythm again, Sirius pulled out his wallet to settle a bet—and that was the moment. The moment the earth stopped spinning.

Something fluttered to the floor. James bent down to pick it up.

And then… the silence.

It was too quiet. Dangerously quiet.

James stood slowly, holding something between two fingers. “Sirius.”

Sirius blinked. “Yes?”

“What is this?”

Remus leaned over. His face split into a slow, delighted grin. “Oh, no.”

“No, no, give it back, give it back right now—”

Because in James Potter’s hand was a photograph. A small, well-worn Polaroid of you sitting in the Gryffindor common room. Your legs were tucked beneath you, hair spilling over your shoulders, and you were laughing—at something Sirius had said, no doubt, because the way your eyes sparkled was the same way he looked at you.

And worst of all? In the photo, Sirius was next to you, mid-way through tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

You both looked… soft.

Dangerously, disgustingly soft.

James’ jaw dropped. “You CARRY THIS with you?!”

“It’s laminated,” Remus added, peering closer. “Oh my Godric, did you laminate it?”

“FOR PROTECTION!” Sirius yelped, leaping across the table with the grace of a drunk Hippogriff. “SHE’S VERY PRECIOUS TO ME, OKAY?”

James was howling. “Pads, you’re whipped. I mean, we knew, but this? This is evidence. This is proof in a court of law.”

“Shut your mouth, Potter—”

“Do you talk to it when she’s not around?” Remus asked, utterly serious. “Like, do you take it out before bed and whisper, ‘Goodnight, darling, I miss your smell’?”

Sirius turned scarlet. “I DO NOT—well, not out loud!”

James fell off the chair.

Sirius finally managed to snatch the photo back and cradled it to his chest like it had been wounded. “Don’t listen to them, love,” he whispered to it, with a glare at the boys. “They don’t understand us.”

“You know we’re telling her, right?” Remus said, already pulling out a quill.

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“Actually,” James grinned, “I think she’d find it adorable.”

“She’d die of secondhand embarrassment,” Sirius groaned, hiding his entire face behind the wallet.

But when he saw you later that day—when you smiled at him like he hung the moon, and kissed his cheek and called him "my handsome boy", and tucked your hand into his coat pocket where he was still clutching that damn photograph—he thought, maybe... maybe the teasing was worth it.

Even if Remus and James greeted him that evening with synchronized kissing noises.

── .✦

You knew something was up the moment you walked into the common room and James Potter looked at you like Christmas had come early.

“Oh, hey there,” he said far too casually. “Funny thing happened earlier. Wanna hear it?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Not particularly.”

“No no, I insist,” said Remus, sliding onto the arm of the chair beside you like this was premium entertainment. “It’s about a certain someone. And a certain object.”

You blinked. “Is this about Sirius? What did he do now?”

James grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just carries you around in his wallet like a 1950s milkman’s sweetheart.”

You stared.

Remus nodded solemnly. “Tiny photo. Worn around the edges. Laminated.”

“I—what?!”

And then—then—you spotted him.

Sirius Black, standing frozen at the top of the boys’ staircase like a deer caught in a very romantic set of headlights.

He held his wallet in his hand. He made brief eye contact with you. Then he did the only logical thing:

He turned around and bolted back upstairs.

“Oh my GOD,” you gasped, launching up from the couch. “He did not—SIRIUS BLACK, GET BACK HERE!”

“No you don’t!” came his panicked yell from somewhere above. “YOU CAN’T SEE IT—I’LL DIE—YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, SWEETIE—”

James was wheezing. “He’s GONE. He’s GONE feral.”

You thundered up the stairs two at a time and flung open the dorm door to find Sirius mid-dive onto his bed, clutching the wallet like it was the Marauder’s Map and you were Filch.

“Sirius Orion Black,” you said, arms crossed, breathless from the chase, “do you or do you not carry a photo of me in your wallet like a lovesick lunatic?”

He peeked over the edge of his blanket. “Lovesick gentleman, actually. Big difference.”

“Let me see it.”

“No.”

“Sirius.”

“…No.”

You stepped forward.

He whimpered.

Finally—finally—with a deep sigh and a dramatic flop onto his back like he was sacrificing his soul, he handed it over.

And there it was.

A tiny, slightly faded Polaroid of you. Laughing, sunlight on your face, your hand tangled in his hair. Laminated. Well-loved.

You looked at him.

He looked utterly destroyed. “It’s for morale,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like… a good luck charm. Or emotional support. Or a Patronus. You’re my Patronus, darling.”

Your heart turned to mush.

But you kept your face straight. “So you laminated it?”

“For protection!” he cried, sitting up. “You don’t understand, my love—James keeps gravy packets in his wallet. I wasn’t about to let you mingle with beef stew residue!”

You burst out laughing, full and loud and bright. And Sirius—sweet, ridiculous, hopelessly gone Sirius—just looked at you like you were the only thing in the world.

“Hey,” you said softly, climbing onto the bed beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You know you could just ask me for another one, right?”

He blinked. “A photo?”

You nodded. “Or better yet…” You kissed his cheek. “You could just look at me.”

He grinned, slow and smug and utterly Sirius. “I do. All the time. That’s why I walk into furniture.”

You laughed again, burying your face in his chest. “God, you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

He kissed your temple. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

── .✦

You weren’t planning on him finding out.

It was meant to be a quiet little secret. Something soft, something yours. A folded-up photo of Sirius—just his profile in sunlight, caught mid-laugh, probably making fun of James—and it sat right behind the emergency chocolate bar and next to your spare quills. A talisman. A comfort.

You took it out on bad days. When classes were dragging or the world felt too heavy or you missed him more than you could say aloud.

But Sirius Black was many things, and snooping-proof was not one of them.

You’d left your bag on the floor for five minutes. Five. That’s all it took.

"Darling?" his voice called from across the common room, the kind of cautious that meant he’d either broken something, found something, or was preparing to dramatically confess something. You turned, only to see him holding your wallet open with an expression like he’d just discovered ancient treasure.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the folded photo like it was evidence. His own face stared back at him from the picture. He looked younger, a little softer, sunlight in his lashes. You’d kept it since fifth year.

You blinked. “...That’s private.”

“PRIVATE?!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. “You’ve been carrying me around in your wallet, sweetheart?!”

You walked over, nonchalant. “Yeah. What about it?”

Sirius stood there like you’d just proposed marriage. “I—You—You keep a picture of me on you? Like I’m—like I’m a lucky charm or something?”

You smirked, plucking it from his fingers. “I thought it was only fair. Since you keep one of me.”

“That’s DIFFERENT,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. “Mine is—mine is chivalrous. Yours is criminally adorable and I’m having a crisis.”

You leaned in, lips twitching. “Having trouble breathing, love?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes. Also blinking. Also standing. I might need to sit down.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours and tucked the photo back where it belonged. “You look good in that picture. It always makes me feel better.”

Sirius made a noise like a wounded animal and flopped backward onto the couch, arms flailing. “I am going to DIE. This is the best day of my life and I’m going to die and I will not be reborn because nothing will top this.”

You sat down beside him, tugging his arm until he curled into your side like the absolute drama queen he was. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m your baby,” he said smugly, nose brushing your jaw.

“You’re a pocket-sized baby,” you replied sweetly. “Fits right in my wallet.”

“Unholy words,” he groaned. “Say it again.”

You kissed the tip of his nose. “My pretty boy.”

He visibly short-circuited.

You grinned, victorious, and tucked your legs over his lap.

And that was it. He was a goner.

── .✦

It started, as most Marauder disasters did, with ego.

Specifically, Sirius’s ego.

You caught him staring at your wallet photo again. He tried to play it cool, of course, with that smug little smirk and a head tilt like he hadn’t literally gasped when he saw it for the first time.

But you saw the twitch in his jaw. The unspoken challenge in his eyes.

And then, the next day… it began.

You were in the common room, halfway through a cup of tea, when James’s voice carried across the room:

“Pads, why is your wallet thicker than Peter’s entire textbook collection?”

Sirius—cool, collected Sirius—looked far too innocent. “What? I just like being prepared.”

Remus reached over, yanked the wallet from his hands, and opened it.

And snorted.

James peered in. Then cackled. “NO. You didn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow as Sirius’s face went red. “What’d he do now?”

James turned the wallet around.

You blinked.

There were photos. So many photos. Every single one was of you. Laughing. Reading. Sleeping. Eating toast. One of you with a spoon on your nose.

You choked. “Sirius?!”

He sat up proudly. “Well, sweetheart, if you’re going to keep one photo of me, I figured I’d keep a few of you.”

“Seven is not a few!”

“Oh, that’s not all,” Remus added, flipping through the slots like a catalogue. “This one’s labeled ‘sunlight angel’. And this one—oh my Godric, he put a HEART STICKER on this one—”

Sirius snatched it back, scandalized. “It’s artistic expression!”

“You’ve got one tucked into your wand permit,” James added, eyes wide. “Pads, be honest… are we gonna find one under your pillow?”

“I’m not a monster,” Sirius huffed. “That one’s laminated and goes in my boot.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Sirius. You’re a menace.”

He leaned over with a grin. “I’m a menace in love, sweetheart.”

You tried not to smile. You failed miserably.

“You’re completely ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against your cheek, “I’m still your ridiculously handsome, wallet-stuffing, picture-hoarding idiot, yeah?”

You looked at him—utterly smitten, utterly Sirius—and sighed.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re mine.”

He beamed, all sunlight and smug satisfaction.

Until a photo slipped out of the back of the wallet and fluttered to the floor.

Remus picked it up.

It was of you, with a very noticeable smear of toothpaste on your chin.

You froze.

James gasped, delighted. “He laminated it.”

Sirius’s face turned crimson. “IT’S CANDID, OKAY?!”

You smirked.

“...You’re not getting any new ones for a week.”

Sirius groaned. “Worth it.”

#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x oc #sirius orion black #sirius black fic #sirius black #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction

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pome-seed · 2 days ago

Text

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 30

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds your letter.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Canon- typical violence. Blood. Loss. Everything. (I'm so sorry.)

Song Rec: Chasing Cars by Sleeping At Last

Authors Note: A little short, a little specific, but I hope you guys like it. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“Thank you Bucky. For everything.”

Bucky nearly collapsed as he reached the alleyway. Sirens wailed in the distance.

It was empty.

With trembling hands, Bucky followed the trail of blood to the hole in the wall. The loose brick laid on the floor, stained red. He swallowed the bile in his throat as he followed the streaks of crimson.

Where was she?

The old fire escape ahead ached and creaked. Its ladder hung low.

Bucky stood below, staring at the rusted metal. People from the end of the alley whispered and pointed around the street, sharing the news of what occurred.

Bucky curled a cold fist around the first hinge. He pulled himself up, his stomach turning as he felt your chilling blood smear into his palms.

At the top, all he found was the shattered pieces of the radio. His breath hitched in his chest.

No.

He called out your name, his voice echoing and bouncing off the walls. He dragged his fingers through the wet stain dripping from the brick wall.

He was too late.

His knees hit the unsteady metal floor.

A feeling he’d long grown used to welled in his chest, spreading and poisoning his veins. Loss. But this was different. This was fresh. This was new.

This was you.

This was grief.

The team never came.

He sat there, on the floor of his once shared home, for hours. He stated at his trembling hands, blinking through a haze. He could still feel the curdled splotches of your blood against his palms. He could still hear your voice.

He waited, almost hoping they’d show up. But they never did. Not the next day, or the day after that.

He was alone, and safe, and it made him hate himself in an entirely new way.

He sat beside the bed, staring at the dent in the mattress from your body. You were just another one of his victims. And perhaps, the most innocent of all.

The most kind woman he’d ever known. The most understanding. The gentlest. The only person he’d felt safe with in decades.

Gone.

Because of him.

He stared, chewing his lip until it bled, the sound of your voice echoing in his mind.

But then, he saw it.

Peaking out beneath the mattress, was the soft corner of a page. Its white color stood out against the stained floorboards. He reached, tugging the page out from beneath the bed. It was two pieces of printer paper, its edges frayed. There was a crease across the center, like it was folded and unfolded over and over.

He turned it over, and saw the wispy handwriting.

Dear Bucky,

Hi. I feel weird writing to you like this, knowing you’re sitting a few feet away from me. But I feel like I have to. I wanted to write this because I honestly have no idea what's going to happen next. I never have any idea what the next minute will hold. I don’t know when it will happen, but I feel this constant, looming anxiety that something awful is going to happen. Someone might pop out of the bathroom one day with a gun. Or someone will be waiting for us in the laundromat and have the place surrounded. I don’t know when, but I know this isn’t forever. So, I wanted to tell you all the things I feel we never say.

You’re the only person in my life that will know me in my last moments, and I want you to actually know me. I want someone to know me. So here it is. All the things too small to tell you, too insignificant, and maybe even stupid. My name is Y/n L/n. My birthday is XX.XX.XXXX. My favorite color is green.

I have two cats that I’ve had since I was in high school, and they are my everything. When I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate and go on adventures. I guess I can say a bit of that dream came true. I love Italian and Mexican food. I love dancing, but I’ve never done it, not really. There's a lot of things in life I’ve always wanted to do, but been too afraid to go for. I don’t have many friends, I never have. But I’m glad to say that I consider you, James Bucky Barnes, to be my friend. I barely know you, and I doubt I ever will, but I trust you with my life. When I first met you, I was terrified of you and everything around me. But now I know that you would never willingly hurt me, or anyone else. You’re a good man. No matter what you might say.

I want you to know me, but I also want you to know what I think of you. I’ve spent every day with you, sharing a space, a bathroom, a captivity. I know you, maybe not to the bone, or in the little ways that I might want, but I know you. You’re good. You want to be good. You make my days easier, and I look forward to talking to you every morning. Maybe it’s because without you, I’d go insane. But still. I want to. Bucky, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Whether it was out of guilt, or because you wanted to, you’ve done so much for me.

You saved my life. You helped me keep living. You’ve been kind to me, when all I felt was fear. You’re someone I care about very much.

I hope you know that you’re a good man. I hope you know that everything you touch doesn't break. It's not evil, because you’re not evil. You want to be better, and that alone makes you better.

Thank you, Bucky, for everything.

Bucky let out a shaky breath into his palm as he reread the last line. You never finished writing it, he concluded, from the large space left on the page and the fact that you hadn’t signed it. You must have been writing it at night, when he was asleep.

He never noticed.

But he saw the watermarks. The spots where your tears stained the paper. He saw where your fingers worried the corners of the papers until they frayed. He saw the way your handwriting got messier. The way your hand must have shook.

He dropped the papers onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

You were gone.

A/N: Short but ouch. The personal details in the letter, if they don't match with your just pretend they were something else, haha.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout

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liobi · 3 days ago

Text

More word sketches for @thedeerus 's Time is Running AU(t), now featuring 100% more family reunion cookouts with the world's most wanted parents.

Title; vague reflections

[DISTANT PAST]

“Your powers are such bullshit.” Ifrit said after watching Akivili stick their hand directly into a campfire to retrieve a fumbled toy before it could be completely taken by the flames. They handed it back to a little girl with purple hair and braids who thanked them quietly, pretending that it was the doll speaking instead. “You can travel instantly to anywhere you’ve been before, you aren’t hurt by anything there that doesn’t explicitly mean you harm, and you can speak whatever languages you need to? And you can share it with those who are traveling with you??”

“Ifrit, can you not swear in front of our kids?” Nanook looked up from the camping ground’s grill to glare at the man.

Your brother spoke up. “It's okay, we already know bullshit!”

“And a lot more worse ones! But Akivili doesn't want us to say anything about those because then Nanook might start thinking it's even more of a bad idea to travel with them than it already is.” You chimed in.

Your “cousins” Caterina and Akash started laughing as Akivili tried to look anywhere but Nanook now that their glare was falling on Akivili instead of Ifrit.

“I have a compulsion to travel with people, you know this, I can't help it.” Akivili tried to defend themself from the glare. “And obviously who I can travel with is limited, especially since my Nameless are doing their best to blend in. So when I travel with the kids to help desperate people in very bad situations, sometimes these people have some… creative language choices.”

“And I remember them all! In all of their languages even after Aki stops letting us understand them.” You bragged shamelessly. With an almost artful grace at deepening resentment between parents you forged onwards. “My favorites are Лох, sohai, and cazzo!”

“Stelle, baby, Aki is very proud of your ability to remember all the different languages you hear but Nanook is very mad at me right now and you aren’t helping.” Akivili said, their words starting to get lost under Ifrit’s laughter. “Ifrit I swear to god…”

The man made entirely of fire and a skull stopped laughing. “Actually, I am going to be going by Duke Inferno from now on. I'm more of a public figure these days and need a title with a bit more gravitas.”

“Uncle Ifrit?” Your brother walked by having at some point picked up Dubra, the girl with the doll, like she was a stray cat he had found.

In his defense, the look Dubra was giving you was identical to every stray cat he ever picked up. A bit of annoyance, a teaspoon of terror, and an entire boatload of confusion. Help me, she seemed to say with her eyes.

As always when your brother did something stupid, you instead chose to enjoy the show. “Duke is usually a dog’s name, do you want to be a dog?”

Duke Inferno, the man who had just been accused of wanting to be a dog, was taken aback. Before he could refute the absurd claim, his son piped up. “Shut up, Caelus! So what if our dad wants to be a dog?” Akash made a show of crossing his arms in front of his chest with a “harumph!”

“Yeah!” Caterina chimed in. “Dogs are awesome!”

“Dogs always do their best to make sure that no one takes their puppies away.” Dubra said, looking so pathetic that you were at last compelled to come and pry her out of Caelus’s absentminded grasp.

Constance, the wisest among you all at twelve years old, a whole two years older than you, hid her laughter behind her hand. You wondered if she did anything special to be as pretty as she was. “Don’t worry Father, we would still love you even if you were a dog.”

“Duke Inferno, if you are wanting to change your appearance there are a great many offerings available for purchase in this day and age.” a cheery feminine voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a foxian woman standing there, arms full of a variety of meats and veggies all perfectly suited to be grilled. It was Miss Tingyun! “Lan sends their regards but is unable to attend personally. They did however make sure to send me along with plenty of late New Year’s money.”

Indeed, under the mountain of meat and veggies were several red envelopes which you knew were stuffed with a frankly alarming amount of money to give a child. You hadn’t even spent all of last year’s money yet.

After Akivili thanked Tingyun and took the food supplies, she went around handing out the envelopes to each of the excited children, several going unclaimed for the children that had not yet made it or were not able to attend the Aeon’s banquet for one reason or another.

When Miss Tingyun finally stopped in front of you, you saw someone else. “Phantylia?”

The foxian woman’s mannerisms shifted. Her voice fell deeper and seemed to come from around her instead of from her mouth. Her eyes gained a sinister quality. “Now that’s a surprise, I thought I was perfect. What gave me away?”

“You were perfect, but your time doesn’t match. Yours is older and heavier than Miss Tingyun’s.”

Phantylia clicked her tongue as she handed you your envelope. “Well, there’s no helping that one I suppose.”

“Does Lan know, or is their choice of sending you a coincidence?” Akivili asked, returning having finished unloading the meat and veggies.

“They don’t know, but them sending me wasn’t by chance.” Phantylia put the rest of the envelopes in Tingyun’s bag to await the arrival of more eligible children. “I’ve been making sure to impress upon them the importance of presenting a united front to Oversight, so when anything like this comes up I’m the first one they generally think of. Yaoshi just happened to have recently made some awful creature at the bottom of the ocean and felt compelled to tell Lan about it. Can any of you convince them to Stop Doing That?”

“If keeping our compulsions in check were that simple, I wouldn’t have handed out as many stellarons as I have, and Akivili probably wouldn’t have fixed the internet as fast as they did.” Nanook said, finally coming over to join the group. They gave Duke Inferno a look and he went and made himself useful over by the grill.

“It seems like the compulsions are reduced in the second wave similarly to the reductions in overall power level, but we don’t know how much children of first wave parents will fare.” Nanook looked at you with a complicated expression.

“We don’t even know if the twins are first wave or not.” Akivili stroked your hair and you leaned into their leg. You realized at some point Caelus had come and pulled Dubra out of your grasp without your notice, because he was now running around chasing her older siblings carrying the absolutely miserable looking girl the whole time.

“Because they were conceived before you two awakened, but born after.” Phantylia said simply.

“They have some neuroses, sure, but we don’t know if that’s because they’re our kids or if they’re part of the first wave.”

“If I sit on a rock that’s really really old I get a headache and then pass out.” You supplied helpfully. “And Caelus ran into a lady when we were walking down the street and started crying because she was gonna get hit by a car and die the next week.”

The conversation continued on, talking about waves and compulsions, and something about calamity math but at that point you were bored and ran off to play with the other kids. In these dreams you wonder if your memories are really that vague, or if someone is keeping something from you.

You have a very good memory, after all.

[RECENT PAST]

“Your powers are such bullshit.” Silver Wolf grumbled from her nest of computers in her garage. Firefly and Blade were in the driveway trying to get Silver Wolf’s old motorhome running as it was old enough that even her powers didn’t work on it.

“You’ve got no records in any database whatsoever, and then bang, you and your brother show up when you’re sixteen, they make a guess that you’ve got some fairly strong sixth wave powers, you can make temporary doppelgangers and your brother can do short range teleportation, and leave it at that.”

Both Stelles nodded, feeding each other chips.

“But now you’re telling me that you’ve been scamming the IPC’s intelligence network the entire time and your power is actually controlling time?”

“Exactly.” They said in unison.

“I’ve met bricks smarter than you, how did you keep this a secret?!”

“Kafka, time?” the present Stelle asked.

“One hundred and six seconds.”

“I’d love to stay and finish this conversation but I’ve got to go so I can keep up the funniest running gag in the history of humankind.” Past Stelle said, trading seats with her future. “Ciao!”

If anyone else in the room could feel the flow and pressure of time, their ears would have popped as one of the Stelles vanished from existence. Silver Wolf was getting a migraine for an entirely different reason. “You’re breaking every law of physics for the stupidest gag I’ve ever seen.”

“Well I’m glad I didn’t hear that before I leapt through time, it would have killed my motivation to do the bit!”

“You can also…” Silver Wolf checked the sloppily written post-it note Stelle had handed her. “Walk away from getting hit by a car free of injury, as well as move both completely silently and invisibly… Because of time manipulation…”

“Oh, I forgot to write that I can also heal-” Stelle stopped talking when she saw the look Silver Wolf was giving her. “I mean… yes, exactly, that’s the extent of all my powers and I’m not just saying that so I can come back and give you more information when you don’t look like you’re in literal pain.”

Silver Wolf chose to ignore that. “Listening to you talk about your powers is like listening to someone who controls water but claims they primarily blow things up in a giant ball of fire because water is actually flammable.”

“But… that is how you should fight if you control water, right? Just heat it up a little and rip it apart and you've got a really nasty explosion.” Stelle was confused why something that seemed so obvious to her was unthinkable to Silver Wolf.

“Who has been teaching you about powers, Nanook??”

“Who’s Nanook?”

“Who's… Kafka, is she being serious?” Silver Wolf turned her incredulous gaze back to Stelle. “Ruin’s author, the supreme executioner, ruler of the Lords Ravager, the cursed wish granter, is any of this sounding familiar to you? They made the Stellarons, the things this group is dedicated to hunting down?”

“Ah, right, this.” Kafka sighed.

“Oh! I know all about the Stellarons, they first appeared roughly 70 years ago, they can actually grant wishes but in a subversive cursed way, and Oversight had exclusive rights to use them and did so frequently until the Belabog disaster which froze an entire continent and caused a world wide food shortage.”

Stelle took a deep breath before she continued. “It's theorized that they grant wishes by distorting and reversing causality without completely breaking it via the calamity offset equation. A lesser known fact is that it's possible to almost entirely remove unexpected negative side effects by narrowing specific aspects of the wish in scope and explicitly including some drawbacks in the wish itself.”

Silver Wolf stared in shock. “I'm pretty sure half of that was information that nobody knows or is so secret it's kept on physical documents in a Faraday cage.” She was absolutely getting a migraine. “I've never heard of some of that stuff and I'm the best hacker in the world. Kafka, what the fuck?”

Kafka gave Stelle an affectionate scratch on the head. “Our Stelle here is an unexpected treasure trove of information you can't find anywhere else, and no, I don't know where she gets it from. The only thing is, she can't remember anything about Nanook for longer than ten minutes, and her childhood is a complete mystery.”

“Those are some really weird limitations.”

“I've been trying to find a workaround, but it seems like the only way past it is if she's with her brother, and he’s missing sometime in the future.”

“Can you two stop talking about me like I'm not sitting right between you?” Stelle looked back and forth feeling like an abandoned dog. “It's really mean.”

“She's my big mystery box,” Kafka smiled then returned to her gentle scratches for Stelle. Stelle pouted for a bit before she finally gave in and leaned into Kafka’s hand. “Elio says as long as we stick to his scripts, Stelle here will eventually come face to face with Nanook and find all that she's lost.”

“That's the other thing. I know I joined a week ago, but I still haven't come to terms with the fact that our boss is a talking cat.”

[PRESENT DAY, PRESENT TIME]

“Your powers are such bullshit.” March 7th said unprompted one day.

Stelle wasn't sure where this came from, she was doing her mandated community service hours and wasn't even slacking off. She'd already collected three full bags of trash. They were at some memorial park or other. This one had a monument to remember all the victims that had died to a dragon attack that had apparently appeared there out of nowhere. “Any particular reason you've decided to attack me?”

“Watching you pick up trash reminded me of your second escape.” March shuddered at the memory. “They made me watch the security footage, you know. It was traumatizing.”

“Oh yeah!” Stelle laughed at the memory. “That was a good one. It really hurt though, and it was messier than I thought it was gonna be.”

“You cut off your hand to get out of the bracelet!”

“I put it back on!” Stelle was a little offended that a little dismemberment was all it took to traumatize a correctional facility staff member. Then again, this was the ‘talk to people before you have to put them down’ facility, not the ‘lobotomize them immediately’ one. “There wasn't even any mess left! Besides, you can bring ice sculptures to life and make them talk, yours feel like they're pretty bullshit too.”

“Whatever. You're done with your hours, let's just go.” March said, taking in the sights with a deep stretch. No obvious massive pieces of trash were left so there wasn't a need to extend their stay, but Stelle’s eyes were locked onto the memorial across the park. March looked over and then back to Stelle in confusion. There was nothing there. “You okay?

Blade was there. A different Blade. He was there, halfway disemboweled, and he was dying but March didn't see it. Stelle watched her old friend slowly push his intestines back into his body before some unseen healing force not entirely his own began to knit him back together. “I think my eyes are tired.” The phantom Blade looked like he was having a conversation with an unseen partner. “I might actually be getting sick.”

“Well, don't sneeze on me. My ‘bullshit’ powers don't include healing”

The ride back to the correctional facility was silent. Sure, Stelle had started seeing and hearing things that weren't there lately, flashes of a blond man around Welt, the mirage of an older, colder looking version of Dan Heng around Dan Heng, a flower of crystal ice surrounding March, and the images of a shorter person with two braids so thick they could be mistaken for exaggerated rabbit ears occasionally around Himeko.

But this was the first time she'd seen someone she'd known. She didn't know what it meant, she’d barely even begun to process it when they arrived back at the facility. There were far more people in the entrance corridor than Stelle was used to, and she jumped with a start when March slapped her palm to her forehead. “That's right, we were getting a new resident today.”

Stelle saw the name “Dan Shu” on intake paperwork as March maneuvered them both through who must have been the escort team. People in lounge suits and tang suits filled the corridor, each of them in three different phone calls and yelling at each other at the same time. The poor blue haired receptionist boy looked like he was at his wit’s end.

“Exscuse us, pardon- coming through please!” At first March holding onto Stelle’s arm served as a reminder of how little trust she currently had as she was brought into the lobby. Now though, Stelle had become the lone pillar of support that kept March from being bowled over and trampled on by a bunch of irate middle managers.

There was a tiny clack sound from a folding fan snapping shut. At once, every single suit in the lobby went still and silent. A wordless order had been given and no one had dared ignore it.

“Thank you.” A cheery, feminine voice said, ringing clear as a bell in the now silent lobby. The sea of suits parted, finally giving March room to regain her footing, as a brunette foxian woman in a qipao approached them.

“I'm terribly sorry for the commotion. You must be Miss March and Miss Stelle. My name is Tingyun, it's a pleasure to meet both of you!”

Stelle wasn't looking at the woman. She was looking at the ghostly echoes of herself and Caelus clinging to the woman who stared back at her. They couldn't have been older than nine or ten. Little Caelus opened his mouth.

“****** can we go to the food fair with *********? *** said we had to ask you before they would answer.”

With every word her little, little brother said, Stelle’s vision swam. Her mouth felt hot and wet, her nose was bleeding she realized. March was saying something, Tingyun too, but she couldn't hear or understand them. Little Stelle opened her mouth, her eyes were more vibrant somehow. Like the cancer that twisted and freed the world from its order and flaws.

“Please, ******? Caelus and I won't let go of each other's hands the whooooole time. If we did, I wouldn't be any better than a fucking moron who let her brother get eaten by the future. Then she let her new family die so badly they didn't even find any bodies. Now she’s all alone and too scared to let anyone else get close. She'd be better off dead.”

“I think I should take a nap.” Stelle said as she dropped like a sack of potatoes.

#honkai star rail #fic tag #My fic #Time is running out au #Stellaron Hunters

105 notes · View notes

desigal-26 · 3 days ago

Note

Omg, I loved "red wings", it was better than I expected! and that part "He enjoyed it—the power he had gained over her in this moment. The feeling of her completely at his mercy. The authority that had him stiffening in his breeches, moving his hips against the swell of her ass and had her choking on to her breath. The sounds that she made were music to his ears, and gods, did he want to take her right then and there. But he won’t. Not when he can have her to himself once she is lawfully his in only a few matter of days—wrapped in white silk and lace, dolled up for him to take her, bed her and fill her up with his child." OMG it really made me feel things 😏😏😏 Thank you so much for fulfilling my request. That said, can I get part 3, with their wedding and wedding night? And maybe Daemon will use her dagger for something? (In a consensual way, that the reader also likes — and only if you write nsfw, otherwise, just ignore it). Please?

Glad to know I served well. This is my first smut, please be gentle in criticising.

Also Request are Open and Well-Appreciated.

“Husband” “Wife”

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

Read Part One here and Part Two here

He was fire and she was the sun—both bound in eternity to burn together

The day the realm waited for had arrived at last—the Rogue Prince being bound into another marriage by his brother. Only this time she was his wife; his equal.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ Content, Hair pulling, Dagger play, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Masturbation (once), Fingering, PiV intercourse, Loss of Virginity, Dirty Talking. Creampie (I guess?). My writing (because i know this deserves a warning this time). Also, do let me know if i should just stop writing smut 😅 and also if i forgot to add something in the warnings

Word Count: 3.2k

The wedding was everything every nobleman and noblewoman had anticipated it to be. Targaryen royalty met the Dornish luxury in a dangerous yet elegant dance of grandeur and sensuality. The Rogue Prince, for once, hadn’t been drunk beyond senses—but rather, he stood straight and proud at the end of the aisle, watching the dangerously dressed Princess of Martell walking beside her brother Prince Qoren.

She had forgone the traditional skills for a more Dornish approach. The deep velvety dress had dangerously revealed the most of the skin of her back while the neckline dipped low enough to seduce any man—and woman too. The jewellery added to adorn her even more had been the end of had she not smirked at her now-husband when her brother placed her smaller but no less hand in Daemon’s larger ones.

The air around them had pulsed with a sensual desire that had the High Sept blushing and stumbling over his words while he proclaimed them man and wife. The stolen glance and the lingering touches and the whispered words hidden behind smirks weren’t lost in the eyes of the court and they knew that this was only the beginning.

And true to their thoughts, it had only just begun.

The first kiss wasn’t soft or brief. Daemon’s hands had pulled her closer by her waist, lips clashing against hers with tongue and teeth and bites that weren’t made for the eyes of anyone but them. Her fingers had slithered up from his chest and had tugged on his hair, once—and the groan that had followed was anything but innocent. No. It was the call of a dragon waking, hungry and dying to sink his teeth into fresh meat.

The reception was spent with polite formalities of thanking the nobles for their attendance on their special day and the gifts that they brought with them—all just a cheap attempt at trying to impress the newlyweds and possibly—hopefully—step into the good graces of either the Targaryens or the Martells or perhaps, if the gods and luck provided it, both.

But even then, the questionable proximity of the two raised a few eyebrows. Hand around her waist, possessive and territorial. The kiss that lasted longer than appropriate or the bite of her lip that followed it until the Prince let go with a smirk. The first dance spent whispering into each other’s ears—and by the smirks and winks and flusters, the court could only say that they weren’t even meant to be spoken in front of them, especially when they could be heard by anyone.

And so, when the King Viserys had announced that the feast was over and the bedding was to start, only a brave—and heinously drunk—men had moved to approach the Dornish Princess who sat with a smug smirk and a single glance at her husband, whose hand had collided with the top of the table in front of him.

“Touch her and you shall pay the price with your cock,” the warning had brought everyone to a standstill while a few drunk and old men tried to explain to Daemon that it was tradition. And not following it is not an option, especially with how he hadn’t consummated his last marriage despite a thousand efforts of the council and every noble born involved except for Daemon himself and Rhea, who continued to spend her life undisturbed in Runestone.

But the Rogue Prince had only smirked and with a flair of his usual swagger and mischievous charm, replied, “you will hear the evidence enough to confirm what you must.” Before anyone could babble out an excuse to it, he had swept his wife off her feet and had carried her bridal style to his chambers with a spark of danger glinting under the candles that illuminated the Maegor’s Keep.

That is how they were here now, sipping on wine transported from Lannisport—a “graciously gift by Lord Jason Lannister for the newlyweds who had yet to share a word since the small commotion in the throne room.

The Princess of Dorne—now, the realm itself—lounged on a chaise, hair out of the thousand pins, flowing down her back in careless waterfall while she gently swirled the wine in the goblet. She was still in her wedding dress that had elicited enough raised eyebrows and gasps to be deemed the most scandalous dress to be worn by a bride. But could anyone blame her? Especially when she had done it only to torture her beloved husband a bit more. After all, the longer the wait, the sweeter the fruit.

Daemon, on the other hand, had already discarded his longsword and dagger on a table and had escaped the clutches of his wedding tunic and lounged in only his breeches and the loose undershirt that revealed a sliver of his toned chest. Perched upon the edge of the table, his sharp gaze followed every dip and curve he could find in his wife, the goblet of wine forgotten on the table that separated the chaise from the armchairs in front of it.

“Husband,” she cooed softly before taking a slow sip and letting a drop of the red substance slip past through the corner of her plump lip, trailing down her chin to chase the bare skin of her neck before disappearing into the tempting valley between her breasts.

“Staring isn’t well-appreciated,” she commented with a mischievous smile, throwing one leg upon another and proceeding to slowly pull back the hem of her dress with her foot, baring her shapely calves for the Lord of Flea Bottom to feast upon from a distance—but not for long.

“And don’t you know, wife,” his voice was nothing but a growl, a warning dipped in danger and desire—a deadly yet attractive combination. “Teasing is a heinous crime.”

The sound of his strides were muffled by the soft carpet that covered every inch of the floor. Good for her knees, he thought while his fingers reached out to caress her hairline before dipping into her long tresses. The feel of her hair wrapped around his long fingers gave him a thrill that had his breath deepening—the casual dominance he hid well underneath brimming up to the surface.

His hand fisted the hair on the bottom of her neck, tugging at it to make her gasp before he pulled her up to stand in front of him, the goblet of wine in her hand trapped in between them—the only object to separate them apart from their own clothes. Her other hand clutched his undershirt, the white cotton soft underneath her fingertips unlike the ruthless grip on her hair.

“You will not disobey me, wife. Ever.” He growled, a rule set in stone, but if Daemon thought that she would obey without fighting back—than perhaps, Daemon has yet to know who exactly he married.

The Dornish princess only smiles, tilting her head while the goblet of wine moved up to trail up to his bare neck, before she tipped it. The wine spilled across the expanse of his neck before trailing down his chest and being soaked up by his undershirt, making the princess smirk while she carelessly dropped the goblet to the side.

The thud of it colliding with the floor coincided with her leaning up to lick a strip up his neck, collecting the drops of wine and making his groan while his hips grounded next to hers. The grip on her hair tightened and Daemon tugged her back, his own face disappearing into the croak of her neck, lips leaving hungry kisses and teasing bites across the sun-kissed skin.

She clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders while she tilted her head back to allow him more access and space, moaning against him in low breathy gasps, his name a chant of prayers upon her lips that had began to swell.

“Don’t you know, wife,” he whispered against her neck, placing a kiss on her pulse point while his fingers trailed up her sides in featherlike touches, teasing the seams where the dress began to bare her skin for a tantalising view for everyone’s eyes.

“It is not holy to have a weapon on yourself for your wedding.”

His fingers were quick, slipping out the expertly concealed blade from underneath the fabric. The familiar hilt of the dagger felt oddly like home in his hands, the metal blade shining underneath the golden glow of the candle, the sharp tip pressed against the base of her neck in an almost threatening yet erotic manner.

She breathed a chuckle, her hands moving down to slowly undo the ties holding the neckline of his undershirt together, her eyes—dark with desire and dilated—watching the deft work of her fingers before looking up at him through her lashes.

“And what is holy about our matrimony, husband?”

He growled, turning her around with her shoulders before the hand that held her dagger snaked around her front, the blade dangerously close to her jawline—much alike the way it had been that sinful night when both of them had returned with unholy thoughts and retorted to the use of their imagination to bring themselves to the throes of pleasure their bodies craved.

Daemon’s other hand made quick works on the ties that held her dress together, tearing through the thin silk fabric with the hunger of a predator toying with his prey—but she was no prey. She was his wife; his equal.

“Eager, Daemon?” She huffed a laughter, rolling her hips against him, the swells of her ass brushing against the centre of his breeches, making him grab hold of her supple hips while the dagger laid flat over her neck. Her breath hitched, eyes widening before closing while shallow breaths transcended into pants as the blade she had yielded at least a hundred times started to travel down her bare skin, making its way to the curve of her bosom.

“Breathless, Princess?” He whispered in her ear before his teeth sunk into the tip of it, making her gasp and her bosom graze the tip of the dagger, creating a small cut in the dress and baring the skin that his hungry gaze hadn’t seen until now.

His lips began to trace the path from behind her ears down to the tempting curve of her collarbone, kissing, licking and biting hungrily while the dagger made its way down and down until it rested against her mid-thigh, the fingers fisting the fabric of her dress and slowly lifting it up to bare more and more of her shapely legs.

His other hand maintained its grip on her hip, but his own now thrusted against the plush of her ass, growling under his breath while his breeches tightened with the need to take her now and own her forever—to claim and to breed her as he saw fit.

“Mine,” he groaned against her, his hand moving up to brush against her covered tits, groping the supple flesh before his thumb grazed across her hardened peak, making her shudder against him—partially melting into him.

“Then take me.” What was supposed to be a challenge came out as a plea, and Daemon would not deny her when she asked so prettily, so breathless for him and him alone.

The reply didn’t come in form of words or sounds, but in actions.

The dagger clattered to the ground while he rushed to turn her around, lips crashing down against hers in a fierce battle for dominance while hands greedily tried to bare every inch of each other’s skin to their touch and gaze and feel, while their legs took them backwards, in the direction of the four canopy bed that awaited them since the moment the two stepped into the room.

His undershirt was discarded, so was her dress, but his breeches—as tight and as restricting as they had become—stayed on while Daemon pushed her back on the bed, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of her bared body and committing the scene to his memory. But then again, he didn’t need his memory anymore when he had her to remind him and serve him the same—and more delicious—scene every night—at his will and hers.

“Look at you, dōna hāedar,” (sweet girl) he cooed, his fingers caressing her calves before trailing up to her knees and moving up towards her core in a slow, almost torturing pace, drawing a whine from the princess whose eyes were almost closed as her body bucked against her husband in desperation.

Wordlessly, Daemon settled between her legs, his eyes trailing over every inch of her burning skin—from her thrown back head to her parted lips, down to her inviting lips and curve of her supple tits to the pebbled nipples that stood out aching for his touch, down to her hips before they finally landed on his final destination—her glistening core.

Two fingers, deft and long and lithe, moved across her inner thigh before they grazed her cunt, collecting her juices before he slipped his fingers into his mouth—head tipping back and a moan slipping past at his tongue lapped on every inch of her taste.

“So wet, all for me, riñitsos?” (Little girl) he asked, smirking down at her withering figure when his fingers dived back in, teasing her opening before slipping in and getting a feel of her plush and tight walls that succumbed his digits like a hungry monster. His wife could only mewl, eyes closed and lips parted open while unfiltered moans and whines and pleas slipped past.

“Daemon, please,” she whimpered, her fingers moving down to thread into his silver hair and pulling him up to crash her lips to his hungrily, as well as desperately. The Rogue Prince, not at all deterred from his actions, continues to drive his fingers in and out of her wet quim while assaulting her lips and moving down to her neck—littering it with love bites and bruises that will last long enough for the court to spin the stories of the hungry prince who devoured his desert snake.

Satisfied with his ministrations to get her wet enough to soften the burn of him, his fingers emerged from her folds, reaching down to untie his breeches and get out of it before they wrapped around his length, lubricating it with her own wetness.

His other hand had moved down to beneath her chin, keeping her gaze locked on his while he placed the mushroom tip of his length on her opening, whispering to her in a quiet voice, “this will hurt only for a while.”

She only nodded, her fingers lacing into his hair while her eyes—softer than he has ever seen them—looked into his with an unwavering trust. A small smile and a squeeze at the base of his neck had him moving, pushing inside her.

She gasped—in pain and in surprise—her eyes closing while her head tipped back as she tried to relax her body as much as she could despite the foreign invasion. But it was Daemon who was truly holding on to his last threads of sanity. Every inch in his body screamed at him to thrust into her completely, to fuck her and to claim her and to make her his in all senses—to make home inside her tight cunt that clutched his length in a warm and intoxicating embrace.

His fingers drew soothing circles on her hips, eyes closed while his forehead grazed her shoulder as he slowly began to push in his entire length, sitting still once completely inside—waiting for her to relax and to tell him to move, to give him her consent to go further—all while he fought against his every instinct.

Kisses were placed on the side of her neck, soft whispered praises meeting the gentle touch of a warrior who knew not to be gentle but still, somehow was being for the sake of his wife—his only equal in the world.

Moments passed before she gently, rolled her hips, making him groan before she whispered breathlessly, “move, please.” He nodded against her, slowly pulling away until only his top remained inside her before driving in slowly, repeating the process until the resistance of her wall broke and it made space for him to pick up pace.

What started out as small moans and gasps transcended into pleas for more and screams while she clung to him, nails scratching his back while he drove into her like a man possessed.

“Gods, riñitsos, iksā sīr sȳz naejot nyke, sīr ȳrda!” (Little girl, you’re so good to me, so tight) he praised through gritted teeth while he thrusted into her, drawing out a choked moan from the Dornish Princess who didn’t understand anything of what he said, but her body reacted to it nonetheless by clinching against him.

“Dae-daemon,” she whined, her eyes rolling back into her skull as the pleasure started to reach at its peak, the knot in her stomach beginning to tighten and threatening to snap at any given moment. Daemon realised it without any words needing to be said, in the way that her body was slowly tensing up and the way her walls had tightened its grip on his length.

His tip grazed a single spongy spot inside her that had her unravelling with a loud moan of his name, but he didn’t stop just yet. Instead, Daemon was chasing his own high desperately while his tip continued to abuse that one spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

He came soon enough after her body reached its second orgasm, groaning her name and filling her up to the brim until he pulled out and their mixed cum leaked out of her tight cunt, offering him a tantalising view that would have had him hardening again had he not been preoccupied by the view of his breathless and flustered wife panting while clutching to him like her life depended on him.

His hand snaked under her waist, and he flipped them both, his back landing against the mattress while she landed on his chest with a surprised gasp, a hand hitting his shoulder that had him laughing deviously down at her.

“Look at you, all spent for me, wife.” He commented, earning an eye roll while her skin flushed even more.

The candles were almost out, flickering with the last of their strength and the room had dimmed—the curtains drawn hid the moonlight that would have otherwise illuminated the most of the room in its silvery glow. He looked down at her features that had softened after her peaks, the shadows contouring the best of them in a dramatic fashion. Her usual sharpness bleeding away to leave a vulnerable sparkle in her eyes, dark hair tousled while her golden skin glowed post-coital, plump lips parted and swollen while her neck and shoulders were littered in the many evidences of their passionate night—a map of desire and passion across the beautiful sun-kissed canvas of her skin—his mark.

“Sleep now, wife.”

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon x reader #daemon x you #hotd #hotd daemon #hotd x reader #daemon targaryen smut #hotd smut

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shaunamilfman · 5 hours ago

Text

i almost do [3]

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!reader summary: It's been long enough, hasn't it? If only Shauna could bring herself to apologize. note: minors dni Masterlist

She’s doing it again. It’s not even a surprise any more, if it ever was. You aren’t sure what to make of it, but you know with a bone-deep certainty that if you show your face outside of Nat’s hut, her eyes will be solely focused on you.

Shauna’s been the butcher for so long that she doesn’t even need to look down at her hands as she slices, each move mechanical and efficient, but you wish that she would. You used to tell her off for it, constantly reminding her to at least pretend she was watching for your sake instead of staring down Mari, but that’s just not your place anymore.

And whose fault was that?

You shuffle next to a group of girls huddled around the fire, staying close for warmth as you surreptitiously adjust the outer layers of your clothes to make sure her flannel is still hidden firmly out of view. The last thing you need is for someone to comment on it loudly enough for Shauna to hear. It was a stupid risk, keeping it.

Dumber still to wear it out, but you spent far too much time laying around in the hut and tracing the worn fabric with your thumb to pretend you didn’t want to. She snuck into Nat’s hut in the middle of the night like some kind of bandit and left it with you. Well, the exact opposite of a bandit really, but the fact remained that she wants you to have it. Wanted, maybe, if she hasn’t changed her mind since.

It was hard enough avoiding those eyes of hers now—achingly sad and lonely, right back to the girl who had first pinned you up against that tree all those months ago. Her eyes were always more expressive than anything else. Even those rare times she managed to keep what she was feeling off of her face, you could always count on those brown eyes to tell you what was what. They told you when she was proud. When she was feeling uncertain. When she loved you.

Because Shauna certainly won’t.

She never has, really, but she hasn’t even brought herself to speak to you since she tried to pull that gun on you. Shauna wants to speak to you, to explain whatever fucked-up thing was going through her head when she reached behind her back, or even just quietly exist beside you like she used to. But she never seems to be able to fully cross that line and make her way toward you. Seemingly content to mope around and stare like some kind of depressed ghost.

You know that if you let her talk to you, you would forgive her just as easily. If she could actually get the words out, that was. No hesitation, no lecture, no more sleeping in Nat’s hut and wishing you could feel Shauna pressing up against you.

It wasn’t some calculated attack, but the stupid split-second reaction of someone who’s never known how to sit with hurt feelings without letting them explode outwards and damaging everyone in the vicinity. Shauna has always acted without thinking, right down to the very beginning of your relationship when she kissed you back without even fully knowing why. It’s done nothing but get her in trouble, back home but especially out here.

The kind of impulsivity that ends with you pregnant with your best friend’s boyfriend’s baby or holding a camp full of girls hostage because you can’t deal with the idea of returning to a town that holds nothing but ghosts and shame.

Then there’s the rage. That blinding rage that takes hold of her and erases all sense of thought and logic, her eyes narrowed so tight you’re not even sure she can see beyond it. When she gets that smug little smirk on her face that seems perfectly designed to get beneath your skin, as infuriating as it is hot. The one that makes you want to slap her and kiss her in the same breath. But mostly slap.

But there are other things. Softer things that you have to make a concentrated effort not to think on if you have any hope of remaining mad.

Like the tears she sheds when she thinks you're asleep, face pressed tightly into your shoulder as she shakes from the effort of holding them back as you lie there pretending not to hear. The name she whispers in her sleep that you won’t acknowledge even to yourself. How worried she’s become since summer turned into fall, how dedicated to ensuring you were never cold. Not the rest of them, just you.

The look she gets when you're cuddled up on your cot, pressed together tightly as her hand brushes stray strands of hair away from your chest. The comforting weight of her head on your chest when she falls asleep listening to your heartbeat. Even just the way she entwines your fingers when you’re alone, tracing her thumb up and down the side of your hand like she could never get tired of it.

The way she reached for that gun behind her back.

You have to remind yourself of it.

You can forgive her, but you need her to ask for it. She has to mean it. It can’t just be folded away like so many of the things she’s done out here.

If there’s one thing you can’t do, it’s letting her pull you back into that hut like what she did was nothing. You know what the rest of them whisper about you behind your back. What they get brave enough to say about your and Shauna’s relationship. Her little dog, faithful and forgiving.

The first person you heard say it was Mari, laughing with a group of them around her about how you’ll stop following Shauna around when she finally bites you hard enough. You didn’t say anything then, just rolled your eyes and pretended like you didn’t hear it. But you always did.

Then there’s the bets Van’s been taking about when you’re going to take Shauna back. Those you didn’t mind so much, not when Van winked and promised to share the loot. She made it sound more like a joke than the pity some of the rest of them looked at you with. At least Van was honest. At least she seemed to understand sometimes.

But still. Being with Shauna wasn’t like what the rest of them thought. You’ve seen the way they’ve been looking at you for months: like they felt bad for you. Like you somehow drew the short straw. They couldn’t possibly understand why you were with her in the first place, and it made you so damn sad.

They didn’t see the way her face softens when she catches you staring. How shy it makes her, like she didn’t fully understand it either. Her eyes darting down and then back up, always pleasantly surprised to find you still looking. The way she squirms and slaps your hands away when your fingers tread just a little too close to being ticklish. They didn’t know how tightly she holds onto you, like she’s terrified you won’t be there when she wakes up again. That special way she says your name.

She was your girlfriend, and they just keep making it into a punchline.

Maybe that’s why, even now, there’s still distance between you and the rest of them no matter how closely you’re huddled together. Nat bumps your shoulder, careful not to brush by Misty who’s standing near you. You have questions about their sudden distance, but you’ll let her keep her secrets. She never presses you about Shauna, despite how badly she seems to want to at times. The least you could do is return the effort considering you’re sharing her bed now.

Regretfully you step back from the fire, following Nat a bit away from the rest of them. Just out of earshot, you think. You glance over at Shauna, scoffing when you see her talking to Hannah again. As much as she cautioned you about talking to her—screamed at, belittled, accused you of flirting with, made you feel small—the same didn’t seem to go for Shauna.

Figures.

The whole thing was stupid, anyway. You don’t get why Shauna would be talking to her in the first place. Shauna hates talking to anyone who wasn’t you, and sometimes even you didn’t seem to be an exception. What are they talking about over there, anyway? Probably off braiding each other's hair and swapping secrets. It’s petty of you, but you felt that it was more than deserved at this point. Shauna had stormed off after much less, after all.

You miss the way Shauna’s eyes follow you with something awfully close to jealousy as you follow after Nat.

…

“What are you doing out here?” Shauna asks sharply.

You jump in surprise, wincing as it pulls against your shoulder. It was mostly healed, but it still doesn't feel nice. Her posture shifts as she softens, hands uncurling by her side as she glances at your arm. She stands by the doorway of her hut, shifting on the balls of her feet like she isn't quite sure what she's doing out here. Shauna’s looking at you like you’re a puzzle she still hasn’t figured out, even after all this time. You wonder if you really are just a mystery to her sometimes with the way she reacts in surprise to so many things.

“Just watching the fire,” you say, feeling a tinge of awkwardness from the way she was just standing there watching. Her expression, what you could make of it from the light of the fire, was far too intense for how late it was.

“That's not your job.” Simple, to the point. Direct. Typical Shauna.

“Well, no,” you admit, glancing over in the direction of Misty's hut. You knew she was awake in there, likely listening. It was, after all, her job to be watching the fire. You weren't sure why she chose to stay in the hut. She's been avoiding you ever since you started rooming with Nat. Giving you a wide berth, like whatever you had was contagious.

“I just couldn't sleep.”

“You should go to bed,” Shauna says tersely, like she’s forcing the words out.

“Fine.” You sigh as you stand up, taking a step toward Nat's hut.

“No.”

“No?” You ask as you slowly come to a stop. You don't turn around to face her as you speak, which you know must drive her insane.

“To your bed,” she says pointedly. Despite how it comes out like an order, you can hear the way her voice wavers.

“And where's that?” Still not looking at her. You can hear Shauna moving around behind you, hesitant and unsure.

“Don't be like that.”

“I'll be however I—”

“Please,” Shauna says. It's enough to make you turn around in surprise. “Can we… Can we talk?”

“Talk, then.”

Shauna glances around, eyes narrowing on Misty's hut. “Inside? I don't want… “

Anyone to hear, you finish in your head. Yeah, that sounds about right. You step towards her silently, closing the distance between you. Shauna's eyes widen in surprise, murmuring a soft “oh” under her breath as she ducks back into her hut.

For all her talk, she doesn't seem to know what to do with you now that you're back in her hut with her. Shauna blushes suddenly as her eyes catch something before quickly looking back at you. You can't help but indulge your curiosity and follow her eyes, a pleased feeling rising in your chest as you catch sight of your shirt balled up on her bed.

Worn and unmistakably slept in since you’ve been gone. You wonder how many nights she’s spent sleeping in it, or maybe even just holding it up to her face and pretending you were here. It’s kind of pathetic, really, but you can’t deny how good it is to see it. It’s mostly just sweet. Finally, some evidence that Shauna was as affected by your separation as you are, as much as she pretends otherwise as she walks around with Hannah just a half-step behind her.

Not that you hadn’t been sleeping in Shauna’s flannel as well, but that was your business. You let the silence hang for longer than you usually would, feeling a little earned cruelty as you watch her squirm.

“Didn’t think you were the sentimental type,” you say, voice low and just shy of mocking.

“I’m not,” she rushes out too quickly, her voice cracking just enough to be noticeable. Shauna clears her throat like that would help. “Just cold.”

“Clearly.” Shauna flinches at the words but doesn’t rise to them for once. She opens her mouth, hesitates as she rubs her thumb absently against the sheath on her thigh, and then closes her mouth again. When she doesn’t say anything else, you continue, “I‘m here. Now what?”

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” Shauna says, too fast again, giving you what you think is an attempt at a smile but looks a little too threatening. She seems to be aware of the fact as she winces and looks away, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck in a soothing motion. The way you used to. Then she tries again, softer and more sincere.

“It wasn’t about hurting you.” Her voice sounds so small, so uncertain that it makes you a little sick. “Not really. I don’t know why…”

“So you reached for the gun?” You cut in, tired of watching her pretend it was anything other than what it was.

Shauna flinches like she hadn’t expected you to actually name it. What had she been expecting, anyway? Did she imagine that all she had to do was invite you into her hut and look at you with her sad eyes, and suddenly everything would be okay? Fuck that.

“I just didn’t know what to do. It was—everyone was watching, and you just walked away from me. Like it was easy. Like I wasn’t anything.” She can’t bring herself to look at you as she speaks, but you can hear the way she’s practically begging you to understand what she can’t say. Her arms wrap around her stomach, taking a step back until she’s almost pressed up against the wall of her hut.

You don’t follow her. You don’t offer her anything. You’re tired of making it easier for her.

“Whatever, Shauna,” you mutter.

“Wait, no.”

“I’m tired of waiting for something that’s not ever coming because you’re not—”

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, breath catching in a surprised squeak that you couldn’t have stopped if you tried as you stare at her with wide eyes.

“I wasn’t even thinking. I just wanted you to come back. I didn’t mean to scare you—or maybe I did, somehow in some stupid way. It’s the only way I could think of to keep you, even if it was…”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She repeats again. “That’s all I have.”

Was it enough?

You think it might be.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She questions neutrally, like she’s trying not to get her hopes up. Maybe it was expecting too much of her to think she would sound more excited by the thought. Shauna’s been as emotionally vulnerable as she can manage for the rest of the winter.

“Okay,” you repeat, watching her carefully.

“Okay, what?” Shauna looks frustrated, fiddling with her hands as her fingers twitch toward her sheath again. She rolls her eyes when you grin at her. “You forgive—you’ll come back to bed?”

“This is the last time,” you warn, serious enough that Shauna tenses again. “You don’t get another do-over with something like this.”

Shauna nods thoughtfully as she takes a step forward, seeming pleased when you don’t take a step back. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, carefully avoiding her anytime she tried to stand nearer to you.

“I think I can manage not pointing the gun at you,” she adds smugly.

“Or the knife.”

Shauna gapes at you. “Like…ever?”

“Well, I mean sometimes—”

“A lot of times—”

“Just don’t threaten to kill me with it. Jesus, Shauna. You knew what I meant.”

“No threats?” Shauna demands seriously, even as a small smile comes to her face. It’s barely a smile, more of a twitch of her lips that you would call a muscle spasm on anyone else. It’s practically ecstatic on her. Wow, she must have really missed you.

“No serious threats,” you allow. She tilts her head to the side as if she’s about to start negotiating terms with you, only to hold her hands up mockingly when you narrow your eyes in her direction.

“Fine.”

Her hand hovers by her side before she slowly reaches out for you, hesitant, like she’s forgotten how. You reach out and lace your fingers together, squeezing firmly as you pull her closer without any resistance at all. Shauna’s warm where she’s pressed against you, chest to chest, with your joined hands trapped between your bodies.

She traces her fingers along the edge of your jacket, smirking as she notices the collar of her flannel peaking out. There’s no comment on it, mostly because you kiss her before she has a chance to.

…

Shauna gasps quietly, muffled against your lips as she clutches to your shoulders. Maybe not as carefully as she could, but you can’t bring yourself to mind much.

“Like that?” You question breathlessly between kisses, your non-dominant hand fumbling around between her legs as you curl your fingers again.

It’s taken you a few tries to get it quite right, but Shauna hasn’t seemed to mind much even as your forearm trembled from the effort. Out of character, really, for your girlfriend, who was usually so demanding and bossy, but you think she must need the weight of you on top of her more than anything else. God knows you’ve wanted to feel her as well, active or asleep, as long as it meant she was pressed against you.

A pained hiss leaves your lips as your hand cramps again, not quite as used to the motion as you should be. The angle is awkward, the whole thing really, but it’s the first time you’ve had her in ages. You can’t bring yourself to readjust.

A nod, and then, “Yeah,” as she curls her fingers around the back of your neck to hold you closer. Her head tilts back, offering you up room you happily take to kiss a path down from her lips to her neck.

You can’t get as far as you want, not with her jacket firmly planted in your way. As much as you would love to have her bare beneath you, the ever-present threat of the winter air keeps the two of you mostly clothed. Even her sweatpants stayed on, the waistband digging into your wrist. Still, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Shauna definitely wouldn’t, full out refusing when you tried to go down on her instead. She insisted it was because it was too damn cold out, but you secretly suspected it was for another reason entirely. The way she hasn’t been able to drag her eyes away from you since you eased her back down on your bed said more than words ever could, especially when they came from Shauna’s lips. Like you might not be there, waiting for you to disappear if she did so much as blink.

She looks at you like that a lot, actually: like she can’t fully accept that you’re real.

You’ll just have to remind her that you are. Not to toot your own horn, but it seems like you’re excelling at that right now. Shauna’s fingers curl in your hair as you nip at the peak of her collarbone showing beneath the collar of her jacket. They aren’t guiding you anywhere like they normally would, content just to touch and be touched.

Shauna cries out far too loudly for how close your hut is to the next one as you bite down where her neck meets her shoulder, sucking the skin with your mouth to soothe it with your tongue. She loves marking you more than just about anything else, bruises of any kind littering your body to remind you and everyone else who exactly you belong to. There were still bruises on your hips in the final stages of fading that she left before your fight. She was many things, but thorough was definitely one of them.

Equally happy to receive them, even if she prefers for them not to be visible. Luckily for you, she was too far gone to complain much now. Even when she caught sight of it tomorrow, she would wear it with pride after all this time apart, if only to prove to the rest of them whose hut you were sleeping in again. Shauna was a simple girl sometimes.

“Fuck,” she breathes lowly, pulling you up with the hand on the back of your neck to kiss you again.

It’s desperate now, like it has been all night. The two of you have been making up for lost time, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. Your time apart has done nothing but make you want her more, and it seems that she’s not immune to the pull either. If there was one thing you could expect from Shauna, it was to match your crazy.

“Could you—I need—” Shauna murmurs between kisses, struggling to pull away long enough to verbalize the thought.

You know what she wants, and it makes you flush in embarrassment. “I know,” you whisper, trailing off into a whine as she bites at your bottom lip. It's your fault for talking so close to her lips. It was almost a taunt, and of course Shauna would rise to it. “It’s just a little difficult with–”

Shauna rolls her hips up against your hand, grinding her clit against your palm as she tests the waters.

“There you go,” you murmur as she settles into a rhythm, your hand cramping something awful from trying to keep up with it. The words of complaint don’t leave your lips—you hardly even think about them as the two of you move together.

It doesn’t take long then, not that it ever does, before she’s clutching at your shoulder as she makes those quiet little sounds in your ear. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but you can tell she’s holding herself back. Her hips start to slow as she forces herself back from the edge she’s been rapidly approaching. It’s not something you appreciate.

“Shauna, what’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes.

Her eyes dart away in discomfort before she slowly drags them back, her face slack with pleasure as she struggles to stay focused on you.

“Fuck, just… Tell me you love me,” Shauna demands.

“What?”

“Tell me you love me,” she repeats, more hesitant this time. Embarrassed. “Are you stupid? You can’t even—”

“I love you, Shauna,” you interrupt, trying to stay patient. Shauna whines in your ear, a sound you know she’ll deny making until her death, as she speeds up.

“Again,” she demands.

“I love you.”

“Again.” Breathier this time.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

She cries out, thighs clamping down around your hand as you struggle to keep your fingers moving. Shauna murmurs your name in something like disbelief, eyes slipping shut as she buries her face into your shoulder.

“I love you.” You press delicate kisses along her jaw as she shudders, repeating the words with each press of your lips.

“Idiot,” Shauna says finally against your ear, her cheeks red from some mix of the cold and her own embarrassment.

You laugh breathlessly against her neck, nipping at the skin in retaliation as her hands trail down your sides.

#minors dni #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman x reader

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