#there's just something about it that clenches the heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bywons · 12 hours ago

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WHISPERS BEHIND VELVET ✷ AGENT!PJS

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋

【 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 】｡ 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝗃𝖺𝗒 & 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝖿!𝗋 2332w 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗌𝗉𝗒 𝖺𝗎 ━━━━ 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ❛ 愛 ❜

する ܃ something out of my comfort zone, tried my best not to go overboard with it ! i hope you guys will like it, then maybe we'll get more agent enha :3

reb𝑙ogs────𝑓eedbacks 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 ꪆৎ

“this is it. keep your head in the game, rookie.”

jay’s voice is calm, yet there’s an undercurrent of tension in his tone. the quiet command sends a shiver down your spine as you watch him adjust the cufflinks of his black tuxedo with meticulous precision. everything about jay screams control—his posture, his movements, even the way he holds himself. he’s been in situations like this countless times, while for you, this is your first real undercover mission. you feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

“i’ve got this,” you reply, though the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

jay glances at you with a sharp, knowing look, his lips curving into that signature smirk of his. “we’ll see.”

as you’re about to get yourself ready for the mission in your mind, jay is quick to break it.

he slides his hand around your waist, and pulls you in until you bump against his chest. blood rushes to your cheeks as you gasp, softly trying to push him off.

“don't,” jay states, his voice firm and strict. he looks at you from the corner of his eyes, his infamous smirk on his face, “we’re husband and wife for the night.”

you gulp, slowly nodding at your superior before stepping out of the car.

you swallow hard, nodding as you grip the fabric of his tuxedo tighter. “right.”

he adjusts the strap of your dress that had slipped slightly, his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. “relax. and remember, follow my lead.”

his touch is firm but not overbearing, and you force yourself to relax, your hands smoothing over the fabric of your dress as you lean into him. “fine. but next time, give me a warning.”

jay leans closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “noted, darling.”

the valet opens the doors to the casino, and you step out into the night. the rush of cool air hits you as you survey the sprawling, glittering casino before you. the monte carlo casino is everything you’ve read about and more—opulent, filled with sharp-dressed gamblers, the rich scent of cologne mixing with the faint hum of excitement in the air. chandeliers hang overhead, casting soft golden light onto the marble floors.

you adjust your black satin dress, the coolness of the night air brushing your bare arms. the dress fits you perfectly, hugging every curve and leaving just enough to the imagination. the slit that runs up your leg is meant to be daring, and it certainly is, but it also makes you feel like you’re walking into the lion’s den with your heart pounding.

beside you, jay smooths out his tuxedo and pulls at his cufflinks one more time. “remember the plan,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear.

you nod, fighting the nerves bubbling in your chest. “act, distract, gather intel. piece of cake.”

“stay alive, rookie,” he adds, his tone firm, though there’s an underlying edge to his words.

you want to argue, but you just nod, clenching your jaw. staying alive. right.

the casino's grand entrance swallows you both, and as you step inside, the atmosphere changes immediately. the murmur of conversations fills the space, punctuated by the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the sounds of roulette wheels spinning. every corner of the room is bathed in soft, warm light, reflecting off the gilded trim and luxurious décor. high-rollers sit at card tables, their laughter loud and smug, while others try their luck at the slot machines.

jay’s hand brushes the small of your back, and though it seems like a gesture of intimacy, you know it’s a signal. a reminder to stay alert. you walk side by side through the casino, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your eyes scanning the room.

the target, marcus delacroix, sits at a corner table, his face familiar even from this distance. marcus is a man who exudes wealth and power, his tailored suit and diamond-studded rings just as much a part of his personality as his menacing grin. he’s notorious in the arms trade, and he’s known for his temper and ruthlessness.

“remember,” jay whispers, “you're the star of the show, y/n. let me sugar talk to him and you get the drive. one mistake and he escapes.”

you flash jay a tight smile, nodding slightly. you’re no rookie in this line of work, but the nerves are still there. you can’t help it. this mission is a big one.

the two of you approach the table. marcus looks up at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. his gaze is predatory, a glint of recognition flickering in his eyes.

“mr. delacroix,” jay greets, extending a hand, his tone smooth but firm. “james daniels. and this is my wife, victoria.”

marcus doesn’t immediately take jay’s hand. Instead, his gaze flicks over to you again, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your appearance. “a pleasure to meet you both,” he says, his voice slow and deliberate. “i have to admit, james, your wife is even more captivating in person.”

“she’s not just captivating,” jay replies, his voice dripping with a light charm as he pulls you closer, “she’s my good luck charm.”

you can feel marcus’s eyes lingering on you, along with jays, as though trying to peel back the layers. you force a smile, leaning into jay slightly. “it’s a pleasure,” you say, your voice smooth.

marcus gestures to the chairs around the table. “please, have a seat. join the game. it’s not every day i have such fine company.”

you sit, playing your part flawlessly, and the game begins. your eyes flicker over the chips and cards, but your mind remains focused on marcus. every word he says is calculated, every movement purposeful. you catch glimpses of the guards stationed throughout the room, their eyes scanning the crowd. two near the bar. another by the exit. more near the staircase. you notice the subtle but deadly threat in their eyes.

through your earpiece, your handler’s voice crackles to life. “rookie, you’ve got fifteen minutes. delacroix’s laptop is in the suite upstairs. two guards posted outside. you need to move quickly.”

you glance at jay, who’s talking to marcus, his expression engaging but calculating. without missing a beat, he subtly glances over to you and gives the slightest nod.

“got it,” you whisper.

you excuse yourself from the table with a warm smile, smoothing down the front of your dress. “if you’ll excuse me, i need to freshen up,” you say lightly, your tone betraying none of the tension coursing through your body.

marcus’s gaze lingers on you, his smile sharp and untrusting. “don’t keep him waiting too long, mrs. daniels.”

you chuckle softly, leaning down to brush a kiss against jay’s cheek for added effect. “i never do.”

jay’s hand squeezes yours under the table briefly, a subtle signal to stay focused. you give him a slight nod and turn on your heel, heading toward the grand staircase that leads to the private suites.

the casino floor hums with energy, but the second floor is quieter, its opulence more understated. plush carpets line the halls, and abstract art decorates the walls. as you approach the suite at the end of the corridor, your pulse quickens. two guards stand at attention outside the door, their sharp eyes tracking your every move.

you don’t hesitate. confidence is your best weapon now. pulling out your compact mirror, you glance at your reflection, pretending to fix your lipstick as you stumble slightly on your heel.

“oh,” you mutter, looking up at the guards with an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry—new shoes. are the restrooms down this way?”

one of the guards hesitates, glancing at his partner. “no. they’re downstairs,” he says gruffly, jerking his chin toward the staircase.

“thank you!” you reply cheerfully, walking past them as if you’re heading back to the main floor.

once you’re out of their line of sight, you duck into a small alcove and pull out the lock-picking tool hidden in your clutch. with quick, practiced movements, you bypass the suite’s secondary door a few feet away from the guards.

“rookie, status?” jay’s voice crackles in your earpiece, his tone calm but firm.

“inside,” you whisper.

the suite is dimly lit, the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. the room exudes wealth—dark wood furniture, leather armchairs, and a massive desk that holds marcus’s laptop. you make your way to it quickly, plugging in the usb drive and initiating the data transfer.

as the progress bar creeps forward, you hear muffled voices outside.

“rookie, you’ve got two minutes,” jay’s voice warns, a hint of urgency slipping through his usual calm.

“almost done,” you mutter, your eyes darting between the screen and the door.

just as the transfer completes, the door bursts open, and one of the guards storms in, his gun already drawn.

“step away from the desk,” he growls.

your heart pounds, but you force yourself to stay calm. you raise your hands slowly, stepping back as your mind races for a plan.

before the guard can act, a muffled shot rings out, and he crumples to the ground.

you turn to see jay in the doorway, his gun raised, the suppressor still smoking.

“cutting it close, aren’t you?” you quip, your voice shaky but light.

jay steps into the room, his eyes scanning it quickly before turning to you. “grab the drive. we need to move.”

you snatch the usb drive from the laptop and follow jay into the hallway. more footsteps echo from the direction of the staircase, and jay’s jaw tightens.

“run,” he orders, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward.

you sprint down the hallway, your heels pounding against the carpet as adrenaline courses through your veins. the echo of heavy boots behind you grows louder, and you chance a glance over your shoulder.

jay, a step behind you, fires off two precise shots over your shoulder. a guard grunts and falls, but another rounds the corner almost immediately, shouting for backup.

chaos soon ensues in the casino, causing screams and shouts from the rich guests, evacuating the casino soon enough.

“left!” jay barks, and you veer sharply, skidding slightly on the polished floor as you turn the corner.

a guard steps into your path, raising his weapon, but jay is faster. he shoves you behind him, lunging at the man with brutal efficiency. one hand grips the guard’s wrist, twisting the gun free, while the other slams into his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling.

“keep going!” jay snaps, shoving the gun into his pocket as he pushes you forward.

you run, the sound of your own breath loud in your ears. the grand staircase comes into view, but two more guards block the way.

“stay behind me,” jay says, his voice low and commanding.

you press yourself against the wall as jay moves. one guard charges at him, but jay sidesteps smoothly, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the marble railing. the second guard draws a knife, slashing at jay, but he deflects the blow with his forearm and counters with a sharp kick to the man’s knee.

the guard stumbles, and jay finishes him with a swift punch to the temple.

“downstairs. now,” jay says, grabbing your hand again and pulling you down the staircase.

the casino floor is chaotic, the commotion from upstairs drawing attention from the guests and staff. you weave through the crowd, jay keeping a firm grip on your hand as you head toward the exit.

but marcus himself steps into your path, his gun trained on jay.

“going somewhere?” marcus sneers, his expression cold and calculating.

jay doesn’t hesitate. he lunges forward, grabbing marcus’s wrist and twisting it sharply. the gun clatters to the floor as jay delivers a brutal punch to marcus’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

“move,” jay growls, steering you toward the exit as more guards converge on the scene.

the two of you burst into the cool night air, your chest heaving as you stumble to a stop in the shadow of the casino. before the guards or any of marcus's men can grab you both, jay pulls you into a black limo which drives off instantly.

“you alright?” jay asks, his dark eyes scanning you for injuries.

“yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

jay leans closer, his hand cupping your face as he studies you. then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is fierce, raw, a collision of adrenaline and relief. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips move with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the chaos of the mission fades away. the heat of his body against yours grounds you, his presence overwhelming in the best way. you pull him closer by his collars, and he smirks into the kiss.

jay doesn't care there's a driver inside the car too, at this moment he just cares how your lips move against his, as he practically pulls you into his lap.

his lips travel from your lips to your jaws to your neck and then back at your lips, his hands traveling everywhere.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“you did good tonight,” jay murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“so did you,” you reply, your heart still racing.

jay smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “next time, don’t make me work so hard to save you.”

“next time, maybe you let me save you,” you tease, your tone light despite the lingering adrenaline.

jay chuckles softly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “come on. we will do better next time.”

together, you disappear into the night, with jays lips back on yours.

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

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duachai · 2 days ago

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DE.VIL - BANG CHAN | STRAY KIDS

A fashion designer under a mafia contract is Chan's one and only toy to play with.

Here, baby, take a sip, take a sip. Take a sip, take a sip, lick your lips, lick your lips

♱ PAIRING : BANG CHAN X MALE READER ♱ CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. ♱ AUTHOR'S NOTE : This was supposed to be for Halloween, but I left it in my notion and then forgot about it. So... then I got carried away... turned it into smut... and then with railway and... well.... it's Chan. ♱ REQUESTED : YES (ANON) LINKS : Wattpad

Lollipops were M/n's stress relievers. His mother, wise to his anxieties, had given him the habit of carrying one at all times. In the face of conflict, the sugary treat became a calming ritual, helping him navigate the tension.

The urge to pop a lollipop for comfort was eating him alive. However, he knew a childish indulgence wouldn't sit well with the wealthy client scrutinizing his latest masterpiece, or what he thought was one.

"Is this it?" the client scoffed, slumping back in his chair. "This just looks like a bunch of draped fabric. And it's way too feminine for what I instructed you to. Listen, I respect your achievements, and you can do whatever you please, but this is a complete miss for me. Try again.”

M/n clenched his jaw, the fingers of his right hand twitching to reach for his hidden stash of lollipops. This was the opposite of S-Class Styles’s brand. His brand thrived on pushing boundaries, not churning out these uninspired black-and-white suits. He craved the opportunity to inject some signature edge, a touch of that S-Class shock factor, to weave a story into the fabric itself.

S-Class Styles was a front for a darker business, but as the specific gentleman who bought out the place, they offered M/n a secure job to do whatever he pleased, but still he got walked all over.

And frankly, this was M/n’s fifth project for this man. Could he not catch the hint?

“Alright, Mr. Jung. I’m sorry this doesn’t fit your… criteria. I’ll work on getting a better version for you.” M/n swallowed his pride, putting on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He kept it moving, something he continued to do through the last six clients until the end of the day.

The shop lights flickered off one by one, signaling the end of another grueling shift. M/n gathered his belongings and shuffled out, ready to escape the suffocating pressure of client demands.

As he stepped into the lobby, he was greeted by a figure that instantly made his pulse quicken. Chan, the mafia leader who had an iron grip on the city, was lounging casually on a velvet chair, waiting for him. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, studying M/n with an intensity that left no room for distractions.

“Bad day?” Chan’s voice was smooth, his presence undeniably commanding. He rose slowly, the tension in his muscles barely contained beneath his perfectly tailored suit, one that M/n made himself. The air around him seemed to shift, and M/n's breath hitched despite himself.

"All the same," M/n replied, trying to mask the sudden heat crawling up his neck.

“Mm,” Chan hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer with a predatory grace. He reached up, his thumb grazing M/n’s jawline, a movement that was as casual as it was intimate. "That look on your face tells me something’s eating at you. I don’t like it."

M/n swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest. "It’s nothing. Just business, you know?"

Chan’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Doesn’t seem like nothing. Why don’t you let me take care of it?” M/n was Chan’s personal... liaison. Chan took care of him and his shop, and M/n took care of anything Chan needed work wise and personally.

Before M/n could protest, Chan’s hands were at his waist, pulling him into a firm embrace. The sudden closeness was overwhelming and M/n could feel the heat radiating from Chan’s body, and his breath caught in his throat. Bang Chan leaned in, his lips brushing just below M/n’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“You’ve been carrying all that stress around,” Bang Chan whispered, his voice rough and low. "Is there someone bothering you? Let me handle it."

M/n’s mind raced, but his body betrayed him. He wanted to push away, to retreat, but the pull of Chan was magnetic. He leaned into the kiss, their lips crashing together in a searing kiss. The taste of mint and danger mixed as their tongues tangled in a heated rhythm, all pretense vanishing in an instant.

“There’s no one,” M/n whispered between the kiss. Chan’s hands moved down to M/n’s hips, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. The space between them vanished as M/n’s lower back pressed against the nearest desk with his sewing machine on it. The sharpness of the suit’s fabric dug into his skin, but it only heightened the fire burning inside him.

Chan broke the kiss briefly, his lips brushing M/n’s neck as he trailed kisses along his skin. “Are you being honest with me, doll?” he murmured against his collarbone, voice laden with desire.

M/n’s breath faltered, his hands reaching up, desperate to touch, to claim. The tension, the stress, everything melted under Bang Chan’s touch, and he knew, deep down, there was no turning back now.

“Answer me,” Chan murmured, his voice dropping to a near growl, “Is there a problem I have to deal with?” His dark eyes searched M/n’s face intently looking for any sign he was hiding something.

M/n took a breath, pushing Chan back a little as he dropping his head as he sighed. “There’s nothing, I don’t understand why you get so worked up.” Chan’s expression turned as he slightly rolled his eyes, his brows furrowing as he looked down at M/n with a mix of frustration and concern. He reached up, his thumb brushing over M/n’s jawline as he tried to coax him to look up.

“Your shop looks a reck. Someone came here causing trouble. What I don't understand is why you keep protecting them.” He said sternly, M/n adverting his eyes completely. “When are you going to stop covering for people who clearly don’t give a fuck about you and what you’re doing?” M/n’s shoulders drop and his lips form into a pout. “One of these days, I’m not going to be here to protect you, M/n.”

“Just stop with your gangster bullshit, Chan.” M/n said, pushing off from leaning on the desk as he grabbed his coat, “I can’t deal with another lecture. I’m going home.”

Chan’s eyes flashed with a little bit of concern, he bit his anger back as he watched M/n walk away. He knew better than to push too hard, not when he already knew M/n was one for an attitude. With another sigh, he reached back and caught M/n’s arm pulling him back in front of him, “Stop.”

“I’m just trying to fucking help,” Chan said, his voice low and dripping with tense as he looked at M/n with slight puppy eyes. “You can’t keep letting people walk all over you, doll. I know you and I know one day you’re going to snap and it’s gonna to be a mess so I’m telling you here right now don’t do that. You’re my cover, so don’t blow it.”

“I’m sorry, I can do better.” M/n said his lips pushing out. Chan’s expression softened as he pressed his forehead to M/n’s, his hands back at his hips. He became mushy, and folded under M/’s pout, one he could just kiss over and over.

M/n drew in a gentle breath as Chan nuzzled his face into his neck, placing peppered kisses on the area as he inhaled the scent of cinnamon on M/n’s skin. “You always make it so hard to stay mad at you,” He murmured, his hands roaming lower. He hooked his fingers under M/n’s waistband, tugging gently.

“Chan...don’t-”

Too late. Chan cut M/n off as he lifted the male on top of the desk, stepping between his legs as they wrapped around his waist instinctively. Their lips connected again and M/n moaned in a sexy fit of protests before melting into Chan’s lust.

Chan’s hands slowly move to M/n’s backside, untucking his dress shirt. His cold hands gently caressed his bare skin as he pressed soft, slow kisses along M/n’s jawline and neck. He unbuttoned M/n’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulder, admiring M/n’s upper body.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Chan cooed, his hand wrapping around M/n’s neck lightly as he tipped his head up to look him straight in the eyes.

Chan gazed intensely into M/n’s eyes, his grip around M/n’s neck feather-light yet so possessive. “Can you service me tonight, doll?” He asked, Chan’s thumb brushing over his bottom lip before it slipped between his lips, his eyes dilating as through his eyelashes M/n looked up at him so seductive. Chan inhaled sharply as the feeling of M/n’s warm mouth.

“Open wider.” He commanded.

“Yes, daddy,” M/n obeyed as Chan guided M/n down onto his knees, keeping his hand on M/n’s cheek as he used his other hand to unbutton his pants. M/n watched with pouty lips glazed in his spit, practically drooling to get Chan back in his mouth.

“Good boy, now suck.” Chan commanded, releasing his now-hard length from his undergarments, a small bead of moisture already forming at the tip. He pressed the head against M/n’s open mouth, his hand now tangled in M/n’s locks of wild black and white hair, slightly guiding his head forward.

“Yes...” M/n said in almost a whine, his lounge darting out to lick the tip of Chan, gathering the salty love liquid before sucking gently on the head. Chan’s hand in his hair tightened further, his hips giving an involuntary jerk as M/n’s warm, wet, mouth enveloped him.

“Fuck,” Chan hissed, his head tilting back slightly at the pleasure M/n brought him. He gently thrust his hips forward, watching himself slowly disappear into M/n’s mouth, “You take me so well, doll. Go deeper, baby.”

“Mm,” M/n hummed against Chan, his free hand stuck between his underwear as he palmed him in the rhythm of his mouth. Chan tuned on even more, if possible, watching M/n’s pleasuring himself while sucking him off. He throbbed between those perfectly shaped lip.

“Yes, baby, fuck... just like that, my sweet doll.”

“F-Fuck, I’m gonna c-cum. Shit,” M/n whined.

Chan smirked with a hum, those dimples pressing on his cheeks, keeping M/n’s mouth stuffed with his thick length as he found himself pressing his own release too, “Go, baby, go ahead. Do it together” He encouraged.

“Oh... fuck!” M/n half screamed as he halted for a second his mouth work on Chan just to use his hand to work the same pace on both, only to cum ribbons of his liquds over himself.

“Mm mm, you’re not done, baby, come take this,” Chan commanded before letting M/n leave him without release. He lead M/n’s mouth back to his dick and stroked himself a few times before completely letting his cum funnel into his mouth. “Such a good fucking boy..” Chan cooed between one like moan as he slowly pulled out of M/n’s mouth.

As M/n swallowed, he used his thumb to wipe away the drips from his abused and beet-red lips with a sugary, sexy grin, “Look at you, my doll. There’s no way I won’t keep you from everyone else.”

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insidekatmind · 3 days ago

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Consolation-Virgil Van Dijk

wearning: +18,smut.

Request: yes!

It’s late in the evening, and you’re comfortably seated on your couch, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot tea in your hands. You watched the match on TV: a tough loss, with mistakes rarely seen from such a strong team. You know Virgil is the type to carry everything on his shoulders, and you can’t stop thinking about how he might be feeling right now.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts. You’re not expecting anyone, but when you open the door, there’s Virgil, standing in front of you. He’s still in his tracksuit, hood pulled up like he’s trying to hide from the world. His face, though, gives him away: it’s marked by exhaustion and frustration.

“Can I come in?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Virgil, of course, come in,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. You close the door behind him and watch as he pulls down his hood, revealing a tense expression and eyes that avoid meeting yours.

“Sorry for showing up so late,” he says, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say, guiding him to the couch. “You know you’re always welcome here. Do you want something? Tea, coffee…?”

He shakes his head, sinking heavily onto the couch. “No, thanks. I don’t think I could get anything down right now.”

You sit beside him, giving him space to speak. You know Virgil isn’t the type to open up immediately, but it’s clear he’s wrestling with something big. After a long silence, he finally breaks it.

“It was my fault, y/N,” he says, staring at the floor. “That missed marking… that goal… I can’t stop thinking about it. I let the team down, the fans… everyone.”

“Virgil, listen,” you begin gently, “one lost match doesn’t define who you are—either as a leader or as a player. You’re one of the best in the world, and you know that. But even the best have off nights.”

“It’s not just that,” he counters, clenching his fists on his knees. “I’m supposed to be the anchor, the one everyone else can rely on. And instead… instead, I feel like I’m sinking. It’s frustrating, y/N. I don’t know how to pull myself out of this.”

You look at him, choosing your words carefully. “Virgil, being a leader doesn’t mean never making mistakes. It means showing others how to handle those mistakes. Your team doesn’t need you to be perfect. They need you to be human, to fight to get better.”

He lifts his gaze, finally meeting your eyes. “But it’s so hard… I feel like I’m letting everyone down, and it’s eating me up inside.”

You lean in slightly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “What really matters is how you respond to this feeling. No one can be perfect, Virgil, but you’ve already shown you can overcome challenges. This is just another one, and I know you’ll get through it.”

Virgil remains silent for a moment, then nods slowly. “Maybe you’re right,” he says with a small sigh. “I need to stop focusing only on what went wrong and think about what I can do to improve. But… it’s easier said than done.”

“That’s why I’m here,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever you need, you know you can count on me.”

He offers a faint smile, the first you’ve seen since he arrived. “Thanks, y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Virgil gently takes your wrist and pulls you to straddle him.You stumble slightly as he pulls you onto him, your thighs resting beside his lap. You look down at him, your heart beating faster now. He looks up at you with an intensity in his eyes that you’ve seldom seen before. He keeps your wrist in his grasp, his fingers wrapped around it almost tenderly, yet with a hint of desire.

You can feel the warmth of his body against yours as he pulls you closer, his free hand coming to rest on your thigh. He watches you silently, his eyes roaming over your face. You take a breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Virgil…?” you murmur, questioning, uncertain about the situation unfolding.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze holding you captive. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, something you rarely see from the normally strong and confident man. His thumb begins tracing slow circles over your thigh, the touch sending shivers up your spine. After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice low and a bit hoarse. “I needed this,” he whispers, his hand on your wrist squeezing gently.

You nod softly, hugging him, stroking his hair.Virgil returns your embrace, his arms encircling you, pulling you flush against him. His head dips slightly, his face burying into your chest, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, his heart beating against your chest, his fingers tracing light patterns over your back.

This tender version of Virgil, all vulnerability and gentleness, melts your heart. You run your fingers through his hair, your touch soft and soothing. You can feel the tension in him slowly start to ease away as he clings to you, seeking comfort in your presence.

After some time, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes are closed, and he looks weary, but his expression is less troubled than it was when he arrived. “Y/N…” he begins softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how you do it, but being here with you… it helps. Even on nights like tonight.”

"Do you want to spend the night here?" You ask softly, caressing his cheeks.He looks at you for a moment, his gaze searching your face as if to gauge whether you truly mean your offer. Then, a small nod of his head answers your question. "Please," he murmurs, his hand on your thigh squeezing again. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

You nod and kiss his forehead softly, then his nose, and then his cheeks.He watches you intently as you press soft kisses to his forehead, his nose, and his cheeks. A soft sigh escapes his lips, his eyes never leaving your face. His grip on your thigh tightens slightly, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he let go for even a moment. Each kiss seems to soothe him further, the stress lines around his eyes smoothing out.

The silence in the room feels heavy yet peaceful at the same time. The only sound is your soft breathing and the occasional sigh from him as you continue to pepper his face with gentle kisses. He lifts his hand from your thigh, his fingers tracing your jawline tenderly, before his thumb brushes across your bottom lip. He seems to have calmed down completely now, all the earlier turmoil replaced by a quiet vulnerability.

"Y/N..." he murmurs again, his voice barely above a whisper, "I..." He trails off, his eyes filled with an emotion you can't quite name. He looks like he wants to say something important, but the right words don't seem to come. The atmosphere in the room is thick with unspoken words and untold feelings.

You can sense that there's more he wants to say, more that he's feeling, but it's like a dam holding back a flood of emotions. His hand, still on your jaw, moves to cup the back of your neck, gently pulling you closer. His eyes seem to be searching your face for something, a silent question in the depths of their blue.

The closeness between you is almost tangible now. You're so close that you can feel his breath against your skin, his body against yours. The air feels charged with unspoken tension, the space between you filled with a heady mixture of desire and something else, something deeper and more complex. He keeps touching you, his fingertips tracing over your skin as if he's committing you to memory.

Finally, he speaks again, breaking the silence that hangs between you. His voice is deeper than usual, and raw with emotion. "I need you," he murmurs, his fingers splaying against the nape of your neck. "More than I need anything right now... I just... I need you."

You nod and kiss him softly.As your lips meet his, he responds almost instantly, pressing against you with a hunger that you haven't felt from him before. He pulls you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against your lips, seeking entry. He kisses you like a drowning man gasping for air, as if he's pouring all his unspoken feelings into that one action.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the heat of his body against yours, the strength of his embrace. There's an urgency in his kiss, a desperate need he's trying to convey. His hands roam over your body, touching, caressing, as if he's trying to assure himself that you're really there, really with him.

He breaks the kiss, just for a moment, to look at you. His eyes are darker than before, filled with a storm of emotions. He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Y/N..." he whispers, his voice hoarse and raw with desire. "Stay with me tonight. Please... just stay."There's a vulnerability in his plea that cuts right to your heart. He needs you, not just now, but deeper, more permanently. He isn't just asking for comfort or physical connection; he's asking for something more substantial, a lifeline to hold onto amidst his storm of insecurities and fears.

You nod, your heart overflowing with affection for this man, who stands so strong in the face of the world, yet crumbles when alone. "I'll stay," you assure him, your voice soft but firm. "As long as you need me to, I'm not going anywhere."

You kiss him with more passion.The passion in your kiss stokes the fire that's been steadily building between you. He reacts instantly, the kiss becoming more intense, more desperate. He pulls you flush against him, his hands roaming over your body, seeking skin to touch, flesh to touch.There's a hunger in the way he kisses you, an intensity that borders on frantic. His tongue tangles with yours, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you even closer.

You gently pulled away to take off your shirt and then reattached your lips to his.His eyes follow your movements as you lift your shirt over your head, baring your skin to him. For a moment he just stares, his eyes raking over your exposed flesh, his gaze hungry and appreciative.As you return to his lips, he responds with a deep, guttural moan. His hands go to your waist, sliding over your bare skin, pulling you flush against him. He kisses you more fiercely now, his tongue delving deeper, his body pressing harder against yours.

He gently laid you down on the couch and took off the rest of your clothes and undressed himself too.As he moves over you, his naked body pressed against yours, you can feel the heat coming off him, his skin hot and smooth. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and heavy with desire. His hands rest on either side of your head, bracing his weight on strong arms, trapping you beneath him.

As he moves over you, his naked body pressed against yours, you can feel the heat coming off him, his skin hot and smooth. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and heavy with desire. His hands rest on either side of your head, bracing his weight on strong arms, trapping you beneath him.

In one sharp thrust he entered you making both of you moan into the kiss.You arch against him as he fills you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. He moans into the kiss, his body shaking with restrained desire. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his hands clenching the fabric of the couch on either side of your head.

“Babe, you're squeezing my cock so good,” he murmurs, moaning, and begins to move quickly. His thrusts were not gentle at all. You could feel inch by inch going in and out.He mouths at your neck, his lips tracing a path from jawline to collarbone. His breath is hot against your skin, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as he sets the pace.

You moan feeling his thrusts getting harder and harder. "Virgil I'm close" you murmur nibbling his neck."I know," he rasps, his voice strained with the effort it's taking to hold back. "Just... hold on a bit longer, please..." His body is tense above you, muscles taut as he tries to maintain his control, not wanting this to end too soon.

He picks up the pace suddenly, his thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. His lips are back at your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "I can't hold back much longer," he mutters, his words barely decipherable between the gasps and moans.

You can feel the edge approaching, your body trembling, your hands clawing at his back, seeking an anchor in this storm of sensations. "Virgil, I..." you start to say, but your words fade into a guttural moan as he hits a sensitive spot.

"I know," he gasps, his voice hoarse. "Me too." He's struggling to hold back, the need to let go warring with his desire to prolong this moment. His hips pound against yours, his fingers gripping your hips almost to the point of pain, holding you steady as he reaches the limit

"I need..." he moans, the word hanging in the air, half-formulated. He doesn't know what he needs; only that he wants more, more of you, more of this, more of the pleasure that's threatening to consume him altogether.

He pulls out of you and then turns you on all fours and enters you again.He's behind you suddenly, his body pressed against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist. His breath is hot on your neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He waits for a moment, letting you adjust to the new position, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your ear.

“fuck” you moan feeling his thrusts get even harder. Virgil grabs a lock of your hair and pulls it making you arch and moan.

"Yeah?" He asks, his voice rough and low, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His grip on your hair is tight, his hand keeping your head tilted back, exposing the vulnerable line of your neck. “You like that, huh?”

“yes” you moan resting your head on his shoulders as Virgil continued to thrust harder. "very much".He chuckles breathlessly, the sound more a exhalation than a laugh. "I thought you would," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "You make the best sounds when I pull your hair like this."

You moan feeling his thrusts get stronger. One push in particular had you bent back onto the couch.He follows the motion, the force of his thrust pressing you down into the couch. Your body is arched, your back bowing under the combined weight of his body and the intensity of his movements. You can hear him panting, his breath hot against your neck, his hands roaming over your flesh, seeking to draw out more.

"God, you look beautiful like this," he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly with desire. "Bent over for me like this."Virgil slaps your ass and goes faster.

His hands are everywhere, roaming freely over your flesh, seeking to touch every inch of you. His lips are back on your throat, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of little bite marks in their wake.

“Virgil” you scream loudly moaning.He groans against your neck, your cry of pleasure going straight to his stomach. "Yeah," he mutters, his voice hoarse and raw. "Say my name again. I love hearing you say my name like that."

He moves faster, his hips slamming into you with every stroke, his pace picking up steadily. "Again," he gasps, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "Say my name."

“Virgil” you moan again.He shudders behind you, the sound of his name on your lips sending a jolt through him. "Again," he demands, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he moves faster. "Say it again. I want to hear you."

You repeat his name, the word becoming a litany, a prayer on your lips as you're pushed closer and closer to the edge. His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urges you on.

“That’s it," he growls, his voice hoarse. "Just like that. You’re so close, I can tell. I can feel it. Come on, say my name again. Let me hear you say it one more time."His words are like a drug, driving you higher, higher until you feel like you’re going to burst. You repeat his name again, the syllables almost lost in the litany of moans and gasps that fill the air.

as you fall over the edge, your body spasming around him, a cry of pleasure torn from your throat. Behind you he groans, the sound guttural and primal. He follows you over the edge, his body trembling against yours as he comes, your name falling from his lips in a shuddering gasp. For a moment there's only the sound of labored breathing, the aftermath of pleasure leaving you both boneless and weary. He gathers you in his arms, pulling you down with him as he collapses back onto the couch, holding you close against his chest.

"That was..." he starts, his voice thick with emotion. He trails off, unable to articulate the maelstrom of feelings coursing through him. "That was... incredible."

You nod, your legs shaking with pleasure. You rest on his chest as you recover from your climax.He holds you against him, his strong arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. He drops a kiss on the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "You okay?" he asks quietly, the concern in his voice belied by the possessive way he's holding onto you.

You nod again, not quite trusting yourself to speak yet. Your body is still quivering with aftershocks, your mind a delightful buzz. You nuzzle against his chest, inhaling the scent of him, letting his presence ground you.

He responds instinctively, his hold on you tightening almost reflexively, as if afraid you might disappear if he lets go. "Good," he murmurs, the relief in his voice palpable. "I was worried I might've been too... rough."

"No," you find your voice at last, though it comes out as a gravelly whisper rather than your usual tone. "It was... perfect. I don't think I can move."Virgil chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Not surprised," he says, the pride in his voice evident. "I kinda went a bit... uh... overboard, huh?"

You give a weak nod, still feeling like your bones have turned to jello. "Just a bit," you manage to reply, a hint of a laugh in your voice.He tightens his hold on you just a fraction more, a possessive gesture that you don't mind at all. "Well, I'm not sorry," he says, sounding very much unapologetic. "You were making the most delightful sounds. Couldn't help myself."

"I have no complaints," you murmur, your eyes drifting closed. You can feel his heart beating under your cheek, the steady thump-thump like a soothing lullaby. You're tired, boneless, satisfied to the point of exhaustion, and very much not ready to move yet.

He seems to sense this and relaxes under you, his hand continuing that soothing motion on your back. "Get some rest," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. He doesn't seem in any hurry to move either, his body warm and solid beneath you.

You hum a wordless assent, already drifting towards sleep. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the reassuring presence of his body, the exhaustion of your recent activities all combining to pull you inexorably into unconsciousness."Sweet dreams," he murmurs, his voice a quiet whisper. You feel a soft kiss on the top of your head, his lips gentle and tender against your hair.

You murmur something inarticulate, too far gone to form actual words. The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, a soothing thrum that lulls you into darkness.

#virgil van dijk #virgil van dijk smut #liverpool fc #footballer fanfic #football fic #football fanfic #football fluff #football x you #football x y/n #football x oc #football x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x you #footballer x reader

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oldsoul007 · 1 day ago

Text

crawling back to you

joel miller x reader

summary: you haven’t seen joel since he let you leave boston with tommy, until…

a/n: grumpy joel, angsty and fluffy

joel miller masterlist

The last thing I remember was the blinding midday sun and the crackling of the dried leaves beneath my boots. I’d been walking for hours—too many hours—with no food, no water, and no sign of a single soul. The world was too quiet, and when the dizziness hit, I knew I’d pushed too far.

I hadn’t seen the raiders coming. Not until it was too late. They burst out from the tree line, shouting, armed, and I’d tried to run. But my body betrayed me. My knees gave out before I could process what was happening, and the hard, cracked asphalt of the road rushed up to meet me as they closed in.

Then darkness.

For a while, there was nothing but a foggy void, until I felt something. A jolt of awareness. The weight of the world slowly pressed back on me: the ache in my limbs, the sting in my throat, and the cold chill of shade falling over my skin.

Voices.

“You think she’s alive?”

The words floated into my consciousness, sharp and clear. My heart raced. The raiders—had they caught me? I wanted to open my eyes, but my body wasn’t listening.

“How the hell should I know, Ellie?”

That voice was rough and edged like the bark of an old tree. Deep. Grumpy. Close. Familiar.

“She looks alive. Kinda.”

“Kinda doesn’t cut it, kid.” A sigh, heavy and annoyed. “She’s breathing, so that’s a good sign. Or bad, depending on how you wanna look at it.”

The ground beneath me was rough gravel digging into my side. Someone must’ve moved me. My knife. My hands twitched instinctively for it, but I didn’t feel the familiar weight at my belt.

“She’s got a backpack,” the girl—Ellie—said. “Maybe she’s got something useful on her.”

“Don’t even think about it,” the man snapped.

“Relax, I was just saying!”

They didn’t sound like raiders. But I wasn’t taking chances. Slowly, I forced my eyelids to lift, but it was like peeling back layers of lead. The light stung, and all I could make out at first was a blurred silhouette looming above me.

“She’s moving!” Ellie’s voice jumped an octave.

“Yeah, I can see that,” the man grumbled.

The shapes above me sharpened: a man with graying hair and a perpetual scowl crouched close, while a girl with curious, wide eyes hovered just behind him. Bottoms of their faces covered with a bandana. My muscles tensed, and instinct screamed one thing: fight.

I surged up, lashing out before I could think. My body felt sluggish, weak, but adrenaline drove me forward.

“Whoa!” Ellie yelped, stumbling back.

He moved faster than I expected. In one fluid motion, he grabbed both of my wrists and shoved me back down onto the ground, pinning me there with a strength I had no hope of matching.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His face was inches from mine, his grip like iron.

“Get off me!” I spat, twisting against him, but it was useless.

“You wanna try that again?” he snapped, glaring down at me. “Because I guarantee it won’t go how you think.”

“Joel, should I—” Ellie’s voice cut through the wind, and I glanced up to see her pointing a gun at me.

“Hold on,” the man—Joel—said. His voice made something in my chest clench, though I couldn’t place why.

He shifted, one hand leaving my wrist to yank the bandana down from my face. The cold stung my skin as it was exposed to the biting wind, but all I could focus on was his face.

Joel froze. His eyes widened as he stared down at me, his grip slackening just enough for me to shove at his chest.

“Y/n?”

Hearing my name in that voice—his voice—hit me like a gut punch. I blinked up at him, snowflakes catching on my lashes as my brain struggled to catch up.

“Joel?” I rasped, disbelief and anger warring inside me.

He let go of my wrists, sitting back slightly, but I wasn’t done. With a grunt, I shoved him hard enough to make him stumble.

“Get off me, asshole!” I snapped, scrambling to my feet.

Ellie lowered her gun, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you know her?”

Joel stood slowly, brushing snow off his jacket, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah… I know her.”

“Know me?” I barked, crossing my arms against the cold. “That’s all you’ve got to say after years?”

“Not now,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We need to move. It’s not safe out here.”

“Oh, now you care about safety,” I shot back, but the storm was picking up again, and as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t stay out here alone.

Ellie glanced between us, still holding the gun loosely. “So… are we just letting her come with us?”

“She’s coming with us,” Joel said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I snorted, pulling my scarf back up. “Like hell I am.”

“Fine,” Joel said, stepping closer until he was towering over me. “Then freeze out here on your own.”

We locked eyes, the familiar stubbornness in his gaze making my blood boil. Finally, I sighed, muttering under my breath. “Fine. But if you pull something like that again, I’m putting a bullet in your knee.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Joel smirked—barely, but I caught it. “Good to see you haven’t changed.”

I looked around us.

“Where—” My voice cracked, my throat dry. “Where are they?”

“The raiders?” Joel asked, his tone clipped. “Dead. You’re welcome.”

Ellie shot him a look. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

Joel ignored her, turning to scan the horizon like he was already regretting stopping to help.

Ellie turned back to me, her tone gentler. “You need water? Food? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

I swallowed hard, forcing out a hoarse whisper. “Water…”

Ellie looked at Joel expectantly. “She needs water.”

Joel sighed heavily, like this was the biggest inconvenience in the world, and dug a bottle out of his pack. He shoved it toward me without a word, his scowl deepening.

“Don’t drink too fast,” he muttered. “You’ll puke.”

I took the bottle with shaking hands, sipping carefully.

Ellie gave me a small smile. “See? He’s grumpy, but he’s not so bad., but i’m guessing you knew that already. I’m Ellie, by the way. What’s your name again?”

“Y/n,” I croaked.

“Well, y/n,” she said, leaning back on her heels. “Looks like you’re stuck with us for now.”

Joel shot her a glare, but she just smiled sweetly at him.

As I sipped the water, trying not to choke, I couldn’t help but wonder why Ellie seemed so eager to help me—and why Joel seemed so reluctant to.

The pain in my thigh hit me like a freight train the moment I tried to stand. It was sharp and hot, radiating up my leg with every twitch of movement. I glanced down and saw the blood, dark and sticky, soaking through a jagged tear in my jeans. My stomach turned.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, dropping back to the ground.

Joel and Ellie were still nearby, Joel pacing with his rifle slung low, Ellie crouched by the fire, poking at it absentmindedly. I pressed my hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t doing much good.

“You okay?” Ellie asked, looking up.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice tight.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Joel muttered without even glancing my way.

I glared at him but focused back on my leg. I needed to stop the bleeding, clean it—do something before it got worse. My hands fumbled as I tried to tear a strip from the already-ruined part of my jeans, but my fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip.

“Dammit,” I hissed, tugging harder.

Joel finally turned, watching me struggle with an expression that screamed irritation. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can handle it,” I snapped, not looking at him.

“Yeah, sure looks like it,” he said dryly, crossing the distance in a few long strides. Before I could protest, he crouched down in front of me and grabbed my leg.

“Hey!” I yelped, jerking back.

“Hold still,” he growled, yanking my jeans up over the wound to get a better look.

“What are you—”

“Helping,” he said sharply, cutting me off. “Because you clearly can’t do this yourself.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you bleeding out and slowing us down,” he shot back, his hands already pulling a small bottle of alcohol from his pack.

I froze when I saw it. “Wait—wait.”

He didn’t stop, just uncapped the bottle and dumped it onto the wound in one swift motion.

Pain exploded through my thigh, white-hot and searing. I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped out of me, my whole body jerking away from him.

“Goddammit!” I shouted, clutching at my leg. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Stop moving,” Joel barked, his hand clamping down on my leg to keep it still. “You’re just making it worse.”

“You could’ve warned me!”

“I did,” he said flatly, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it firmly against the cut.

“Yeah, great warning!” I hissed, still trying to recover from the burn.

Ellie was sitting nearby, watching the whole thing with wide eyes. “Uh, yeah, he’s not exactly the most… delicate, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Joel ignored her, wrapping the bandage tightly around my thigh with the kind of practiced efficiency that made me wonder how many times he’d done this before.

“Can you walk?” he asked once he was done, standing and offering me a hand.

I stared at it for a second, then grudgingly took it. He hauled me up, steadying me when my leg wobbled.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, even though I wasn’t.

“Sure you are,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t believe me.

Later that night, we camped near a small fire Joel had built, the warmth of the flames doing little to ease the tension between us. Ellie sat across from me, poking at the fire with a stick, while Joel leaned against a nearby tree, his arms crossed and his rifle within easy reach.

“So,” I said after a long silence, my voice cutting through the crackle of the fire. “Where are you two headed?”

Ellie perked up immediately, her mouth opening before she could stop herself. “We’re going to—”

“We’re going to the Fireflies,” Joel interrupted, his voice steady and sure.

Ellie froze, her eyes darting between the two of us. “Joel!?” she hissed, clearly caught off guard by his honesty.

I frowned, looking between them. “The Fireflies? Why?” I could tell there was something they weren’t saying, something important.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Because Ellie’s immune,” he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of what those words meant. “And they’re working on a cure.”

I blinked, my mind racing to catch up. “Immune?” I repeated, glancing at Ellie.

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to someone new knowing. “Yeah,” she mumbled, shrugging. “I got bit. Didn’t turn. That was, like, forever ago.”

I stared at her, processing what Joel had just admitted. “And you’re taking her to the Fireflies,” I said slowly. “Because they think they can use her immunity to make a cure.”

“That’s the idea,” Joel said, his tone neutral. “Whether it’ll work or not, that’s anyone’s guess.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms as I studied him. Joel wasn’t the type to trust anyone with this kind of information lightly. The fact that he was telling me now said a lot.

“And you’re okay with me knowing all this?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

Joel held my gaze, his expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t’ve said anything if I didn’t trust you.”

That hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I couldn’t find the words. Joel and I had history—messy, complicated history—but this… this was something else.

After a long pause, I finally spoke. “Where are the Fireflies at?” I glanced at Joel, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Salt Lake City,” he replied, his tone flat, as if that was the only answer he had to offer.

I nodded, thinking for a moment. “That’s a hell of a trip.”

Joel didn’t respond to that, so I let the silence stretch a bit longer, watching the flickering flames. The crackle of the fire was the only thing filling the space between us.

I shifted slightly, the weight of the night starting to press on me. “I was with a group,” I said after a beat, keeping my voice low, like the words might break something if I said them too loud. “Good people. Or… they were. Got separated after some raiders hit us a couple days back. Didn’t have much of a choice but to run.” I paused, my gaze flicking to Ellie, who was staring at the fire, her expression unreadable. “I wasn’t planning on being out here alone.”

Joel watched me for a long time, and I could tell he was taking in every word, sizing up what I said, probably weighing if it added up. “You got a place to go?” he asked.

I swallowed, hesitant. I hadn’t told him much about Jackson yet. The thought of it felt like a fleeting memory, a piece of the past I wasn’t sure I could go back to. But the truth was, it might be the safest place for all of us, at least for a while.

“Yeah,” I finally said, my voice steady. “I got a home back in Jackson. It’s… safe there. Got supplies, people. It’s not perfect, but it’s the closest thing to normal I’ve seen in years.”

Ellie looked up then, her brow furrowed. “Jackson? You mean, like, an actual town?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Walled-in, secure. We’ve got farms, housing, everything you’d need. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than out here.”

Joel’s face darkened slightly, though I couldn’t tell if it was from hope or suspicion. I felt the weight of the unspoken questions hanging in the air between us. I had to bite back the words that wanted to spill out—about Tommy, about how he was safe and well in Jackson. But I stopped myself. Ellie was sitting there, and I didn’t know how she’d react if Joel found out his brother was there.

Instead, I kept my tone even. “If you’re heading to Salt Lake City, we can stop there first. Restock on supplies, maybe grab a decent meal. Then you can keep moving.”

Joel turned his gaze toward me, his eyes narrowing a little, his jaw clenched. “You sure it’s safe?”

I nodded, my voice firm. “It is. Safer than out here, anyway.”

Ellie, still quiet, looked from Joel to me. After a moment, she shrugged, but her gaze lingered on me for a second too long. “I mean… doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Joel looked at her, then back at me. He hesitated for a moment, and I saw the conflict flicker in his eyes. Finally, he gave a small nod. “All right. We’ll stop there. But just for supplies. Ain’t got time to waste.”

I nodded, a small relief washing over me. We’d do this. I’d help them, guide them, and maybe even find a moment to tell Joel about Tommy—if I could. The fire crackled between us, the sounds of the night closing in as we all settled back into the quiet.

Joel leaned back against a log, his eyes flicking upward to the stars, while Ellie poked the fire again, lost in her own thoughts. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, feeling the weight of the journey ahead pressing down.

I wasn’t sure what would come next, but I was going to get them to Jackson first. Maybe, after that, I could finally tell Joel the truth.

Joel didn’t say anything else, just turned his attention back to the fire. But the tension between us felt lighter now, the weight of unspoken things settling into something almost comfortable.

Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for sure: Joel trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that, in this world, meant everything.

The three of us sat around the small campfire, its glow casting flickering light onto the trees surrounding us. The temperature had dropped as the sun set, and I was grateful for the warmth of the flames and the smell of something vaguely edible Joel was cooking over them.

Ellie sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, fiddling with the pages of her battered joke book. She had already gone through a handful of them today, and each time Joel looked like he was about ready to roll his eyes out of his head.

“Okay, okay,” Ellie announced, holding up a hand as though commanding our attention. “This one’s a classic. You ready?” She cleared her throat dramatically, glancing between me and Joel. “What do you call an alligator in a vest?”

I stifled a laugh already, knowing she was probably more excited about the punchline than the joke itself.

Joel, stirring the pan of food, gave her a sideways look. “Do I even wanna know?”

“An investigator!” Ellie exclaimed, cackling as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

I couldn’t help but chuckle along with her, more at her reaction than the joke. Joel just shook his head and sighed heavily, setting the pan down on a flat rock by the fire.

“She’s been doin’ this since we left Boston,” he muttered, as though he were lamenting some great burden he’d been forced to bear.

“Damn right I have!” Ellie said, puffing out her chest with mock pride. “You know you love it, Joel.”

He gave her a look that was somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, kid.”

Ellie smirked, flipping through the pages of the book again. “Oh, I’m not done. I’ve got more where that came from.”

“God help us,” Joel said under his breath, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face.

I leaned back, my hands stretched out toward the fire, watching the two of them. “You know,” I said, grinning, “I think it’s impressive she’s been carrying that book all this way. Priorities.”

Ellie nodded vigorously, pointing at me. “Exactly! See, y/n gets it. I’m spreading joy in the apocalypse. That’s a valuable service.”

Joel snorted. “Sure. That’s what it is.”

Ellie stuck her tongue out at him before turning to me. “Okay, y/n, this one’s for you: Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?”

I thought for a second, but before I could even guess, she blurted out, “Because it was two tired!”

Her laughter was contagious, and I found myself laughing right along with her. Even Joel let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe this was his life now.

“Two tired,” I repeated, grinning. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Thank you!” Ellie said, pretending to tip an invisible hat. “I’ll be here all week. Or, you know, as long as it takes us to get to Jackson.”

Joel let out a long sigh, but there was no missing the warmth in his expression as he looked at her. “You’re somethin’ else, kid.”

Ellie beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Damn right I am.”

And in that moment, as the fire crackled and Ellie started flipping through her book for another gem, I couldn’t help but think that even in a world like this, there was still room for laughter. And that was worth holding onto.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth flickering in the cool night air. Ellie was asleep, her body curled up tightly in her sleeping bag, breathing steady and slow. Joel sat across from me, his figure dark against the firelight, eyes distant as usual. There was a heaviness in the air, a silence that weighed on both of us.

I’d been toying with whether or not to tell him, but after today, I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It was something Joel needed to know, something that would either ease his mind or make the road ahead even harder.

“Joel,” I said softly, not wanting to disturb Ellie’s sleep.

His head turned slightly, his eyes catching mine in the dim firelight. He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about Jackson,” I began, feeling the weight of the words before they even left my mouth. “And… there’s something you need to know.”

Joel gave a slight nod, signaling me to go on. I hesitated for a moment, gathering the courage.

“Tommy’s there,” I said, keeping my voice low but steady.

The moment the words left my lips, I saw the shift in him. His face didn’t betray much, but his posture stiffened. He didn’t react right away, though I could feel the tension building in his body. His jaw tightened, and for a long beat, he was silent, staring into the fire.

I let the words settle in the air. I could see him thinking, piecing together the years of separation, the anger, the hurt.

“You didn’t know, did you?” I asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, the weight of his past with Tommy hanging between us. “No,” he said, his voice rough, like the realization had hit him harder than he expected. “I thought… I thought he was dead.”

I swallowed, knowing how much those words meant. Joel had carried the guilt of losing Tommy for so long, thinking the worst, even when he didn’t want to believe it. I hadn’t expected the reaction I got—gratitude in his eyes, mixed with that edge of disbelief.

“Tommy’s alive, Joel,” I repeated, my voice softer now. “And he’s at Jackson. He’s been there, rebuilding, trying to make a life. I thought you should know.”

For a long moment, Joel didn’t speak. He just stared at the fire, his brow furrowed, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes.

Finally, he exhaled a long, steady breath, as if the news had knocked the wind out of him. “I thought… I thought I’d lost him for good,” he said, almost to himself.

His words trailed off, but the gratefulness in his voice was clear, almost as if he’d been holding onto the idea of Tommy being gone as a way to shield himself from hope. It had been easier to live with the belief that Tommy was lost than to think he might have been alive all this time, somewhere out there.

I watched him carefully, feeling the rawness of the moment between us. “Maybe he’s been waiting for you,” I said quietly, not wanting to push, but knowing the door was now open. “Maybe he’s been hoping you’d find your way back to him.”

Joel didn’t respond right away, his face unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the past catching up with him.

I could see the turmoil in him, the complex mix of emotions he’d buried deep for so long.“You don’t have to decide anything now. But I wanted you to know.”

Joel finally looked up at me, the hardness in his eyes softened by something else—relief, maybe. Or maybe just the shock of knowing his brother wasn’t lost to him after all.

“‘preciate you tellin’ me,” he said quietly, his voice rough with something I couldn’t quite name.

There was a silence, thick with all the things left unsaid. Joel turned back to the fire, but this time, I didn’t sense the same tension in him. The news had cracked something open, a small window of possibility where before there had only been despair.

And as the night stretched on, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first step in bringing Joel and Tommy back together—or if the past would remain an insurmountable wall between them. But one thing was clear: the hope he’d long buried was alive again.

The snow crunched softly beneath our boots as we trekked through the wilderness on the way to Jackson. The cold bit at my nose and cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Joel and Ellie’s banter ahead of me.

Joel led the way, his rifle slung over one shoulder, his other hand gesturing as he explained something to Ellie. She hung onto his every word as usual, peppering him with questions about the terrain and wildlife.

“Do you think we’ll see any bears?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Nope,” Joel replied gruffly. “Too cold for ‘em right now. They’re holed up for the winter.”

Ellie groaned in disappointment. “Lame. What about wolves?”

“Let’s hope not,” Joel muttered, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “You don’t wanna see wolves, trust me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ellie grumbled, kicking at a chunk of ice. “I think wolves are badass.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I brought up the rear. Ellie’s energy was infectious, even if Joel often acted like he was too old to keep up.

We rounded a bend in the trail, and that’s when we saw it.

An elk.

It stood in the middle of the clearing, its tall, proud antlers stark against the white of the snow-covered forest. Its coat gleamed in the weak winter sunlight, steam rising from its breath as it exhaled into the cold air.

Ellie gasped audibly, her mouth falling open. “Whoa. No way.”

Joel stopped in his tracks, holding out an arm to keep her from running ahead. “Stay still,” he warned softly.

Ellie ignored him completely, taking a careful step forward. “Oh my god, it’s huge. It’s so cool.”

The elk’s ears twitched, swiveling toward us, and for a moment, I thought it might bolt. But instead, it let out a low, guttural bugle—a deep sound that echoed through the trees.

Ellie froze, her eyes going even wider. “Did you hear that? Holy shit, it talked to us!”

Joel chuckled under his breath, his shoulders relaxing as he watched her excitement. “That’s not talkin’, kid. Just elk bein’ elk.”

But Ellie wasn’t listening. She took another step forward, her hands lifted slightly as if to beckon the creature closer. “Hey, buddy,” she said in a soft, awestruck voice. “You don’t have to go. We’re cool, I promise.”

The elk snorted, its breath visible in the cold air, and then—with a graceful bound—it leapt into the trees, disappearing from sight.

Ellie whirled around to face us, practically vibrating with excitement. “Did you see that? That was the most amazing thing ever! Did you hear it? That noise was insane!”

Joel shook his head, but there was a small, fond smile on his face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’m serious! That was so badass!” She turned to me, her grin so big it lit up her entire face. “Y/n, tell me you got how cool that was.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I adjusted my pack. “I got it, Ellie. You’re right—it was pretty incredible.”

Ellie groaned dramatically. “Pretty incredible? That thing was, like, majestic as hell.”

We started walking again, Ellie skipping along beside us as she reenacted the elk’s bugle. Joel shook his head at her impression, and I felt a warm glow in my chest as I watched them together.

The world outside was cold, dangerous, and unforgiving, but moments like this reminded me why we kept going. For Ellie’s wonder. For Joel’s quiet, steady presence. For the strange, beautiful family we’d become.

The cold cut deep as we trudged through the snow, the wind howling like it wanted to drive us into the ground. My leg throbbed with every step, the makeshift bandage Joel had wrapped around it holding tight but doing little to ease the pain. I wasn’t about to complain, though. Not after they saved me from those raiders.

Ellie walked beside me, her steps crunching in the snow as she glanced over. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked for the third time since we started walking.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice was tight. The truth was, I wasn’t fine. But what mattered was getting all of us somewhere safe, and Jackson was the only place I could think of.

Joel walked ahead, his rifle slung low but ready, his eyes scanning the horizon. Always the same—guarded and alert, like danger was lurking just around every corner. In this world, it usually was.

I’d agreed to help them get to Jackson. It was the least I could do after everything they’d done for me. And Jackson? It was my home now. A place that, for all its faults, still stood strong in a broken world.

“Not much farther now,” I said, though the storm had made it hard to tell. “If we keep moving, we’ll make it before dark.”

Ellie gave a tired nod, pulling her coat tighter around her. “Good, ‘cause I don’t think my toes are gonna make it.”

Joel glanced back at her, his expression softening for just a moment. “You’ll be fine. Just keep moving.”

We’d just crested a small hill when the sound of horses cut through the wind. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to see them—figures on horseback emerging from the blinding snow, their weapons drawn.

“Joel,” I hissed, grabbing his arm.

He saw them too, his posture tensing as he stepped in front of Ellie and raised his rifle. “Stay behind me,” he muttered, his voice low and firm.

The riders spread out, circling us. There were at least six of them, their horses pawing at the snow as the riders aimed shotguns and rifles in our direction. My stomach churned as I recognized one of the voices calling out through the storm.

“Drop your weapons!” Maria shouted, her voice carrying over the wind.

“Maria!” I called back, stepping forward despite Joel’s arm shooting out to stop me. “It’s me—y/n!”

The tension in the air crackled like static. For a moment, no one moved. Then Maria urged her horse forward, squinting through the snow until recognition crossed her face.

“Y/n?” she said, lowering her shotgun slightly. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, relief flooding through me. “But these two—” I motioned to Joel and Ellie, who were still frozen in place. “They’re with me. They saved my life.”

Maria’s gaze shifted to Joel, her eyes narrowing. “That him?”

I blinked, confused, until realization dawned. Of course, Tommy must’ve mentioned Joel before.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “It’s him. And this is Ellie. They’re just passing through. Please, Maria, lower the guns.”

Maria hesitated, her gaze flicking between me, Joel, and Ellie. Then she gave a sharp whistle, and the other riders lowered their weapons.

“Alright,” she said, her tone cautious but less hostile. “Let’s get back to Jackson. You look like hell.”

I almost laughed. “You have no idea.”

The ride back was quiet, the tension between Joel and Maria palpable. Ellie, for once, didn’t say much, her gaze fixed on the snowy landscape as we made our way through the storm.

When the gates of Jackson finally came into view, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The sight of the sturdy walls, the faint glow of firelight beyond—it was the first time in a long while that I felt like things might actually be okay.

The gates of Jackson creaked open as the group rode in, the heavy snowfall outside muffled by the sturdy wooden walls of the settlement. Inside, the warmth of fires and the sound of distant chatter greeted us. It was like stepping into another world—one where life hadn’t completely crumbled. The bustling streets, people moving with purpose, children playing—it was overwhelming after days of cold, silence, and death.

Joel dismounted his horse slowly, his eyes scanning the settlement as if it were a mirage. His rifle hung loosely on his shoulder, his posture stiff, as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe this place was real. Ellie stuck close to him, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the sight of people—families—living normal lives, or as close to normal as you could get these days.

Maria swung off her horse, handing the reins to a stablehand. “Y/n, go with Ethan and get checked out. You’re in no condition to be walking around on that leg,” she said, but her gaze flicked to Joel.

Then Tommy appeared.

Tommy was working on some construction, the sound of hammering and the distant clatter of tools filling the air. As we walked closer, I could see a few men working, their backs turned to us as they focused on their tasks. The moment I saw Tommy, though, my breath caught in my throat.

He was hard at work, his back bent as he nailed some boards into place, completely unaware of our approach. I could feel the tension rising in Joel beside me, the anticipation thick in the air.

And then, without warning, Joel’s voice broke through the stillness, loud and commanding:

“Tommy!”

The sound of his name cut through the air like a crack of thunder. The men working nearby stopped what they were doing, and for a brief moment, it felt like the entire world went still.

Tommy froze, his back still to us, and I watched as his shoulders stiffened. He slowly turned, his eyes scanning the area, before they landed on Joel. His face went slack for a moment—an unreadable mix of disbelief, relief, and confusion. The moment seemed to stretch on, as though neither of them quite believed what was happening.

Then, Tommy blinked, and before I knew it, he was striding across the ground, closing the distance between them. He didn’t say a word at first, just reached Joel in two quick strides and pulled him into a tight, almost desperate hug.

The sound of it—the weight of all that lost time between them—was deafening. The hard lines in Joel’s face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep breath, like something inside him had been released. They stood there for a moment, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

Tommy pulled back first, his hand gripping Joel’s arm, his voice gruff as he spoke, almost too soft for me to hear. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Joel looked at him, his eyes full of that familiar pain but also something else—something deeper. “Thought you were dead, Tommy.”

Tommy’s face softened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the brotherly bond they once shared. “Guess I got a bit tired of waitin’ around, but I’m here now, Joel.”

The silence between them spoke louder than any words could. It wasn’t just a reunion—it was a reckoning. Years of pain, of choices that had torn them apart, now coming to a head.

They pulled back, Tommy’s hands gripping Joel’s shoulders as he looked him over, his eyes scanning every line, every scar. “You look like hell,” he said with a half-smile, though his voice wavered.

Joel gave a faint huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… it’s been a long road.”

Tommy’s gaze shifted, landing on Ellie, who was standing just behind Joel, watching the reunion with quiet curiosity. “And this must be…?”

“Yeah,” Joel said, stepping slightly to the side so Ellie could step forward. “This is Ellie.”

Ellie gave a small wave, clearly unsure of what to say. “Uh, hi.”

Tommy chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, any friend of Joel’s is welcome here.”

For the first time in a long time, the weight Joel carried seemed to ease, if only slightly. It wasn’t just Jackson that felt like a safe haven—it was the connection, the bond that hadn’t been broken, even after all this time.

And for a moment, it felt like the world wasn’t so heavy after all.

Joel walked slowly down the stairs, the creaking of the wooden steps the only sound in the quiet house. The dim light of the living room pooled on the floor, where I sat curled up on the couch, my eyes fixed on him as he approached. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of everything that had just transpired. His steps faltered slightly, the heaviness of the fight with Ellie still weighing on him.

I didn’t say anything at first, just watched him with an unreadable expression, the flickering light casting shadows across her face. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. The world felt quieter in moments like this, like it was holding its breath.

“You really think that’s the answer, huh?” I said, my tone biting but not cruel.

Joel didn’t meet my gaze right away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He huffed out a bitter laugh, the kind that wasn’t funny at all. “Don’t start with me. You don’t know the half of it.”

“Don’t I?” I finally spun around to face him, my voice rising with the heat of my anger. “You think I haven’t been watching this slow-motion train wreck of yours? You think I don’t know what you’re doing—pushing her away before she can leave you?”

His face darkened, the shadows casting sharp lines across his features. “This ain’t about me and Ellie. Don’t twist it. This is about you always thinkin’ you know better.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” I stepped closer, my hands trembling with fury. “You don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the only one who’s been hurt. You let me leave, Joel! You stood there and let me walk out of Boston like I was nothing to you. You never even tried to stop me.”

His silence hit harder than his words ever could. I saw his throat work, his jaw tightening as he stared at me like he was trying to break me down with his gaze alone.

“You wanted to leave,” he finally said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Beg? You made your choice.”

“Because you didn’t give me a reason to stay!” My voice cracked, the words laced with all the pain I’d kept buried for far too long. “Do you know what it was like, leaving behind everything—leaving you—because I thought I wasn’t enough? That I’d never be enough for you?”

The firelight flickered in his eyes, and for the first time, I saw it—the guilt, the regret. He took a step closer, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken words.

“Y/n…” He said my name like it hurt to say it. “I thought I was doin’ right by you. You deserved better than what I could give you. Still do.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as tears threatened to spill. “You’re such a goddamn coward, Joel. Always thinking you know what’s best for everyone else. You don’t get to decide what I deserve. You don’t get to—”

But before I could finish, he closed the distance between us in one sudden, desperate motion. His hands came up to cup my face, rough palms trembling against my skin. His breath was warm, ragged as it ghosted over my lips.

“I ain’t a coward,” he murmured, his voice raw.

I opened my mouth to argue, to push him away like I had every right to, but the words caught in my throat. His eyes burned into mine, and in that moment, everything else—the fight, the years of distance, the pain—faded into nothing.

He kissed me like a man starved, like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. My hands found their way to his chest, gripping the worn fabric of his flannel as I kissed him back with all the anger and longing I’d been too afraid to admit.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was years of unspoken feelings, of missed chances and buried love, all colliding in one explosive moment.

When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. His hands lingered on my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For Boston. For everything.”

I closed my eyes, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Me too,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing and the crackle of the fire. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel so alone.

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obvi-the-best-soph · 2 days ago

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we're all bound to break. (chapter 3)

alexia putellas masterlist: here requests: here

based on this request: this actually came from my own brain for once lol

word count: 1,049k

summary: your aunt pays you and alexia a visit.

genre: angst/comfort warnings: mean aunt? death of parents, fighting with family members, grief, struggling, possibly very bad spanish (sorry! i try lol).

chapter 1: here chapter 2: here chapter 4: here

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared down the woman who had dared to show up at the door. Tía - your aunt. The one who’d always been more of a stranger than family to you. The one who’d only ever cared about your parents’ money and now, it seemed, was here to claim what was left of them.

Alexia’s eyes flicked nervously between the two of you, her hand hovering near your shoulder as if to stop you from doing something you might regret. You didn’t care, though. Your whole body was consumed with the rage that had been building up for weeks now. The anger that had started as a small knot in your stomach, then festered into a full-on storm, and now, standing in front of you, was the person who had the audacity to add fuel to that fire.

“What the fuck do you want to take from me now, tía?” you repeated, your voice low but cutting.

The woman flinched at your words, but her posture remained stiff and composed. She was used to dealing with people who feared her, who catered to her every whim, but she wasn’t expecting this. You could see the shock in her eyes as she straightened up, her hand clutching a small, designer purse. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at you as if you were the one who had overstepped, not her.

“Y/N…” Alexia’s voice was soft, trying to calm the tension in the air, but you couldn’t be calmed. Not now. Not when the woman had the nerve to show her face after what had happened.

Your aunt cleared her throat, finally speaking in a voice that was as cold as her expression. “I’m here because I-”

“Don’t. Just don’t,” you interrupted her, taking a step forward. “I know why you’re here. You want to make sure there’s nothing left for me, don’t you? You want to take whatever my mamí and papá had, whatever scraps are left. You’re here for the money. What else?”

She looked taken aback by your directness but quickly recovered, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m not here for money, Y/N,” she said, her words deliberately slow and measured. “I’m here because you need to make some decisions about what happens next.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fought to control the burning rage inside you. “What decisions? What decisions are you talking about?” you spat, your tone sharp.

Alexia stepped in then, trying to ease the situation before it escalated further. “Chica, please. Take a step back. Let’s listen to what she has to say,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring, though her eyes were full of concern.

But you couldn’t listen. Not to her. Not to anyone who seemed to think they had a say in your life now that your world had been turned upside down. Your gaze didn’t leave your aunt’s face as you spoke again, this time more quietly but no less firmly.

“Leave. Right now. I don’t want anything from you. You don’t get to walk into my life like this, pretending you care after all these years.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger beginning to build behind her cold facade. “You’re going to have to face reality sooner or later, Y/N,” she said, her voice taking on a more threatening edge. “You don’t have anyone else left. You need to start thinking about what’s next, because you can’t live in the past forever.”

You took a deep breath, the words cutting deeper than any knife could. But you wouldn’t let her win. Not today. You turned your back to her and walked toward Alexia, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence.

“Come on, chica,” Alexia said softly, her hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to listen to her. You don’t have to let her get to you.”

But it didn’t stop the anger from bubbling inside you. Reality? Your reality was gone. What did she know about reality?

“You don’t get to talk about reality,” you muttered under your breath, your voice strained as you pulled away from Alexia’s touch and took a seat on the couch again. “Not after what you’ve put me through, not after everything you’ve let happen.”

Alexia sat beside you, her presence a calming force as always, though she was visibly upset by what had transpired. Your aunt, however, didn’t seem to care about the emotional toll this was taking on either of you.

“I’ll be in touch, Y/N,” your aunt said curtly, turning on her heel to leave, her heels clicking loudly against the floor as she marched out the door without another word.

The silence that followed her departure felt suffocating. The room seemed to close in around you, and you could feel your chest tightening, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Alexia didn’t say anything for a few moments. She just sat there, her hand resting on your knee, offering comfort in the way only she could.

You didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of anyone else. But the dam inside you had already broken, and all you could do was let the tears spill silently, staining your cheeks as you sat in the hollow silence.

“Amorcito…” Alexia finally whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m so sorry. I know this is... this is so much for you to handle. But you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely. You didn’t have the energy to stop them anymore. The woman who should’ve been there for you, your family, had just shown her true colours. And now, more than ever, you knew that you only had the team. You only had Alexia, Mapi, Ingrid, Lucy, Keira, and the others. They were the ones who truly cared.

Alexia pulled you into her side, wrapping her arms around you like a protective shield. You didn’t have to say anything. She already knew.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself lean into that comfort, allowing yourself to be held.

#alexia putellas #lucy bronze #mapi leon #barcelona femeni #woso x reader #keira walsh #ingrid engen #olga rios #woso #woso community #obvithebestsoph

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formylovetodaryldixon · 3 days ago

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"Fight or fight." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

The Dixon brothers know there are only two options when faced with a problem: fight or fight, but maybe that lesson isn't such a bad one for Marley when she tries to defend her friend.

A/N: I'm not satisfied with this story but it's 4am in Peru and I didn't want to go to sleep without writing something. I hope you like it♥ (I'm sorry if anything Merle said was offensive, I really tried to think like him but I apologize anyway)

The smell of coffee and maple syrup fills the Dixon home.

There’s a faint scent of cigarettes too, permeating Daryl’s clothes as you pass him in the kitchen, (Something Daryl only did when he was very anxious) him grunting a good morning in response as his hands (experts at holding guns, making arrows, and killing walkers and people) clumsily attempt to make the best lion head pancake: scraps of strawberries for the fur and blueberries for the smiley face. When his mom was around and not drowning in alcohol and substances, she used to make Daryl and Merle these breakfasts, (a caress in the middle of the blows, or a show of peace to cushion the fact that there would be more pain) distant but never blurry stories from their childhood, good stories they could count on their fingers—but there’s something about Daryl’s frown, the way his concentration is about to pass the limit of fixation.

“Why are you so grumpy, huh?” You chuckle, playfully slapping his butt.

“I ain't grumpy.”

“Oh, no? Tell that to your brow. Are you like this because Marley’s leaving again?”

The thought makes Daryl’s heart clench.

“She ain't leavin' me. Ma baby’s goin' to preschool.”

You giggle, but you realize you’ve hit the nail on the head about his irritability because you never said leaving him, even though Daryl saw those 3 hours of classes, with a neighbor in the community who used to be a teacher, as she leaving her home, even though Marley was 5 years old and still had trouble tying her sneakers, which prevented her from running very far. But with breakfast ready, you and Daryl walk to the dining room table where Marley is sitting next to Uncle Merle, who, with his vast experience in street fighting and multiple arrests, shares with his niece some street smarts as he calls it.

“And listen, honey, if any of those uptight pricks try to mess with ya, ya clench yer fist and lean back to get some momentum 'fore ya hit 'em. Always go for the nose, ya hear me, lil' bunny?”

Marley smiles, oblivious to all kind of conflicts, the arguments, and the fights outside the walls because she grew up in a close-knit, loving, non-dysfunctional family—quite the opposite to the men’s previous lives in their house.

“Don’t tell her that, you ass—” You press your lips together, just to avoid the torrent of unfiltered words Merle easily earned. “It’s preschool, not a battlefield.”

Daryl shrugs, elbows on the table and hands clasped in front of him.

“I had ma first fight at 6.”

“Me at 4.” Merle replies, not wasting a second to pick up the thread of the conversation, full of pride. “Marley is a Dixon, sweetheart, so s'only a matter of time 'fore she uses those knuckles.”

With a mental slap, you ask Marley to finish her breakfast, but as the minutes tick by, your daughter’s dormant curiosity awakens with every second, asking you if you ever did that, too.

“I’ve never fought anyone.” You try to defend yourself, to create a safe space for her, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes when they scoff, almost in sync like besties.

“Didn’t yer grandfather teach ya how to punch?” Daryl chuckles, one corner of his lip lifting into a smirk.

“And don’ even get me started on that girl who tried to hit on ma baby brother.” Merle lets out a laugh at the memory, tense seconds after that girl said she could handle you when Daryl told her he was married. “Poor soul. Those sugartits of hers must be rottin’ away now.”

He even makes the sign of the cross over his face, almost convincing you that Merle believes in God, even though Merle only believes in Merle. But the table falls into an almost tactile silence when the baby of the house’s gaze saddens, blue eyes turning cold like her world.

“What do we do when someone is bullying someone, mama? Daddy?”

The promise of physical or mental pain in Marley makes Daryl hold his breath, but when silent gazes meet wondering what to do, he manages to let out the air before speaking.

“Is someone bullyin' ya, angel?”

“S'that damn Chinese kid, isn’t it?” Merle leans in toward her, like he’s trying to get information out of her like the bad cop. "Tell me the truth, honey, Uncle Merle will take care of everythin'."

“Uncle Merle, Hersh is Korean!” Marley frowns in frustration, but she shakes her head to ease all your concerns. “No. Miss Elena teaches us about bullying and that it’s bad for self-esteem.”

An hour later, when you open the door to your house, the sun is shining and fluffy clouds adorn the endless horizon, painting everything in beautiful shades of blue like Marley’s eyes, as bright as the idea that awakens her heart, the promise of living a different life outside of home, learning from books like her mom, and enjoying games with other children her age like her dad and uncle when they were kids. Hershel is 6 and walking down the street, accompanied by Matty, a 5-year-old boy with caramel-colored hair like candy, sweet like his shy personality when he sat reading on his porch with his round-framed glasses, but he's a little gentleman, always saying hello and have a nice day.

“Hey, Auntie (Y/N)!” The eyes of Maggie and Glenn’s son narrow adorably as he smiles, happily taking in your greeting and the way Daryl waves back and nudges Merle to make him swallow his racist comments. “Are you ready, Marley?”

Marley takes a few steps toward the porch stairs, but she stops, her mind screaming at her to do what she always does before saying goodbye.

“Bye, Mommy, bye, Daddy, bye, Uncle.” She waves, turning on her heels then to head down the stairs.

Daryl watches her go with a heavy heart, her brown hair like his own blowing in the spring wind and her excited walk, almost jumping with every step, her brown capybara backpack following her movements. Colors have no gender, and neither did the clothes you two dressed Marley in, always neutral because she never liked dresses or tiaras for her unruly hair like her father's.

But the moment Matty and Hershel take his daughter’s hand, Daryl and Merle’s scowls become more prominent with the surprise and the overflowing anger that is born within them in a single second.

“What the fuck?” The brothers say, in unison.

“I knew that damn Chinese boy wanted somethin' with ma bunny.” Merle’s words sour his mouth, but he makes the monumental effort not to spit out.

“Hershel is Korean, you fuc— racist.” You grimace in disgust, free to blurt out those words on an empty street.

“Whatever.” He answers, without a drop of regret, his voice deepening with the confidence in his words. “We have to do somethin' 'fore one of those bandits steals our baby, lil' brother, that Chinese boy or the nerd one.”

You exhale, because your body can’t take any more of the stupidity you hear from him.

“Matty is sweet and he’s not a nerd just because he wears glasses. I wore reading glasses too.”

“Yeah, but ya looked cute, he looks stupid.” Merle scoffs, looking back at Daryl. “What are ya sayin', baby brother? Are we makin' it look like an accident or what?”

You want to roll your eyes at all the nonsense you hear, but alarm bells go off with a panicked expression from you, eyes slightly widened in response to Daryl's silence, who, you can see, is seriously considering the idea.

“You two are damaged, really.” You squint, but annoyance makes you shake your head in disbelief. “Although their names do in fact rhyme, Marley, Matty…”

Your laughter dies when Daryl narrows his eyes at you, because the bile by that confusing feeling in the pit of his stomach makes his mouth sour as well.

“Stop it, woman, I’m warnin' ya.”

You chuckle, tilting your head slightly to look at him sarcastically.

“Or what?”

“Or there is no sex for ya tonight.”

He says it so seriously, normal words that cause a laugh in Merle, so open because time had given Daryl the confidence to joke about your intimacy in front of his brother.

“You know what? It would be better if you slept in Marley's bed or with your dear brother tonight.” With your head, you point to the accused present, although Merle frowns in displeasure. “Leave those children alone, you assholes. And now go do something useful with your lives instead of killing Marley’s friends with your eyes. I have to go back to work so please wait for her for lunch. And I beg you, don’t do anything stupid.”

With a tired sigh, because life had rewarded you with 3 children and not just one, (a titanic task of raising them because the older ones were already programmed with wrong ideas) you go to work at the infirmary. But in the company of their primitive thoughts (although not wrong ones unfortunately), their eyes meet and they come to a revelation.

“We are doin it. Hell yeah.” Merle chuckles. “But if yer dear wife finds out, she’s gonna kick yer ugly ass and mine as well.”

Daryl wants to say no, but that sixth sense of fatherhood that awakened in him when Marley was born is sending too many signals to his body to ignore.

“Whatever, I’m sleepin' in ma kid's bed anyway whether this goes wrong or not.”

“That’s the attitude, brother!" Merle smiles. "Cause I ain't lettin' ya sleep with me, over ma dead body.”

An hour and a half later, the Dixon brothers are standing to one side of Elena’s house, in the shadows of the wall where the sunlight can't reach, while a small group of children are playing in the makeshift playground in the backyard. Marley runs around the place like a free soul, laughing in a world rising from the ashes. She loved to walk barefoot in the dirt outside Alexandria’s walls, exploring and discovering with her body what Mother Nature still had to offer.

But the picture darkens when a boy Marley’s size that Daryl recognizes well, (a ghost of the typical bully Merle used to be), pushes Matty to the ground to take away the toys he was sharing with his daughter.

Beside him, Merle laughs watching the scene.

“The lil’ prick can’t even protect himself.”

Daryl's choice is to intervene now or see the altercation unfold, but his fatherly instincts kick in hard when Marley steps in front of the boy to protect Matty, earning a shove to her fragile body that the green grass receives. As if the world were painted red, as if his little girl's life were in mortal danger, Daryl runs to defend Marley, but he stops short (Merle's body crashing into his) when Marley stands up cleaning her small hands on her pants, only to push the boy as well with a force that is more than physical, the adrenaline that shoots through and makes her stronger than her short 5 years.

“Eat dirt, asshole!” Above his body, Marley pushes his face with her hands towards the ground.

It’s crazy to Daryl, crazier than thinking the dead came back to life when he grabs his daughter by the waist to remove her from the boy, away from the confusion and blurry vision, though her eyes remain fixed on her target—I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Daryl thinks proudly.

But on the way back home, it’s still absurd to Daryl that he heard his little girl say a bad word after having protected her innocence from anything offensive.

“Marley…” Daryl looks down to meet his daughter’s curious eyes, blue ones that are as deep as her feelings at her young age. “Who taught ya to say asshole, sweetheart?”

Now that the word was free in the wind, he didn’t see why he should not say it, or avoiding. But holding Uncle Merle’s hand, Marley’s innocence leads her to look at the eldest Dixon brother, only to then look at her daddy with a shrug, saying silently: I don't know.

“Ha! That's ma lil’ bunny.” Merle smiles, proud.

But when the men see you sitting on the couch on the porch of the house, Daryl looks down again.

“Good news, angel, daddy's sleepin' in yer room tonight.”

Oblivious to reality, Marley smiles.

@fluffy-dixon

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #dad!daryl dixon #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon

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deliciousangelfestival · 21 hours ago

Text

Change of Heart - 2 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He knew there was no point in pushing further. Grace was like a fortress, guarding whatever secrets you had entrusted her with. Talking to her felt futile, like arguing with a wall that refused to crack.

“I won’t press you for more answers,” he said, his voice softening, though the tension lingered in his tone. “At least tell me this—is she in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt her or threaten her?” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his concern leaking through despite his best effort to remain composed.

Grace hesitated before answering. “No,” she replied firmly, her gaze unwavering.

A part of Bucky felt a wave of relief at her reassurance. If Grace said you weren’t in danger, then maybe you were safe. But another part of him sank deeper into confusion and sadness. For two years, you had been his constant, his safe harbor.

You weren’t just his wife on paper; you had been someone he could rely on, someone who listened to him without judgment. Now, the thought that you might be facing something he had overlooked made him feel hollow.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a sign? The thought gnawed at him as he stood there in silence. You had always been a good listener, absorbing his worries and frustrations like a sponge. Better than any therapist he’d ever paid for. In fact, since marrying you, he had stopped going to therapy altogether.

But then it hit him. You’d rarely opened up about your own life. He couldn’t even recall the last time you shared anything personal. Was that his failure? Not listening to you when you needed him most? His chest tightened with guilt as he realized that the contract, which was supposed to ensure mutual understanding, might have become a barrier instead of a bridge.

Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. He glanced at the screen and saw the agency’s number.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s about the arrangement,” the voice on the other end said.

“What is it?” His tone was curt, impatient.

“Your wife has decided not to renew the contract.”

He gritted his teeth. “I know that already.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice continued, cautiously. “But she also returned the money you gave her.”

Bucky froze, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“She left it with us. I’m sorry for the way this unfolded, Mr. Barnes. If you have time, we’d like to meet and discuss this in person.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“Understood. One more thing—Miss L/N left a message. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry.”

Bucky ended the call without a word. His mind was racing, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

As he turned to leave, Grace finally broke her silence. “She told me to tell you not to look for her,” she said, her voice low but resolute.

Her words landed like a punch to his gut. He turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look for her,” Grace repeated, softer this time, as if trying to ease the blow.

Bucky’s lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Without another word, he turned and walked away, her parting message crushing him with every step.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The matchmaking agency didn’t have an official name. To the outside world, it appeared to be an upscale wedding organizer. But beneath the surface, it operated a discreet business, catering to an elite clientele. The agency specialized in PR, celebrity pairings, and finding partners for those seeking unconventional marriages.

To join this matchmaking service, clients paid exorbitant fees, a cost justified by the agency’s ironclad guarantee of success and confidentiality. This exclusivity made it accessible only to the wealthiest 1%. For most clients, love wasn’t a priority. Many were too jaded, too broken, or simply unwilling to risk their hearts again, yet they craved the semblance of companionship.

Companionship didn’t necessarily mean intimacy. Some sought emotional connections without physical ties, while others wanted a blend of friendship and trust. In essence, the agency sold what its clients desired most: a reliable partner tailored to their needs.

That’s where Bucky came in. He wasn’t looking for love. He needed someone he could trust, someone who fit seamlessly into his life. You had checked every box. You charmed his parents and, more importantly, his grandfather—a critical seal of approval.

Now, Bucky sat in the CEO’s office of the agency, his jaw set and his posture rigid. The room was sleek and modern, dominated by a white sofa where both of them sat. He accepted the black tea she offered but barely touched it.

The CEO, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, sat across from him, her demeanor professional but empathetic. She had started this agency after her own marriage fell apart. Betrayed by her husband’s infidelity and weary of meaningless dates, she realized she wasn’t alone. Many shared her frustration with traditional relationships. That realization had birthed her unique matchmaking business.

She leaned forward slightly, her expression neutral but observant. “Thank you for making time to meet with me, Mr. Barnes,” she began.

Bucky’s voice was clipped. “Do you know what she did?”

“Yes,” the CEO replied calmly. “She came here yesterday and asked me to give you these.” She placed two envelopes on the table between them.

“This one contains the check for the money she received. She’s returning it to you. The other is a letter she wanted you to have.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the envelopes. They were unassuming, just thin paper, yet they felt heavier than the multimillion-dollar contracts he signed daily. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges. Despite his composed exterior, uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Would you like me to open them for you?” the CEO asked gently.

“No, thank you.” His voice was firm, though his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the envelopes.

Slowly, he opened the first one. Inside was a check for the exact amount you’d received when signing the contract—$2 million for two years.

His chest tightened. So that damn $1 was enough to make you leave? Why?

Didn’t you say the money was meant to help you break free from your parents’ control? You wanted to save it to open a café, to buy a boat, to carve out a life of your own.

With a deep breath, he opened the second envelope. This was the one you had specifically instructed to be given to him. He unfolded the paper, hoping for answers, for clarity.

Instead, there was only one sentence:

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. His grip on the paper tightened as his jaw clenched. What kind of joke is this? Of all people, he never thought he’d be the one on the receiving end of such a cliché. And didn’t everyone know? The person who said those words was usually the one placing blame.

So it is me. I’m the reason you left.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as the weight of realization settled over him. He thought back to the countless times you’d listened to him, your quiet understanding, your patience. Had he ever done the same for you? Had he missed the signs that you were unhappy?

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Did you see her face yesterday?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” the CEO replied, her expression unreadable.

“What did you see? Was she sad? Angry? Happy?”

The CEO took a moment before answering. “I sensed relief when she handed me the check.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his chest constricting at her words. Relief? Was that all you felt after two years together?

“But,” she continued, her voice softening, “when she gave me the letter for you, I saw regret in her eyes.”

Bucky froze, those five words—I saw regret in her eyes—hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the letter still clutched in his hand.

If you regretted it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you say anything? Was it really so unbearable to stay?

His thoughts spiraled as he sat there, motionless, staring at the remnants of what he thought was a stable arrangement. The unanswered questions twisted in his mind, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“Forgive my frankness, Mr. Barnes,” the CEO began, her tone professional yet slightly playful. “Since you’re officially single now, would you like me to add you back to the list?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened as he leveled a cold glare at her. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

The CEO nodded, her smile faint and understanding. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Bucky stood, adjusting his suit jacket with deliberate movements, signaling the end of the conversation. He turned to leave, but the CEO rose to her feet and extended her hand toward him.

“It’s been a privilege having you as our client, Mr. Barnes,” she said with a polite smile. “I hope our paths cross again.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but curt. “This is the last time I’ll be here.”

Her smile didn’t falter, remaining calm and composed. “Safe travels, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for using our services.”

Bucky released her hand without another word, his expression unreadable as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, elegant office, a stark reminder that this chapter of his life was closing for good.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky slid into the backseat of his car, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, hesitant but professional. “Where to, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. “To Grandpa’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car wove through the streets, Bucky stared out the window, lost in thought. His mind wandered to his grandfather, Paul—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly perceptive. He wondered if the old man already knew you had left or if he was still blissfully unaware.

Ever since you met his family, you’d formed an immediate bond with Paul. The connection between you two had been almost effortless. You once told Bucky that, having never known your own grandparents, you’d always yearned for an elder figure in your life.

For Paul, who often clashed with Bucky during their 20-minute tolerance window, you were a revelation. You brought out a side of him Bucky rarely saw—a livelier, softer version of the strict, commanding patriarch. Paul saw in you the granddaughter he’d always wished for: someone who called him, visited him, and actually listened to his long-winded stories.

Yet even that bond hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

When the car pulled up to the grand estate, Bucky stepped out and made his way inside, his movements tense and deliberate. He headed toward Paul’s study, where the old man often spent his afternoons.

Pushing open the door, he paused. Paul sat in his wheelchair by the fireplace, glasses perched on his nose, reading a letter. The firelight cast warm hues across the room, highlighting the lined face of a man who had lived through decades of triumphs and disappointments.

Before Bucky could announce his presence, Paul’s voice broke the silence.

“She left, didn’t she?” The elder’s tone was heavy, filled with resignation. He crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it into the flames, watching as it curled into ash.

Bucky froze, guilt knotting in his chest. “She… she said goodbye to you?”

Paul didn’t look up. “And about the agency.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. Did Grandpa know everything?

“Grandpa, I can explain—”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Paul snapped, his voice rising with a force that belied his age. His hand moved to his chest as if to steady himself. “You fooled me twice, Bucky. Twice! First, you made me believe your marriage was real. Then, you made me believe I finally had a granddaughter.”

Bucky instinctively stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Paul’s shoulder, his other moving to massage the elder’s chest. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I—”

Paul shook him off, his eyes blazing with disappointment. “And don’t get me started on that ridiculous matchmaking agency. It’s absurd! What happened to normal relationships? Real love?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Paul’s voice cracked, the anger giving way to heartbreak. “You broke this old man’s heart, Bucky. I thought… I thought I could finally go in peace, knowing you had a wife. A good girl by your side. But now…”

He saw it with his own eyes—that Bucky and you were a perfect match. Turns out, it was all a lie. It broke him.

“Tell me,” Paul said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “does she mean anything to you? Or was it just a contract?”

Bucky hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment deepening. “You know what? She was right to leave you for a single dollar.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Everyone seemed to blame him for your departure—Grace, the agency, and now his own grandfather. What did I do that was so wrong?

He finally snapped. “If she didn’t mean anything to me, would I have walked out of a $100 billion meeting to go ask where she is?”

It hurt even more because he had lost his best friend. A wife was just a word to him, but a best friend? Yes. Yes, you were. You meant a lot to him, and to his grandfather as well. And you just left without a proper goodbye, as if he didn’t deserve one. He needed answers.

He even skipped a meeting worth billions of dollars. For him to miss it means you are worth more than billions to him.

Paul’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from anger to realization.

“Then what are you doing here?” Paul barked, his voice regaining its edge. “Go find her!”

Bucky stood, stunned into silence.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found her!” Paul continued, pointing toward the door. “And forget about the company. It can survive without you. She’s the one you need to fix this with.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving Paul alone by the fire.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As Bucky stepped out of his grandfather’s house, the weight of the conversation still hanging over him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before answering.

"Sir," came the voice of his head of security.

Bucky sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Tell me at least some good news," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"We found her."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope lit in his chest.

Bucky straightened up, his posture shifting from defeat to determination. "Where is she?" His voice was sharper now, his body leaning forward, eager for any hint of where you might be.

This was the news he’d been waiting for, the answer he desperately needed.

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luvst4rc0r3 · 2 days ago

Note

OMG I LOVE UR FANFICS!!

PLZ WRITE MORE SERIES!!

Can you write (if you want) a jinx x f!reader were reader’s first language is not English but another language. And she has a son whose first language is English and he always complains about taking classes. So jinx pulls them out of classes and that makes reader very mad. (basically Gloria from modern family)

It can be any language just ofc not English

TYY IF YOU DO IT

OMG I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!!

I did it in my native language. English is my first but Tagalog (Filipino)is kinda my second asides from Spanish. I can kinda of speak Tagalog just not fluently.

“Lost in translation”

Jinx x F!Reader

WC: 1427

NOTE: established relationship. I did have to use google translate for some words so it might not be grammatically correct.

THIS ALSO MIGHT BE MY LAST FANFIC FOR A COUPLE DAYS BC I HAVE MIDTERMS

“Jinx, what the hell were you thinking?”

You stood in the center of the small apartment, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. Jinx leaned against the counter, her casual stance a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

“I was thinking the kid hates it,” she shot back with a shrug, twirling a wrench in her hand. “Why make him sit through something that makes him miserable?”

Your heart clenched. “He needs to learn it. He needs to—” You hesitated, stumbling over your words as your thoughts tripped over each other, fighting to come out in English. “It’s important for him to know… to understand—”

Jinx rolled her eyes, her tone dismissive. “He’s a kid. He doesn’t need a million things crammed into his head. He’s fine just the way he is.”

“Fine?” you echoed, your voice trembling. “Jinx, it’s not just about school. It’s about him knowing who he is. Who I am. You think it’s easy for me, being stuck in the middle of two languages all the time?”

She frowned, her smirk faltering for the first time. “I didn’t say it was easy—”

“You didn’t even ask me!” you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You just pulled him out without even thinking about what it means!”

Jinx tilted her head, her electric blue eyes narrowing. “He’s my kid too, y’know. I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Her words hit you like a slap, and suddenly, the English words you’d been clutching at fell away, leaving nothing but raw emotion. Your chest heaved, and before you knew it, tears blurred your vision.

Jinx’s face shifted, the confidence draining from her expression. “Hey, whoa, babe, don’t cry—”

But you couldn’t stop. The frustration and exhaustion, the endless translating in your head, the constant feeling of being misunderstood—it all came pouring out in a language she didn’t understand.

“Ang hirap na hirap na ako, Jinx. Hindi mo naiintindihan. Hindi mo alam kung gaano kasakit na hindi ko masabi nang maayos ang nararamdaman ko.” (I'm in such a difficult situation, Jinx. You don't understand. You don't know how much it hurts that I can't express my feelings properly.)

You covered your face with your hands, your body shaking with sobs. “I just want him to know me,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking. “I want him to understand me without me having to fight for every word.”

Jinx froze, the wrench clattering to the floor. She stepped closer, unsure and unsteady, like she was walking on glass.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice low and raw with something you didn’t hear from her often—guilt.

You didn’t respond, your tears falling harder. Jinx reached out, her gloved hand hesitating before resting on your knee.

“I thought I was making things better for him. I didn’t think about how it would hurt you.”

You sniffled, shaking your head but still unable to look at her. “It does not just hurt, Jinx,” you whispered, the words coming out shakily. “It’s… I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with my own head, trying to make everything make sense in English just so I can talk to you, or him, or anyone.”

Jinx’s hand tightened slightly, grounding you, as if to say she was listening.

“I just… I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” you continued, your voice cracking. “Not here. Not at home. And now, our son… he doesn’t even want to learn the one thing that connects him to where I come from. To me. And you just let him quit. You made the decision like it didn’t matter.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Jinx’s usual chaotic energy had vanished; she looked like someone had ripped the ground out from under her.

“I didn’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. “Of course you didn’t. You never think of anyone except yourself” with that you slammed the door to your shared room with her.

—

You stood in the doorway, your bag slung over your shoulder. Your hands shook as you clutched the strap, the heaviness in your chest unbearable. Jinx stood across the room, her wild hair and mismatched clothes somehow looking smaller, like she didn’t know what to do with herself

“Wait,” she said, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re leaving?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill again. “I just… I need space, Jinx. I need time to think.”

Her brows furrowed, her lips parting like she wanted to argue, but no words came. For once, Jinx didn’t fight. She just stood there, the chaos in her usually vibrant eyes dimmed by something deeper.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking, “but I can’t keep doing this if you don’t try to understand. It’s too much.”

The silence in the room was deafening, and when you finally stepped out and closed the door behind you, it felt like your heart was breaking in two.

The days passed slowly. You stayed at a friend’s place, letting the quiet moments give you the space to breathe. But no matter how hard you tried, thoughts of Jinx and your son kept creeping in. The weight of the fight lingered in your chest, heavy and unresolved.

You told yourself you just needed a little more time. That maybe Jinx would realize how important this was—not just to you, but to your family.

And then, three days after you left, you came home.

The apartment was quiet when you walked in, and for a moment, you wondered if she was even there. But then you heard it.

“Kamusta.”(Hello)

You froze, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you turned toward the sound. Jinx stood in the middle of the living room, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt.

“What?” you asked, your heart pounding.

She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and determination. “Kamusta,” she said again, the word clumsy but recognizable. “That means… uh, hello? Right?”

You blinked, stunned. “Y-yeah.”

Her lips twitched into a small, nervous smile. “I’ve been trying,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I… I looked up some stuff. It’s… hard, but I wanna learn. I wanna…”

She trailed off, her electric blue eyes meeting yours with a rare vulnerability. “Ayaw ko… um…” She fumbled for a moment, clearly struggling to remember the phrase. “Ayaw kong… mag-translate ka… araw-araw.” (I don’t…I don’t want you to have to translate everyday)

Your heart clenched at the effort in her voice, the way she fought through every syllable. “I don’t… I don’t want you to have to translate every day. I love you,” she added in English, her voice shaking slightly.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took a step closer. “Jinx…” you smile widely, “now you’re the one who looks like an idiot!”

She chuckles softly but soon returns to her straight face. “I’m serious, okay? I… I’m not good at this, but I’m gonna try. I’ll keep learning. And he’s gonna learn, too. I already talked to him. Told him he’s sticking with it. I don’t care how much he complains—I’ll sit with him if I have to. We’ll both learn.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now, your hand flying to your mouth as you let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t get it before,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “But I do now. I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone. Or like we don’t see you—really see you. You shouldn’t have to fight for that.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “I’ll learn Tagalog for you. For us. Because I love you. And I don’t wanna lose you.”

A sob broke free from your chest as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. Her arms tightening around you, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

“Salamat,” you whispered through your tears. (Thank you)

Jinx chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Walang anuman. That’s how you say ‘you’re welcome,’ right?”

You laughed, your heart aching in the best way. “Yeah. That’s right.”

Her grin widened, a little of her usual spark returning. “Told ya. I’m a fast learner.”

And in that moment, as the weight in your chest began to lift, you believed her. Together, you’d figure it out.

for once, her chaos felt like home.

TYY whoever requested that!! That was such and interesting requests to write!!

I want food

#arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #x reader #x y/n #x you #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx lol #jinx x y/n #jinx x reader #jinx and isha #arcane

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ssa-danhotchner · 2 days ago

Text

Jealousy jealousy | Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: reader has finally started moving on from their past relationship with Aaron

cw: fem!reader, BAU!reader, reader is seeing someone new, Hotch wants to come back, regret, emotional conflict, jealousy, tension, let me know if I missed anything

wc: 1.1k

note: English isn't my first language so please be kind. I'm not really good at seconds part but I tried my best

read the first part here

The soft hum of conversation filled the BAU’s conference room as you glanced down at the case file in your hands, pretending to be focused. You weren’t, of course—not when you could feel Aaron’s gaze on you from across the table.

It was happening more often lately. The way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his jaw tightened whenever you laughed a little too brightly at one of Morgan’s jokes. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Whatever he was feeling—or thought he was feeling—didn’t change anything.

You were done waiting for Aaron Hotchner.

It had been months since that late night in the bullpen when you sat alone, drowning in memories of him. Something had shifted in you since then. Maybe it was the realization that holding onto the past was only hurting you, or maybe it was the encouragement of Penelope and JJ, who had both gently nudged you toward prioritizing yourself for once.

Or maybe it was him.

Ethan.

You glanced at your phone sitting on the table in front of you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t even need to open it to know who it was from; Ethan had a knack for checking in at the most unexpected yet perfect moments.

The thought of him brought a small smile to your lips. He was nothing like Aaron—charming in a carefree, easygoing way that made you feel like you could finally exhale after holding your breath for so long. You hadn’t planned on letting anyone new into your life, but Ethan had a way of breaking down the walls you’d built around yourself without even trying.

You could feel Aaron’s gaze sharpen as your smile lingered.

“Something funny, (Y/N)?” he asked, his tone deceptively light but laced with an edge you couldn’t ignore.

You looked up, meeting his dark eyes across the table. “Just a message from a friend,” you said simply, refusing to elaborate.

“Must be a pretty funny friend,” Morgan chimed in, grinning at you.

You laughed, the sound coming a little too easily. “He has his moments.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched at the pronoun, but he said nothing more, turning his attention back to the case file in front of him.

The tension in the room was palpable, but you forced yourself to stay focused. You weren’t going to let Aaron’s mood swings ruin the progress you’d made. You were moving on—finally, truly moving on—and he had no right to pull you back into his orbit.

---

Later that evening, you found yourself at a small café just a few blocks from the office. Ethan sat across from you, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he recounted some ridiculous story about a coworker.

You laughed, genuinely this time, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.

“You have a great laugh, you know that?” Ethan said, his voice warm and sincere.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Stop,” you said, though you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “You light up when you laugh. It’s… it’s really nice to see.”

Your heart ached at the kindness in his words, so different from the guarded affection you’d grown used to with Aaron. Ethan was open in a way Aaron had never been, and though part of you still felt guilty for comparing them, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the change.

As the evening went on, you felt yourself relaxing more and more, letting go of the lingering shadows of your past. Maybe this was what you needed—a fresh start with someone who saw you for who you were, not who they wanted you to be.

But as you walked back to your car later that night, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to find a text from an unfamiliar number.

Aaron: Are you free to talk?

You stared at the screen, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t heard from him outside of work in months. What could he possibly want now?

Against your better judgment, you texted back.

Is everything okay?

The response was almost immediate.

Aaron: I’m outside your building. Can we talk?

---

You found him standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The streetlights cast a warm glow over him, but his expression was anything but.

“What are you doing here, Hotch?” you asked, your voice sharp as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I needed to see you,” he said simply, his dark eyes searching yours.

You resisted the urge to laugh. “And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow at work?”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “It couldn’t.”

You sighed, stepping closer despite yourself. “What is this about, Aaron?”

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire.

“I saw you today,” he said finally, his voice low. “Smiling at your phone. Laughing with him.”

You stiffened, your defenses going up immediately. “And?”

“And I realized something,” he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing you with someone else.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t get to say that,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to act like this after everything.”

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone desperate. “I know I don’t have the right. But I can’t help it, (Y/N). I can’t stand the thought of losing you—to him or anyone else.”

“You already lost me, Aaron,” you said, your voice breaking. “You made that choice a long time ago.”

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his stoic exterior. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he admitted. “But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered. “You don’t get to come back now, when I’m finally starting to move on.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice barely audible. “But I needed you to know how I feel. Even if it doesn’t change anything.”

You stood there, staring at him as the weight of his words settled over you. Part of you wanted to believe him, to let yourself fall back into the comfort of his arms. But another part of you knew better.

“You don’t get to be jealous, Aaron,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. “You had your chance, and you let it go. Now it’s my turn to be happy.”

He nodded, the pain in his eyes cutting you to the core. “I just hope he knows how lucky he is,” he said softly.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the glow of the streetlights.

---

tags: @cocopuff213 @zaddyhotch

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x y/n #angst #angst with a sad ending

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leia-writes · 9 hours ago

Note

hi! i had a dream about this recently and was wondering if it would be anything you'd be interested in writing :)

it starts off with the reader and in-ho going through a really rough break up but they still have feelings for each other. right before the s2 games started, in-ho went to a bar and saw reader there and her job is to perform live music, so she sings about in-ho and their breakup, not realizing that he was actually there

Maybe You'll Be There

hwang in-ho | front man x reader

ao3 link

masterlist

song inspiration: maybe you'll be there by etta jones

note: thank you so much for your request!!

warnings: angst

“Get out.”

You glared through teary eyes at In-ho, who was standing in the middle of your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. He sighed and dropped his arms in frustration, a few petals and leaves falling to the floor.

“I said I was sorry. I really am.”

“How many times have I heard that? You’re a broken record at this point.” You turned away from him and began cleaning up your kitchen. It took everything in your power not to break down crying right then, but you were just so tired of doing this with him.

“I know. I messed up again. I’m sorry. Please.”

You sighed, dropping a glass into the sink. It clattered noisily as you turned towards In-ho. “Please what? Please forgive you for the thousandth time? Please forget how you ignore me whenever something important happens for me? Please let you play with my emotions?”

He stood there silently, trying to mask the shame spreading across his face.

“Which one, In-ho?”

He clenched his jaw, looking away from you. He still wouldn’t say anything. With every passing second he was silent you could feel your heart breaking even more.

You scoffed. “That’s what I thought. Get out.”

He gave you one last look, tears starting to form in his eyes. You’d never seen him cry, never even close to it. You wanted so badly to run to him, but you had to be strong this time.

You watched him as he set your flowers down on the table and walked to your door. He looked at you once again. For a brief moment you hoped he would say something, anything to make it right again.

Instead, he left, closing the door behind him.

~~~

You cried in bed that entire night. It was supposed to be a good day - you had just performed a full-blown concert all by yourself for the first time ever. Even though you worked for a very dark and secretive organization, you always made it a priority to pursue your passion for music. As time went on, you started gaining a reputation for being an outstanding jazz singer, and you found yourself wanting to move on from your high-stress job and live a more normal life.

After winning the squid games you participated in a couple years earlier, you soon found yourself working for the same organization alongside In-ho. Despite his cold exterior, you got along well. You had been dating almost a year before you started running into problems.

In-ho worked as the Front Man for a while before you joined him. You had only been working with him for a couple years, and you didn’t really have the same connection to that place like In-ho had. You both went through something extremely traumatic by playing and winning the games, but it seemed to bond In-ho to that place when you couldn’t care less. In-ho seemed constantly tormented by his decisions, as if he didn’t want to be there but couldn’t help himself.

As you started becoming more popular, you didn’t feel the need to work for them anymore. You wanted to leave many times, but In-ho always convinced you to stay. He promised over and over that you two could make it work, splitting time between the island and your apartment. And he promised he’d be at every one of your performances.

A promise he was never able to keep.

There were so many nights like that night, where In-ho would show up late in the evening, well after your performance, begging for forgiveness and promising to be better. You’d cry in front of him, break his heart a little, fall for his sweet words, and then make up as if nothing happened. Then you’d have another upcoming performance that always happened to conflict with work, and fight endlessly about how you navigate your relationship. Repeating the same vicious cycle over and over.

You couldn’t stand to keep breaking your heart like this. The love you felt for him was undeniable, something you felt you’d never get over, but the pain was just too much. Tonight was your final straw.

The next day, you finally quit your job and started your new life.

~~~

In-ho waited outside the lounge, the cold, night air whipping across his face. His hands were awkwardly stuck in his pockets as he scanned the people around him, looking for her. He was reluctantly waiting to meet someone on a blind date, set up for him by an acquaintance.

He didn’t want to be there at all, but figured he needed to start putting himself out there. Or at least that’s what everyone else was trying to convince him to do. After looking around for another brief moment, he spotted her approaching him.

She was beautiful. But she wasn’t you.

Ever since your painful breakup, he was tormented by thoughts of you. He couldn’t help but remember you in the little things around him, even now a year later. It was a constant reminder of his failings, how he ruined one of the only things that was good for him and made him truly happy.

He knew he was pushing you away the more you wanted to quit. He knew he was hurting you every time he missed a performance, ignored a call, prioritized anything else over you. He knew you’d be better off without him and his baggage.

In fact, it seemed true. Ever since you had finally broken up, he saw you rise to a whole new level of fame. You were constantly putting on performances and releasing new music. He tried his best to ignore any news he heard about you, but in moments of weakness couldn’t help but look you up and try to get a glimpse into your new life.

She approached him with a smile and they entered the lounge together, sitting at a small, intimate table for two. The atmosphere couldn’t have been any more romantic - warm, low lights, candles and a rose on the table, drinks and conversation flowing with ease around them. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt, as if he was doing something wrong.

A waiter approached the table and took their drink order. Upon returning, he excitedly pointed to the currently empty stage.

“Are you here to see the show?”

They looked blankly at the waiter, and she asked who was performing. In-ho felt his blood run cold when he heard the waiter say your name.

You.

You were performing at the lounge tonight.

He gave a polite smile as he internally screamed. “Oh, we’re just staying for a drink, so we’ll probably miss it, won't we?” He glanced at his date.

She scoffed. “What? Of course not, we can’t miss this! I didn’t even know she was playing tonight.”

The waiter smiled. “It’s a special one-night performance, just for us. This is where she had one of her first solo performances!”

The waiter and In-ho’s date chatted briefly as In-ho tuned out all the noise around him. The one night he tried to get you off his mind, he found his way into the one place in the entire city you’d be. He felt his heart rate quicken and his head start to spin.

Suddenly he was pulled from his thoughts. “Are you a fan too? You seem the type,” his date asked.

He snapped out of it. “Oh, uh,” he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Yes, I am.”

She smiled. “Great! We can’t wait.”

The waiter smiled and left. In-ho and his date casually sipped their drinks while making small talk. His eyes would dart wildly near the stage, anticipating when you’d appear on stage, wondering if you’d be visible nearby.

“Are you alright?”

In-ho brought his attention back to his date, who had a concerned look on her face. He smiled. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. Uh… just a bit nervous, I guess.”

She smiled and sighed, relieved. “Oh god, me too. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

He laughed softly, but couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling he had inside. He looked around, noticing how busy the place was getting as your performance was about to start.

“Want another drink before the show starts?” he asked. The waiters were incredibly busy, and he needed an excuse to step away.

“Sure. Just the same. Thanks.”

He quickly got up and walked to the bar. It was filled with people getting their last minute orders in, but he took his time getting the attention of the bartender. Anything to delay having to go back to the table and put on a facade. How was he supposed to act once you began performing?

As he was waiting for the drinks, you arrived on stage. The entire place erupted with applause. In-ho wanted it all to not be real, just a dream he could wake up from at any moment. He wanted to look away from you, to keep his focus on the drinks he was supposed to be getting, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning to you.

It was as if all the air in his chest escaped at once. You were standing at the microphone looking like an angel. The lights had dimmed in the room, with a single spotlight illuminating your face. You scanned the room with a soft smile on your face.

“Wow. Thank you all for coming. I’ve never seen this place so packed!”

A quiet laughter sounded from the audience as you continued. “As some of you may know, this is the spot where I had my very first solo performance ever, almost a year ago now. I have so many memories in this place. Some good, some bad, but… that’s life, isn’t it?”

You paused to take a deep breath. “Tonight I’ll be singing some of your favorites, some I even performed here that first night. And I even have a new special song I’ll be performing at the end for you. I hope you enjoy.” You smiled as the band started, the crowd applauding again.

In-ho stood still, frozen at the bar as you began singing. He immediately recognized your first song, remembering so vividly even now how you practiced it and played it for him over and over. He didn’t even notice when the bartender gave him his drinks.

Instead, he stayed there almost your entire concert, completely mesmerized by you. With the songs he recognized, it was like watching his memories in a movie in front of him, as if he was experiencing those feelings again just like before. And with your new songs, it was like getting to know someone he’d never met. He saw the parts of your life he had completely missed. It created a deep sense of loneliness and longing in his heart.

Before your last song, he finally became aware of himself and brought the drinks to his table. His date looked surprised.

“Oh. I thought you ditched me.” She scowled.

In-ho gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. The drinks…”

“The drinks didn’t take that long.”

In-ho sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

She sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. “You know, it’s fine. I was warned you might be like this, anyways.”

He was taken aback for a second. “What?”

“Your friends, they all told me they basically forced you into this.”

He scoffed. He wanted to defend himself for a moment… but they were right. He stayed silent.

“I just thought you’d have better manners than this,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Before he could think of something, you spoke before your last song.

“I want to thank you all for being here tonight. It means the world to have your support. Thanks to you, I’ve been able to make my dreams a reality. I’d like to thank you by playing a brand new song, just for you all. I wrote this recently, but it’s about what some of my life has been like this past year.

“Like I said before, some good memories, and some bad. I wrote this to reflect on some of those bad memories, and hopefully let go of the pain with them. I’m sure some of you can relate, right?”

Many in the crowd nodded. “This one is called Maybe You’ll Be There. Thank you.”

As you began your song, In-ho’s blood slowly ran cold. He knew after the first verse you were talking about him. He studied your face as you sang, watching how your eyes would subtly flutter at particularly emotional moments. It was something most people wouldn’t pick up on, but he knew you. He still knew you so well.

Your voice filled the space with ease as you reached more intense moments, gracing the ears of the audience with your rich tone. Once you reached the last verse, a tear fell down your cheek in perfect timing. In-ho’s heart strained in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to run to you on that stage and wipe the tear from your face, and do anything to make you happy again, anything to make the two of you whole again, anything to heal the wound that festered over the last year.

He almost cried listening to the final words of your song, hearing how you wished he would come back. After everything you had gone through together, and all the time you spent apart, you still missed him. His heart broke - he didn’t deserve you, and you deserved so much better than him. And you said it yourself, that you hoped you could finally move on after releasing this song.

Although it pained him greatly, and forced him to defy the longing he felt in every fiber of his being, he knew you’d be better off without him. And so, after your performance ended, he politely excused himself from the date and went home.

~~~

You entered your apartment later that night, pleasantly exhausted. It was late, but you were still buzzing with emotion. You hadn’t expected to become so emotional while performing your new song. It had been a long time since you cried on stage, but singing that song brought back so many painful memories that you couldn’t help yourself. Despite that, you were proud of having such a vulnerable moment become something beautiful.

You collapsed on your couch with a glass of wine, too tired to get changed just yet. The silence enveloped you. You remembered a year ago, the last time you saw In-ho in your apartment. The somber look he gave you as he left. The ensuing rush of tears and pain that you couldn’t keep in that night.

And the painful ache of longing you’ve had ever since then.

You sighed deeply, finishing your glass of wine and willing yourself to stand up. Life goes on, you told yourself. You were well-acquainted with the act of ignoring your feelings and pressing forward. No matter how much you wanted In-ho to appear in front of you, it wasn’t going to happen. He never once tried to get you back in the entire past year. Maybe now you could finally let go.

As you walked to your bedroom, you heard a light knocking at your door.

You stopped. Were you hearing things? The following silence was filled with tension.

You were about to dismiss the noise and continue walking when you heard it again, this time louder. Your heart was beating through your chest.

Slowly, you walked to the door. Your heart leapt, as if you knew who was behind the door. You weren’t sure whether to cry, or get excited, or get angry. A flurry of emotions filled your mind as you grasped the door handle, turned it, and pulled the door open.

You froze at the man standing in front of you. His grief stricken face. Flowers in his hands. The way he breathed a sigh of relief.

The way your heart breathed a sigh of relief.

In-ho.

#squid game #fanfiction #squid game fanfic #hwang in ho #hwang in-ho #hwang inho #front man #frontman #frontman x reader #front man x reader #hwang in-ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader

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megalony · 14 hours ago

Text

You Big Wimp

It's been far too long, but here is a new Luca imagine from Swat. I hope you will all like it.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper

Swat masterlist

Summary: The team are more than surprised to find out that Luca, as big and tough as he is, has a phobia of needles. And how that has caused a few situations with him and his wife.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're gonna be okay for the tournament right? We don't have to start looking for a replacement do we?"

Twisting to the left, Luca glared across at Jim and flexed his right hand as if to make his point. He stretched his arm out in front of him and clenched his fingers into his palm to try and get his wrist back into working order and ignore the tension sparking all around the joint.

The team didn't have to worry about him. By the time the arm wrestling competition came around in three days, Luca would be all set and ready to win it for Swat.

They had been having an annual tournament all week with different activities and games and Swat was desperate to win considering how they had lost for the last two years in a row.

Arm wrestling was always the catergory that Luca got picked for, it was his speciality and even though Swat had lost for the last two years, Luca always won the arm wrestling matches. He hadn't lost those points for Swat yet and he wasn't planning on losing again this time. He would be fine for Friday, he wasn't about to let someone hustle in and take this win from him just because his wrist was playing up a little from an old injury.

"I don't see why you won't just go to the infirmary and get a shot. They can give you anti-inflammatory meds, something to take the tension away. It'll work better than painkillers."

Deacon shrugged his shoulders as he moved around to sit down at the kitchen table. It wasn't often that they all got time to sit around and eat rather than to grab something and eat on the go.

He couldn't see why Luca wouldn't just give in and go get an injection. It would take five minutes and it wouldn't hurt, it wasn't like having a biopsy. One small injection and Luca could be given meds to take away the discomfort and any swelling he might have and it would help him recover faster.

They had all seen the herbal remedies he had been trying to get one of the ladies he knew to make for him. And the paste he'd been putting on his arm and the physio were all in replacement of one little shot every day for a few days.

"I don't need it, Deak."

"You'd rather keep on with that weird physio-lady you get to help you?" Jim rose a brow while he sat down opposite Luca at the table and grabbed a fork to start eating.

With a deep sigh, Luca reclined back in his seat and moved both arms to lock them behind his head. He scratched at the back of his head and dragged his fingers through his short, spiked hair which flexed his muscles pushing out against his tight sleeves that were cutting into his upper biceps.

They weren't going to relent. Why couldn't they just see that he didn't need the damn injections?

His eyes narrowed and a frown formed in his tense features as he groaned and tilted his head back.

"Look, I- I don't do needles, okay?" His feet began to tap out an uneven rhythm against the tiled floor and he looked away from the team when he caught their confused expressions staring back at him.

"You've got a phobia of needles? Being shot at doesn't bother you, but a little needle does?"

It wasn't something he went around telling people, Luca wasn't exactly proud of his fear of needles. He didn't tell people that such a small, inconvenient little thing made his blood curdle like sour milk and made him sick to his stomach. He didn't tell them that needles were bad enough to make him blackout even with just the look of them coming close to his arm.

He hated them. He always had. And needles weren't the same as knives or bullets. Luca couldn't control someone shooting at him and if that ever happened, he wouldn't see the bullet hitting him, he would only feel it. Needles could visibly be seen slowly entering the body and he'd had bad experiences with jabs when he was a little kid. That instilled the fear into him.

He dropped his arms from behind his head to slump both forearms down on the table when the team tried to stiffle their laughter.

He watched Hondo lean over the table to grab his drink before he leaned against the back of Chris's chair. Hondo had a broad grin spread across his face and he rose a brow while his free hand moved to his hip.

"Luca you've literally been stabbed before." He wasn't trying to make fun, but Hondo couldn't make much sense of that.

Being afraid of a needle in comparison to a knife was strange. A knife was deadly, intent to harm. A needle was usually life saving and over within a few seconds with no lasting damage.

"I can't control it. I don't like stuff going in my body like that, it's freaky."

He had been stabbed in the middle of a fight. It had been unexpected and he didn't see the knife until it was too late and it slashed against his forearm right down to his elbow. That was different. That wasn't something entering his body almost towards the bone. That wasn't something that physically made him feel sick and queasy and turned his head to mush.

He huffed when he felt Chris nudge her elbow into his arm while she took a bite of her sandwich.

"Who'd of thought a big guy like you can't handle a little injection." Chris laid her head on Luca's shoulder and grinned up at him to show she was only joking around. They all had their fears, even if the only fear of Luca's they knew about was a tiny needle phobia.

"What about other people? Don't tell me you'd freak if you saw one of us getting our shots done." Jim was only joking and he stabbed his fork down into his food but when he looked up, his smile turned bewildered.

He watched the way Luca's expression fell and his eyes cast down to the cup of coffee he had been nursing for the last ten minutes. Jim leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes as he let out a low chuckle.

"Seriously?"

"What, so if one of us went and had our shots in front of you, that would panic you?"

Deacon grinned and tilted his head to one side. He couldn't imagine going to the infirmary and getting an injection and having Luca panic or be sick if he were to witness that.

A sudden thought took over Deacon's mind as he wondered what Luca did about Amelia. He knew Luca's daughter was six. What did he do when she needed her immunisations when she was a toddler and she had to go to the doctor? Had he never had to take her to hospital and watch her get emergency shots or bloods done or injections when she was sick?

Deacon couldn't count the times he had seen each of his kids have their shots or had their bloods done when they had come over very ill and needed to go to the emergency room. It was baffling to him that Luca was an esteemed member of Swat but something as small as this set him back.

"I can't help it, man. Look, I took (Y/n) to the emergency room last year and they had to take bloods from her. That needle came out and I… fuck, I conked right out on the floor. They had to stand (Y/n) up and get me on the bed."

Luca hung his head down and took a sip of coffee at the memory that still plagued him when he thought about his one phobia.

He ground his jaw when he felt Chris trying her best not to laugh as she continued to lean her head on his arm. And the rest of the team looked over at him with raised brows and smiles lighting up their faces.

Jim shook his head and let out a chuckle. "No way."

"Your wife got injured and she had to give up the bed for you?" Hondo brought his mug to his lips to distort the smile he couldn't quite hide. He could imagine how embarrassing and worrying that situation would have been if they had gone in with (Y/n) being ill but ended up with Luca having a funny turn too.

"Hey, I got backlash for it, okay? Soon as I came round, she told me either get up or get out, and I haven't forgiven myself for it. I can't help it, I just see a needle and my brain shuts down."

It wasn't like Luca agreed with his body's reaction or like he planned it or did this on purpose. He couldn't help the way his brain reacted when he saw a needle, it was programmed into him to panic or shutdown whenever he came into close contact with a needle.

And he hadn't expected to faint like he did when (Y/n) wasn't well. He took her to the emergency room, he looked after her and held her hand and tried to calm her down. But as soon as the needle came into contact with (Y/n)'s elbow, Luca suddenly couldn't see anything and his ears started to ring.

It was like his mind was sure a needle was going to somehow harm his wife rather than help her. The experiences he'd had as a child were horrid and he'd suffered a lot of complications after some of his routine injections. And when he had been hospitalised, he was forever being poked and prodded with jabs and having bloods drawn.

It left Luca scarred for life and seeing (Y/n) or anyone else having needles jabbed into them made his mind go blank.

He had been shocked when he came around in the emergency room and found (Y/n) glaring down at him through tears, asking if he would kindly get up so she could sit back down. The nurses had been rather worried that a well-built, strong police officer had suddenly collapsed for no apparant reason.

It hadn't been one of Luca's finest moments.

***

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) lowered her head down into her hands and tightened her arms until her elbows were pinned into her sides. She wasn't sure if she felt like she was going to faint or be sick and neither option seemed appealing considering where she was at the moment.

She didn't bother to open her eyes when she felt a body sit down in the chair beside her. She knew who it was.

Luca's frame was etched into her mind and she knew every ridge, bump and muscle on his body. She felt the way his knee nudged into hers and when his palm pressed down on her lower back, she wanted to smile.

The feeling of his hand gliding over her back in smooth circles was comforting and his arm moulded around her as he leaned over until his chest was pressing down into her arm. His other hand curled around her knee and he attached his lips to the top of her head, curling around her like he was a safety blanket.

Luca always knew how to calm her down and make her feel better.

"How you feeling?" He murmured the words into her hair while he cast his eyes around the waiting room.

He had gone to the reception desk to sign (Y/n) in and he had been told that they wouldn't have to wait long. There were only a few other people in here and from what Luca could see, they weren't drastic or in dire need.

"Still hurts," (Y/n) mumbled and leaned herself to the right so she was tucked into Luca's chest a bit more. She felt how her words made his already hard chest tighten and tense up.

He hated to see her in any kind of pain, the same went for Amelia.

Lowering her head from her hands, (Y/n) switched to bind her arms around her middle and she flopped to the right until she could bury her face into Luca's thigh. She felt his arm curve over her back so his hand was beside her arm, resting on her stomach and his other hand took to carding through her hair as he slouched back in his chair.

Luca had been more than worried when he came home from shift this afternoon and found (Y/n) was burning a fever and starting to experience stomach cramps. That didn't bode well when she was almost three months pregnant so he'd asked his parents if they would look after Amelia so he could bring (Y/n) down to the emergency room.

He kept his hand on her waist, trying to smile when he felt (Y/n) curl her hand around his wrist while she kept her face meshed into his thigh. He felt each slow, drawn out breath she took to try and make herself feel better and calm down her system.

And he moved his other arm so his elbow was resting on the back of the chair and his hand started to rub across his jaw and the back of his neck. He slouched back a little and continued to look around the waiting room, trying to occupy his mind and distract himself from the worries going through his head.

Situations that he couldn't control never settled well with Luca. It was one of the reasons he was good at driving Black Betty down at Swat. It gave him control and something to focus on. When situations were out of his control, Luca didn't know what to do with himself and if they turned bad, he started to talk himself down and try to find things he could have done to make things better.

"(Y/n) Luca?"

(Y/n) wasn't sure she had the willpower to sit herself up when she heard her name being called, but she found it didn't matter. Luca leaned over her and his hands slid around to hold her chest so he could carefully reel her up off his lap.

His hands slithered down to hold her hips and once they were both stood up, he manoeuvred (Y/n) so she was in front of him and his arms were bolted around her waist to hold her up. They walked in tandem as (Y/n) leaned her cheek against his bare arm that felt freezing compared to her burning skin.

They followed the nurse through the double doors and down into one of the assessment cubicles.

When she motioned to the bed, Luca helped turn (Y/n) around and ease her down so she was sat on the side of the bed. Her legs swung back and forth, her feet just scraping the floor and she clung to the edge of the bed until her knuckles tensed to make sure she didn't sway and flop back on the bed.

"Okay, the notes say you're having stomach pains and a fever." When (Y/n) nodded, the doctor looked down at the form in her hands. "And how far along are you?"

"About eleven weeks, I think."

(Y/n) didn't look over at the doctor, she wasn't sure she could. And when she managed to look up at Luca, the pain and worry pooling in his eyes made her frown deepen. He had been so, so happy when she told him a few weeks ago that she was pregnant again. (Y/n) didn't want to lose their baby, she'd never gone through an experience like this before.

"If you sit back, I'll do a quick exam."

(Y/n) lifted her legs up so she was sitting on the bed properly and she leaned back against the pillow. But her hand immediately reached out for Luca. He tangled his fingers with hers and squeezed tight, smoothing his thumb across the back of her hand while he stood as close to the bed as he could manage. With his other arm bolted across the middle of his chest to try and contain the little composure he had left.

He watched intently as the doctor stood on the opposite side of the bed and lifted (Y/n)'s shirt. She pressed around (Y/n)'s stomach, clearly looking for any tender spots and Luca hoped it was a good sign that (Y/n) didn't flinch or cry out or gasp at any tender areas.

She said when he came home that it was cramps rather than a specific pain or crippling agony she had been feeling. Luca prayed that meant that maybe there was just a minor complication or hopefully that this was nothing to do with the baby and (Y/n) was just unwell.

The doctor then found a thermometer and placed it in (Y/n)'s ear, nodding as she confirmed the temperature and wrote it down on the chart.

"Have you been sick?"

(Y/n) glanced over at Luca before she meekly nodded, muttering 'a little' beneath her breath. She hadn't thrown up much, only once and it hadn't been substantial and she hadn't been sick since.

She felt Luca squeeze her hand and when she looked up at him, he arched a brow. She hadn't told him that.

"We'll need to take bloods, either this is a stomach infection or you could be experiencing a miscarriage."

(Y/n) held her breath and sank her teeth down into her lower lip to stop herself from bursting into tears. This might not be a miscarriage. She prayed it wasn't. They wanted another baby, they were just about to start telling their family and friends.

She tightened her hand around Luca's and moved her other hand to press down into the bed so she could sit up properly rather than recline back at an angle. She brought her knees up a bit and leaned her cheek against Luca's arm when he stood closer to her.

It was a comfort to feel Luca kissing the top of her head while he murmured "It's okay," into her hair.

Both their eyes set on the nurse after she snapped on a pair of gloves and wheeled a small metal trolley over to (Y/n)'s other side while the doctor moved out the way to jot down some more notes.

The nurse got a needle and vile ready before she picked up a blue strap and slid it just above (Y/n)'s elbow. The band felt like teeth cutting into (Y/n)'s right arm as it sank into her flesh to cut off her circulation.

She tried to hold her arm out straight and focused her sight on her knees rather than the needle. She had already been sick once and she didn't feel well, watching the bloods be taken might make (Y/n) feel drowsy and lightheaded. She kept her cheek pressed into Luca's arm that felt sturdy and tense beneath her touch and she took comfort in confiscating his arm and tapping her fingers against the back of his hand.

A wave of unease washed over Luca when he watched the nurse tap the clear plastic vile with a purple lid to make sure it was attached properly to the needle.

He didn't like needles.

Luca couldn't remember the last time he'd needed bloods to be taken from him and he wasn't sure he had ever witnessed (Y/n) having her bloods taken. The same went for Amelia, their five year old was in good enough health that she had never needed to go to hospital or have her bloods checked, she only needed routine appointments.

The sight of the needle made Luca swallow harshly and he couldn't help but grimace as he looked over at it.

His teeth punctured down into his bottom lip and he dug his fingers a bit too tightly into the back of (Y/n)'s hand while his other hand started tapping against his chest. He hadn't thought she would need to have bloods done when he brought her down here. This wasn't a sight Luca was used to seeing and it was making his stomach churn like a cement mixer.

He could feel bile rising at the back of his throat and his stomach started to jumble and twist as his head started to tingle like all his blood was rushing down to his toes.

The moment the needle sank into (Y/n)'s arm, something passed over Luca and bells tolled in his ears as spots danced in front of his eyes.

(Y/n) couldn't help the morphed sound that passed her lips when her left arm was suddenly yanked down. Her body jolted to the left and she almost toppled off the bed if the nurse hadn't of grabbed her shoulder to steady her and pull her back up on the bed.

She yanked her arm up until her fingers slipped out of Luca's sharp grasp and her eyes widened in horror when she watched her husband, that machine of a man, crumple to the floor.

She watched the way his legs curled oddly beneath him and he crashed onto his left side with his left arm caught between his chest and the floor. And his right arm flopped out on his hip like he was still trying to reach out for (Y/n); he had enough grip that he could have pulled her to the floor with him when he collapsed. His head lolled against the floor and his eyes closed and when (Y/n) looked at his chest, she noticed he was taking very light, shallow breaths.

"Luca." (Y/n) whined and dropped her head down and brought her left hand up to cradle her temple when the nurse slid the needle from her elbow with only one drop of blood in the vile.

(Y/n) knew Luca had a phobia of needles, but he'd never fainted like that before. And she didn't expect his phobia to extend to witnessing other people with needles. She thought it would have been a personal kind of thing.

"Oh dear." The nurse pulled the strap from (Y/n)'s arm, dropping it and the needle onto the tray as she hopped up from her stool to scurry to the other side of the bed.

The doctor frowned and followed the nurse, both women moving to kneel down beside Luca who looked like he was passed out drunk rather than having fainted from the sight of a needle. (Y/n) couldn't believe him. If she knew he didn't like witnessing other people with needles she would have told him to look away or even step out of the room.

Why did he watch if he didn't like them?

"Is your husband not well? If he's not he shouldn't really-" The doctor glanced up at (Y/n) who sighed defiantly and cut her off.

"He's not sick, he has a fear of needles." (Y/n) grimaced as she huffed the words and moved to wrap both arms around her waist.

This was a fine time Luca picked to pass out and need some assistance. He should have looked the other way or stepped out of the room, but then again, (Y/n) guessed he hadn't left because he wanted to stay with her and support her. But being passed out on the floor didn't count as much support for (Y/n) at the moment. He was inadvertently becoming a hindrance.

"Okay (Y/n), could we just get you to stand up for a moment so we can lay him down and get him sorted out?"

(Y/n)'s eyes looked between her husband and the doctor and she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed when she realised Luca wasn't about to wake up without some help. She found herself nodding even though she didn't quite agree.

They needed to sit Luca up and bring him back around, they could sit him in a chair rather than heave him about. He was a big guy, he was heavy, (Y/n) could barely take his weight if he ever leaned on her when he was drunk or feeling sick. They were going to struggle getting him from the floor onto the bed.

But she didn't argue. (Y/n) was in no fit state and no right mood to start arguing with the doctor.

"Seriously Luca."

She eased her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled onto unsteady feet. One arm stayed bound around her waist while the other reached out and pressed onto the equipment trolley beside the bed. She used it as leverage to keep herself upright, considering how her head was spinning and her system felt like it was about to breakdown.

Well if they wanted to get Luca up onto the bed, (Y/n) wasn't in any fit state to help them. She would let them do it themselves.

She stayed hunched over in the corner, trying to stop her vision from blurring and keep her eyes open properly to watch them get to work. She watched them check Luca's pulse and assure that he was breathing properly before they worked on easing him up in between them.

It looked like a struggle.

It seemed to take a lot of effort and (Y/n) rolled her lips together, grimacing when they finally managed to get Luca onto the bed. He seemed to take up the expanse of the bed like it was too small for someone as well-built as him. One leg bent out with his knee hanging off the side of the bed and his left arm flopped down over the edge of the bed as his head lolled to one side.

They hustled about, setting an oxygen monitor clip onto his index finger and checking his temperature too, just in case (Y/n) was lying and Luca was actually coming down with something rather than suffering a phobia.

(Y/n) sighed when Luca's head slowly started to loll to the other side and he seemed to start to come back around. At least he hadn't been out for long.

She shuffled over to stand beside the bed, one arm still encased around her throbbing middle while she curled her other hand around Luca's broad shoulder. Her head tilted to one side and she pursed her lips, waiting a little impatiently for her husband to wake up.

Her fingers danced out a rhythm against his shoulder, tapping every now and then while the doctor leaned over him and carefully pulled up one eyelid so she could flash a light across his pupil.

"Are you back with us, Mr Luca?"

Luca's head twisted to the left, trying to pull out of the doctor's touch. It was like instinct, he knew the hand on his left shoulder was a comforting one, a touch he was very familiar with. And he brushed his cheek against (Y/n)'s arm, nudging his nose against her skin as he tried to open his eyes and look up at his wife.

"Wh- oh crap," His right hand reached up to cradle his temple that was pounding like someone had bashed a hammer down on his head. He could feel the blood pulsing through each artery and vein in his head and the feeling made it seem like his head was swelling up like a balloon.

When he blinked a few times, his vision finally seemed to clear up and adjust to the bright lights in the room. He pushed his head back into the pillow so he could look up and confusion was clear on his face when he looked at (Y/n).

She still looked in pain, but she was hovering over him. That wasn't right. Why was she the one standing leaning over him like this?

He flexed his hands to stop them trembling and pressed his left hand down into the bed while his right hand curled around (Y/n)'s arm. He felt her hand move from his shoulder to press into the centre of his back and he could feel the doctor reaching out for him too. They both helped him sit up which seemed to overpower his head for a moment before he took three deep breaths and tried to restart his system.

Luca's eyes started to widen and his pupils began to dilate as he looked up at (Y/n) with something so innocent and child-like in his eyes that it made her stomach do summersaults. For a moment, the irritation she felt started to dwindle away because she knew Luca hadn't done it on purpose or planned for this. He couldn't help it, not fully.

"Either get up or get your own room, please." (Y/n) huffed through her words and sighed, lowering her head when she felt another wave of discomfort flood through her.

If Luca didn't feel great then he could flop down into the chair beside the bed or ask them to find him a room to get properly checked out, not that he really needed it. But he couldn't sit there for much longer when (Y/n) needed some pain relief and she needed her blood done as soon as possible to find out what was going on with her.

It was almost sweet how Luca seemed to recollect what was happening and his face fell as his jaw dropped open. He nodded profusely and stumbled onto wobbling legs. His knees locked into place to stop him from going down to the floor again and he moved his hands to (Y/n)'s waist so they could swap places and she could sit back down on the bed.

Luca didn't need any medical attention. He didn't need to be seen to or have a doctor check him over, he was here to get (Y/n) help and he didn't want to take that help and attention away from her.

He couldn't believe he'd just done that.

How embarrassing. He was a member of Swat. He was part of the police. Luca ran into situations with a gun and protective gear on to stop him from being shot at or stabbed or attacked. He went into dangerous situations and faced real harm and danger and none of that phased him, but the sight of a harmless needle going into his wife's arm set him off kilter.

"Sorry baby, sorry."

His lips attached to (Y/n)'s temple and he moved one hand to cradle the back of her neck, practically begging for her to understand and forgive him. He hadn't meant for that to happen. He had never fainted at the sight of a needle before, but then again, he wasn't in many situations where he had to witness people getting injections or shots or bloods taken like that.

(Y/n) briefly narrowed her eyes up at him but she managed a tender smile and moved her hand to squeeze his bicep.

"You big wimp." Her voice was flooded with affection and she leaned to kiss his arm. It never ceased to amaze her that Luca was a member of Swat, and yet he was so loveable and warm and soft and the kind of person people would expect to be working with children or in a relaxed environment.

When the nurse tried again to tie the band around (Y/n)'s arm, she looked between the couple and motioned to the needle and blood vile. She still had to get a blood sample from (Y/n) and send it down to the lab.

"Sit down and look away." (Y/n)'s words were more of an order and Luca found himself nodding his head rapidly.

He bent to kiss her cheek before he let his jelly legs give in and he flopped his weight down into the plastic chair beside the bed. He pulled it closer but made sure to tilt his head down. His fingers laced together, hanging his hands between his parted thighs and he hung his head down low until his neck started to ache. His eyes trained in on his work boots and he took deep breaths, making sure not to lift his head.

He wouldn't move an inch or look up until they told him the bloods were done and the needle was safely away from (Y/n)'s skin.

His thumbs brushed over the back of his hands and his foot began to tap against the floor, beating out a rhythm with the heel of his boot. At least he didn't feel like he was about to keel over again, he knew as long as he didn't look at another needle, and probably the blood that was being drawn, he would be okay.

A shiver tore down the back of his neck when he felt (Y/n)'s hand suddenly stroke the back of his neck and he felt her fingers scratching through the short hair at the back of his head.

"Are you good?" Her voice was quiet and her words caused Luca to lift his head in her direction.

The way he squinted up at her with that corny, lopsided grin made (Y/n) smile softly while he reached behind him to take her hand and lace their fingers together. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles.

"Apart from a bruised ego." Luca quipped back while the nurse smiled and disappeared from the room to send the blood sample down to the lab.

(Y/n) gave his hand a tight squeeze and pulled his arm so she could coil their hands to her chest. Her other hand moved to run up and down his arm and she watched him as he pushed up from the chair and moved to stand beside the bed. He could be closer to her now the threat of needles had been removed and there was nothing else that was going to make him feel queasy or nervous enough to pass out.

"Most guys faint at the birth, my fella faints at a needle."

The way (Y/n) shook her head and rolled her eyes had Luca's heart doing summersaults and he managed a small laugh as he leaned over and attached his lips to her temple.

What could he say, he was a different kind of guy.

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