#watching that scene reminded me of you will be okay so hard

[antimonyandthyme]

WHAT IF CARCAR REALLY HAD MAGNETS BETWEEN THEM

/or a stuck together au

“It’s like Eat Pray Love,” Carlos says.

“I’ll be honest,” Guanyu says. “Neither of you remind me of Julia Roberts much.”

“Please just,” Oscar massages the bridge of his nose, “point to a place on the map. Any place.”

“Why China,” Guanyu presses. Of course he’s curious. “Why not Spain or Australia?”

“Neutral ground,” Oscar says quickly.

“Ah I see,” Guanyu says. “You can’t agree on a spot, right?”

“I keep telling him,” Carlos says, always with the over-the-top gesticulating. He tries it with both hands first, then realizes Oscar’s being all sorts of petty and weighing his left arm down on purpose where they’re joined, so he continues gesturing eagerly with his right. “Come to Madrid!” He nearly smacks Oscar in the nose with his hand. Oscar scowls. “We have so much good food. I can show you all the things, but no! Piastri will only agree to get sunburned on Australian sand. We have beaches in Spain, too!”

“Guanyu,” Oscar urges, “a place, now.”

“Here,” Guanyu says, index finger plopping down. Like some cartoon scene, both Oscar and Carlos automatically lean in to squint at the map, and bump their heads against each other.

“I hate you.”

“Hard same.”

“Lijiang is actually a famous honeymoon destination,” Guanyu says.

“I hate you,” Carlos says.

“Hard same,” Oscar says.

“Hey.” Guanyu grins like this entire situation is wildly hilarious. Maybe it is, for everyone else. Oscar kinda wants to jump into the sea, but Carlos will only drag him down, their uncoordinated conjoined limbs tangled and thrashing. “You guys asked me to choose. Look, don’t you want to see pandas?”

Carlos makes some sort of shocked noise. Oh, for the love of—Oscar groans. He knows when someone’s just bought something.

“Carlos wants to see pandas,” Guanyu says, sounding far too delighted. “Chengdu’s like a fourteen-hour drive from Lijiang, that’s totally doable.”

They stare at him blankly.

“Oh my god. Chengdu, you know? Research base for giant panda breeding? Panda capital of China?”

Twiddle-Dum and Twiddle-Dee: “Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah, now you got it. In between, you can hit a dozen other places and never grow bored.” Guanyu taps his finger along the map, tick, tick, tick. “So why not? Complete the journey. Transform into Julia Roberts.”

“And break the curse,” Carlos says solemnly.

“Break the curse,” Oscar repeats miserably, but with his left hand, goes to look up flight tickets on his phone.

--

They discover that the only way they can pull on extra layers is if they yank themselves apart with all their might, creating just a sliver of space between their elbows. It’s painful. Oscar never wants to have to do this again.

“Now,” Carlos yells, and in a flurry of movement Oscar gets his coat on before their elbows snap back together.

Ow, ow. Oscar’s eyes are watering. He suspects Carlos’s is doing just the same.

“Okay, okay,” Oscar says. “Now your turn.”

Carlos waves him off. “I’m not cold.”

Oscar opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos is already dragging them off toward a sign with a car on it. The rental cars are left-hand steering, and it dawns on both of them at the exact time that Oscar will be doing all the driving, with the way they’re stuck to each other.

“No fair,” Carlos moans, as Oscar fist pumps the air. It would be too childish to stick his tongue out at Carlos. So he doesn’t.

A part of Oscar’s a spectator to all of this. Watching with his mouth hanging wide open, some disembodied shade looking from outside in, as his own body purchased tickets, packed a luggage (with Carlos in the same room), and boarded a plane. None of this makes sense. Getting into a car with Carlos, firstly. Then with the added condition that both of them have to clamber in from one side, before Carlos can climb over the middle console into the passenger seat. Fourteen hours of this, huh? He’s going to give Guanyu hell when they get back.

If, they make it back. Oscar guesses it’ll be two hours before they attempt to murder each other. You don’t go road tripping with people you can’t stand. It’s the one and only sacred rule of road tripping.

“I think I saw this in Final Destination.”

Oscar, zoned out staring at the road, manages a stupid, “What?”

“You know that pileup where everyone dies?”

“Everyone always dies in Final Destination.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, shakes their joined elbows for emphasis. “The scene where the logs fall off? A lot of screaming? A lot of swerving? All because they were stuck behind a logging truck?”

“Carlos.” Oscar takes one deep, deep calming breath. “Are you asking me to overtake?”

“If you can, yes,” Carlos says, like Oscar’s the one being thick. “Go on. I’ll help you hold the wheel steady.”

Oscar cranes his neck and glances around the side of the truck. The opposing lane seems clear, not a headlight in sight. What the heck. You can take the driver off a track, but he’ll still want to race.

“Woo!” Carlos yells, as Oscar zooms around the steadily plodding truck. A little clumsy, with Carlos almost overcompensating the steer as they merge back into the right lane, but successful, nonetheless. No one dies.

Mismatched hands on the wheel. Adrenaline spiking for just a few seconds of speed. Oscar finds himself wearing a grin to match Carlos’s. Maybe they’ll cut it down to thirteen and a half hours like this.

--

“Guanyu was right,” Carlos says thoughtfully.

Oscar’s got his nose buried in a helpful English guide. A sense of ambitious adventure appears to have overtaken them. He wants to hit at least three lookout points today. “About?”

“Look,” Carlos points in some vague direction. “All the couples.”

“Huh,” Oscar says. “That is a lot of couples.”

No one pays them any mind. They haven’t been recognized since they stepped foot here. For all intents and purposes, they could just be another one of those peaceful couples, milling about.

Well. Peaceful, would be a bit of a pipe dream.

“YOU CAN PLAY GOLF AT JADE DRAGON SNOW MOUNTAIN.”

“Carlos,” Oscar hisses. “Quiet.”

“You can play golf,” Carlos repeats, softer but no less excited, eyes larger than two sparkling coins, “at Jade Dragon Snow Mountain!”

Oscar snatches the guide back from Carlos’s hand. “I’m pretty sure I just read that the mountain’s considered holy.”

“They let people play golf on a holy mountain,” Carlos says for the third damn time. “I love it here.”

“We’re not playing golf,” Oscar says.

“Oscar,” Carlos says, dismayed.

“You have one hand, remember?” Oscar wriggles their stuck arms, a reminder he didn’t even know Carlos would have needed.

“Riiight,” Carlos says, shoulders drooping.

“We can still see the mountain though,” Oscar says, is alarmed at the tiny skip-hop going on in his chest when Carlos brightens again. Doesn’t take a lot to keep this guy happy. That’s, good for him. That’s good.

They decide the cable cars up are too much hassle, with the queues already stretching out for hours. The mountain’s basically viewable from anywhere, so Oscar steers Carlos toward Old Town. Where he discovers that Carlos is terrible at haggling. Absolute nightmare. He hands over money to anyone who so much as gestures him over. The singular tote bag Oscar brings starts to get filled with random trinkets, from fans to calligraphy pens.

“What’s this,” Oscar says, when Carlos shakes his head as Oscar prepares to pack away two wooden charms in the shape of a very rotund cat.

“Not for keeping,” Carlos explains. “They’re for wishes. We hang them up in the temple.”

“Oh,” Oscar says. Carlos had gotten one for him too. “I didn’t think you believed in these things.”

“I don’t,” Carlos says quickly, before looking away, like he’s afraid Oscar will laugh at him.

Oscar chews at his lip. He didn’t mean to suggest it was silly. It’s a little unfair for Carlos to think so lowly of him. If they could, this is where they’d walk their separate ways and browse different shops, long enough for the awkward tension to diffuse. Come back refreshed and recharged for more time spent in each other’s company. No such grace, here.

The stream whispers as it flows by the stone-paved path. The wooden house clusters look as if they’re linked, hand to hand, a never-ending line all the way to the top. Everything here’s older than Oscar, older by years and years and years.

“I keep an amulet in my helmet,” Carlos says. His eyes wander around like he’s sightseeing. “I don’t know why I lied.”

“A little belief can’t hurt,” Oscar blurts out, just so Carlos would stop looking so wounded. “That’s what I always say.”

Carlos nudges him. “You never say that.”

Above them, a thousand colorful prayer flags blow gently in the wind. Wooden charms as numerous as the birds adorn the roof of the temple. Wishes for health, prosperity, family. Oscar tries to peek at what Carlos is writing, only for Carlos to shove him away so violently that they both fall over.

Oscar laughs as Carlos strains to keep his charm out of prying reach. No easy task, both of them being joined and all.

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For my family and friends, good health always. For myself—

Oscar wrenches his gaze away. Some things aren’t for anyone else to know.

He watches Carlos hang his charm up carefully. And then Carlos waits, back turned as much as he can, for Oscar to write his own wish. It’s simple. Fast car, many wins. Happiness. Oscar ties his somewhere near Carlos’s. Closes his eyes and listens to them jangle together.

--

For myself, patience.

--

Oscar’s pretty sure he’s dying. He’s pretty sure this is what dying feels like.

“I thought,” he gasps, in between gulps of warm tea that only makes things infinitely worse, “I told her not spicy?”

Carlos is cackling like the unhelpful asshole he is. “This is not spicy.”

When you explore some place new, local recommendations for food are a must. Oscar’s seriously reconsidering Travel Tip 101 when he gets fed hotpot that turns his tongue worryingly numb.

“Well, it is a little spicy,” Carlos concedes. “But nothing I can’t take.”

“Isn’t Spanish food not spicy?”

“It’s not,” Carlos says. “Actually, I wasn’t good at taking spice until after I started driving.” He fans exaggeratedly at Oscar’s overheated mouth, like that could even help an iota. It’s so Carlos it’s endearing. Shit. “I only started putting hot sauce on all my trainer’s meals because everything tasted so bland.”

Oscar coughs, wiping at his leaking nose. “It burns,” he moans.

“There, there,” Carlos says, mock sympathetic. “Don’t cry.”

“Seriously.” Oscar blinks rapidly, is it affecting his eyeballs too? His pulse thuds like the hoofbeat of a runaway horse. “How are you not even sweating?”

Carlos winks at him. “They don’t call me chili for nothing.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Aw,” Carlos says, and finally puts himself to some use by waving down a server, and sweettalking her into bringing a pitcher of iced water over.

Oscar calls first dibs on the shower, claiming the need to wash the spice out of his pores. Carlos rolls his eyes but acquiesces, gallant about it for once. They force themselves not to make it awkward. Pull apart for just long enough to slip their clothes off, eyes everywhere but on each other. Carlos stands outside the curtain as Oscar tries to shampoo and soap himself down in the narrow tub with one hand.

When it's Carlos's turn: “Oh my god,” Oscar says. “Carlos, are you using soap for your hair?”

“I’m trying to be quick,” Carlos says, voice disembodied even though he’s right next to Oscar. Separated by the thinnest sheet of translucent nylon. The shadow of Carlos is unmistakable in the light. The broadness of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. “So you do not stand outside for forty-five minutes like I did.”

“I didn’t take forty-five minutes!”

Carlos laughs, the cackle now almost familiar. “And how are you knowing I’m using soap? Are you peeking?”

“I hate you,” Oscar says, waits for Carlos to return with a Hard same like they’re in on the same joke. Waits and waits until Carlos emerges from behind the curtain, not fifteen minutes later, lips still sealed together like withholding some secret.

--

As designated shotgunner, with no say in the matter, Carlos is in charge of the GPS and the AUX cord. After the second album of Enrique Iglesias, Oscar relegates him to Captain of Pointing Out Exit Signs Only. Carlos pretends to pout about it, but he reclines his seat, as far back as their joined elbows will allow. Closes his eyes, limbs loose, all relaxed. He looks so good like that, when he’s as easy as easy can be.

Oscar swallows the click in his throat back down.

“I feel bad,” Carlos murmurs, sounding like he’s close to drifting off. “You’re doing all the work.”

“I don’t mind,” Oscar says. He’s getting real good at one-handed maneuvers now. Hah, maybe this will be beneficial on the track. “I hate getting driven. I rather do it myself.”

“Control freak,” Carlos says.

“Yeah,” Oscar admits. “A little bit.”

When Oscar dares to look over at Carlos, there’s a smile curving his lips gently up. They didn’t magically learn how to talk to each other. But it’s a start, trading little morsels of information like passing notes in school.

One of Guanyu’s other suggestions had been Emei Mountain, boasting an altitude of over three-thousand meters and some ridiculous number of stairs.

(Sixty thousand, to be precise. Oscar had opened his mouth to complain, but Guanyu had responded with a report of the monkeys that lived in the mountain. There came that dazed, excited noise from Carlos again, and Oscar knew it was a lost cause.)

Jet-lag’s working in their favour, and they’ve arrived before the tour buses can deposit too many people for them to stomach. Ambitions are dampened when they realize climbing’s harder when surgically joined by some unknown force at the elbow. When Oscar lifts his left leg, his right arm wants to go, which means Carlos’s left arm needs to go, which means Carlos’s right leg needs to lift. They clunk around clumsily for the first chunk of steps, griping and critiquing each other’s technique. The fog rolls in and laps at their ears, and for a while, there’s nothing much to see.

An elderly lady pressures them into an early lunch, and Carlos gives in effortlessly, like always. It ends up being the best thing Oscar’s eaten since coming here. They fight over the last slice of barbecue pork, and Oscar wins, by virtue of being slightly better at using chopsticks.

By the time they’re halfway up, they’ve got climbing down to an art, limbs moving like clockwork around the constriction. Carlos takes advantage of their newfound skill to increase their pace to a march.

“Carlos,” Oscar’s not ashamed to beg. “Please, won’t you stop and look at the monkeys.”

Carlos laughs at him and calls him slow. Because Carlos is crazy, he’s taken off his light sweater even in this weather, and the threadbare white shirt he’s wearing leaves little to imagination. Chest hair, nipples. Oscar looks away before he can be caught staring. The fog’s given way to some amazing views. Rich vegetation, more trees than Oscar’s brain knows what to do with. Beautiful things all around.

Carlos’s face swims into view. “Come on.” The tugging at the elbow doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. “To the top! There are giant golden statues!”

The statues are indeed golden. And they are indeed giant. The largest one weighs six hundred and sixty metric tons, according to the pamphlet. Larger, surely, than the feeling expanding in his lungs.

“Look, Oscar!” Carlos points with their joined arms, all delight.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. Quickened pulse from the strenuous activity, and he wills it to settle. Control freak. “I’m looking.”

--

Designated phone time on the bed is an hour long. Oscar uses it to text his mum, sift through photos from the day. With how close they’re forced to be, it’s hard to get a picture without a body part of Carlos making its way in. Oscar finds he doesn’t quite mind. He’s got one of the cloudless, blue sky, the backdrop for the Leidongping cable car station. Carlos is pointing at something again, his finger situated artistically right in the middle of the lidless eye of the sun.

Guanyu’s the one who got them into this mess, so he probably deserves a photo update. Oscar sends it over WhatsApp and receives an O-M-G!!! in return, along with nine panda emojis.

No pandas, we’re not at Chengdu yet, Oscar types.

Honestly, I’m surprised you even made it this far, Guanyu says.

Wow, thanks

Oscar squints, rereads Guanyu’s message.

Wait, you were the one who gave us this itinerary!

Hahaha, is all Guanyu says, followed by multiple peace sign emojis.

加油!

Oscar has to google translate that, learn that it means to add oil. To go for it. Go for what?

“Teto says he wishes he was here too,” Carlos says sleepily, looking up from his phone.

“Teto’s out of luck,” Oscar says, ignoring the flash of something hot and possessive down his spine.

He plucks Carlos’s phone out of his willing fingers. Reaches over Carlos for the pull chain of the lamp. Beneath him for just a second, Carlos shifts, comfortable, cozy. Oscar gets the ludicrous notion that if he were to collapse down, right now, Carlos’s body would welcome him.

Shit. How long until they come apart?

Click, off go the lights. Meekly, Oscar makes his way back to his designated side of the bed. Carlos mumbles a soft Good night. More intimate than he could ever mean. Oscar mumbles something back, and satisfied, Carlos closes his eyes. He likes sleeping on his side. Coincidences of coincidences, so does Oscar. Carlos falls asleep faster though, and it gives Oscar a lot of time to stare without accusation. Trace the planes and slopes of Carlos’s face before he drifts off himself.

--

At long last. Chengdu panda base.

After jostling with the crowds to watch the pandas tumble around for their food, then tumble around to play, then tumble around to sleep, Oscar turns to Carlos.

“Well?”

“Eh,” Carlos makes a see-saw motion with his hands. “It’s a little anti-climatic.”

Oscar barks out a laugh. A joined body part, three shared showers, thirteen and a half hours in a car together later, and Carlos still surprises him. He really doesn’t do Oscar well on a neurochemical level.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?”

“I thought it was,” Carlos says. It’s no longer only their elbows touching. Now it’s bicep to little pinky, pressed up against each other like puzzle pieces which fit slightly crooked. One long, unbroken line of heat. “I thought—”

Carlos tapers off. Oscar waits.

“Well, it’s the journey that counts, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“They’re very cute, too.”

“Uh huh,” Oscar says. “Pictures or Guanyu’s never going to believe we made it here.”

Oscar takes one of Carlos with a sleeping mama panda in the background. He’s halfway through checking if it’s any good when Carlos grabs the phone.

“Come here,” he says.

It’s not easy arranging themselves together and catching a panda as well, but heck, didn’t they climb sixty-thousand stairs with some careful coordination? Carlos holds out the phone with his right hand, smooshes their cheeks together. The scrap of Carlos’s stubble against his skin—that’s, there’s a new sensation, in every way possible.

“Say panda,” Carlos says.

“Panda,” Oscar says, the same way he would say, Alert, or Danger, or Abort. His cheeks are going to show up pink in the photo. And Carlos will notice and say something completely asinine—

“Hee hee,” Carlos says. “Your eyes are closed, Oscar.”

--

Once they get enough panda souvenirs to shower the grid, the rest of the day passes in the laziest of fashions. They’ve hit their goal now, so there’s no need to rush. Oscar actually bothers to look through Yelp for restaurant options, and after all his hard work, gets yanked by Carlos into some random alleyway with plastic stools to eat hand-pulled noodles.

Meandering like leaves on an easy stream down the folk and culture street, the promise of a hot shower eventually calls to them. Oscar, gentleman that he is, lets Carlos go first.

Oscar stares unblinkingly at a water spot on a tile as Carlos hums and soap himself, as easy and as relaxed as if he weren’t stuck with Oscar listening to the way the water hits his skin. The first time in the shower, when Oscar had unwittingly brushed his hands over his dick, he’d jumped, then stood still for a whole minute, waiting for Carlos to call him out on it. It’d felt forbidden, with Carlos standing not two inches away.

To Carlos’s credit, he doesn’t punch Oscar when the curtain is pulled back, with a force that can only be described as resolution. He only yelps like a little pup, clapping his free hand over his chest, before the hand trails self-consciously down.

“I’ll help you shampoo,” Oscar says. “It’s faster this way.”

“Well,” Carlos says, “if it’s faster.”

They’re staying at the Shang this time, and there’s fancy shampoo smelling like bergamot and orange. Oscar douses Carlos with half a bottle, squeezing too much out by accident. He keeps bumping his hand into Carlos’s while they attempt to scrub. The lather gets into Carlos’s eyes, and Oscar has to try and hide his smile while Carlos whines piteously. It’s not actually faster in any way.

“There, there,” Oscar says, in a similar tone as to when Carlos had observed Oscar leaking copious fluids over hotpot. “Baby.”

Carlos makes a face and pretends to start crying again, and something terribly fond constricts the entirety of Oscar’s ribcage.

Towelling each other dry is a whole new learning curve, just like putting clothes on, and driving one-handed, and climbing stairs. They’re looking at each other this time, too. That’s also new. Huh. Carlos is very, very gentle as he dries the back of Oscar’s ears. The kind of gentle that speaks of someone having done this for him before, resulting in an insistence in getting this right. Oscar gets all warm, even with the water cooling rapidly on his skin.

“Phone time?”

“No need,” Carlos yawns.

It’s Carlos that leans over this time for the light switch, even though Shang’s posh enough to have light switches at both sides for easy access. Carlos hovers over Oscar for a suspended moment, and Oscar sucks in a breath, straining with anticipation. The head pat is unexpected, but enough for now.

Satisfied, Oscar closes his eyes.

--

“Hey!” Carlos exclaims. “Oscar, we’re free!”

“Whuh,” Oscar says blearily. He’ll never acquire Carlos’s habit of waking up at eight.

“Look, look,” Carlos says, all childish delight. He waves his arms in front of Oscar’s face. Both his arms.

“Hey!” Oscar says, shooting up, suddenly awake.

“Yeah!”

“So all we needed was a shower?”

“Oscar,” Carlos says disapprovingly. “It wasn’t just a shower. We wrote this on prayer cards.” Oscar doesn’t point out neither of them wrote this on a prayer card. “We climbed a mountain. We saw pandas!”

“And took a shower,” Oscar says.

Carlos sniffs. “Have it your way.”

“Fine, fine,” Oscar says. It’s too early to be feeling all warm and crumbly, like the center of a freshly baked pie. “It was the journey that counts, yes?”

“Yes,” Carlos nods. “Maybe. Maybe it was something I—we had to learn. In preparation for. For—”

May the new year bring surprises and joy. For myself, patience.

Their hands are no longer joined, but Oscar takes Carlos’s, and presses a quick, dry kiss to the backs of his knuckles. Carlos is so surprised he lets him.

“Ah,” Carlos says, voice trembly and a little hopeful. “What happens now?”

Oscar looks down at their hands. Going through all of this to separate, only to choose to stay touching. There’s something about a journey being full circle, but Oscar doesn’t want to finish that thought for fear of actually transforming into Julia Roberts. And anyway—

“Now we drive back.”

They’re not near done, yet.

[winchestergirl2]

Ok, here we go...

He knew it was over. You’d never pick him. He wasn’t the love of your life. He wasn’t your once in a lifetime. He wasn’t true love.

Oh, Beau, honey, don't be so sure about that! Totally in character for him, though.

“That was the hospital here. They said someone brought in my husband.”

Beau killed the engine in the parking lot. Both of you sat there in silence and petrified in time, two fossils buried deep in the earth and uncovered by archeologists with fine brushes millions of years later.

Such powerful imagery!

“I don’t know if I’m ready to see him. I don’t know if I’m ready to see you with him,” Beau confessed.

Oh Beau 💔

What were you supposed to do, though? Reject the man you married because it would break the heart of the one you currently loved?

What an impossibly hard position to be in 😔

Randy said with a genuinely happy grin. He seemed like a kid who was catching up with all his friends on the first day of school after summer break.

This makes me so sad for Randy. He's coming across as the same gentle, happy, understanding man he was before (probably a lot of faking going on, after all he's been through). He has no idea yet how much has changed.

Beau...

“It’s okay. I get it. Trust me. I do. He’s your husband, and I’m just… Well, I’m nothin’,” he said, his voice laden with heartbreak.

💔💔💔💔

He replayed the clips of the hospital in his mind over and over again. How Randy held your hand. How he touched your cheek. How he kissed you. How he looked at you when he first saw you – like he had finally found the piece of his heart again that he lost years ago, the same love in his brown eyes that had been there since day one.

He was so busy watching Randy. Did he even notice her struggle?

“You ain’t nothing.”

OMG, I love this. She went after him!!

I could feel the need and desperation they have for each other and the 'I need you. I want you' moment... perfect!! A moment of sweet reassurance amid an incredibly hot moment.

Your heart was the North Star, and your heart had led you to him. When you left the hospital, there was nowhere else you wanted to go, no one you wanted to see more. Your heart had only ached for him.

This is beautiful 😍

His nose brushed yours as he looked deeply at you. You could see the despair drowning in his pine green eyes, his emotions overtaking him.

My heart ❤️‍🩹 I can picture this so clearly.

“Pick me. Don’t go,” he begged in a harsh whisper, your flushed face in his warm palms.

Aww, Beau. It reminds me of that scene in Grey's Anatomy...

I really hope she means that and she does pick him.

Polaris – Chapter 9

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, ramp up the angst, guilt trips all around, hospitals, bits of fluff in all the chaos, smut (with a heavy dose of more angst)

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Well, there was no way this wasn't going to be angsty af. Enjoy the ride, loves! 😘

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 9: Marooned

The cool, breezy autumn air whipped you across your face, a sharp, frigid sting in your lungs that burned right through to your heart. Each breath you desperately clutched was a fight for life.

Your mind, moonstruck and lunatic, spun complicated cobwebs. Your feeble body and fragile bones threatened to crumble and crack underneath the devastating weight of the truth. You crouched down on the parking lot asphalt, head heavy in your shaking hands.

“Hey, hey, just breathe…” Beau’s deep voice and warm hand on your back were a short-lived comfort before the first sob broke through you.

He knelt down in front of you, large hands cupping your head when your own grew too tired to hold it. He rested his forehead against yours, green eyes leveling with you. His thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“Maybe it’s not him,” Beau bargained, his voice a soft whisper. His disavowing mind refused to accept what his breaking heart knew to be true.

However, there was no doubt in yours. “No, I’m sure it’s him.”

“It still might not be true… It could be one of those CGI deep-fakes. You know, they’ve gotten crazy good… She just wants to mess with us,” Beau tried to reason, every bone in his body fighting to accept the truth. Because as soon as he would acknowledge it, he’d lose you. How could he live with that?

Your eyes lifted from the ground, your gaze boring into his. “You really believe that?” Your voice was harsh enough to break through the solid brick barrier he had erected over his heart, your words a wrecking ball. A jittery and hesitant lick of his lips was his abdication. He lowered his head in resignation. “How’s that even possible? You saw him die, right?

Beau’s mouth opened without an answer, his eyes flickered alive with memories. Panic rose with realization and poisoned the pumping blood that coursed through his heart. “I-I saw him get dragged away… I heard the shot.”

He was sure. He was so, so, so sure. And then, it all fell apart. What had he done?

You straightened up, slipping out of his grasp, and clasped your mouth, turning your back to him as your body rattled with shock. “Oh my God… Oh God…”

Beau rose to his feet behind you and swallowed harshly as the realization hit him like a freight train. He wanted to reach out and touch you, needing you now more than ever, but he didn’t know if he still could. His mind raced a mile a minute with questions he couldn’t find an answer to.

How was Randy still alive? Had the cartel kept him all this time? How did Diane find out? And how the hell did she get a hold of him?

“Y/N, I-… I don’t know what to say.” His voice trembled. He could feel you drift further and further away from him till you were just a dot out on the vast ocean. He didn’t want to lose you but didn’t know how to stop it, either. He thought all he needed was for you to just look at him, and it would all be right again. But when you did, it shattered his heart into a million pieces.

“All this time he was alive and God knows where. I-I could’ve looked for him. I could’ve helped him…”

“You didn’t know,” Beau said softly, pushing your blame onto himself. He could’ve known. He should’ve known. He felt helpless, lost, adrift. “Y/N, what d’you want me to do?”

You needed a moment to clear your head enough to think straight. If it wasn’t Randy but any other victim, what would you do next?

“We need to find that bunker. Get him outta there,” you concluded. “You think he’s still alive? You think she’d kill him?”

Recalling the snippet of the video, you remembered the timeline only read an hour instead of the usual forty-eight. It wasn’t about making you suffer through his death because you’d already done that. Diane just wanted you to see.

Beau knew there were only two possible options. Either Diane caught Randy only to show he was still alive and then kill him, or she brought him back into your life to wreak havoc. But the hows and whys didn’t really matter. Both options would cause a rift between you two wider than the Grand Canyon. If Randy was back, dead or alive, Beau’s relationship with you wouldn’t survive it.

He knew it was over. You’d never pick him. He wasn’t the love of your life. He wasn’t your once in a lifetime. He wasn’t true love.

He was your second choice. The one you were stuck with. Your rebound.

“I don’t know,” Beau replied and forced some oxygen into his lungs. He didn’t know for how long he had held his breath. For a minute there, he had forgotten how to breathe at all – and he didn’t even care.

The ringing of your phone broke both of you out of your haze and fatal fantasies. You fished it out of your pocket and stared at the screen with a furrowed brow.

“Who is it?”

“Unknown caller,” you replied before you answered the phone, pinning it between your shoulder and ear. “Hello? Yes, this her…”

Beau watched as your eyes widened, how your brow rose, how your mouth fell open, how your heart stopped. As you hung up, he could see you swallow before you found his eyes. He waited with bated breath for news he already knew.

“That was the hospital here. They said someone brought in my husband.”

The stone silent ten-minute drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. Beau drove, his grip stiff and knuckle-white around the steering wheel. The heat of the old Jeep had barely kicked in by the time you arrived, your hot breaths coming out in vaporizing clouds as you bit your nails bloody and down to their beds on the passenger’s seat. Neither of you spoke a word, too terrified it would cut the last string between you that still tied you to each other.

As the bright sign of the hospital came into view, your heart thudded in your ears, so loudly you could barely hear the world around you anymore. Everything was subdued and distorted as if someone was holding your head underwater. All you wanted was air, but your lungs flooded with water.

Beau killed the engine in the parking lot. Both of you sat there in silence and petrified in time, two fossils buried deep in the earth and uncovered by archeologists with fine brushes millions of years later.

His gaze drifted up to the star-filled sky, green eyes locked on the North Star. He wished he could rewind the tape to that night, all the way back to the start where the two of you were still alive. His eyes then swerved to your hand that lay there untouched on the edge of your seat, his own palm twitching to hold it in his.

“You want me to come in with you?” Beau asked carefully.

It was the first time since you’d left the Sheriff’s Department that you looked at him again. Your eyes were pleading. “Of course I do. Please don’t go. Don’t let me do this alone.”

Then, you saw it – the flicker of relief that flashed through him. You recognized the insecurity and apprehension in his eyes. Your heart dropped. You had been so consumed by the news, you hadn’t noticed how he had spiraled. You clasped his hand tightly in yours. He squeezed it desperately back. He was drowning, and your touch was the lifeline he had been waiting for.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to see him. I don’t know if I’m ready to see you with him,” Beau confessed. He had endangered his best friend, deserted him, and left him to die. And that wasn’t even the worst he’d done. The worst was you.

“Me neither,” you admitted and interlaced your fingers with his. “We’ll take it step by step, okay?”

He nodded.

As the nurse sent you down the hallway to your believed-to-be-dead but actually only-long-lost husband, you didn’t know what to expect as your hand lingered on the door handle.

Beau could not only feel the tension in your body but physically see it. The stiffness in your neck and shoulders, the tremble in your hands, and the twitch in your eyes were a dead giveaway.

As you felt Beau behind you with a hesitant palm resting on your lower back, you wondered if you should tell Randy. You supposed you had to at some point. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed.

You had been so focused on what awaited you in that room, you hadn’t thought about what your husband expected. Or was it ex? Did he know you had moved on? Were you still allowed to? Would he be happy for you? Would he let you go? Would he hate you for it? He probably would, considering who you ended up with. Or maybe you had it all wrong, and he would be relieved it was someone he loved, too. Wouldn’t you be if the roles were reversed?

His death had severed your ties, but now that he was back, were your vows, too? Did he even know everyone thought he was dead? Had you cheated? Was that what Diane had been trying to tell you? That you had sinned? That you were a liar? That you were awful? That you were a whore?

“Should I-, uhm…”

“No,” Beau answered your dangling question as if he could read your mind. He dropped his hand from your back and ceased all contact, even going as far as taking a step back. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought you were radioactive. That should’ve been answer enough. “Not yet, at least.”

“Okay.” The rejection hurt, but you understood. This was hard for him, too. Maybe even harder. You had to weather the storm alone, ship-wrecked and marooned on a desolate island.

“You wanna go in alone first?”

“No.” You shook your head and pushed down the handle, suddenly feeling more courageous and determined than before.

You barged in. Not gentle. Not slow. The urge to see him, face to face within the same four walls – after all these years, after all the tears – washed over you like heavy rainfall. You didn’t want to weather the storm – you wanted to be it. It felt safer than to seek shelter under driftwood.

Then, your heartbeats halted. The world around you paused. No murmurs in the hallway, no beeping machines or bustling footsteps. It felt like you were standing in the eye of the hurricane, everything else flying fast around you, but the center was calm.

As you stood there, feet calcified in front of his bed, a set of familiar whiskey-colored eyes found you. The slightly furrowed brow above them softened, his lips parted in awe. He still looked the same, only slightly aged by the years and what he’d been through.

“Randy?” Your voice was a quiet tremble but still filled the entire room.

A smile flickered alive on his face. “Hey,” he said, his own voice raspy and dry as if he hadn’t had water in several days. Deserted like he had been. His hazel eyes lit up, full of love and adoration. It was the same look he had always worn when he gazed at you. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed. It saturated your frozen heart with warmth and your gray and bleak vision with technicolor.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered with a thick swallow.

Randy snorted a bit. “Now, you know how I always felt,” he quipped, blinking the tears in his eyes away. He’d always been a ray of sunshine. He was light and sweet and good down to his bones. A part of you had expected that light to fade, though, considering what he must’ve experienced the last few years. But it hadn’t. He was still shining as bright as ever, his spirit untouched by the darkness that had tried to swallow him. “Are you just gonna stand there like a moron?”

A small laugh escaped you as tears began to sting your eyes when he spoke those same words you once had said to him. You wanted to cry when you heard them. What sliver of doubt remained in your mind that it wasn’t truly him vanished upon his words. Your feet wanted to move forward, but your heart tugged you back.

You glanced back over your shoulder and found Beau, standing with lovelorn patience by the door as he watched the exchange between you two. The muscle in your chest then stung, like someone had dropped it into a pit full of cacti. You felt torn in two, pulled into opposite directions.

Randy followed your gaze and finally noticed his second visitor, his brow shooting up in surprise. For a second, Beau felt nervous as he awaited a reaction. He expected resentment, hatred, blame, and anger. What he got, however, was a rising smile.

“Hey, man.” Randy seemed happy to see him, not an ounce of animosity detectable. “You two realize you’re staring, right?”

“‘S good to see you, Randy,” Beau managed to say and forced a quivering smile to his lips. And it wasn’t a lie. A big part of him was elated to have his best friend, his old partner, his brother back. But he couldn’t ignore the gnashing, lethal wound in the shape of you that Randy’s return caused.

Carefully, you stepped closer and let out a nervous breath as you sat down at the edge of his bed. He reached out and tenderly caressed your cheeks, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. A smile curved his lips as soon as he touched you again. It felt like he was holding a miracle while you looked at him like he was a ghost.

“You look good, sweetheart,” he said. His hand then slid down your arm to hold yours, fingers brushing over the one. His gaze dropped when he couldn’t feel what he was looking for, the tan line of the missing item around your ring finger still visible. Pensively, he licked his lips. “They told me everyone thought I was dead.”

“Yeah, uhm, that’s kinda my fault. I’m sorry, buddy,” Beau said and swallowed harshly. The sight in front of him almost took him out. Even though it was a familiar picture, one he had seen a million times before, seeing it now was a different story. After everything he knew, you in someone else’s arms that weren’t his felt like a bullet piercing through his chest. His heart was bleeding. “I thought you got shot.”

“It’s okay. Don’t blame yourself, man. It was crazy in there. It could’ve happened to anybody. I did get shot. Only the slug went straight through the shoulder,” Randy explained. “Cartel then took me to Mexico. Juárez.”

Your wide eyes wandered to Beau, the two of you sharing a horrified look. Randy had been right underneath your noses this entire time. You could’ve saved him.

“You were in Juárez? We were there, too,” you muttered in shocked realization.

“Oh, I know,” Randy said, surprising you both. Your heart beat faster, accelerating to lightning speed and close to jumping out of your chest. Did he already know about you and his best friend? But he answered your question before you could ask it. “Cartel talked about a task force moving in on them. I overheard them once. Said my old partner and wife were looking for me. When y’all got too close, though, they moved me further south. There’s nothin’ you coulda done.”

“What did they do to you? How are you still alive?” you asked and didn’t want to sound ungrateful for it, but you were completely baffled. You had too many questions racing through your mind.

Randy chuckled a little at your line of questioning. “You’re still the same.” He smiled and tore your heart apart, because you knew you weren’t. Not really. “I think they thought they could keep me for leverage. Trade me at some point? They held me in a basement at first till they moved me south. Kept me at farm of some cartel member. It wasn’t highly guarded, but even when I had opportunity to flee, I didn’t know where I was or where to go. I thought they’d either kill me or give me back at some point, but then months… years passed. I gave up hope they’d ever let me go. And then, one night they threw a bag over my head and I woke up in some weird bunker… in Montana. Apparently. Anyone wanna explain what I’m doing here? How did you guys get here so fast? They only brought me here a few hours ago. Had to convince them a little to find and call you since they thought I was dead.”

“I was already here for a case. There’s a crazy serial killer lady who took you. That’s who locked you into that bunker,” you explained and watched his brow crease.

“Huh.”

“I work Major Crimes now. It’s a long story,” you added quickly. You didn’t even know where to start. How could you recap three years?

“Really?” His smile was back. This time, it was a proud one. “That’s good. You always wanted that.”

“Yeah.” You blushed a little and gave him a small smile in return.

He squeezed your hand, his gaze flickering to your missing ring on your finger once more. “So, uhm… since everyone thought I was dead, I guess we’re not married anymore, huh?”

Your heart exploded like he had just deposited a grenade inside of it. You averted your gaze to your joined hands. “Uh, Randy…”

“No, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he quickly soothed and chuckled to lift your worries, and you weren’t sure if it was a real smile or just one for your sake. “I’m just trying to catch up, you know? Get up to speed. ‘Sides, if we’re not married anymore, we could have a second wedding. Might be fun, right?”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to smile through the pain. “Uh, yeah.” You nodded and hoped he couldn’t see your reluctance.

Randy then stretched his neck and pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a slow and chaste kiss that felt like your first. Tears of happiness mixed with sadness as they rolled down your cheeks. When Beau softly cleared his throat, you broke away from Randy, your cracked heart shattering into sharp daggers that sliced through your skin. What were you supposed to do, though? Reject the man you married because it would break the heart of the one you currently loved?

“I-, uh, I should go. Let you two catch up,” Beau said uncomfortably. The crestfallen look on his face destroyed you. “I’ll keep the press away from this for as long as I can. Lord knows they love a good back-from-the-dead story.”

“You can do that?” Randy arched a curious brow.

Beau pulled his jacket back a little and tapped the badge on his belt. “Kinda the sheriff here.”

“Wow, congrats, man. You deserve it,” Randy said with a genuinely happy grin. He seemed like a kid who was catching up with all his friends on the first day of school after summer break.

Beau gave him a tight smile that said he didn’t think he deserved it. But only you could read that one. “Uhm, thanks, bud. I see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Beau, wait–”

But he had rushed out of that room so fast, he couldn’t even hear you as the door fell shut behind him. You offered Randy the same tight-lipped smile and stroked his cheek. Your emotions were a mangled mess. A part of you was hauled back to the past, old feelings that you had buried deep coming back alive, while new ones reminded you that it wasn’t the same anymore.

“Give me a sec, okay? I’ll go talk to your doctor. See when we can get you outta here,” you said and waited for Randy’s nod of confirmation before you darted out of the room.

Your heart thrummed in your ribcage as you raced down the hospital’s corridors all the way to the parking lot where you finally caught up with Beau. He was on a fast-paced escape to his car before he stopped when you called his name.

“Beau, wait!”

As he spun around, he dragged a palm over his face in an attempt to wipe away the tears. But the evidence was still visible, his eyes red and distraught. “You should go back, Y/N. He needs you.”

The heart in your throat caused you to choke. “So do you. I’m so sorry,” you said, sniffling as tears flowed down your cheeks. But as you stepped forward to hold him, he took a step back.

“It’s okay. I get it. Trust me. I do. He’s your husband, and I’m just… Well, I’m nothin’,” he said, his voice laden with heartbreak. “Just don’t come closer, ‘cause if you do, I don’t know if I can hold myself back, alright? ‘Cause all I wanna do right now is kiss you and love you, even it’s the last time. I can’t do that to him. You understand?”

Everything in you wanted to break through the fence he had set up, full-throttle with a lead foot on the gas, but you thought it was best to respect his wishes for now. You didn’t even know where your head was and wanted to avoid hurting him more.

“Here, uhm, you should have this back.” He fished out your wedding ring from his back pocket and dropped it into your palm, the quick brush of his skin tearing you apart even more. The golden band suddenly felt heavier than it ever had. You didn’t even know when he had grabbed it from his desk drawer, but the foresight scared you. He let out a humorless chuckle as the sadness brimmed in his green eyes. “Not the ring I thought I’d give you…”

Your lips parted, your brow lifting in realization. Whatever dusted remnants were left of your heart plummeted. “Beau…”

“Don’t. ‘S okay,” he wrung out with a doleful smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Call if you need somethin’.”

With a passive nod, he jumped into his Jeep. You clutched the ring in your hand so tightly it almost burned through your skin as you watched him drive off.

Beau uncapped his third beer of the night (plus two tumblers of whiskey and a shot of his old friend Don Julio) as he sat on the bed in his trailer. A pile of your clothes still lay on the floor to his right, your favorite coffee mug stood in the kitchen sink, and your shampoo was stored in the shower. It felt like you hadn’t left, even though you had.

He replayed the clips of the hospital in his mind over and over again. How Randy held your hand. How he touched your cheek. How he kissed you. How he looked at you when he first saw you – like he had finally found the piece of his heart again that he lost years ago, the same love in his brown eyes that had been there since day one. And Beau understood, because he had felt the same way once, too, when you walked into his office – back into his life.

He told himself it was the torture he deserved for all of his sins. And he swallowed it all down – the hurt, the heartbreak, the jealousy, the possessiveness. He had no right to feel those things. Not anymore. You weren’t his. You never were.

How long did he have with you this time around? Five weeks?

Suddenly, he regretted leaving Houston, regretted leaving you. He wasted a whole year that he could’ve spent loving you. He always thought, in the end, he'd have more time. Eternity, even. How fucking foolish was that?

The headlights and sounds of a car in front of his home drew his attention to the window, shadows and lights dancing along the walls of his trailer. He couldn’t see his visitor, but considering it was in the middle of the night, he assumed it was either Jenny or Cassie checking up on him. He had texted them to let them know what was going on. But as he opened the door, the sight left him speechless.

“Y/N…” Your name fell from his lips like you were an angel he had prayed for. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if his eyes were seeing things right, or if you were a booze- and depression-induced hallucination. You wouldn’t be the first ghost that came back to haunt him, after all.

“You ain’t nothing.”

With those words still floating in the night air, you cupped his neck and crashed your lips against his, kissing him fervently with everything you had as tears streamed down your cheeks. He returned the kiss just as passionately, although you could feel a part of him fighting against it. But his large hands grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, the kiss lasting till both of you were bluer than the sky. You didn’t let go of him, though, hands holding onto his shirt, too scared he would slip through the cracks of your fingers if you did.

“Y/N, I can’t…”

“I love you,” you interjected his hesitance with firmness and gripped him tighter, your gaze drilling into him like you hoped your words would. “You think I’d just forget? You think my feelings for you just vanish into thin air? It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just snap my fingers and stop loving you. I can't go back to the way things were. I know you think me and Randy are some great love story, but so are you and I. Look, when he died, I grieved that loss and it felt like I was dying, too. I never thought life would be... exciting... and fun... and happy... and so full of love again. And then… I-I fell in love with you, and my life somehow started again. And I know this whole situation is fucked up and confusing and impossible. And I don’t know what to do… I don't know what the right thing is here. But I do know you feel right, and I can’t just pretend you and me and everything good that came with it never existed. I don’t want to. Please, just… I need you, Beau. You said you wouldn't leave again. You're not making things better by walking away...”

With a stretch of your toes, your nose grazed his before you gently claimed his plump, soft lips once more. Your tear-stained cheeks met the roughness of his beard. The kiss started ginger and careful, giving him time to withdraw if he wanted to. But he didn’t. His tongue slipped inside your mouth and stoked the flames of the fire that burned for him deep within your soul. Inhibitions were set ablaze as the kiss turned searing. He hoisted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his middle as he carried you inside.

The trailer’s peaceful silence was disturbed by panting breaths, a pathway of clothes leading from the entrance to the bed. You peeled off his shirt, and he slid off yours over your head. You unclasped your bra and tore it off, pressing your tits against his bare chest as your lips tried to remain connected to each other through it all. By the time he sat down on the edge of the mattress with you on top, only two naked bodies seeking friction remained.

You wanted to feel him everywhere, wanted him to fill you and make you whole again until you stopped feeling like you were breaking apart at the seams. Hands roamed and explored as tongues mingled and savored tastes. As you straddled his muscular thighs, his arms wound around your middle and kept you firmly pressed against him, his hold on you strong as his fingers dented your flesh. You hoped it was enough to leave bruises behind. You never wanted to forget him, wishing his marks would be permanent ink on your skin.

“I need you,” you murmured against his thoroughly kiss-swollen lips, his cock rubbing against your soaking core as you gently rocked your hips.

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips. One hand steadied itself on his broad shoulder as your other one fisted his hard, throbbing length and positioned it at your entrance, his cockhead gliding through your slick and teasing you till you shuddered with wanton need to feel him inside of you.

“I love you,” you whispered and gasped as you sank down, sheathing his thick cock in your warmth as your velvety walls welcomed him. With a needy and yet tender kiss, you soothed his grunt when he was fully inside you and prodded at your cervix. “Wanna make you feel good, okay?”

He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, Y/N, don’t do this to me if you’re gonna leave,” he pleaded, his gravelly voice laced with desperation and pain. His hand softly caressed your face as he rested his forehead against yours. His love for you radiated in his green eyes like kryptonite.

You cupped his bearded cheeks and forced him to look at you, lifting his chin to find your eyes. “I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“But–”

You kissed him before he could bring forth all the reasons why you should, but you didn’t care. Your heart was the North Star, and your heart had led you to him. When you left the hospital, there was nowhere else you wanted to go, no one you wanted to see more. Your heart had only ached for him.

You were finally home, and now that you were back in the arms where you belonged, you kissed him so hard till his mind quieted down to a soft lullaby. You kissed him so hungrily till his cock twitched inside of you because you were the only one he wanted, too. You kissed him so passionately he felt your love for him seep into his own heart.

As you began to roll your hips, he met you thrust by thrust as he pounded up into you. His massive hands and sinful mouth roamed every inch of your body. Palms groped your tits and fingers tickled your spine. Lips kissed your throat and tongue massaged your nipples. Teeth grazed your flesh and beard burned your skin.

Your nails dug into the thick muscles on his shoulders and scraped his scalp as his cock split you open with each pump. His girth tore you apart, each time you eased back down a new pleasurable burn coursing through you as your walls stretched to accommodate all of him.

Your pace rose with the tides of your hips, your thighs flexing as your cunt stroked his cock and came closer to the finish line. Beau buried his head in the crook of your neck, writhing and groaning underneath you. His fingers bit into your flesh, surely leaving bruises behind this time. Your tits rubbed against his chest, and you could feel his muscles tensing and straining underneath your fingertips with each bounce. He was barely holding on.

“Come for me, baby,” you beckoned him, feeling your own orgasm approach. The fuse was sparked and burned a path right to your explosive core. “I love you…”

“Fuck!” Beau cried out and spilled into you, his body trembling in your grasp. Those words were all it took to tip him over the edge.

You came with a thundering moan. His release triggered your own, your pussy pulsing violently around him and milking his cock for all he’d got. His cum mixed with your arousal and gushed out of you, trickling down your thighs and coating even his balls. Your thighs shook with exhaustion as you let yourself fall down on him, his arms catching you and holding you close.

Still panting, his mouth found yours in the dark. His thumbs stroked your flushed cheeks, the rest of his fingers dangling in your hair, the grip soft turned bruising as he kept you lip-tied to him, the kiss tender turned rough.

His nose brushed yours as he looked deeply at you. You could see the despair drowning in his pine green eyes, his emotions overtaking him.

“Pick me. Don’t go,” he begged in a harsh whisper, your flushed face in his warm palms.

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips and nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, corazón.”

Chapter 10: It Matters

Phew, writing that hospital scene nearly killed me 😮‍💨 Next up, we have even more drama as the awkward throuple reaches a boiling point...

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[werosmyss]

rewatching hazbin and if we don't get a more than anything ballad between octavia and stolas in s3 I will pull out my hair

[daisyblog]

Personal Bodyguard

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN gets hurts by paparazzi and Harry becomes protective.

warning: mentions of blood, YN gets hurt, angst

based on this request.

One Direction were currently touring America as part of their Take Me Home tour. They had become familiar with fans and paparazzi waiting for any sign of one them the boys leaving the hotel or arena, which meant it was routine how they, and their crew left the buildings.

The five boys would be escorted by their security to the car, and majority of the time the fans and paparazzi would slowly lose interest once the band had disappeared behind the car doors.

But on this occasion, the paparazzi were willing to go the extra step and begin to question anyone associated with the band. Being Lou’s assistant on the tour, Louis’ sister and Harry’s girlfriend meant YN was their target.

YN watched as the boys were escorted by their security to the several cars that waited outside their hotel to drive them to thr venue. The order remained the same, Zayn, Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry. The crew were quick to follow, but today YN was overwhelmed by the questions being fired at her.

“YN, is it true you’re pregnant?”

“Is Harry paying you to be on tour?”

“YN! YN! YN!”

The questions being shouted behind them caused Harry and Louis to quickly glance behind them. But they were hurried along to get to the cars faster.

“YN, what do you think about people saying you’re using Harry?”

YN walked behind Lou, reminding herself that they wanted a reaction and the quicker she walked the sooner she would be away from the pushing and cameras being in her face.

Just as the boys reached their car, Zayn, Niall and Liam were comfortable in their seats, they heard the hectic commotion.

The hard cover of the camera lens was quick to meet the skin on YN’s forehead. “OW!”. Quickly her hand whipped up to be met with the warm liquid.

Lou turned quickly behind her at the sound of pain coming from YN. She could see her holding a hand to her head and her fingers covered in red. Lou tried to push people away from YN. “Step away from her!”. But it was no use, cameras were still flashing and bodies were pushing and shoving.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”. Harry’s voice appeared in front of them. His hands reaching for YN and pulling her body into his chest and holding her tight against him. “You’re okay babe, you’re safe…I’m here”. He gently spoke into YN’s ear as he tried to guide them to the car.

“Harry! Harry! Harry!”.

A camera appeared in Harry’s vision, but as quickly as it snapped a photo it was shoved away by Harry’s large hand. “CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S HURT YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”. He could feel the anger build inside him. “JUST FUCK OFF OUT OF OUR WAY!”.

Paul intervened quickly, knowing Harry was one step away from causing more problems. He along with the other security made a path for the couple to walk through.

YN felt so much relief when she entered the van, finding herself in the seat next to her brother and Harry hot on her heels sitting in the chair next to her.

“Hey Kiddo…you alright?”. Louis’ voice was filled with concern as he saw his sister’s head full of read and Harry’s face filled with pure anger.

“STUPID FUCKING PAPS!”. Harry held a spare shirt he had in his bag to YN’s head, hoping it would help with the bleeding.

“Harry I’m alright…just stay calm”. YN pleaded knowing how angry he felt right now, she could see the pure hatred in his eyes.

Louis wrapped a protective arm around his sister’s shoulder. “They’re arseholes I know and they’re lucky it was you out there because I would have punched them square in the face…but YN’s right Harry…just stay calm…she’s safe here with us now”.

“You’re walking with us next time…I’m not having you get hurt again”.

---

Things had calmed down behind the scenes after the chaos that had been caused earlier on in the day. The boys had some free time backstage as they waited for the show to start.

Harry’s eyes hadn’t moved from YN, where she was peacefully sleeping on the sofa in the dressing room, her head now wearing a small plaster that the medic team had given her.

As much as Harry tried to forget about what had happened, he couldn’t and he blamed himself for not being by YN’s side the entire time.

“You better not be blaming yourself Harold”. Louis interrupted Harry’s inter battle he was having with himself.

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he muttered his reply with no tone. “Of course I am”.

Louis took a seat opposite where Harry was sitting, his eyes finding his sister tucked up unaware of their conversation. “I just wanted to say thank you”. Harry frowned in confusing at his words. “Thank you for protecting her…I used to worry about her on this tour, I still will, but…but watching you protect her like that today…I could see how much you care about her”.

“I’ll always protect her Lou…you haven’t got to worry about that”. Harry reinforced his promise as he quickly glanced back at YN.

As much as his words caused a stir in Louis heart at how in love the boy was with his sister, he quickly hid is teary eyes with a tad of teasing.

“You better had or you’ll have me to answer to”. Louis sent him a smirk as he left the room.

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk @mrs-anna-styles211994

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ we listen & we don’t judge .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x influencer!reader

⤿ bakugou and yn did the we listen and we don’t judge trend.

“Why the hell are we doing this again?” Bakugou grumbled, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the couch, glaring at your phone like it personally offended him. You were fiddling with the tripod, humming a happy tune, completely unaffected by his usual sour mood.

“Because it’s fun, Katsuki,” you chirped, stepping back to check the angle. “And because I said so.”

“Tch. Stupid trend,” he muttered, but his scowl faltered when you gave him that look—the one where your eyes sparkled with excitement. “Fine, whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

You grinned, plopping down beside him and nudging his shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now remember the rules—‘we listen, and we don’t judge.’”

“Like I’d judge you,” he scoffed, though his ears turned a faint pink. “Just hit record already.”

You hit the record button and waved at the camera. “Okay, we’re doing the ‘We Listen and Don’t Judge’ challenge! I’ll start!” Turning to him, you smiled mischievously. “Alright, Katsuki. The first time I saw you in your hero costume, I thought your gauntlets looked like giant grenade-shaped marshmallows.”

He blinked at you, his jaw dropping. “Marshmallows?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“They’re poofy!” you laughed, covering your mouth. “Like, in a cute way! I love them now, though!”

“You think Dynamight—the badass hero—looks cute?!” he snapped, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey! We listen, and we don’t judge!” you reminded him, trying not to giggle at how genuinely offended he looked.

“Fine,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch. “My turn. That time you made me tea when I was sick? I dumped it down the sink because I thought it looked weird.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?! I made that tea with so much love! I even Googled the recipe!”

“It looked like sludge, YN,” he shot back, smirking now. “I wasn’t gonna risk dying over tea.”

“Wow, Katsuki. Wow,” you deadpanned, trying to hide your laugh. “We listen, and we don’t judge, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand. “Your turn.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think hard. “Okay, remember that time you thought the washing machine was broken because it kept making weird noises?”

“Don’t tell me…” he said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“It wasn’t broken,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I accidentally put one of your gloves in there, and it got stuck.”

“What?!” he groaned, throwing his head back. “Are you serious?! I spent an hour fixing that stupid thing!”

“Whoops,” you said innocently, leaning away from him as he glared at you. “We listen, and we don’t judge!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Last one, and we’re done.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious about what he’d say. He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Remember that time I told you I couldn’t hang out because I had extra patrol shifts?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah…?”

“I lied,” he confessed. “I stayed home because I wanted to finish watching that stupid rom-com you made me start. It was too good, alright?!”

You gasped dramatically, clapping your hands. “You mean The Proposal?! Oh my god, Katsuki! You liked it!”

“Shut up!” he snapped, cheeks blazing. “I didn’t say I liked it—I said it was decent.”

“You were laughing so hard at the Sandra Bullock scenes!” you teased, scooting closer to poke his cheek. “Admit it—you’re a closet rom-com fan!”

“Like hell I am!” he barked, swatting your hand away. “Next time, we’re watching something with explosions.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But you’re not off the hook yet—what’s your favorite part of the movie?”

“I’m not answering that,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Come on, Katsuki,” you teased, leaning against his shoulder. “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

He grumbled something under his breath, refusing to meet your gaze. Finally, he muttered, “The grandma dancing part was kinda funny.”

You burst out laughing, grabbing his arm as he groaned in embarrassment. “Oh my god, you’re so cute!”

“Shut up, idiot,” he growled, but his lips twitched into a small, begrudging smile as he pulled you closer. “This trend’s stupid, but I guess it wasn’t that bad.”

You smiled up at him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Admit it—you had fun.”

“Maybe,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. “But don’t think I’ll do another one of these dumb trends.”

“Whatever you say, Dynamight,” you teased, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as the camera caught his flustered reaction.

“Cut the damn recording already!” he barked, his blush deepening.

[quarterlifekitty]

The guys with a girlfriend who honestly.. kind of scares them

In different ways of course, but there’s still the underlying theme of her being rather unsettling

- @murderkittyz

I want you to know that this has been living in my mind. I love writing reader characters that are weird af and quite honestly unsettling

To be honest, writing Nikolai was really hard for this one, and I’m still not totally satisfied by it. I think he’s too willing to match your freak.

cw: some graphic descriptions of violence (not enacted, just threats/movie scenes etc)

Gaz is freaked out by how much you like the dark. You scare the shit out of him all the time because he’ll come home, thinking you’re not home because no lights are on in the house, and you’re so quiet— he is not proud to admit how many times he’s screamed when you suddenly said hi from a spot in the dark. And how whenever you get up in the middle of the night, you don’t turn the lights on. He asks you why, and you just say you don’t need them. Freaky.

There have been a handful of times where you were truly, extremely angry at Soap. And he almost pissed himself every single time because of how scary you get. Not because you scream or shake or slap his chest or anything, but because you don’t do any of it. Outside, you’re calm, you’re smiling. But it’s how you talk to him like he’s a child. “It’s okay. I’m just very, very angry at you right now”. It puts him on fucking edge. It creates this tension like you’re about to do something, that you’re gonna get back at him somehow in some way he’ll never see coming, but you don’t do anything. Absolutely fries his nerves.

Ghost is scared by how easily you tone switch, partially because he’s not really able to do so. The way you can be talking about someone from the base and say “he’s such a fucking prick bastard. I wanna rip off his balls and shove them down his throat far enough that he chokes”. And then the next day, you’ll greet the same guy like he’s an old friend. Extremely polite, pleasant, happy. It reminds Simon that he only sees the real you because you allow him that privilege.

Price is scared by your good memory. He’s used to being the one who remembers, the one who’s completely on top of things, the one who knows everything needed to know about everyone. But he’ll mention a colleague that you met once, for 10 minutes, years ago and you’ll ask “Is he still with Martha? She wanted to adopt a dog with him, a Siberian husky, and he seemed so scared of the commitment”. That’s scary. Makes him feel like he has a blind spot. Makes him wonder what you remember about him that even he doesn’t recall.

König is a difficult man to disgust and to scare. He’s seen a lot of things, and he himself is rather unsettling. But he’s scared and disgusted by some of your taste in movies. Things with long, painful torture scenes. All of the blood, flaying of skin, needles, ripping bones from flesh. It’s not so much that you enjoy these movies, but how you enjoy them. You lean against him, but not because you’re scared. You laugh in a way that you never do outside of watching a gorey scene, of someone crying on the floor with broken limbs. He shudders to imagine what you’d be like if you had his job.

Nikolai is unsettled by some of the fantasies you share with him, and how you convey them. Not things that you could really enact, just fantasies. “The other day I thought about being a mermaid— and you being a pirate that captured me to cut me up and sell my parts. But when you were about to cut me open you saw my cunt and decided to keep me as a fuckdoll instead, and fingered me right there with the butcher knife still on the table”. And you say it pretty nonchalantly. He’s honored that you trust him with these inner thoughts, and usually they turn him on completely, but it does creep him out just a little.

[ahqkas]

BRUCE WAYNE never thought something as simple as a walk through the park could undo him so completely. he had been passing through on his way to a wayne foundation meeting, a brief moment of peace in his usually packed schedule, when his eyes caught the scene.

a toddler—no more than two, maybe three years old—stumbled through the snow, mittened hands clutching tightly to her father’s pant leg. she was bundled in a too-big scarf and a pink hat, hear head tilted to gaze at the snowflakes around her, her cheeks red from the cold.

he froze, mid-step, completely caught off guard by the wave of baby fever that crashed over him. it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about children before. he already had a house full of them—though they came to him much older, with the weight of trauma already etched into their young faces. but this was different. she was different. he imagined a tiny girl like that in his life, her small hand slipping into his with absolute trust, her laughter filling the empty corners of wayne manor.

by the time he returned home, the manor blanketed in snow, his gloves still clutched in his hands, his thoughts had become a single drumbeat: i want that.

he found you in the library, a fleece blanket draped over your legs, a book in hand as you sat in your favorite chair by the window. the firelight flickered over your face, softening your features, making you look like you belonged in one of the stories you loved so much.

“you’re back early,” you said, voice breaking the stillness. you glanced up from the book and your lips quirked into a smile that stopped him in his tracks. “everything okay?”

he didn’t answer right away, his gaze tracing your features like he was committing them to memory. finally, he crossed the room, shedding his coat as he went, draping it across the back of the chair opposite yours.

“i saw something today,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. bruce knelt before you, one hand resting on the arm of the chair as the other gently took the book from your hands. you let him, brow furrowing slightly as you tilted your head at his actions.

“what did you see?”

“a little girl,” his eyes locking onto yours. “she couldn’t have been more than two. she was holding onto her father’s leg, bundled up in a scarf that practically swallowed her whole. she was laughing.”

his words lingered in the space between the two of you, thick with unspoken meaning. your expression softened as you realized where this was heading, fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on your chair.

“she reminded me of something,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “or maybe she made me realize something. i want that, with you. i want us to have a child—a little girl, a boy, i don’t care. i just . . . want it to be ours.”

your breath hitched in the back of your throat as your cheeks flushed—not just from the fire, but from the intensity of his words, of the way his eyes burned into yours like he could see every part of you—the future and the past. “bruce . . .” you began, voice barely above a whisper, but he leaned closer, cutting off whatever protest or question lingered on your lips.

“it’s all i could think about on the way home,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone. “how much i want to see you holding our baby, to watch them grow up with you. to give them everything we didn’t have.”

you swallowed hard at his words, your soft hand sliding up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.

“well, it’s a good thing we’re snowed in tonight.”

bruce froze for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile curved his lips. he rose to his full height, pulling you gently to your feet, the book forgotten as it tumbled to the floor.

“is that so?” he asked, his voice like velvet, rough and warm all at once.

you didn’t answer with words, just slipped your hand into his, your gaze steady despite the flush painting your cheeks. your husband pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before guiding you from the library, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows in your wake.

and as snow continued to fall outside, the world quiet and still, the manor felt a little less cold that night.

[lyinginmeadow]

Breakaway pt I. | hockey!Azriel × reader

Summary: You're not a fan of a kiss cam. And neither is your boyfriend.

Word count: 1,8k

Warnings: swearing, miserable knowledge of hockey (sorry yall), Rhys being a protective asshole over his sister

A/n: Anyone a hockey fan? No, just me? Okay. Another thing is, that I described university as I know it in my country haha. I hope no one will be confused

Also yes, I did take inspiration from tiktok. I just loved that scene <3

>> Pt 2

Leaves started to fall which meant your favorite season was starting. You loved anything and everything that came with autumn. The pumpkin spice, moody weather, sweaters, and books. With autumn knocking on your door, the new semester has begun. You didn't mind studying, you actually enjoyed it to a certain degree, but the stress is what always got to you during exams. You were just starting your second year of university, so you knew what to expect. To many that was all. Just endless studying and partying to get their minds off things. You? Not really. Ever since you could remember, fall meant the hockey season started. Were you a hockey player? No, not at all. Ice skating was your passion, just not hockey. That didn't matter, because your brother was the golden child. Rhysand played because your father used to. You would never say it out loud, mainly because it would inflate his ego even more, but Rhysand was a star player. He was so much better than your father and you knew that if he wanted to, he would make it far. 

 Rhys never acted towards you with any malice other than just a bit of sibling rivalry. He was actually quite protective of you, given the fact you were his little sister. But whatever you did was never good enough for your father. You might study medicine, but Rhys was finishing law. You might figure skate but you were no hockey player. And most of all, you were a woman. And your father despised you for it. You were expected to make it to every game, but no one ever wanted to attend your competitions.  You enjoyed watching the games, especially when Rhys met his best friends and teammates at university. The games became so much more interesting when Azriel entered the ice. Rhys might be the captain and the center, but Azriel was a force to be reckoned with, the fastest player in the rink. You became friends with both Cassian and Azriel quickly since you often visited their house to get away from your parents. Rhysand of course was glad but you knew you were off-limits to his friends. Not only was it obvious in how he glared at both of them whenever they made a comment he didn’t appreciate. But the first time you met, Cass basically undressed you with his eyes. From what you heard he reminded them often to not mess with his sister.

It did not stop you from developing feelings for him the moment you laid eyes on him. For a while, it did seem he viewed you only as his best friend's little sister. Which you had a hard time accepting. Your relationship changed when you sneaked into a party they had thrown in celebration of a victory last year. You were a first-year, and your first semester at university had been hectic, but living close to your brother and away from your parents was a long-awaited blessing. Having a taste of freedom made you bold. Azriel couldn't take his eyes off of you, you had been like a magnet. He hadn't been the only one as you attracted the attention of another freshman. Azriel might not have acted on his attraction towards you before but seeing you with another man changed that. One thing led to another and you were sneaking out together whenever you found time.

It had been a year and your brother still had no clue. And you intended to keep it that way. You loved your boyfriend, you didn't want to worry about his teeth off the ice as well. Cassian on the other hand suspected, thankfully as you introduced him to your friend, Nesta, he became preoccupied and dropped the matter. 

''So who do you think will win? And be honest, they're not here, you can't hurt their fragile egos.'' Nesta disturbed your train of thought. You laughed shaking your head. You loved hanging out with her because of how direct she was, always saying exactly what was on her mind. You met Nesta when your university did a charity ballet on the ice of Nutcracker. You got the role of Clara and she was your ballet counterpart. You did not expect to establish a friendship with her, but she was exactly who you needed in your life. You knew she would call you out on your bullshit anytime and you liked her for it. She also happened to be the first person you told about Azriel. She was not surprised, saying that you weren't being as secretive as you thought you had been.

''You know I am still biased since I really want our team to win. The Cavaliers are good and they play dirty. But Cass will probably try to kill Eris on the ice. Given the history and all.'' You gave her a pointed look. Shifting your gaze to the rink, you tried to find number 38.

''They’ve got no chance against VU.'' Said a guy next to you. You hated when someone butted their way into a conversation. But given the fact, that you would be spending about two hours in close proximity, you had decided for a polite smile. ''I guess so.''

''So how come you've got such good seats? Know someone on the team?'' He chimed in again.

''You could say that. My brother is the captain.'' You answered keeping your eyes on Azriel as he warmed up.

''Rhysand is your brother?''

''Unfortunately.'' You nodded, and his eyes grew in size. ''That's so lucky! I wish I was a hockey player or just knew them. You see, I got these seats because I'll be writing an article about the game.'' You smiled politely again shifting your gaze to the rink when the puck was just about to hit the ice.

As the game progressed, the crowd became electric. All the fans were shouting and your ears began ringing. Velaris Bats were in the lead, but only by one goal and everyone was nervous. To make the game even more enjoyable, there were games for the fans as well. Students competed against one another to win points for their university and win the competition of the tribunes.

The competitions were fun and good entertainment during breaks. But while the game continued the camera was turned on. You laughed at a random do a meme moment, but quickly turned your head back to the ice. You didn't want to miss a second of Azriel's game. Fully focused, you didn't realize that the camera switched to a kiss cam. A guy sitting next to you turned his head to face you and pointed to the TV earning your attention. ''I mean when in Rome, right?'' He laughed as he tried to close the distance. ''Yeah, no, thank you.'' You laughed nervously shifting in your seat.

''Oh come on, it's just a kiss.'' He pressured, and you gave a panicked look towards the ice. You heard Nesta taking a sharp inhale to give the guy a piece of her mind. You were interrupted by shouts of the fans and loud banging on the glass. 

''Back the fuck off.'' You couldn't hear Az properly, but the message was quite clear, making the guy shift his gaze between the two of you uncomfortably. Az got two minutes for stalling the game which made the crowd boo and your brother yell obscenities as he often did when one of his teammates was sent to a bench. Thankfully during the power play the Cavaliers didn't get a goal in, but it was close. It only enraged Rhysand more which was abundantly clear when he almost broke his stick as the second period came to an end.

Azriel was sending daggers to the guy sitting next to you who looked like he wanted nothing more than to leave. He relaxed when the players left for their locker rooms. You just hoped Rhys didn't look much into Azriel's possessive behavior.

''What the fuck was that?'' Roared Rhys as he entered the locker room.

''I don't know what you're talking about.'' Azriel continued to take off his gear.

''Do not play with me! You could have cost us the game.''

''I was thinking I did you a favor. He had no right to touch her like that.'' He finally faced Rhysand.

''It was a fucking kiss cam.''

''She didn't want to be kissed. And he didn't back off.''

''So what? You made it your mission to help her while you were supposed to pay attention to the puck?'' Spit Rhys. Everyone in the locker room was silent watching the two stubborn players go head to head.

''Yes! And I would do it again.'' Azriel retorted.

''I could have you off the team for this.'' He hissed.

''Rhys-.'' Cassian signed. ''Be my guest.'' Azriel interrupted starring Rhysand down. He wouldn't back down. He couldn't. He knew you could have handled yourself back there. Hell, Nesta was there, too and she wouldn't let some guy do anything disrespectful. He just acted on an impulse. When he looked up and saw your panicked gaze, something shifted inside him. Rhys kept watching Azriel, staring right into his soul when suddenly his eyes grew larger as if recognizing what he should have seen from the very beginning.

''You've got to be kidding me.'' When Azriel didn't answer, Rhys continued, ''Tell me you don’t have a thing for my little sister.’’

''Azriel, I swear to everything that is holly, I will fucking punch you if you don't give me an answer.''

''We are together. Have been for almost a year.'' Azriel never saw anyone have an aneurysm. But if he could guess, Rhysand was a textbook example of how it looked like.

''I take it back, I will punch you anyway.'' And he might have if Cassian wasn't there to catch Rhys. ''Easy there killer. The game is still on. And you might not like it but Az is an asset.''

''I don't want to see you anywhere near her, understand? I know how you are with girls!'' Rhysand snarled.

''You know I can't do that.''

''Then you're off the team.''

''Fine.''

As they returned to the ice, the tension between Velaris Bats was palpable. Cassian was looking between his teammates probably trying to find a quick solution to the problem at hand. Azriel wasn't paying you any attention keeping his gaze on the ice only. You frowned slightly. When you looked at Rhys you found him staring back at you anger oozing out of his every move. 

He knew.

[josephandrewstarkey]

Beach fight — part 4

part 1 — part 2 — part 3

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, violence, cussing

disclaimer: this part is kinda boring but the next part will be more exciting !!

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

The silence stretched between us, thick and tense, as I looked from Rafe to Sofia. Her face twisted with fury, her eyes narrowed into slits as she took in the scene. Then, her voice shattered the silence.

“This is what you’ve been doing, Rafe?” Her words cut sharp and deep, and Rafe started to sputter, his usual confidence unraveling. I could feel his gaze darting between us, searching for a way out, but I had no intention of sticking around to watch their argument unfold. With one last glance at Rafe, I turned and walked out, their voices echoing down the hallway as I left him and all his drama behind.

----

The following days felt like a blur. Somehow, the entire island knew what had happened by sunrise. Gossip spread fast in the Outer Banks, and the story seemed to morph with every retelling. By the time it reached the Pogues, it was a twisted mess of rumors and half-truths.

Kiara didn’t hold back, saying I’d set myself up for heartbreak by going back to Rafe. The rest of them weren’t thrilled, but they saw the guilt eating at me and tried to let it go. I’d hurt, but I wasn’t about to wallow in regrets. I blocked Rafe’s number, silencing his attempts to reach me and focus on moving on. He wasn’t worth the ache he left behind.

Then I met Alex.

He was a new face at the bar, with an easy smile and kind eyes that made me feel like I could breathe again. It was innocent at first—just chatting as I served drinks. But over time, the conversations grew longer, and I found myself looking forward to his visits. Alex made me laugh in a way that felt real, unburdened by Rafe’s shadow. We exchanged numbers, and for once, I thought I’d found someone who wasn’t tangled in my past.

Except Rafe was always there.

No matter where I turned, I’d catch him lurking, his eyes fixed on me and Alex, watching every little interaction. It was unsettling, like he couldn’t stand the idea of me moving on. And the tension between us only worsened. Every time I caught his gaze, it reminded me of why I was done with him, why I deserved better.

✧

Rafe was once again parked outside the bar where Y/N worked, leaning forward in his truck with a simmering intensity as he watched her through the window. She was laughing, looking radiant as always in that tiny, tight work uniform, moving from table to table. And then, as usual, there was Alex—leaning on the bar, catching her attention with some joke that made her laugh a little too hard. Rafe’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Every time he saw them together, that burning jealousy flared up, but tonight, something snapped inside him.

As soon as Alex stepped out of the bar, Rafe’s engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as he followed Alex down the road, staying close but just out of sight. He trailed him all the way to his place, pulling up just as Alex reached his front door.

Rafe stepped out of his truck, his stride calm but radiating a barely-contained fury. “Hey—Alex, right?” he called out, striding up behind him. Before Alex could even respond, Rafe’s hands landed on his shoulders in a grip just tight enough to keep him from shrugging away, his fingers pressing down hard.

“Yeah?” Alex answered, trying to keep his voice steady, though he couldn’t ignore the sudden pressure.

“Okay, well, I need you to stay away from Y/N, you hear me?” Rafe’s voice was low, steady, his eyes piercing into Alex’s like a warning shot.

For a second, Alex looked taken aback, then he let out a laugh, shaking his head as he shoved Rafe’s hands off his shoulders. He turned to walk away, muttering under his breath, but Rafe’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm, yanking him back so that they were face-to-face.

“Hey, HEY—I’m not fucking playing around here, alright?” Rafe’s voice was sharp now, his eyes cold, his jaw set with a dark determination that made it clear he wasn’t going to back down.

The anger and intensity in Rafe’s voice made Alex pause, but he lifted his chin, defiance flashing in his eyes. “I don’t care,” he said, voice calm but taunting. “She doesn’t want you, man.”

That was all it took. Rafe’s fist shot out, connecting with Alex’s jaw with a force that sent him staggering back, but Rafe didn’t stop there. He grabbed Alex by the collar, pulling him forward to land another hit, and then another, each punch fueled by the anger and frustration that had been building up for weeks. Alex struggled to get a hand up, but Rafe was relentless, making sure every hit counted. By the time he stepped back, Alex was slumped against the wall, struggling to catch his breath, a fresh cut on his cheek already starting to bruise.

Rafe straightened, running a hand through his hair as he steadied his breathing, a dark satisfaction settling in his chest. He took one last look at Alex, lying on the ground, then turned and headed back to his truck without a backward glance.

✧

I hadn’t seen Alex in days. At first, I thought he was busy, but when my texts went unanswered, worry started to gnaw at me. Finally, I called, only to realize he’d blocked my number. Confusion twisted in my stomach. Had I done something wrong?

A chill ran through me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe had something to do with it. But I had no proof, and I didn’t want to believe he’d go that far.

When the annual bonfire rolled around, I hoped the night would offer a distraction. The Pogues and I showed up together, laughing and cracking jokes as we settled around the fire. For the first time in days, I felt lighter. I almost forgot about Rafe, about everything he’d dragged me through.

But, of course, he was there.

I was alone when he found me, leaning against a tree as I tried to escape the noise. The moment I saw him, my stomach twisted in frustration.

Rafe swaggered over, his smirk sharp as ever. Just seeing him made my blood boil, but I was ready for whatever he thought he was going to pull.

“Fuck off, Rafe,” I said, my tone as sharp as I could make it, hoping he’d get the hint.

He just laughed softly, ignoring me, his gaze trailing over me as if I were some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “I miss you,” he said, almost too casually, that smirk never leaving his face.

I raised an eyebrow, letting out a dry chuckle. “I don’t care.”

The smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with a dark edge. “Mm, so this Alex guy, huh?” he started, his voice slurring slightly. “He fuck you better than me?”

My jaw dropped as I stared at him, utterly baffled. He shouldn’t have known about Alex. No one did, really. “How do you know about Alex?” I demanded, voice cold and tense.

Rafe’s face barely shifted, but I saw something flicker in his eyes, a look that made my stomach twist. “did you do something to him?” i asked, anger boiling up inside of me. “Just… taught him a little lesson,” he slurred, lifting his beer casually as if he hadn’t just admitted to something.

A surge of anger rose in me, and I stepped up to him, practically shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Rafe?” I shouted, pushing him hard. His beer slipped from his hand, hitting the sand with a soft thud as foam spilled out.

“Hey—hey, calm down,” he muttered, his voice lower now as he grabbed my wrist tightly.

“Let go of me!” I shouted, trying to yank my hand back, feeling the familiar anger bubbling under my skin.

At that moment, his friends closed in, and Sofia slithered up beside him, flashing a smug look in my direction. Then the Pogues arrived, JJ stepping forward with his eyes narrowed at Rafe. “Let her go, man,” JJ said firmly, his hands clenched.

Rafe rolled his eyes, but after a beat, he loosened his grip, and I wasted no time pulling my wrist free. Without a second thought, I raised my hand and slapped him, the sound ringing out over the crowd, making a few people gasp.

His face turned back to me, eyes wide, as everyone went dead silent. The Pogues were watching, waiting, and the Kooks just stared, shocked. I met Rafe’s gaze one last time, my heart pounding, before I turned and walked away, head held high, leaving him—and everyone else—speechless.

part 5

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[unabashegirl]

the cover | part 1

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: hello everyone! I hope you are doing great. I wanted to post The Cover on Tumblr BUT keep some EXCLUSIVENESS for my Patreon subscribers. So, I took some scenes out of the story while keep the plot intact. it is obviously going to be shorter here on Tumblr. However, the story still leads to the same thing. I hope you enjoy

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all of the one shot (+8K) and exclusive scenes, various one shots and much more :)

word count: 1.8K

The soft hum of the evening surrounded them as they sat on Harry’s couch, the warmth of the candles filling the air. His house, though spacious, had an intimate feel, with low lighting casting cozy shadows around the room. Harry sat beside Y/N, half-turned toward her, reading a book. The way he tucked his legs beneath him and the casualness of his white t-shirt gave the moment a softness that made Y/N's thoughts wander.

Y/N tried to focus on the book in her hands, something about leadership, but the words blurred as she kept glancing at Harry. His usual confidence and public persona seemed far away, replaced by a quiet charm. She couldn’t help but think back to the way things used to be before his rise to stardom—just the two of them, as friends.

And that’s what made it so hard now. Despite the easy conversations and long history they shared, Y/N was always reminded of the one-sided feelings she’d harbored for years. Sitting next to him now, she could feel the pull of those feelings, threatening to unravel her carefully constructed walls.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Harry asked, breaking the silence. His voice was low, filled with the same warmth and curiosity he always had when talking to her. “You’ve been staring at that page for a while now.”

Y/N laughed lightly, closing the book. “Just thinking about family stuff,” she said, dodging the real reason behind her distraction.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Family stuff?”

She sighed. “My cousin’s getting married soon, and they’re all pressuring me to bring a date.”

Harry leaned back, his expression softening. “You know you don’t have to do anything just to please them, right?”

“I know, but it’s hard when everyone expects you to show up with someone.” Y/N smiled weakly, shrugging. “It just makes me feel like I’m falling behind.”

For a moment, Harry just watched her, like he was considering something. Then, his voice cut through the silence again, casual but certain. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What?”

He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “I’ll be your date. that'll stop them from asking questions, right?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Harry being her date? Even just as a favor, the idea felt surreal. But his offer was sincere, and she could feel the tension easing from her shoulders at the thought of having him there with her.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, trying to gauge if he really meant it.

“Of course,” he said with that familiar grin of his. “Who wouldn’t want to show up with me as their date?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing, her anxiety slowly melting away. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. With Harry at her side, it might actually be… fun.

“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, laced with disbelief.

Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, groaned and called back, “I know!”

A moment later, Maddie appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “Harry Styles—your best friend—is going to this wedding as your date? I mean, what?!”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, flopping back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”

Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, first of all—this wedding is a whole weekend, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “We’re leaving Friday and staying until Sunday. So… two full days of family, dinners, receptions, small talk.”

“And does Harry know it’s a full weekend?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N bit her lip. “Not exactly…”

Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Y/N, you have to tell him! What if he backs out once he realizes it’s not just a one-night thing?”

Y/N sighed, already feeling the weight of it. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I hope he doesn’t change his mind.”

Maddie smiled knowingly. “Well, you’ll need to distract yourself with something else for now—like your outfits!” She grinned. “You have to look incredible.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie…”

The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket—the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slid it into the lock, the soft click bringing her a sense of comfort. His place had always felt like a second home, sometimes even more than her own.

Walking inside, the familiar scent of fresh linen greeted her. She made her way to the kitchen and placed the flowers on the counter, searching for a vase. After arranging them, she admired the pop of color they brought to the space. It was something she liked to do whenever she visited—add a little warmth to the room.

“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the hallway that led to his bedroom.

“Closet!” his voice echoed back, slightly muffled.

She stepped into his room, which looked as it always did—organized chaos. A mix of designer clothes and little pieces of Harry’s life were scattered around, but one thing stood out: his suitcase, open on the floor, already halfway packed.

He’s really going through with it, Y/N thought, excitement mixing with a flutter of nerves.

As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh from the shower, casually drying his hair with a towel. His grin widened when he saw her. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Y/N chuckled. “You’re already packing? You’re way ahead of me.”

“I figured I’d get a head start. I’ve got to be prepared for this weekend,” he teased, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

Y/N leaned against the doorway. “I haven’t even started yet. But you know, I might need help picking outfits. And I know you have opinions.”

Harry shot her a playful smirk. “You know I do.”

Despite the light banter, Y/N couldn’t shake the growing tension in her chest. She still hadn’t told him everything—the weekend wasn’t just a one-night affair. Clearing her throat, she said, “Harry, there’s something I forgot to mention about the wedding.”

His eyebrow raised, but his smile stayed. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Well… it’s not just the ceremony. It’s kind of a whole weekend event.”

Harry stopped mid-motion, the towel draped over his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, fidgeting slightly. “It’s in Edinburgh. There’s a dinner on Friday, the wedding on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day thing.”

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. Then, with a chuckle, he said, “A full-on wedding, huh?”

Y/N let out a breath. “Yeah… I probably should’ve told you earlier. But I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Harry shook his head, his grin widening. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Sounds fun.”

Relief flooded through Y/N. “You’re sure? I mean, it’s a lot.”

“I’m sure,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Besides, I think your family’s going to love me.” He winked, adding, “When do we leave?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her nerves fading. He really was in this with her, and suddenly, the weekend didn’t seem so intimidating.

Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The familiar aroma of curry and naan filled the room, while How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days played on the TV in the background. They had seen the movie so many times, but it never got old. Harry always laughed at the same moments, and Y/N couldn’t help teasing him for knowing the lines better than she did.

As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with her naan, she noticed Harry looking at her with a mischievous grin. “What’s that look for?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Harry leaned back against the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you’re actually going.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still in,” Harry assured her, nudging her gently. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”

Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? From here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours.”

“Exactly!” Harry’s eyes lit up, like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it. If we drive, we’re in control. If things get awkward at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting for flights—we can just leave.”

Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “Planning an escape before we even get there?”

He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “It’s all about being prepared. Plus, think of the road trip! Snacks, music, random stops. Remember the last time we did a long drive?”

Y/N smiled at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station to try the food.”

Harry grinned even wider. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the playlist—oh, the playlist! We’ll sing the whole way, windows down, no stress.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly, don’t you?”

“Hey, I have great taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pretending to be offended. “And it would be fun! Eight hours, just us, no rush.”

She tilted her head, considering it. A carefree road trip with Harry did sound appealing, but the practical side of her had concerns. “Flying is faster. We’ll be there in two hours and won’t be exhausted when we arrive. We’ll need all the energy we can get for my family and the wedding.”

Harry pouted, leaning back against the couch. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Y/N looked over at him, smiling at his enthusiasm. There was something irresistible about the way his eyes sparkled at the idea.

“You know what?” she said after a beat. “Let’s do it. Let’s drive.”

Harry’s face lit up, his eyes wide with excitement. “Really? You mean it?”

Y/N nodded, her smile growing. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And having the car might come in handy if we need an escape—or if we just want to explore a bit.”

Harry practically beamed. “I can’t wait”.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all of the one shot (+8K) and exclusive scenes, various one shots and much more :)

PART 2

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #20

20. Infidelity - Cuckolding // Cunnilingus // Threesome (Logan Howlett x Reader x Wade Wilson - this is for you, that one anon)

You’re at orgasm ten and they aren’t slowing down. 

That’s the problem when you have two not-quite-human lovers: their stamina is fucking insane. Barely any refractory period either. All you can do is hope that you can keep up with them… and that your body doesn’t goddamn give out.

It kinda is giving out, though.

“One more…” Logan growls, moving his way up your prone form like an animal. You choke on the idea of wringing any extra pleasure from yourself. Your cunt is leaking with a mix of cum: yours, Logan’s, Wade’s; a sinful cocktail soaking into the sheets. You can’t keep anything inside you any more. You’re full. 

“Logan, no,” you say, firmly, slapping his shoulder with as much effort as you can muster. He looks down at you, and those soft puppy eyes remind you why you see him as such an obedient dog at times. 

“You okay, baby?” he asks, backing down immediately when he is chastised.

“I’m gonna die on this bed Logan. You’ve made me orgasm my soul out,” you sigh, relieved for your poor pussy that he’s so willing to listen. Next to you on the bed Wade is half-hard again but even he looks exhausted.

“Now normally my rampant machismo would require me to see this through until one of us had jizz leaking out our nose, but for the sake of our pookie here I’m happy to call it a draw.”

It had been so stupid, the lead up to his. The three of you lazing around, enjoying each other’s company and watching a movie. A sex scene had come on and it had got the three of you talking, which had got the two of them arguing. Who did you most enjoy making you come? It was a conversation you didn’t want to get in the middle of but apparently you didn’t have a choice. 

“C’mon, one of us has gotta get you wet and wilder than the other,” Wade had said, walking his fingers along your leg. You’d rolled your eyes.

“I like fucking you both, boys. Can we finish watching Australia now?”

“That means it’s me,” Wade had whispered, and Logan hadn’t wanted to take that lying down. Well… without you lying down, anyway.

So they took you to the bedroom and tried to make you compare. Fingers, mouths, cocks, all of it; and now your poor cunt might have friction burn. At some point it stopped being who could fuck you better and who could fuck you more, eke orgasm out of orgasm from your exhausted body and have you moaning for it. You’re not sure how they can keep going. How have they got any goddamn cum left in them, you’re sure it’s all over your cunt and abdomen at this point.

When Logan runs a gentle finger between your folds you hiss, part because of the sting and part from delight. You’re so high on a cloud of pleasure you can’t imagine anything else now.

“Look at you baby, you’re a mess…” he sighs, gravelly voice full of affection as he sees the canvas they’ve made of your body. If their skin could hold scars they’d be covered in your scratch marks, your bites, your slaps as you grabbed handfuls of muscle and held on while they fucked you. Wade grabs Logan’s hand and licks the mixture of the three of you off his fingers, humming in contentment.

“Is it too much that I like licking stuff? I did it in the period sex one too, is it becoming an endearing habit, or…?”

“If the two of you still have a point to prove, why don’t you fuck each other?” you chuckle, trying to get comfortable on the mattress and only succeeding at having another squirt of come drip from your hole.

Their eyes lock over your body. You’ve set a challenge neither will back down from, and when Logan goes in for a fierce kiss Wade meets it with vigour.

“Good grief…” you chuckle, moving onto your side to watch them go at each other. You’ll enjoy not being the centre of the show for a while.

[jaysng]

forgetting things — park jongseong

pairing: boyfriend!jay x fem!reader

genre: fluff

synopsis: reader’s forgetfulness seems never endings, so jay comes up with a little trick he created whenever it happens.

• to help palestine, click me

you’re sitting on the couch, flipping through channels with a slight frown. jay walks in, glancing at the scene in front of him. an empty mug sits abandoned on the coffee table, and he notices the familiar orange bottle of vitamins peeking out from behind a cushion.

he picks up the bottle, shaking it gently to catch your attention. “hey, you forgot these again.”

you look up, feigning innocence as you push a pillow over the bottle. “i didn’t forget. i was just… getting to it.”

jay raises an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his lips as he moves closer. “oh really? getting to it by leaving them on the couch?”

you shrug, trying to hold back a grin. “it’s called multitasking. besides, i don’t forget things as much as you think i do.”

jay chuckles, settling down beside you. “sure you don’t.”

you give him a playful shove. “i’m serious! i just have a lot on my mind.”

“mhmm,” jay hums, unconvinced. “like that time you put your phone in the fridge because you were ‘thinking about dinner’?”

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “okay, that was one time. and i was distracted.”

he leans in a bit closer, his tone teasing. “and what about the time you left your shoes at the gym? or when you forgot your keys inside the apartment and locked yourself out?”

you’re trying to keep a straight face, but jay’s teasing makes it hard. “those were… special circumstances.”

jay grins, shaking his head. “special circumstances, huh? how about i make sure you remember this time?”

before you can respond, he gently guides you to sit back on the couch, his hands warm and firm on your shoulders. you let out a small huff, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “you don’t have to remind me like i’m a kid, you know.”

jay’s smile softens as he takes the seat next to you. “i know, but it’s our thing, remember?”

you pretend to think about it, then nod slowly. “i guess it is.”

he shifts closer until his forehead is just inches from yours. “okay, close your eyes,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

you do as he asks, and within seconds, you feel the warmth of his forehead against yours. he taps his fingers gently against your temples, a steady, comforting rhythm. “don’t forget to take your vitamins,” he murmurs, his voice calm and reassuring.

you open your eyes, and there’s that familiar, almost bashful smile on his face as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

“did that help?” he asks, his tone light but with a genuine concern behind it.

you nod, finally giving in with a soft sigh. “yeah, it did. you know i can’t resist when you do that.”

jay chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “that’s the point.”

you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. “thanks for looking out for me, even if i don’t always admit i need it.”

“always,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. “it’s just what i do.”

you let the moment linger, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. the playful banter might be over, but the comfort and care between you both is something that doesn’t need words.

after a few minutes, you finally sit up, reaching for the bottle of vitamins. “i’ll take these now, before i actually forget.”

jay watches with a satisfied smile as you take the vitamins, and once you’re done, he pulls you back into a hug, holding you close. “see? wasn’t so hard.”

you laugh softly, nestling against him. “you win this time.”

“i’ll take it,” jay says with a grin, his voice full of affection as he keeps you close, both of you content in the quiet understanding that he’ll always be there to remind you, no matter how small the task.

do not copy or repost my work — jaysng

[cornerstoreclown]

Mornings with Art? I think it’s a cute scene to imagine Art eating while reader comes in (all sleepy and groggy and out of it cause they just woke up), wordlessly kisses him on the cheek, and makes her breakfast

Writing this before bed. So if there’s errors, I’ll get ‘em tomorrow. For now here’s some domestic shit. I did add dialogue though, I hope that’s okay! I was trying to think of how to go about it without words but then I just went wherever my head led me.

F!Reader x Art

———————————

Ever since he’d come home one particularly bad night due to a victim that just so happened to be carrying a firearm, he’d been taking it easy on himself. A few bullet wounds here and there, which you helped him patch up with the standard bandages and gauze, but for the most part he took his injuries in stride, opting to lay low and keep indoors for however long he decided. Dying was hard when you were a supernatural force, which you knew he very well was. You let him borrow the spare room to work on whatever gadgets and gizmos he wanted to create for his next escapade–for whatever that might actually entail.

As long as you’re not at the end of his knife, gun, mace–whatever weapon he decides to use, you’re fine with it. Though you know one day you might end up with one of those weapons lodged in your back or in your skull, you pray that it never happens. The first mistake would be to get comfortable around this man and let your guard down, which you never did.

However, it’s moments like this, when he’s sitting at the kitchen table when you head downstairs for breakfast that really make you want to do otherwise. Especially right now.

Art was sitting right at the kitchen table, eating frozen pizza from last nights dinner, and he’s doing it rather politely, you note. One slice on a paper plate, napkin nearby, and another slice being daintily held with both hands as he quietly and gently chews each bite he takes.

You have to remind yourself he killed someone last month and ate a rat last week. But it doesn’t stop you from tiredly smiling as you watch him through your unkempt hair that obscures part of your vision.

He merely regards you with a look, still munching away.

Fatigue whispers in your ear and urges you back to your warm and comfy bed. But whether you’re burdened by school, work, or both, there’s no rest to be had.

“Hey,” You yawn tiredly, walking your way to the coffee machine. It was either that or tea this morning. Art was a tea kind of guy, so you put on the electric kettle for him.

He resumes eating, almost finishing his first slice. He’s now got one leg crossed over the other as he assesses you in your oversized t-shirt, munching away on the crust. He has an aura of sassiness to him this morning with that body language.

“Yeah, yeah, I look rough, I know. Not all of us are divas when we wake up,” You lean against the counter, folding your arms across your chest. “And pizza? For breakfast? Come on.”

Art just responds in kind with fluffing up his imaginary hair and then flipping it over his shoulder. Bad hair day? Couldn’t be him!

“You got any plans for today, or are you just gonna go back to crafting shit in my spare room?”

Art shrugs his shoulders as he reaches for the second pizza slice, this time ripping off parts of the cold sauced and cheesed up flatbread to pop in his mouth in a very prim manner. He’s been very into letting his whims lead his decisions as of late.

“Gotcha.” You remark, not sure where to continue the conversation immediately, but you don’t need to worry about that as your coffee has finished brewing and the electric kettle has heat up the water. You sweeten your coffee to taste, as well as Art’s tea in a timely manner. He liked his drinks sweet. Anything bitter was an immediate no. With the remaining hot water in the kettle, you use it to make yourself instant oatmeal.

You plant a kiss to his cheek which he allows as you put his drink down near him. You take your seat on the other side of the table where your oatmeal waits, coffee mug in hand, watching him eat. Silence passes between the two of you until you finally voice what you’ve been thinking for the past few minutes.

“Can you rip me off a piece?”

[pdflayn]

Ride Me (954)

Max Verstappen x Reader !

Wherein: It's reader’s day off and a non-race week for Max. Max spends his day streaming and playing with his friends and reader spends her time waiting patiently for Max. But he was taking too long. Warnings: thigh riding bcs thick thighs save lives especially if it's max verstappen’s. praise kink. not sure if there's more.

It was a long day— it's been 2 hours since Max has been streaming with his friends, playing on the simulator non-stop, barely giving you attention. Yes, it's been a long day. You've been bored since the moment you woke up because it was your day off, you had nothing to do and nothing to make you occupied even if Max is there. You've been contemplating on disturbing him but you couldn't do it, the least you've been doing is giving him snacks like a toddler busy playing and all he ever says is ‘thank you’ not even giving you a kiss. You ruffled your hair in frustration and just decided to watch a movie instead, hoping it can cure your boredom. But you were doomed, every scene just kept reminding you of him. You were beyond needy, you're craving for his touch. You've been neglected half of the day and you’ve had enough.

You marched your way to Max’s streaming room, taking a peak and seeing him focused on his game, hearing a few curses from time to time. You even contemplated if you're really going to get inside and get what you want or let him enjoy his time with his friends for a while. But you shaked those thoughts and took a step inside. Max was wearing headphones so he didn't really notice that someone came in until he saw the chat going crazy with comments saying that you were inside the room, you even saw comments where they say you look so pretty which made you blush and smile as you went closer to Max’s gaming chair.

“Hi baby, you okay?” he asked, still focused on his game. You sneak your arms on his neck and place a kiss on his cheek before nodding. He continued on playing and you kept giving him small kisses on his face. You saw the chat going crazy with what you're doing and of course, Max sees them as well. You know how possessive Max can be when it comes to you. “Stop,” he whispers quietly enough so it can't be heard in the stream as he places a hand to block his mic but loud enough for you to hear. You only responded with a chuckle.

“Turn off your camera if you don't want them to see me,” you paused for a bit as you traced a finger on the compression shirt that he was wearing. “if you don't want them to see what we're going to do.” You finished your sentence as you placed another kiss on his cheek. He panicked and immediately turned off his stream when you straddled his lap. “Damn it, woman. Congratulations, you'll be on the headlines soon enough.” Max smirks as he finally gives in. You see, that's the thing, he would always give you what you want. You don't even need to beg for it, but there are times he makes you beg of course. And this is one of those times.

“If you wanted me to fuck you so bad, you could've just told me. No need to put on a show, baby.” He says as he holds your hips, guiding you to grind on his half-hard cock. You bit your lip as you felt a shiver down your spine. The friction between the clothed parts of yours and Max just made you even more needy to his touch. Max places one hand on your nape as he forced you closer, crashing his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. Your tongues fought for dominance but Max would always win, he is achampion after all. “Max, I need you.. Please.” You whimper in between kisses, making Max smirk. “My baby is so needy. I'm sorry for not giving you and your pretty pussy enough attention today.”

You only hummed as a response, still moving your hips on his now hard cock. You can feel him under his sweatpants, pretty sure soon enough he can feel how wet you are as well. “God, you're so wet already.” Max whispers as he sneaked a hand inside your shorts. You can feel his fingers flipping through your wet folds. His then snaps the waistband of your shorts, asking permission to remove them along with your panties. He slowly took them of, rubbing your thighs from time to time. Teasing the shit out of you.

He placed a kiss on your ear. “Ride my thighs, baby. Make a mess like you always do.” You moaned at his request. Oh how you love to ride those thick thighs of his. It was your favorite thing to do to past time even before.

You fixed your position on his thigh. You naked cunt starting to soak his pants as you start to move your hips back and forth. You moaned as Max held your hips to go faster. “Feeling good baby? You're already so messed up, I haven't even started yet.” You gripped on his shoulder for support as you felt something build up in your stomach. You were reaching your high, your thighs starting to quiver as you clench on nothing. “You're so pretty, baby. You look so perfect.” He says as he kisses you. “Come on baby, let go. Cum on my thighs. Make a fucking mess.”

“Max.. Fuck.. Please..” You tried to form words but most were inaudible as you reached your high just by riding his thigh. “Ah fuck!” you screamed as you felt a wave of pleasure flowing through you. Max showers you with wet and sloppy kisses on your neck as he helps you ride your climax.

“Let's hope my PR team won't be as furious as they were with the car sex extravaganza from before.”

[pitchsidestories]

birds of a feather II Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

masterlist I word count: 1647

a/n: dear readers, the inspiration for the oneshot was this request here, we hope that we did the great idea justice.

warnings: contains coach abuse through a parental figure

“Come on move over, Viv!”, Jonas yelled before pushing Vivianne stronger than it would have been necessary.

Watching this scene unfold from the bench brought back memories which were engraved into your brain. But none of your teammates noticed your skin turn pale or the slight wobble of your underlip.

The harshness in your coaches’ voices and the physical aggressivity reminded you of your days in the youth team your stepfather had coached. Back in the day all you did was helplessly staying silent, eager to please, whatever he wanted from you to become what you wanted to be a professional footballer.

Unlike your child self the Dutch midfielder’s reaction wasn’t silence.

“What are you doing? You just said I should get ready!”, she shot back, visibly frustrated by his behaviour.

“You were too slow!”, the Swedish man replied angrily.

“You should have told me in time then! God!”, Vivianne shouted

Listening to their fight made you shrink a little bit more, every word they exchanged felt like a whiplash to you. Their sentences opened cuts you thought have long healed, but they turned out to be still open and you had a hard time to stay focused on the game in front of your eyes.

Flashes of the past returned to the forefront of your mind; you tried your best to ignore those, knowing fully well they would haunt you in your dreams tonight.

“Come on, guys, stop that nonsense.”, much to your relief the co-coach separated the two fighting parties.

“Can you believe that?!”, the forward asked you, sounding exasperated.

“Viv are you okay?!”, you whispered.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”, she assured you.

“Okay, good.”, you nodded. Although nothing was good. Not really, but you weren’t sure you could confide into her. You were still new to the team, and you didn’t want to bother her with things which laid in the past but had a way to resurface in the present.

After the game which resulted in a draw you were the last to be in the shower. Under the harsh waterjet you tried to scrub off what happened today, the skin turned already red, because of your strong rubbing against it.

“Hey, are you coming? You don’t want to miss the bus.”, Kim cleared her throat impatiently to get your attention.

“Yes, everyone is waiting for you.”, Leah added, standing right next to your team’s captain, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“I’m coming.”, you promised.

“Do you need help with anything?”, Lia asked concerned.

“No, I’m good, we can go.”, you waved her off while getting dressed, the clothes clinging to your skin and your hair was still wet when you left the changing room with your teammates.

You were quiet on your way back. You did not want to be that quiet. Everyone around you was talking and joking. But you just sat there, your thoughts spinning.

You barely even managed to say good bye to your teammates before going home.

Standing in front of the door of the small apartment, you could already hear your stepfathers voice.

He was yelling again.

For a moment you considered just leaving but then you thought better of it.

Carefully, you opened the door.

“Hi, I’m home.“, you announced yourself quietly.

Your stepdad immediately turned to you: “You played like shit today.“

You flinched as he stomped towards you: “But I…“

His hands wrapped around your upper arm. The sport bag dropped from your shoulder as he pushed you around in anger: “Whatever your coach said, he’s wrong! Remember who got you to where you are now?! Who coached you first and saw your potential!“

His face was so close to yours that you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

You could not get yourself to meet his eyes.

“I’m tired… I just want to go to bed.“, you said calmly, to not risk upsetting him even more.

He continued, pushing you backwards repeatedly until your back hit the wall with full force: “You better remember that! And you better work your ass off at the next game. I refuse to let you embarrass me again!“

There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to shout how glad you were that he would never coach you again and how sorry you felt for the other kids. You wanted to scream that you owed him nothing, that you were the one who had built this career for yourself.

But you felt too drained to fight, so you just nodded and disappeared into your room without another word.

At training the next day, your stepfathers words reverberated in your head and you found yourself subconsciously pushing your body to its limit at every exercises.

This did not go unnoticed by your teammates.

“Woah, hey. Slow down, little one.“, Beth stopped you. She was smiling but there her eyebrows were knotted together in worry.

Steph appeared on your side as you caught your breath: “Yes, you don’t want to hurt yourself in training.“

“I won’t.“, you said plainly, hoping they would back off and would let you continue.

“Y/n…“, Beth started, the smile suddenly gone.

“Yes?“

“Relax a bit. This is almost as obsessive as Leah is with her training.“, she chuckled but you knew she was serious.

The blonde defender grimaced at her: “Excuse me?!“

Her voice went soft as she added: “But yes, something is off… Y/n, if you want to talk about it, you should know that we’re here for you.“

You could feel the tears well up in your eyes so you just shook your head.

“And if not to us, there’s also a psychologist here.“, Lia continued empathetically.

“It’s fine. Really. Just need to be better at the next game.”, you tried.to wave their worries off.

“You played like ten minutes. Not many players can make a difference in ten minutes.”, Katie argued.

“Yes, but it’s not good enough!”, you shouted, pushing the arm of the Irish woman which stretched out for a hug away.  

“Alright, calm down. Katie rolled her eyes annoyed at you, before turning her head to your other teammates who stood there equally clueless about your sudden emotional outbreak, sounds like she really does need to see our psychologist.”

You were close to shout at her, telling the older woman that she had no idea what was going on inside your brain, how unloving and dangerous your home felt. That family wasn’t always as perfect as the club painted it to be. But you decided to be quiet and continued to do your training.

It was after the next match day at home when Kim noticed that your stepdad was pushing you around.

” Girls, look.”, the captain nodded worried into your direction.

“We can’t just-“, Katie begun, already rolling up her sleeves, ready to fight against the taller man.

“Katie. He’s gone.”, Caitlin interrupted her girlfriend.

“Y/n?”, Kim was the first who was at your side, the rest of the team swiftly followed her.

“Kim? Katie?”, you blinked at them in surprise.

“Are you good? Is he bothering you.”, the Irish player wanted to know from you with deep concern in her voice.

“He’s my stepdad, he always acts like that.”, you looked down, ashamed that your home wasn’t as beautiful and wholesome as theirs.

“You know, I don’t think I like him an awful lot.”, Beth admitted.

“The next time he pushes you, I’ll push him back. Such an asshole!”, Katie cursed.

“No one’s pushing anyone here!”, Kim demanded in full captain mode. All she cared about was your well-being. The rest could be solved at a later stage.

“Right, and we need to get y/n out of this unhealthy situation at first.”, Lia added earnestly while brushing softly through your open hair with one hand to calm down her and your nerves.

“You really are the personification of Switzerland, Wally.”, Katie teased her, attempting to lighten up the depressive atmosphere.

“Someone has to find a reasonable solution.”, Lia defended herself.

“Maybe she could sleep at one of our places tonight until we have a plan?”, Kim suggested.

“Sounds good.”, Leah agreed seriously.

“She can stay with me and Viv.”, Beth announced, giving you a warm smile.

“Yes, she can stay as long as she wants. Plus, Myles will be so excited to see her again.”, the Dutch footballer grinned at the memory of their little puppy who loved you a lot.

“Thanks, girls.”, you mumbled gratefully.

Gently, Beth put her arm around your shoulders: “That’s what we’re here for.“

“Yes but all your families are so cute and then there’s mine… so I thought I never belonged.“, you admitted, not sure if you were making any sense.

Alessia shrugged, her gaze fixed on you: “Not everyone has a perfect family.“

“And family is not always blood-related.“, Beth added softly.

For a moment you were sure that you saw tears glistening in her blue eyes but you could not blame her. She had been through a lot.

“What do you mean?“, you asked.

“What Beth is trying to say is that we can be your family, y/n.“, Leah explained.

You looked up at her in surprise: “Really?“

“This is what this team is and always was.“, Kim nodded solemnly.

“A family…“, you said conclusively.

You looked at your teammates and were left speechless by the determination and empathy in their faces.

After years of suffering through the abuse in youth teams, your heart felt full with gratefulness and adoration for your teammates. But it simultaneously was also breaking for the children still having horrible coaches and being dismissed.

In that moment, you made a promise to yourself to make whatever team you would join a safe space and a family as well.

But for now, you were ready to let your guard down and let your Arsenal family take care of you.

[munariplans]

forty, love | natasha romanoff

part 2 | part 3

synopsis: winning was everything, and losing was a sin. unfortunately, you were on a losing streak, and natasha loved winning.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 4.9k words

a/n: inspired by that one scene from challengers.

masterlist

“slice forehand.”

thwock. 

“inside-out forehand.”

another thwock.

“move to the volley. hurry. your feet aren’t keeping up.”

despite the insult, the thwock lands. the ball bounces and hits right where you want it to hit. the singular drop of sweat that dripped onto the ground between your feet is not wasted, as you look up to your performance coach across the net, unamused sneer hidden behind his thick moustache. 

“not fast enough?” you quipped. 

he sighed, shaking his head. “don’t get ahead of yourself. you’re still number 2 in the state. if you want a shot at beating the princeton team, you’re still going to have to move much faster than that.”

you wiped the beads of sweat on your forehead, fixing the slightly loose hair tie, before nodding understandingly. still, you weren’t too happy at his latest onslaught of insults this past session. “you could have at least given me credit for the dropshot earlier when you came in. it was perfect.”

“perfect shots don’t get you the win. defeating your opponent does.”

he signalled that practice was over for the day, and you walked off court at the same time as he did to gather your things. the woman watching from the stands stood at that moment, and began her descent down to meet you in the locker room. 

natasha romanoff walked up behind you as you changed, the sudden feeling of her hands on your bare skin a welcomed intrusion, as you sighed into her touch. she let herself have her hands full for a minute, roaming over your muscles until she was satisfied, before settling them on the edge of your shoulders, massaging the tight knots out of them. you were still so tense.

she pressed her lips lovingly on a scar, waiting for you to finish panting at the feeling of where her hands had been. “you were great out there today.”

“coach said otherwise.”

“mm,” she let you put on your shirt, turning you around to kiss you after, “you were fighting him back just as hard. are you okay?”

you zipped up your bag then, taking a moment to avoid her question, before, “do you think i’m like what he says? what they all say…?”

natasha motioned for you to continue. “that i’m all bark, no bite, now? that i’ve lost my mojo?”

“baby–”

“–because you can tell me straight up. i can take it. you’re my girlfriend, you can tell me, i can take it.” the room had suddenly gotten tense, a stark drop to your composure that you had managed to hide so well on the court. in the locker rooms, you were angry again. you had been angry for a while now. 

“losing a few matches isn’t going to hurt your record, baby. you’re this college’s star player, you know this.”

“but losing four matches in a row is going to shatter my ego. my confidence. you of all people should know this!”

you had backed away from natasha, eyebrows raised, posture standoffish. she hated this. she hated seeing you like this. as bad as it was to say, she hated seeing you lose. it was the worst part of yourself that you let her see, when you lost. but what was she, as a partner, if not to stand by you through your career, your ups and down? she should be sharing your pain, taking some burden off of your shoulders, at the very least. 

“just last week, i let it go to break point, and i still fucking lost!” you had raised your fist at this point, nearly punching it at the steel frames of the lockers, when you reminded yourself of just the complications that could arise from shattered knuckles. your coach would never let this go. but still, the gesture was there, and the fire in your eyes remained all too dangerous. 

suddenly, you were pressed against the lockers, the weight of natasha’s body engulfing yours, as her arms came to hold you tight against herself. you were forced to embrace her back, despite your slight protests and pleas, but she was having none of it. she had wrapped you up in her tight, strong embrace, and her hands were finding themselves to bring your face towards hers, eyes boring into your own. 

“nat–”

“–last week, last week, you were against a professional, baby. a nearly retired one at that, but she was fighting for wins at the australian open not too long ago. she’s been doing this longer than you have even started learning how to hit the ball. don’t be so hard on yourself, will you? nobody, nobody else, could have gotten to where you were with her. break point is a feat in itself.”

you didn’t look convinced. but she didn’t need you to look convinced; she needed you to listen. “do you understand? you need to look at things from a different perspective, from my perspective. not your coach’s, not your teammates, certainly not that player’s fucking groupies, who were gloating about your loss all the way out of the stadium. you need to believe in yourself, as i have always believed in you. and you can’t keep going on like this. do you understand me?”

natasha’s eyes never departed from yours, her gaze firm. her hands were shaking, a little unsure of your reaction, because as far as she knew, you didn’t look like you were going to back down from a fight. either with yourself or her, she didn’t know. she certainly hoped it was at least the latter.

but then, your gaze cast downwards, you nodded ashamedly. sighing into the air, you pressed your face into the crook of her neck for a moment, the height advantage letting you lift her up, and she cooed as she let you gather yourself. 

“i understand.”

she patted the back of your head. like a mother would a petulant, but repenting child. “good. now let’s go get dinner, then a massage for your shoulders. then back to the gym first thing tomorrow morning.”

– 

natasha watched you push around your vegetables for nearly half of dinner. she knew the campus meal tickets didn’t exactly provide for five-star dishes, but she had never seen you so down like this before. it was almost as if you had become a ghost of yourself. 

“steve’s birthday is coming up soon.” she decided to change the topic, and hopefully, get your mind off of tennis for a minute. 

you gave a nonchalant grunt, finally stabbing the piece of broccoli. she steadied herself. “should we get him the pair of boots he’s always wanted? i figured we could pull in wanda and clint too, if we want to get him a bigger gift.”

your eyes were still unfocused. it was as if she wasn’t there at all. “baby.”

you looked up, half-expecting natasha to be pissed. but she only gave you a small smile. “steve’s birthday?”

“we can get him the boots. i don’t mind paying for them. but i don’t think i’m going to his party.”

“why not? your match on that day ends in the afternoon.”

“yeah, but i think i’m going to be pretty tired.” not to mention if i lose.

natasha decided not to argue with you on it. she knew enough how touchy the subject of your career already was. instead, she jabbed the last piece of corn with her fork, and gestured for your mouth to open. 

the both of you left shortly after. 

– 

in a friendly match the next weekend with the neighbouring college, you were faced up against the top ranking player once more. being a finals round, you had imagined that the crowd would be roaring with applause for how far you’d come, but when the sets began to balance after your first few strong starts and the heat of the afternoon sun began beating on everyone’s backs, the crowd dwindled out one by one from boredom and, to you at least, the possible disappointment of you losing. 

it was only expected, from a disenchanted champion. the college’s once pride and joy, the one who was once regarded as a candidate with potential to win grand slams. unfortunately, people only really like you when you win. 

but natasha stayed. and so did her friends, and your friends that she had managed to force to stay. you had gestured that they could leave if they wanted to, during the breaks, but they were afraid to even nod, or make a move, lest they wanted to be subjected to natasha’s ferocity, sitting behind them. it was almost humiliating that they stayed only because your girlfriend was forcing them to, you thought. 

thwock. a missed shot from your end.

another thwock. “out!”

by your last mistake, the crowd had only left natasha, steve, and some die-hard groupies of yours that were slowly losing hope too. so when the final set was determined by your failure to execute a passing shot, and subsequently touching the net, the roars from the other side seemed almost mocking. you had lost. 

natasha rushed down to the locker rooms again, only this time, your friends followed, and the absolute mortification that you felt, along with the pure anger and frustration of losing, overpowered any remaining sense of decency you had left. 

the moment you spotted her coming in, then the company behind her, you almost felt like the first time the instinct to shatter your racket came to you. 

“out! all of you, out!” you had screamed, not caring to be decent even to your teammates. 

“come on, we just wanted–”

“–i don’t care, out! you’ve just come in here to humiliate me, haven’t you? gloating how i could lose, even in a friendly! how shit of a player i am, now!”

the people behind natasha grumbled, but one by one shuffled out. it was better to tell you about how unfair you were being another day, not when emotions were running so high. natasha was thankful they understood. but it didn’t make what you did any less unfair.

she sat beside you as you kept your head down. “that wasn’t very nice.”

“losing isn’t very nice.”

“they meant well, baby.”

“no, they don’t.”

“how many times do i have–”

“–a ton, okay, natasha?” you looked up, slamming your drink between the both of you. “a ton of times, you have to remind me. that my friends love me, that they’re here to support me. but how the fuck am i supposed to believe that when i don’t even have anything for them to support me for?”

“your friends don’t just love you because you’re good at tennis, my love. i don’t love you just because you’re good at tennis. this is ridiculous! i can’t believe we are arguing over this, i can’t believe you think of yourself so lowly like this.”

natasha was met with a deafening silence the moment she finished her last words, her chest heaving up and down from her own disappointment. the rest of the players had filtered out, upon hearing your argument, leaving only you and her there. like always. 

your hand rubbed over your face resignedly, hands covering the beautiful eyes natasha loved loves staring into. she wanted to reach out, to pull your hands away from yourself, to even get you to answer her, to let her know that you at least believed you were better than this. but she was afraid of the answer she was going to get. 

then, she heard a sniffle, and a small, choked sob afterwards. and that was it. 

you were up standing the next second, and slinging your racket bag over your shoulder. “i’m going to the gym. i know you have class after this. don’t wait up.”

she was left there alone, the dismay and disappointment of it all weighing down on her, the moment the doors to the locker room were slammed. 

– 

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that, i apologised to my friends, now i want to apologise to you. i love you, i’m sorry. the words didn’t seem enough. the guilt that accumulated and eventually avalanched into your heart was almost insurmountable, after the incident with  natasha. you weren’t even sure you were worthy of being forgiven, you thought as you sat in your car later that night, still angry at her, but making sure that she was safe in the short walk home from her class to her dorm. 

which was why you found yourself in the florist off campus a few days later, asking the employee what flowers best represented i’m sorry for being such a terrible girlfriend, and which flowers were most likely going to help you be forgiven. the white and blue carnations reminded you of the colours in natasha’s room. 

“how much is it?” you asked, to which the cashier then showed you the till. you cursed internally, not even knowing flowers were so expensive nowadays.

checking the contents of your wallet for a minute, you cursed even louder at yourself at the emptiness that greeted you. losing matches meant losing money, that was for sure, and it wasn’t a secret that you were mostly funding your life with prize money won from big matches in the state, with college at least funded with the athlete’s scholarship. yet another reason why i can’t keep doing this, you thought.

it was between dinner for the next few days and gas for your car, and the flowers. fuck it, skipping dinners once in a while wouldn’t hurt, and you could walk from place to place. 

you handed over your card, and began the walk to natasha’s dorm. 

when she received you, natasha noticed you looked almost like a kicked puppy, none of the anger or smugness you carried with you on and off the court. no, with her, you were soft, and vulnerable, and all-too pitiful for her love. she knows the power she has over you. she never had to worry. 

so she brought you in, allowed you to apologise, to beg at her feet, and for her mercy and forgiveness. she allowed you to worship her, taking her to her bed and whispering how much you messed up to her skin, how much you loved her when you were making her see stars, how much you thought you would hurt yourself if she ever left you when she was chanting your name over and over again, begging you to let her come undone.

– 

steve’s birthday rolled around, and natasha was once again seated in the front row for you. she never missed your matches. 

you thought she should have missed this one, when the match reached a break point and you lost again. when you had gotten so frustrated, so furious, over a careless choke that you had, that you received a punishment for smashing your racket into bits as the opponent screamed in celebration. 

she came down to sit with you in the locker room after, but it was in silence. there was nothing to say, and nothing to be said. there were tears streaming down your face, dripping onto the floor. your vision was obscured by the tears, and you would have lost yourself if not for the hand that was holding your own, firm, steadfast. somewhere along the line, she was kissing you, then slowly pushing for you to get up, and bringing you to her dorm. you didn’t really remember anything more after that, busy curling into a ball and crying yourself to sleep afterwards.

when she woke you again to accompany her to steve’s party, you felt almost bad that the ringing in your ears hadn’t gone away, and so had your misery from the match earlier. but natasha needed a ride, and you weren’t going to let her drive back later if she had been drinking for the night. 

– 

you encouraged natasha to mingle around at the party, and to not worry about you, as you stuck around your few friends for a bit. she was unsure, but you were firm, and soon enough, she too had disappeared into the crowd.

your eyes never left her after you found her again, though, leaning back into a pillar as your friend sam went on and on about his own matches so far. you didn’t have the heart, or energy, to tell him that tennis was the last thing you wanted to talk about right then. 

she was by the birthday boy, his arm slung around her waist as the both of them guzzled down cups and cups of spiked punch. their circle was closely-knit, you had always known this, but somehow, the lingering touches, and his hand slowly travelling up and down her back, was ticking you off this time. you had almost half a mind to ask steve what he thought he was doing, but you knew natasha would get embarrassed, and upset. you knew you already made her upset enough today. 

but then, sam quipped, “they’ve been awfully close lately, haven’t they?”

he must have forgotten he was talking to natasha’s girlfriend, of all people, as he continued, “steve’s on a winning streak recently. on track to become valedictorian, potentially getting drafted by the top teams next season, it’s only a matter of time before he wants someone by his side to share it with too, huh?”

“...right.”

“you know how natasha likes winners,” he hit your elbow playfully, breath reeking of alcohol and other illegal substances, “she just loves the game. i bet that’s how you got her to fall for you too.”

“not my good looks, or horrible attitude to anything outside of tennis?” you tore your eyes away from natasha for a moment to glare at sam. he chuckled. 

“i’m just saying, better to keep your girl by your side, future federer.” he disappeared shortly after, and when you found natasha again, she was laughing and putting her head on steve’s shoulder. 

instead of feeling angry this time, you were dejected, and a little bit ashamed. of course. natasha liked winners. and you certainly weren’t one anymore. 

you bit back a harsh breath, and went outside to get some fresh air when steve stole a glance at her that was far too intimate to be one of merely friends. you should have known. if she wasn’t winning with you, she was winning with someone else, somewhere else. 

that night, for the first time in your career, and relationship, you thought about retiring.

– 

but when the competition season rolled around, and the WTAs approaching, you had managed to pull yourself up in the rankings enough to secure a spot at a challengers’ round to hopefully beat princeton and start a domino effect that could lead you to participating in a grand slam. 

natasha was walking beside you, struggling to keep up as she checked your schedule haphazardly. “the princeton girl, she’s on the other side of the roster. i doubt the two of you would be playing each other unless she reaches the finals too. which…at this point…”

you didn’t want to know if she meant that you wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching the finals, or that the princeton champion would be knocked out early. you were afraid you knew the answer. 

steve had dropped her off at the stadium when you went outside to pick her up, his smug smile as he waved her goodbye, and his eyes following yours, making you want to reach over inside the car and beating him with your racket. you had to arrive earlier to discuss strategy with your coaches, and while you were more than willing to pay for natasha’s ride in, she had mentioned that steve would be dropping her off. she sounded almost excited, so you dropped the topic and went back to your practice. like you have been doing for the past few months. 

turns out it wasn’t so hard to succeed, and win matches, when you were more or less resigned to your fate that nobody was ever going to expect anything more of you from your streak of losses all those matches ago, and you had effectively lost the love of your life to some football player who kept winning, and winning. 

you were at a challenger’s round this time, so you didn't need to worry. you won, and won, and won a little bit more. 

–

thwock. right over the net. the opponent misses and falls to her knees.

a serve that would have made williams roar in awe. thwock.

last one. the set was done if you landed this one. thwock. 

the ball landed inside the court, right by the opponent’s feet. and you advanced to the finals. 

you remembered natasha rushing down, not even waiting until you entered the locker room. she was running, running, and jumping into your arms, kissing you like her life depended on it. you spun her around, giving her a smug smile, trying to hide a bleeding heart that knew she too, was surprised that you ever stood a chance of winning. 

the crowd roared behind you. people were liking you again. but you had never felt worse. 

–

it turned out that the princeton champion had advanced to the finals, and would be playing against you, after all. there was no surprise for her, but certainly a surprise for you, as the newscasters and fans had aptly put, a grand shocker. they had all thought you had seen your glory days over. 

natasha caught you watching the latest telecast from the hotel’s television, gaze zeroed in on the anchor who was comparing your statistics over the last few games. almost perfect scores. leaving opponents with loves in sets. behind her, were the students of your college, decked out in the colour of the university and your face and initials printed on their shirts, caps, flags. all of it. they had never looked more proud. the college had even rolled out a banner in your name, in lieu of the upcoming finals. you knew natasha enjoyed all of it more than you did. 

when it came to the broadcast from princeton, the college’s president had come to give a special interview. he mentioned that he never doubted his champion from the start, unlike what your college had to go through with you. you found yourself wanting to spit at the television. 

but from behind, the sound of running water from the shower had stopped, and she had come out, in a robe and her wet hair in a towel. she saw the glazed look in your eyes, and promptly picked up the remote to shut the programme off. 

she settled into the spot beside you, nuzzling into your comfort. she had to pull your own arms off of the couch to wrap around her. you thought she must have known. she couldn’t be so stupid. she knew that you knew about her, and what she had always liked. 

but then you remembered, beyond the resentment, and grief, of the past few months, of just what she had been through with you. when you lost your very first match in college, natasha had been your friend, still. she was dating the captain of the basketball team, you remembered, but she had gone with you afterwards to walk the long way home, encouraging you and telling you that it would get better. it always would. you only half-believed her.

but then, you won. and won, and won, and won. by the tenth streak of winning, natasha had broken up with said boyfriend, and began hanging around your dorm, the tennis courts, even the cafeterias more often. she went where you went, showed up to most of your games, was the loudest one in the crowd when you secured sets. she would wait for you after your mini celebratory sessions with your teammates, and fans, and friends, all for a moment alone with you. then, she would bring you out for drinks, for dinners, sometimes the occasional walk down memory lane to her dorm. she was kind, she made you laugh, and you were on a streak. so what was there stopping you? 

you fell for her just as easily as you fell in love with winning.

to your surprise, she stuck around when you lost a few matches along the way, never letting it phase her, or you. to everyone else’s surprise, she stuck around when you twisted your ankle in your second year of playing. she had left a pattern in her wake, you see, of leaving all of her past lovers when the going got tough, or when they had simply stopped winning. it was inevitable, you thought. but no, not this time. when you fell to your knees during that tournament, screaming in agony as your ankle felt like it was folding in on itself, she was there. she was right beside the medical officer, holding you up as he inspected the injury, face looking even more panicked than yours as they wheeled you off to the hospital. 

she was there, as they wheeled you in for surgery, and wheeled you out to recover. she never left, even when the doctors told you it would take months to recover, let alone get back to playing on your level. she helped you recover, was the driving force in your physical therapy success, even became the sole reason that you returned to playing so quickly after your injury. you hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, much less lose her at all. you were too afraid of the possibility of her becoming someone else’s because of your failure in your sport.

natasha stayed through your losing streak. she never got mad, or lost her patience, with you. it had been three years now, with her. she had never lasted in a relationship so long, so had you. she had talked about getting married before, right after college, to which you had entertained, but still never gotten the full grasp of. how could she talk about marrying you, with such a reputation that preceded her? what if you had lost, would she have run off before the altar?

what if you lost tomorrow? you looked at her again, this time, and she was on her phone. she was texting your friends to make sure they came for your match tomorrow. you felt horrible.

“nat.”

she looked up. “yes?”

“tell me it doesn’t matter.” 

natasha sat up this time, her hand holding yours. she looked confused. “what doesn’t matter?” “whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

her face remained unchanged for a moment, but at the quiver of your lip, and the coldness in your hands, she broke her composure. she shook her head slowly, gaze steely. “no.”

“why not?” it was your turn to harden the look on your face. “why won’t you tell me at least that?”

“because,” she bit the inside of her cheek, “you’re the professional. you’ll tell me whether it matters or not.”

you sat up as well. “i just want to know that you’ll love me…no matter what…whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

natasha’s eyes suddenly couldn’t meet yours. she looked down, at your shirt, then away, but never back at you. you pleaded, “natasha, please.”

“no,” she remained firm, “no. i won’t tell you that, because i know you’ll beat her. you’ll win tomorrow. and you’ll go to the grand slams, you’ll be the best tennis player that’s ever played in them, and you’re going to win. every. single. one. of. them.”

“and what if i don’t? not even the grand slams, not even tomorrow? what if i come in second again, after all this time?” 

you were growing desperate, and she was growing distant. you suddenly thought that you would have done anything, absolutely anything then, for her to tell you what you wanted to hear. to tell you that she would love you no matter if you won or lost.

natasha watched as you dropped to your knees in front of her, eyes already teary. your hands scrambled to hold her shirt, her waist, any part of her. she held them back, but to stop you from reaching further. then, she held your face again, but this time, it was you that was begging for her. you looked downright pitiful.

she wiped the stray tear off your cheek. she knew what she was going to say would either make or destroy you. “i’ll tell you this instead.”

“please.”

“baby, if you lose the match tomorrow, i’m leaving you. for good.”

– 

thwock. thwock. thwock. 

princeton parried, the ball is sent to the line. you return it with ease. princeton flicks back, you work twice as hard to send it over.

your moves were clean, cleaner than ever before, aided by a brain filled with rage and a heart filled with fear. 

princeton served, out. you served, in. the advantage stood, and the crowd stood to cheer. princeton hit back, you hit harder. it was a game both colleges hadn’t seen in decades. there were talks of both of you dominating the grand slams, even possibly working together, even being the next best duo to ever hit the sport. 

break point. the ball whizzes. and finally…after all the pain, the fear, the lost matches and the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was over. 

you weren’t quick enough. princeton won. 

a/n: i just love pathetic, pitiful characters who are down so bad for natasha romanoff, is that so wrong?