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bueckets · 11 days ago

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The Hit List | 02

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part One

Genre: romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, they fuck, n its hot n sweaty, cat n mouse

Description: What starts as a game of avoidance turns into something far more dangerous when old grudges and unfinished business crash headfirst into a truth neither of them are ready to face. Armed with a stubborn streak, a boyfriend you're trying too hard to believe in, and a simmering resentment that burns just as hot as desire, you swear you won’t let Paige win.

But when history keeps rewriting itself in glances, in touches, in words that cut too close—you start to wonder if you've had control of the game at all.

wc: 24k, yes, 24k

Authors Note: sorry this took forever, too many words so this is split into two parts

Chapter 2: The Problem with Paige Bueckers

The cold air hit like a slap as you and Riven stepped out of The Tavern, the double doors slamming shut behind you. The muffled bass of whatever trash pop remix they were playing inside still buzzed in your chest, but out here, the only sound was the occasional car rolling by and the crunch of Riven’s boots against the pavement.

“Okay,” she started, already wrapping her arms around herself like she hadn’t just spent the last hour insisting she wasn’t cold. “What the fuck was that?”

You tugged Nika’s warmup jacket closer around you. “What was what?”

“Oh, don’t even—” Riven whirled on you, walking backward now, eyes narrowed. “I had, like, a front-row seat to your little moment with Paige. You two looked like you were about five seconds away from—”

“From what?” you cut in, voice sharper than intended.

Riven’s smirk deepened. “From what, she says. Babe, I thought you were about to spontaneously combust. Paige definitely wanted to.”

You groaned, pushing past her. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” She caught up easily, practically skipping now. “Because I watched a six-foot basketball legend—who, might I remind you, does not chase people—spend an entire game, a whole-ass four quarters, subtly showing off for you. Then she followed that up by pinning you to a bar with her eyes and making sure you knew she was looking.”

You kept walking. Focused on the sidewalk, on the way the streetlights flickered, on literally anything but what she was saying.

“And you?” Riven continued, undeterred. “You were eating it up.”

You stopped dead. “I was not—”

Riven held up a hand. “Babe. I love you. But you were.”

Her eyes softened then, shifting from teasing to something quieter. You hated that. Because if Riven wasn’t making fun of you, if she was actually serious, then it meant she thought there was something here.

You shook your head, exhaling hard. “I don’t even like her.”

Riven arched a brow. “No?”

“No.”

“And yet, you’re literally wearing her best friend’s jacket, which Paige has been glaring at all night like she was about to rip it off your body with her teeth.”

You rolled your eyes and started walking again. “Nika spilled coffee on me. She gave me the jacket.”

“Uh-huh.” Riven jogged to catch up. “And Paige definitely didn’t care about that at all. I’m sure that’s why she looked like she wanted to murder her best friend when she saw you in it.”

You ignored her.

She didn’t let up. “You know what I think?”

“No,” you deadpanned.

“I think Paige is used to being wanted. She is thee Golden Child after all.” Riven adjusted her tiny bag, the one you still didn’t believe could fit anything. “And you? You told her to fuck off. You didn’t fawn, didn’t trip over yourself to impress her, didn’t melt the second she so much as breathed in your direction.”

“I was just—”

“She likes it.”

You faltered. “What?”

“That’s why she’s been all over you.” Riven grinned like she’d cracked some unsolvable mystery. “You’re a challenge, babe. Paige loves a challenge.”

You let that sit between you for a moment. The idea that this was all just some game to her. Some chase, some conquest to check off her list.

It shouldn’t sting. But it did.

You kicked at a loose pebble, watching it skitter across the sidewalk. “Well, I’m not playing.”

Riven let out a low whistle. “And that is why she’s losing her mind over you.”

She looped her arm through yours, sighing dramatically. “I love this for you.”

You groaned. “There’s nothing to love. I’m not interested.”

Riven squeezed your arm. “Mhm. And yet, we’ve been talking about her this entire walk home.”

You scowled. She had a point.

The first thing you did when you woke up was groan, roll over, and aggressively smother yourself with your pillow in a last-ditch effort to erase the past twelve hours from existence.

The second thing you did was curse Riven’s name.

I love this for you. What the fuck did that even mean? What was there to love? There was nothing to love, nothing to even consider, and yet your brain had apparently decided to throw hands with your common sense and keep you trapped in this hell loop of overanalyzing.

You stayed like that for a solid ten minutes, letting the residual embarrassment simmer in the dark, trying to physically sweat out the memory of Paige fucking Bueckers pinning you in place with her eyes and her stupid, low-ass voice.

Nope. No. Absolutely not. You were not thinking about it. You had actual things to do.

You shoved the blanket off and sat up, only for your stomach to immediately drop as your gaze landed on Nika’s UConn warmup jacket.

Right. That.

You stared at it, like it was some foreign object that had somehow materialized in your room overnight. As if it hadn’t been on your body the entire night before. As if it hadn’t been the one thing Paige’s eyes lingered on every time she looked at you.

Okay. You exhaled sharply. Okay. You needed to get the fuck out of this room.

The engineering building smelled like burnt coffee and overworked students.

Someone had definitely been living in here for the past forty-eight hours—probably one of the electrical engineering kids judging by the faint, fried-plastic scent of a blown capacitor. A couple of jackets were draped over chairs, a half-eaten protein bar had been abandoned by the 3D printer, and the whiteboard by the entrance was filled with someone’s increasingly desperate attempts at debugging a circuit diagram.

Ah, yes. Your people.

You exhaled, shifting your backpack higher on your shoulder as you made your way toward the CAD lab. The familiar hum of computer fans filled the air, that gentle, artificial whir that meant someone, somewhere, was probably suffering through a last-minute deadline.

Not you, though. You were here to escape.

The lab was half-full, a quiet buzz of activity punctuated by the occasional sigh of frustration. A couple of upperclassmen were arguing over a simulation in the corner, their screen flashing red with failed stress tests. Someone else—definitely a freshman—was furiously Googling “why does SOLIDWORKS keep crashing???” like the software had personally wronged them.

You picked a station near the back, dropped your bag onto the floor, and cracked your knuckles.

Alright. Time to work.

You opened your laptop, pulled up your latest model—a sleek, mid-development turbine assembly—and tried to focus.

For the first few minutes, it actually worked. The soothing, mind-numbing repetition of part alignments, constraint settings, and torque calculations took over. You could feel your brain settling into that comfortable, hyper-focused haze.

And then—

“Jesus Christ, what is this?”

You didn’t even look up. “It’s a turbine.”

“That’s a turbine?”

The voice belonged to Mateo, one of the mechanical engineers who had, at some point, decided that annoying you was his life’s goal.

He dragged a chair over, plopping down beside you with his usual chaotic energy. His UConn hoodie was inside out, his curls were aggressively disheveled, and his glasses were smudged enough to qualify as a safety hazard.

“You’re staring at it like it personally offended you,” you muttered, rotating the model on your screen.

Mateo squinted. “Because it has personally offended me. Why the hell does it look like that?”

You turned, deadpan. “Would you like to rephrase that into something remotely helpful?”

He hummed, leaning in. “Maybe. Depends on how much caffeine you’ve had.”

You sighed, shoving your coffee cup toward him. He took one sip and immediately made a face.

“This is disgusting.”

You stole your coffee back. “It’s functional.”

“That’s what people say about Soviet-era aircrafts, and half of those are held together by sheer willpower and duct tape.”

You ignored him, going back to your model. “You’re still here. Please tell me why you’re still here?”

Mateo stretched, cracking his back like an eighty-year-old man. “Because I finished my project and now I’m bored.”

You arched a brow. “So this is what you do for fun? Bully me about my designs?”

“Absolutely.” He propped his chin on his hand, watching you work. “Also, because your roommate texted me last night saying you needed to ‘touch grass,’ which in Riven language means you’ve been weird lately.”

You froze.

Fucking Riven.

Mateo caught it immediately. His smirk widened. “Oh? So tell me what’s up?”

You shook your head, clicking aggressively through your model constraints. “Nothing.”

“Liar. Is it a boy?”

You snorted. “No.”

“A girl?”

You paused just long enough for his eyes to light up.

“Ohhh, it is a girl.” He grinned, leaning in like you’d just handed him the best gossip of his life. “Spill. Who is she?”

You shoved him. “Go away.”

Mateo cackled. “No chance. What’s her name? Is she hot? Do I know her?”

You shut your laptop. “Fuck off.”

Mateo, absolutely unbothered, just draped himself over the back of your chair. “C’mon. You never get weird about people, so this must be juicy.”

“It’s not,” you gritted out, standing up and grabbing your bag.

Mateo raised a brow. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“You know running away only makes me more curious, right?”

You flipped him off over your shoulder as you left.

Mateo just laughed.

It was a flawless, textbook-perfect fucking setup. The one time you leave the lab, take a detour for some overpriced caffeine, and try to get some damn distance from this whole situation—and there she is.

Like a curse.

You saw her before she saw you. A rare, fleeting advantage, considering Paige had the court vision of a goddamn military drone.

She was standing near the library steps, mid-conversation with some girl you didn’t recognize.

And, of course, she was leaning. Paige Bueckers didn’t just stand like a normal person. No, she had to do the casual, just-effortless-enough tilt, one hand gripping the strap of her UConn backpack like she was seconds away from swinging it over her shoulder in slow-motion, Nike-ad perfection.

And she was smiling.

That smile—the one that had probably ruined lives– specifically, your life.. The practiced, easy, disarmingly charming one. The dangerous one.

Your stomach twisted.

You should keep walking. It would be so easy. Just turn left, duck into the coffee shop, pretend you never saw her.

But something in you hesitated.

Because Paige wasn’t just talking to anyone. She was talking to some other girl.

Fucking hell.

It was so stupid. So petty. So utterly beneath you. But for some reason, the sight of her standing there—effortlessly charismatic, completely at ease—was irritating.

And then it got worse.

Because right as you were about to turn away, Paige’s gaze lifted.

Locked directly onto you.

And something in her changed.

It was so quick, so minuscule that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. Because you’d spent the past two days doing everything in your power not to notice her, and yet here you were, catching every fucking detail.

The slight shift in her posture.

The way her smirk faltered, just a fraction.

The way her grip on her bag tightened.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your own backpack, a reflexive, useless attempt at grounding yourself.

Walk away.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, frozen in this stupid fucking moment, as Paige’s attention flicked back to the girl she was talking to—only to immediately pull away.

And then she was moving.

Striding over like this was some kind of inevitable gravitational force. Like she knew you weren’t going to leave.

Your pulse kicked up, but you forced yourself to stay still, forced yourself to act bored when she finally stopped in front of you.

Her voice hit first, low and teasing, but with something else under it. “Didn’t know you were into weekend library runs.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight. “Didn’t know you were into casual sidewalk flirting, or studying.”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Why, jealous?”

Oh, you were going to strangle her.

“I literally do not care.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly. “You sound like you care.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, fixing her with a flat look. “Do you just walk around looking for people to harass, or am I just special?”

Paige took another step closer. You held your ground.

“I dunno,” she murmured. “You do seem pretty special.”

Your heart stuttered.

No. Nope. Fucking no.

You weren’t playing this game. You weren’t going to stand here and let her look at you like that—like she was trying to pick you apart, like she was actually intrigued.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Enjoy your fan club, Bueckers.”

You turned to leave.

Paige’s voice followed. Low. Confident. Amused.

“You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

You didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look back. Didn’t let her see the way your entire fucking body was burning.

But you heard her chuckle.

And somehow, that was worse.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

You should have kept going. Walked straight to the coffee shop, ordered something completely overpriced, and buried yourself in caffeine and denial.

But you weren’t that lucky.

Because the second you stepped inside, the scent of espresso and baked goods barely had time to hit you before—

“Wow.”

You knew that voice.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, willing the universe to smite you.

It did not.

Because when you opened them again, Paige was right behind you.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, stepping forward to put space between you.

Paige slid her hands into her hoodie pocket, exuding pure, infuriating amusement. “Getting coffee.”

You turned, narrowing your eyes. “You weren’t even going this way.”

She shrugged. “Changed my mind.”

Jesus Christ.

You groaned, turning back toward the counter. “Whatever.”

The barista—a slightly overwhelmed-looking sophomore named Jordan, who you’d spoken to maybe twice before—perked up at the sight of Paige.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you came here.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course.

Paige flashed her that same easy, heartbreaker smile. “Yeah, thought I’d try something new today.”

Her eyes flicked to you as she said it. You clenched your jaw, and ignored her.

Jordan, oblivious, beamed. “What can I get you?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

Oh.

You turned, slowly.

Paige just looked back at you, smirk still in place.

“Fine,” you said, voice tight. “I’ll have your strongest black coffee.”

Jordan blinked. “Wait, really?”

You gave her a look. “Yes?”

She hesitated. “I mean… I just… you always get the caramel cold brew.”

Shit.

Paige grinned.

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms. “Maybe I wanted to try something new.”

Paige laughed.

Actually laughed.

Full, delighted, genuine amusement.

“Oh,” she said, still smirking, “I love this.”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you.”

“See, now that’s not true.”

You turned away, absolutely done with this interaction, already regretting ever leaving the lab.

You paid for your coffee, pointedly ignoring Paige as she paid for hers, and practically snatched the cup from Jordan when it was ready.

You had exactly two steps of peace before—

“So,” Paige said, matching your pace as you headed for the door, “should I be worried?”

You shot her a look. “About what?”

“The fact that you just ordered a black coffee.”

You exhaled sharply. “Maybe I just like black coffee.”

Paige hummed, taking a sip of her own. You watched her expression shift immediately.

“Oh, this is disgusting.”

You snorted, unable to stop it in time.

Paige, victorious, just smiled. “See? I knew you were full of shit.”

You shook your head, pushing the door open and stepping outside. Paige followed, still sipping at her awful coffee like she was suffering on purpose.

And then, finally, mercifully, she stopped walking.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll let you go.”

You frowned. “What?”

Paige’s smirk returned. “I mean, unless you want me to keep following you.”

You scoffed. “Oh my God. Leave.”

Paige chuckled, stepping back, lifting her hands in mock surrender.

“Later, library girl.”

You didn’t look back.

But you felt her watching. And somehow, that was worse.

You had a plan.

It was simple.

Step 1: Bury yourself in engineering work.

Step 2: Avoid places where you might run into her.

Step 3: Erase all thoughts of Paige Bueckers from your mind.

Step 1 was going great. You were practically living in the engineering building, hammering through assignments, working ahead just for the hell of it. At this rate, you’d graduate two semesters early and have a job lined up at NASA before winter break.

Step 2, however, was failing miserably.

Because no matter how much you tried to avoid her, Paige Bueckers was everywhere.

In the hall, where you caught glimpses of her and her teammates from the corner of your eye.

In the student center, where people were casually talking about her like she was a campus landmark.

Even in your own goddamn dreams, which was the worst part because now, even when you were asleep, you weren’t free from this mess.

And it wasn’t like they were even good dreams. No steamy forbidden fantasies, no sweaty, tangled sheets, breathless, what the fuck are we doing? moments. No. You weren’t that lucky.

Instead, your brain kept feeding you annoying things. Paige standing too close. Paige smirking. Paige looking at you like she knew something you didn’t.

Which meant you were waking up pissed off for no reason, which meant Riven noticed, which meant—

“Let me set you up with someone.”

You blinked, looking up from your laptop. “What?”

Riven was sitting across from you in the student lounge, sipping on some overpriced, sugar-filled coffee monstrosity. “I said, let me set you up.”

You scoffed, going back to your screen. “Why?”

“Because you’re weird right now,” she said, gesturing vaguely at you. “All tense and broody. It’s stressing me out.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m literally just doing my work.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward, squinting at your screen. “You’ve been too productive. It’s unnatural.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re avoiding Paige.”

Your fingers paused on the keyboard for half a second, but that was all she needed.

Riven grinned, victorious. “So let me set you up with someone.”

You sighed, shutting your laptop. “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Or the smartest.”

“No.”

She ignored you, pulling out her phone. “I mean, you have options. There’s that guy from your statics class who’s obsessed with you—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, what about Aisha? She’s cute, pre-med, has her life together—”

“She has a girlfriend.”

Riven waved a hand. “Okay, but, like, not a great one—”

“I cannot believe you right now.”

“Fine, fine.” She scrolled through her phone. “Oooh, what about Kevin?”

You gave her a flat look. “Kevin who works at the bookstore?”

“Yeah! He’s sweet. And tall.”

“He tried to sell me a book on manifesting your dream life when I asked for a fluid dynamics textbook.”

Riven paused. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little concerning.”

You shook your head, leaning back. “Why are you so determined to throw me at random people?”

She tilted her head. “Because it’s fun.”

You groaned.

“And,” she added, more carefully, “because it might help.”

You frowned. “Help what?”

She gave you a look. “Come on.”

You exhaled through your nose, staring down at your coffee.

Riven didn’t push. Just let the silence sit for a beat before nudging your knee under the table. “I’ll stop. For now.”

You looked up. “Thank you.”

She grinned. “But only if you come to this party with me on Saturday.”

You groaned. “Riven—”

“It’ll be fun. And guess who’s gonna be there?”

You already knew.

You closed your eyes. “I hate you.”

She sipped her drink. “Love you too, babe.”

You had approximately zero interest in going to this party.

It wasn’t that you were a hermit—you liked going out, sometimes, in controlled settings where you knew exactly what to expect. But parties like this? Loud, crowded, packed with people you barely knew and didn’t want to? No thanks.

And yet, here you were.

Still sitting on the edge of your bed, not getting ready, scrolling through your phone while your unread texts from Riven multiplied like fruit flies.

r u alive

do i need to come drag u by the hair

i will btw

wear something hot

but not like slutty hot like u just threw it on w/out trying hot

like effortless “oops i didn’t mean to be the hottest person here” hot

also ur wearing eyeliner

You groaned, dropping your phone onto your comforter.

A normal person would just say no. Would just text back not feeling it tonight and call it a day.

But Riven?

Riven would actually show up, bang on your door, and physically escort you to this goddamn party like a security detail on a mission.

So now you had a choice:

1. Give in and get ready.

2. Wait for Riven to bust in here like a one-woman SWAT team and drag you there herself.

Neither option was appealing, but at least the first one gave you some control.

You exhaled sharply, standing up. Fine. Fine. You’d go.

But you weren’t doing this for fun. You were doing it to get Riven off your ass, to make an appearance, to grab a drink, stay for a reasonable amount of time, and then leave before you got roped into something stupid.

You shuffled over to your dresser, opening the top drawer without thinking—and then immediately stopped short.

Because sitting there, right on top, was Nika’s UConn warmup jacket.

The one Paige had glared holes into the last time you wore it.

Your fingers hovered over the fabric for a second. Just long enough for the memory to crawl back into your head—Paige, watching you from across the bar, her expression unreadable but sharp.

It’s just a jacket.

You shook your head, grabbed something else, and shoved the drawer shut.

You were not playing this game.

It was cold, but not cold enough to justify a full winter coat. Just that irritating in-between weather where the air had a bite to it, but not enough to make you commit to layers.

The sidewalks were slick from the rain earlier, puddles reflecting the glow of streetlights. Music spilled out from different houses, some of them throwing smaller, more manageable kickbacks. You briefly considered bailing and going to one of those instead—just slipping into a different party and texting Riven oops, wrong address—but she’d see right through that shit.

So you kept walking, arms crossed against the chill, running through worst-case scenarios in your head.

You’ll get there, it’ll be loud, it’ll be annoying, you’ll get stuck in some awful small talk with people you barely like—

“Hey.”

You startled, glancing up.

Some guy had fallen into step beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

You blinked. “Do I know you?”

He grinned, easy and unbothered. “Nah. But we’re both heading the same way, so I figured I’d say hi.”

You hesitated.

It wasn’t weird, exactly. People did this all the time—especially guys, who had that weird confidence of assuming you’d be fine with their company.

And maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe if you got caught up in conversation with literally anyone, it would keep you distracted from the nagging feeling in your gut about this whole night.

So you shrugged. “Alright. Hi.”

He laughed. “Wow, that was enthusiastic.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no actual bite behind it. “You always introduce yourself to strangers walking alone at night?”

“Only the hot ones.”

You huffed a laugh. Oh, Jesus.

There was something oddly comforting about this kind of flirting—the casual, throwaway kind. Not serious, not tangled in anything complicated. Just light, meaningless words tossed into the cold night air.

It was easy.

And easy was exactly what you needed.

“Are you always this smooth?” you asked, raising a brow.

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You tell me.”

Before you could respond, a sudden beep cut through the night.

Your phone. Riven.

where r u

it’s been 7 min i am timing u

u better not be dragging ur feet

i swear 2 god if ur pulling a fast one on me

You sighed, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “I’m about to get yelled at.”

The guy laughed. “Friend blowing up your phone?”

“Something like that.”

“Guess that means I won’t have you all to myself, huh?”

You snorted. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Eli.” He shot you a sideways glance. “And now you do.”

You just shook your head, amused despite yourself.

Maybe this night wouldn’t be a total disaster.

The walk over is quiet. Not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. Eli’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill, his breath fogging in the dark as he keeps pace beside you.

The street is mostly empty, save for the distant sound of laughter and the faint hum of music seeping through the trees, growing louder with each step.

“So,” he finally says, tilting his head toward you. “You party much?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not really.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the type.”

You raise a brow, glancing over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eli grins, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “Dunno. You seem more like the… stay-at-home-and-watch-true-crime-docs type.”

You scoff. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is enough of one.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

The music swells as you round the corner, the UConn house coming into view. People are already spilling onto the lawn, drinks in hand, voices raised over the thumping bass. Someone’s perched on the hood of a car, cigarette dangling between their fingers, while a group is gathered around the porch, deep in some animated conversation that none of them will remember in the morning.

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders. The night stretches before you, unknown and electric, waiting.

“Welp,” Eli says, slowing his steps, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Guess this is us.”

You nod, barely glancing at him. “Yeah, guess so.”

And then you leave him.

You don’t say goodbye, don’t offer a parting glance. Just slip past the first cluster of people, stepping into the thick of the party, into the heat, into the house.

Inside, the air is thick—warm and suffocating, a mix of sweat and perfume and alcohol. The bass vibrates through the floorboards, through your ribs, as bodies move against each other, laughter and shouted conversations tangling together into a messy, chaotic hum.

You push forward, barely a few steps in when—

“There you are.”

A hand grabs your wrist, sharp nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince before you’re being tugged to the side.

Riven.

She looks immaculate as always—makeup untouched by the humidity, dress clinging perfectly to her frame, her lips stained red from whatever drink she’s been nursing.

She eyes you, head tilting. “Took you long enough.”

“I wasn’t—” You hesitate. “I walked here.”

She snorts. “What, alone?”

“No. Some guy. Eli, I think.”

Riven’s expression flickers with interest. “Eli?”

“Yeah, tall, kinda awkward, basketball?” You shrug, not really caring.

“Huh.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyes scanning the crowd. “You just met him and he walked you here?”

“Guess so.”

She smirks. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Didn’t exactly work out for him.”

Riven grins. “Ice cold.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she’s already linking her arm through yours, pulling you deeper into the house.

“Come on. You need a drink.”

The kitchen is a mess of half-empty bottles and red plastic cups, condensation pooling on the scratched wooden counter. The air is thick with the scent of spilled liquor and citrus, the sharp tang of tequila mingling with something fruity—jungle juice, probably, the kind that tastes like candy but hits like a train.

Riven slides in ahead of you, maneuvering through the crowd like she’s been here a hundred times, which, knowing her, she probably has. The confidence in the way she moves makes her impossible to lose, even in the crush of people.

“Alright,” she announces, scanning the counter like it’s a display case. “What’s your poison?”

You hesitate. You’re not much of a drinker—never have been—but tonight feels like it demands something stronger than your usual caution.

“Something not disgusting,” you say, eyeing the sticky countertop, where remnants of past spills glisten under the dim kitchen light.

Riven hums, reaching for a bottle of vodka and some kind of mixer you don’t recognize. “Not disgusting is subjective.” She pours with a practiced hand, tipping the cup toward you once she’s done. “Try this.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, deceptively smooth, the alcohol buried just enough to be dangerous.

“Not bad,” you admit.

Riven smirks. “You’re welcome.”

The music shifts, the bass vibrating through the walls, through your ribs. People move in and out of the kitchen, laughing, shouting, their voices blending into a haze of noise. The heat of the room is different from the living room—more claustrophobic, the air saturated with liquor and sweat, with the sticky-sweet scent of someone’s perfume, too strong, too cloying.

You lean back against the counter, tipping your cup against your lips, letting the alcohol settle in, loosen something in your limbs.

And then you see her.

Paige.

She’s on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with the kind of effortless ease that makes your stomach clench. One hand curled around a drink, fingers loose, relaxed. Her other arm draped along the counter, casual but intentional.

The girl next to her is tucked into the space at her side, one hip pressed against the counter, her body angled in, close.

Too close.

Your grip tightens around your cup.

The lighting in the kitchen is dim, but it catches on Paige’s features just right, casting shadows across the sharp cut of her jaw, the slope of her nose. Her expression is unreadable, but her focus is locked.

She’s looking at the girl like she’s the only person in the room.

Something tightens in your chest.

You shouldn’t be watching. You shouldn’t care.

Yet, here you are. Doing exactly that.

The girl tilts her head, lips painted in something dark, teasing at the rim of her cup as she speaks, voice lost in the thrum of the party.

Paige listens, eyes half-lidded, her mouth curling just slightly at the edges. It’s a look you recognize, one you’ve seen before—lazy, amused, locked in. The kind of look that says I already know how this ends.

The kind of look that says I want you.

Your stomach flips.

The girl shifts, closing the space between them, fingers brushing against Paige’s wrist, trailing lightly, suggestively. Paige doesn’t move away.

If anything, she leans in.

The room is too hot. The air too thick, pressing in around you, suffocating.

You take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. Your back is already against the counter, your drink clutched too tightly in your hand. You can still see them—Paige’s fingers curling loosely around the girl’s waist, the slight tilt of her head, the way her mouth parts, the way the girl smiles.

Like she knows she’s got her.

Like she knows Paige isn’t going anywhere.

A fresh wave of nausea rolls through you.

You should look away. You should walk away.

But you don’t. You never ddo.

You watch as the girl leans in, her lips brushing just shy of Paige’s jaw, as if testing the waters. Paige doesn’t pull back.

She just watches, lets it happen, lets the girl push closer, lets her fingers slide against the hem of her shirt, teasing at the space just beneath.

It makes you sick.

You can’t fucking breathe.

Something ugly claws its way up your throat, something you don’t want to name, something bitter and raw.

You turn sharply, reaching for the vodka, pouring more into your cup than is remotely reasonable. The liquid sloshes over the rim, drips onto your fingers, and you barely feel it.

“Whoa,” Riven says, raising a brow. “Thirsty?”

You don’t answer. Just mix it with whatever’s closest, something orange, something fizzy.

You down half of it in one go.

It burns, but not enough.

Nothing is enough.

Riven watches you, her gaze sharp, calculating. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say, too quickly.

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

But you don’t give her time to question it.

You grab her hand, pulling her toward the living room, toward the noise, toward the crowd, toward anything that isn’t Paige and that girl, locked in, locked together, about to—

No.

The liquor hums in your veins, warm and reckless, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. The music has taken over everything—the bass pounding through the floor, through your chest, drowning out the lingering echoes of Paige and that girl.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of it.

You let yourself sink into the crowd, into the tangle of bodies moving with the music, the heat, the chaos of it all. The world tilts slightly, but in a way that feels good, in a way that makes you feel untouchable, weightless.

Riven is right there beside you, her laughter bright, her hands tugging at your wrist, spinning you in circles, hyping you up like she lives for this. And maybe she does. Maybe this is her element, but right now, it’s yours too.

You throw your head back, let your hands lift into the air, let the rhythm take over, shaking loose every lingering thought.

Someone grabs your waist.

You don’t flinch, don’t tense—just let it happen, rolling with the movement, letting yourself press back into the warmth behind you.

She’s soft, her body moving fluidly against yours, her hands confident as they slide along your hips, fitting into the moment like she’s supposed to be there.

You don’t think.

You just move.

Her perfume is sweet, her breath warm as she leans in, murmuring something that you don’t hear, don’t need to hear. It’s all instinct, all impulse, all the heat of the night pulling you deeper.

Her fingers trace slow, teasing patterns over your stomach where your top rides up, and it’s easy, so fucking easy, to let her do it. To let her hands wander, to let her lips ghost along your jaw, to tilt your head just so, letting her pull you in.

And then you’re kissing her.

It’s messy, all teeth and liquor and heat, her hands tangled in your hair, yours gripping the back of her neck, nails scraping against skin.

You don’t know her name.

You don’t care.

She tastes like rum, like something syrupy sweet, and you let yourself get lost in it, let yourself drink it in like it’ll burn away everything else.

Like it’ll erase the image of Paige leaning against that counter, her head tilted, her mouth open just enough—

No.

You deepen the kiss, swallow down the thought, let the music swallow you whole.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, don’t know how many songs bleed together before you finally break apart, breathless and flushed, her lipstick smudged against your mouth, your fingers still curled in her shirt.

She leans in, murmurs something into your ear—maybe a name, maybe a suggestion—but you’re already pulling away, already laughing, already shaking your head.

"Bathroom," you say, your voice thick with liquor and heat.

She pouts but lets you go, her fingers lingering on your wrist before she disappears back into the crowd.

The second you step away, the world tilts again, and you brace yourself against the edge of the wall, blinking hard, forcing the party back into focus.

Shit. You really have to pee.

You push through the crowd, past the blur of faces, past the too-loud conversations, past the couples pressed into dark corners, whispering things meant only for each other.

The hallway leading to the bathroom is a little less chaotic, though someone’s already passed out against the wall, their head slumped forward, their drink tipped over onto the carpet.

You slip past them, knocking twice on the bathroom door.

Silence.

You try the handle.

It opens.

You stumble inside, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click.

The house is still shaking around you, but in here, it’s muffled, distant.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror—flushed, lips a little swollen, pupils blown wide from the alcohol, from the dancing, from everything.

You look different.

Or maybe you just feel different.

You shake it off, stepping forward, gripping the sink to steady yourself before finally doing what you came in here to do.

You need a minute before you go back out there, before the night drags you under again.

You splash cold water on your face, blinking hard at your reflection, trying to ground yourself. The alcohol is still warm in your blood, making everything feel hazy at the edges, but at least the dizziness has settled. The bass rattles through the floor, muffled by the walls, and you press your palms against the counter, exhaling slowly.

You should go back out there.

Find Riven. Get another drink. Keep losing yourself in the night, in the bodies, in the heat, in anything that isn’t the thought of—

No.

You grab a paper towel, blotting your face, and then pull open the bathroom door, stepping back into the dimly lit hallway.

And promptly walk straight into someone’s chest.

“Watch it,” you mutter, barely glancing up, pushing past, your mind already elsewhere.

But the second you take a step, fingers wrap around your wrist—firm, but not rough—and you stiffen.

You know who it is before you even look

“Jesus, relax,” she drawls, her grip loosening but not quite letting go. “Didn’t know you were so touchy.”

You yank your arm free, scowling. “What do you want?”

She tilts her head, looking at you too closely, like she’s trying to read something off your skin. The hallway is dark, but not dark enough to miss the way her gaze flickers downward—your lips, your jaw, the smudges of lipstick that aren’t yours.

Her mouth curves slightly. “Have fun out there?”

Your stomach turns.

You don’t answer.

Her smirk deepens. “She looked pretty into it.”

You scoff, stepping back, ready to shove past her and end this entire conversation before it even begins, but—

She shifts, blocking your path.

“Move,” you snap.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she leans in, voice dropping, a lazy smirk still tugging at her lips. “What are you running from?”

You want to hit her.

Or kiss her.

Or throw your drink in her face.

You do none of those things.

Instead, you shove at her shoulder, forcing your way past, and for a second—just a second—you think you’ve won.

Then you feel her hand at your back.

Not grabbing, not pulling, just pressing. A guiding touch. A challenge.

And you don’t know how it happens—whether she pushes you, or you push her, or maybe you both move at the same time—but suddenly, you’re stumbling through a doorway, into a small, dimly lit room, and the door swings shut behind you.

Hard.

The click of the latch echoes.

You whirl around, already reaching for the handle, twisting—

It doesn’t budge.

You twist again.

Nothing.

Paige sighs behind you. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You shoot her a glare over your shoulder. “You locked us in here?”

She crosses her arms, looking entirely too unbothered. “It was open when we walked in.”

You yank at the handle again, harder this time, but it doesn’t give.

Panic prickles at the edges of your thoughts.

You turn, scanning the room properly now. A washing machine, a dryer, shelves lined with detergent and fabric softener, a wire basket overflowing with mismatched socks. The UConn house laundry room.

And no windows.

“No, no, no—” You twist the handle again. “It can’t be locked.”

Paige makes a noise, unimpressed, and leans back against the dryer, pulling out her phone. “Guess we’re stuck.”

Your head snaps up.

“You have your phone?”

She smirks, tapping at the screen. “I do.”

You hold out your hand. “Give it to me.”

Her brows lift, amused. “You don’t even say please?”

You exhale sharply, patience hanging by a thread. “Paige.”

She tsks, slipping the phone into her palm, staring at the screen. “Hmm. So many unread messages…”

You take a step forward, holding out your hand again. “Just call someone and get us out.”

Paige’s smirk deepens. “Or…” She pushes off the dryer, stepping closer, holding her phone just out of reach, “…I could make you ask nicely.”

You stare at her.

Then, without thinking, you lunge.

Your fingers brush the edge of the phone, but she’s faster—because of course she is—and she lifts it, jerking it up, holding it above her head, just out of your reach.

Your jaw tightens.

She grins. “What’s wrong?”

You glare at her. “Give me the fucking phone.”

She raises it higher, tilting her head in mock sympathy. “Oh, is that too tall for you?”

Your blood boils.

You take another step forward, reaching again, but she moves too—effortless, smooth, stepping back just enough to keep you from grabbing it.

“You are such an asshole,” you seethe.

She chuckles, tucking her phone onto the tallest shelf beside her. “And yet, you’re the one who followed me in here.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. “I did not—”

“You did.”

“I was trying to leave.”

“And now you can’t.”

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Do not strangle her. You will go to jail. Focus.

When you look at her again, she’s still smirking, still so goddamn pleased with herself, like she hasn’t just trapped you in a room with her.

Like she isn’t the exact thing you were trying to avoid.

Like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to you.

Fuck.

The air in the laundry room is thick. Too warm. Too close. The scent of detergent lingers beneath the musk of the party outside, a mix of something clean and something tainted—the ghosts of cheap vodka, sweat, and everything you don’t want to think about right now.

Paige leans against the dryer like she has nowhere better to be, arms crossed, expression lazy, infuriating. Her phone is still perched on the highest shelf, glowing faintly, unread messages stacking up.

You don’t look at it.

You look at her.

And that’s a mistake.

Because she’s watching you, waiting, and there’s something smug about the way she’s standing there, something that makes your pulse thrum harder than it should.

Your nails dig into your palm. “You gonna call someone, or are we just gonna sit here all night?”

She exhales, long-suffering, tilting her head. “I don’t know, you seem really worked up. Maybe I should let you cool off first.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off, Paige.”

Her smirk sharpens. “Touchy tonight.”

You scowl, turning away from her, pressing your hands against the washer, gripping the cool metal like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

“You’re the one who locked us in here,” you mutter, half to yourself.

She snorts. “I didn’t lock the fucking door.”

You don’t care. You don’t care about the door, about her stupid phone, about the way the heat of her body radiates behind you like she’s not even touching you but still somehow too close.

You care about what you saw in the kitchen.

The girl. The way Paige looked at her. The way Paige leaned in, just close enough—

Your fingers curl into a fist.

“Shouldn’t you be back out there?” Your voice is tight, sharp, dripping with something you don’t want to name. “Looked like you had plans.”

Paige doesn’t answer right away.

You don’t turn to look at her, but you can feel her reaction, feel the air shift, her smirk stretching, lazy and knowing.

“Ah,” she exhales, dragging out the sound. “So that’s what this is about.”

Your jaw tightens. “It’s not about anything.”

She hums, low and amused. “Mmhmm.”

She moves before you can brace for it, stepping into your space—not touching, but just enough to make you feel her there, the heat of her, the weight of her attention pressing against your skin.

Your breath catches.

You force yourself to focus on the washer, the wall, the tiny flickering light in the corner of the room. Anything but her.

Paige doesn’t let up.

“Didn’t know you were paying so much attention to me,” she murmurs.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Get over yourself.”

She clicks her tongue, still infuriatingly close. “You look pissed.”

“I’m no—”

“Oh, you are.”

Your breath stutters.

Because maybe you are.

And maybe she knows it.

Her voice drops, lower, rougher, like she’s savoring this. “What, you didn’t like seeing me with her?”

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose.

“Jesus, Paige.” You step forward, away from her, away from the heat of her, pacing to the opposite wall, running a hand through your hair. “You’re so fucking—”

You stop yourself.

Because the words clawing up your throat—angry and raw and desperate—aren’t the ones you want to say.

Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t chase. Just lets the silence stretch, heavy and unbearable, waiting for you to crack.

And you do.

Because your mouth moves before your brain can catch up, before you can stop yourself from spilling the truth, from letting her have this.

“You looked at her like she was the only fucking person in the room.”

The words hang there, sharp and trembling.

Paige exhales, slow, measured, and when you finally force yourself to look at her, her smirk is gone.

She just watches you, her eyes darker now, unreadable.

Then—

“You’re right,” she says.

Your stomach twists.

She holds your gaze, steady and unwavering. “That’s how I look when I want something.”

Your throat tightens.

Because her voice is different now. Not teasing. Not amused.

And then she takes a step forward. And another.

Until she’s right in front of you, until you can feel the heat of her breath against your lips, until your back is pressing into the wall and there’s nowhere left to go.

Paige tilts her head.

Slow. Measured. Like she’s giving you time. Like she’s waiting.

Your pulse hammers.

She lifts a hand, slow, deliberate, tracing the lightest touch of her fingers against your arm, up, up, featherlight against your shoulder.

You should push her away.

You should say something, anything, because this—this—is dangerous.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, breathing too fast, too hard, your fingers curling against the wall.

Paige watches you.

Then, so softly it almost doesn’t reach over the pounding of your heartbeat—

“I’m not thinking about her right now.”

Your breath hitches.

And that’s it.

That’s the moment everything fucking snaps.

You’re in her space before you even register moving, hands fisting the front of her hoodie, yanking her in so hard she stumbles. But she doesn’t care. She fucking growls against your mouth when you crash together, all heat and teeth and tongue, your lips parting for her automatically, letting her lick inside like she’s starving for it.

She kisses like she owns you. Like she’s already won.

But you’re not making this easy for her. You bite down on her bottom lip, tugging, dragging a sound out of her that’s more animal than human, and then suddenly her hands are on you—gripping your waist, yanking you forward, pushing you back, back, back until your spine collides with the wall.

The room spins. Or maybe it’s just you.

You barely get a second to breathe before she’s on you again, lips hot, demanding, her fingers digging into your hips like she wants to leave bruises, like she wants you to feel her tomorrow.

“You like this?” she mutters against your mouth, voice low and rough as she drags her hands up your sides, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. "Like being handled like this?"

You barely manage a nod before she lifts you.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you weigh nothing at all.

She hoists you up onto the washer, the cold metal shocking against your skin, her body immediately pressing between your thighs, caging you in.

Your breath shudders out of you, hands fisting in her hoodie, nails scraping against the fabric as she yanks your legs further apart.

Paige just watches you.

Her pupils are blown, her lips slick, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands flex against your thighs, gripping hard, her thumbs pressing into the softest part of your skin like she’s trying to brand you.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just fucking stares at you like she’s deciding exactly how she’s going to tear you apart.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. Your brain is screaming at you to stop, to think, to breathe, but then she licks her lips, and every ounce of hesitation shatters like glass.

You grab her by the collar and yank her in like she’s the only oxygen in the fucking room.

She groans as your mouths crash together again—harder, messier, hungrier. Her hands move, gripping your thighs, sliding up, up, until they’re under your shirt, pushing the fabric higher, fingertips teasing along the band of your bra.

"God, you’re fucking desperate," she mutters against your lips, her voice dripping with amusement.

You don’t even care.

Not when she’s right.

She breaks the kiss, panting, dragging her mouth along your jaw, your throat, sucking, biting, marking you, making sure you’ll feel her tomorrow, see her tomorrow.

Your head tips back, a whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

And Paige fucking laughs.

"Yeah," she breathes against your skin, her tongue swiping over the bruise she just left. "Anyone ever make you sound like this?"

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Her hands slide higher, fingers curling around your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric.

"Didn’t think so," she mutters, rolling them between her fingers, making you arch, making you gasp. "Bet they don’t know what to do with you.”

She pinches harder, making you jerk.

"But that’s not what you want, is it?"

You shake your head, breathless, wrecked, desperate.

Paige just smirks.

"That’s what I thought."

Then, suddenly, she drops.

Drops to her knees.

Your breath stutters, your entire body going rigid as she grins up at you, lips parted, pupils dark, her fingers gripping your thighs like she dares you to move.

She drags her mouth over your inner thigh, biting down just hard enough to make you jolt. Then she licks over it, soothing, teasing, slow, slow, slow.

She presses a single kiss over the fabric of your jeans, right where you're already throbbing.

Then another.

And another.

Before she yanks the button open with her teeth.

You fucking moan.

She laughs—low and pleased—and then she’s peeling your jeans down your legs, dragging your panties with them, her fingers pressing against your inner thighs to spread you.

"God," she mutters, eyes dark, voice thick. "Look at you."

You’re fucking soaked. You know you are.

And she does, too.

She groans, her hands gripping your thighs even tighter as she leans in, her mouth hovering just above where you need her most, her breath hot and teasing.

You lift your hips slightly, already reaching for her hair, butthen—

Paige stops.

Completely.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just exhales once, slow and deliberate, then pushes herself back up to her feet.

Your heart is still hammering against your ribs, your body still aching, still on fire, and you blink at her, dazed, confused.

“What—?”

She doesn’t answer.

She just smirks.

Then, without a word, she reaches for the shelf, grabs her phone, and slips it into her pocket.

Your stomach drops.

No.

She wouldn’t—

Paige takes a step back, rolling her shoulders, looking at you like she isn’t just leaving you on the edge of madness. Like she isn’t just walking the fuck away.

"Well,” she says, slow, lazy. “This was fun.”

Your brain short-circuits.

She turns toward the door.

Paige. Fucking. Bueckers.

Your breath is still uneven, your legs still wrapped around the washer, your skin still buzzing, burning.

And she’s just—leaving?

No.

No fucking way.

“Are you serious?” you snap, voice raw, breaking.

She glances at you over her shoulder, smirking like she just won the longest game of chess. “What? Didn’t you want to stop?”

Your nails dig into your palms.

You’re going to kill her.

You’re going to fucking kill her.

And then you’re going to kiss her again.

The second the door clicks shut behind her, you’re left sitting there—breathless, pissed, and still throbbing in a way that makes you want to scream.

Your legs are still spread around the washer, body still burning from where her hands had been, where her mouth had almost gone. Your jeans are still undone, your pulse still hammering against your ribs, and Paige fucking Bueckers just walked out.

You let out a sharp breath, shoving both hands through your hair, gripping tight at the roots, trying to will yourself back to normal.

It doesn’t work.

Your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling, your lips still swollen.

“Fucking bitch,” you mutter, slamming your hand against the washer.

Your voice is lost under the pulse of the music vibrating through the walls, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s here to hear it.

She left.

She fucking left.

And you hate how much it gets to you. How much it makes you want to chase after her, grab her by the hoodie, shove her against the wall and finish what she started.

But that’s what she wants.

She wants you to be thinking about her.

She wants you frustrated.

And you are.

Oh, you are.

You jump off the washer, legs a little shaky, but you force yourself to steady, to breathe. To pull yourself together because no way in hell are you giving her the satisfaction of knowing she just scrambled your brain like that.

Your hands tremble slightly as you fix your jeans, smoothing out your shirt, wiping the last of her touch from your skin.

It doesn’t work.

The scent of her is still clinging to you, faint but impossible to ignore—something clean, something subtle, something undeniably her.

You grip the edge of the counter, grounding yourself as the room tilts around you. You need a fucking drink—hell, you need five—but first, you need to get the fuck out of here. Taking a deep breath, you seize the handle, twist, and the door swings open. She didn’t lock you in. She could have. She would have if she really wanted to fuck with you. But, she didn’t.

She just left you there, knowing exactly what she’d done, knowing exactly how she’d fucked you up, knowing you’d be walking out of this room just as wrecked as if she’d finished what she started.

And that makes you want to find her even more.

You step back into the hallway, the party swallowing you whole again—music, voices, the chaotic heat of the house.

Your hands are still shaking.

You need a drink.

Or you need to find Paige.

And you don’t know which one you’re going to do first.

The laundry room is still warm, still thick with the scent of detergent and something else—something her.

Your fingers flex against the cool metal of the washer as you take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

It doesn’t work.

Your skin still burns, your lips still tingling, your body still aching in a way that makes you want to scream.

Paige fucking Bueckers.

You inhale sharply through your nose, shaking your hands out, willing the frustration out of your body, then push off the washer and head for the door. You don’t hesitate this time, don’t pause to gather yourself.

You just leave.

The second you step back into the hallway, the chaos of the party crashes over you again—voices, music, bodies pressing past in a drunken blur.

You need to find Riven.

You need to do something before you lose your fucking mind.

The house feels bigger than it should, the heat of it pressing in around you, the music rattling through your skull. Your fingers twitch at your sides as you weave through the crowd, eyes scanning, searching.

Then—finally—

You spot her.

Riven is perched on the arm of a couch in the living room, a fresh drink in hand, laughing at something the girl beside her just said.

You push toward her, your body still buzzing, your head still spinning, but determined to pretend you haven’t just been left completely wrecked in a locked laundry room by the most insufferable person alive.

Riven clocks you immediately.

She tilts her head, eyes flickering over your face, sharp despite the liquor in her system.

“You look like you’ve been through some shit,” she comments, raising a brow.

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Just trying to find you.”

“Well, you found me.” She grins, tipping her cup toward you. “And just in time. Thinking about hitting another party.”

You barely register what she’s saying.

Because in your peripherial, something catches your eye.

A glimpse of familiar blonde hair.

A hoodie.

A girl—not you—standing too close, fingers curled in Paige’s sweatshirt, voice low, her lips inches from Paige’s.

Your stomach lurches and your breath stutters.

You shouldn’t be looking.

You shouldn’t care.

Paige leans in, smirking, saying something in return. The girl pulls her toward the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind them.

And that’s it.

Your stomach churns, a sickening twist that rises up your throat, thick and acidic.

Riven is still talking, still watching you, but you can’t focus on the words, can’t focus on anything except the sudden, crushing weight in your chest, the way your throat feels tight, the way the party suddenly feels like it’s suffocating you.

“Hey.” Riven nudges you. “You good?”

You blink hard, exhaling through your nose, forcing yourself to keep it together. “Yeah,” you say, voice too thin, too unsteady.

She studies you, unconvinced.

“You wanna hit another party?”

She’s giving you an out.

A way to distract yourself. A way to drown this feeling in more liquor, more noise, more nothing.

But if you stay here any longer, you’re going to break.

So you shake your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Riven frowns, but she doesn’t push. “Want me to come with?”

“No,” you say quickly, forcing a small smile. “I just—yeah. I think I’m done for the night.”

She nods slowly, watching you, like she knows you’re not saying everything. But she lets it go. “Text me when you get back.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And then you’re leaving.

Pushing past the bodies, the voices, the heat. Stepping out into the night air, cold against your too-warm skin.

And then you’re walking.

Fast.

Like you can outrun it.

Like you can forget.

But the worst part is—you already know you won’t.

The night air is sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering warmth of the house, through the haze of alcohol still pulsing in your veins. The sound of the party dulls behind you, muffled by distance, by the pounding in your ears.

You don’t know where you’re going—just that you need to be anywhere but here. Not in that room, not in this house, not with her still lingering in the air like a slow-burning cigarette. The scent of her skin clings to you, the ghost of her hands still warm against your body, her breath still searing against your lips. And that fucking smirk—it’s carved into your mind like a brand you can’t scrub away.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat thick and stubborn. The sting behind your eyes threatens to spill over, but you grit your teeth, forcing it back down. You’re not going to cry over her. You refuse.

The cool night air rushes against your burning face as you round the corner of the house, stepping onto the damp grass, exhaling sharply like you can push her out of your system in one breath—

And then you see him.

Eli.

He’s leaning against the hood of a car, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, staring up at the sky like he’s waiting for something. The distant glow of a streetlight casts a halo of gold around his head, making his expression unreadable.

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then his gaze flickers down, catching on you, and something shifts.

He straightens slightly. “Hey.”

Your heart is still pounding, your skin still too hot, your chest still tight with the remnants of everything you just saw, everything you felt.

And suddenly, you don’t want to think about it anymore.

Suddenly, you want to forget.

You step closer, inhaling sharply through your nose. “What are you doing out here?”

Eli shrugs, a lazy half-smile curving his lips. “Needed a break.” He eyes you, tilting his head slightly. “What about you?”

You wet your lips, arms wrapping around yourself. “Needed to get out of there.”

He hums like he understands. Like maybe he does.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

He’s looking at you like he’s curious. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s wondering what happened in there to make you walk out like you had somewhere to be, like you had someone to find.

But he doesn’t ask.

And you don’t tell him.

Instead, you step closer.

Slowly.

Testing.

His eyes flicker downward—your mouth, your throat, your hands where they clench into the hem of your shirt.

And something about that—about the way he sees you, about the way he doesn’t ask questions, about the way he’s just there—makes something snap inside you.

You want to feel something else.

Someone else.

So you step forward, closing the last bit of space between you.

Eli inhales, his shoulders tensing slightly. “What are you—”

You kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Reckless.

Your fingers grip at his jacket, pulling him in before you can second-guess it, before you can hear the voice in your head whispering that this isn’t her, this isn’t what you want, this isn’t who you want.

But he kisses you back.

His hands find your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, fingers pressing into your sides. He tastes like beer and mint gum, like something unfamiliar, something that isn’t her.

And maybe that’s the point.

You deepen the kiss, tilting your head, swallowing down every thought, every memory, every feeling threatening to break through the surface.

Eli exhales against your mouth, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine as his hands slide lower, finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. You let him. You let yourself lean in, let yourself be kissed, let yourself drown in something—someone—that isn’t her.

Because right now, she can’t exist. She can’t be in your head, in your lungs, in the spaces between your ribs where she’s been living rent-free. If this is the only way to erase her, to rewrite the memory of her hands with someone else’s touch—then so be it.

The morning comes in hazy, dull, a slow drag of reality clawing its way back into your skull.

Your head pounds before you even open your eyes. The taste of stale liquor lingers on your tongue, thick and sour, a reminder of how recklessly you drank the night before.

A deep inhale, and—fuck.

Your body feels off. Too warm, too stiff, too aware.

And then it hits you.

A weight against your side. A slow, rhythmic inhale-exhale that isn’t yours.

You stiffen.

Open your eyes.

The ceiling above you is unfamiliar—somebody’s shitty off-campus house, a string of fairy lights flickering weakly in the daylight. The sheets beneath you smell like detergent and sweat, and the warmth at your side shifts slightly.

Eli.

His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his face half-buried in the pillow. His hair is messy, his breathing slow, peaceful.

Everything slams back into place at once—the party, the kitchen, the drinks, the laundry room. Paige. And then—Eli. Your stomach tightens, not in horror or fear, just realization. What you did. Why you did it. You swallow hard, staring up at the ceiling, willing your pulse to slow, waiting for the weight of it to settle in. But it doesn’t feel like anything. And it should. Shouldn’t it?

You were drunk, sure, but you weren’t gone. You remember his hands, the heat of his body, the way he pressed into you, the way you let him.

But now, in the harsh clarity of morning, all you can think is—

It wasn’t her.

It wasn’t her hands on you. It wasn’t her breath against your skin. It wasn’t her mouth whispering against your throat, sending shivers down your spine, making your stomach twist, making you burn, making you ache.

It was Eli.

And that makes you feel so much worse.

Your breath comes too shallow, your head pounding, your fingers twitching against the sheets. You need to get out of here.

Carefully, slowly, you shift out from under his arm, moving inch by inch until you’re free. He doesn’t stir.

You sit up. Your clothes are mostly intact—jeans unbuttoned but still on, your shirt twisted around you, but nothing that says bad decision in flashing neon lights.

Except the ache in your chest.

You press your hands against your face, inhale deep.

Move.

You slip out of bed, grabbing your shoes from where they’re haphazardly discarded near the door, your jacket thrown across the chair in the corner.

You don’t look back. You don’t check to see if he’s waking up, if he’ll call after you, if he’ll ask what this was.

Because you don’t have an answer.

The house is quiet, but not silent. Somewhere down the hall, you hear faint voices, the sound of someone in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing.

You don’t stop.

You walk, fast but not suspicious, through the living room, toward the front door. The air still smells like last night—beer, sweat, something burnt, like someone got hungry and forgot about a frozen pizza in the oven.

The sunlight is sharp when you step outside, stabbing straight into your skull.

You wince, pulling your jacket tighter around you, ignoring the way the world feels like it’s tilting slightly.

Your phone is dead. You exhale, slow, deliberate.

Then you walk.

Every step feels like weight pressing into your chest, like something clawing at the inside of your ribs, like the ghost of someone else’s hands gripping your hips, someone else’s lips dragging along your throat.

You don’t let yourself think about it.

Not yet.

You just focus on the pavement, on the sound of your own breathing, on getting the fuck out of here before the weight of last night really sinks in.

The walk back is slow. Not because you’re taking your time, but because your body is still heavy with last night—liquor humming in your bloodstream, regret pooling somewhere low in your stomach, the ache behind your eyes a dull reminder of every wrong decision that led you here.

Your breath fogs in the morning air. It’s colder than you expected. You pull your jacket tighter, shoving your hands deep into your pockets, head down as you step over cracked pavement, past empty sidewalks.

The streets are quiet.

The world is moving, but just barely—cars rolling by lazily, students in sweats shuffling across campus, people carrying coffee cups like lifelines. The remnants of Saturday night still linger in the air, the ghosts of parties scattered across front lawns—empty cans, forgotten hoodies, crushed solo cups.

It should feel normal. But everything feels off.

Because you know where she is.

Or at least, where she was.

You know what happened after she left you in that fucking laundry room, after she walked away, after she—

You inhale sharply through your nose, pushing the thought away.

It shouldn’t matter.

You made your own choices, didn’t you?

So why does it feel like something is rotting inside you?

Your steps slow as you reach your dorm. The building looms ahead, brick and glass, too familiar, too suffocating. You don’t want to go inside. You don’t want to be alone.

Not when the weight of last night is still pressing down on you, not when the silence is going to make it worse, not when every empty second is just another opportunity for your mind to drag you back.

But you don’t have a choice.

You tug the door open, step inside.

The lobby is quiet, the hallways dimly lit. Your shoes echo against the floor as you make your way to your room, heart thudding heavier with each step.

By the time you reach your door, your hands are shaking.

You tell yourself it’s the hangover.

It’s not.

The second you’re inside, you shut the door, lock it, press your back against the wood, squeezing your eyes shut.

Breathe.

The silence wraps around you, thick and oppressive, and now it hits.

Now the night comes crashing in.

You see it too clearly.

Paige, leaning against the counter, her drink in hand, her smirk lazy, her mouth parted just slightly—

Paige, dragging her fingers over the girl’s waist, letting her pull her in—

Paige, shoving you up onto the washer, her hands gripping your thighs, her breath hot against your lips—

Your eyes snap open.

You swallow hard, jaw tight, chest aching.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You slept with someone else. You made your choice.

So why does it feel like you lost?

You don’t move for a while.

Just stand there, back pressed against the door, staring at the floor, breath uneven, the silence pressing in from all sides. Your skin still feels too warm, like the heat of last night hasn’t entirely left your body.

Like her hands are still there.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Stop it.

You push off the door, moving toward your bed in slow, heavy steps. You don’t bother turning on the lights. The daylight spilling through the blinds is already too much, making the pounding in your skull even worse.

You collapse onto the mattress, face-first, pressing your cheek into the pillow. The sheets smell like you—just you. No trace of Eli, no hint of anything from last night, and for some reason, that makes you feel worse.

Maybe because it means it didn’t matter.

Or maybe because it means you’re still alone.

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. The ache in your chest hasn’t eased.

If anything, it’s getting worse.

You need a distraction.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, clicking it on. Dead.

Right.

You let it drop onto your stomach, staring blankly at the ceiling again, waiting for your body to settle, for the weight pressing down on your ribs to ease, but it doesn’t. It lingers. She lingers.

She’s everywhere.

Every time you close your eyes, she’s there. The smirk, the mouth, the way she looked at you in the laundry room, sharp and knowing, like she could see every thought running through your head before you even formed them.

You grit your teeth, turning onto your side, gripping the sheets. She is not in this bed. Stop thinking about her.

You don’t know if she ever left that room with that girl. You don’t know if she stayed the whole night. You don’t know if she fucked her.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

You should sleep. Get up. Shower. Move on.

Instead, you lie there, still, silent, with nothing but the echoes of last night looping through your brain like a song you can’t turn off.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the feeling that Paige won.

You’re not even supposed to be here.

That’s what you tell yourself as you walk across campus, your fingers curled tight around the strap of your bag, your brain already buzzing with excuses, with reasons—with anything that makes this feel less like a trap.

It’s just an errand.

A professor had emailed you that morning—something about the dining hall on the athletic side of campus having an issue with one of the automated food warmers, something small, something engineering-adjacent. Apparently, it had been flagged last week, and since you’re one of the few undergrads competent enough to check it out, they’d passed it off to you.

You’d said yes before thinking.

Before realizing exactly where they were sending you.

Before remembering who eats here.

Now, standing outside the heavy double doors, the reality crashes into you like a brick to the chest.

This is their dining hall. The athletes. The basketball team. Her.

Your stomach clenches. You should turn around.

No one will notice if you stall for twenty minutes, send an email about how it was already fixed, make up some bullshit about it not being your area.

You swallow, exhale slowly, force yourself to move forward.

Inside, the air is warmer, filled with the scent of food, the sound of chatter, the low hum of conversations overlapping—easy, casual, the way people talk when they don’t have a thousand things clawing at the inside of their skulls.

You keep your head down, moving toward the back of the hall where the food warmers are lined up in sleek, stainless steel rows. The place is bigger than the regular student cafeteria—modern, high ceilings, bright windows. Everything designed for them.

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you slide behind the service counter, setting your bag down, trying to focus on what you came here for.

Focus.

You grab a screwdriver from your bag, crouching slightly, unscrewing the side panel of the warming unit. You barely register the conversations happening around you, just white noise in the background—

Until you hear her.

It’s distant at first. A voice blending in with the others. But your body reacts before your brain does—the immediate recognition, the sharp, visceral reaction, like every nerve in your body suddenly goes rigid.

You don’t look up.

You refuse to look up.

But you hear her.

That low, easy drawl, the teasing lilt in her words, the lazy confidence in the way she talks, like she owns any room she steps into.

And you hate—hate—how it makes your skin burn.

You move faster, working the screws loose, hoping, praying she doesn’t come this way.

But life isn’t that easy, is it?

Because then—closer now—

A voice. A teammate, maybe. Laughing. “Paige, I swear to God—”

And then—her.

Right there. Too close.

You don’t see her face at first, just the familiar joggers, the way they hang effortlessly off her frame. The pristine white sneakers, spotless as always, moving in smooth, practiced steps. And then she shifts, just slightly, and something in your gut twists. You know she sees you. You feel it. The way her stride falters for half a second, that barely-there pause in motion. The weight of her gaze presses against your skin, thick and unshakable, lingering like a hand on the back of your neck.

Your body locks up. The screwdriver in your grip suddenly feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong in your hand, like nothing in this moment belongs. Your fingers tighten around the handle, grounding yourself in something, anything, before it can slip.

And then—nothing.

No smirk. No teasing remark. No acknowledgment at all. She just keeps walking. Not a glance back, not even a twitch of amusement or recognition. Just passes right by you like you’re nothing.

Your chest constricts, the silence louder than anything she could have said. You don’t know if you feel relieved or if you want to fucking scream.

The weight of it slams into your ribs, hard and unexpected, a visceral, gut-deep feeling that you should not be feeling.

Because this is what you wanted, right?

To avoid her. To make this nothing. To erase the way she touched you, the way she looked at you in that laundry room like she knew exactly how to pull you apart and put you back together again.

So why does it feel like she just walked straight through you?

Your fingers curl tighter around the screwdriver, your breath short, uneven, the hum of the cafeteria suddenly too much, too loud, pressing in around you.

Her teammates are still talking, still laughing, moving past you like you’re background noise, like you don’t even register in their world.

And Paige?

She’s leading the charge.

Like she didn’t just see you. Like you aren’t even worth a second glance.

Like she doesn’t know.

Heat rushes up your neck, but it isn’t embarrassment. It’s something sharper, something angrier, something bitter curling its way up your throat.

You twist the screwdriver too hard, slipping, the metal clanging against the side of the food warmer. The noise barely registers over the buzz of conversation, but it jars you, snapping you back into focus.

Get it together.

You grit your teeth, force your hands to steady, force your breathing to even out.

Paige Bueckers is not going to get in your head.

Not now. Not like this.

You glance up, just once, just long enough to catch sight of her before she disappears around the corner.

She’s smiling at something her teammate said, her body loose, easy, the picture of someone without a single fucking care in the world.

And something about that—about the effortlessness of it, about how little she seems to be affected by anything—makes your chest go tight, your stomach coil.

You look back down at the warming unit, ignoring the way your hands shake.

It’s fine.

You don’t care.

You’ll finish this, you’ll leave, and you’ll keep avoiding her.

And if she wants to pretend that night never happened?

Fine.

You can pretend too.

The food warmer is fine.

It had never really been broken in the first place, just a misaligned panel, something so stupidly simple that you could’ve fixed it in thirty seconds if you hadn’t been thrown into a slow-motion car wreck the moment Paige walked in.

You tighten the last screw, slam the panel shut harder than necessary, and grab your bag, exhaling slowly.

Time to leave.

You sling the strap over your shoulder, stepping out from behind the counter, slipping back into the flow of students moving between tables, conversations buzzing, trays clattering.

Your mind is still on her.

Even though you told yourself you wouldn’t let it be.

Even though she’d just walked past you like you were no one.

Your jaw tightens. You have actual shit to deal with.

Like your group project in Systems Engineering that’s due next week.

Like the fact that your bank account is currently laughing at you because you spent too much on takeout last week and now you have to survive on black coffee and spite until your next paycheck.

Like the absolute nightmare of a midterm schedule that’s looming over you.

That’s what you should be thinking about.

Not Paige Bueckers.

Not the laundry room.

Not the way she touched you like she had all the time in the world, only to turn around and walk away without looking back.

You push through the doors, stepping into the cold.

The wind is sharp, biting against your cheeks, cutting through your jacket. A fresh reminder that you’re here, that life is still moving forward whether you’re ready or not.

You’re halfway across campus, your thoughts finally shifting toward something productive—namely, the ungodly amount of work you have waiting for you—when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, squinting against the brightness of the screen.

bitch where are you?

Riven. You huff out a laugh, thumbs moving before you even think.

somewhere worse than hell

Three dots appear immediately,

so. lecture? or did you run into someone who shall not be named?

Your stomach twists.

You type back, fast.

i hate you.

okay so definitely the second one

You groan, shoving your phone back into your pocket before she can keep going.

Because she’s right.

And the worst part is, she doesn’t even know the half of it.

She just knows you and Paige have always had this weird tension—this push and pull, this thing that was never serious but never quite nothing.

She doesn’t know what happened in the laundry room.

She doesn’t know that Paige did something to you that night.

That she changed something.

That you woke up the next morning with someone else’s hands on you and it still wasn’t enough to shake her.

You exhale, hard, pushing the thoughts down, stuffing them somewhere deep where they can’t touch you.

Time to focus.

Midterms. Projects. Surviving off ramen and caffeine for the next two weeks.

Paige Bueckers?

She’s officially off the list.

Continue Reading Part 2.5

427 notes · View notes

joeyfranchise · 3 months ago

Text

mine, all mine

joe burrow x fem!reader - mentions of maxx crosby x reader

summary: you’re always able to handle joe and his moods. when he’s up he’s up, when he’s down he’s down hard. when you start feeling neglected and someone else starts making comments to joe… he realizes he needs to remind you and everyone around you just who you belong to.

word count: 6k.

warnings: smut immediately under the cut, MDNI! dom/possessive!joe, sub!reader, mentions of maxx crosby (it’ll make sense), spanking, spitting, p in v, oral (m. receiving)

note: finally it’s here! not a threesome as i have previously stated but… i think y’all will like it! for my main girlll @slimshiesty i love you 💕 THEE joemaxx girl!!

“fuck joe,” you moaned, arching forward so your chest pressed against his. he moaned back in response, his stubble tickling at your neck as he pressed kisses along the column.

your nails raked down his back, leaving the faintest scratches - something he was sure to get teased about at practice. right now though, he didn’t care.

joe was blissed out, kissing at your neck fervently as he thrusted up into you. your soft gasps filled his ears, every moan pouring over his body as you both continued climbing the ladder to your highs.

he’d had a long week, a tough loss to one of the toughest teams. media outlets were all over him, doubters saying he was washed… but you… you were always there. his solace, his comfort, his girl.

joe finally moved from your neck, pushing himself up on his forearms so he could see your face. the breath was nearly knocked out of him as he thrusted into you, your blissful expression clearly affecting him. your gaze was focused downward, watching where your bodies met as you bit your bottom lip.

“fuck baby, you like that?” joe asked, continuing his movements. a small “mhmmm” was his response. you looked back up at him and locked your gaze with his. he leaned in slowly to meet your parted lips with his own, your eyes closing as he kissed you. his tongue playfully prodded against yours, his hips never missed a beat. you were so close you could taste it.

your arms were still wrapped around his neck as you kissed him, and you pulled him closer, thrusting down to meet his hips with your own. his long, dextrous fingers found their way to your clit, rolling over it with a sense of urgency as he was close to his impending climax. you were almost there too, throwing your head back onto the pillows as joe continued toying with your clit and thrusting roughly into you. one final, harsh thrust of his hips sent you over the edge, your climax barreling into you like a freight train. it wracked over your body as you shook with pleasure, your walls squeezing around joe as he came too.

his soft grunts filled your ears as he spilled into you, and finally he collapsed, his face buried in your neck again. the post orgasm bliss was there, but slowly fading due to joe’s heavy body pressing you into the mattress.

“joeeeeyyy,” you whined, weakly pushing at his shoulders to move him, “get off!!”

he laughed at your attempt to move him, the sound vibrating through your body. he moved up to look at you before pulling out, wincing at the sensitivity. “let’s go clean up.” he says, moving off the bed and stepping onto the floor. you let him lift you, which you’d usually argue about, and he carries you to the bathroom before drawing the two of you a nice shower.

you wash each other off and then stand under the water a while, enjoying the steam. you know joe’s particularly enjoying it considering how taxing his job is on his body. you rub his shoulders as the hot water runs down his back, and he throws his head back and moans. finally, the two of you get out and dry off before getting dressed and heading back to your bedroom to get cozy for the night.

as you and joe get into bed, you roll on your side and wiggle your body until only your eyes and the top of your head peek from above the comforter. joe lets out a small chuckle and does the same, scooting close to you as you share warmth. the room is already dark and cozy, and you’ve set a fireplace screensaver on the tv.

“can i tell you a secret?” you ask him, your words traveling through the dark and into his ears. he laughs at you, then answers back in an equal whisper. “tell me.”

“you’re my favorite person ever.” you say, giggling before fully going under the covers. seconds later joe’s strong arms are around you, crushing you into his chest. “you’re my favorite person ever.” he replies, pressing sweet chaste kisses into your cheeks.

“i mean it joey. i love you so much. i can’t wait for you to prove all those doubters wrong, just like you always do.”

you can feel his lips turn up into a smile as his kisses move to your forehead. “thank you, baby.” he says, rubbing your back. your confidence and faith in him is all he’s ever needed. it helps him get through all the tough days, even if he’s being a jerk to you over things beyond your control. he’s always amazed at how well you handle him and yourself with such grace.

you listen to his soft breathing and slowly begin to drift off to sleep in his arms, and he does the same, loving the feeling of your body pressed against his.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a few weeks have passed, and things seem to be looking up for joe and the rest of the bengals team. they’ve won a few games, lost another, but joe seems to be feeling a little better, not that he’d ever let the media see that. but when he was home with you, he’d let his guard down a little. he always appreciated how open you were and how much you let him talk about his frustrations and even things he thought were going well.

things had been kinda dicey lately since their wide receiver two was out, but they’d been managing the best they could without him, so joe was feeling okay. this week, the bengals were going up against the raiders.

the raiders weren’t having the best season this year, but their defense was always something to be worried about, especially because of their star defensive end, maxx crosby. he was very talented, and you were always worried for joe when they’d play the raiders because you’ve seen how rough maxx can get with some of the quarterbacks.

the week started off okay, you were thankful to work from home and you were able to accomplish quite a lot of work while joe was practicing.

wednesday practice seemed to go okay, joe came home in a great mood.

you were in the kitchen cooking dinner for the two of you when you heard him come in, setting his bags down by the door. he walked over to the kitchen and wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his nose in your hair and kissing the crown of your head.

“practice go well?” you asked, craning your neck to get a look at him.

“yeah, seems like a lot of the guys are feeling good.” he responds, squeezing you closer to him. “food smells great.” he complimented, leaning down further to place his head on your shoulder. you giggled when his slight stubble tickled your shoulder.

“i’m gonna go take a quick shower, that okay?” he asks, waiting for your approval.

“sounds good, dinner should be done in about ten minutes.”

joe trots off toward the hall bathroom, opting to shower there since it was closer. he kept towels stocked in the linen closet, and sometimes even shorts and boxers too if he was feeling especially lazy and like he didn’t want to walk all the way to your shared bedroom, which you found hilarious.

you busied yourself with plating the food as joe showered, and when you heard the water turn off you took the plates to the table, sitting them down before filling up two glasses with ice and water.

joe dried off and dressed and came to eat with you, sharing funny moments from his day and practice with you. you bored him with information about spreadsheets from work, but truthfully he liked hearing you talk about it. most of the time anything that made you happy made him happy too. after dinner he helped you clean, and you both went to bed in a great mood, snuggled into each other.

when you woke thursday, you were confused.

joe always woke you up and kissed you goodbye before leaving for work. whether it was on the lips, cheek, or forehead, he never missed telling you bye. maybe he was rushing, you thought.

you rolled over and grabbed your phone to check for any messages joe might have sent you, but there were none. you sent him a quick text to ask if he was okay before starting your morning routine.

by 1:00p.m. you had the laundry finished, you swept and mopped the house, watered the plants… you just needed lunch. you decided to make a quick salad, something fast and easy so you could get back to doing chores before working on a few things you needed to finish for work.

you dug all of the stuff you needed out of the fridge and assembled your salad, taking it to the couch to sit down and eat. you decided you’d done enough for the day to deserve watching some trashy reality t.v., so you turned it on and perused through the channels before finding a show to watch.

somewhere along the way of eating and watching you remembered that you texted joe this morning. you pulled your phone from the pocket of your leggings and frowned when your lockscreen didn’t show any notifications.

maybe he hasn’t read it yet.

you opened your messages, clicking on the thread with joe. your heart dropped. right underneath your message you saw a small ‘read 11:14a.m.’

maybe he’s busy. he’s practicing.

you locked your phone and placed it face down on the coffee table, turning your attention back to the show, but your focus was nowhere other than joe, and wondering what you did to upset him.

you sat on the couch a nervous wreck for a long while. you replayed every moment of last night, but nothing was sticking out to you that could have been something that would’ve upset joe. you picked at the skin around your nails nervously.

it was now time to play the waiting game - to see what mood he’d be in when he returned home so you could figure out what was wrong, if anything was. you stood from the couch, remembering you’d left all the ingredients for your salad out, and you grimaced when you realized you’d have to throw the lettuce away because it had been sitting out for far too long.

you cleaned what little dishes you made, put fresh sheets on your bed, finished all of your mundane house-hold tasks. you decided now would be a good time to get your laptop and start keying data into your spreadsheets.

you worked for what felt like hours before you finally heard the garage open. you didn’t move from your spot at the dining table. you’d just let joe come in and do what he needed to do to unwind before starting any conversations.

you heard the door unlock, and joe stepped through, walking straight in and past you and heading up the stairs. alright, just let him shower. it’ll be okay.

you don’t bother him for a while after you hear the shower turn off. when he finally makes his way downstairs he speaks to you, but you’re immediately pissed by the conversation.

“what’s dinner?” he bites, annoyed tone soaking through his words.

“i figured we could order in. i was busy with chores all day and then i started keying some data.” you shrug.

“i didn’t ask what you did today. just asked what was dinner. i’ll place us an order for takeout.” joe replies, and you’re hurt. you’re starting to think you didn’t do anything and he’s just in one of his moods, but he shouldn’t be taking it out on you this way. he heads back up the stairs with his phone in his hand.

you close your laptop and sit in silence, stewing over joe’s harsh response - one he gave you for no reason. he came down to get his food when it arrived, placing yours in front of you before heading to the other side of the kitchen to eat. he ate quickly and retreated back upstairs. you stood and placed your food in the fridge before finding home on the couch for the night.

friday didn’t go any better. once again, joe left without saying anything, didn’t text you all day, and came home and ate in silence.

when he woke up saturday he was surprised to see you already up and in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee. he had some pep in his step for some reason, but it was unbeknownst to you because you refused to ask.

“good morning!” he chirps, and you’re piqued by the light tone of his words. you turn around to face him, glowering. “good morning, joseph.” you bite, turning back to the coffee pot. you pulled your favorite mug out of the cabinet and poured a hefty amount into it before placing the pot back on the warmer.

when you turned to walk to the fridge and grab your creamer, you were face to face with joe again. “are you okay?” he asked.

you scoffed, pushing past him. “peachy.”

he looks at you perplexed for a moment before realizing that oh, this is his fault.

“baby, i’m sorry for how i’ve been the past few days. i was trying to get locked in and i should have communicated that better.” he walks toward you with his arms outstretched, waiting for a hug. you place a hand flat on his chest and push him back.

“you need to go or you’ll be late for practice.” you remind him. you grab the creamer and shake it, holding down on the lid, and then you add some to your coffee before taking a long swig. the warm drink filling your mouth and sliding down your throat feels amazing, especially on a morning like today where it’s slightly chilly.

you pay no mind to joe, who looks taken aback by your attitude, but deep down he knows he deserves it. he slides his shoes on and grabs his bag, turning as he reaches the door.

“love you.” he says, hoping you’ll say it back. “mhm, have a good day.” you answer with a smarmy tone.

you spend the rest of the day indulging in self care with an eye-mask, gua-sha, and a nice bubble-bath. you even got pretty far ahead in a book you’d been reading and you took a nap. you knew joe wouldn’t be home tonight so you ordered some thai food, and you enjoyed that on the couch before falling asleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

finally, it was gameday sunday. you woke up and showered before fixing your hair and applying makeup. you were still mad at joe, but there’s no way you wouldn’t be there to support him every week.

instead of wearing one of his jerseys or his number, you opted for a black bengals hoodie and some ripped jeans, pairing that with your orange low retro nike dunks.

you grabbed your purse, phone and keys and headed out the door so you could make it to the stadium on time, before a ton of people would be there. once you arrived you parked and got out, going inside to find his teammate logan’s wife. you both had planned to sit lower to the field today so you could see the guys close up on the sidelines.

you found her and made your way down to your seats, watching the guys warm up. logan and joe waved at you both and you waved back, not wanting to make it known that there was trouble in paradise at the moment. they headed back in for a while and then you finally saw them coming from the tunnel, the crowd of fans erupting in cheers.

the game finally started and the bengals offense was looking good, which made you feel excited. at least that’d be a weight off of joe’s shoulders. you cheered along with the fans and you were having a great time as usual, until you saw joe get sacked.

the defender was of course number ninety-eight, maxx crosby. when he finally got off joe, he helped him up before turning in your direction. you weren't sure what he said to joe while they were looking at you, but you knew joe didn’t like it. while you were watching them maxx waved at you, and against your better judgment, you waved back. that was a bad decision.

you weren’t really close enough to joe to see his expression, but you could tell by his poise that he was pissed. it was a known thing through the league that joe was one of the more polite guys at his position, oftentimes introducing himself to the defensive players of other teams during games. he never really talked back to any of them, despite what they’d say, so it came as a shock to you that the next time maxx sacked him, he stood up and smashed his helmet against maxx’s.

you could tell they were in a pretty heated argument, but you hoped it’d only fuel joe to keep pushing and win this game, for them to stomp the raiders into the ground.

the game went on, and you cheered for joe and the rest of the bengals team til the very end, and they pulled off a win. you hoped that’d be enough to keep joe in a good mood, but you never knew with him. you left the stands and went to go find joe before his presser so you could tell him bye and you’d see him at home, but he was already whisked away before you had the chance, so you decided to wait for him.

that was bad decision number two. you were in the hall scrolling on your phone when you saw someone walking toward you in your peripheral. you looked up, not surprised to see maxx crosby in front of you. he was shirtless, wearing nothing but his shoes, shorts, and a backwards cap. he extended his hand to you before speaking.

“you’re burrow’s girl?” he questioned, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. you didn’t extend your hand back. before you could answer you felt a strong arm over your shoulder, and your boyfriend’s dominating presence radiated down the hallway.

“yeah, this is my girl, crosby. go find your fucking teammates or something to do.” joe bit, clearly annoyed. he turned, pulling you with him, and you both walked off down the hall. you could hear maxx laughing behind you.

“good win today, joey.” you said, your voice sounded nervous and unsure. “thanks.” he replied sternly.

when he walked you all the way outside and to his car you were confused. “are you not staying here for a while? team meetings, eating with the guys?”

“no. we��re going the fuck home.” he said, unlocking his car.

“but joe, i drove today. i need to take my car home.” you reminded him. “we’ll come back for it later.” he quipped.

“no, joey. i have too much important shit in my car to leave it here where all these people are. i need to drive it home.” you argued.

“you want me to just let you walk to your car, knowing that fucking asshole is gonna try to find you and talk to you again?” he spits, raising his voice.

“joey, he was just being nice. he didn’t say anything out of the way.”

joe throws his head back in a mocking laugh, before replying. “he didn’t say anything out of the way to you, y/n. you wanna know why we were getting heated on the field?”

you nod your head yes, worried for what he’ll say.

“when he sacked me and then helped me up, he looked up in the stands and asked me if that was my girl with wilson’s girl. when i said yes he told me it was pathetic that you couldn’t even wear my number for me on game day.”

“joe i- i wanted to wear a hoodie in case it was cold.” you lied. you knew you didn’t wear it because you were mad, but now you definitely couldn’t tell him that.

“i brushed it off until he waved at you, and you fucking waved back. the fuck was that?”

“joey, i had no way of knowing what he said.” you replied. “i need to go get my car.” you wanted to avoid public conflict with him at all costs.

“no, i’m not done. he said to me the second time that he felt bad for you, because he could tell i don’t give it to you right. he said a girl like you deserves a man that can hold her down. i wanted to rip his fucking head off. and then, he has the audacity to come introduce himself to you, and you were gonna entertain that? you were really gonna talk to him?” he asked, and he was fuming.

it was embarrassing enough that he was telling you all that had been said about you, but out in the open, where anyone could hear it.. you were fed up. you couldn’t handle whatever mood swing he’d been in all week, so you bit back.

“at least someone was showing me some attention.”

“the fuck you just say?” he questioned, slamming his car door shut.

“you heard me.” you quipped, turning away from him. “i’m going to get my car. i’ll see you at home.”

you turned on your heel and stormed away, heading for your car. you didn’t care how mad joe was or if he was following you, even though you were sure he wasn’t. you found your car after a few minutes of walking and unlocked it quickly, pulling out and waiting in the traffic so you could head home.

what you didn’t know was that joe had raced out of the parking lot, and that he’d make it home before you. he was white knuckling the steering wheel for the entirety of the drive.

when you finally made it home, you bit your lip nervously when you saw joe’s car already pulled in and turned off. you didn’t really want to fight with him, but you knew that’s where this night was headed. you parked your car and turned it off, shoving the keys into your pocket before heading inside, toeing off your shoes by the door. joe was nowhere to be seen, so you tiptoed through the kitchen to make your way to the stairs.

“so, i’m not showing you enough attention and now you feel like you need to seek it out from other men, huh?” joe alleged, his deep voice scaring you as you turned around. you jumped, placing a hand over your heart.

you turned to see him in the den, sitting on the couch with his arms stretched out over the back of it, his large thighs spread. he must’ve taken a quick shower when he got home because his hair was wet, and all he had on was a pair of black athletic shorts.

“joe, i didn’t seek him out. you know that.” you breathed out, heart still racing. he stood from the couch, walking toward you at a slow pace. when he finally reached you, his hand shot up and tucked some hair behind your ear before he used his body weight to push you up against the nearest wall.

“no baby, you must’ve liked it, huh? cuz someone was giving you attention? cuz another man was out there trying to tell me how to give it to you?”

you swallowed thickly. joe’s mood seemed to have done a 180, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t turned on too. you were embarrassed at how quickly this conversation had led to your panties sticking to your core.

“answer me.” he said, leaning down to rub the tip of his nose along the column of your throat.

“no joey, i didn’t like it.” you whispered, shuddering when his hands slipped under the material of your hoodie to caress your bare skin.

“liar. you liked it. i know you did, because you’re a little slut.”

you gasped as you heard him accuse you, but also… it turned you on even more. you could tell he was in a mood where he wanted to dominate you and you loved when he got extra rough in the bedroom.

“yeah, joey. i did like it.” you lie, provoking him further. “maybe he was right. maybe i need a man who can hold me down, give it to me rough.” joe bit your collarbone in response before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you up the stairs.

he opened the door to your shared room and threw you on the bed unceremoniously before walking toward you, pulling his shorts off in the process. he was already half hard, he grabbed his length and began stroking it before commanding you to get on the floor.

“on your knees.”

you listened, sliding off the bed and onto your knees for him. he used his free hand to roughly grab your chin, pulling your mouth open. your eyes met, and the look you gave him showed all the assurance he needed as he roughly slid his cock into your mouth.

his hand found your hair, locking his fingers in it as he roughly thrust in and out of your mouth. his head was thrown back in pleasure, you were sure he needed this release after the tough game and week he had, even though he probably didn’t deserve it from how he’d been treating you. you hollowed your cheeks as he continued thrusting, bringing your hands up and placing them on his thighs.

“hands to yourself.” he commanded. you placed them back down by your sides. “only good girls get to touch. you haven’t been very good today.”

he continued using your mouth until he was nearly undone, edging himself. he pulled out and stepped back, and you kept your eyes on him in an attempt to be as obedient as possible. “get back on the bed.” he demanded.

you stood up and sat on the bed, waiting for his next command. he ordered you to strip, so you did, laying back against the pillows completely bare for him.

he crawled up from the foot of the bed and placed his body between your parted thighs. “hmm… you’re so wet baby. what caused that?” he teased, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“you did, joe.” you breathed, aching for him to finally do something to give you relief between your thighs. “i’m not so sure that’s true.” he snarked.

he placed his hand flat on the meat of your thigh, the size and warmth of it sending your head spinning. “joey, please.. touch me.” you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded. “i am touching you.” he remarks.

“you know what i mean.” you whine, grabbing his hand and moving it down, placing it against your sopping wet core. the tips of his fingers dance gently around your entrance and you shudder, watching him lick his lips as he slowly inserts a finger.

one quickly becomes two, and soon he’s working a third into you, scissoring you open to make sure you can take all of him. your head is thrown back and you’re moaning like crazy as joe continues, he’s working you closer and closer to your high.

“joe, i’m so close!” you moan out, but as soon as the words leave your lips he’s pulling his fingers out, dipping them into his mouth and moaning as he tastes your juices on his tongue. he leans over you and says “open your mouth.”

when you do, he spits right into it. you can taste yourself mixed with his saliva, which only turns you on more. before you can even think anything else his fingers are digging into your hips, harshly rolling you over before placing a smack right against your ass.

“why should i even make you cum, y/n? do you deserve to cum?” he teases, but the irritation is still evident in his voice. “please joey, i need it. i’m sorry for what i said earlier.”

“i don’t think you are princess.” he alleges, landing another harsh smack against your ass.

“i am, joey. i promise. i’m yours, only yours. only you can fuck me right. nobody else.” your voice is strained, you’re on the verge of tears. you need to cum so badly, you need some kind of friction. your response must have satisfied joe enough, because soon enough he’s pressing his tip to your entrance and pushing inside without a single warning. when he’s fully seated in you, you let out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

he smacks your ass one final time before his fingers find home on your hips, roughly digging into them as his hips thrust against yours powerfully.

after a few harsh thrusts he grabs both your hands and brings them up to the small of your back, holding them together with one of his hands. with his free hand, he slaps your ass hard again as he continues to pound into you from behind.

“say his fucking name.”

“joe— i can’t. i’m…”

“SAY IT.” he demanded. you could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your head. you knew that’s what this was about but… you couldn’t believe he was asking you to do this.

“m-maxx…” you muttered weakly.

“louder.”

“MAXX!” you screamed, just as joe hit a particularly hard thrust.

“doesn’t hit right, does it? you don’t want him to fuck you, do you?”

“no, joey! only you!” you assured him, burying your face into the pillows. “that’s right. you’re mine. all mine.” you hear the smirk in his words. he continues thrusting and you’re so close, just on the precipice of release.

“nobody else can fuck you like this can they?” he asks, and he punctuates every word with a thrust. “fuck no, joey, only you can make me feel this good. only you can fill me up like this.”

“that’s right.” he agrees, continuing his relentless pace.

“joey, i’m there.. can i.. can i cum for you?” you ask him, begging with a saccharine sweet tone. “cum all over this dick.” he replies, pulling your arms back further. your ass is bouncing against him as he thrusts roughly, and your release finally finds you. stars explode all through your vision and they dance along your skin as the warmth spreads from the top of your head all the way to your toes. joe cums too, the feeling of your walls squeezing around him takes him right to the edge. he wastes no time in pulling out, walking to your shared bathroom to grab a rag and soaking it with warm water. he comes back to the bed and rolls you over before parting your thighs.

joe uses the rag to clean your most sensitive areas, wiping away the mixture of your releases from your skin. he looks nervous now, he always does after he gets rough with you. you reach down and place your hand on top of his, rubbing your thumb along his skin softly.

“you okay?” he asks, sounding more concerned than anything else. “i’m okay. are you?” you reply. he shakes his head yes. you look up at him, eyes meeting again. “was that too much?” he wonders.

“no, i’m okay. a bit uncharacteristic but… you know i like when you get rough like that. but for the record joe, i like everything you and i do. and it was out of line for me to say that about getting attention from another man.”

he gets up to take the rag to the laundry bin before sliding into bed with you, pulling the blanket over you both. “what was out of line was how i’ve been treating you, y/n. i deserved what you said. i deserved the attitude you’ve given me all week.”

you reach up to stroke his cheek, letting him know you’re still listening, you’re receptive to what he’s saying. “i’ve just been nervous and frustrated, i know you know that. obviously the season hasn’t been going anywhere near where we’ve wanted it to and the stakes are higher than ever. and then on top of that, crosby just pissed me off. he does that to all the guys, tries to rile them up but… i think it got to me because i knew i’d been treating you poorly all week. and i’m sorry.”

your thumb runs over his cheekbone before you pull him in for a kiss, your lips meeting with an equal tenderness. “i forgive you, joe. i love you. thank you for saying that.” you say, pulling him closer to you.

“there’s one more thing…” he says nervously, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. “spill it.” you plead, eager to know what it is, especially because he looks so nervous.

he rolls over and rummages through the top drawer in his bedside table, producing a small box. you can feel your heart beating hard against your chest because… this can’t be happening, right?

when he rolls back over to face you he realizes you’re just as nervous as he is, and he laughs before opening the box.

“don’t worry, baby. i’m not proposing. at least not yet anyway.” he winks. you look at him expectantly.

“this is another reason i’ve been moody this week. i was… worried about doing this. i know i want to do it, but i was just a little afraid. after the shit with maxx today though, it feels like the right time.”

“go on…” you tease, waving your hand in a little ‘keep going’ motion. he opens the box and inside it are two small golden bands, one for you and one for him. “they’re promise rings, for us both to wear. i know i wanna marry you one day and.. they’re a constant reminder, i’m yours and you’re mine.” he smiles softly.

you can feel tears welling up in your eyes at the sweet gesture, and all the anger from the past week fades away as he takes the small golden ring from the box and places it on your finger. you do the same for him and he smiles, leaning over to kiss your forehead. you giggle as a thought pops in your brain.

“what’s funny, punk?” he asks you, rubbing soothingly at the small of your back. “it’s like spongebob and patrick! best friends forever, best friends forever, ring!” you sing, and joe laughs loudly.

“i love you baby. i’m sorry for being a dick this week.”

“i love you too, joe.” you assure, patting him on the chest. “i think you’ve more than made up for it now.”

“good.” he smiles, before a devious look crosses his features. he rolls over you, holding you down before hopping off the bed and heading for the bathroom. “last one to the shower is a rotten egg!” he yells.

you hop up and launch yourself off the bed, landing on his back. he was unprepared for it and you both topple to the floor, landing in a fit of giggles. you roll over and joe rolls on top of you, catching your lips in a sweet kiss before he stands and runs to the bathroom door, locking it behind him.

“joey, come on let me in!” you scream, laughing loudly as you bang your fists against the door. “hell nah!” he answers, his own loud laugh ringing in your ears. “i’m not showering with a rotten egg!”

“okay fine, guess i’ll drive back to the stadium and see if maxx is still there, i’ll shower with him.”

the bathroom door slams open and joe rushes out wrapping his arms around you and slapping your bare ass. “like hell you will!” he says, picking you up and carrying you to the shower.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @bengals-barnesbabe @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld

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ancha-aus · 2 months ago

Note

Yes!! That is why i send it because it was also living rent free in my head!! :D

You are so right honestly. The gnag would not be fighting to kill these people because they KNOW that Dream matters s much for Nightmare. Which would leave Kilelr at a strong disadvantage.

Killer taking a few hits?! Just because he KNEW the attack would end up hitting too close to Ngihtmare's hiding place?! And as he knows he can't block the attacks he just takes the hit. it is better than the alternative! God my heart.

AND FUCK! The fact that Drema would manage to hit the outer layer of Killer's soul? (which causes an INSANE amount of mana bleeding) and then hit his spine?! Which causes a shitton of marrow bleeding?! (something something that dream is still learning to fight with blade snad it was probably Blue who is helping him learn and that is the thing that gav ehim the small edge to do it.)

And Killer. Killer ebing able to stand for a little while after. With not one but TWO mortal wounds. before he crumbles. He can't stand with those wounds. Him laying there in a lot of pain. Just staring upwards at Dream walks over. Ready to finish him off. Killer just listening with half an ear to Dream while he is mostly focussed on trying to hear if the others are on their way. To make sure they get here before Dream can truly start searching for Nightmare. Praying Nightmare will remain hidden.

Killer powering through every extra small hit that burns and stings. because he knows he needs to hold on for as long as he can. He NEEDS to protect his little brother. He needs to make sure little nighty is safe.

Dream staring him down. Giving painful hit after hit. glaring. cursing him out for what he has done. for all the pain he caused. for lying to nightmare and tricking him (which btw. killer laying on the gorund. very fucking confused? because what the fuck is drema talking about? mindcontrol? tricking? sure? He tricked nightmare into going to bed on time in trade for reading him a story but he didn't see that as a bad trick? killer thinks he may be hallucinating at this point because dream is not making any sense AT ALL)

and drema gets ready for that final shot. so ready to clean this earth of this terrible thing that tricked and corrupted his brother. only for a form with an owlmask to rush between that thing and dream's arrow. the mask taking the hit and cracking before fallingg apart.

Nightmare standing there. arms outstretched. asking, no begging, dream "Please. please don't hurt him. please. he didn't do anything wrong. it was may fault. please don't hurt him. please dream. He is innocent."

and drema can't beleive it for a moment. He prods those emotions. ready to find an illusion. but that is... that is nightmare... his magic is the eXACT same as the time before the ritual. that nervous energy and tiny bit of fear is the same. that is his twin... his... his younger twin... his now... younger brother?

Nightmare is sitll pleading "please don't hurt anymore. please. I am sorry. I didn't... i swear i didn't mean to make a mess. I was trying to help and no one is at fault but me. please call off your attack-" only to get grabbed.

Dream for a moment hesitates. he still needs to kill that thing that caused the corruption, did he though? but then he hears the storm and grows nervous.

Then dream decides to just take nightmare and go. He can't risk losing time. Even one more shot would cost time and some of dream's magic. he may need it later. So he grabs nightmare and take shim away.

Ngihtmare struggling as he reaches for killer "No! No stop! He needs help! He is hurt!" and dream is so happy! Because that is his brother! His brother who cared about everyone! but dream knows he will have to take the time to make sure nightmare knew that some poeple didnt deserve that ccare.

And Killer!! Killer laying on the ground. powerless to move much less get up to grab nightmare back. Watching as dream STEALS nightmare away. Forced to watch as he has to come to terms that he failed. he failed the very duty he was hired to do. Why he was even allowed to stay in the frist place. he failed to protect nightmare. He failed to keep him safe. Instead nightmare was forced to protect him. Killer feels worthless as he lays there. He failed. he failed.

ccino!! On that note just to mention your tags. I CAN'T BELIEVE WE FORGOT ERROR IN ThiS COUP!

Okay. but if error was with ccino the whole time? first to protect the servants and maids who are taking shelter (which i love much ebtter than just running. they go to a safe area and stay there.

Maybe error waas even with ccino when ccino found error. because ccino told him he would search for the others and nightmare and error refuses to let ccino go alone. First, he wants to help search for nightmare, second, because ccino can't fight. he has no magic and no way to defend himsefl. so like hell if error letting him go. Ccino is thorn but decides it is better to keep error with him because this way Ccino cna make sure error doens't join any actual fights.

and Ccino still figure sout where to go. by the vibe, the slashes on the walls. the messes. He finds the room where Killer and Nightmare had been going to to evacuate before they ran out of time.

And ccino and error find Killer bleeding out from two different and equally bad woudns.

Error is frozen. He never saw someone THAT hurt before. He never... sure he saw people with injuries... but not like this... never like this... Ccino doens't hesitate. He rushes to Killer's side and starts trying to stop the bleeding and keeping the woudns close.

Killer staring at him and seemingly trying to mutter things but he can't form words. Ccino just tells him to stay still and safe his strength. (killer feeling so bad. He can't even admit he loves ccino now. he can't even admit he failed, he can't tell them to go after dream and nightmare. he is useless. he is just a burden. he is making them waste their time on him and he is clearly a lost cause at the moment.)

Ccino asking error if he knows healing magic. and error knows a bit!! But not for!! Not for soul damage!! Not for cracked and broken spine veins!! that is next level healing and needs specialised spells!! Stuff that error doens't know!

And error can't leave ccino and killer now. even as ccino asks him to search for healers. what if whoever did this come sback?! And fidns them both?! And kills them!? Error NEEDS to protect him! (error knows... nightmare would never forgive him for leaving both of his brothers alone to be killed. Error knows that Nightmare would prefer error to remain with ccino adn killer in case they needed protection over on a wild chase to search for him (error was right. when nightmare hears error did this nightmare will hug error and thank him for protecting his brothers))

And as you said. Ccino knows it is a matter of time before Killer dies (probably why he also tried to get Error to leave. Ccino knows Error wouldn't make it back in time with healers. but at least he can protect the kid from having to SEE someone dust. Ccino wouldn't do that for himself however. If Killer is going to die Ccino is going to make sure he is as comfortable as he can and not alone) But Ccino isn't ready to just give up on him quite yet. Killer is one of the first who joined the castle. The first new person that was loyal and the most loyal. He is the most important person to Ngihtmare (Ccino nevercounts himself as that) and if ccino is being honest to himself he like sKiller a lot. The idea of him dying hurts so so much.

So Ccino does one desperate plan. He asks the entity in the castle itself. For error? it must be FUCKING weird to just... hear Ccino do like a paryer... because... wasn't Nightmare hte only god this country believed in?

Ccino just holding unto Killer so tightly "Being in the air. Being in the stars. The one that watches and protects. Please. Please i beg you. PLease don't let death take him. I know it is a lot to ask and I can't give you a lot. but please. please don't take him. please." and his voice is still even somehow but there is an edge to it.

Ccino just concentrates on the wounds and doens't see it. Doesn't feel it.

But Error, error who can feel and sense magic. feels IT. He feels something powerful. More pwoerful thant dust's raw power. More powerful than even Geno casting his most powerful spell. and it feels old... older than the magic that Ngihtmare had been using back when he was goop. older than those old rituals he was taught at school.

There isn't a lot of energy to it. Not a lot of mana. But the strength, age and power behind it. It is there. It may not be as strong as it could be, as it should be, but Error can feel it SHOULD be powerful. it feels otherearthly and strange. Not like any magic he ever felt before...

And then he sees some of the brown lines on the walls, the stone that had been slowly turning from grey to a more natural brow, start to light up. Old runes appearing and moving.

Like... snakes? no... like vines... like roots spreading and slowly reaching Killer. Ccino isn't seeing it. Ccino is ONLY focussed on stopping AS MUCH of the bleeding as he can.

Error however is staring. the old strange magic reaches Killer. and he can see the magic forcing the thin layer of dust to merge with Killer's body again. and the magic forms a slight seal around the spine wound and the soul injury. this very light film kind of membrane over it. fragile but serving its purpose.

THe bleeding slows and Killer wakes back up. the magic disappears as ccino stares shocked at the slight improvement before focussing on killer and talking and speaking to him to keep him in the here and now. Keep him alert.

Error is shocked. He is pretty sure he just saw divine intervention. But he enver mentions it to anyone. because he doubts ANYONE knows what THAT was... Maybe he will evnetually ask Reaper. because reaper is old as dirt (reaper laughs that that) so reaper may have heard of something? (reaper doesn't. but he may ask Life. and Life? Life may have heard of the old original legends of The Tree of Magic. Said to grow in a land filled with magic and filled with many forests and trees baring fruit... Life once visited Orchard, where this legend orginated from, but she never found her answers because by then the royals had a TIGHT hold on another that was connected to that information.)

anyway. Then the knights rush in and see the ACTUAL blood and mana covered floors. Ccino holding the wound close seemingly as his hands, arms and clothes are absolutely soaked. Ccino snaps at them for one of them to get a healer and be fucking fast!

Dust rushes off as he is the fastes while horror takes cross to be near killer and sees HOW badly it is. (he can't see the magical seal, i think no one can but those EXTREMELY skilled in magic. which at the moment is just error)

The healers get there and the healers is shocked and horrified by the wounds. they get to work and are mystified how killer COULD have lived through that... then agai... Ccino had been wiht him and ccino is a miracle worked.

And yes! I wanted it to be that death is peaceful and painless it is safe and will keep him safe and comfrotable. Life is hard and difficult. It is painful.

So there is Chara, or a mental image of chara, who will lead him to this new place. a place where he can rest. where he doens't need to think or worry. and in a way. Killer who is so close to dying. Who is so close to dusting. He doens't remember everything. He just knows that this voice... he used to follow this voice... this voice was trustworthy right?

Then he is stopped. the tree is all prickles and painful because it is ALIVE! and iwht it being alive it brings some of the life back to killer. making him feel that he is VERY MUCH in pain. and Killer doens't want to follow. He wants to rest.

And the tree? the tree is very much ready to drag Killer back kicking and screaming. Ccino wants him alive so by all the power that this tree still has it will DRAG killer back to the living realm. But... with that in mind. the tree channels what Ccino asked him. please. bring hi back. please.

And killer? killer doens't know why. doens't know who... but he knows that he wants to go wiht that voice. The voice that sounds hurt and scared and desperate. he wants to follow that voice over the calm voice promising peace and quiet. So Killer holds unto that painful feeling and does with it.

And he wakes back up. only to stare right up at Ccino. Ccino who is holding him and who is warm even as Killer feels so so cold and everything hurts.

Then after the healers get to killer and cross. Dust and horror continue searching for nightmare. Just to find nothing. to realise he was taken. And later that killer confirmed. That he failed. He failed and drema took him and he is so sorry. He failed as a kngiht as a brother. (the kngihts don't see it as killer failing. they saw the wounds he suffered. They knew he tried EVERYTHING he could)

Sidenotes!!

Dust and Error mixing their magic to find Nightmare. Error being able to use his complex spell waving and casting to kinda make a network to scan for magic that is nightmares. but not strong enough to make it big enough. Then Dust asking if he can make it work electrical. Which error can. Then Dust takes the spell and just SUPERCHARGES it with like...a lightning bolt or seven. (look he wanted to be sure the spell would reach nightmare) Error blasts it up in the sky to get a better reach. And Dust shoots it with ANOTHER fuck you lightning (the full attack and pwoer version) to blast it EVEN higher and to super charge it again.

the spell net is able to settle over the entire country and a good part of all the neighbouring countries like an electro magnetic field. And Error is able to use other spells to make a magical map. With a marker where nightmare is. (because error made the electro magnetic field the exact oposite of Nightmare. making it that the field wants to go and pull towards nightmare. Making it like a fucking bull eye in pattern around the spot that nightmare is in)

(Nightmare in the camp. suddenly feeling static in the air. feelign the static and... it feels like dust? and error? and he knows... he knows they are coming for him.) (drema meanwhile is shaking outside. because he can see a gigantic storm in the distance. and from the words of it. it is large enough that is COVERS the whole kingdom of nightmare nad him. One giant storm. angry and full of lightning.)

The knights and error go to retrieve Nightmare (ccino remains by killer's side. he knows he can't help in any meaningful way witht eh actual rescue. and he still wnats to keep an eye on killer's healing.) and as soon as they are there? this time Dust doesn't mess around. he is making a STRAIGHT line to dream. He is galloping towards him on horse back.

Horror tackles blue and keeps him busy.

And cross? cross forms a living shield. He stands between dust and ink. He refuses to let ink fight anyway. "Either you fight me or not at all." and ink tries to reason with his friend. he doens't want to fight him! But while ink is distracted? Cross casts the spell to control his magic. Sorry ink. Cross isn't risking it this time.

and dream? dream doesn't stand a chance against a pissed off dust. Dust casts fuck you lightning at point blank and the combination of pure electricity and the fear of it? it knocks drema out. fully out. this guy is not getting up for a WHILE.

Error rushes past everyone as he searches for nightmare. He has a spell to make him invisible. he finds nightmare and confesses he like shim. only for it to NOT BE the time. because nightmare is so worried about his brothers, and his twin, and the fact hta the still believes Killer to HAVE DIED.

Error is panicking and a bit hurt but also sees how distressed his friend is. (error making the mental note to try and impress and confess later again. wiht a grander gesture) before bringing nightmare to horror.

hroror holding nightmare. nightmare shaking and muttering about killer being dead because of him. and hroror knowing the problem. him holding nightmare close and gentle hushing him. telling him it is okay. that ccino found killer and saved him. And nightmare. nightmare who knows that ccino can do ANYTHING at this point. relaxes. because if ccino got to killer in time ccino will have saved his brother.

and they go home!!

side note side note. Ccino TOTALLY has nightmares after saving killer. Both about him failing to keep him stable. about the magic rejecting his request and stopping helping him because he asked too much. about killer being mad at him for saving him to begin with. Nightmare himself being mad that Ccino didn't continue to search for him. that ccino didn't even care enough to try and save nightmare. Ngihtmare in his nightmares is always sad because "Don't you love him anymore?"

So yeah. some angst for flavour. these nightmares disappear mostly once nightmare is back and thanks him for saving killer, and once killer is awake enough to grin at ccino and tells him killer owns him one for saving him.

Okay that is it. I am done.

Hey! The ask!! Lets see if i can manage to type everything i thought about in the time i got my break!!

So. I got thinking. (This was also a half baked drabble idea but didnt feel like making it a full one so you are getting the idea like this!! >:D)

We spoke about how Killer would be guarding Nightmare in the raid where Dream manages to steal him.

The problem is. If Killer can still move this guy WILL throw himself at Dream to save Nightmare. Meaning that Killer has to be mortally wounded. (Also works with why Nightmare rushes to shield his older brother)

So we got Killer just laying in whatever room Nightmare and him ahd been in. Probably slowly bleeding out.

On one hand. You can have the Knights run in right after. But then what is stopping them from splitting up, one part staying with Killer and one part rushing after Dream? And it has been YEARS since Dream last visited the castle. He may not remember everything quite right.

So... in theory. It should take more time for the Knights to get to Killer. But Killer is mortally wounded.

So. In comes!! Ccino (my beloved).

Ccino had been going towards killer and nightmare after helping the servants and maids evacuate or go to the bunker.

He gets there to see Killer pretty much laying there dying on the ground, Nightmare no where to be seen.

What does he do?

Ccino's crisis management skills activate. He wants to find Nightmare but he has no clue of where Nightmare went and he has no way to fight whoever took him. Killer is in front of him actively dying.

He goes to Kilelr's side.

Killer, the romantic idiot, probably realises he is fucking dying. So maybe he is like. Maybe i can confess? (Add some extra angst and make it that the hit was by either his neck or spine or soul. Making him unable to communicate)

Ccino is trying to keep the wound closed but he has no healing magic. He doenst even have first aid kit on him beyond the bare minimum. What does he do?

Well... he knows there is one being still in the castle. He does a little prayer and asks for help.

For Killer? Killer is slowly falling unconscious. He tried to confess but cant speak. He cant even apologise for failing everyone and losing Nightmare. At least Ccino is here in his last moments. He isnt alone. So he falls asleep.

Maybe some warm light guides him. A familiar voice that was once a friend? He tries to follow only to be stopped. Stopped by something sharp and pulling him down. Back into the darkness. It feels like when he fell into a bush. The way those thorns prick his bones.

Killer at first tries to follow the image of his friend (were they his friend? They saved him right? So why shouldnt he follow them?)

Only to hear so soft. So quietly from the darkness. 'Please dont let him die...'

And that sounds like Ccino... so Killer follows that voice. Goes into the darkness and it feels as if he traveled through a overgrown forest with sticks and stuff all pulling on his limbs.

And he wakes up. His skull in Ccino's lap as Ccino keeps the wound closed and did the best first aid he did. Moments later the Knights rush in to assist.

(Yes. The tree pulled Killer's soul back to the living side while the memories of chara were trying to pull killer into oblivion and get him to die)

Okay that is all. I wanted to get that out of my system.

Okay. Hi. As always, losing my everloving mind over this. Gonna make a Cut so it's easier to scroll hehe-

First off, you are SO right about Killer fighting till he physically can't move. I think that the combat between Dream and Killer is actually decently drawn out, because Dream is kinda in a frenzy (Storm growing outside + just obliterated Cross as far as he knows) and as a mostly long-range attacker it was stupid of him to try and fight Killer alone in a confined space. Killer's fast, and has a lot more to lose if he loses this fight (Nightmare is still hidden but low key stuck, and Dream is very adamant about ending his life) so he gets up close and personal for a while and lands quite a few solid attacks. However, Killer has also heard about Dream. He saw the distress on his little face when Cross admitted who had sent him and why. How Nightmare refused to send an assassination party to end things prematurely. This is Night's brother, so Killer won't kill him. As much as he wants to.

This leaves him at a direct disadvantage, and anytime he backs off to recoup Dream shoots arrows at him. (I also think he took a couple on purpose, because where he'd hidden Nightmare was the trajectory and he couldn't block it fast enough). And then, I like to think that when Killer gets in really close one time, Dream summons his blades, the ones he was still a novice with. But! One of Them peirces Killer's outer ring of his soul, and Dream jabs upwards (kinda using his other hand on the hilt to have more force) and wedges it into Killer's spine just past his ribcage. When Dream does this it his the magical equivalent of a vein, and when he shoves Killer away and off his blade, the other can only stay upright for a few stumbles before he teeters and falls onto his back.

Soul out in the open, covered in wounds (I like to think Dream's arrows peirce and burn), and now bleeding and seemingly paralyzed, Dream pulls out his bow again, ready to shoot Killer straight in his target soul. But, he's still selfish, and he wants to monolgue a bit, curse Killer (who he believes has been controlling his brother for so long) and shoots his hand, then a gash in his neck from a well-placed arrow, until he can see that dusty layer rising on Killer's bones signaling it'll be a slow death.

But, when he finishes cursing out Killer, is ready to fire the final shot? Nightmare had been hiding in a wardrobe, when Killer had stopped talking he'd gotten worried and peeked out against his better judgement. Now, with the scene, he rushes into the crossfire and, like we've discussed, the arrow ricochets off the mask and knocks it off, revealing Night in his teen form.

And it's a quick pleading, a desperate little plea from Nightmare not to kill Killer, or hurt his knights or the people. To just stop. And Dream, after his moment of shock + probing Night's emotions to find this really is him, scoops him up. His intention was to finish Killer off, but the storm outside roars louder and he can feel a strong emotion hurrying his way, so he decides to retreat. Killer should bleed out anyways.

And now finally to your point!!! Ccino is absolutely the best option! The Knights have no idea what's happening inside, and all they can. Do to help is keep Blue and Ink occupied. Cross is down for the count and looking rough, and they just have to trust that Killer got Night out or somewhere safe. Ccino? Ccino finished his part of the job, efficient af, and is rushing to go find Nightmare and Killer. He doesn't know Dream got in, he doesn't know quite where they'd be, but he can kinda sus it out based on carnage and wet steps in the halls where *soneone* got it. If they did, Killer would probably be stalling with Night nearby.

And like u said, he gets there and finds Killer actively dying, and crisis management kicks in! Ough everything about this moment is so perfect... Ccino never learned medicine, and has no healing magic, so he can only make Killer a little more comfortable and put pressure on his wounds to try and stop the bleeding. And he *sees* that soul injury. No matter how well he staunches the blood flow with his apron, that would surely kill him without treatment. And Killer seems to still be conscious, but barely. He's fading. And silent, which is deeply eerie and Wrong.

And good gods. Killer wanting so so bad to confess because, he's gonna die anyways so he wants to get it out, but he Literally can't say anything?? Wauhh!!!!!

And Ccino reaching out to the Veing in the castle... praying, begging for Killer to be saved, because Ccino refuses to leave him alone, and also refuses to lose him. Killer was Night's first knight, the most important person in that kid's world (Ccino doesn't count himself). All the Knights rely on Killer for guidance and support. Ccino needs Killer in his life, this idiot, this criminal, is somehow one of his favorite people in this castle. Please, please, please don't let him go. Keep him here until help arrives. *please*.

And the Castle obliges. Not only is Killer the one who protected Nightmare, the prince who is restoring this land, but Killer is one Ccino values. Ccino is here, stopping his wounds, begging for help to save a life. He hasn't done that before.

And!!! The description from Killer's perspective!!!!! For all intents and purposes, it seems the warm friendly voice (Chara!!!) Should be the one he follows. It's gentle, beckoning towards a soft glow, it's peaceful. And then the tree's method of getting Killer back is to snag him. Darkness, unpleasant contact that stabs and pricks and scratches. It's not nice, it's not subtle, it's dragging him back into pain and agony of his injuries (even if it's not immediate). But Killer doesn't fight because he hears Ccino! Even if he doesn't process that it's him, it unlocks something in his core that makes him decide to take the hard route and push back through that dense forest until he's back to the living realm. Still on death's door, but alive!

Oh I love this visual so dearly, frothing at the mouth about it....

And ofc the aftermath. Dream couldn't find the main entrance, so he snuck out a servant's door and signaled from outside that he was ready to go. The militia (I think the guard was busy holding off militia members from entering the castle walls) retreats first, scattering into town and Rogers demands no pursuit, hold the walls strong. Then Blue and Ink narrowly escape by simply using Ink's magic puddles, appearing somewhere else in the city through a big enough rain puddle. (Though, miles out they're still dodging the occasional lightning strike).

Only after they're too far off do the knight rush back. Horror's got Cross (in critical condition due to a blow to the side of his ribs+spine but ultimately stable) and Dust leads the way to search for Night and Killer, also following the trail Dream had left, and... they find Ccino and Killer. Killer is very very much limp in Ccino's lap, they're basically sitting in a pool of Killer's blood, and Ccino upon spotting them rapidly tells Dust to go find a healer and bring them here. Immediately.

Horror sets Cross nearby and focuses his efforts on trying to help Ccino put pressure on Killer's wounds but he can't do much either.

But, y'know, the healers who have magic for it are able to stabilize him (they are flabbergasted that he's not dead) and Cross is alright too. Dust + Horror go searching for Night. Nowhere to be found.

#I lied.#I wanted to add tags.#The stars live in the basement at this point.#and with that i mean in their own personal jail cells.#Ink is honestly a VERY good sport about it.#Ink just wants Cross to visit so they can play board games.#Which cross is shocked about but ready to do.#Drema has a LOT of magic blockers. Blue too but not as many.#Blue mostly just wants to be in dream's cell to comfort and hold his dear totally just a friend.#dream feels terrified. It doens't help that dust is the usual guard.#and dust is pissed at dream for almost killing killer.#so he likes to make small bolts of lightning crack in the air.#you know. as warning. as reminder.#Once Dream spoke with reaper and learned the truth. he feels so bad. because he still believes that he managed to kill killer.#you know? he learns that he KILLED his little twin's protector? thee one who was loyal and helped nightmare? he feels terrible.#Imagine his surprise to one day see killer wlak in.#Dream apologises. Killer is unimpressed. says he can go fuck himself and the only reason he is alive is because nightmare cares.#if nightmare HADNT loved him Killer would have murdered him as soon as he could.#Dream feels terrible about all of it.#Okay. that is the last of it.#God that got long hahaha woops :D

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thelikesofus · 3 months ago

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Buddie Fic Recs

REC LIST NUMBER 7! I’m finally home so I can finally share with you the over three months worth of Buddie fics that I have read to keep me sane while I was traveling around the UK. As always, please show these authors some love in their comments xx Find my other Buddie Rec Lists HERE

REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

What's Easy is Right by @half_bakedboy | G | 18k

Buck romances Eddie the way that he deserves. It was so refreshing to read a fic like this where everything just goes right for them. They just get to fall in love and be happy without any conflict or "big bad thing" arising. They were allowed to just be in love and happy and I love that so much <3

my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) by @colonoscopys | G | 1.9k

Buck and Eddie unknowingly commiserate with each other through a website entitled: inlovewithmybestfriendandgoingtodie.com! This fic is absolutely incredible. I could literally cry, it's so good!!

loves a game, wanna play? by @exhuastedpigeon | M | 57k

Love Island AU. In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together. I have never watched Love Island, or ever wanted to, but if this fic was a real season I would EAT. IT. UP!

Eddie vs Romance by @littlespoonevan | T | 27k

This lovely two-part series in which Eddie does a lot of self-learning and then gets romanced as he deserves.

Too Often the Power of Touch is Underestimated by @xjustlikeyou | T | 15k

Five times a touch knocked Eddie off his feet, and the one time he got to return the favor. I have no words to describe how wholly and profoundly perfect this fic is to me. This is THEE Buddie touch-centric w/ pining Eddie fic of all time!

Until the Dancing Ends by @phoenix-angel-suyari | G | 4k

Eddie finally sees footage of Buck's reaction to him getting buried in the well and Eddie reacts proportionately by kissing him in front of everyone. So, so good!

i'm here with the door wide open by @eddiebabygirldiaz| T | 24k

Eddie copes with the absence of Chris but also the presence of Buck. I adore this fic, Eddie finally learning to allow himself to feel things and to accept that he deserves to love and be loved in return and that what he feels for Buck doesn't need to be stamped down and hidden. The ending is so beautifully soft too!

you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by @sibylsleaves | E | 24k

Buck breaks up with Taylor, moves out of the loft and in with Eddie. Let the Buddie Roommates and Pining Era begin! As all of Sibyl’s fics are this is just incredible and I devoured it!

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys | E | 18k

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up AKA Eddie has magic and a lot of complicated feelings about his best friend.

there ain't no turning back by @42hrb | E | 28k

After dropping Chris off at College, Eddie begins his journey home only Buck to fly out to crash his Sad Dad Cross Country Road Trip™. This fic made me feel a hundred billion emotions so strongly. Incredible.

Hot Ghost Problems by @ebjameston | T | 40k

Not Actually Dead™ Ghost!Buck and Witch!Eddie. This fic is actually incredible! 10/10. Five Stars.

Season of Hope (After the Flood) by @saryasy | T | 58k

Eddie learns a lot about himself while waiting for his son to come home. The pinning and beautiful, KARENEDDIE BESTIE-ISM FOR THE WIN! And a beautiful tender happy ending xx

the going water and the gone by @try-set-me-on-fire | T | 31k

Eddie Diaz presumed dead? Again? More likely than you think. I live for these sorts of fics and this one set Post Cruise Ship is so good!!

come and be my baby by @colonoscopys | T | 21k

What is Buck and Eddie got together in season 2? This made me laugh and cry and feel all kinds of emotions and it's just so beautiful!!!!!!!

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies | T | 58k

This fic really doesn’t need any introduction because I think we are all obsessed. GIRL UNCLE!EDDIE + ICE CREAM TUESDAYS ❤️

bottle episode by @transboybuckley | T & E | 14k

The 118 has a 24-hour shift, and zero calls. The softest bottle episode, full of Firefam love, Buddie, and which is somehow also about crying over trees.

when everything's on fire by @glowingyears | T | 15k

Eddie and Chris move into the loft with Buck after a house fire and then they buy a house together. SO COZY SO LOVELY THERE IS JUST SO MUCH LOVE IN THIS FIC.

From the Ground Up by @blueberrytwoberry | M | 17k

Eddie finds a massive dog on his porch and can’t seems to get rid of it. THE DOG IS BUCK! BUCK IS A DOG! DOG BUCK!

cold rain, warm skin by @gayhoediaz | T | 2.5k

Just the softest coziest morning kisses ever known to man <3

death wish love by @eddiebabygirldiaz | E | 15k

After his break up with Tommy, Buck goes to Eddie's, he wakes up the next morning only to be pummeled by his hangover and his attraction to Eddie. No words can possibly describe the soft comfortable and loving cocoon that this fic creates.

We Both Go Down Together by @xylodemon | T | 4k

A near death/drowning experience, a love confession and hospital pronounced husbands, what's not to love!?!

#buddie #buddie fic recs #buddie fic rec list 7 #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #911 #911 fic recs #meegs rec list

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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the body is such a strange and vapid creature. i am eating soup with noodles that i cooked in a microwave. i don't know how microwaves work, only that most of my meals come from her yellow mouth. i put mine on the fridge; i have to stand on tip toes to take the bowl out, balancing it on fingertips.

i have to eat soup because i'm coughing up blood.

when you have been raised wrong, conditions of alarm are offset. which is to say that three weeks ago, i had a panic attack because i thought i saw him the liquor store. i collapsed into a heap, ready to sob into multicolored gin bottles. it was just someone who looked a lot like him, working a shitty 9-5. the poor man. what must it be like, to have someone go pale at your profile.

i spoke too loudly during a zoom meeting, and nobody answered immediately. the shame of that scoured my entire ribcage clean. i hated the experience so much i wrote it down in my notes: a reminder not to be so fucking annoying!

but the conditions of alarm are met at the moment. i am well-and-truly ill, the blood in my hand and on the pavement. at this moment in dr. house episodes i would be swaying, and then i'd collapse delicately and awaken in a crisp hospital bed. instead my dog bites my hand in excitement. now there is blood on his muzzle.

i am diabolically, almost robotically calm about it. i laugh about it, actually. i am feeling positively waifish. i am one nightgown away from holding an oil lamp up and saying milord? are thee turnin' in for the night? new blood is pinkish, almost feminine in her brightness, a tease into the tissue.

i haven't ever cried at a funeral. i didn't know you were actually allowed to. it felt like new blood - a way of making it about me, when my job is to flatter the shadows and stay tucked out of the way. i am always doing something for someone else. i am always earning my keep. i am always loveable, because i will do what it takes to make you able to love me.

here are the personal things i have been worried about in the last three weeks: if the spider i put outside was now able to restart her life. if an hour and a half every day is enough walking for a greyhound. if i drink too much coffee. if all my friends secretly hate me. if i'm a bad friend and i should be sad about it. what happens after this next goalpost? what if i'm deeply and inherently boring?

i cough up blood. my mouth tastes like iron gummies. i am not worried about this. my body is a seahorse. my body is an ocean wave. i can detach from it, be outside of it - just float away.

#this doesn't make sense #but i think it might be a #iykyk #but not in a fun way lol #writeblr #warm up #to the medical professionals in my ask box: ah. i will listen and if in 3 days the blood keeps Happening i will address it #i thought this is just something that can happen

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starsofarda · 1 month ago

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So, here's some thoughts about a fic I willone day write. Many thanks to @starshadeemilyart for helping me with brainstorming a few ideas.

I do not have a title for this yet. I will call it, at the moment, "The Feanorians' adventures in the Shire".

Bullet points seem like a good idea, so I am sticking with that.

Feanor gets kicked out of Mandos, Namo has had enough of this guy moping over the tortures of his sons and adamantl requesting to be sent back to Aman.

As a punishment Namo kicks him out, but sends him in the Shire, together with his sons, Fingolfin, Fingolfin's sons/daughter and Thingol. They are at the Grey Havens and Cirdan is refusing to let them leave ME. Arson/Kinslaying is stopped by the arrival of Gandalf.

Gandalf is tasked with taking care of Feanor & co. Gandalf will be happy about the task until Feanor opens his mouth and it is an insult. Gandalf also opens his mouth and it is another insult.

It's suddenly Gandalf "I preferred white" The Grey vs Curufinwe "Get thee gone from my gates" Feanaro in a battle of who can sass the other out first.

Someone interrupts them, maybe Gwahir has come reminding Gandalf of the task at hand.

Moment of Fingon calling Gwahir "Thorondor" and Gwahir saying "no, that was my great grandpa, I am Gwahir, current king of the Eagles". "Ok. You were not supposed to have such a short life?" "Apparently it's punishment for saving you all." "We are sorry!" "Oh no, we chose this, no probs mate"

Anyway, they are all in the Shire and it's during their travel to Hobbiton that they see what appears to be a bard, all dressed in black, sad and looking like a withered stalk. He is singing the Noldolante and they see it's actually Maglor

Cue family reunion, cue everyone gets filled in on what happened since their death.

Somehow they also start learning Westron bc having Linguistics Georg over there is actually a good thing.

They finally arrive at Hobbiton and Bilbo has come back from the Lonely Mountain and his house is being put on auction and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has already stolen the infamous silver spoons.

Feanor is reminded of his exile at Formenos and enquires CALMLY.

As in he shouts a loud "WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING HERE WHY ARE YOU DEPRIVING SOMEONE OF THEIR HOUSE?!"

Which also prompted Bilbo shouting as well: "I WAS GONE FOR 5 MINUTES AND NOW MY HOUSE IS ON AUCTION, ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE TAKING POSSESSION OF MY MATHOMS AND MY BELOATHED IN-LAWS HAVE STOLEN MY PRECIOUS SILVER SPOONS"

Cue explanation on what is a Mathom. Feanor, as crown prince and king, takes it well.

"GET AWAY FROM HIS GATES YOU FIENDS! AND YOU! GIVE HIM BACK THE SILVER SPOONS, I WILL FIGHT YOU!"

To which Lobelia replies like the refined lady she is. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, I STOLE NOTHING, YOU WILL BE BEATEN BY MY UMBRELLA OF DOOM!"

Fingolfin, Thingol, the SoF, Fingolfin's sons are like trying to not be perceived, but they are being served tea and biscuits to enjoy the fight, bc this is an EventTM in the SHire and evveryone is treating this like a rooster fight.

It's at that point that some of them decide "fuck it, we might as well."

Maglor becomes the announcer, Celegorm is the referee, Curufin is the one building the ring, the Ambarussar act as PRs, Caranthir starts taking bets.

Maedhros is crying sobbing on Fingon's shoulder and saying something like "I want my mum, I probably deserve all of this, but by Eru Allmighty!", Aredhel is now in the Hobbit Ladies Gossip Club, Turgon, Argon and Fingolfin still try not to be perceived.

That until Thingol, out of spite, goes to Caranthir and bets against Feanor.

RIP Thingol, King of Bad Choices.

Gandalf is watching the drama unfold with the same glee he pulled Bilbo together with the Dwarves and doing absolutely nothing.

It's Feanor and a forging hammer against Lobelia and her umbrella.

It's a choir of "fight fight fight!" all the way.

Yes, Maglor is making introductions WWE style.

It still ends in a draw, but Bilbo gets back house and spoons and mathoms, bc the Hobbits as a whole deem him enough trouble if he has not only Dwarves, but also Elves around. Anyway, Mad Baggins now has a bunch of Elves with a lot of pent-up rage and a lot of free time.

DW, they are useful to the entire Hobbiton and they learn the way of the Hobbits. Somehow they start getting along.

Russingon wedding happens in Hobbit fashion, like the two are now clothed not with Elvish robes, but with carefully tailored suits like any gentleHobbit. There is a lot of crying.

CeleDhel wedding happens, but mostly so that if Eol ever gets reembodied he can fuck off immediately. Also, they are good friends and when Maeglin gets reembodied as well he can maybe have a slightly better father figure.

IDK these last two points seem like a natural consequence.

Thingol and the Gaffer become good friends, gardening reminds him of Melian, maybe he's finall making one (1) good decision.

And then they see that Elves are abandoning ME, at this point Gandalf tells them about Sauron, the rings and the whole deal.

"And who made the rings?" "The ones for the Elves was Celebrimbor, the others was Sauron."

Curufin: "And pray tell, WHERE IS MY SON."

Gandalf: decribes Celebrimbor's death as reported in the chronicles

The rest of the family reacts in the same way

In the meantime Bilbo has adopted Frodo and Frodo reminds them of little Tyelpe and they are going to throw hands

Maedhros just says: NO OATHS THIS TIME NO OATHS. OATHS BAD.

And well.

Ideas so far were to have them go to like Dol Guldur and have a fight off with Orcs and Nazguls, I am still undecided whether I want them to know about the One Ring. Oh well.

I'll probabl post something else once I figure out more stuff

Thoughts? Comments?

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #the silmarillion #feanor #feanorians #thingol #hobbits #bilbo #gandalf #crack post

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angelsdean · 10 months ago

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thinking abt thee long road to destiel love confession: bedlund was like. ok EYE will write the first destiel admission of love [pens "what? i love past you" in 5x04 because well, past-dean reminds him of the dean he fell in love with, the dean that cares about the whole world. gets changed to "like."] then robbie said ok EYE will be the first to write an explicit destiel love confession and DEAN confesses FIRST and they're in an underground space with no windows! [pens "i forgive you. i love you." gets changed to "i need you" which. is honestly a more insane thing to say] then davy perez was like. ok EYE will write the first destiel love confession in 12x12 and cas is saying to dean as he's about to DIE. but then he kinda backtracks it and says he loves everyone. and then finally berens was like, ok i guess it's me. [checks notes] so we got, cas confessing his love and how much he loves dean, specifically highlighting how dean CARES and has a huge heart. and uhh they're in an underground room. with no windows. and cas is about to die. no backtracking this time.

#vic.txt #spn 5x04 #spn 8x17 #spn 12x12 #spn 15x18 #destiel

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bluesidez · 4 months ago

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Gym Rat Miguel Part 15

content warning: more angst, mentions of food, mentions of underage drinking and recreational drug use, some suggestive convos but nothing too crazy

word count: 6.4k (@slushycoookie thee wife, thee beta 🩵)

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

“Does it show anything different?”

“Will you give me a second?”

GymRat!Miguel who was currently sitting at his desk, bouncing his leg while he waited for Tempest to tell him something good.

“It’s honestly looking like the same thing from last night. And the week before. And the week before that,” she deadpans through the phone.

Miguel turned and pressed his lips to his palm.

His call list was a constant cycle between his friends back home and Gabriel, but mostly Tempest, who has taken the role of checking for any updates from you online.

So far, all he’s gotten out of this was pain. You’ve completely removed anything that involved him from your pages. No anniversary pics, no highlights, no emojis in your bio to refer to him. From how Tempest put it, this was a huge deal.

“Look,” Miguel slumped as he geared himself up to listen to the same speech she’d been repeating. “I know you don’t want to hear this- don’t make that face! - but I think it’s time to give up or try something new.”

“It’s been forever.”

“If your definition of forever is a little over two weeks, then sure!”

“I just thought that,” he paused, mulling over the words in his head.

“That she would bend at your will? You’re cute, but not that cute.”

“No, that’s not- Temp,” Miguel whined. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She snorted, “Uh huh. Which is why we’re stalking her page like weirdos.”

“If the roles were flipped, I would be doing the same for you. I have done the same for you.”

“Touché.”

Miguel remembered Tempest spiraling over girls she thought was the one, the two of them huddled up over the phone watching as they all moved onto the next.

He sat beside her and reminded himself never to get this way. He perked up like a flower soaking up the sun every time there was an inch of hope, which truly rivaled how Tempest acted.

“I was just thinking that today would be different. Maybe she would think about me today.”

The thought sits in the air, Tempest’s face shifting to one of sad understanding.

“Not trying to feed your delusions, but maybe she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

Miguel looked at the screen, a tiny bit optimistic.

“But in all fairness, I wouldn’t want anyone on my page who I thought committed one of the most cruel offenses. I would want to forget everything. You have to see this from her side too.”

Tempest was right, a common state when it came to their friendship. It didn’t stop that ugly rust of selfishness that crowded his heart.

He feels like he’s crying out for you, and you don’t care. A year of being together meant nothing to you.

Saying that out loud was insane, though. It didn’t align with how hurt you looked.

So, he’s been internally fighting the feeling, going from understanding to upset and back again.

“Have you talked to Xina at all?”

“She’s only keeping our conversations about school. And acting like nothing happened.”

“She’s probably embarrassed,” Tempest said. “She got caught this time and doesn’t know what to do.”

“Apologizing could be a start.”

“And that requires admitting she was wrong in the first place, so if you get that, let me know so I can mark the day. I’ll even make a t-shirt.”

The sigh that left Miguel was strong enough to irritate Tempest’s speakers.

He wanted to talk to her about the situation again, but it was like talking with a brick wall. It reminded him of when he snapped at her for constantly hitting him when they were younger. Looking back, they were just kids, and she probably didn’t mean anything by it. The red tint and angry pout on her face as she slid him her chocolate milk as an apology stuck with him.

“Why do you want an apology anyway? Or, why do you expect one?”

Miguel wasn’t sure himself. Xina was his childhood best friend, someone with whom he spent a lot of time and shared secrets. There were sweet memories and joyful moments.

It sucks to see her act so different.

“I think,” Miguel paused, looking off through his dorm window. “I think that-”

“Oh my god, she just posted.”

Miguel almost dropped his phone while he switched back to the messages app.

“What is it? What is it?”

“It is,” she dragged out her i’s. The sound of Tempest screenshotting and tapping away at her phone was like rapid fire. “An event, I think?”

“What event? You aren’t sending the pictures fast enough.”

“I already pressed send! Not my fault I don’t have high-speed internet.”

“Tell your cousin to stop fucking hogging it.”

“Shut up and watch the screen.”

His eyes dart across the screen as he waits for the screenshare to load.

Your account comes up, still intact. Miguel takes in everything like he did back when he first met you.

There were new posts about the sculptures you made in class and food from a new café. There’s also a glimpse of you smiling, and he feels like he’s ready to erupt.

Tempest refreshed your page again.

“This is so against girl code.”

“You haven’t even talked with her before.”

“How would you know?”

“Temp.”

“Right, sorry.”

She taps your story, and a flyer comes up.

“A Halloween-themed festival night?” Miguel says as the story disappears.

“Sounds fun!”

“I’m going to go. Put the story back up again.”

Tempest side-eyed him as best as she could, “Uh, maybe let’s not.”

“Why can’t I? I’m a member of the student body.”

“Do you usually go to these things?”

“No,” Miguel slowed his words. “But I could now? Maybe she won’t even be there.”

“And if she is? Wouldn’t it seem like you’re stalking her?”

He thinks about the many times he’s lingered around the art building, walked by your favorite spot on campus, and stared at corners of the library that you loved to see if you would be there.

“No?”

“Doubtful.”

“I just need to see her in person.”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t stop thinking about whether or not you’ll be at the festival.

If he doesn’t see you, he’ll be disappointed, but the panic clawing at his throat won’t shift to his mind.

If he does see you, he’ll be like a fish out of water. Floundering, lost, and begging his lungs to gain its necessities.

He just hopes that going is the right decision.

GymRat!Miguel who goes to his robotics club meetup the next day.

There’s no competition coming up, but the department wanted to revise a moving metal skeleton for Halloween weekend.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Margo. I feel like it, too.”

She pulled his cheek out and made baby noises out of sympathy before Miguel swatted them away.

“Still no luck with your ex? Or is that joint giving you trouble?” she snickered at his sloppy attempt at connecting moving parts.

“Uh, no and yes.”

Aaron peeked up from his station and looked over like a beaver.

“I-it’s not because of what I said, right?”

Margo made a line with her mouth as if to say 'get a load of this guy'.

“No, Aaron,” Miguel mumbled.

“Yeah, Aaron, stop being nosy and get back to work,” Margo joked.

He snapped his welder’s mask back down like a dork and returned to sawing something, sparks flying past him.

Margo looks down at Miguel’s work.

“Well, I hope you can get her back soon because you need to work on your anatomy. Those bones don’t go together at all.”

He looks to a femur and a humerus connected with the sheer will of his clouded mind.

He missed when you attached sticky notes to his body for practice. The prize for getting the different parts of his body correct being kisses. You would laugh at his mistake but give a peck on the lips anyway. His arms were one of your favorite places to put your star-shaped stickers on, too.

“I didn’t mean for you to get even sadder,” Margo snapped him out of the memory.

“It’s fine. My fault.”

Margo shifted her weight as she started to take apart his mistake, “It’ll get better, Miguel. I’m sure of it.”

GymRat!Miguel who sits across from Tyler at one of the uppity restaurants in town. The lights are dim, as if the people eating here are all hiding from something.

“How’s school?” Tyler asked, clothes still managing to glow despite the one warm lamp above the table. He thanks the waitress for refilling his water glass. “Made any new friends? Connections?”

The age-old awkward feeling of trying to concisely describe his growing adult life was at the top of his mind.

“It’s going well,” was always the easiest answer. Simple and open-ended.

Of course, Tyler took this as a sign to delve further.

“Your mother told me you’re taking up game programming this semester. Do you like the feel of that class?”

An ice cube floated to the top of Miguel’s glass.

“I was enjoying it at first, now I’m sort of ready for it to end.”

Tyler cleared his throat, hand covering the frown on his face.

“Ah, well, some people just like the end result, I suppose,” he refolds a napkin, the reflection from his watch panning across the tablecloth. “What about your girlfriend? How is she? Perhaps, you have some new pieces of her’s to show me. My colleagues love the one in the entryway.”

The waiter placed a filet mignon in front of Miguel and bluefin tuna across from him. Tyler moved to tuck the same napkin into his crisp button down.

“I’m not sure.”

Tyler pauses as a slice of fish dangles from his fork.

Miguel is still cutting into the meat unnecessarily, knife scrapping against the plate.

“Son, this cut of meat is like butter,” Tyler said, taking the knife from him and putting it back on its napkin.

A twitch at the corner of his lips almost aligned with Tyler’s. The man racked his brain for the memories of his first son coming home with a similar expression.

He chewed and swallowed his fish stacked with cucumbers and cilantro.

“As you know, I am not the best when it comes to relationships. Nancy and I have had quite the uphill battle. However, I believe I am well-versed in the field of compromise. Should I reach out to her for you?”

It was a long shot, and by the growing shadows on his son’s face, Tyler suspected that his suggestion was a poor one.

“What will that do? Other than show her that I can’t handle my own problems.”

“Surely, you two can work it out. She was lovely, truly,” Tyler frets, afraid he’s made Miguel even more upset.

He just starts to eat, mind elsewhere.

Tyler wondered if he should have ordered some wine.

“When you found out Nancy cheated on you, what did you do?”

Lemon juice from his dish hit his throat right as he swallowed, a hand banging on his chest as he coughed.

“I, uh,” two gulps of water were taken from the glass Miguel handed him. “Well. The fruit of that labor is in front of me.”

“Obviously,” Miguel’s shoulders dropped and Tyler grimaced again. Curse his silly statements. “I meant, how did you feel? What were your initial thoughts?”

“I remember being angry. Here laid the mother of my only child with a much younger and, honestly, less fortunate man. I thought I was foolish to think that my genuine love or money could keep someone.”

Miguel pushed around an asparagus on his plate, “So there was a betrayal. A pain you couldn’t describe.”

“Exactly. For me, that came afterwards. I’m a prideful man. If one thing does not satisfy me, I simply find something that does.”

“And that thing just happened to be my mother?”

“Ah, if you put it like that, it’s far too harsh,” Tyler fixes a cuff. “Your mother provided me a place of warmth, solitude, and love for a short time. It’s something I’ll never forget. I regret the hurt Nancy and I inflicted on each other, but I don’t regret you.”

Tyler watches and waits for a response. His son shifts in his seat and rolls his neck, eyes never leaving his plate.

“Has she,” Tyler tilts his head, “hurt you this way?”

“No, but I broke her trust.”

“You cheated?”

“Never. But we have a lot to work on.”

Tyler might order some bourbon tonight to drink in place of his son and the mopey demeanor.

“I’m all ears whenever you need me. But if there is as much love between you two as I saw earlier this year, then you’re sure to gain in back. That doesn’t go away.”

Miguel takes a deep breath and Tyler believes that some of the shadows on his face disappear.

The meal continued, and the people around them continued their quiet chatter.

“Could you do me a favor?” Miguel asks as they both clean their plates.

Tyler lights up, “Anything.”

“Don’t tell my mom about this?”

Tyler thinks back to the unpleasant things Conchata had to say about her son’s girlfriend and quietly agrees that it’s for the best of she’s out of the loop.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

GymRat!Miguel who walks up to the festival wearing one of the shirts you gave him for his birthday.

It was an impulsive decision because now that he’s here, he’s wondering if seeing it on him will upset you.

The festival is partially outside and inside, a mix of games, concessions, and small rides for students to enjoy.

He walked under the pumpkin and bat-shaped balloons, and fake smoke from a cauldron moved past him.

It smelled like sour candy apples, and marshmallows. Booths were all around the campus grass. He walked past them slowly, not interested but searching for something.

The turnout was nice for a night when he figured people would be out partying. There were a lot of students walking in and out.

A game caught his eye as he neared the entrance to the student center. It’s a Shoot Out booth with the ducks replaced with black cats and the gun switched to tiny ghost bean bags to match the theme. There’s a giant white bunny with an X for lips, a blue dress, and a bow on its ear.

It’s so you that he couldn’t resist.

The student volunteer told him he had three chances this round to knock out twenty cats for the bunny.

“Everyone’s been gunning for it, but this game is pretty hard!”

Miguel nodded in understanding.

If he focused enough, the bunny could be his.

On his first try, he knocked out thirteen cats, much to the volunteer’s surprise.

“Woah! You’re pretty good! Did you wanna grab anything from this tier?”

There was student association merch and a shirt with the college logo.

Miguel rolled his sleeves up, “No, I’m going to try for the plushie again.”

The second time, he knocked down the last cat with just a few seconds left on the timer.

The girl running the booth smiled with her eyebrows nearly merging to the top of her head in shock.

“I-I guess that means you win the bunny!”

She handed it to him with a lull of awe.

He muttered a quiet thanks and turned towards the doors with fake spiderwebs dangling off them.

There was music, a sign to go to a haunted hallway, and even more tables with food.

He wonders if you would have gotten scared walking through scary attractions with him. You would probably hold his hand as tight as he’s holding the belly of this rabbit.

Scanning the room, he doesn’t catch a glimpse of you anywhere.

Looking down at the little white face in his hands, he started to think he wasted the hour or so he’d been here.

Walking to the table of free cookies, he took a frosted Frankenstein in his hand and bit a bolt off.

He felt like a lost kid as he floated from table to table to stall.

Maybe he should give up. You were probably promoting this event for Jess.

GymRat!Miguel who was finishing off his fifth mummy-in-a-blanket when he saw you leaving the haunted hallway.

The first thing he noticed is the long, blue cardigan falling off your shoulders. The end of it is trailing after you as you run out.

There’s a grin on your face and an air in your steps, something he missed seeing.

The next thing he noticed was that you weren’t wearing your necklace anymore.

Then a hand pulled it up on your shoulders and slid back down your arm.

A guy is standing next to you and laughing as if you’ll give him money for doing so.

He’s tall. He looks like he could be built, too.

It’s like a slap in the face, worse than when you pushed him away.

Looking down, Miguel saw your hand in his, clinging tight. You smile at the guy and reach up to get something out of his hair.

Miguel thinks that there was nothing wrong with his hair. There was nothing to smile about either.

The guy’s hands touch you in places where Miguel has embraced. His fingers were covering the same neck he’d put his head in. His thumbs ran over the apples of your cheeks, the same ones that used to crowd his lips.

You lean into the guy’s chest and say something that he can’t hear.

His stomach makes an angry lurch and he feels that orange being shift to a green one. It’s clawing at him, pulling at his mind.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to end. You weren’t supposed to cling to some random guy. You weren’t supposed to be with someone else.

Miguel turns when he leans down towards you, chest burning. What he didn’t see was not true to him. What he didn’t know was not reality.

GymRat!Miguel stormed out of the building, and images of you happy with someone else faded onto the inside of his eyelids.

The material of his sweater was scratching against his skin as he made his way back to the festival entrance.

Everything was too much. The people were too loud, the lamps were too bright, and the music playing over the speakers sucked.

His nose started to twitch and he wondered why did festival food have so much damn sugar.

Someone nearly hits the ground as he pushes past them, a confused noise hitting the air, but he doesn’t feel inclined to stop.

GymRat!Miguel who almost breaks free from what feels like a harmful joke when Xina spots him.

“Hey!” She ran over to him, leaves crunching against her boots. She’s wearing the varsity jacket he bought her years ago. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I,” he stopped when he thought he heard your laugh somewhere deep in the festival. “I’m not feeling too good. Think I’m gonna go back to my dorm.”

“Oh, do you have a fever? The weather did drop out of nowhere,” her hand lifted, fingers twitching like she wanted to see for herself.

She hesitates, scared he’ll blow away.

When her fingers press into his neck, he just wants to cry. It felt like when she caught him crying under the trees on the playground or when he’d show up at his grandma’s house with a chubby face full of tears.

He covers her hand for a second, just one, then pushes it away.

If he talks about it, he’ll break into pieces.

“Here,” he shoved the bunny into her hands. The dress is wrinkled, and the bow is a bit lopsided.

Xina’s eyes grow as sees it. The smile on her lips is familiar, “Thank you. I love it.”

Her mouth opens as if she wants to say more, but Miguel starts first.

“Glad you like it. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, ok. Get back safe, Hare-Hare.”

He heads towards his building empty-handed.

GymRat!Miguel who is in denial.

He’s moved past his brain making up you being at the Halloween festival and was now choosing to believe that it was a friend.

The tiny Gabriel on his shoulder was telling him that you had moved on. You had a new boyfriend, so he needed to move on as well—or stop moping about you.

He was choosing to ignore him for now.

It’s been another week since he saw you. Thanksgiving was on its way and he hasn’t been focused in a single class.

At a time when he really needed Tempest to update him, she told him to step back and recenter himself. Something about him not being level-headed.

He didn’t care.

The point of no return was truly here as he stood in front of the elevator in the art building.

A bag of food was sweating in his palm, and the two drinks were seeping into his hoodie, but he would regret it forever if he didn’t try talking to you again before the semester was over.

He’s doing something he told himself he wouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help that he still knew your schedule by heart. Taking a chance on you sticking around for studio hours was all that he had.

GymRat!Miguel who got to the right floor and was happy to see a student leaving the room.

The lights in the hallway were still on and music came from down the hall.

Miguel walked down, peering in every door, leaving once he couldn’t see you or when the people inside gave him weird looks.

GymRat!Miguel who walks into the last studio in the hallway with quiet steps.

Your canvas is almost bigger than you, the top of it covering you as you moved your brush across it.

You had headphones on, star molds stuck on the sides of them.

Miguel sat the food down on the table, moving like a stealthy agent.

Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, yet paint was still on them despite your efforts. You looked tired, but god, you were still overwhelmingly gorgeous to him.

He stepped closer. Slowly, step by step, coming into your peripheral.

“Why are you here?”

Miguel paused mid-walk, face like a puppy who got caught.

He should have thought this through more.

“I wanted to see you,” he holds his hands before him. It’s not making him any smaller, but it brings a slight comfort. “Brought some food.”

“’M not hungry.”

An apology is his first instinct, but the sound of your stomach growling speaks for him.

You refuse to look at him, face warm.

“It’s your favorite. Come eat, please.”

Taking off your headphones, you sighed.

“Fine.”

GymRat!Miguel who has to pinch himself to stop staring at you.

You weren’t just tired, you were exhausted. Your eyes drooped as you bit into your fries, and your movements were sluggish.

You didn’t ask for his extra sauce like you usually did. You didn’t even try to steal his fries.

“How have you been?” he asks instead of digging himself further into the sad hole of his heart.

Your eyes flick at him over your glasses and back to your food.

“Really, Miguel?”

“Y-yes? I’m always wondering how you are.”

“Then you should know how I’ve been already, then.”

Miguel faltered.

“You’re not very subtle, you know? I could see you pacing back and forth around campus.”

“Oh,” he slurped his drink nervously.

“And I saw you at the festival, too.”

He almost punctured the styrofoam in his hand.

“So, you’ve been fine is what you’re telling me. I’m gla-” he choked on the words. “I see you’ve…met someone.”

“He was just a friend. You could have said ‘hi’ then, if you really wanted to speak with me.”

“Didn’t look like a friend,” left Miguel’s mouth before he could stop it.

You hummed, eyebrows raised, and a click sound from your teeth. “Oh, but now do you see how that feels?” You started to untie your apron.

“I didn’t mean for that to come out in that way. I came here to just talk.”

“About what? How you didn’t actually cheat on me? How you didn’t mean for any of this to happen? How you’re sorry you got caught?”

He bit his tongue.

That was almost what he wanted to say.

“About us,” he said as you rolled your eyes. “I still love you, and it’s killing me not to be with you. This is as plain and simple as I can say it. I’ll say it over and over and over again until you hear me.”

“Miguel,” your voice puffed out, weary and broken, “you cheated on me with your best friend and now you’re here trying to spin this and pull me back. I-I have dignity. As much as I want to pretend like what’s been happening this semester is meaningless, I can’t.”

“And I’m telling you that I would never do that you. Not in a million years, not in this lifetime, would I ever purposely hurt you in that way. Baby, please. Listen to me!”

“I see the way you are with her,” your words fall after his. “I remember the texts. There is something there. I don’t know if I can compete with that and I’m not trying to. So, if you want to be with her, then do that, but leave me out of it.”

Miguel is quick to grab your hands as you try to turn away, “Fine. There is something there.”

You try to yank yourself from him again, the pain from October 13th filling you again, but his hands are faster this time.

“There’s a girl who used to threaten to beat me up if I didn’t defend myself against bullies. There’s a girl who used to trade collectible cards with me in secret because her parents didn’t allow her to obsess over junk, and the girls at school thought it was lame. There’s a trust built long over a decade that has been broken. I do care about her, as I would do with any friend, but you have to understand that I care about you, too.”

“Then why didn’t you show that?” you whispered, tears leaving your eyes. “It felt humiliating, Miguel. That night, I felt disgusting. Like you were just throwing me away. I kept thinking that you lied to me about everything, that you were indulging in something that you never really wanted.”

Miguel reached to hold your face, thumbs sliding your tears away, heart breaking.

“Lo siento, amor. Hm?” he wanted to take your pain away and place it onto himself if it meant that you didn’t talk like this. “It’s not true. What we have created is not some trial run. I love you so deeply, that I was going insane. Knowing that you thought otherwise is painful to hear. The buildup to that night is a misunderstanding. You have to know that.”

You take a breath, “How could I know?”

Miguel stared at your face and thought the same.

He’s been yelling trust, trust, trust and when he thinks back to your few interactions with Xina, it clicks that you truly had no foundation to trust.

“If I had just been better, you would have known.”

Like you said, Xina had walked all over him.

“So what now?” you asked, and pull your sweater over your fingers.

Miguel blinked, “I was hoping to start over? Restart?”

“I can’t,” you said immediately and Miguel tensed. “You entering my life has given me far more ups than downs, but when those downs come, they can be brutal.”

“So, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend, again?”

You shake your head and he felt like it was his turn to cry.

“I want action. Show me that something like this won’t happen again. We can sit here and tell each other promises until we’re blue in the face, but what do those promises mean if one person or thing can ruin it.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll do anything.”

You brush his hair back and wrap his arms around your waist to settle in this feeling. Your thumbs traveled from his hairline to curves of his ears down to his jaw. They rub circles into his skin, slow and rhythmic.

“Have you talked with Xina? Has she confessed to what you’re telling me she has done?”

He shakes his head softly, afraid to break the scene.

You laugh, small and quiet, then unwrap his arms from around you. You go back to your canvas and start to scrape at the glass of the taboret. Miguel was so in a trance, that almost didn’t notice the switch.

“I’m going to talk with her,” Miguel stated across the room.

You wave a hand in the air, unmoved.

He followed you as you go to the mineral spirits bucket to soak your brushes.

“Baby-“

“As far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t talk to me until whatever you two have going on is fixed. Don’t know who 'baby' is.”

You walk to the sink and turn the water on. Miguel was right behind you and grabbing the dish soap before you can.

“And I will talk to her,” Miguel sayid. You reach for the soap and he holds it out of your reach, petulant. “Baby.”

You give him an irritated look and pinch his neck. He makes a hurt noise and gives you the jug.

“Action. Miguel.”

GymRat!Miguel who waited until you’ve packed everything up.

He didn’t mean for this to turn into him teasing you, but he couldn’t help it. He was getting his fill while he still could.

“At least let me walk you back to your dorm,” Miguel sayid, picking up the wet paper towels you’ve been throwing at him.

“No, thanks. I have a date. I don’t need you changing up my energy.”

Miguel’s smile dropped.

“You do?”

“His name starts with an R, ends with an E. He’s super sweet. Sturdy.”

Reese? Reggie? Raye? Ronnie?

“I see,” Miguel’s heart plummets. “Your friend wasn’t just that.”

“Mm-hm. We’re still testing the waters, but I don’t think he’ll disappoint me.”

Miguel didn’t know what to say. He was nothing but bold, though.

“Who’s to say that…guy won’t hurt you?”

Who’s to say that he would treat you better than Miguel?

You pull the straps of your back over your shoulders and Miguel wants to hold it for you.

A snicker leaves you, “Because he’s made of plastic and is designed of pleasure.”

“Oh.”

“Bye. Enjoy your Thanksgiving.”

Miguel stood and watched you go, wondering if this was progress.

GymRat!Miguel whose bedroom was filled with the chatter of his friends once more.

Friendsgiving was always fun.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that Lyla is a terrible teammate.

“You’ve got be doing this on purpose,” Miguel groaned as Lyla’s Yoshi pumps the pedal incorrectly.

“I don’t know what you’s talking about!” Her giggles float across the room as saw Miguel get more and more frustrated.

Winston and Tempest were laser-focused, their Monty Mole and Peach following a stead 1-2 rhythm to get their cart across the track.

“Lyla!” Miguel yells as her Yoshi stumbles back. “You’re selling me. You want me to lose.”

The mini-game ends with Tempest and Winston high-fiving each other and Miguel yelling at Bowser to pick his head up.

GymRat!Miguel who laughed as he watched Winston reenact his band director, nearly breaking his neck.

“I’ve never seen a bald man somersault on grass until that day.”

GymRat!Miguel who, full off of food and peach cobbler that Tempest made, stared at the bag of gummies that she placed in the middle of their huddle.

“We can just try this tonight. We’re safe with each other,” Tempest whispered.

“You guys are horrible role models,” Miguel said.

“I don’t know. That blue one is speaking to me. It reminds me of Scooby Doo,” Winston mumbled.

Lyla motioned across one, “Maybe we can cut it in half.”

“That defeats the purpose though. These barely have anything in them,” Tempest complained.

“Says you,” Miguel quipped. “You just called me about a cherry bong the other night.”

“Ok, but wasn’t it cute?”

GymRat!Miguel who nearly jumped out his skin when his door slams open.

Everyone except him shoves their gummy in their mouth with lightening speed. Miguel just holds his awkwardly as he turns to see him mom standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, ma?” he says. He chose to ignore Winston who is over exaggerating, lips smacking.

“Mijo! I have a surprise for you guys!”

GymRat!Miguel who sat awkwardly on his rug, running his wrapped gummy in his palm.

Lyla was practically in Tempest’s lap, tapping at her phone. Tempest is looking around their circle expectantly.

Winston started tapping a fast beat on his arm.

Miguel is looking everywhere except in front of him where Xina was sitting with her chin tucked into her knees.

“It’s good to see you again,” Winston said, forever the peacemaker.

Xina relaxed a bit, “You guys, too. I’ve missed this.”

Miguel saw Tempest softening up a bit at Xina’s words.

“When is stuff gonna hit?” Lyla barks out to which Tempest elbows her.

Xina cleared her throat, “Actually can we talk, Miguel?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

Xina looked around them, “Alone?”

GymRat!Miguel who was standing across from Xina in the office-turned-bedroom that his parents barely used.

“Did my mom invite you?” Miguel asked.

“Actually, Tempest did.”

Miguel raises his eyebrows and nods. He didn’t expect that but he’s not mad at it.

Xina was antsy, arms hiding themselves in the sleeves folded across her body. Miguel stayed quiet.

“So, things between us haven’t been exactly smooth sailing lately.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Miguel looked down at the shark slippers you bought him last year.

“And I have some things that I want to explain to you.”

Miguel raised his eyes expectantly. Xina was mirroring his posture, but her face looked uncomfortable, conflicted.

Her eyes flicker over his before she covered her face and huffs, “这太难了.” (This is so hard.)

“What’s hard?” Miguel asks, pulling together the few times Xina taught him anything. He sat down, hoping it would relax her more.

Her hands drop as she blinks at the ceiling, “Everything. When it comes to you, everything just gets overwhelming.”

“As in?”

She looked at him in disbelief, “As in I’m doing silly shit, again.”

A pause in her words comes as they hear laughter from down the hall.

“Last year was so surreal. I did everything right. My mailbox was full of acceptance letters. My mom finally genuinely smiled at me for the first time in what felt like years. I moved so far away from my parents that I felt like that string that kept me attached to them had broken. I had fun. I went to my first party and got so drunk that when I woke up, I was on the porch of a frat. I made friends who could relate to me more than anyone else. I made acquaintances who could have never gotten into that school without their parents painting the campus with money. Still, I worked my ass off and got kicked out because one of them hid drugs under my seat.”

Miguel’s breath hitched, but Xina continued.

“It was my word against kids whose parents could have the school shut down within minutes. My dad was so angry at me that he pretended like I wasn’t in his home. And my mom just,” her leg started to bounce. “She helped me pack up some things and sent me to go live with my aunt for the summer. It wasn’t until she dropped me off at the airport that whispered to me that she loved me. That she was proud of me. That it was ok to make mistakes.”

“I cried like a baby for half of the flight. And it wasn’t until I got to customs that I realized that I should have called you. You always knew what to tell me no matter what the situation was and I just disappeared. Everything came back tenfold and I missed you so much. So when I saw you again, it was like I fell back into my old habits. I thought ‘I’m finally going to do it!’ but would chicken out and relieve that stress. I was kind of hoping that my tipsy self would have more confidence.”

“Because a drunk tongue speaks a sober mind?” Miguel hummed.

Xina finally laughed, “Are you 40 or something? Yeah. Exactly.”

Miguel blinked and looked up at her, “So tell me what your sober mind wants to say, Xina.”

Xina’s eyes lowered, “That I. I feel like I lose myself when I’m around you. It’s why I acted the way I did. It’s why I overstepped.”

His heart picked up as he registered her words.

“I like you so much, Miguel. More than I can bear. More than I’d like to admit. More than a friend.”

dividers by: @adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Please don't be mad at me. 😵‍💫 Also please watch your tone in the comments. 🤠 Be very mindful, very demure.

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