#you got to meet SUN (briefly) before he was cut

[sarahs-secrets2]

safety net ˋ♡ˊ

dr jack abbot x reader

reader scared to admit feelings but jack is reassuring, super sweet, fluff, all the good stuff!!! (not my gif <3)

wc: 2.1k!

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“So what do you have planned for your day off?” Dr. Shen asks, leaning against the nurse’s station as he swirls what's left of his very melted, old Dunkin ‘iced’ coffee. 

“Uh, I’m not sure.” You lie. Your eyes flick up from the computer and find Dr. Jack Abbot checking a chart as he leaves an exam room. Trying not to stare, you quickly shift your attention back down. 

“See if it were my day off-” Shen is about to go into grand detail about his perfect day off, before a voice cuts him off. 

“C’mon, brother,” Dr. Abbot laughs, his hand falling to John’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. “Got something for you.” As Jack pulls Dr. Shen away, his eyes meet yours, giving you a side smile and quick wink before heading towards a fresh trauma.  

“Hey, you have tomorrow off too,” the voice is far away, but you know it’s Shen. Your eyes glance off to the side, seeing Abbot shake his head with a small laugh while snapping on a fresh pair of gloves before entering the trauma room. 

It was no coincidence that the two of you shared a day off. It had been something quietly in the works for a while. Jack asked you to go to a new restaurant that opened a few blocks from the hospital. It wasn't a fancy spot, very casual, a perfect place for a summer evening and some drinks. The restaurant was no longer new by the time you were both able to get the same night off, most of the hospital staff had already been with their family or friends, or spouses. Except you and Jack, who both promised not to go until you could go together. 

You two were just really good friends, at least that’s what you told yourself. It was easier to compartmentalize it that way than dive into feelings that you were far from ready to unpack. It was a silly little crush, nothing serious. 

Now you’re lying to yourself. 

Dr. Abbot was attractive. There was no denying that, but he was also patient, thoughtful, thorough, you could go on and on. Every move he made was precise and thought out, he exuded quiet confidence that pulled you directly into his orbit. Abbot was also extremely good at his job, which just made it all the more impossible to deny any sort of attraction to him. On top of it all, his no bullshit demeanor made him intimidating in the best way. It had come from his military background, which he told you about briefly. The stories were told away from work, mornings in the park, or a rare night off at the local dive bar, always a few beers in, the two of you being the last ones left. 

Maybe he figured the stories of his past would scare you away, put some distance between growing feelings you both hid from each other. Wrong. It only made the two of you want to be closer.

While you were trying to deny your feelings, Jack was adamant about his. The tension is always palpable between the two of you. Stolen glances, hands brushing in passing, slow walks home, Abbot made it a habit to always be there for you. He picked up on your fears of falling in love without you having to verbalize them. It was easy for him to notice you, you mirrored him and the fears he once carried. Jack knew what it was like to lose love, he had mourned, and had put the work in to heal. It’s not a linear journey, he knew that, but he knew himself enough to know that he was ready to let himself love again when he saw you. It was cliche, but it was a feeling he hadn't come across in a long time, and he didn’t want to regret letting it go. 

The rest of the shift is a blur.

It’s busy in a way that doesn't allow your mind to wander. It’s perfect. The sun is rising, and like clockwork, the day shift filters in, cases are handed off, and you are bag in hand and out the doors. 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice stops you before you can cross the street to start your walk home. 

“Hey,” you turn to see him with tired eyes, and his military bag slung over one shoulder. 

“Better not be trying to come up with an excuse to get out of our date,” he offers a side smile, eyes crinkling. There was that word date, the very thing you were trying to convince yourself it wasn't. 

“Don’t give me any ideas now, Abbot.” 

He gives a genuine but exhausted laugh. “Can I pick you up around…7?”

“7 is good,” you smile, “I’ll see you then.” You start to cross the street when you hear him again.

“You sure I can’t walk you home?” He makes it a habit to offer every time he sees you start your walk. Most of the time, you turn him down, not wanting to burden him. There is the rare occasion where you say yes, and you two walk together, mostly in silence. It’s a cherished moment, one you allow yourself only so often. It’s hard not to get attached to a man who makes himself available in the ways Jack Abbot does. 

“I’ll be okay,” you nod and give him an honest smile.

He smiles back, walking backwards, giving a wave. “7,” he tugs the strap of his backpack up onto his shoulder. “Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t.” You drag it out laughing and giving a small wave back as you walk away. 

Jack steals a glance, looking back and watching you walk through the park. Part of him wished you had said yes today. Anytime spent with you was time well spent. It wasn't like he had anything else going on, he planned to sleep and then see you, and walking you back to your apartment would have made the time in between seeing you bearable. 

The second you get home, you’re showered and in bed in record time. 

Sleep comes easily after shifts like the one tonight. Before you know it, the alarm on your phone is beeping, waking you up and reminding you of the date (that you keep trying to tell yourself is not a date) with the guy you work with, and who you’ve only had a crush on for the longest time. Time dwindles, and after distracting yourself with cleaning, reorganizing, and other mundane tasks to take your mind off later, you finally start to get ready. It helps tremendously that the restaurant is casual, so it’s easy to dress for. Despite giving yourself plenty of time to get ready, you feel anxiety building up as the clock ticks closer to 7 pm. Knowing Jack as well, he would be sure to be early, but not early enough that he would show up before you were all set.  

6:53 pm, there’s a knock at the door. 

The knock is soft, gentle, it’s thought out. It’s almost a peek into how nervous Jack truly is, which doesn't happen very often. Opening the door, you see Dr. Jack Abbot standing with his hands in the pockets of his dark wash jeans. The button-down polo he's wearing has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, freckled forearms on display. It’s rare to see him in anything but scrubs, and damn does he look good. The dinner wasn't fancy, but you could tell he still wanted to put effort into how he looked.  

“You clean up well, Doctor Abbot.” You smile brightly at him, catching a whiff of his cologne wafting in the air: teakwood, eucalyptus, and worn leather. It’s intoxicating. 

“So do you, Doctor.” His eyes flick up and down your body. “You ready?”

Nodding, you step out and lock the door behind you. Jack’s hand grazes your lower back, letting you lead the way. 

“You don't mind walking, do you?” 

“Of course not,” you bump your shoulder into his softly, earning a light laugh from Jack. 

The two of you walk in a comfortable silence for a while before Jack speaks up.

“You know, Robby was trying to get me to go to this place for at least two weeks straight before he took a hint.”

“Really? You could’ve gone, you know.” You steal a glance.

“As badly as I want to go on a date with Robby, I wanted to save my first time for tonight, with you.” He shrugs, meeting your eyes.

You can spot the restaurant from a mile away, with glowing string lights illuminating an outdoor patio, lively music playing, and other patrons chatting away with drinks in hand. Jack’s hand returns to your lower back, guiding you through the busy restaurant and to the host stand. 

You two are led back outside, the table located in a corner, making it more private than the others. Drinks and appetizers are ordered, and the anxiety hanging over your head seems to vanish. Jack and you slip into conversation, and it flows through dinner. Swapping stories of the past, and some of the present, and sharing glimpses of what you both want in your futures, you see more into Jack than you ever have before. The voice in the back of your head warns you of what happened last time you got close to someone like this, but you push it down, turning all your focus to the man in front of you. 

Time seems to fly by, and Jack, being the gentleman he is, pays the tab despite your protest to split it. 

The sun has fully set, the stars are out, and a light breeze blows through the night air as the two of you walk slowly back. Shoulders bumping occasionally, fingertips just barely touching each other as the two of you walk closely together, trying to preserve the night, neither of you ready for it to end.

Back at your apartment, you linger at the door, not reaching for your key just yet. Leaning against the door slightly, you smile at Jack.

“Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” even though it’s dark, the small glow from the porch light illuminates his smile.

The moment hangs in the air, his eyes never leaving yours. Jack steps closer, closing the already small distance. Taking a deep breath, you get another rush of his cologne, making your head spin. Your hand reaches back, grasping the door handle, trying to steady yourself.

You wish Jack Abbot wasn't so in tune with your emotions, he cuts through your exterior and sees you for what you are in a way no one else could. You can see it on his face how he is reading you, he feels your hesitation, building a wall between the two of you.

“You don’t have to run away from this, you know.” His head tilts slightly as he speaks, eyes never leaving yours. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do.” 

“Jack,” it comes out softer than you expected. It’s vulnerable. It’s a plea. This is uncharted territory. You could turn away and run right now, literally. He would let you, he wouldn't push you if you weren't ready. Jack Abbot was patient, he had already waited months to take you to dinner. He would wait till you were ready. 

“I know.” He echoes your words back to you. He understands what this would mean for both of you, at work, with each other, a permanent crossing of a long-standing boundary. On the other hand, it was a boundary both of you ached to cross. The idea of doing so weighed more in theory than had crossed your mind. 

Jack’s hand reaches for yours, he half expects you to pull away. Instead, you reach out, meeting him in the middle. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. He’s put the power back in your hands, he doesn’t want to rush you. 

Your head is reeling, trying to compose yourself, trying to make sense of what you should do. The part of you holding yourself back seems to vanish the longer you look at Jack Abbot in front of you. 

A switch flips, and you listen to Jack’s words and stop running. With a simple nod, he knows exactly what you mean, no words needed. His hands move to cradle your face, holding you close. Jack’s lips crash into yours, the tension between the two of you finally snapping. Your hands paw at his chest, trying to get him closer.

Everything else is quiet, and for once, it all makes sense now that you’re kissing Jack Abbot. 

You’re not sure how long you two are like this, only stopping to catch some air. 

“Been waiting for that for a while,” Jack smirks, his hands wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You bury your head into his chest, attempting to hide your smile, "Me too."

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hope you all enjoyed :) (bear with me if there's typos, its 4am loll i will fix!!)

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Art with a psycho girly partner? 🥺

Beguiling Perniciousness 🎀

I love this ask! 💗

Your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface; He knew you'd cross paths again as he watched your amiable self skip down the road and fade into the distance.

6k words

Girly reader who is obsessed with Art 🎀

Do I even need to say that it's smut it's all I ever write

You played the part well, he'd give you that. Art had first caught sight of you in the old costume shop in Miles County, lurking towards the back where all the nauseating pinks and creams amalgamated to create it's own fantasy-like microcosm, full of various princess and fairy costumes and similar varieties.

He didn't particularly pay you much mind initially, his focus solely on the girl he often terrorised, grinning eerily at her with a sense of foreboding. He remained cruelly amused even as the adolescent with the ironic angel wings dashed out of the shop, eager to flee his suffocating presence.

His mind had slipped the possibility that you had remained within the shop, excitedly trying on pretty tiaras and adorning yourself with sparkly jewellery, all the while remaining oblivious to the grotesque murder of the store assistant, his head cut clean from his neck. Blood pooled upon the floor, draining from the ugly orifice. His head had been tossed haphazardly to the side.

He had heard your bubbly self round the corner, humming happily with an armful of items and clothes, before bumping into his side hastily. Art peered down at your mildly shocked expression, gauging the way your round cheeks appled out into a smile.

Blood lightly covered his form, and specs of it had been transferred onto you. You didn't react, as happy as ever, giggling at your mistake. "Pardon me! I'm sorry, I'm in a world of my own.", your curls bounced as you gazed around the shop, bypassing the crude, decapitated head, and instead focusing on the locked door at the entrance of the shop.

"Oh! I didn't realise they shut so early. That's okay, I've got everything I need.", you whirled past him, almost skipping over to the door and unlocking it. The dresses and other items in your hands still had the tags on them, unscanned and unpaid for. As soon as you stepped a foot out the door, the alarm rang.

Even still, you remained as unperturbed as ever, glancing back at the clown. "You won't tell, will you?", you had indicated to your stolen goods, flashing him a dazzling smile. "You look like someone who knows how to keep a secret.", your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye.

In fact, your smile rivalled Arts as he nodded slowly that, yes, he could definitely keep a secret. His head tilted inquisitively, searching your expression for a semblance of fear or shock, but he genuinely found none. As you offered him a cheerful goodbye and skipped off down the road, Art bet most people thought you were ditzy and dumb.

Staring at your receding form in the distance, Arts keen eyes knew the aura of darkness when he saw it. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface. He didn't bother seeking you out, you were bound to cross paths.

That had been a year ago. A few weeks after your initial meeting, Art had paused his laborious work of crafting within the dilapidated house due to the sound of male shouting tinged with irritation.

"You've brought me out here for what? You said I could fuck you, so why the fuck are you leading me into the middle of nowhere? Got your boyfriend out here or something?"

The tone was downright condescending and full of unrighteous anger; he believed you owed him something. Art stood amongst the shadows of the lowering sun, arms crossed languidly as he watched, recognising your melodious voice instantly.

"You don't have to be so crude about it, I just want to have a romantic walk in the forest." You pouted, eyelashes fluttering at him as a small smile tugged at your lips, a pretty sheen of lipgloss staining them rosy.

The man gave you a disgusted grimace, checking his phone repetitively. He seemed aggravated, pawing at your skirt covered hips and backing you into a nearby tree. He outright ignored everything sweet you had to say, barely sparing you a glance as he scrutinised your form hugging jumper appreciatively.

Still, you prattled on and on, rambling kindly about how beautiful the forest became in the autumn, how refreshingly cold it was and that it was the perfect weather for a nice walk-

"You've got such a slutty body. Shut your mouth for me, yeah?" Hands began smoothing the already short skirt up your thighs, bunching the fabric, before they were slapped away. You ducked past him, skipping over to your bag that you had dropped earlier on and started searching for something.

"I just need to grab a condom. I'm a good girl, you know." You twirled a lock of hair with a sly smirk, digging through the multitude of items within your handbag. You pouted your lips in mild irritation, hand swiftly seeking what you needed, before you nodded to yourself happily, hand clutching what you desired.

Standing straight, you twirled around and offered the man a wink, to which he scoffed. Barely a second later, his kneecap was blown off as a resounding bang echoed throughout the thicket.

He screamed and fell to the floor in a heap, blood pouring grotesquely over the leaves that blanketed the damp ground. You held the gun out in front of you, aiming steadily. You shot the other knee, face stoic, and rolled your eyes at the blood curdling scream he released.

Art remained in the shadows, arms folded with intrigue as he chuckled to himself, eyebrows low. He watched the man roll back and forth upon the ground, crying out for help and for mercy. Peering back at you, he cocked his head at the way you giggled with a delicate hand covering your mouth, gun held high.

"You're so silly for thinking I'd ever let you touch me. At least take a girl out for dinner first, you know?"

With a playful wave goodbye, you shot him in the head, watching the way his body collapsed backwards, twitching. All fell silent. You sighed contentedly at the peace, smoothing your skirt back into place pristinely.

A rustle of leaves drew your attention, a tall, monochromatic man standing eerily still, lurking behind a tree at you. He was grinning. You waved at him amicably; he returned the gesture.

"Oh, I'd recognise you anywhere! From the costume shop, right?"

Art nodded slowly, stepping out from behind the tree and taking measured steps towards you. You still held the gun in your hand, but it was pointed at the floor.

As the clown approached, you found your neck craning upwards, his body swallowing you in it's shadow. He was lithe and lumbersome, grinning down at you.

"Think you could keep another secret, Mr tall and handsome?" You giggled, face a light pink from his close proximity and intense stare; he was alluring. In fact, you found yourself downright infatuated with him. You could sense the danger oozing off of him in waves, and although a bolt of caution shot through you, you couldn't deny the peculiar attraction you felt to his unique and theatrical self.

Art declined his head down at you, pointing softly to himself, humbly, as though to say 'who, me?', before comically twisting to look behind him, seeking out the other person you were surely complimenting.

It made you giggle again, smiling sweetly up at him as you shook your head at his playfulness. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so bold. You're the miles county killer, aren't you? It makes me nervous being in the presence of someone way above my calibre."

Your eyes fluttered around cutely, before returning up at him with a beautiful sparkle. Art waved off your compliment dramatically, grin sharpening at your girlish giggle. To anyone else, his rigid closeness and predatory stare down would immediately raise flags. But you seemed happy enough, cheeks a cute pink.

"It's so difficult though, being efficient, secretive and untraceable just like you. If I had half of your strength, it would make my life so much easier. It really takes it out of me having to lug these bodies around. And also-"

Art didn't take notice of when you both had begun to walk slowly through the shadowed forest, only that he didn't mind hearing your rambling. He watched you gesture dramatically as you told your stories of having to lure horrible men into the woods before shooting them, and cocked an eyebrow as you suddenly changed subject and fawned over the falling leaves, excitedly proclaiming your love for the various reds, oranges and yellows.

Art nodded thoughtfully at most things you said, even if the gesture was slightly mocking in its sincerity. Even still, he quite liked your voice, and he found himself laughing at some of the tales you told. You were delicate, short of stature compared to him; It would be incredibly easy to reach over and snap your neck. Art found that he didn't want to.

He wasn't restraining himself out of kindness, and he wasn't even actively attempting to be polite. He simply wanted to act this way, here and now, as spontaneous as always. It was humorous, for once he was the one listening calmly, and you were the one grinning far too widely at him.

That was some time ago. Since your first real introduction, you had seen Art here and there, pleasantly surprised when he'd turn up just as you were about to clean up the mess you made of a body, only to drag it with ease to whichever location you desired and burn it.

From there on, sightings of him became even more frequent, moreso to the point that one day you heard a crash in your kitchen, running down with gun in hand, only to bare witness to Art standing menacingly with a horrific smile, blood coating his form and a scissors and pliers held intimidatingly.

Upon seeing you, confusion entered his eyes, his hands lowering. You had never seen the clown appear bashful at his own mistake, raising his hands and shrugging as though to say 'oops'.

It made you giggle, hand to mouth. You pointed towards the window, indicating to the house nearby. "Art, weren't you supposed to be killing my neighbour tonight? You've trespassed the wrong house!" You snickered, bounding over to him excitedly and staring up at him with the most innocent, adoring expression; it made him want to lift the pliers and rip your stunning eyes out and keep them forever.

Art had the decency to realise his mistake, scratching the back of his head awkwardly before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He remembered you saying you lived close to his next victim, but he didn't realise you were adjacent. Mistakes for him were so rare.

Art scoffed at himself, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air as though saying 'ive made a real mess of this'. His theatrics made you laugh, increasing drastically as you watched the way he perched his hands on his hips in exasperation.

"I'm really glad you're here. I've never shown you around my home before, so..if you've got time..." You trailed off softly, lifting your hands and crossing your fingers with hope as you danced side to side, awaiting his response.

Art deliberated upon that, taking his time as he watched you dance, before shrugging once with a grin. Sure, why not. He could spare a minute or two before he absolutely maimed your neighbour.

He felt your smaller form bolt over to his side and lock arms with him, and he let you. You pulled him along, showing him each room swiftly before dragging him up to your bedroom and pushing him in.

"You look soo dangerous in my room! I love it!"

You had a point. Perusing the room, he found it to be incredibly girly. You had a lot of pinks, fairy lights everywhere and a few teddies here and there. His monochromatic self standing eerily still within your room feels like he's siphoning the pretty colours out of it.

Regardless, you utterly beamed at him, more than happy. You bordered on manic, he thought, body shaking in excitement and fists clenched so hard. Your bright grin stretched wide, eyes round and watchful, focusing solely on him and his reaction.

After what felt like ages, Art lifted a finger up to his neck and mimicked a cutting motion, head tilted to the side and tongue poking out like a comical cartoon character that had been killed. This room was far too bright for him, sickeningly sweet and adorable, but your high pitched giggles of glee at his honest opinion had him chuckling silently too, eyebrows low as he watched you dazzle.

That had been one of your biggest turning points with the clown, and from that day you saw him almost daily. In fact, he walked into your home whenever he felt like it. You'd find him lounging on your chair by the TV at random times in the night, or eating at your kitchen table serenely.

What you cherished the most was when he took you to his dilapidated hideout, dark and dingy and cold, fully juxtaposing your little home; you were now the only beacon of light and colour in this place.

He did enjoy terrifying you now and again, especially in his hideout, his tall form no longer behind you, silently waiting for the moment to make you scream. Each time it made you incredibly excited, anxiety building up inside of you giddily.

When you'd least expect it, Art would be there, coming at you with a hatchet and swinging it downwards playfully. He'd listen to your high pitched squeals and relish in the way you'd flinch and cover yourself protectively. He'd laugh and point at you, shaking his head; it got you every time.

"You're so scary! But honestly, you're so attractive when you do that. Surely some of your victims admit that? The women? Maybe some men?" You swayed your shoulders bashfully, cheeks turning pink like they so often did in his presence.

Art paused at that, a mild look of bewilderment shaping his face at your proclamation, before a sinister smirk darkened the expression considerably. You blinked owlishly as the clown began to take measured, predatory steps towards you, backing you into a damp wall.

He was so tall, caging you against his body, and all you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, gnawing your pretty lips in anticipation of his next move. He chuckled silently at your reddening cheeks and the way you reached your hands up to cup them delicately. Finally, as an answer, he shook his head slowly.

You seemed mortified. "Did you cut their eyes out first or something? You're handsome to me! Tall, intimidating, dark, incredibly strong--", you began counting on your hand all of Arts best qualities, all the while the clown crossed his arms and nodded patiently, egging you on to continue with a wave of his hand.

"--Honestly, I've always thought this, but I didn't want to be too bold, and I'm feeling really shy with you backing me up against the wall but I also love it, and--and I'm rambling because I'm nervous."

Your admittance seemed to be the biggest factor that contributed to how the two of you were now: You completely smitten with him, and him accepting the fact that he would never kill you. You were sweet and you made the best hot chocolate, and you did make the killings more fun so he'd keep you around.

You were incredibly bubbly, always smiling at him beautifully and helping him cut up body parts with your constant giggles that rivalled his own. He had unintentionally made you cry once, and a foreign emotion had struck him.

Art thought it would be incredibly amusing to offer you a badly wrapped gift with a human body part inside it. He did it mostly to shock you and hear your shrieks of surprise that would eventually melt into laughter, and he didn't particularly put much thought into what body part he would gift you with.

Upon opening the box, you were stunned into silence at seeing the rotten, maggot infested heart staring back at you. You didn't cry out or scream, and you didn't giggle or smile. Instead, your large eyes filled to the brim with tears, lips quivering before the fat droplets spilled over and a sob was wrenched from you.

"Oh my God.", you held a hand to your mouth, mascara streaking your cheeks messily. "Is that a heart? For..for me?", you spoke in utter disbelief, words whispered and shaking. Art cocked his head at your peculiar display of sadness, but nodded nonetheless. He had never seen you cry before.

"That's the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.", you rushed out in a broken sob, sniffling and wiping your tears profusely. Art blinked, face depicting confusion, lips tilted downward. His mind blanked as he awaited your explanation, amusement doused temporarily.

"Id always appreciate anything you gift me, but a heart? Of course I'll be your girlfriend!" You shrieked out with a sob, box dropping to the floor as you jumped and lunged at the clown, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

He felt your tears soak his neck, his hands lifted up in mild shock, face deadpan, frozen as you wrapped your body around his own, perched upon his lap. Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in amusement and exasperation, mimicking your emotional sobs over your shoulder with a dramatic pout, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.

He eventually threw his hands up in defeat, chuckling to himself. He did not foresee a reaction like this coming when you opened that box. He was more than content to play along, and eventually wrapped his strong hands around your body, charcoal eyes swirling with evil. He rather enjoyed your spontaneity.

Following the initiation into an apparent 'relationship', Art received a few gifts from you too. He himself received a human heart in a black, satin box. It was relatively fresh, and he couldn't help but sigh dreamily and flutter his eyelashes at the romantic gesture. His theatrics were over the top and evidently condescending, but it flew over your pretty head.

He was mildly impressed. You often used guns to kill your victims, lacking the strength and speed to ever out maneuver anyone bigger than yourself. Your hands were never that dirty either, you were not acquainted with using sharp weapons on the human body, so to be gifted a heart of all things, carved with effort from somebody's chest - it made Art nod in genuine approval.

The rest was history.

Art felt unnaturally domesticated within your presence, but he really didn't mind. You had a lot of uses, and he couldn't deny the possession he held for you. If claiming you as his own meant that you were in a 'relationship', then so be it.

He remained nonchalant to your girlish romanticism. He found it to be amusing and peculiarly cute, and even when he'd coo at you mockingly like a little dog, you loved it. In fact, a lot of his condescension did not perturb you. You were overjoyed at him mocking your kissy faces, pouting petulantly, mirroring your own actions.

Art couldn't deny enjoying the tender moments too. He had come to the conclusion long ago that he would never kill you - you were the only exception - and would display surprising levels of intimacy if only to hear your high pitched giggles and tease you for your pinkening cheeks.

Like right now, how he had his large palm delicately stroking your soft hair, brushing strands out of your face. His hand reached down to cup the side of your face, thumb tenderly rubbing circles upon your cheekbone.

You sighed dreamily, the exhale leaving your nose as you bobbed your head up and down his thick length. You sat perched on your knees between his wide thighs on the living room floor, sticky lipgloss leaving a messy residue on his shaft, your lips glistening with saliva.

You had been doing this for a while, languidly pleasuring him, and he let you. He allowed you to sink to your knees and fondle him until he was half hard before your loving mouth engulfed him. All the while, he watched whatever movie you had on TV.

Even when his dick was fully hard, splitting your jaw apart, he barely looked at you. He was focused on the movie, a masked killer hunting a woman down, and hardly spared you a glance even as you worked him faster, slurping and sucking him messily.

It made you unbearably wet, craving his attention, craving even a semblance of pleasure in his expression, or a buck of his hips to indicate that he was enjoying it. Instead, he stroked your cheek delicately, lazily, as though you were a pet that was doing a satisfactory job and nothing more.

Your brows knit together frustratedly, and you took him deep into your throat, saliva pooling down your chin as you choked and moaned quietly at the pulsating between your thighs. You were so wet it was beginning to coat them.

Granted, you had foregone the underwear, instead wearing an incredibly short skirt that had your plump ass cheeks hanging out. You were needy today, you depended on his attention, but he refused to spare you even a thought and it made childish tears well up in your eyes.

Your knees spread below you, skirt rising up higher upon your hips. If he had spared even a moments gaze upon you, he'd see the way your tight, puckered hole swallowed a pretty buttplug, embellished with a sparkling pink diamond on the end.

The pressure was pleasant, and you used your inner muscles to squeeze the toy, wiggling desperately as you did. You closed your eyes as you began sucking him lewdly now, the sounds becoming sloppy and loud as you reached a hand between your legs to play with your aching clitoris.

You were dripping whorishly upon the floor, moaning around his huge cock as you rubbed circles around the pulsating nub before slipping your fingers over it directly, hips bucking in relieved pleasure.

Arousal surged through you as you felt his hips lift the slightest, seeking the back of your throat, and your eyes flew open to witness the serenely blissful expression on his face, only to widen your eyes.

His gaze had been unknowingly on you for a while now, lacking it's usual grin and instead staring sternly, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark eyes. There was a lecherous blackness in his gaze, drinking in the way your cheeks reddened considerably, eyelashes fluttering bashfully against your cheeks.

You had his full, undivided attention now, and it only served to make you increase your efforts tenfold, bobbing your head up to the very tip to suckle the sensitive nerves, lapping up his salty precum with your hot tongue, before sinking back down as far as you could go, lifting a hand to fondle his swollen balls, encouraging them to unload inside your wanting mouth.

Arts intimidating stoicism faltered momentarily at your ministrations, head leaning back into the cushioned chair as his mouth opened in a silent, pleasured exhale, his sharp and angular jawline emphasised greatly from this angle.

That subtle, minor expression of bliss shot bolts of unfiltered arousal through you. You moaned around his cock, redoubling your efforts even as your jaw ached. You suckled your way to the tip, releasing his solid length with a pop; your hand took over, jerking him steadily.

"Mm, I get so wet whenever I give you a blowjob. If you had spared half a second to look at me, you'd notice.", your voice came out in a quiet, childish whine, lips pouted dramatically.

Art lolled his head to the side and stared down at you, eyebrow cocked in a silent question. He scrutinised your little pout and the way your eyes sparkled with unshed tears and a slow, sharp smirk etched it's way onto his face.

Aw, did you crave attention? Are you his little attention whore? Art snickered at the thought, but found that this must surely be the answer; you craved his affections, and he chuckled as your lips quivered.

Art stroked your face tenderly and pouted right back at you, nodding and mockingly agreeing with your little outburst. It really was awful of him, wasn't it? He'd have to rectify that.

Before you knew it, you found yourself bent over the arm of the chair, legs kicked apart as he toyed with the little plug in your ass, wiggling it back and forth. You had a glorious ass, round and fat and smooth, and even he wasn't immune to its juiciness.

He jiggled your cheeks playfully, watching the skin mold to his hand and ripple outwards under the pressure. One day, he'd fuck your tight little rim raw, and the thought had him rock hard as he pushed his cock against your sodden pussy and glided in halfway with a teasing smirk.

"Nng, don't tease me. P-put it all in, stretch me out-", you begged pathetically, pushing your luscious ass back against him.

Art pulled out slowly to the tip, rubbing along your folds for a moment, before catching the tip against your hole. With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, he sunk in as deep as he could, parting your velvety walls. The stretch was always considerable, always tinged with pain. It made you shudder beautifully, back arching.

"Yes, yes--Love this feeling, love you--", you rambled in a high pitched, girlish tenor, moaning as he filled you to the brim and more.

Arts face split into a nasty, smug grin behind you, shoulders shaking with laughter. It was pretty clear that you loved him, he thought. Each time his cock found your sodden hole you'd proclaim this proudly, delirious and euphoric.

Gripping your waist, Art smoothed his calloused hands down to your hips and back up rhythmically, hearing you sigh in delight.  He fucked you the way he knew you loved, hard and deep, and had no issue acting so intimately, so romantically, as you'd say.

You were his, and he enjoyed your feminine noises of pleasure. He felt that you were the only instance where he would ever act this way. With you, he didn't merely act on a whim anymore, dangerously spontaneous. Of course, that did happen on occasion, but in moments like these, when he was paired up with someone so bizarrely loving, so warm and bubbly and intimate, he found that reciprocating wasn't all that hard anymore.

He revelled in your little adoring sighs as he smoothed his way up your womanly figure, and the way you'd nuzzle into his palm every time he'd trail a strong hand down your jaw and onto your neck to hold possessively.

You were as unhinged as him, but you were also..gentle. He didn't particularly want to hurt you too much anymore. He did want to fuck you into a crying mess, however.

Art pressed a thumb to the dazzling diamond sticking out between your cheeks, applying pressure so it sunk in deeper, all the while fucking you hard and filling you so full.

He had a feeling that you were hinting at something with the way this delectable little toy jutted out of you. You were so pure on times, he imagined you found it hard to admit. That was fine, he'd get it out of you one way or another. If you wanted your ass played with so much, all you had to do was ask.

He wiggled the toy back and forth, pulling on it slightly and feeling the way your tight hole suctioned it back in. You whined at the feeling, your ass and pussy deliciously full, and stared back at him with dazzling, loving eyes.

"Ahh-Art--Feels so good-!", you gasped, moaning sweetly to him, so high pitched and whiny that he couldn't help but coo down at you in faux affection. His cock pummelled into you rhythmically, the wet slap of skin permeating the air. His heavy balls slapped sinfully against your pulsing little clitoris causing your legs to quiver and shake.

Art gripped the base of the toy more firmly, wiggling it side to side once again, before pulling it out from your tight rim. You whined noisily at the feeling, shuddering as you felt his fingers dip down between your legs to gather lubrication, before prodding at your hole once more and sinking in to the knuckles.

You cried out, back arching and legs widening further at the feeling of his thick fingers rhythmically filling your ass. It felt dirty and forbidden, something you had never done before, but each and every time he gave your virgin hole attention, whether it be a delicate stroke of his thumb or his tongue lavishing the area, it had you so wet and sticky that you could barely handle it.

Art grinned salaciously as his digits pumped into you deeply, all the while his rigid cock slipped into your pussy relentlessly, stretching you in ways that you should be used to by now, but you never were. He was so long and thick and it made your mind whirl with pleasure.

"S-so dirty putting your fingers in there I--ahh-- I shouldn't like it but I do!", you rambled adorably, your tongue loosening as he fucked you harder, snapping his hips against your bouncing cheeks.

Art snickered and shook his head at your innocence; A finger in your ass was probably one of the least dirtiest things he had touched. Another digit entered your passage, his hot length ravaging your pliant form. You cried out in broken whimpers, rambling little, soft compliments about his sheer size and how you needed him to fuck you, how you loved him.

You became dumb once his cock was near you, he found. He quite liked it, revelled in your incoherent stammering, or the way your eyes would be glued to his massive length.

Art grinned cruelly down at you, a sudden darkness enveloping his irises as he gripped painful handfuls of your hips, his fingers no doubt bruising the tender area, before he pushed your body forward so your upper half fell down with a yelp, your ass fully on display for him and fucked you so mind numbingly rough that tears streaked down your cheeks, your high pitched sobs and cries to slow down were music to his ears. In the next breath, you'd beg him to never stop.

Your thighs quivered and shook as his balls slapped hard against your clitoris, his cock fucking into you so sinfully you were outright weeping. You shrieked when your orgasm peaked, splattering down your quaking thighs as you gasped and fisted the blankets desperately.

Art grit his teeth in concentration, feeling that overwhelming urge to unload himself within you. He placed a rough hand against your head and forced you downwards, his head tilting back and lips parting in bliss as his cock filled your crammed little hole with ropes of hot cum. His hips stuttered as each powerful rope shot out, your pulsating walls milking him and lapping up as much as it could before the excess spilled messily out of your pussy, around his girth and down his balls.

You were panting shallowly as he finished, unceremoniously dropped as his hands and body removed themselves from you. Cum dribbled out of your used hole, and you flushed darkly as Art righted your bunched up skirt, smoothing it back down over your ass and putting his cock back inside his costume as though he hadn't just decimated your body and mind brutally.

You pushed yourself up on weak arms, turning to face the cheeky grin of the clown who looked as pristine as ever, not at all out of breath and sweaty like you were. Art indicated to the forgotten movie on the screen, nodding over to the settee so that you could both take a seat and finish it, but upon taking a step forward your legs felt so shaky you thought you were about to collapse.

You stumbled forward and gripped his costume tightly, gravity making the thick, warm cum inside of you dribble down your thighs messily. Art outright laughed at your unstable legs, cooing down at you and winking at you slyly. He shrugged nonchalantly, raising his hands as though to say 'oops'.

You giggled up at him bashfully, feeling him lead you to the settee before you promptly flopped backwards onto it and spread your legs out over his lap. Art didn't mind, from how short your skirt was he got a good eyeful of your glistening, puffy pussy. It made him scoff darkly to himself, shaking his head.

"Oh, Halloweens on. This used to be my favourite film, I had a massive crush on Michael Myers for the longest time-".

Ah, there it was - your silly ramblings had started again, and Art cocked an eyebrow at your admittance, peering at the character on the screen who seemed to be choking a stupid teenage girl.

"--And I guess I do like Jason too but, I don't know, he never appealed to me as much as Michael--"

Art nodded along to your cute outburst, watching the way your eyes sparkled passionately. He smoothed a hand up your calf, smirking.

"--But Jason is so much faster than Michael, which is kind of attractive, you know, the whole predator/prey thing, and--"

Art raised both brows now, grin positively evil. You wanted to be chased, did you? Hunted down and captured like a victim? Interesting. He began to chuckle to himself, arms folded and turning in his seat so he could give you his undivided attention.

You felt your cheeks pinken at his look and realized you had probably admitted too much. From the way he wiggled his eyebrows, stare turning predatory, you knew he was plotting something.

"What? It can't be that surprising that I'd..kind of like to be on the receiving end one day. We hunt so many people, it must be hot being hunted," you sighed dreamily, hand reaching over to his and stroking it tenderly. It was rough and calloused.

"Especially by you. That would be..", you paused, biting your lip in a sultry display. You imagined the scene: Him undoubtedly capturing you and having his way with you. You could feel heat blooming in your abdomen. "-Exhilarating. I-Ive thought about it a few times.", you shrugged softly, embarrassed. You struggled to meet his gaze, but when you finally did, it made your breath hitch.

Long gone was that teasing grin, instead replaced by a stern austerity, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark, smouldering eyes. He chuckled once, demonstrated by the way his shoulders lifted in amusement, but his face remained downright terrifying and blank.

You fluttered your eyes to your lap, crimson faced and fidgeting, rubbing soothing circles into his veiny, strong hand.

"Do you...like that idea? I-if not that's okay. It's weird. I shouldn't have said anything.", you trailed off vulnerably, uncertain. You struggled to decipher his moods when he wasn't smiling, and it scared you.

A firm hand gripped your chin, tugging it upwards to meet his fiery gaze forcefully. He was so close, suddenly leaning halfway over your body and with a deliberate, slow nod, he wanted to make it clear that he would very much enjoy that.

You bit your lip in nervousness despite his clear agreement, studying his expression cautiously, but a smile soon graced your lips as Art wiggled your chin fondly back and forth, offering a small smirk; He liked that idea.

Soon, your face brightened up, and you practically jumped at him and snuggled against his chest, his thigh between your own. "You make me so happy.", you whispered, sighing in delight as you watched Michael kill another teenage girl.

Art shrugged playfully, patting your head. You probably should have never admitted that fantasy to him. He'll chase you like you wanted, give you a little head start, but after that he'd treat you like a real victim. You'll be so terrified that you're shaking, having second thoughts about the ordeal.

Then he'd fuck you into the dirt like a whore, knife held too close to your neck, borderline cutting into your flesh. He wouldn't go too far - Some light cutting, some choking, a gun to your head. It was all relatively toned down.

Even still, no matter how much you begged and screamed and pleaded, you'd still hold that adoring infatuation for him. It made him tilt his head back fully, unhinge his jaw and laugh so violently it actually scared you.

You knew what he was. You knew the dark, unfathomable pit of evil inside of him would swallow you whole too, making you his victim one way or another.

You knew he wouldn't kill you, but that doesn't mean that he'd never torment you. These were facts that you simply accepted; you loved him, you didn't know if he was capable of such an emotion, but him keeping you alive and treating you tenderly now and again was enough for you.

It made your heart sing and your insides pulse with need. Leaning your head fully against his chest, you curled up against him as he almost naturally enveloped you in his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into him and savoured the moment.

You couldn't wait for the future ahead. You couldn't wait to maim more people with him and make love to him in their blood. You couldn't wait to become his next victim.

The thought made you wet all over again.

[stottlemorgan]

Stupid / Arthur Morgan x GN Reader

Summary: Arthur patches up your wounds and y’all have a little cutesy moment between snarky words and smarting pain. Tags: Gender neutral reader as requested! Bits of talk about wounds, a little bloodiness, a mention of needles but it’s quick. A little mixture of cute and sexual tension. Word count: 1,084. Author’s Note: This was a request from a sweet Anon! Thank you for your request, dear, I loved writing this! I used a pic of Horseshoe bc it's cute okay I know the Murfree brood hang about Beaver Hollow but I don't careee they suck xo Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest.

“Wha’d I tell you ‘bout walkin’ through Murfree country alone?”

The sting of Arthur so gently pulling the fabric of your shirt from within the gashes on your shoulder pinches your features into a wince. “Barely told me anythin’, actua–”

“I told you enough. You ain’t got no right to snark at me when you’re lookin’ a bloody mess.” He grits out firmly over you as he cleans out the wound with an alcohol saturated cloth.

“It ain’t that bad, Arth–” your muttering cuts off into a gasp before you groan loudly, gritting your teeth, your spine locking up as smarting pain bleeds through your muscle. Your watering eyes flit down to the sight of Arthur pushing a needle through your skin and he’s quick to shove your face away with his forearm, averting your gaze and shuffling closer to you on his knees, forcing his torso between your legs. The graze of his belt against your inner thighs spurls a heady shudder up from your seat and through to your aching shoulder, cutting the edge of the pain with a confusing pleasure. Arthur’s hands work steadily unlike your hammering heart as your thoughts swing between the sizzling split in your skin and the heavy press of his chest to yours. A scoff puffs against your neck and you smell the rum he had been nursing before you’d stumbled into his tent, beaten and bloody, almost tearing the flap of his tent in order to keep yourself upright. You squeeze your eyes closed, dragging a breath in through your nose.

“Ain’t that bad, is it? I hadn’t started sewin’ you up yet,” Arthur glares up at you briefly, the bristly hairs of his brow shadowing his enlarged pupils in which reflects the flickering lamplight, “idiot, drink the damn whiskey.” He nods toward the bottle of whiskey grasped in your better hand, your knuckles lightening with the force. The liquid sloshes as you shakily take a large swig, your throat constricting and trying to fight the burn. You cough hoarsely. Arthur tuts, a sound you’re all too familiar with, and he continues his ministrations. He takes his time, keeping his focus and, despite your shaking and panting, you find your own focus drifting to him. You watch the sweat on his flushed neck glimmer as his throat undulates with a gentle swallow, and you notice the barbs of stubble poking through his skin around his jaw.

Feeling your eyes cross slightly due to his close proximity, you trail your gaze upwards, over the stretching scars on his chin as he presses his lips together in concentration. Over the peek of his pink lips. Over the warm light that forms a glowing edge to the silhouette of his pointed nose. “You’re lucky he only had his knife.” He mutters close to your ear, and you curl your toes, shifting your grip on the whiskey bottle to clutch the neck. You don’t respond, feeling the thick pads of his fingers pressing against your fresh stitches, testing their tightness. A dull throb waves through your shoulder, making you take a clumsy gulp of whiskey, it spilling in a small dribble down your chin as your eyes remain fixed on Arthur’s face. On the beauty marks peppering his sun kissed cheek. On his tired eyes, so slowly blinking as your own meet them. His expression is open, curious, a silent question. What’re you lookin’ at me for?

You tense slightly, having thought he had been still examining your injury. The spasming muscle beneath your wound makes your brow pinch and Arthur’s own brow follows suit, though it’s soft, concerned. His hand drops to your arm, lingering before dropping to your thigh. If your blood were not desperately fighting to repair your wounds and turn your stomach, your face would be as flushed as your shoulder, blooming with cerise and plum. His other hand, he wipes on his shirt before moving to thumb at the driblet of whiskey coalescing at your chin. A shaky breath leaves you, and Arthur breathes it in subtly, his hand lowering to rest against the side of your neck. Calluses graze over the soft skin and the hair at your nape. You feel the whiskey bottle slip from your fingers as he takes it and places it on the floor whilst keeping the hair-prickling nearness.

“You should rest,” Arthur whispers, and the feeling of your laboured breathing against his chest brings forth a twitch at the corners of his mouth. He rubs circles into your lower neck with his fingers, urging you to relax, which your body understands. Your shoulders sink slightly.

“Okay,” you return his tone to him, and you hear his breath mirror the shake in yours. You keep your hands where they are, worried the alcohol and dizzying pain is tempting you into the realm of fools. Your fingers wriggle languidly with the itch to feel the sheen coating his skin. His eyes flit between yours, the blue of them incandescing like the setting sun reflecting upon the shimmering seas. You swallow the spit dumbly pooling in your mouth.

“I’ll check on you in the night, make sure you’re not seizin’ or feverin’.”

“You will?”

“‘Course I will–” His gaze flits to your mouth, then your shoulder, now cleansed and stitched, he shakes his head, “stupid.

“Now, c’mon. Getch’your ass up.” Arthur begins to stand with a grunt, and as he does, he pulls you up with him. You groan at the pressure of his burly arm hooking beneath yours, lifting your bad shoulder up, his other holding your waist carefully. Letting him drag your stumbling and exhausted body out of his tent and through camp, you whimper and huff with each step to which he responds with low, calming hums, trying to gentle you. He pushes the flap of your tent open with his hip, guiding you in and laying you down on your cot in a messy heap of torn clothes, which he helps you strip off before settling a blanket over you.

“Hey, wait–! I ain’t stupid–” You croak, your offence to his earlier words sluggishly making itself aware. Arthur chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, now you’re real stupid,” He pats your knee before making his way out of your tent, “Night. Try not t’roll outta bed this time, saves me the back ache.” You grunt, slurring your words,

“Night, Arthur.” The heaviness of slumber sweeps through your limbs, and soon enough, your mind, ridding you temporarily of discomfort.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @frillydolle @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[wayward-dreamer]

Secret

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

WC: ~1.1K

Summary: You and Joel try not to push the short window of time you have together before Sarah comes home. (no outbreak!au).

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, smut: dirty talk, implied (f rec) oral sex, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), couch sex. Lots of fluff.

A/N: Not sure why it's taken me so long to post a Joel fic, but here we are. I was in my pre/no outbreak domestic Joel feels and this happened. Enjoy! <3

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Especially not at this time of day, late afternoon sun rays filtering in from between the blinds and warming your skin. Sarah would be home soon from a friend’s after school, and so would Tommy, no doubt asking his brother why he had left the work site so early. As Joel’s hands softly trailed down your body, rough fingers tugging down the cup of your lace bra and deftly rolling the stiff peak to make that little gasp he loved so much escape your mouth, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. Not now, not with how he was making you feel. Not when his hard cock was buried deep inside you, pressing that sweet spot that drove you insane, his hips thrusting up from the couch to meet yours as they rolled against him in a deliciously slow pace.

You should’ve changed things up, should’ve started bouncing on his dick in order to chase the release and beat the clock, get out of his house with enough time. And yet, you couldn’t.

With his head resting against your chest where your blouse was unbuttoned, rising and falling with each harsh pant from you, his skillful tongue circling your nipple, your hands combing through his dark strands and holding him close – you could never rush this.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groaned, heading lifting up to stare deep into your eyes, his pulled up into a smirk as he saw how dark they had become. “Feel so good, this pussy of yours knows how to treat me right, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around him.

His own came around you as you straddled him, his rough-from-hand-labor palms pressed into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you close, forehead leaning on yours as he gazed into your eyes. Your lips met his in a searing kiss, moans from each of you  as tongues mingled and sent shivers down your spine as it added to the pleasure coursing through your whole being. His heavy hand cupped your cheek briefly, peering at you through hooded eyelids as his thumb slipped between your lips, your saliva coating the calloused digit before releasing it with a wet pop. A loud moan fell from you instantly as he brought his hand between your undulating bodies, stroking your clit in precise circles, pushing you closer to that blissful peak once more for the day. His fingers and talented tongue had already done their job very well twice, and it wasn’t going to be much longer before he managed to bring you that euphoria again.

“J-Joel, baby, I-I-” you stuttered, a wanton moan cutting off your incoherent speech.

“I know,” he breathed, his voice rough as he looked up at you with those brown orbs you often got lost in. “Ride me, show me what those hips can do, darlin’. Take what you need…”

You rocked harder and faster against him, relishing the burn in your upper thighs just as much as the delectable sting of your walls contracting with each thrust of his impressive girth. The initial leisurely pace kept your release at bay, but the pressure that built low in your belly was too much now; the barrier holding the dam back threatened to break quickly.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” his deep timbre rumbled against your collarbone as he left small bites up to your neck. “Cum for me, darlin’, want you to soak my cock.”

His thumb flicked over the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs a few more times, before a sharp cry of his name escaped you as he pushed you over the edge. A hard tug of his hair between your fingers and your wetness coating him was his undoing, a strangled grunt against your jaw making you mewl in response as you felt his cum fill you up.

A deep, satisfied sigh left him as he sat back, cupping your cheek and bringing you in for a long, passionate kiss. You grabbed his jaw in both hands and pulled him in, the embrace growing deeper as you kept him from tearing his lips away from yours. You were both testing the limits of how much time you had left, knowing very well that you were cutting it close.

You were strangely used to the secrecy, having been meeting like this or one his job sites, your apartment or occasionally your own workplace, for months since he first asked you out at the bar where you met. With anyone else you would’ve questioned if they were serious about you, but not Joel. The man was telling you about his daughter on the first date, explaining how most women got spooked by that fact within the first hour previously. You told him you didn’t scare easy, with the hope to meet her when things got serious between you.

As he laid back against the sofa, smiling up at you as his hands roamed over your skin and reignited the flame within that burned for him and only him, your own palms sliding up and down his broad chest, you knew he was your person. You knew from the way he looked at you, touched you, cared for you. You saw your future in those deep brown eyes you found yourself falling madly in love with. You held your tongue with that confession, knowing it wasn’t the time just yet.

You redressed as quickly as you could, pulling down your pencil skirt from around your waist and buttoned your blouse back up, your work attire completely disheveled from the rigorous love-making  on his leather couch. You felt his gaze on you as you collected your belongings, biting back a huge smile as his arms came around you from behind.

“I’m gonna tell her soon,” he informed you, his tone firm and sure. “This weekend. She’s not going off to any of her friend’s, not that I know of, so it’s a good time to do it.”

“Really?” you asked, letting out a shaky breath.

He sensed your nerves, closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against your temple.

“She’s gonna love you. I know it.”

You turned in his arms, finally beaming up at him as you pushed yourself into him, kissing him fiercely. A car door closing had you pulling away quickly, slipping your feet back into your heels before walking to the back door as he followed you.

“I’ll call you,” he promised, pecking your lips through the open door.

With one last, sneaky kiss you left, heart beating wildly as you thought about the possibilities for your future with the most wonderful man you had ever known. 

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[servicpop]

CURRENTLY VIEWING : slightly obsessive deliquent oc x good student male!reader

「ㅤSFWㅤ」ㅤbandaging up your (almost) bf adrien after a bad fight!

✙ warnings — mention of violence / blood / slight homophobia / slight suggestions of stalking or obsession

notes ,, first actual writing post... hope you guys like it "

Adrien and you lived two worlds. You were a model student, perfect in every way, whereas Adrien was nothing but a deliquent who skipped all his classes and failed all of his subjects (except for sports). If you two were so different, how did you end up together?

It started with an exchange of glances when you both started your first year of being a senior, somehow your presence was never known by Adrien until that one glance turned into never ending eye-contact, briefly smiling at eachother as you two met eyes from across the courtyard. His heart felt like it was about to crumble whenever you smiled at him. Your lips, your perfectly imperfect teeth shining at him. He had definitely fallen for you.

But how would his friends feel if they knew he was crushing on another guy?

As much as he wanted to hide it he couldn't. Everytime he went home and sat down in his chair, he would be welcomed with your face in the form of printed pictures stored in his top drawer. He knew it was wrong but he couldn't help it, you were so attractive you reeled him in like a fish. But somehow. Somehow. You and him talked more and more, exchanged numbers, hung out a few times and even brushed hands once! Adrien for sure didn't wash his hand after that. You weren't confirmed to be dating but it sure seemed like it.

And that was the start of Adrien's fall for you.

It was around 5:00pm, the sun still shining brightly but casted a slight orange hue into the empty council room, indicating that sunset would near. You were currently in said room, sorting the books, cleaning the tables, finishing off the work your teachers assigned you because you were such a good student. Yeah it was nice for them to rely on you but to be honest, all you wanted to do was go home but alas you couldn't.

Almost as if the universe pitied your unbearable boredom, the door to the council room clicked opened. At first you thought it was a teacher, but turning around you met the deep eyes of Adrien. His soulless eyes bore into yours, his knuckles dripping with blood as he stumbled into the room, almost collapsing on the couch.

"Got into another fight," He grumbled, his deep sultry voice reverberated in the room. Shit, his voice was hot. Snapping out of your thoughts, you quickly rushed over to him, viewing his bloody and bruised knuckles. It looked bad. Probably from beating the shit out of someone but you wouldn't question it. After some rummaging around you finally found the first aid kit, clicking the white box open before kneeling down infront of Adrien, a small smirk plastered his face.

"You don't have to you know? I just wanted—" Adrien's voice was cut out by a sharp hiss as you applied the alcohol to his wounds.

"Let me be a good friend to you."

Ooh... friend? That hit Adrien straight to the gut

"I just wanted company."

"Then your not allowed to hold my hand with those bloody knuckles."

"..."

"please bandage my fingers."

A wholehearted chuckle left your throat as you fished out the puppy patterned bandages around his knuckles, making sure you kissed each and every knuckles after. Just to make sure that there was no lingering pain of course, not because you two were had something for eachother or anything. You looked up at Adrien to see a small smile on his face, he was always so serious looking and whenever he smiled it was usually the shit eating grin type of smile. You had only really grown closer with him for a few weeks now so... why were you already hooked on him?

"You lost in thought?" He asked, snapping you out of your little trance. You shook your head, and he brought your chin up to meet his in a light kiss, his calloused fingertips gripping your chin lightly while his other hand found solace in your own. It was something straight out of a romance movie, his warm fingers against yours, his lips against your soft ones in such a gentle kiss. You never knew deliquents could be this gentle. Pulling away you wiped your lips and tugged your hands from Adrien's. You weren't dating him. You can't do this. You turned your head a pout adorned your lips, "Don't just casually kiss me," you huffed.

"But I know you liked it." Adrien hummed.

extra notes ,, I didn't have a full goal for what relationship reader and Adrien would have but i really liked the enemies to lovers sort of denial trope. I also experimented with the colour coding of the text, I find it easier to identify when they're speaking but let me know your preferences! I'm a bit nervous posting this since its my first time ever posting on tumblr but yeah! Also no smut yet, still getting warmed up you know

[luvly-writer]

Basgaith: Eyes Up, Gamlyn

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

Later that afternoon, the sun was lower, casting long shadows over the training yard. The squads had moved into formation drills under the watchful eyes of the wingleaders, and Xaden Riorson—shirt back on, to Y/n’s great disappointment—was stalking the line like a general preparing for war.

“Positions should be tight,” he barked, sharp voice cutting through the air. “If your flanks are open, you’re already dead. Move with your squad like they’re your wings.”

His tone was clipped, commanding, and way too attractive for someone who was supposedly terrifying. Y/n tried to focus. Really. But her eyes drifted again. To the way his black rider jacket clung to his broad shoulders. To the effortless way he moved—calculated, sharp, dangerous. A shadow wielder wrapped in command and cold beauty.

Then it happened.

He turned.

Caught her.

And winked.

It was fast—barely a twitch of one eye—but it was unmistakable.

Y/n’s breath caught. Her entire body stiffened.

And then—

“Oh my gods.”

Rhiannon snorted it first, grinning like a devil.

Violet wheezed next. “Y/n’s blushing again!”

Sawyer whistled loud enough for the cadets across the yard to turn. Ridoc—ever the doting older brother—threw his head back and cackled.

“HE WINKED AT HER,” Sawyer teased. “I SAW IT.”

Y/n groaned and covered her face with both hands. “I will murder every single one of you in your sleep.”

"You can't do that, it's against Codex"

"Shut the fuck up, Ridoc"

“I think you just got promoted,” Rhiannon teased. “Straight to Riorson’s favorite.”

Xaden, from the center of the yard, did not comment. He didn’t look again.

But that smirk?

Yeah. It was very present.

Battle brief was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering mage lights overhead and the massive map stretched across the central table. The Iron Squad sat shoulder to shoulder with other riders as Xaden led the briefing, his voice low, crisp, and authoritative.

Y/n sat between Rhiannon and Violet, braid tight, posture straight, trying to focus despite the way Xaden’s presence always seemed to pull at the edges of her awareness.

“Gamlyn,” Xaden said suddenly, looking straight at her. “If the enemy surrounds your flank while a forward ambush is in play, what’s your best counter?”

“Pull the center forward, redirect the flank into a crescent maneuver, then trap them in a false retreat,” she answered quickly, voice clear and steady.

He gave a small nod. “Correct.”

She barely had time to let the praise settle before she felt it.

A soft brush.

Not on her hand, not on her shoulder—but around her ankle. Cool and silken, like smoke wrapping around skin. Not alarming—just a tease. A caress of magic no one else would notice.

Her breath caught. Eyes flicked downward. A faint, wispy curl of shadow danced around her boot before dissipating entirely.

No.

Her gaze darted up, scanning the riders at the table—until she found him.

Xaden hadn’t moved from his position across the table, arms folded, voice still deep in explanation. But his eyes?

They flicked toward her—just briefly—and there it was.

The smirk. Barely there. Just the edge of his lips curving up, like he knew exactly what he’d done. Like he was daring her to call him on it.

Y/n straightened in her seat, pulse thudding quietly in her throat.

Rhiannon leaned in, whispering, “You good?”

She gave the smallest nod, lips twitching into a secret smile. “Peachy.”

Xaden continued speaking, cool and collected.

But the next time her eyes dropped, she swore she saw the faintest flicker of shadow curl beneath the table once more.

The Iron Squad was technically supposed to be studying.

Books were open, yes. Scrolls unrolled, quills in hand, the works. But the library table they’d taken over looked more like the aftermath of a strategy meeting and a bakery run—crumbs from stolen pastries, notes half-doodled, and Liam’s bored sketches scattered among actual information.

Rhiannon had her feet propped up on a chair, leaning back as she quietly bickered with Sawyer over the interpretation of some dragon battle formation. Ridoc was half-asleep with a book over his face, and Violet kept trying to quiz everyone, only to be met with groans.

Y/n, seated at the edge of the table, was dutifully scribbling notes, eyes down, posture perfect… until she glanced away—too quickly and too often—to the far corner of the library.

Where Xaden was seated.

Focused. Intense. Reading over something with Garrick beside him. He hadn’t noticed her gaze, too deep in thought—or maybe he was just good at pretending not to notice.

But Liam noticed.

And so did the rest of them.

Sawyer’s brows shot up first. Rhiannon’s smirk followed. Violet elbowed Ridoc without looking up. “Don’t,” she warned under her breath.

Ridoc smirked at her, lifting the book off his face just enough to peer at Y/n with a suspicious grin. “Y/n. Dearest sister. Something got your attention over there?”

Y/n didn’t look up. “Hm? No.”

“You sure?” Liam chimed in, barely hiding his grin. “Because it looked like you were studying a particular... shadow wielder’s form.”

“Must be a fascinating subject,” Rhiannon added, mock-innocent. “Very advanced material.”

Y/n lifted her head with the calmest expression imaginable. “I was not.”

“Right,” Sawyer said. “And I didn’t hear you sigh five minutes ago.”

“I sighed at your inability to do simple math,” she retorted smoothly, flicking her eyes back to her notes.

“Uh-huh,” Ridoc drawled, leaning across the table. “Just saying, for someone who isn’t looking at Riorson, you’ve got a very focused non-gaze going on.”

Y/n didn’t even blink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, princess,” Rhiannon teased under her breath with a wink.

Y/n rolled her eyes and flipped a page dramatically, trying to ignore how warm her face felt—especially when she looked up again, just to make sure he hadn’t noticed the entire thing.

Spoiler alert: he had. And he was definitely smirking.

Later that night...

It was late in the evening, the sky outside their dorm window glowing with the soft purples and oranges of twilight. The three girls were sprawled across Rhiannon room, a rare quiet moment between brutal training and even more brutal classes.

Violet was lying on her stomach on the bed, flipping through notes halfheartedly. Rhiannon sat cross-legged on the floor, braiding a piece of Y/n’s hair absentmindedly while Y/n lay back with her head in her best friend’s lap, staring at the ceiling with a dazed expression and a dreamy little smile tugging at her lips.

“Okay,” Rhiannon said, narrowing her eyes. “Spill it. What’s got you all floaty?”

“Hmm?” Y/n blinked. “Nothing.”

Violet lifted her head, immediately catching on. “Liar. You’ve been in a daze since sparring this morning.”

Y/n flushed and groaned. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Rhiannon said smugly. “You tripped over your own feet walking back to the barracks. You never trip.”

“It was a loose stone!” Y/n squeaked.

“Uh-huh,” Violet said, smirking. “Was the stone tall, dark, and broody with a mark crawling up his arms and a voice like a war drum?”

Y/n shoved a pillow over her face and mumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” Rhiannon teased, tugging the pillow away.

“I said—I might have a small... teeny tiny... barely-there crush on Xaden,” Y/n muttered, face bright red.

Rhiannon let out a triumphant gasp. “Knew it!”

Violet burst into laughter, falling back onto the mattress. “Girl, we’ve BEEN knowing.”

Y/na sat up, scandalized. “No, you have not!”

“Yes, we have,” they said in unison.

“Violet caught you staring at him three days into training,” Rhiannon added, grinning.

“You told me his arms were ‘so unfair it should be illegal,’” Violet added with mock innocence.

“I—I never said that!”

Rhiannon laughed so hard she nearly toppled over. “You absolutely did!��

Y/n covered her face with her hands. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t,” Violet said sweetly. “But you do like him.”

Y/n let out a dramatic groan, collapsing back onto the floor. “He’s going to know. He knows.”

“Good,” Rhiannon said with a wink. “He should.”

All three of them dissolved into laughter, their voices echoing into the twilight like the beginning of something wonderful.

Unbeknownst to knem...

The hallway outside the girls’ barracks was dimly lit, quiet except for the muffled sounds of laughter echoing from one of the rooms.

Xaden and Garrick were walking past, having just returned from a strategy meeting, when Garrick suddenly slowed down, one brow raised. “Wait.”

Xaden frowned. “What?”

“Shh.” Garrick tilted his head toward a door cracked just slightly open—Rhiannon’s room.

From inside, they could hear unmistakable giggles—and then Rhiannon’s voice, loud and teasing: “What was that?”

There was a pause, and then a flustered voice followed. Y/n’s.

“I said—I might have a small... teeny tiny... barely-there crush on Xaden.”

Xaden froze mid-step.

Garrick’s jaw dropped for a second… then his lips split into a slow, smug grin.

“Oh my gods,” he whispered, absolutely delighted. “She likes you.”

Xaden was still frozen, expression unreadable—but the slight twitch of his mouth gave him away.

“You’ve been brooding like a lovesick idiot for weeks,” Garrick whispered, practically vibrating. “And now this? This is the best day of my life.”

“Shut up,” Xaden muttered, but he couldn’t stop the way his eyes darted toward the door, or how his jaw relaxed slightly at the sound of Y/n’s laughter.

Inside the room, Rhiannon let out an exaggerated gasp, Violet howled with laughter, and Y/n was protesting loudly.

“They’re adorable,” Garrick whispered like a proud mother hen. “Can I plan the wedding?”

Xaden rolled his eyes and tugged him away by the arm, muttering under his breath. “You breathe a word of this and I’ll have Sgaeyl drop you into the river.”

“Worth it,” Garrick grinned.

As they walked off, the door clicked gently shut behind them, the girls completely unaware that their secret had just made a certain Wingleader’s night.

Author's note: Because of her being a pretty girly girl, Ridoc constantly called her princess from an early age, which caused the nickname to stick with their friendgroup once they got to Basgaith.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia

To be added to the taglist, leave a comment <3

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 8

Summary: You spend Christmas with your family and are joined by an unexpected guest.

CW: Discussion of family trauma (Sirius'; reader has a good family), allusions to sex.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter is a little late. I was meaning to get it out closer to actual Christmas Day but things just got really busy. I still hope you enjoy nonetheless and that you all had a wonderful Christmas!

--

Christmas Eve had rolled around quicker than you expected and you suddenly found yourself scrambling to pack for your trip home for the holidays.

James had left the day prior for a vacation with his family and Remus had headed home earlier that morning. The only person left in the apartment was Sirius.

You found him sprawled out on the sofa as you lugged a heafty suitcase of gifts out into the living area. He looked over at you in amusement.

"Need some help with that?"

"Maybe," you responded, already out of breath just from the journey down the hall. "I still have to get it down the stairs yet. I'm not sure I thought this all the way through."

He chuckled deeply.

"Well, let me know when you're leaving and I'm happy to assist."

"Thanks Sirius."

You paused for a moment then, gazing at him thoughtfully. He was wearing a tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt and his hair was tied into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He was watching some Lifetime Christmas movie absent-mindedly. You noticed that he didn't seem paricularly fesitive.

"So what are your plans for Christmas?" You asked him as you dragged your suitcase towards the door.

He shrugged, eyes still glued to the TV. "I don't have any, really."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really get on with my family anymore and usually I'd spend the holidays with James but as you know, he's in Australia for Christmas this year and I couldn't quite afford the airfair. I thought I'd just spend Christmas here."

Your frown deepened so much that you were sure it'd give you premanent forehead wrinkles. "So what? You're going to spend Christmas alone?"

"I suppose."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you assessed him. You hated the idea of just leaving him alone in the cold apartment during the holidays.

"Okay, get up," you told him after a moment.

He looked at you, perplexed. You just sighed and crossed your arms over your chest.

"You're coming home with me for Christmas."

He raised a brow. "I appreciate the gesture but I don't think-"

You rolled your eyes, cutting him off. "I'm not taking no for an answer. If you think there's any chance I'm just going to leave you here, then you're out of your mind. Now hurry up and grab your things!"

--

It was a couple of hours drive from the city to your hometown and you couldn't help but take notice of Sirius' nervous fidgeting the whole way there.

The sun was just starting to set when you arrived.

"Y/n! Darling!"

Your mother swung the door open, a giant smile painting her face at the sight of the two of you. She threw her arms out, embracing you in a warm, comforting hug.

"Hi Mum! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she pulled back, glancing up over your shoulder. "And you must be Sirius!"

"Lovely to meet you," the boy greeted, uncharacteristically politely. He stuck his hand out towards her.

"Oh, don't be silly," your Mother exclaimed, bypassing the handshake and delving in for an equally enthusiastic hug. Sirius looked briefly surprised by the gesture, before leaning down and heitantly returning her affections.

"We're so excited to have you," she announced kindly.

"Is that y/n?" a voice called from through the threshold.

"Oh yes! Come in, you two. The family's all inside."

"Darling! So good to see you!" your Dad stated, getting up to embrace you as well. Sirius hung back as you were greeted by enthusiastic family members.

Once you'd said 'hello' to both parents, grandparents and your younger brother, you turned back to look at your roommate.

"Everyone, this is Sirius," you introduced. "He'll be joining us for the next few days."

"Oh my! You're a very handsome young man!" Your grandmother declared. Sirius let out a soft chuckle.

"Thank you. I'm flattered," he responded slickly. "You're quite lovely yourself."

You held back a laugh as your Nana's face flushed red. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker?"

"So are you y/n's boyfriend or something?" Your brother chimed in from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, assessing Sirius through squinted eyes.

"Oh no, nothing like that," you were quick to assure. "Sirius and I are just friends. He's my roommate actually."

"Right..." your brother responded. He didn't seem convinced.

You were distracted by a sudden loud clap from your mother.

"On that note, why don't I show you to where you'll be staying?"

You and Sirius followed her up the stairs and down the hall.

"This is you."

She swung open the door to reveal your childhood bedroom. It was still adorned with the same brightly coloured wallpaper that you had growing up, and cluttered with long forgotten momentos of your adolescence.

Your eyes widened slightly as they fell on the queen bed postioned in the center of the space.

Being the gentleman he was, Sirius moved to carry your suitcases into the room while you pulled your Mum aside discreetely, looking around to make sure no one could hear you.

"Mum, there's a... uh, slight issue the bedding arrangements."

A look of feigned innocence crossed her face. "Sorry but there wasn't much I could do on such short notice. You're grandparents are staying in the guest room. So unless you think Sirius should take the couch, or share with your brother, he'll have to sleep in here with you."

You sighed thickly. There was a twinkle of mischief glimmering in he eye.

"I see what your doing here," you uttered, an unimpressed look gracing your features.

Your family had spent years trying to set you up with various different suiters during your holiday visits. Their intentions were good but for some reason they just couldn't stand the thought of you being single.

"I'm not doing anything!" your mother responded with mock offense. "It's simply out of convinience, that's all."

You rolled your eyes. "Right. Sure it is."

She shrugged. "But you know, if there was anything going on between the two of you-"

"Mum!" you scolded harshly.

"I'm just saying! He's very cute!"

You glanced back at the doorway behind you and rolled your eyes. However, you couldn't deny the facts. Sirius was a very attractive man.

"Anyway," your mother stated. "I'm going to get a start on dinner. I'll give you two a moment to settle in."

She sent you a glaringly conspicuous wink as she turned and headed back down the stairs.

You huffed loudly and ventured into the room. Sirius looked up as you entered, from where he'd been examining a set of porcelain figurines on the dresser.

"Everything okay? I heard a lot of whisper-shouting," he smirked.

"Yes. Yeah, it's just my Mum. She can be a bit overbearing at times."

"She seems nice," he murmered absently and suddenly you felt a terrible sinking feeling in your gut.

Sirius had been his usual, confident, charming self during the whole ordeal thusfar, but it didn't go unnoticed, the hint of discomfort that he was trying to mask. It dawned on you that he may not be used to such warm, welcoming family envionments.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Sorry, about the... um, sleeping situation."

He gave you a gentle smile. "I'm okay if you are- to share, I mean."

You felt your palms grow sweaty. God, his smile was deadly.

"Uh, y-yeah. That's fine."

"Great," he nodded. Then he glanced once more around the room, taking in it's eclectic design choices. "So this is where you grew up, huh?"

"Yes it is. Gorgeous, isn't it?" you remarked sarcastically, gesturing to the pink and blue striped wallpaper.

"So tell me," he teased. "How many boys did you sneak up here over the years?"

"Oh loads. Yeah, I was clearly very popular in highschool."

He barked out a laugh. "Of course. I'm sure all the guys were just lining up to spend some time under these lovely magenta bedsheets."

You chuckled, looking up to meet his eyes. He sent you a handsome grin, a dimple popping out in his left cheek and suddenly you felt a lot more at ease.

Maybe this situation wasn't so bad after all.

--

You awoke the next morning to the feeling of an arm splayed across your waist. You looked over at the boy beside you. He looked angelic, framed by the golden morning light that was peering through the gap in the curtains.

The previous night had gone extremely well, with Sirius charming your family in various ways over dinner. He'd chatted to your Dad and brother about shared music tastes and listened to your Nana's long-winded stories with unwavering interest. He even made sure to go back for seconds on every course of your mother's Christmas Eve menu. Overall, he'd been a perfect gentlemen.

As you gazed at the man, taking in his boyish, almost delicate features, he began to stir. He blinked up at you, gathering his bearings before a smirk overtook him.

"Merry Christmas sweetheart," he murmered, his voice deep and heavy like the strings of a bass guitar.

"Merry Christmas Sirius."

--

Your family was gathered in the living room when you made it down stairs, cups of hot chocolate in hand and ready to exchange gifts.

"Took you two long enough!" your father called from his armchair beside the fireplace.

"Yeah!" Your brother echoed. "What were you doing up there anyway?"

You rolled your eyes and slapped him gently on the shoulder as you came over to sit beside him on the floor. Sirius hung back awkwardly, not quite sure where he fit into the family dynamic, something that didn't go unnoticed by you... or your grandma.

"You can have a seat right here, hun." She patted the spot on the sofa beside her.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Sirius follow her direction, squishing in to the tight seat between your grandparents. You raised a brow at him from across the room and he responded with an tight-lipped smile.

"Alright! I think it's time for gifts!" your Dad announced.

It took a while to get through all the boxes piled under the tree. By the end of the ordeal you had precured a mass of items including, several handmade bees wax candles from the shop down the road, a boldly detailed set of teacups, a new sunhat and a lovely pair of earrings from your mother.

Your gaze trailed back to Sirius every once in a while, taking note of the way he curiously watched on to see the reactions of your family as they opened their various gifts. It occured to you that Sirius had likely never experienced a pleasant Christmas morning such as this one before. Something in you felt very glad that you'd dragged him along this year.

"This one's for you, Sirius!" your mother chirrped after most of the presents under the tree had sucessfully been unwrapped. She held out a gift box towards him, over the sea of massacarred Christmas paper that now covered the floor.

Sirius eyes widened. "Really? Oh, you didn't have to get me anything."

Your mother chuckled warmly. "Well we couldn't leave you giftless during all of this, could we?"

Sirius smiled but seemed hesitant in taking the box.

"It's only something little," your mother informed.

Your brows furrowed as you watched Sirius take the gift. You hadn't been made aware that your family had gotten him anything. Especially on such short notice.

Sirius carefully removed the wrapping paper to find a large silver box hidden beneath it. Cautiously, he opened it up and you couldn't contain the snort of laughter that burst from you at the sight.

Sirius let out a throaty chuckle as he held up the ugliest Christmas jumper you'd ever seen. The rest of the room was quick to follow as they assessed the man's gift.

It was a frosty blue colour with a giant, smiling snow-man in the centre. There were snow-flakes of all shapes and sizes surrounding it, adorned cheaply with silver glitter that was bound to shed and get into every nook and cranny of the house.

"Wow. This is uh... well, it's definitely something," Sirius muttered as he analysed the woolen monstrosity.

"You could wear it today!" your grandmother suggested and you let out another chortle at the insinuation.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I could."

With that, he hesitantly reached up and slipped the piece of fabric over his head. Everyone in the room began to cheer jokingly as he secured the item.

"How do I look?" he asked, throwing his arms out to show off his present. He looked directly over at you.

"Oh, it's super sexy," you teased.

"Knew it," he responded leaning back on the couch. For the first time since he arrived, it seemed that the playful glint in his eyes had returned. You could tell he was finally starting to feel more comfortable. "I reckon there'll be a queue for me outside the door once all the girls in town get a glimpse of me in this thing."

"Well, I think you look very handsome," you grandmother chimed in.

Another eruption of laughter filled the room.

--

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Your Aunt's family came over for Christmas Lunch and you got the chance to observe Sirius in caught up in an intense nerf gun fight with you younger cousins as you helped set the table.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight and the revelation that the man was surprisingly good with kids.

You spent the day laughing and drinking and unwrapping presents. All the while, Sirius never even thought about taking his new jumper off. In fact, he'd never tell a soul but secretly he found it very comfortable.

The day ended where it began, in the living room. With bellies full of Christmas ham, your family had spent the evening sipping brandy and remeniscing about your childhood in the english countryside.

You'd never felt more embarassed in your life as when your grandfather recounted the tale of you falling head-first into the touching pool at the aquarium you visited on your 6th birthday.

You also noticed the way that Sirius laughed loudly at all the stories, soaking up the energy in the room as if he was trying to freeze the moment in time. You found yourself drawing closer and closer towards him on the couch during the night, gravitiating into the comfort of his contact.

Everyone was pretty tispy by the time 11:00pm rolled around and one by one, began heading off to bed. You, Sirius and your father were the last men standing as the clock approached midnight.

"Well, that's it!" your Dad sighed, glancing down at his watch. "Christmas is over for another year."

"What a shame," you sighed. You were propped up on the sofa beside Sirius who had an arm lazily thrown around your shoulders. Unconciously you found yourself nestling into his side. "I wish it could be Christmas all the time."

"That sounds awfully expensive," Sirius teased and your father chuckled in response.

"Well, I'm off to bed," you Dad announced, getting up from his seat and setting down his mug. "Do you two need anything before I go?"

You shook your head gently. "Nope. We're good I think."

"Well then," he came over to place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll see you in the morning. Merry Christmas guys."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," you called after him at the same time as Sirius muttered a "Goodnight Sir," in his direction.

And then there were two.

The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from the twinkling Christmas lights that adorned the tree in the corner. Snow was falling steadily outside and the fire crackled in the fireplace on the opposite wall from where you sat. You could feel the alcohol buzzing through your veins.

"Did you have a nice time?" you asked Sirius, scooting away from him slightly to get a better look at his face.

"I had a lovely time. Did you?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "I always have a lovely time on Christmas."

Sirius chuckled. "I can see why."

His eyes darkened a bit and you could tell he was thinking about some distant memory, probably from childhood, that rattled around in the back of his brain.

Maybe it was the alcohol or just the comfortability of being in your childhood home, but you decided that tonight was the night to broach the subject.

"James told me that you don't get along with your family."

Sirius scoffed. "That's putting it lightly."

You frowned. "I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault," he murmered, gazing into the fire. "They're awful, rancid people. The lot of them."

"But you're close with your brother aren't you?"

Sirius sighed. "I am now. Took us a while to get there, though."

"Oh."

You sat back, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at him. He looked ethereal in the flickering fire-light. There was a moment of heavy silence between the two of you. One that clouded the room and settled like dust over the furiture.

You didn't want to push him to talk. Not if he wasn't ready. However, after a few long seconds, he began to speak again.

"I ran away at sixteen, you know?"

He turned to look at you, stormy eyes boring down into your own. They were full of so much emotion. All the pain and vulnerablility he was so good at masking was coming to the surface, brought forward on the tides of liquor.

"i just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take them. My parents- well, they were always mad at me about something. What classes I was taking, who I dated, who I was friends with. It just seemed at that point, like all they could do was yell at me."

"That sounds awful," you sympathised.

"It was," he continued. "And the worst part of it was how they pitted me and Regulus against each other, made us compete for their love and attention. Regulus and I didn't speak for years after I left."

"Where did you go?"

He huffed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "James'."

A sort of fuzzy warmth erupted somewhere in your gut.

"That's nice. It's good that you had someone you trusted so much."

"James is my best mate in the world," Sirius explained. "And his family took me in like I was one of their own. If it wasn't for them... well, I don't know what I would've done."

"He's a wonderful person," you responded fondly. "We're very lucky to know him."

"That we are."

There was a pause and then:

"You're a wonderful person as well, you know? I also feel lucky to know you."

You felt an explosion of heat behind your cheeks, and you had to turn away from him quickly to hide your embarassement. Your heart was pounding in your chest and suddenly your throat was as dry as a desert.

"Come on, I think we should go to bed now.”

You stood abruptly from the couch, grabbing his hand in yours and tugging him up with you. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, doing your best not to disturb any of your sleeping family.

"Wait! Hold on a second."

You stopped in the doorway of your room, coming face to face with the boy in front of you. He was standing very close, eyes alight with an emotion you couldn't quite describe.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Then he gestured upwards. Following his direction, you looked up to notice a single strand of Mistletoe hanging from the doorframe. You could only guess who put it there.

Then you looked back at Sirius, who had a small smirk painted on his lips. Slowly he began to lean closer towards you.

"We have to do it," he murmered, your lips only centermetres apart. "It's bad luck if we don't."

Then, in an instant, he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours. Sparks errupted within you as you kissed him back.

Sirius moved his hands into your hair, lacing them in between thick strands. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into the doorway and pressing him up against the wall.

Suddenly, he was reaching towards the hem of your shirt, fingers dancing over the skin of your hip and sneaking up your side. You let him.

Before you knew it, that stupid Christmas Jumper was decorating the bedroom floor.

You grinned against his lips as Sirius pulled you down onto the bed.

--

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[goonerforthree]

With you, Always Chapter Three

A/N: This one is a little shorter, but I want to make their trip like one whole long chapter, so I hope y'all understand.

Words: 5.5K

The bakery parking lot smelled like warm sugar and coffee grounds, the kind of scent that practically forced you to smile. Paige pushed the car door open with her hip and nodded toward the storefront. “I’ll run in—you stay here. I don’t trust you not to ask questions.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat with a suspicious look. “Too late. I already have questions. Like why I didn’t hear a single word about this cake before today.”

Paige paused, hand on the door. “Because,” she said dramatically, “if Lauren finds out, she’s going to kill us before we can actually surprise her with it.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “So this is a joint operation now?”

“Operation Don’t Let the Teen Find Out About the Cake, yes.”

Azzi crossed her arms, trying not to smile. “What did you and your mom conspire this time?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Paige said, grinning as she slipped out of the car. “But just know—if it backfires, we’re blaming Ryan.”

Azzi laughed. “Oh gosh. That bad?”

Paige poked her head back in the car briefly. “Only if you hate fun. And buttercream.”

Then she disappeared inside, leaving Azzi staring out the windshield with that amused, mildly wary expression she always got when Paige was up to something. A few minutes later, Paige returned with a box in hand, the kind that practically screamed sugar rush and poorly concealed emotion.

Azzi eyed it as Paige slid back into the driver’s seat.

“Okay,” she said slowly, eyeing the pink ribbon tied around the lid. “So level with me—is this one of those cakes that looks normal but turns into a full-on slideshow of Lauren’s volleyball career when you cut it?”

Paige just grinned and turned the key in the ignition. “Like I said—you’ll see.”

Azzi groaned, but she was smiling. “Why do I feel like I’m part of an overly sentimental heist?”

“Because you are,” Paige said, pulling out of the lot. “And you love it.”

Azzi sighed dramatically, reaching over to steady the cake box. “I really do.”

By early afternoon, the sun had burned through the last of the morning haze, leaving the town soaked in lazy warmth. The workout had been solid—light weights, some mobility drills, a short HIIT session that left them both pleasantly tired but not wrecked.

Paige had laughed halfway through their circuit when Azzi wiped her forehead dramatically and muttered, “Why do we work out on vacation again?”

Now, freshly showered and tucked into a booth at their favorite little café downtown, they had iced drinks sweating on the table and two giant lunch plates between them—turkey panini for Paige, grilled chicken salad for Azzi.

Ryan had bailed with a quick text that said, “Rain check. Meeting up with the guys from senior year. Tell Azzi not to miss me too much.”

Azzi had just rolled her eyes. “He’s acting like he’s in a war reunion, not a group chat.”

Paige laughed. “Honestly, he’s gonna come back hoarse from yelling about fantasy football.”

They ate for a few quiet minutes, until Azzi pulled out her phone, her screen already open to a bookmarked shopping tab.

“So,” she said between bites, “I’ve narrowed it down to three swimsuits and like five dresses. But I still have no idea what vibe we’re going for.”

Paige perked up instantly. “Ooh, show me.”

Azzi turned the phone toward her. “Okay, this one’s kind of like...breezy island fairycore.”

Paige squinted. “Gorgeous. You’d look hot. Next?”

Azzi scrolled. “This is more like chic dinner by the beach.”

Paige nodded. “Also yes. That with your hair up? Game over.”

Azzi chuckled and tilted her head. “You’re just saying yes to everything.”

“I’m an enthusiastic girlfriend. It’s part of my charm.”

Azzi smirked. “So what did you even order?”

“Oh,” Paige said casually, reaching for her drink. “I actually ordered a bunch of stuff last week.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What? When?”

“Yeah, I just shipped it all to your apartment,” Paige said like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Some linen sets, two bikinis, a white polo shirt I might wear for the sunset dinner thing...”

Azzi narrowed her eyes playfully. “You planned a sunset dinner?”

Paige shrugged, trying to hide her grin. “Among other things.”

Azzi set her phone down and leaned in. “Okay, wait. What are we doing on this trip? Like, what’s the master plan here?”

“Well,” Paige said, counting off on her fingers, “a couple hikes, one with this really pretty waterfall. Jet skiing. Snorkeling one day, massages another. And obviously beach time. Like, do-nothing, lay-flat-and-melt-into-the-sand beach time.”

Azzi smiled, already picturing it. “That sounds perfect.”

“But,” Paige added, sipping her iced coffee, “there’s one day I haven’t totally planned yet.”

Azzi squinted. “One day? You, Miss Itinerary?”

Paige laughed. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe it’s our wander-around-and-let-the-day-surprise-us day.”

Azzi nodded slowly, but a knowing look crept onto her face. “You’re hiding something.”

Paige feigned offense. “Excuse me?”

“That tone,” Azzi said. “That 'oh we’ll just see' tone. You only use it when you’re scheming.”

“I don’t scheme,” Paige said with exaggerated innocence.

“You literally schemed a cake surprise with your mom this morning.”

“Okay, but that was wholesome.”

Azzi smirked. “Which is why I’m suspicious.”

Paige just leaned back in her seat, fingers drumming lightly on the glass. “Trust the process.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t leave her face. “Fine. But if we end up doing yoga on paddle boards at sunrise, I’m blaming you.”

“No promises,” Paige said, grinning. But in the back of her mind, she was already picturing that last day—just the two of them, sunset flickering on the water, the ring box tucked into her pocket.

Azzi stirred her drink, then glanced sideways. “Just don’t make me wear heels in sand.”

“Deal.”

They clinked their glasses together and sank back into the kind of quiet that felt like a long exhale. Easy. Steady. The kind of day where time didn’t rush—just strolled right alongside them.

The sun had dipped low, casting a warm glow through the upstairs bedroom as Azzi smoothed her hair and adjusted the school spirit T-shirt Ryan had tossed her earlier. It was one of his old Buffalo Ridge High tees—soft, slightly oversized, purple and white lettering just starting to fade from years of washes, with a bold buffalo logo stamped across the chest.

Paige emerged from the bathroom, holding something behind her back with a suspicious grin on her face.

Azzi narrowed her eyes instantly. “What are you hiding?”

Paige grinned wider, then pulled it out and shook it open: a T-shirt emblazoned with a giant picture of Lauren’s face mid-serve, the expression intense, the ball just leaving her hand. Bold letters underneath read: “HAIL TO THE QUEEN.”

Azzi choked. “No way.”

“Oh, I am 100% wearing this,” Paige said proudly, already tugging it on over her tank top.

Azzi stared in amused disbelief. “Lauren is gonna murder you.”

“She’ll try,” Paige said, smoothing the shirt like it was couture. “But it’s senior night. She has to be nice.”

Azzi was still laughing when they headed downstairs, and the moment they hit the kitchen, Amy turned from where she was tying a ribbon around a takeout container.

“Oh my God,” she said, covering her mouth. “You’re matching the cake.”

Paige beamed. “Not just me.”

Right on cue, Ryan walked in from the garage wearing the exact same shirt—Lauren’s face front and center, sleeves rolled up, the words “HAIL TO THE QUEEN” looking even more dramatic on his taller frame.

Azzi doubled over. “No. No no no. You two did not coordinate this.”

“We absolutely did,” Ryan said proudly, high-fiving Paige across the kitchen island.

Amy just shook her head, laughing. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“I’m documenting this,” Azzi said, pulling out her phone. “This is internet-worthy chaos.”

She lined up the shot—Paige and Ryan standing on either side of the custom cake, which had a printed photo of Lauren’s face dead center and her jersey number piped in red frosting, surrounded by matching school colors. Both of them were striking dramatic, over-the-top poses like they were modeling for a Nike campaign.

Snap.

Azzi uploaded it straight to her Instagram story with the caption: “Senior Night for the Queen herself 👑🔥 @lauren.fuller”She tagged Paige too and added a little volleyball emoji for good measure.

“You know she’s going to see this before we even get there, right?” Amy said as she grabbed her bag.

“That’s the point,” Paige said smugly.

Azzi shook her head, still smiling as she slid her phone into her pocket. “You two are so lucky she loves you.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Ryan said. “She’s family.”

“And we brought cake,” Paige added sweetly, picking up the box.

With that, they all headed out, laughter still echoing as they piled into the car—outfits loud, energy louder, and one very unforgettable senior night waiting just ahead

The gym was already buzzing when they walked in, the kind of small-town electricity that built slowly and settled into the bones. Purple and white streamers hung from the rafters. Posters of the senior girls—action shots, baby pictures, glitter letters—lined the wall near the bleachers. The bleachers themselves were packed: classmates, parents, teachers, little kids clutching concession stand hot dogs and running up and down the rows with sticky fingers.

Lauren’s name was written in huge block letters on a purple banner near center court, flanked by a blown-up photo of her mid-spike and a glittery #12. The whole space felt like it was holding its breath, just waiting for the seniors to be introduced.

Azzi followed Paige and Ryan through the crowd, catching stares, a few whispers, and more than a couple people doing double-takes.

“Is that Lauren?” a girl near the entrance muttered, pointing at Paige’s chest.

Azzi just shook her head, grinning. “Yup.”

They found their seats just behind the players’ bench. Amy was already there, chatting with a couple other moms, clearly in her element. Paige waved to her and sat down, the “HAIL TO THE QUEEN” shirt proudly on display.

Azzi took the spot next to her, still smiling. “This is going to be chaos.”

Paige smirked. “It’s already chaos.”

Then the lights dimmed slightly, and the announcer’s voice came on over the loudspeaker, welcoming everyone to Buffalo Ridge High School’s Senior Night. The crowd cheered as the non-seniors jogged out first, high-fiving the coaching staff and waving to their families in the stands.

And then, one by one, the seniors were introduced.

Each girl had a moment—her name called, her position announced, a list of her accolades read over the speakers while her favorite song played and she walked arm-in-arm with her family.

When Lauren’s turn came, the gym practically exploded.

“Number 12, LAUREN FULLER! Outside hitter, four-year varsity starter, all-conference, team captain—and future Drake University Bulldog!”

The stands roared as Lauren stepped out from the tunnel with Amy on one side and her dad on the other. Her smile was wide, that fierce but shy look she always got when people were clapping just for her. She waved, high-fived her coach, and gave her teammates little hugs as she made her way across the floor.

And then she looked into the stands and saw them.

More specifically, she saw her face on Paige’s and Ryan’s shirts.

She stopped mid-step. Blinked. Tilted her head like maybe, just maybe, she was hallucinating under the gym lights.

Azzi could see it happen in real time: confusion → disbelief → horror → amusement → horror again.

Lauren’s jaw dropped as she pointed at them, mouthing, “Are you serious?”

Paige and Ryan both stood up immediately, striking the same dramatic poses they had earlier—arms crossed, stoic, like they were about to drop a mixtape in her honor.

The crowd didn’t get it, but Amy nearly keeled over laughing on the court next to her.

Azzi burst out laughing too, covering her mouth with her hands. “She’s going to end you.”

Paige just grinned. “Worth it.”

Lauren finished her walk with her family, shaking her head the entire time. As soon as the group photos ended and the players had a break before warm-ups, she sprinted over to the sideline.

“Take. That. Off,” she hissed at Ryan, swatting at his chest.

“Excuse you,” he said, backing away dramatically. “This is a limited-edition collector’s item.”

Lauren turned on Paige. “And you? You planned this?”

“Guilty,” Paige said, not even trying to hide her glee. “But come on—you look iconic.”

Lauren groaned, but she couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You two are the worst.”

“Yet here we are,” Paige said sweetly, “cheering for the queen.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and jogged back to her team, shaking her head.

The game itself was fast-paced and electric. Buffalo Ridge dominated from the first whistle. Lauren was everywhere—aces, kills, diving saves that had the crowd screaming her name. The team fed off her energy, and by the time they won the first two sets, the student section was on its feet and chanting.

Azzi couldn’t stop watching her. She looked so locked in, so fully herself out there on the court. Confident. Powerful. Happy.

“She’s killing it tonight,” Azzi whispered.

Paige nodded, eyes soft as she watched her sister. “Yeah. She really is.”

By the final set, it wasn’t even close. Buffalo Ridge closed it out cleanly, and the gym erupted as the scoreboard lit up the final score. Confetti cannons went off somewhere in the student section, and the team stormed the court in a pile of hugs and cheers.

Azzi and Paige waited near the locker room door with Amy and Ryan, all of them still in their matching ridiculous T-shirts. When Lauren finally came out—sweaty, flushed, glowing—she looked at all of them and just sighed.

“I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” Ryan said, tossing her a Gatorade.

“But,” Lauren said slowly, cracking a smile, “that was kinda... amazing.”

Azzi stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. “You were amazing.”

Lauren hugged her back, tighter than expected. “Thanks for coming. Really.”

Paige slung an arm around both of them. “Now who wants cake?”

Lauren groaned. “If my face is on the cake, I swear—”

“Oh, it is,” Ryan said, already walking toward the car.

“And it’s got glitter sprinkles,” Paige added.

Lauren dropped her head into her hands. “I hate you all.”

But she was laughing.

And as they all piled into the car, sweaty and giddy and still buzzing from the night, Azzi couldn’t help but think: this is what family feels like. A little loud. A little weird. But full of so much love, it almost knocked you over.

And the night was only just beginning.

Later that night, the post-game buzz followed them straight into the warm, wood-paneled dining room of Ridgeview Pizza—a hometown staple with checkered tablecloths, signed jerseys on the walls, and the smell of garlic and melted mozzarella lingering in the air like a blanket.

All the seniors and their families had crammed into the back half of the restaurant, where two long tables were pushed together to fit everyone. It was loud in that joyful, chaotic way that only follows a win—people calling out for extra napkins, someone laughing too hard at a dad joke, the shuffle of chairs scraping on tile as kids ran between tables. Plates of pizza were disappearing as fast as the waitstaff could bring them out.

Azzi sat close to the middle, shoulder to shoulder with Paige, who was laughing at something one of the other moms had just said. Across from them sat the Mendez family—whose daughter Gabriella was one of Lauren’s teammates—and the Thompsons, whose twins played defense and had apparently known Lauren since the fifth grade.

“So,” Mrs. Mendez leaned forward, elbows on the table, “what’s it like watching a game when your little sister is out there running the court like she owns it?”

Paige grinned, glancing over toward Lauren, who was a few seats down deep in conversation with her friends and still wearing her medal around her neck. “Honestly? I still get nervous. I know she’s got it, but I always end up half-holding my breath every time the ball comes her way.”

“She was on fire tonight,” said Mr. Thompson, reaching for another slice. “That spike in the second set? I thought the gym roof was gonna blow off.”

Azzi chuckled. “We saw that. Paige nearly jumped out of her seat.”

“I did not,” Paige said, nudging her. “I stood up in support. There's a difference.”

“Well, you definitely yelled like a mom at a T-ball game,” Azzi teased.

“I take pride in my volume,” Paige said, deadpan, which got a round of laughter from the table.

Mrs. Mendez pointed between the two of them. “And you two—how long have you been together?”

Paige’s eyes widened slightly, and she glanced at Azzi, who covered the moment smoothly.

“A while,” Azzi said with an easy smile. “We met through basketball. Been kind of inseparable ever since.”

“Well, you’re adorable,” Mrs. Thompson chimed in, reaching for her wine glass. “And if you’re anything like my husband and me, pizza nights like this are the best part of the season. Wins are great—but this? The afterglow, the stories, everyone together—this is the magic.”

Azzi nodded, looking around at the crowded table. Lauren’s coach was laughing with someone’s dad. Kids were doodling on the back of their menus. Someone had started playing a game of heads-up at the far end. It was magic, in the messy, loud, community way.

Paige leaned into her just a little and whispered, “Kind of makes me want to move to a small town and open a pizza place.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Only if you wear the Lauren shirt every day.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

More laughter rang out across the table as someone told a story from a past season—something about a bus breaking down and a team sing-along turning into a full-blown karaoke battle.

Azzi rested her chin in her hand, watching Paige’s eyes light up as she joined the conversation again, teasing Mr. Thompson about his Diet Coke obsession and asking Gabriella’s little brother if he was going to be the next volleyball star.

The whole evening felt easy. Natural. Like one of those rare nights that you didn’t know was going to matter until later, when you looked back and realized how full your heart had been.

Pizza, noise, family, and the kind of warmth that couldn’t be boxed up and taken home—except maybe in your memory.

Friday morning crept in with soft overcast skies and the lazy hum of a house that had stayed up too late the night before. The smell of waffles drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint sound of the local news playing in the background. Amy stood at the stove, flipping another round of batter onto the hot griddle when Paige and Lauren padded in, one behind the other, both in sweatshirts and mismatched socks.

Lauren was already starting the charm offensive, her voice laced with a practiced innocence. “Mom…”

Amy didn’t even look up. “No.”

“Okay but just hear me out—”

Amy turned slightly, spatula in hand, eyebrow arched. “If this is about skipping school, don’t waste your breath.”

“It’s one day!” Lauren protested, sliding onto one of the bar stools. “And we had a game last night. It was basically a holiday. I’m running on like four hours of sleep and a cheese high.”

Paige, sipping from a mug that read “Uconn Basketball” in faded Blue letters, leaned casually against the counter. “It’s true. She was out cold on the couch before I could even get my shoes off.”

Amy gave them both a look, the kind only mothers could perfect—equal parts disbelief and amusement. “And that’s my fault how?”

Lauren folded her arms. “It’s not. It’s society’s. And Buffalo Ridge attendance policy.”

Azzi walked in mid-sentence, tying her hoodie strings and looking freshly showered. “What’s society done now?”

“They’re trying to get me to let Lauren skip school,” Amy answered, flipping a waffle.

Azzi paused. “Oh. Well... in their defense, it is our last day here.”

“And we’re flying out tonight,” Paige added. “We just wanted to have the day—chill, grab lunch, maybe take a walk downtown, just… be together.”

Amy sighed, clearly trying not to be swayed, but her stance softened just a hair. “Lauren, this is your senior year. You can’t make a habit out of this.”

“I haven’t missed a single day since the semester started!” Lauren countered. “And you literally just hosted an emotional sendoff for the senior volleyball team 12 hours ago.”

Amy gave her a long look.

Lauren widened her eyes and rested her chin on her hand. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just... have a Friday? Like we used to?”

Amy hesitated. Paige stepped in gently. “Look, I know she’s your baby, but she’s practically an adult. And we really don’t get a lot of time like this.”

Azzi nodded. “We promise to return her in one piece. No bad decisions. No matching tattoos.”

Lauren snorted. “I mean… depends how good the flash sheet is.”

Amy finally gave in with a reluctant sigh, turning back to the griddle. “Fine. But—she’s yours for the day. Homework gets done over the weekend, and you’re not dragging her all over creation.”

Lauren threw her arms in the air like she’d just hit a game-winning serve. “YES!”

Paige reached over to squeeze Amy’s shoulder. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Amy muttered, trying to hide her smile. “Now sit. Eat. And be gone by ten.”

They grabbed plates and piled them high with waffles and strawberries, laughter already bubbling around the table. The kind of morning that made goodbyes a little harder, but made everything in between that much sweeter.

They were out the door a little after ten, armed with to-go coffees from a corner café Lauren insisted had the best seasonal syrup. The mall wasn’t crowded yet, which meant they could actually breathe as they wandered store to store, mostly just window shopping, cracking jokes, and occasionally trying on something ridiculous just to make the others laugh.

Paige spotted a fuzzy bucket hat and dropped it onto Lauren’s head without warning.

“Instant regret,” Lauren said flatly, but didn’t take it off.

Azzi held up a glitter-covered phone case shaped like a bear. “Be honest, this is exactly your style.”

Paige looked up from a clothing rack. “That’s either an insult or a very weird compliment.”

They ended up splitting burritos at a local spot for lunch, seated outside under one of those oversized umbrellas, half-talking, half-people-watching. It wasn’t a big day or a flashy one—just easy, familiar. They didn’t talk much about the flight or what came next, but it hung in the air anyway, brushing up against their shoulders in the quiet moments.

When they pulled back into the driveway that afternoon, Ryan was already home, leaning against the porch railing with his arms crossed like he’d been waiting for them.

“Took you long enough,” he called out as they stepped from the car.

“We were busy enriching Lauren’s cultural experience,” Paige said, slinging her arm around her.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “You made me try on jelly sandals. That was not culture.”

They all stood in the driveway for a bit, just lingering—no one quite saying what they were thinking. Amy came out not long after, keys in hand.

“You girls packed?” she asked.

Azzi nodded. “Everything’s in the back.”

Lauren shifted her weight from foot to foot, arms wrapped around herself. “You’re actually leaving.”

Paige bumped her shoulder. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better,” Ryan said, pulling Azzi in for a hug.

Lauren hugged Paige tighter than usual, her voice soft. “I’m really going to miss you.”

Paige smiled warmly. “We’ll see you at Christmas in a couple months. And we’ll be FaceTiming all the time until then.”

Azzi wrapped an arm around Lauren’s shoulders. “Yeah, see you soon, girl.”

Amy waited by the car while they said their last goodbyes. There wasn’t any big speech. Just a few extra seconds in each hug, a couple jokes to keep things light. Then the doors shut and the car pulled out of the driveway.

As Amy drove, the girls sat in comfortable silence, each staring out their own window, lost in the weight of leaving. The town rolled by—familiar streets, a few kids walking home from school, the bakery on the corner with the crooked “Open” sign still buzzing.

At the airport, Amy double-parked near the departure curb. Paige and Azzi unloaded their bags, slinging backpacks over shoulders. Amy stepped out and hugged them both—tight, quiet, steady.

“Call me if anything changes,” she said.

Azzi smiled. “We will.”

“Take care of each other.”

“We always do,” Paige said.

She didn’t say goodbye—just gave a little wave and waited until they disappeared through the glass doors. Then she climbed back into the car, glanced once in the rearview mirror, and drove off.

Inside, Paige glanced over at Azzi. “You good?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. Just... ready.”

Paige bumped her arm. “Me too.”

They headed for security, side by side, the kind of quiet between them that didn’t need filling. Just the sound of rolling luggage wheels and the low hum of departure announcements overhead—home fading behind them, something new waiting just ahead.

They pulled into the small parking lot behind Azzi’s apartment complex just as night had settled in, streetlights flickering on and casting pools of soft yellow light on the pavement. Azzi unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside to the warm glow of the apartment. Right by the entrance was a towering stack of packages — boxes and bags from various online orders, spilling across the small entryway like a colorful avalanche.

Paige dropped her bag with a sigh. “Well, looks like we’re definitely dealing with all this tomorrow.”

Azzi laughed, dropping her keys on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, no way we’re tackling this mountain of clothes and shoes tonight.”

Paige pulled out her phone and started scrolling. “I’m ordering breakfast through DoorDash for the morning. We’ll need fuel before the big unpacking session.”

Azzi nodded and flicked on a few lamps, making the cozy apartment feel even more inviting. “Sounds like a plan.”

As Paige placed the order, she glanced back at the packages again. “Swimsuits, sundresses, sandals... we’re really getting ready for Turks and Caicos, huh?”

Azzi grinned, holding up a bright floral dress she’d just pulled out of a box. “If I’m gonna survive the cold Minnesota spring, I’m gonna daydream about the beach.”

The DoorDash notification pinged. Paige grabbed the bag from the door and set it on the counter.

As they settled in with breakfast burritos and steaming coffee, Paige tapped her phone again. “Hey, I was texting with Jenica earlier — she and Mrs. Suggs are in town for a conference. Wanna catch lunch with them tomorrow?”

Azzi’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, yes! That’d be so great. It’s been forever since I saw them.”

Paige smiled, scrolling through her messages. “Cool, I’ll set it up.”

Azzi leaned back, a warm contentment settling over her. “This is exactly the kind of weekend I needed.”

Paige nodded, raising her coffee cup. “To good friends, new adventures, and way too many packages.”

The days between arriving in Minnesota and their flight to Turks and Caicos unfolded with a comfortable blend of reunion, preparation, and the quiet hum of everyday life. Azzi’s apartment, usually a calm retreat, was now alive with the rustle of packages and the subtle buzz of plans being laid out. Mornings began early, sunlight filtering through the blinds as Paige and Azzi eased into their routine. The air carried a faint scent of fresh coffee and the occasional whiff of cinnamon from the bagels Paige would order via DoorDash to kickstart their days.

One afternoon, they met Jenica and Mrs. Suggs at a small café nestled just off campus. Jenica was just as vivacious as ever, her voice animated as she recounted stories from her summer internship and teased Azzi about how she still hadn’t quite mastered Minnesota winters. Mrs. Suggs, with her gentle smile and steady presence, listened thoughtfully, occasionally sharing her own nuggets of wisdom — reflections on balancing work and life, the importance of savoring moments, and the unexpected lessons travel could teach.

Lunch stretched into a slow, easy conversation. Plates of vibrant salads and warm, crusty bread slid across the table, but the real nourishment came from laughter and shared stories. Paige chimed in about the upcoming trip, her eyes lighting up as she described the turquoise waters and hidden waterfalls they planned to explore. Azzi laughed at her enthusiasm, teasing, “You’ve already packed half your suitcase, haven’t you?”

Between social moments, the duo carved out time for their workouts. The local gym became a familiar sanctuary — a place to move through weights, stretches, and steady cardio. Azzi preferred the early mornings, when the air was crisp and the gym was quiet, the rhythmic clatter of weights the only soundtrack. Paige, ever the challenger, pushed herself to keep pace, their workouts often turning into friendly competitions. Afterward, they’d cool down with long stretches, sometimes sharing a smoothie or protein shake, their conversation drifting from workout goals to outfit choices for the trip.

Packing was another ritual altogether — a balancing act between practicality and anticipation. They’d spread Azzi’s collection of new clothes across the living room floor: flowy sundresses, vibrant bikinis, lightweight cover-ups, and sandals that whispered of sandy beaches. Paige, ever the stylist, would hold up a piece and ask, “Does this go with that?” or “Too much color, or just enough?”

Azzi would groan playfully, shaking her head. “You’re the only person I know who can turn packing into a full-on project.”

Late evenings were spent finalizing their plans, reviewing activity lists, and marking off things they needed to buy last minute. Snippets of music floated through the apartment — a mix of island rhythms and laid-back acoustic tunes — setting the mood for their impending escape.

Amidst the busy days, there were quiet moments of reflection. The excitement bubbled beneath the surface, tempered by the comfort of routine and the warmth of friendship. Even as they prepared to leave behind the familiar for the adventure ahead, they felt rooted — in each other, in the people they’d seen again, and in the life Azzi was building here.

By the time their suitcases were zipped and their itineraries confirmed, the anticipation was nearly tangible. The promise of turquoise waters, the call of hidden waterfalls, the thrill of snorkeling through vibrant coral reefs — it all awaited them. But so did the simple joy of being together, away from the noise of daily life, ready to make new memories.

[motherismotheringggg]

I would love if you write some enemies to lovers for nicholas chavez and reader, it could be some like how to lose a guy in 10 days or 10 things i hate about you, something like that, with a happy ending, i dont know exactly, i just know that i love everything that you write ❤️

match point 🎾

summary: based on this lovely request!! i added a tennis element to it because tennis feels very “enemies to lovers” coded to me for some reason

type: nicholas chavez x black plus sized fem reader

tags/warnings: 18+, angst, misread fatphobia (i promise it’s not in there but i don’t wanna trigger anyway), oral (m! and f! receiving), face fucking, cream pie

word count: ~8493

author’s note: confession, i’ve never seen either of those movies and i know i need to!!! either way, i liked this bc im lowkey missing summer rn so this helped — i hope you like it!!!

taglist: @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @emluvsuxo , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaschavezslut69 , @nicholaslut , @niteskysx , @melaninjhs , @pawofassumption

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The cicadas were already singing their lazy summer song when you arrived at the outdoor tennis courts, the air thick with humidity and the faint tang of freshly cut grass. The afternoon sun hung high, its rays bouncing off the court’s faded green surface and making the white lines shimmer like a mirage. You adjusted the strap of your bag, trying to ignore the way sweat was already pooling at the base of your neck, dampening the curls of your wash-and-go style.

This was supposed to be fun—a way to meet new people and settle into a city that still felt foreign and a little lonely. The open lessons had sounded perfect in theory, a casual way to break the ice while learning a new skill. But as you scanned the court, the pit in your stomach deepened.

Clusters of players were already warming up, their easy camaraderie apparent in the way they laughed and called out to one another. Most of them were lean, athletic types, the kind who looked like they spent their weekends hiking or doing yoga. You tugged at the hem of your tank top, suddenly hyper-aware of how it clung to your curves.

“Okay, let’s get started!”

The coach’s voice boomed across the court, drawing your attention. He was wiry and sunburnt, with the kind of leathery skin that suggested decades spent outdoors. A whistle hung around his neck, and his clipboard was already dotted with names and notes.

You moved toward the group, slipping into the back of the huddle as he began assigning partners. The air buzzed with excitement, punctuated by the rhythmic thwack of balls hitting rackets in the distance.

Just as you were beginning to relax, a low murmur rippled through the group. You turned in time to see a tall figure sauntering toward the court.

Nicholas Chavez.

He was the kind of beautiful that made you pause—messy dark hair, honey-brown eyes that seemed to catch the sunlight, and a jawline sharp enough to make you wonder if he’d walked off the pages of a magazine. He wore a black T-shirt and shorts, his broad shoulders and toned arms hinting at a strength that made it clear he wasn’t new to this.

As he got closer, he tossed a lazy glance toward the huddle, his gaze sweeping over the group. When his eyes landed on you, they lingered for a beat too long, and his brow twitched in a way that made your chest tighten.

“All right, let’s pair up,” the coach said, scanning his clipboard. His gaze landed on you, and you braced yourself. “Y/N, you’re with Nick.”

You forced a smile, clutching your racket like a lifeline. This was fine. You could handle this.

But the moment you looked back at Nicholas, you saw it: the flicker of hesitation in his expression, followed by the faintest lift of his brow. He didn’t say anything outright, but his reaction was loud enough. His gaze darted briefly to your shoulders, to the soft curve of your arms, before sliding back to your face with a faint smirk.

It wasn’t the smirk itself that stung—it was the way it felt so dismissive, like you were being appraised and silently deemed not worth the effort.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch.

Your stomach sank.

“Problem, Nick?” the coach called out, clearly catching the tail end of his remark.

Nicholas shrugged, spinning his racket lazily in one hand. “Nah,” he said, his voice smooth. “No problem.”

But as he turned and strode toward the far end of the court, his posture radiated a kind of casual arrogance that made your skin crawl.

The sun beat down mercilessly as you followed him to the court, your sneakers crunching against the gritty asphalt. By the time you reached the net, your irritation had reached a slow boil.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you said, trying to keep your tone even.

Nicholas didn’t respond, only gave a half-smile that somehow managed to be both infuriating and devastatingly attractive. He took his position without another word, and you adjusted your grip on the racket, determined to prove yourself.

But it didn’t take long for your annoyance to bubble over. Nicholas wasn’t even trying. He barely moved for volleys, his half-hearted swings making it clear he had no intention of putting in effort. When you lunged to keep the ball in play, your movements fueled by sheer determination, he had the audacity to let out a soft, amused laugh.

“Something funny?” you snapped, straightening as you glared at him.

He leaned casually on his racket, his honey-brown eyes glinting with something that made your pulse race—equal parts amusement and challenge. “You’re working pretty hard for this, huh?”

Your grip tightened. “That’s kind of the point,” you bit out. “It’s called practice.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “But, you know, maybe you should pace yourself. Wouldn’t want to tire out too quickly.”

The words were innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flicked over you as he said them wasn’t. Your jaw clenched as heat rose to your face, though you weren’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment. Probably both.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said tightly. “I can handle myself.”

“Yeah?” His smirk widened, dimples flashing in a way that made you want to scream. “We’ll see.”

The last few volleys of practice felt like an eternity. The summer sun bore down relentlessly, baking the court and leaving a faint sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. Every muscle in your body ached, and each swing of your racket felt heavier than the last. Meanwhile, Nicholas moved across the court with maddening ease, barely breaking a sweat, his shots precise but lazy, like he wasn’t even trying.

“Good game, everyone!” the coach called out, blowing his whistle to signal the end of practice. Relief washed over you as you dropped your racket and grabbed your water bottle from your bag.

You lowered yourself to the ground with a graceless plop, sitting cross-legged near the sidelines and taking long gulps of water. The cool liquid was a godsend, but the heat still clung to you, making your skin feel sticky. You fanned yourself with one hand, trying to keep your breathing steady.

No one’s looking at you. Relax.

You repeated the mantra in your head, reminding yourself that you weren’t being perceived in the way your mind sometimes tricked you into thinking. Your confidence had always been solid—a hard-earned love for your body and all it had carried you through—but moments like this, when your stamina was stretched thin and the exhaustion was visible, made it easier for doubt to creep in.

“Mind if I join?”

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see one of the other players—a girl around your age with a friendly smile and braids pulled into a high ponytail—gesturing to the space next to you.

“Go for it,” you said, gesturing for her to sit.

She plopped down beside you, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying out here. Who decided it was a good idea to play tennis in the middle of July?”

You laughed, grateful for the distraction. “Right? I feel like my shoes are melting into the court.”

“I’m Taylor, by the way,” she said, extending a hand.

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking it.

The two of you quickly fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, talking about everything from how intense the coach seemed to the best food spots in the city. Taylor’s humor was sharp and quick, and it wasn’t long before you were laughing so hard your sides ached more than from practice.

Just as you were starting to forget your earlier frustration, a shadow passed over you.

“Take it easy.”

You looked up to see Nicholas strolling by, his racket slung over his shoulder and a water bottle in hand. His tone was light, almost lazy, but the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. He didn’t stop walking, didn’t even look back as he delivered the remark.

Your jaw clenched, heat rising to your face—not from the sun this time, but from irritation.

“Is he always like that?” you muttered, glancing at Taylor.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s just Nick. He’s kind of a jerk to everyone.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, standing up and brushing off your legs, “he’s got it down to an art.”

-----

The next practice was even hotter than the first, the summer sun relentless as it beat down on the courts. The air shimmered with heat, and the faint smell of sunscreen mixed with the tang of tennis balls and sweat. You showed up determined to ignore Nicholas entirely, but, unsurprisingly, he made that impossible.

It started when the group was working on backhands. You’d gotten the general motion, but the finer details still felt awkward, and after a few failed attempts, you lowered your racket and turned to the coach. “Sorry, can you show that one more time?” you asked.

Before the coach could answer, Nicholas let out a low whistle, leaning lazily on his racket. “Guess they’re really starting from scratch, huh?”

The words hit you like a sharp jab, and your grip tightened on your racket. Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to ignore him, even as irritation bubbled beneath the surface. Instead, you focused on the coach’s demonstration, determined not to let Nicholas’s snide comment throw you off.

Later in practice, you managed to land a sharp, satisfying volley during a rally. The ball skimmed over the net and landed squarely out of Nicholas’s reach. Pride swelled in your chest—until Nicholas turned to the coach, throwing his hands up dramatically.

“Look at that!” he called out, his smirk deepening as dimples framed his maddeningly smug expression. “She hit one!”

Laughter rippled faintly through the group, but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. Heat crawled up your neck as you turned away, focusing on retrieving the ball and forcing yourself not to react. You clenched your jaw, gripping your racket so hard your knuckles ached.

By the end of practice, you were drenched in sweat, your tank top clinging to your skin, and your curls puffing out in defiance of the humidity. The exhaustion weighed heavy in your limbs, but all you could think about was getting out of there. You had plans to meet Taylor for dinner after, and every second spent on the court felt like it was cutting into your evening.

You tossed your racket into your bag and slung it over your shoulder, ready to bolt, but in your rush, the strap snagged on the bench. The zipper popped open, spilling your belongings onto the ground. Your water bottle rolled a few feet away, sunscreen and a spare shirt landing in a messy pile alongside the small notebook you used to jot down practice tips.

“Need some help?” Taylor asked, crouching down beside you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, hurriedly grabbing your sunscreen as she handed it to you. You scrambled to gather everything, feeling the heat from the court radiating through the soles of your shoes.

Before you could finish zipping up your bag, a shadow loomed over you.

“Careful,” Nicholas said, his voice light and casual, but with that familiar edge of condescension. “You’d probably move faster if you lightened your load a little.”

Your head snapped up, and before you could stop yourself, the words came out: “You’d probably move faster if you actually tried during practice instead of standing around acting like you’re too good for the rest of us.”

The air grew still, the quiet hum of cicadas the only sound as everyone turned to look at you. Your chest heaved as the words hung in the air, hot and sharp, your frustration boiling over in full view of the group.

Nicholas paused for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into an infuriatingly lazy smile. “The heat’s getting to everyone, huh?”

A few of the other players chuckled awkwardly, but your glare didn’t waver. He didn’t even seem fazed, casually slinging his racket over his shoulder like nothing had happened.

“See you next time,” he said, his voice light as he turned and strolled off, leaving you standing there with your fists clenched.

Taylor rose to her feet beside you, muttering under her breath. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“I know” you said, your voice tight as you choked back tears, while you zipped up your bag and slung it over your shoulder.

As you walked off the court, your mind raced. No one had ever been able to needle you like this before, and it wasn’t just frustrating—it was confusing. You weren’t sure what Nicholas’s problem was.

-----

You decided to skip the next practice. You told yourself it was to give your body a break from the brutal summer heat and all the drills, but deep down, you knew the real reason: Nicholas Chavez. His smirks, his snide comments, the way he always managed to needle you just right—it had all been too much. You needed a breather.

Still, the itch to move lingered. By the evening time, when the sun had finally dipped enough to make the air bearable, you headed to the gym near the courts. You timed it perfectly, arriving after practice would’ve ended and to ensure no one else would be there.

The place was empty, just the quiet hum of the overhead fans and the rhythmic thump of your sneakers against the polished floor. You felt freer here, confident enough to shed your usual layers. In your sports bra and athletic shorts, you stretched, tying your curls up into a puff before grabbing your racket.

You put on your headphones and cranked up the volume, letting the beat drown out the world as you stepped onto the court. You started with easy volleys, but it didn’t take long for your pent-up frustration to bubble up. With every swing, you hit the ball against the wall at full power and speed, the sharp crack of impact echoing in the empty space. Each hit felt like a release—a way to channel all the irritation that Nicholas had stirred up in you.

You were in the zone, so focused on the rhythm of the ball and the music blasting in your ears that you barely noticed someone calling your name. It wasn’t until a break between songs that the sound finally cut through.

You froze mid-swing, turning to see none other than Nicholas standing near the entrance, his bag slung over one shoulder.

Of course.

You yanked back one side of your headphones, your annoyance flaring immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, walking toward you with that infuriatingly easy confidence.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Practice had ended two hours ago. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Gym’s empty, thought I’d get a quick practice in,” he continued, his tone casual. Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. You were really going at it.”

You rolled your eyes, already tempted to pack up and leave. But before you could move, he gestured to your racket.

“You’ve got a killer forehand,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of genuine admiration. “I saw that last one before I came in. Honestly… I wouldn’t mind if you showed me how you did it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. But the irritation was still simmering, and it bubbled over before you could stop yourself.

“Are you joking?” you said dryly. “You’ve been absolutely insufferable since the moment I met you. You’ve made me feel weird and out of place every single practice, and now you’re acting like none of that happened?”

Nicholas raised his hands, palms out, as if in surrender, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—amusement. He chuckled under his breath, which only made your temper flare more.

“And if you have a problem with fat girls,” you said, your voice sharp as you stared him down, “then just say it.”

The laugh died on his lips. For the first time since you’d met him, Nicholas looked caught off guard. His brows furrowed, and he shook his head quickly. “Wait—what? No. That’s not—”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I never meant to make you feel like that. I swear. I was just… being an idiot. Trying to be funny, I guess. Clearly, I failed at that.” His voice softened, and then he added, “For what it’s worth, I don’t have a problem with you. At all. You’re…” He hesitated, his gaze sweeping over you for a moment. “You’re hot. And you’ve got a killer body. I mean that.”

You blinked, stunned into silence. Of all the things you’d expected him to say, that hadn’t even been on the list.

For a moment, you just stared at him, your fiery temper cooling as his words settled in. There was something about the way he said it—cool and flirty, sure, but also sincere—that left you completely disarmed.

Finally, you exhaled and nodded. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

Nicholas smiled, this time a smirk of surrender rather than that familiar smirk as he took a step back toward his bag. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then—”

“Wait.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder as you crossed your arms.

“You almost made me cry you know,” you said, your tone light but teasing. “So I think you owe me. In the form of walking me home—after I show you the move.”

His smirk widened, and he stepped back onto the court. “Deal.”

The two of you spent the next fifteen minutes practicing together. Nicholas was attentive, actually listening as you explained the technique, and for the first time, it felt… easy.

When the session ended, you walked side by side through the quiet streets, the summer air cooler now that the sun had set. The conversation flowed effortlessly—where you were both from, your favorite songs, the best smoothie spots after practice. By the time you reached your apartment building, you’d almost forgotten the Nicholas who’d made practice so unbearable.

There was a moment of silence as you stopped in front of your door. Nicholas glanced down at you, his honey-brown eyes warm under the glow of the streetlights.

You tilted your head, standing on your toes to get a little closer. With a smirk, you said, “And if you thought one itty bitty overdue apology was going to get me, you really need to get out more.”

Before he could respond, you patted him on the shoulder, turned, and headed inside.

“Good night, Nick,” you called over your shoulder.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Good night, Y/N.”

-----

Over the next few weeks, something shifted between you and Nicholas. The jabs weren’t as sharp anymore, and the underlying venom had slowly been replaced by something else—something more playful, teasing, but still competitive.

You found yourself walking to practice together more often, your casual banter now peppered with teasing remarks, both of you pushing each other to be better. There was no denying that your attraction to him had grown—you’d try to shake it off at first, convincing yourself that the snarky, flirtatious back-and-forth was just that. But deep down, you knew it was something more.

Sometimes, after practice, you both stopped for smoothies. The conversation was easy, as if you’d known each other for years. You found yourself drawn to his dry humor, the way he would effortlessly make jokes even about the smallest things. You’d roll your eyes, but inside, you were smiling. There was a charm to him that you couldn’t quite ignore.

But despite the playful comments and flirtation, there was still a part of you that couldn’t tell if he was just being his usual cocky self or if there was something deeper there. After all, he’d told you that you were hot and even almost kissing you—yet it never felt like enough to confirm that he liked you back.

One afternoon, after practice, the two of you decided to hang back for some extra practice, the court still warm from the sun. The air was heavy with the scent of summer, but you were both determined to squeeze out a little more work. After a while, you both collapsed on the ground, breathless from the intensity.

As you went into your cool-down stretches, you groaned, stretching out your legs. “My legs are so tight,” you muttered, rolling your shoulders to relieve some of the tension.

Nicholas, ever the opportunist, watched you for a beat before giving you a crooked grin. “You know, I can help with that.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, he was already moving to you.

“Lay on your back,” he instructed, and you did so without thinking.

He positioned himself between your legs as he gently lifted your right one, and pushed it back toward your chest. The strain on your muscles felt good, but the proximity of him only added to the tension. He didn’t seem to notice—at least, you hoped he didn’t—but when you let out an involuntary moan as your muscles stretched, the sound echoed across the empty court.

You froze, eyes widening, your face flushing with embarrassment. You quickly laughed to cover it up. “Echoing like that is crazy” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

Nicholas, ever the one to make light of the situation, chuckled. “Noted,” he said, voice teasing, his grin wide. “Definitely a screamer.”

You shot him a playful glare, but the heat from his words lingered as you pushed him off, “You’re so gross,” you gave him a playful nudge, finishing the stretching on your own.

The teasing didn’t stop there. A few days later, after another long practice, you and Nicholas were gathering your things when he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “I’ll be waiting for you in the shower, Y/N.”

No one knew the brewing tension between you too and just assumed Nicholas was his typical joking self, causing everyone to burst into chuckles.

Taylor, standing beside you, nudged you playfully. “Oh, come on. You gotta give me the details,” she whispered, practically bouncing with excitement.

Before you could answer, one of the older women on the team—Barbara, a rich and eccentric lady with a flair for drama—stepped forward, her eyes twinkling. “My pool was just refinished,” she announced grandly, hands raised as if unveiling a masterpiece. “And I’m throwing a little party this weekend to celebrate. You’re all invited!”

The room went silent for a moment before the chatter picked up again, everyone was excited about the prospect of a pool party, but you were still stuck on what Nicholas had said. His voice echoed in your head, making your pulse race.

---

You and Taylor slid into one of the cozy booths at your favorite smoothie place, the smell of fresh fruit and the hum of casual conversations filling the air. Taylor was practically bouncing in her seat, eyes wide with excitement as she shoved her açaí bowl aside and leaned forward, giving you her full attention.

“So, wait,” she said, eyes locked on yours. “You moaned out loud!?” She looked at you in disbelief, almost spitting out her bowl as she struggled to keep it together.

You nodded slowly, fighting back a laugh as she tried to process everything. “Yeah, it was—uh, kind of an accident.”

“No!” she gasped, her voice rising a little too loudly for the cozy shop. “You two almost had sex on the court!”

You quickly shushed her, looking around to make sure no one had overheard. You were already feeling the heat of your embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Shh! Taylor, you’re gonna get us thrown out,” you hissed, barely able to hold back your own laughter.

Taylor put her hand over her mouth, but her eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Sorry, sorry,” she whispered dramatically, though she was clearly struggling not to laugh.

“But I don’t know what to do. He’s so confusing, Tay.” Your face was hot as you tried to steady yourself.

Taylor raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. “Babe, what’s confusing? He so clearly wants you to ride him like it’s no tomorrow!”

You rolled your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips, “I don’t know, he’s hot but am I really gonna fuck a go I met at club tennis?”, you picked up your smoothie to sip.

There was a pause between you two before unanimously responding,

“Yes”

You both burst into laughter, the patrons of the smoothie shop, including a family with a small child, shot you both looks.

“Okay, okay, here’s what I’m thinking.” Taylor shot up straighter, practically bouncing in her seat now. “After the pool party this weekend, we’ll come back to your apartment, hang out for a while. Then I’ll slip out and leave you two alone. You won’t have any distractions, and you’ll be in your space. So it’s just you, him.”

“You’ve thought about this, huh?” you shot her a slick look, eyes squinted with a smile.

“From the second you two were paired up, yes!” she grabbed uo Nike duffel bag and smoothie, Shooting up from the booth, “Come on, let’s go bikini shopping!” she called out from the shop door.

------

You and Taylor arrived at Barbara’s house, pulling up to the towering gates of a mansion that could only be described as extravagant. As you drove through the gates, you couldn't help but marvel at the meticulously manicured grounds, the sprawling lawn, and the grandiose architecture.

The house itself was a statement of wealth—an impressive Mediterranean-style villa complete with marble pillars, wide open terraces, and windows so large they almost felt like walls of glass. Barbara’s backyard was even more ridiculous, the pool area a luxurious oasis, with a hot tub, waterfall features, and a fully equipped outdoor kitchen. The scent of freshly grilled food wafted in the air, and the sound of music played from outdoor speakers, giving the entire scene a carefree, almost surreal vibe.

You and Taylor were among the first to arrive, but a few other teammates were already there, mingling and laughing by the pool. You couldn’t help but notice the energy—everyone was in high spirits, laughing, talking, and basking in the summer warmth. You and Taylor dropped your things by a lounge chair, and she immediately began making suggestions about your outfit, insisting you needed something to grab Nicholas’s attention.

“Trust me,” Taylor said, eyeing you up and down. “If Nicholas doesn’t jump on you the second he sees this, he’s an idiot.”

She was referring to the white bikini set you were wearing, with cute red cherries printed all over the top and bottom. You had picked it out impulsively, but Taylor’s enthusiasm made you feel even better about the choice. You stripped off your cover-up and walked toward the pool with Taylor at your side, trying to keep the nerves at bay. Music played from the speakers as people were already enjoying the pool, splashing around and lounging under the sun. The air smelled like sunscreen, chlorine, and summer—the perfect atmosphere for a party.

You felt the cool water on your toes as you entered, your body immediately relaxing. The food spread was tempting, and the drinks were flowing, but your attention kept drifting to the entrance. You kept glancing back toward the gate, waiting for him to arrive. Every time someone walked in, your stomach dropped, thinking it was Nicholas. It wasn’t. And the anticipation was starting to feel almost painful.

Then, he finally walked in.

It was as if he stepped through the door in slow motion—his entrance completely owning the room. Nicholas was wearing nothing but a pair of trunks, no shirt, and damn, he looked incredible. His body was... perfect. His abs were defined, his chest was bulky but still ripped, the muscles in his arms were sharp, and even the way his trunks hung just low enough made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to look away, pretend like you weren’t even interested, but it was hard to ignore someone who looked like that.

You quickly turned your attention to the people around you, trying to act like you hadn’t just caught sight of him walking in. You didn’t want to seem eager, even though your stomach was flipping with the idea of what was about to happen.

It wasn’t long before Nicholas made his way toward the pool, walking over to the edge closest to you. He kneeled down, his eyes locking onto you as he flashed that trademark smirk, the one that made your chest tighten.

“So, how’s the water?” he asked, his voice smooth but with an edge of humor, as his eyes roamed and settled on your breasts as they bobbed in the water creating small waves.

You didn’t want to show how much his attention affected you, so you smirked back and shot a casual reply. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” You gestured to the pool with a mischievous look, inviting him to join you.

He took your cue, tossing his towel to the side and stepping into the water, the ripples spreading outward as he made his way toward you. There was no hiding the fact that you both had a simmering tension, but neither of you was willing to be the first to acknowledge it outright. You exchanged jabs and playful comments as you stood in the shallow end, water splashing around your legs.

After a while, Nicholas shifted, making his way deeper into the pool. You hesitated, not really a strong swimmer, and preferred to stay where you could touch the bottom.

“You coming?” he asked, his tone teasing, eyes glinting with that same challenge you were so used to.

“I’m good here,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You go ahead.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you?” he said with a wink. “I’ll keep you safe.”

There was something in his eyes that made it hard to say no. Reluctantly, you nodded. He extended his hand toward you, and you took it, letting him help you deeper into the water. The further you went, the higher the water got, eventually reaching just below your chin. When it was too deep for you to touch the bottom, he pulled you close, his chest pressing against yours in an embrace that left you breathless.

Before you could react, you instinctively wrapped your legs around him for support, and his arms came around your waist, pulling you in closer. You could feel his abs press against your stomach, his chest tight against yours, and—damn—it was hard to ignore the feeling of his body against yours, especially when you could feel him getting hard against you.

“Whoa,” he chuckled, his voice low and smooth as his hands settled around your waist. “Right here? In front of everyone?.” His tone is laced with the sarcastic tone that turned you on.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m just trying to make sure I don’t drown, if i don’t want mouth-to-mouth from you”

Nicholas grinned, and the heat in his eyes made you feel like he was already undressing you with his gaze. “Well you rejected me once…,” he said, pulling you in closer, the muscle in his chest pressing against your stomach. His breath was steady, but you could feel his pulse quicken as he looked down at you.

You tried to ignore the way his body felt so firm and close to yours, focusing instead on your usual digs. “And yet, you clearly love a chase” you asked, tilting your head with a smirk.”

His lips quirked up into a smile, his eyes catching yours. “It’s not so much a chase at this point,” His grip tightened around your waist, and you could feel the subtle pressure of his muscles beneath the water. “The way your legs are wrapped around me right now…I thought I’d have to work a lot harder for that.”

You paused as your heart skipped a beat. You shot him a playful glare, “I actually don’t have a comeback for that,” your tone feigned a playful retreat. “But I wanna grab some of the fruit salad so can you carry me back to the edge stud?”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching as if to suppress a laugh. “Well you’re losing with such grace, it’s the least I could do,” he said, his tone just slick enough to make your cheeks warm.

With an almost effortless motion, he floated you back toward the shallow end of the pool, the cool water rippling around you both. As soon as your feet touched the floor, you shifted to stand, but not before leaning in closer for one last jab.

You tilted your head toward him, lowering your voice just enough for only him to hear. “Oh, and by the way,” you said, smirking as you pushed a curl out of your face, “I wouldn’t say you’ve ‘won.’ The second I wrapped my legs around you, you were hard enough to poke a hole in my side.”

His breath hitched, his smirk faltering just slightly as his eyes widened in surprise. Before he could even process what you’d said, you winked and turned, pulling yourself up out of the water.

The air hit your skin, and as you stepped out, the droplets of water cascading down your body caught the sun, making your skin look like it was glowing. Your plush thighs flexed slightly with each step, your full hips swaying effortlessly as the cherry-printed bikini clung perfectly to every curve. Your stomach, soft and inviting, peeked out between the swimsuit pieces, the water droplets trailing down like a path Nicholas couldn’t help but follow with his eyes.

He swallowed hard, his blush deepening as his gaze lingered, clearly torn between being turned on and completely dumbfounded by your boldness.

You grabbed your towel, wrapping it loosely around your waist as you glanced back at him, your lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Have fun cooling off, Nick,” you said over your shoulder, your voice light and teasing as you walked toward the fruit table.

Nicholas stood there for a moment, chest still heaving slightly as he watched you disappear into the crowd. “Damn,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a faint, incredulous smile.

----

The backyard was buzzing with conversation and laughter as everyone ate, spread out across the lawn. The sun had slipped behind a layer of clouds, casting a muted gray light over Barbara’s extravagant outdoor setup. The clouds grew heavier, and though rain wasn’t in the forecast, everyone kept a wary eye on the sky.

You and Taylor sat together near the edge of the patio, chatting while finishing your burgers. Taylor leaned in, her tone playful. “So,” she started, waggling her eyebrows, “Are we gonna talk about you and Nicholas basically dry-humping in the pool earlier?”

You choked on your laugh, covering your mouth as you shook your head. “Taylor!” you said through a fit of giggles. “We were not!”

Taylor smirked, shrugging as she took another bite of her food. “Could’ve fooled me. You were all wrapped up around him like a koala.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, fine. But I think it’s going well. He’s definitely into me,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Taylor grinned, pleased. “Good! Finally!” she said, clinking her drink against yours. She started to ask what time you thought you should leave, but before she could finish, the sky opened up, and fat raindrops began to fall.

The peaceful scene turned into chaos as everyone scrambled to grab their things and get inside. Barbara, ever the eccentric host, ushered everyone toward the house, waving her hands dramatically as she shouted instructions. By the time you made it inside, you were damp from the sudden downpour, but at least you’d saved your plate.

Inside, everyone piled into the living room, which was decorated with retro, ��70s-inspired furniture. The centerpiece was a sunken conversation pit, complete with vibrant orange cushions and a massive coffee table in the middle.

Barbara clapped her hands together, her jewelry jangling with the movement. “Well, that was unexpected! I’m absolutely exhausted from hosting, so I’m heading upstairs,” she announced, sweeping a hand toward the stairs. “Feel free to hang out or head out whenever. Make yourselves at home!”

She disappeared in a flurry of gold bangles and silk, leaving the rest of you to settle in. The team naturally split into smaller groups, conversations bubbling up in various corners of the room. Nicholas wandered over and plopped down next to you and Taylor on the oversized cushions.

It didn’t take long before the two of you were completely in sync, your bodies naturally gravitating toward each other. At one point, your legs were thrown casually over his lap, his hand resting on your calf as you both laughed about something Taylor had said. Later, he laid down with his head in your lap, and without thinking, you ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. When he sat back up, you leaned against his shoulder, his arm brushing against yours, the closeness sparking something you couldn’t ignore.

At some point, Barbara’s husband asked Nicholas to help bring in some of the grilling supplies left outside. He reluctantly got up, leaving you and Taylor alone.

Taylor didn’t waste a second, leaning in with a grin so wide it practically split her face. “This is happening! I knew it!” she whispered excitedly.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress your smile. “Okay, fine, it’s happening. But don’t make it weird.”

Taylor waved you off. “When he gets back, we should all head out—leave you two alone to keep this momentum going.”

You were about to agree when your phone buzzed. It was a text from Nicholas.

Nicholas:

Hey, I think someone left their purse outside. Is it yours?

You frowned, intrigued, but got up to check it out. You told Taylor you’d be right back and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen, which led to the back patio.

But just as you passed the guest bathroom, a hand reached out and gently grabbed your arm, pulling you inside.

Before you could even react, the door clicked shut behind you, and you found yourself pressed against it, your back meeting the cool wood. Nicholas was standing inches away, his chest brushing against yours with each shallow breath. His eyes bore into yours, warm and intense, and you could feel the heat radiating off him in the confined space.

Your voice low and teasing, “That was a pretty smart text. Almost convincing.”

His lips curved into that familiar smirk, and he leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath on your skin. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice rough and dripping with confidence. “I do like the chase.”

Before you could respond, his hands slid to your hips, pulling you flush against him. The weight of his body pressed into yours, and you felt his grip tighten as your shoulder blades pressed into the door.

Your arms instinctively draped over his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. For a moment, you just stared into his eyes, the air between you charged with anticipation.

“Well?” you said, your voice sly and challenging. “You gonna keep me waiting, or…?”

That was all it took. Nicholas closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and hypnotic, his mouth soft and deliberate as he explored yours. It was the kind of kiss that made the world around you disappear, leaving only the two of you in the haze of each other’s touch.

His hands slid from your hips to cup your face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When he finally broke away to trail his lips down your jawline to your neck, your breath hitched. He seemed to know exactly where to go, instinctively finding the spots that made your pulse race, kissing and biting gently at your skin.

Your hands tightened on his shoulders, your body arching into him as he pressed his lips to the sensitive curve of your neck. The intensity of the moment was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop.

Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as if spurring him on, pulling him closer. Nicholas groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as the kiss deepened, each movement deliberate and consuming. He kissed you like he didn’t want to let go, his lips moving against yours in a rhythm that left you breathless.

His fingers brushed the strings of your bikini top, his touch lingering as if asking for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he gently tugged, the fabric slipping from your shoulders and falling effortlessly between you. He broke the kiss, his hands still resting at your waist, and leaned back just slightly to look at you.

The way his eyes widened, drinking in the sight of you, made your heart race. It wasn’t just lust—it was awe, the kind that made you feel worshiped under his gaze. “Fuck,” he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. “I knew your body was insane, but…”

You didn’t even have time to laugh or respond because he leaned forward, taking your hard nipple into his mouth. His lips latched on, a low moan escaping as he suckled softly. His tongue flicked against the sensitive peak, sending shivers down your spine, and your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, fingers tangling as you held him close.

Nicholas alternated between gentle licks and firmer sucks, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His free hand trailed over your other breast, his thumb brushing across your other nipple with deliberate slowness, amplifying the heat building in your core.

You let out a soft whimper, your back arching as his mouth worked you over. The sound seemed to spur him on, and his hand tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer as if he wanted to devour every inch of you.

When he finally released your nipple with a soft pop, his eyes locked onto yours. They were dark with desire, a slight smirk playing on his lips as if he was proud of the effect he had on you.

You didn’t let him have the upper hand for long. Sliding your hands to his jaw, you pulled him up, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that was equal parts fiery and tender. As your mouths moved together, you guided him toward the counter, taking control of the moment.

With his back pressed against the edge of the countertop, you broke the kiss, your lips brushing his ear, he took a sharp inhale that had a hiss to it. “You want me to take care of you baby?” You whispered, your tone playful but laced with promise.

Nicholas let out a soft laugh, he tried to play it cool but he was too weak to actually speak. Completely wowed by your dominance, his breath catching as you kissed lower, leaving a trail of heat in your wake.

Your confidence grew with each reaction you pulled from him, his head tilting back as your mouth explored him. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white as you kissed down his torso, feeling the taut muscles beneath your lips.

When you dropped to your knees in front of him, his breath hitched, and his gaze snapped down to meet yours. The anticipation in his eyes was undeniable, his lips parted as he watched your every move with a hunger that sent a thrill through you.

Your fingers toyed with the hem of his trunks, your lips pressing soft, teasing kisses along his hips before you slowly tugged the fabric down. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, his arousal impossible to ignore. The sight of him made your pulse race, but you kept your composure, wrapping your hand around him and planting soft, deliberate kisses on his tip.

Each kiss sent a shiver through him, his body tensing under your touch. His breathing grew heavier, and you could feel his restraint slipping with every press of your lips. When you finally took him into your mouth, his head fell back instantly, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips.

His chocolate-brown hair, still slick from the pool and rain, framed his face as he clenched his jaw, struggling to hold himself together. Your movements were deliberate, your head bobbing with a rhythm that drove him wild. Each time your tongue swirled over him, his moans grew louder, his resolve to stay quiet crumbling.

“Y/N,” he groaned, your name tumbling from his lips before he quickly covered his mouth with one hand, muffling the sound. The sight of him trying so hard to keep control only spurred you on.

When the pressure became too much, his hand slid to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you with slow, calculated thrusts. His hips bucked gently into you, each movement precise as he tried not to lose himself completely.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he murmured, his voice rough and breathy.

You glanced up at him, your eager eyes meeting his dazed, pleasure-filled ones. The vulnerability in his gaze made you feel powerful, and when he saw the look on your face, his lips curled into a weak smile.

“Just like that, baby,” he cooed, his voice breaking slightly as he tightened his grip on your hair. “Keep that pretty mouth open for me.”

Just then, he pushed himself to the black of your throat, keeping your head there until you gagged a little, pushing off of him. He leaned down to kiss you, gently slapping your face, “good girl”.

Nicholas helped you to your feet, his lips crashing onto yours in a deep, hungry kiss before he turned you around. You caught your reflection in the mirror, his eyes devouring you, and felt a rush as he slowly slid down your bikini bottoms.

He dropped to his knees, hands gripping your ass as he began to lap at you from behind. The sensation made your knees tremble, and when his tongue flicked over your sensitive nerves, you couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped you. Your back arched instinctively, and you moved your hips, grinding against his face as he held you steady, his grip firm on your hips.

His lips wrapped around you, sucking gently, and you gasped his name, desperate for more. "Please, Nick, fuck me— I want you so bad," you begged, your voice ragged with need. He didn’t hesitate, his tongue more insistent, more eager.

A finger slipped inside, but as the pressure built, you felt yourself on the edge. "Nick, I’m gonna cum... please!" you cried out.

In one swift motion, he rose, positioning himself behind you. As he slid inside, a sharp breath left his lips, the tightness and warmth surrounding him almost too much. He slapped your ass, the sound echoing through the room as he began thrusting slowly, deliberately, making sure you felt every inch of him.

"You’re so fucking tight," he murmured, the words sending a shiver through your spine.

"Fuck, you’re so wet," he groaned, his pace picking up, his hands now gripping you tighter.

"You feel so good, baby," Nicholas continued, his praises falling from his lips, each one spurring you on.

Every time you dipped your head in pleasure, he tugged at your hair, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. "Look at yourself, baby girl. Look how good you look taking me."

The sound of your bodies meeting filled the bathroom, and you couldn’t help but wonder how no one heard you. But it didn’t matter— it only fueled the fire inside you. With each thrust, you arched deeper, matching his pace, your body consumed by the pleasure.

You found yourself in control of the situation as you thew yourself into Nicholas, he thre his hands up surrendering to your will. He moaned out while you braced yourself on the counter to continue your pace.

You gripped the edge of the counter, using it for leverage as you set the pace. Your back arched even more, alternating between consistent movements and then pulling back, just to take him all the way in. You pushed your hips back, forcing him deeper inside, making him groan in response.

“Fuck, baby... you’re so fucking nasty, I love it,” Nicholas breathed, his arms wrapping around your torso as his pace picked up.

His hands slid from your waist to your hips, his grip tightening. With a sudden, forceful pull, he yanked you back against him, taking control, and in one smooth motion, he began to set the pace himself.

You gasped, unable to stop the way your body reacted, completely at his mercy. His thrusts were hard and fast, each one driving you forward, your hands struggling to stay steady on the counter as the force of his movements pushed you closer to the edge.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “You like me taking control.”

You couldn’t help but moan in response, your body giving in to his every move. “Yes, Nick... fuck, yes,” you panted.

His pace grew frantic as he increased the pressure, his hands gripping your hips to steady you as he fucked you harder. His breathing became more ragged, his movements more desperate as he chased his own release.

“Fuck, baby... I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his voice strained, and you could feel the tension building in his body.

With one final, deep thrust, Nicholas pushed you over the edge. He came inside you with a low, guttural moan, his body tensing as he emptied himself. You followed close behind, your body trembling in ecstasy as you felt him finish, both of you catching your breath in the aftermath.

He stayed inside you for a moment, his hands still gripping your hips as he tried to steady himself. Slowly, he pulled out, his lips brushing the back of your neck in a tender kiss as he whispered, talked you down.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

This'll Sting

Gally x GN! reader Summary: Gally hurts himself and needs your help Warning: kissing, injuries, nothing too intense. V. cute fluff

The box in your hand falls to the floor when you walk back into the tent and see Gally sitting there, hunched over as he leans his elbow on his arm, waiting patiently on the cot as his eyes stay glued to his hand. He has some scrap fabric tied tightly around it, clenching and unclenching it before he looks up, cold, steely eyes meeting yours when he hears the box hit the floor.

You scramble to pick up the bits and bobs that fall out, feeling eyes stay glued to you as you move, "oh god Gally," you murmur as you finally collect yourself and stand up, "sorry I didn't expect you to be here."

He just nods his head, slow and uncertain as he eyes you, before looking away again as he holds his hand awkwardly in his lap, "didn't know where ya'll had gone."

"Were you waiting long?" you ask as you push the box up onto the shelf, before turning and walking over to him, standing in front of him as he remains hunched over himself, eyes trained on his hand as he shakes his head.

"Did you hurt your hand?" you ask softly when you notice his lack of response, hand coming out to hover, palm up, near his own, a small offering as you wait for him to place his hand on yours. He hesitates but eventually relents, placing his large, heavy hand on yours as he unclenches his fist, revealing the blood-soaked fabric he's using as a makeshift bandage.

He just nods, grinding his teeth as he watches you wait expectantly for him to tell you how it happened, "just got distracted."

"Must've been something pretty good to distract you of all people," you say with a soft laugh, trying to ease his tension as you carefully unwrap the bandage.

His breath catches as he feels his face heat up, mind drifting back to the thought of you, watching you climb up the fence and lean over it as you talk to Newt in the gardens. It completely captivated him, watching you smile and laugh with Newt, bent over the railing as your bright smile shone in the afternoon sun, drawing his attention away from where he was meant to be holding some wood still for Ben to hammer in place. Next thing he knows, he's hitting the ground, feeling the blood seep from his hand as he groans in pain, trying to fight back the way he wants to scream bloody murder - more concerned with not drawing your attention over to him than he is the pain in his hand.

"It was incredible," he murmurs softly, surprising both of you as he meets your eyes before looking away and straightening up again. He curses himself silently for saying something that feels so dorky as it comes from his mouth, shutting his eyes briefly when he hears your breathy laugh fill the room. Great she thinks you're a fucking dork now.

"You handled it better than most," you say gently, wincing slightly when you remove the bandage and see the gash in his palm. He turns back to you, a smirk pulling on his lips as he finds himself sitting up straighter.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," you nod as you bring a basin of water over, gently cleaning the dried blood around the cut, "didn't even hear you hurt yourself, most of the time there's a whole Shakespeare play when someone gets hurt."

He lets out a laugh as he watches you, "those shanks will take any excuse to lay around."

You hum thoughtfully as you turn and soak a cotton pad in antibacterial ointment, "or maybe they just like being looked after for a bit."

He scoffs as he watches you work, looking back at his palm, where he feels the ghost of your soft skin pressed against his rough hand. "Yeah, well," he says as he swallows, looking back over as he watches your hands move confidently as you prepare the cotton pad, your words doing something to him as he feels his heart begin to race, "I can take care of myself."

"I'll have nothing to do if you say that," you turn back to him, taking his hand back in yours as you look up at him with a gentle concern in your eyes, "this'll sting, okay."

He nods, sucking air through his teeth when he feels the cold burn of the liquid touching the cut, clenching his jaw as he watches your eyebrows furrow in concern as you mumble apologies as you clean him up. He can't tear his eyes off you, letting you finish cleaning his hand as he follows your every move, a warmth rising in his chest as he feels your gentle touch on him. He can almost feel the concern for him radiating through every move you make, and it shocks him how much he likes it, how much he wants it to continue.

As you finish bandaging his hand, and begin to pull away, Gally finds himself reaching for you, rough hand, heavy and firm as it encircles yours, keeping you in place as he looks up at you from his space on the bed. He watches as you look down at him, a small smile on your face as you tilt your head in concern, eyes encouraging him to say whatever it is he needs to say.

He's not sure what he needs to say, he just feels this feeling in his chest bubbling, pouring through every bone in his body as he stares wordlessly up at you, mouth parted in surprise as he tries to find the words. It boils over all at once it seems, and before he can stop himself gally is leaning up and pressing his lips to yours in a rough, chaste kiss.

He barely touches you, except for where his hand is still holding your, lips just pressed together before just as quickly he's pulling away, staring at you in shock as he stumbles over his words.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, even as he doesn't move, heart pounding in his chest as he watches your eyes flutter open, gazing up at him sweet and confused, "I don't know why I did that, I just -"

It's his turn to be shocked now, as he feels you press your lips to his this time, softer now, moving gently against his as you encourage him to reciprocate your movements. He's nervous and sloppy as his lips move against yours, melting into you as he lets his eyes shut and his hand finds your waist. His hand trembles as it grasps your side, a soft groan leaving his throat when his fingers meet bare skin where your shirt rides up.

His heart pounds against his chest, yours matching its intensity as you press together, chest to chest, lips moving in sync as you learn a rhythm together. You stay there for what feels like hours, nervously touching each other as your lips dance together, shaky and breathless and obviously new to all this, learning to lean into this feeling together.

Eventually, you pull away, a giggle leaving your lips immediately as you look down bashfully, a dopey smile breaking out on his lips despite how hard he tries to hold back, as he watches you shy away from him.

Neither of you knows what to say, just smiling as you bashfully bounce on your heels, standing close to each other. Gally can't seem to wipe the smile from his face, no matter how hard he tries, lips tingling where they pressed to yours, as he lets himself enjoy the warm feeling growing in his chest.

"Do you wanna sit with me at dinner?" he asks eventually, his smile widening even further when you look back up at him and nod eagerly.

[heliads]

we both know what happened to you - newt

Ben is exiled. The Glade doesn't take it well.

masterlist

It’s easy to be quiet in the mornings when it doesn’t matter. Simple days are for simple words, fading phrases, and long spells of silence. On days like today, though, after nights like last night, silence feels like the only option. No one can meet each other’s gaze. And no one wants to talk when they can still hear the echoes of Ben’s last desperate scream echoing in their mind. 

You feel a certain kind of restlessness when you’ve killed your friend. It gnaws at you like mad. Like how Ben was mad until you shoved him in the Maze and let him die. You can’t stop thinking about it, turning over that awful moment in your head again and again, unable to let the wound close in peace. He’d begged you to let him live, all of you, again and again until he was already half inside the Doors and knew it was over. You’ve known him for months. Many knew him longer still, yet all of you are complicit.

This is the Maze, after all. This is where you’re all born again with no memories and hardly even a name, and this is where half of you die. Stephen, cut in half after trying to climb down the Box Hole. Nick, his grave just barely green over with moss. And now Ben, hair like corn silk, who ran too far too fast, dead before he got to twenty. You’ll be there soon, maybe. You and Newt and everyone you’ve ever cared about. The Maze is where scientists kill the kids they raised. Birds kicked from the nest. Someone’s smoothing out your feathers now and readying you for the plunge, but all you can do is stare at the empty place among the straw and twigs where one of you had been just seconds before.

You’re staring at the walls of the Maze, lying flat on your stomach in the grass. There’s a stone jutting uncomfortably into your left elbow, but your chin’s resting on top of your laced fingertips and you’re not sure you have the strength to keep yourself from falling into the dirt while you push the smooth rock away. You wonder if Ben ever kicked that stone, if he ever tripped over it on his jog into the Maze and out again. You wonder if he stayed by the Doors when he died, or if he tried to run his old routes one last time, operating on instinct alone.

A shadow passes in front of you, darkening the pear green knives into something like the needles of the pine trees. A boy comes with the shadow, free of charge, and he slumps down next to you, pausing briefly to slide the stone away from your left elbow before lying down on his back. You turn your head, placing your right cheek on your interlaced fingers to stare at him.

Newt has always been beautiful in the sunlight. Even now, in this uncertain gray somewhere between overcast and clear skies, his eyes catch the faint bars of sunshine and turn from brown to gold. With a pang of agony deep between your ribs, it reminds you of the blond crown of Ben’s hair. You wonder if his eyes will ever shatter scarlet like Ben’s temples did too, at the end, when he hurt himself so badly he never came back, and your eyelids flinch shut to stop yourself from seeing it.

When you manage to open your eyes again, a cloud has passed over the sun, coaxing Newt’s eyes back to a woody brown, and it’s okay to look at him again. He’s looking at you too now, the lines on his face deepening with regret. You’re mirrors, the two of you, perfect pictures of guilt and misery reflecting back again and again until you’re certain you’re going to dissolve into each other for good.

“It’s not your fault,” Newt whispers. His throat is dry, and his voice cracks on most words.

“It’s not your fault either,” you murmur back. “Not Minho’s, not Alby’s. These things happen.”

Newt’s lips press together, and you know he’s going through the same swoops of grief as he remembers every Glader you’ve lost over the past few years.

“You know, I remember when he just started out as a Runner,” Newt says quietly. “Stupid shank. He was terrible at directions but he tried so damn hard that he actually fixed his own shuck memory. You should have seen him smile the first time he got a route right without one of us having to correct him. Could have powered the sun.”

He sighs, a sob trapped in the sound. To distract him, you ask, “Why’d you let him stay on as a Runner if he kept getting lost? Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

Newt looks up at the sky, remembering. “We didn’t have many Runners in the early days. We had to take what we could get. Besides, Nick was dead set that it was better for morale if people weren’t letting the Runners quit so soon. He was early in his days as first-in-command, so we wanted to believe him. Ben got better anyway. Soon he was just as good as any of us.”

Newt’s voice trails off a little, and you know him well enough to guess what he’s thinking– if they had switched Ben out anyway, maybe he wouldn’t have been in the Maze, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten Stung, and maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill Thomas. Maybe he wouldn’t have been Exiled. Maybe he’d still be here, and you wouldn’t be lying here trying to suppress this invisible wound bleeding out both of you without spilling a single drop of blood.

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat.

“It’s no one’s fault,” Newt says listlessly. “That’s official protocol for when someone gets exiled, you know. Nick made that klunk up too. Said people knew the rules, so if they broke ‘em, it was on their shoulders, not ours.”

“Doesn’t explain why I feel like I should have saved him, though,” you mutter.

Newt nods in agreement, expression tired. “We’re going to get through this,” he says dully. “Same way we got through every other friend we lost. We’re going to pick ourselves up and we’re going to move on. We’ll stop thinking about him.”

“No, we won’t,” you say, and continue before Newt can interrupt. “We’re never going to forget Ben, and it would be awful not to. We’re just going to stop feeling guilty, that’s all. We’ll think about Ben as Ben, not how he was after he got stung.”

“Is that fair to Ben?” Newt asks. “If we ignore what happened to him? I’d be mad, I think. Feels like we’re cheating.”

You let out a long breath. “When you think about Ben, what comes to mind? Your gut instinct, I mean. Not the first awful thing about the Doors shutting on him, but what Ben really is to you. Is it the thing we had to strap to the bed in the Med-Jack hut when he was so strung out that he was hardly human at all? Or is it the shuck kid who kept making too many left turns and followed you and Minho everywhere?”

Newt closes his eyes, half in agony, like he’s begging for strength from someone who isn’t listening. “Runner Ben. Not him when he was sick. That’s Ben to me.”

“Exactly,” you say. “That’s our Ben. That’s what matters. He wasn’t Ben at the end. Ben would never hurt us.”

And Ben would never beg for you to save him. He would never look at the Maze like a bad dog, terrified, and he would never stand there for so long once he was past the Doors, as if he had forgotten the way again.

Newt reaches out and takes your hand, gripping your fingers almost painfully, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Promise me, Y/N. If something happens, if I get stung or if I– if I– again– Tell me you’ll do the same for me. You’ll remember me as me.”

You choke back a sob. “Nothing’s going to happen, Newt.”

He squeezes your hand again, insistent. “You heard Ben. He was saying all kinds of stuff, saying the world out there was terrible. If it does, you have to promise– you have to promise–”

He’s manic and terrified in a way that shocks you. Newt is the calm one, always has been, except that one time that terrified you just as bad as this. If he isn’t in control, then you’ll have be that for him.

“I promise,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’ll always be my Newt. Always.”

He relaxes suddenly in your grasp, still as death. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat.

He pulls you close to him, your head tucked against his collarbone, heart to heart and rib to rib. The sun warms you both, dappling skin and hair and clothes. It’s going to be a while until you stop hearing Ben’s last scream when you’re locked in sleep. It’s going to be a while before you remember how to go about living like usual again. If there’s one comfort in all of this, at least, it’s that you won’t be alone. With Newt, you never will be.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @bonesnplywood, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[tiramisuc0ffee]

Warm Afternoons.

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!reader

Summary: After wrapping up a more than pesky mission, you and Satoru decide to laze about for a few hours before returning to Jujutsu Tech... which leads to Satoru being a lot more sentimental than you both are used to.

warnings/tags: Takes place before "The Ghost of You" (which you can read here), this is just a further look into the reader's dynamic with Satoru :), reader and Satoru are close friends, and themes of unspoken feelings, it's like pretty clear that they like each other.

word count: 1.9k (THIS IS MUCH LONGER THEN I THOUGHT OOPS)

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

"God that was so annoying"

Your voice slices through the tranquil evening, disrupting and overtaking the buzz of cicadas and the gentle symphony of the wind as you approach a lonesome bench that stands planted before a river. The sky is a canvas of orange and yellow as the sun dips towards the horizon, its warmth kissing your skin. A gentle breeze rustles through the grass and nearby foliage, creating a mesmerizing, smooth oceanic hum that cushions your approaching footsteps.

A soft snicker meets your ears and you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you prepare for one of his usual snarky remarks.

"You got knocked on your ass pretty hard. You sure you're okay?" Satoru speaks, his eyes meeting yours as you sit beside him on the bench. He sports a teasing grin but his eyes betray his demeanor as you easily spot the specks of concern lingering in them.

The mission the two of you had wrapped up no more than an hour ago had been undeniably frustrating. What was supposed to be a routine exorcism of two second-grade curses had turned into a chaotic struggle against two first-grades, both capable of using cursed techniques. While it was nothing more than a small adjustment for Satoru given his well-praised Infinity and Six Eyes, you definitely had been taken off-guard. Not anticipating the usage of cursed techniques and the sheer force behind them led to a few cuts and bruises that honestly stung more from frustration than pain.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you had been set up for failure by being fed false information by Yaga.

Scoffing at his words, you give his arm a gentle nudge with your elbow, sinking further into the curve of the bench, "Shut up, I was just caught off guard for a moment..." you murmur before a soft smile tugs at your lips, "But I'm okay. Just a few scrapes here and there.... I'll see if Shoko can patch me up when we get back..."

Satoru simply nods at your reassurances, a soft hum escaping his lips as he gives you a once over as if to confirm that you were actually telling him the truth.

It was annoyingly stupid how he tended to do this. He had these moments where he seemingly stared into you, seeing through your being, opening you up, dissecting and picking apart your every feature.

It made you feel so exposed—being under the microscope that was his cerulean eyes. His eyes were breathtaking, there was no doubt about that, but these moments made you realize how those blue oceans could be oh-so intimidating and you briefly wondered if this is how most cursed spirits felt when being face to face with his power.

You shudder slightly, and he quirks an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly before grinning, "what?" he asks, though his eyes never leave you.

You shake your head waving him off wordlessly, and you can't help but smile just a little wider before bringing the straw of your smoothie that you bought beforehand to your lips. You hum softly as the cold sweetness coats your tongue, bringing a refreshing calm.

After spending so much time with him since the two of you met in your first year, you've come to understand that this simply was his way of showing concern. He never was one for soft words or heartfelt expressions; his awkward attempts at sentiment were as endearing as they were clumsy.

"You don't think the higher-ups will be mad if we're a few hours late with our report, do you?" He then asks, shifting his gaze off of you and watching the sun through his dark round sunglasses.

You let out a soft chuckle, wordlessly pressing the straw of your drink to Satoru's lips watching him take a sip without hesitation.

He hums, smiling softly as the cool liquid coats his tongue. "Mango?" he inquires, his tone light and curious.

"Mhmm" you hum out, bringing the straw to your lips as he finishes taking another sip.

His arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You find yourself leaning into him, the closeness feeling as natural as breathing. It's a simple gesture, but it's one that feels like a second skin for both of you. The way Satoru effortlessly bridges the gap between you two speaks volumes more than any words could.

You were magnetic to him. Being close to you, talking to you, being in your presence, it all just felt so correct, it felt so easy. He honestly couldn't pinpoint when this physical aspect of your friendship first developed...

Maybe it was when you welcomed him back with a bone-crushing hug after he had been away on a 2-week mission with Suguru. Maybe it was when he brushed and braided your hair during one of your many sleepovers in your dorm room, the two of you sitting on your bed, his long fingers, delicately touching your hair and somehow perfectly braiding your hair despite him insisting it was his first time.

...Maybe it was when he awoke the following morning, with you in his arms, your head resting on his chest and your arms around his waist.

He really wasn't sure when it became so normalized, but slowly, he was getting to a point where he stopped questioning why. When everything felt so right, why did he need to question it? This was just the way things were between you two.

Even though he knew for a fact that you weren't this way with anyone else just as he was only this way with you, there was no need to think too deeply about the implications, right?

"I'm sure they may have a lot to say if you're gone for too long, Mr. golden child of the jujutsu world," you remarked sarcastically, finally responding to his question with a smirk. He rolled his eyes at you, pursing his lips at your words, "Me on the other hand, I don't think they're all that concerned.." you then grumble, clearly still irritated by the miscommunication that occurred during the mission.

He laughs, the rumbling of his chest being felt against your arm as he saw through you so easily. "Don't pout too much like that, you'll get wrinkles and look like a grandpa," he teased, the hand around your shoulders reaching up to pull at your cheek. You immediately hiss swatting his hand away, "...don't pinch me, asshole," you said through teeth which only earned you another laugh from him.

You could be so crude at times, and he frankly adored that about you, because, he was the same. He wondered if that's why he felt so drawn to you since day one. He liked how you carried yourself with this lightheartedness, the way you were just so effortlessly... you. Dead serious when you needed to be, strong, dependable, but also the way you were able to keep up with him. Sending snarky remarks right back at him and telling jokes that were so stupid, he would genuinely laugh until his stomach hurt.

He smiled softly to himself, feeling a gentle warmth spread in his chest.

His eyes shifted to your face and he just... took you in.

Watching as you happily sipped on your smoothie, your fingers gently smoothing out the spot where he pinched you. You definitely looked a little more roughed up than usual... but you still... looked so nice.

As your eyes shifted to meet his gaze, he noticed a small scratch on your cheek, and thoughtlessly, his long fingers gently took hold of your chin. He tilted your face to the side ever so slightly, his eyes tracing along the split skin, taking note of the redness and irritation.

You nearly choked on your drink as your fingers gripped your cup a little tighter, crinkling the plastic. Not a word was shared as you looked at each other and you felt your entire being start to warm, a sense of shyness growing deep within you.

You awkwardly laughed, "You're acting like a creep, Satoru" you joked, trying to lighten the air and get some air into your lungs. His eyes snapped back to yours and you noticed how his eyes widened slightly as if he only just realized how intimately he was touching you.

"Sorry..." he murmurs, but not making any sort of attempt to remove his gentle hold on you.

His lips parted, then closed. His eyebrows furrowed, and his throat bobbed when he swallowed. You took note of each of these actions as they played out before you.

"You know.." he suddenly says after a beat of silence passes, his voice trailing off as his mind searches for the right words to say. He wanted to say something, he knew he wanted to express something to you. But he wasn't used to this, not used to soft words of gratitude and appreciation. He'd grown accustomed to interacting with others rather bluntly or in a lighthearted, sarcastic, joking manner, but ever since he met you, it was as if he had no choice but to break this routine of his.

He furrowed his eyebrows again. Fuck...He really was trying.

"I really do appreciate us... you-" he tried to continue, pouting slightly as he stumbled over his words, which led to you letting out a lighthearted chuckle.

"Are you being sentimental with me right now, Satoru?" you grinned widely, words carrying a teasing undertone as you attempted to mask your growing fondness.

He groans slightly, finally removing his hand from your face and letting it drop to your shoulder. "Could you not right now?" he huffs out, "I'm trying to say something nice to you".

And there's a certain look in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher.

"Sorry, sorry," you giggle softly "I know you're trying...I appreciate you too Satoru" You smile softly at him, trying to reassure him that you understood what he was trying to communicate.

"It's not just that," he interjects, sighing softly as his free hand runs through his snowy locks and makes a mess out of them, "It's just nice... to have someone who simply, understands," his voice is quiet and delicate and his words are careful, coming out slow and precise.

"Having you here, having you with me... that means a lot to me... I know I don't normally say shit like this- but I do really appreciate what we have..." His eyes are now focused on the darkening sky as the sun officially says its goodbye, setting past the horizon.

"I hope you don't plan on going anywhere" he then chuckles, his smooth demeanor returning as fast as it left as he gives you a lopsided grin.

You're rendered speechless for a moment.

There's a lot you wanted to say, certain feelings that are just dying to be expressed sitting right at the tip of your tongue as you can't help but melt from Satoru's words.

But you let them sit there, those will be for another day. When it's right.

"You're stuck with me, that's for sure" You grin widely at him watching as his smile grows at your reassurance.

"Good," he says, gently ruffling your hair which has you whining softly. "...Let's head back, gotta get you all fixed up before you start crying from the pain" he snickers, removing his arm from you and standing up from the bench, offering his hand to you.

You laugh softly, taking his hand as he helps you to your feet. "Shut up..." you murmur before shoving his shoulder slightly once again.

The two of you walk side by side in a comfortable silence, the evening growing cooler and the river’s gentle rhythm growing distant. You couldn't help but smile to yourself, the fondness in your heart continuing to grow the longer you mauled over Satoru's words.

Yeah... you definitely didn't plan on going anywhere.

☆~~~☆~~~☆

A/N: I went overboard with this I can't lie LMFAO. I'm so sorry about the delay on this, I can't lie I've been putting it off because I have been drawing Gojo instead of writing about him hehehehe. This is 1 of 2 snippets I have planned as little prequels to "The Ghost of You" I will try to work on the next one as soon as possible. It will be ANGSTTYYYYY so prepare yourselves for it if you are interested in reading it!

also- like completely unrelated but I learned about the ask feature! So you guys can send me fun little messages now yippie!!

☆~~~☆~~~☆

Taglist: @hyori2 @kalulakunundrum @smolbeanzzz @numblytemporary @satxoru

(I hope I didn't miss anyone LMFAO)

[bunji-enthusiast]

Can you do Lancelot with a reader that's the child of zeldris and gelda?

𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 (𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Summary || Lancelot, the infamous knight known for eyeing his opponents — keeping his friends close and searching for an end to his goals; meets you for the first time in six years, the child of the demon monarchs who rule over the birthplace of all demons. A fellow being born of two races made hybrid existence all the more commonplace.

WC: 2k

A/N: thank you for waiting lovely anon! Hope you like this one :) Timeline of events are set in season 2 of the anime.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the meadow where Percival and his group sat around a crackling campfire. Lancelot, his long magenta eyes focused on the flames, leaned back against a tree with a relaxed posture. His ears twitched as the sound of laughter echoed from the others, but his mind was elsewhere, a quiet storm brewing inside. It had been too long since he last met you, and though he wouldn’t show it, there was a part of him curious about what you had become.

"So, Lancelot," Percival’s voice cut through the quiet moment, his usual jovial tone attempting to pierce the growing tension. "You’ve been really quiet today. Something on your mind?"

Lancelot shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to face Percival. "Just thinking. About... the past."

Donny, always ready to lighten the mood, leaned in eagerly. "About who? Your parents?"

Lancelot’s lips twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Maybe. But more about the other side of things."

A few of the others exchanged curious glances, but it was Gawain who took the bait, her voice surprisingly soft but probing. "You mean your heritage?"

Lancelot’s gaze shifted upward, staring into the darkening sky as if searching for the right words. "Yes. I’m... meeting someone soon. Someone important."

The others fell silent, sensing the weight of his words. Percival raised an eyebrow, trying to understand the subtle shift in Lancelot’s demeanor. "Is it someone from your family? Who are they?"

Lancelot’s gaze flickered briefly, his usual confident smirk creeping up. "Someone who’s... tied to the demon realm. Someone I’ve been curious about for a while."

Their destination, that’s where they were going. Who he was gonna see there.

It was rare for Lancelot to share this kind of news, or information for that matter. But it made the others, particularly Percival; very interested. However, Tristan knew full well of who he spoke of. The nephilim only wishes for your meeting to go well, it was quite a time to see each other. Especially after so long.

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed as he groaned, his head spinning after the sudden fall through the holes. The air was thick with the smell of dust and stale magic. He blinked a few times, trying to regain his bearings as the others scrambled to their feet around him.

“Great. Just great,” Lancelot muttered, rubbing his forehead. He took a moment to glance around at the strange, sprawling labyrinth of holes and pathways. “I should’ve known that the Demon Realm entrance would be a trap. This place is a mess.”

Percival, who had fallen right beside him, scrambled up and dusted himself off. “Are we in the right place?” he asked, looking around with a nervous laugh. “This doesn’t look like the Demon Realm at all.”

Lancelot sighed, straightening up and dusting off his tunic. “It’s the path to it, at least,” he said, brushing off a few specks of dirt. “It’s a pain, but we’ll figure it out.”

There was a long silence before Lancelot’s eyes fixed on a figure that had risen from the hole next to him. For a moment, his expression faltered before it turned to something akin to recognition. His lips curved slightly into a dry smile.

“Well, well, well, look who’s here. Seems we’ve got ourselves a demon hybrid on the scene,” Lancelot said, his voice carrying a note of dry amusement. “Didn’t expect to run into you like this.”

There, standing with a casual posture despite the strange entrance, was you: the child of Zeldris and Gelda, a demon vampire hybrid. The air around you seemed almost alive with otherworldly energy as if the very essence of the Demon Realm itself clung to your form. Your expression, however, was one of barely-contained annoyance.

“You… Lancelot,” you said, your voice quiet but still carrying a weight of authority. “Is this how you typically make entrances into the Demon Realm? Falling out of holes and tripping into my domain?”

Lancelot chuckled, unfazed by your tone. “Hey, you should know by now, it’s all about style. I’m just giving the place a little flair.” He grinned, brushing some strands of his tousled blonde hair away from his face. “I didn’t expect you to be the welcoming party. Though, I have to admit, the place has certainly… changed since I last checked.”

You glared at him, eyes glowing with an eerie light as you crossed your arms. “If you think I’m here to play along with whatever game you think this is, you’re wrong. This place is for demons, not for humans or fairies. Don’t expect any easy passes just because you happen to be Lancelot, ‘Prince of Benwick.’”

‘Been a while,’ he thinks, ‘Yeesh.’

Lancelot’s grin faltered slightly, but his usual playful demeanor remained. “I wasn’t expecting an easy pass. In fact, I’m hoping you might be able to tell me where the real obstacles are around here. I’m guessing you’ve been living in this ‘Demon Realm’ long enough to know all its little quirks.”

You uncrossed your arms and regarded him with a slightly bemused look. “You're bold to ask for help from a demon hybrid. You must be really desperate.”

“Maybe,” Lancelot said with a wink, “but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that desperate times require desperate allies. And right now, you’re the best chance I’ve got at getting out of here without losing my head.” He paused. “Or losing more of it, I guess.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the real reason you're here, Lancelot? Not just for a tour, I presume?”

Lancelot's expression grew serious, the playful edge vanishing for a moment. “There’s a prophecy, and things are about to get messy, you know? The Four Knights of the Apocalypse, the ones who are supposed to bring about the end of the world—well, guess what? I’m one of them.”

Your eyes narrowed, sensing the weight of his words, but you didn’t let it show. “So, you’re one of the chosen ones, huh? Not that I care about your prophecy. But if you’re here, that means something bigger is coming, doesn’t it?”

Lancelot nodded, his face solemn now. “Exactly. And I’m hoping you and your… special connections in this place can help. I’m not going to let this world end without a fight.”

There was a long pause before you gave him a small, knowing smirk. “I didn’t think you were the type to let the world burn. Fine. I’ll guide you, for now. But don’t get any ideas. The Demon Realm has its own rules. If you get in my way…” You trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Lancelot chuckled again, his grin returning. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shook your head, sighing deeply. “Idiots,” you muttered under your breath as you turned away, stepping deeper into the labyrinth. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lancelot followed with a raised brow. “I see you’re not one for pleasantries. How very demon of you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you shot back without looking back, your voice sharp as ever.

“Let’s catch up..” He mutters, and your eyes slide over to his face; expression nearly unreadable. You could always make out the deceptive and creative expressions people made, but to you, Lancelot was as flimsy and mysterious as ever. No wayward ending to this line. “Okay?”

You sigh, the taught muscles in your furrowed brows lifting. “Alright.”

Even despite the usual gait, the easy assimilation — he could hear your heart soar. Lancelot too was happier to see you more than you ever realized.

The whole conundrum that had ensued did no easy way to his heart, but in the face of it all — he stood strong and still. Meeting up with the rest of the group, formally re-introducing himself to your own parents. It was certainly a whole thing, and he would not do it again.

The massive stone corridors of the demon palace echoed with the soft sounds of boots against the smooth floor as you approached the throne room. It had been some time since you’d seen Lancelot—longer than you'd care to admit. The last time you'd met, there had been battles to be fought and grudges to settle. But now, it was different. With Percival and his friends in tow, the mood was less tense and more... reflective.

The door opened with a heavy groan, revealing a dimly lit room where Lancelot was waiting, his posture relaxed as if he were simply waiting for a good conversation to start. His sharp magenta eyes turned toward you, a flicker of recognition passing through his gaze. You weren’t sure what to make of his new form, the one that wasn’t quite the fairy boy you once knew nor the fox-like Sin who had helped Percival.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Lancelot said, his voice just a little more teasing than usual, but still with that undertone of seriousness you were all too familiar with.

You raised an eyebrow. "I could say the same for you, Lancelot. It's been... a while."

He chuckled, the sound light, but it carried the weight of years lost. "Six years. And somehow, you still look like you haven't aged a day." He smirked, clearly enjoying the little jab at your vampiric heritage.

You crossed the room to stand across from him, your crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Six years. And yet I find you, standing here, a bit more... grown up than the last time I saw you." You weren’t sure if it was the shift in his posture or the way his muscles seemed more defined, but there was something undeniably different about him now.

"Yeah," he replied, running a hand through his now-short hair, the pointed tips catching the dim light. "Guess the years do that to you. But let's not talk about me. You seem to be in the same position as always—the child of the demon monarchs, walking a fine line between two worlds." His voice softened slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

You chuckled softly, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "It’s not as simple as that. You of all people should know how complicated it can get."

Lancelot shifted his stance, folding his arms over his chest as he studied you with an intensity that seemed to pierce through you. "True. But I’d like to think I understand the complexity of being torn between two worlds more than anyone else here. You’re not the only one who’s had to adapt to a life that doesn’t fit neatly into a single box."

"Touché," you said, nodding slowly. "But... how are you really, Lancelot? I mean, aside from the usual fight-and-win routine."

He smiled a little, this time more genuine than mocking. "It’s not so much the fighting anymore. That’s just part of who I am. What about you, though? How’s being the child of two monarchs working out for you?"

The words caught in your throat for a second. You had never really spoken much about the pressures of your upbringing—being the offspring of two very different worlds was never an easy thing to explain. "I suppose I’ve learned to keep my distance from the politics of it all. The palace can be suffocating sometimes, with all the power plays and... well, you know." You paused, glancing away for a moment. "But enough about me. What’s your story? You’ve been... quiet lately. Too quiet."

Lancelot’s eyes darkened for a moment, just briefly. "It’s hard to not be quiet when you’re stuck in a world where everyone’s telling you what to do and who to be." He sighed, his shoulders relaxing as if he had been holding the weight of the world on them. "But I’ve been keeping my head down for the sake of the Kingdom. Benwick’s not exactly a place for distractions, not anymore."

You nodded, understanding the weight that came with ruling—or, in his case, the expectations of ruling. "I get it," you murmured. "But remember, you don’t always have to carry it alone, you know?"

Lancelot met your gaze, his expression softening. "Yeah, I guess I forgot that sometimes. It’s easy to get caught up in the pressure."

"Isn't it always?" You offered a small smile. "But if there's one thing I’ve learned from my parents, it’s that nothing’s ever too heavy when you’ve got people you can trust by your side."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Trust, huh? You know, I never thought I’d hear that word from you."

"You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Lancelot." You gave him a pointed look, and for a brief moment, the years between you seemed to shrink, bringing back memories of simpler times when you weren’t bound by royal duties and prophecy.

There was a silence between you both, the kind that was comfortable despite the complexities of the world around you.

Finally, Lancelot broke the quiet. "So, you think we can get through this... prophecy business together?"

You shrugged, a smirk creeping onto your lips. "It’s not like we’ve got much of a choice."

Lancelot chuckled again, this time more at ease. "Guess you're right. But for now, I think we’ve earned a break. Don’t you think?"

You nodded, glad for the reprieve, at least for a moment. "Yeah, let’s catch up properly... for once."

“Didn’t take you to be proper.” He remarked, shooting you a sideways glance. An all too familiar grin playing on his lips. He always seemed to have a way of breaking whatever tension presented itself. It was almost infuriating… almost.

Shaking your head with a groan, you sat down, “Oh shut up Lance. You could do with a bit of proper organization yourself.”

[ks-dreams-fantasies]

TEACH ME PT.2 - TRAVIS KELCE

a/n: I'm so glad you guys liked the first chapter, I really hope you enjoy the rest of this mini series 🥰

Warnings: Nothing much, first getting to know each other, some flirt hère and there

Words: 1,553 (Not proofread)

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

Part 1

TEACH ME PT.2 - TRAVIS KELCE

’’Stop doubting yourself, you look great Y/N.  Now hurry up or we’re never going to make it’’ Camille said chuckling at your nervousness. She had seen you try half of the items you had in your closet to find the perfect outfit for the occasion. 

You listened to her, grabbing your bag as well as the gift you had wrapped for Wyatt before heading out the door. You were so grateful when Kylie told you, you could bring a plus one to the party, you felt relieved to be able to bring your best friend with you to calm you down a little. 

It was just a kid’s birthday party but the fact that Travis was going to be there had your mind racing with anticipation. 

You entered the lively scene of the Kelce’s backyard, amidst the laughter and chatter, a tall figure caught your attention the moment you arrived. You locked eyes for a second before tiny hands reached for you.

‘’Miss Y/N, you came.’’ Wyatt said hugging your leg tightly as you chuckled ‘’Is it for me?’’ she asked pointing at the gift box in your hands. ‘’It is. Happy birthday little one. Where can I put this?’’ you asked her, referring to the box in your hand.

‘’I’ll take care of it.’’ A deep voice said before you looked up to meet a pair of mesmerizing blue ones. ‘’Oh thank you.’’ You handed him the present before replacing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

‘’I'm glad you could make it," Travis greeted, his smile sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

‘’Me too’’ you responded blushing slightly before you remembered your best friend. ‘’You remember Camille?’’

‘’We met briefly, it’s nice to see you again, I’m Travis.’’ He said reaching for her hand. ‘’Oh, I know.’’ She responded as she looked at you with a smirk before meeting his eyes again ‘’great to meet you too.’’ She said shaking his hand in return. 

You soon got interrupted by Jason and Kylie, greeting you and offering you a drink. They had done an amazing job at decorating the backyard. The garden was transformed into a whimsical wonderland, with every detail carefully curated to bring Wyatt’s dreams to life. It was a pastel wonderland, giant balloon arches everywhere, banners with her name on it and a big inflatable bouncy castle. There was a dessert table and an open bar for the adults.

As the day progressed, you and Travis gravitated towards each other. You exchanged stories about your own childhoods and discussed Wyatt’s potential. Laughter flowed easily, and conversation felt like second nature. It was as if you had known each other for years. 

Hours passed like minutes, and soon it was time for the cake-cutting ceremony. Wyatt insisted that you stand close to her. You felt a sense of belonging that was rare to find outside of your classroom.

‘’You know Wyatt was so happy that you came today, she really adores you, actually she won’t stop talking about you.’’ Travis remarked.

‘’I have something to admit, but if I tell you… you have to promise me not to tell anyone.’’ You said a playful glint in your eyes. ‘’Anything for you’’ he said getting closer to you.

You looked up to him and got on your tiptoes trying to get closer to his ear. ‘’Wyatt might be my favorite, but I’m not supposed to admit that.’’ You said leaning back and smiling at him. Your breath tickled his neck, creating small goosebumps on his skin. He brushed it off chuckling at you. ‘’You’re secret his safe with me.’’ 

As the evening sun cast a warm golden hue over the backyard, Travis invited you to take a walk in the neighborhood which you agreed to. You both strolled along the winding path, the soft rustle of leaves accompanying your conversation. The easy banter and shared laughter made the world seem lighter, more vibrant.

"You know, Miss Y/N, spending time with you makes me wish I had a teacher like you back in the day," Travis admitted with a grin. "I might've actually enjoyed school."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his playful remark. "Well, you know, it's never too late to start learning something new."

He flashed a charming smile, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Maybe you could be my personal tutor, then. I've always wanted to learn a second language."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. "I suppose I could make an exception for a dedicated student like yourself."

The flirtatious undertone was unmistakable, yet it danced around the edges of propriety. It was a delicate balance, one that left you feeling both exhilarated and cautious.

As the conversation flowed, Travis shared anecdotes about his football career, often finding ways to slip in compliments about your intelligence and warmth.

‘’You really like football uh?’’ you asked him playfully but in awe at how dedicated he sounded.

‘’It really is my life. There’s nothing like the adrenaline of stepping on the field, people chanting your name and having fun with your teammates. I just know I was made for this…’’ he said daydreaming, ‘’sorry, I’m ranting.’’

‘’No, no it’s fine, I love hearing you talk about your passion and your career, it sounds pretty fun actually.’’ ‘’Yeah?’’ he asked surprised, you nodded.

‘’Well, you should come see me play sometimes’’ he said walking slowly, looking right at you. ‘’I would love that.’’ You said with confidence, the action surprising you more than it surprised him. You had been walking for 45 minutes and came back to the front of the house without even realizing it. 

You went back into the backyards, enjoying the rest of the evening with the other guests. It was now time to head out with Camille, you scanned the room for Travis and Wyatt and saw them laughing loudly near the photobooth area. He had her in his arms, to take photos and he had opted for a little pink wig to make her laugh.

‘’Take it off’’ ‘’Why do I have to take it off?’’ he asked his niece, ‘’Because I don’t like it.’’ ‘’You don’t like it? I thought you said you wanted dad to have pink hair.’’ She leaned in, pointing at his head, ‘’Yeah, but I don’t want you to have pink hair.’’

‘’Why can’t I have pink hair?’’ he asked her, looking offended, ‘’Because you’re naughty and you’re sneaky.’’ You chuckled at their conversation making Travis turn around to look at you with a smile on his face, pulling off the wig from his head. 

‘’Can you believe that?’’ he said fake gasping at what Wyatt said to him. ‘’That your naughty and sneaky? Actually, yeah, I believe that’’ you said smirking back at him. He laughed pulling you closer into his chest so that the photographer could take a couple pictures of the three of you. You blushed at the proximity of his body against yours. You could feel his arm snake around your waist, as he smiled at the camera, Wyatt in his arms and you by his side.

Camille was staring at the both of you from where she stood, talking with Jason and Kylie.

‘’He won’t shut up about her since they met earlier this week’’ Jason admitted making your best friend chuckled quietly. ‘’Well, he made a good first impression, she was so nervous before coming here today.’’ They all laughed. ‘’I mean they look good together.’’ Kylie added before you joined them.

‘’Thank you so much for the wonderful day, it was really fun.’’ You said, before hugging Wyatt’s parents. ‘’The pleasure was ours, Wyatt was so happy her favorite teacher could come, and she loved the gift you picked for her.’’ Kylie said smiling widely at you. 

‘’I’ll walk you out’’ he said before you both followed Camille as she got in the driver seat leaving you and Travis outside the car. You were about to open your mouth to say your goodbyes when Travis beat you to hit.

‘’Listen, I won’t beat around the bush, I had a good day with you, and I find you so beautiful and kind and … and I’d like to take you out.’’ You gulped slowly. You had an amazing day too, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you were ready, ready for something new. You hadn’t gone on a date in forever, and the last time you opened up to a guy, he broke your heart. You could hear Camille’s voice in your head, screaming at you to go out with the man. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between you and Travis and the undeniable chemistry that seemed to swirl around you both. 

‘’I’m sorry, forget it, I… I just thought we had a connection today and…’’ he rushed in response to your long silence before you cut him up rapidly.

‘’No, no … I would love to. I’m sorry I just wasn’t expecting you to ask me out’’ you laughed quietly ‘’but I would love to go out with you’’ As you bid each other goodbye and exchanged numbers, there was a charged moment of unspoken attraction. The world seemed to hold its breath as you parted ways, leaving you with a feeling that the story between the both of you was far from over.

To Be Continued

Taglist : @kkrenae @spencerreidisbootiful @nabiiturner @ilove-tswizzle

Part 3

[daryltwdixon]

Part IV

Warnings: only slightly nsfw, overall pretty angsty

word count: 6.3k

The next day, the sun beats down mercilessly as you make your way through the yard, the air heavy with heat and dust. Saviors bustle around, stacking crates, hauling debris, and organizing supplies. It’s chaotic, as usual, but your eyes land on Daryl almost immediately.

He’s hunched over a pile of rubble near the fence, his shoulders taut with exertion as he shovels the debris into a wheelbarrow. Sweat drips from his brow, streaking through the grime on his face. His movements are mechanical, his gaze fixed downward, but you can tell he’s aware of every pair of eyes on him.

Including yours.

“Mrs. Smith,” one of the guards– Joe–says, nodding in acknowledgment as you approach. He’s leaning against the fence, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. “He’s been workin’ hard. Barely said a word.”

You glance at him briefly before looking back at Daryl. “Good. He’s supposed to work hard.” Your voice is steady, cool, but your chest tightens as you watch him. “You’ve got other things to do, don’t you? Get over to the loading dock. I need those crates inventoried before sundown.”

The guard hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave his post. “Negan said to keep an eye on him.”

“And I’m saying I’ll keep an eye on him,” you reply sharply, your tone brooking no argument. “Go. Now.”

He nods quickly, straightening and heading off toward the dock. The other Savior who had been watching the scene follows without a word, leaving you and Daryl alone in the yard. The air feels heavier now, the silence stretching taut between you as you watch him work. His movements are stiff, his body worn down by exhaustion and sweat, but he doesn’t falter. Doesn’t stop.

You don’t call out to him right away. You just watch, your chest tightening as the seconds drag on. He’s changed, and yet he hasn’t. That same quiet strength is there, the same determination, but it’s buried beneath layers of pain and fatigue that weren’t there before. And it’s your fault. Not directly, maybe, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been standing on the wrong side of this for far too long.

“Daryl,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He straightens slowly, the deliberate way he turns to face you making your breath catch. His blue eyes lock onto yours, piercing through every shield you’ve spent years building. They’re darker now, stormy and turbulent, filled with anger, exhaustion, and something else you can’t quite name.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Y/N?” His voice is low and rough, like gravel, but there’s no mistaking the bite in it. 

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. His gaze feels like a spotlight, exposing every choice you’ve made, every line you’ve crossed. You’ve faced Negan’s enemies, his critics, even the people you’ve condemned to their deaths, but none of that prepared you for this—standing here, face-to-face with the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“It’s complicated,” you finally manage, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

He’s silent, like he’s waiting for more, a real answer. One you’re not sure how to give. 

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been here for a long time,” you say, your voice faltering under the weight of the truth. “For nearly the whole time, Dare. It was how I survived.”

His bitter laugh cuts through you like a blade. He shakes his head, his jaw tight as he takes a step closer. “You call this survivin’? Standin’ next to a guy like him, lettin’ him do whatever the hell he wants?”

“Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, the anger rising unbidden. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve had to do to keep myself and others alive.”

The words feel weak as they leave your lips, but you press on, desperate to justify something you’re no longer sure can be justified. You want to tell him that you built the Sanctuary to save people, to give them a chance when the world had taken everything. But the truth is more complicated than that. You’ve made sacrifices, compromises, and somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. What started as survival turned into something else, something darker.

“Then ya must know what he’s done,” Daryl retorts, his voice dropping to a growl. His eyes burn into yours, and you can’t look away. “He killed my friends. Good people, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a blow, and your resolve falters. You knew about the people Negan killed—he’d told you himself, not with smugness or bravado but with a weariness that night. He’d been tired, frustrated. He justified it as a necessity, part of the rules, part of keeping order. And you let yourself believe it because it was easier than facing the truth. But hearing it from Daryl, seeing the pain in his eyes, makes it feel heavier. Realer. Like a wound you thought had healed but never truly closed.

Your stomach churns, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides. What can you say to him? That you’re sorry? That you didn’t know? That you thought it was the only way to survive? None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

“Daryl, I—” you start, but the words stick in your throat. What can you possibly say to undo the weight of this moment? To undo the choices that led you here? “It’s not that simple.”

“Never is, huh?” Daryl steps closer, his voice low and sharp. “You jus’ stand there. Defend ‘em. Like ya don’t give a damn about the people he’s hurt. The people he’s killed.”

“I do care,” you snap, the words bursting out of you before you can stop them. They hang in the air, trembling, brittle. “You think I don’t? You think this is easy for me? Seeing you like this?”

“Then why the hell are ya still here?” he demands, his voice cracking. He takes another step toward you, his eyes blazing. “Why’re ya standin’ by his side?”

“Because I love him,” you blurt, your voice rising with the frustration bubbling over. He flinches at the statement, and your chest heaves as you struggle to keep your composure, but the words pour out like a dam breaking, “When I lost you—when I had to leave our house that day—I thought it was over. Everything was gone. The world had fucking ended, Daryl. And then I found Negan after a while, and we built this place. Together. The Sanctuary isn’t just about him—it’s about the people here. The workers, the families. The ones who don’t have to starve because of what we’ve created.”

Daryl stares at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. “You really believe that, huh? That you love that asshole? That all of this is for some greater good or some shit?”

Your voice trembles as you answer, “it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s better than wandering out there, waiting to die. It’s safe here.”

“Safe?” he growls, his voice rising. “For who? For you? For Negan? Sure as hell ain’t safe for the rest of us.”

You flinch at his words, your chest tightening as his anger crashes into you. “I know it’s hard to see–” you start, your voice quieter but no less sharp, but you take a steadying breath, “That the decisions we’ve made have been for something bigger. You think I don’t live with it every day? But what he’s done– what we’ve done–it’s for a reason. I’m still here, Daryl. I have to be.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re here, alright. Standin’ right next to him. Like the people he’s hurt don’t matter.”

“They do matter,” you say fiercely, your voice breaking slightly. “But this place isn’t just about Negan. It’s about our people too. It’s about all of them. And those at Hilltop, the Kingdom and beyond–they’re all a resource.”

Daryl’s eyes burn into yours, his hands twitching at his sides. “And what about me?” he asks quietly, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. “Do I matter?”

The question takes the breath out of you. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, and you open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. What could you say that would make any of this better? Of course he matters, more than anything, more than maybe you’re ready to state. So, instead, you just stare at him, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

Finally, he shakes his head, turning his back as if distancing himself from the wreckage. “You ain’t the same,” he mutters, his voice soft but full of hurt as he throws his shovel into more rubble. “The person I knew—my wife, goddammit. She’d never stand by and let this happen.”

You want to tell him he’s wrong, to make him see the person he remembers is still here, buried beneath the choices you’ve made. But the truth is, you don’t even know if you believe that yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper finally, the words hollow and inadequate. “I’m so sorry, Daryl.”

He doesn’t respond. He just stares at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you like a chasm too wide to cross. His eyes bore into yours, wild and hurt, and it feels like he’s waiting—waiting for something you can’t give him.

The weight of his gaze becomes unbearable, and your chest tightens as you take a shaky step back. “I have to go,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I can’t—”

Your words falter, and you turn sharply on your heel, walking away before he can see the tears threatening to spill over. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the distance between you and him is sinking into the pit of your stomach, twisting like a blade.

You don’t dare look back. You don’t know if you could handle what you’d see if you did—whether it’s his anger or his pain, or worse, him watching you leave like you mean nothing. Like this means nothing.

Your legs carry you toward the main building, your pace quickening as you push through the ache clawing at your chest. By the time you reach the door, your hands tremble against the handle, but you force yourself to pause, to take a breath, to pull the mask of composure back into place. The Sanctuary’s walls feel cold and unyielding as you step inside, their familiar chill a stark contrast to the fire still burning in your chest.

You’ve made your choice. You’ve told yourself that over and over again, but for the first time in years, you’re not sure you believe it.

You don’t stop walking until you reach Negan’s quarters. The sting of Daryl’s words still lingers, cutting deeper than you want to admit, and your chest feels like it might collapse under the weight of it all. You need to feel something else—something that doesn’t hurt.

Negan is lounging in one of the leather chairs when you push the door open. Lucille leans against the wall nearby, and a half-empty glass of whiskey rests on the table beside him. He glances up at the sound of the door, his grin lazy but sharp as his eyes sweep over you.

“Well, don’t you look like hell warmed over,” he drawls, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Rough day, baby?”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you stride across the room, your hands going straight to his shirt as you climb into his lap, your lips crashing into his with desperate force. He huffs a laugh against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist to steady you.

“Damn,” he mutters between kisses, his tone shifting to something softer, though still teasing. “Someone missed me.”

You don’t stop, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers digging into the warmth of his skin as if grounding yourself. His grip tightens, his body responding instantly to the need in your touch, and for a moment, you lose yourself in him, in the way he feels, the way he always makes you forget everything else.

There’s a sharp knock at the door, and you freeze, your breath hitching as Negan lets out a low growl. “Who the hell is it?” he barks, his voice laced with annoyance.

The door opens hesitantly, and one of the guards steps inside, his expression tense. “Sir, we’ve got a problem with the prisoner.”

Negan sighs, his hands leaving your waist as he leans back in the chair. “What kind of problem?”

The guard shifts uncomfortably, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Negan. “He was left on his own. When we went to collect him, he fought back. One of the guys got hurt pretty bad.”

Negan’s expression darkens, his grin fading into something more dangerous. “Left on his own?” he repeats, his tone deceptively calm. “And why the hell was that?”

The guard hesitates, his eyes flicking to you again.

You swallow hard, “It was me,” you sigh, your hands now resting against his chest, no longer playing along his hot skin but out, supporting yourself up, “Something came up, I didn’t think–”

“Fat Joe?” Negan interrupts over your shoulder.

“Yes, sir?” Joe says eagerly.

“Get the hell out.”

“Yes, sir.” he turns tail as quickly as he can, shutting the door behind him.

“You ‘didn’t think’,” Negan snaps, standing and setting you back on your feet as he towers over you. His tone isn’t loud, but it carries enough weight to make you feel cornered. “What the hell was goin’ through your mind, leavin’ our newest prisoner—our greatest asset against Alexandria—on his own?”

You flinch, your shoulders tightening as you meet his gaze. “I made a mistake,” you admit, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” he says, stepping closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. He lifts your chin with a single finger, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re better than that. You know this place doesn’t run on mistakes.”

There’s a beat of silence before he exhales, the sharpness in his gaze softening slightly. “We’re takin’ a trip to Alexandria tomorrow,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And you’re stayin’ here this time.”

Your head snaps up, your expression hardening. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he replies, his tone clipped, the sharp edge of authority unmistakable. His fingers remain under your chin, holding your gaze firmly as his eyes bore into yours. “You’re stayin’ here, end of discussion.”

Your chest tightens, heat rising as you step closer, your jaw tightening against his hold. “I should be there, Negan,” you argue, your voice low but unwavering. “I’m your second. If this is about Alexandria, I need to be part of it.”

He huffs out a short laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “You don’t need to be anywhere but right here. The Sanctuary runs smoother when you’re around, and I’m not riskin’ that. It’s not up for debate. You’re stayin’ put.”

“You’re not ‘risking me’,” you bite back, your voice sharpening as you take another step forward. “You’re keeping me in a box.”

“Maybe I am,” he counters, his voice calm but weighted with finality. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been stretched thin, the way you’re actin’ all… distracted lately.” His hand shifts slightly, the grip on your chin softening, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “You’re thinkin’ too much about things that ain’t your problem.”

Your stomach churns, but you keep your expression steady, your glare locked on him. “This is my problem. Everything here is my problem. You can’t shut me out of it.”

Negan sighs, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly as he leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Baby, I ain’t shuttin’ you out. I’m keepin’ you right where I need you—alive, safe, and in one damn piece. Is that so hard to understand?”

For a moment, you don’t respond, the weight of his words settling between you. His grip on your chin doesn’t falter, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your jawline. You hate how it disarms you, how the frustration inside you starts to fray at the edges under his touch.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice quieter now. “I can handle myself, Negan.”

“I know you can,” he murmurs, his tone softening. “But you’re not goin’ this time.”

The tension lingers for a moment longer before he exhales, his hand shifting lower, fingers trailing down the column of your throat. You stiffen as your back presses against the wall, his palm settling against your neck with just enough pressure to keep you rooted in place.

“Always gotta argue, don’t ya?” he mutters, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he leans in closer. “Drives me crazy, you know that?”

You can feel his breath against your skin as his mouth brushes the curve of your jaw, then your neck. The heat from his touch seeps into you, his fingers firm yet careful as he holds you there. The shift in him is palpable, the earlier sharpness giving way to something deeper, something primal.

“Negan…” you murmur, but whatever protest you were about to voice dies on your lips as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear. His teeth graze your skin, drawing a soft gasp from you that you try to swallow back.

“Yeah,” he mutters against your neck, his voice rough. “That’s more like it.”

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips trail lower, pressing firm, possessive kisses along the column of your throat. The tension between you melts into something else entirely, the heat of his body against yours grounding you, consuming you.

His lips trace a deliberate path down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that spreads through your body like wildfire. The wall at your back grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“Always pushin’ me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice low and gravelly. “Always gotta make me work for it.”

You gasp softly as his teeth scrape over the hollow of your throat, a mix of pleasure and tension coiling in your chest. Your hands find their way back under his shirt, your fingers curling against the heat of his skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You love it,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly, and his responding chuckle sends a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I do,” he murmurs, his mouth moving lower, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “But you still drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

His knee presses between your thighs, urging them apart, and the pressure is enough to pull a quiet whimper from you. His lips return to yours, claiming them in a kiss that’s as demanding as it is consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who’s in control.

Your hands tighten on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in him—in the way he feels, the way he takes and gives in equal measure. But just as the heat threatens to overwhelm you, the door creaks again, a faint sound that yanks you back to reality.

Negan’s head snaps up, his glare shooting over his shoulder. “I swear to God,” he growls, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air, “if it’s Fat Joe again, he’s gettin’ a date with Lucille.”

The door doesn’t open further, the silence outside heavy as whoever it is clearly rethinks their timing. Negan’s hand stays firm on your waist, his body still pressing you into the wall as his attention shifts back to you.

“See what you do to me?” he says, his tone lighter now but no less intense. “I can’t even have a second to myself with my wife without someone interruptin’.”

“Maybe they’re scared of you,” you tease, though your voice is breathless.

His grin returns, wide and wicked, as his thumb brushes along your jaw. “They damn well should be.”

The hand at your waist slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip as his lips find yours again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“You’re stayin’ here tomorrow,” he mutters against your mouth, the words a reminder of the conversation you’d been having moments before.

“No, I’m not,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous, and his hand tightens on your thigh. “We’ll see about that.”

You want to argue, to push back again, but the way his mouth trails down your neck, the way his hands grip you like he can’t let go, makes it impossible to think straight. You don’t want to think about Alexandria, about Daryl, about anything but the way Negan is making you feel right now.

For now, you let yourself give in, your body arching into his as his name falls from your lips in a quiet, breathless plea. And for now, that’s enough.

In the end, you had convinced him to let you come. 

“Hot diggity dog, this place is magnificent!”

Negan's voice booms as your caravan is let inside. You have to admit, he’s right. The suburban community of Alexandria is picturesque—trim lawns, pristine white houses, and quiet streets. Of course, the quiet likely has more to do with terrified parents pulling their children inside.

The leader—Rick, now that you can put a face to the name—stands at the forefront, his icy blue eyes locked on Negan.

Negan struts forward, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “An embarrassment of riches, as they say! Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You step forward, keeping close to Daryl. Your thoughts spiral as your gaze flickers to him. These were his people. Never before had you considered the full implications of taking from the communities Negan had subjugated. You always justified it as survival—a necessary evil for the greater good of the Sanctuary. Protection. Resources. Options. But now, seeing Daryl’s averted eyes, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself invisible… something inside you twists painfully.

Rick’s attention shifts to Daryl, his expression flickering with something you can’t quite place. 

“Daryl—” Rick begins, stepping forward.

“No,” you and Negan growl in unison. Negan’s tone is chipper and mocking as he echoes the word again.

“Nope!” He steps between you and Daryl, his leather jacket glinting in the sunlight. Lucille rests casually on his shoulder as he faces Rick with a smirk. “He’s the help. Tell ‘em, honey.”

Negan’s grin slides to you, his tone light, though there’s a hint of steel beneath it. His arm loops casually over your shoulders.

“You don’t look at him,” you say, your voice cold and deliberate. “You don’t talk to him.”

“And in return,” Negan adds, leaning in close to Rick, “I don’t make you chop anything off of him.” He chuckles, then pulls you into a rough kiss. “Pretty sweet deal, huh?”

You shove him off, ignoring the way his smile widens at your annoyance. “Let’s get to work.”

Negan straightens, turning to face the group of other Alexandrians, “Same goes for everyone!” he sings, his voice deceptively light as he zeroes in on a young woman nearest to him, her dark hair up in a tan hat. Her lips are full, pulled into a disgusted scowl as she looks at him with arms folded tight across her chest. Something burns in your chest, how much you’d like to rip at her ungrateful face.

She doesn’t answer, just glares harder and stalks off.

To your surprise, Negan doesn’t stop her. Instead, he looks delighted, his grin stretching wider as he turns back to Rick. He exhales dramatically. “A lotta suspense there. I don’t even think she knew how much!”

“Alright,” you say, cutting through the tension as you look over your shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road. See what they’ve got for us.”

“We set aside half of the supplies—” Rick starts, his tone controlled but biting.

“No!” Negan snaps, Lucille’s tip tapping against the asphalt. His voice is no longer playful. “No, Rick. No. You don’t decide what we take. And you sure as hell don’t talk to my goddamn wife unless she speaks to you first!”

He shifts his gaze to you, a proud grin spreading across his leering lips, “Shall we?”

“You heard him,” you bark, turning to the group. “Let’s go!”

Eventually, you find yourself inside one of the houses, scoping out the place for furniture to take back. The house is pristine, a quiet luxury in the apocalypse that feels jarring. The walls are lined with family photos, smiling faces frozen in time, untouched by the horrors of the world outside. The smell of lavender lingers faintly in the air, likely from the carefully placed diffusers still sitting on the side tables. The people who stay here have built something warm, something safe. And now you’re tearing it apart piece by piece.

Your stomach churns as you glance at Daryl. He’s in the living room with Dwight, silently dismantling the carefully curated space. Paintings are taken down, tables and couches examined for worth. The atmosphere is tense but quiet, the only sounds are the occasional creak of floorboards and the shuffle of furniture being moved.

Daryl’s movements are slow but deliberate. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched, and though he doesn’t speak, his disdain for all of this is palpable. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance your way, but you can feel the weight of his anger like a shadow between you.

You steady yourself, drawing a deep breath before turning to Dwight the next time he walks through the doorway, arms full with a framed painting and a decorative lamp.

“Leave us,” you say curtly.

Dwight stops mid-step, his brows shooting up in surprise. He glances between you and Daryl, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“Need me to repeat myself, D?” you enunciate his nickname with sharp mockery, your tone daring him to question you.

Dwight’s lips press into a thin line, and his gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, his discomfort clear. He knows better than to argue, but the tension in the room is unmistakable, heavy like a storm on the verge of breaking.

“No, ma’am,” he mutters finally, his voice subdued. He shakes his head, setting the painting and lamp down by the door before stepping onto the porch without another word.

“Then get out,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. Dwight doesn’t look back, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening in the quiet that follows.

Daryl’s eyes track Dwight’s retreat, his posture tense as he slowly turns to face you from the threshold. You glance outside, taking stock of the Saviors milling about, their arms full of furniture and boxes, before shutting the door firmly.

“Get in,” you order, jerking your head toward the staircase. “We have to check upstairs.”

Daryl doesn’t respond, but he follows you without question.

Once upstairs, you set your gun down on the edge of a dresser, the weight of it making a dull thud against the wood. You watch as Daryl begins rifling through drawers and cabinets, his movements mechanical, avoiding your gaze.

“Daryl,” you say softly, the sound barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look up.

“Daryl, please,” you repeat, your voice louder, a tremor breaking through.

His hands still, though he doesn’t turn to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.

Daryl’s scoff is low and bitter, his head shaking almost imperceptibly as he turns back to the drawer in front of him. His fingers scrape against the wood, rummaging aimlessly. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, like the word is a bad taste in his mouth. “Don’t mean much now, does it?”

The sharpness of his voice cuts deep, and your chest tightens. You take a step closer, hesitant, watching the way his shoulders hunch as though he’s bracing for something that won’t come.

“It means everything,” you say quietly, barely able to trust your own voice. “At least, it does to me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, low and humorless, his hands gripping the edge of the dresser. “Yeah? Meant somethin’ back then, too. What the hell happened to you?”

Your throat tightens as his words land heavy between you, full of hurt he won’t name. You glance down, your hands trembling at your sides. “I didn’t mean to run, Daryl. That day… everything went to hell so fast. I thought—I thought if you were gone, that if somehow you did manage to live, you’d be safer if I got out. To find Merle. I didn’t know how to—”

“Safer?” he growls, spinning to face you. His eyes are dark, full of something too raw to name. “You left before I even made it home. Blood all over the floor, walkers still there. Thought you were dead.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. The memory of that day—the day everything fell apart—burns fresh and vivid in your mind, clawing its way back to the surface despite years of burying it.

“I thought you’d find me,” you whisper, the words trembling on your lips. “I waited, Daryl. I waited as long as I could.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and jagged. “Waited? Don’t sound like it. Don’t look like it now, neither.” His knuckles whiten where they grip the edge of the dresser, his body taut with barely-contained anger.

Your chest tightens, and your gaze drops for a moment, the weight of the memory crashing over you. You can still see the living room as it was that day—your living room, once filled with warmth and life, now smeared with blood. The shattering of glass as walkers broke through the windows. The metallic tang of blood in the air. Your own shaking hands as you grabbed what you could—your bag, your knife, Daryl’s jacket off the hook by the door—and bolted.

“I tried to fight them off,” you say, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze again. “I did everything I could to keep them out. But they were everywhere, Daryl. The house wasn’t safe anymore. I thought—” You stop, your throat tightening. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“Time,” he repeats bitterly, shaking his head. “You had time to run, didn’t ya? Time to leave blood all over the damn floor.”

“I thought you were dead!” you snap, the words exploding out of you before you can stop them. Tears sting your eyes, but you press on, your voice rising with the emotion clawing its way out. “I thought—I didn’t know if you were coming back! There was blood, there were walkers, and I panicked. I was alone, Daryl. You don’t know what that felt like.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glares at you. “I made it back,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I made it back, and you were gone. I searched that house, Y/N. Looked for signs—tracks, somethin’—but all I found was a mess and no damn clue where you’d gone.”

The image of him searching the house for you, calling out your name to silence and ruin, twists your heart in a way you can’t describe. “I thought you’d find me,” you whisper again, weaker this time. “I thought you’d know where to look.”

His blue eyes blaze as he takes a step closer, his voice trembling with barely-controlled anger. “You thought wrong.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, cutting deeper than you thought possible. The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I never wanted to leave. But that day… I thought it was the end. I thought if I stayed there, I’d die.”

You pause, swallowing hard, then shake your head, your voice gaining strength. “I never thought it would end up like this, that this is how we’d find each other again. God, i’d dreamed of it for so long, Daryl. But then…I had to let go, I had to move on. Didn’t you? After I left, after I realized I couldn’t go back, I had to keep going. I had to do something, make something out of the mess I left behind. That’s why I kept moving, why I ended up here. I thought—” You falter for a moment, your words catching.

“I thought if I could build something strong enough, something that mattered, maybe it would be worth it. Maybe it would mean I didn’t run for nothing.”

Daryl’s expression hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And this is what you wanted?” he growls, his voice low and sharp. “This? Workin’ for him?”

“I don’t work for him, Daryl.” you say softly, “It was him and I that created this. Together. We found a way to survive, to protect people. To keep the world from swallowing me…us…whole. I didn’t realize what it was costing me until…”

Your eyes lock on his, the weight of everything between you heavy in the air. “Until I saw you again. Especially like this.”

Daryl shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “So now what? You just decided it don’t matter no more? That you’re gonna fix it all like none of it happened?”

“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” you say, your voice steady despite the crack in your chest. “I’m saying it doesn’t have to stay this way. I’m saying I’m going to do what I should’ve done the second I saw you.”

His eyes narrow, his breath coming sharp and shallow as he glares at you, his walls still firmly in place. “And why the hell should I believe that?”

The question slices through the air, his voice rough and filled with doubt. You hesitate, the weight of his distrust pressing against your chest like a heavy stone. Then, tentatively, you step closer, your hand lifting but stopping just short of his arm.

“Can I touch you?” you ask quietly, the words trembling as they leave your lips.

The question hangs between you, heavy and uncertain. For a moment, you think he’ll push you away, that he’ll turn his back on you completely. But then his eyes flicker, something soft and hesitant breaking through the anger, and he gives the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Your fingers brush against his hand, and though his body stiffens, he doesn’t pull away. The contact is electric, a spark against the cold distance that has grown between you. “I know I don’t deserve your trust,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve made choices you can’t forgive. But I swear to you, Daryl—I’m going to make this right. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll keep you safe. No matter what it takes.”

His gaze drops to where your hand rests on his arm, his shoulders sagging slightly as some of the tension begins to bleed out of him. His jaw works, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, tinged with disbelief. “You say that like it’s so damn simple.”

“It’s not,” you murmur, your hand inching upward to brush a strand of his matted hair from his face. He flinches slightly at the touch but doesn’t move away. “None of this is simple. But neither was surviving without you.”

His breath hitches, the sound barely audible but cutting through the quiet. His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, they’re unguarded—just a moment, a fleeting crack in the armor he’s wrapped himself in. The pain is still there, raw and visceral, but there’s something else, something fragile and aching.

You don’t dare move, don’t dare breathe too deeply, afraid of breaking whatever tenuous connection you’ve managed to grasp. Your hand lingers on his arm, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the icy walls between you. His eyes, stormy and unrelenting, search yours as if looking for the person he used to know, the one who used to stand beside him, not against him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and bittersweet, and you cling to it, desperate for him to see the truth in your words. To see the part of you that’s still his, even after everything that’s been shattered.

Your throat tightens as the moment hangs precariously in the air, fragile and fleeting. Slowly, you take a deep breath, pulling yourself together. You force your hand to drop from his arm, the loss of contact like a cold gust against your skin.

“I’ll give you a signal,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache clawing at your chest. “It won’t be today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll know.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the weight of everything between you is too much to bear. But then he nods, just once, and it’s enough.

You turn and leave before the cracks in your composure can spread too far. Grabbing your gun from the dresser by the door, you steel yourself, forcing the cold, unyielding mask of leadership back into place. It’s a shield, one you’ve worn so long it feels like a second skin, hiding the turmoil underneath.

You’ve made your promise. Now you just have to keep it.

[soullessdianthus]

𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐲 | 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐱 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Requested by anon:

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR SUCH DELAY, I kept postponing it and then I had other things on my head.

Summary: Task Force 141 is sent to gather intel from cartel's warehouse. However, their informations were flawed and they were cornered by hostiles. Soap got shot and it doesn't look good. What will they do in a stalemate as such?

Warnings:reader is eastern european coded (just briefly), some gruesome desc. of wounds, blood and fights, talk of killing people

Word count: 3.8k

GIF by oleworldblues

The flight wasn’t a steady one, turbulence occurring every minute on board. Although such voyages weren't anything new, those tremors were irritating to say the least. You managed to stay in the seat for the most part of it, cursing the pilot, Nikolai for such an unpleasant ride.

A flick of regret crossed your mind, scolding yourself for being so strict on him. But all the remorse passed, when another turbulence made you hit your head over the helo’s wall.

When you crossed through the storm cloud, the helicopter twitched so suddenly and you jumped in your seat. Afraid of falling off the bench, without much thinking you grabbed what was the nearest to search for support. And it was Soap’s thigh.

 ━ Jesus, since when th’ lass‘ so handsy? ━ Scott laughed it off as you straighten your back against the helo’s surface. 

━ Since Nikolai forgot how to navigate damn thing. 

━ Then ye hadn’t seen Ghost drivin’ a car. That was somethin’ to be terrified of. 

Soap chuckled while jokingly mocking the lieutenant sitting across them. As always the skull face remained solid, still and emotionless. You spent enough time in Task Force 141 to know that he had to be smirking under that thick layer of balaclava. Even if the big, grumpy guy denied it verbally. The spark in his eyes revealed all you had to know. Some people laugh with their eyes, you know?

━ I hope we won’t live that long to repeat the thing. ━ Gaz cut in, leaving the cockpit and entering space, where they were sitting. It meant they were close to landing. 

Thank God, because if the flight would continue like this, you would have bumped into all of them by the time of your arrival at the meeting point. 

The lights went off, when you got closer to the ground. A one, stronger jolt and the helo landed, dust floating in the air due to the propellers spinning around.

All of you gathered up near the exit, doing the last weapon and inventory check up. When everything was proper and intact, you were ready for the ramp to open.

━ Gonna wait for your signal on the radio ━ Nikolai said with a Russian accent, flicking some of the controls above his head. ━ Nadrat im zadnitsu [rus.: Kick their asses].

━ Sure will. ━ Gaz patted the pilot on his shoulder, before joining the rest of the team. The platform began lowering itself until it hit the ground beneath, hard.

You were supposed to meet up with Captain Price, leading a group of his own, just a few kliks from your landing location. Team’s sole purpose that night was to infiltrate the cartel’s hideout, north of Mexico's border. It wasn’t a fortress, but a well equipped warehouse at most. 

Well, at least that's what your superiors were suspecting.

They needed proof of the cartel's affiliation with powerful drug traders overseas and any other information you managed to find inside, while Price’s team created a diversion. You were a group of professionals, what could go wrong?

When all of you walked out the helo, you took a look around, eyes getting used to the darkness flooding the field around. The night has fallen as the sun disappeared over the horizon. 

You stuck closely to MacTavish as it was never smart to split up without strict order. Your main task as a medic was to keep an eye on them, patch them up if needed – overall, keep them alive.

There were no crickets to be heard, creatures hiding somewhere in the grass. But the gut feeling, or rather a natural intuition convinced you, something else was lurking in the plain field. When Nikolai started the engine again of the helo and flew off the ground, your eyes crossed with Ghost’s. 

It was too quiet.

He believed something was off too and the Englishman was much more experienced in a field than you. That could only mean trouble. 

You pinched your lips together into a fine line, involuntarily holding a breath in. Your muscles and joints were in a preparation mode. If the military had a medal for prophetic abilities, you would have a stack of them by now. 

Just as you started moving towards the old, abandoned truck in the middle of the grassy field, the first shots got fired. Your knees softened, when you sprinted towards the rusty vehicle to take a cover. 

You managed to take a quick look through the scope on your rifle, trying to asses – where were the fuckers coming from. But they hid in the bushes quite well. Those who were foolish enough to come closer to your group, quickly got eliminated.

Kyle was right by your side by the rusty car, shooting just above your head as you kneeled down. Suddenly an enemy troop jumped from his cover swinging a knife at your comrade. The steel shimmered in the moonlight.

It was a matter of seconds – despite the training sergeant had received, he couldn’t break the laws of time and space. You, on the other hand, were facing the threat directly. 

━ Gaz, down! ━ You yelled, before taking down the man, piercing his chest with few bullets. You held the rifle up and steady, meanwhile the attacker stumbled backwards and fell onto the coarse grass beneath. Lifeless. 

Kyle nodded in your direction, not exchanging a word of gratitude, but he didn’t have to. Besides, there was no time for courtesy. You were under fire. 

━ Piece ‘f cake, eh? Real nice fuckin’ cake, Lt. ━  Soap mocked Ghost earlier words, as his predictions regarding this mission didn’t include an ambush right off the bat. ━ What now?

━ Focus, MacTavish, we need to take a cover. There’s an ol’ farm, only a klik east-south ━ The lieutenant reloaded his own rifle with a firm tug on the empty magazine. As always, he kept a cold blood even when surprised by unpredictable ━  We’re headin’ there, is that clear? 

━ Aye. ━ Gaz approved and you silently nodded, feeling the raging pulse of your own heart in the neck artery. 

You noticed that his dark gaze got stuck on your face, that probably got a little too pale due to the adrenaline. You were still getting used to working in a field, you’ve never been cornered like this before. Verbatim. 

Every time after the mission, when you lay still in the barrack at night time, you wonder if Ghost felt like he was actually babysitting the whole Task Force. At least sometimes. Because it was usually you, Soap or Gaz who got into trouble.

Kyle and Johnny were around the same age, still fairly young to be in special forces, but you? You were even younger and less skilled, though you managed to catch up with different abilities than your male mates. 

And Lieutenant Riley? He was older than all of you, that’s for sure. You didn’t know how much exactly, but that’s what you managed to deduce since your joining the squad. 

So it wasn't an uncommon occurrence, where Ghost took the lead during a crisis and led you all to safety. He was more than sure all of you would manage on your own, if the circumstances were different. 

━ Y/C, with me ━ the lieutenant stated, getting ready for the next step. ━ Soap, Gaz, you go together. We’re movin’, now. 

Each soldier with a rifle held steadily in their hands, began to move swiftly through the darkness of the upcoming night. While Gaz and Soap took the right flank, you and Ghost took care of the left. The lieutenant kept in mind checking the back too. All you had to do was push forward.

It was a challenging task to keep up with their longer strides, but they were mindful of your struggles. You would never be left behind. One for one. 

The outline of the old barn appeared in the reach of your hand as you pointed the rifle’s barrel towards the two men coming from your left. You managed to take one down, by shooting through his knee, however you missed the other one.

You cursed in your native language, letting the frustration out. Within the span of a couple seconds you collected your breath and aimed once again. This time you shot him, right through his shoulder. They had bullet proof vests, therefore shooting at their chest made no sense at all. 

Shooting at the vest from up close – then, that’s a different story.

Muppets, as Captain Price called them, took down each one of the enemies without a slip up on their flank. 

You’ve never said it outloud to anyone, especially not any member of Task Force, but in a work field you looked up to…well, some of them. They executed their tasks immaculately. Whilst you still had some things to learn, they were usually understanding, willing to help out. Usually, not always. 

Sometimes, due to his harsh comments, you thought that Ghost expected you to be born with skills he achieved through the years in a service. Which, for obvious reasons, was not fair.

The way to the farm was a bumpy one, tall grass covering any holes in the ground, but you finally made it. Ghost and Gaz broke into the old stable and began checking out the insides. You were just behind them, when you heard Soap’s grunt through clenched teeth.

It could only mean one thing – Johnny got shot. You reached to touch his arm, maybe to pull him inside, but the Scottish sergeant did it anyway. With Kyle’s help you shut the heavy doors behind to give the team extra coverage. 

You finally took a deep breath. 

Ghost spoke through the radio, slowly walking up to the barn's other end. You deduced that he spoke with Price about the ambush, but your focus was on blood pouring out of the fresh wound.

You stepped closer and MacTavish leaned in, letting you take a look. And it didn’t look good. Soap inhaled the chilly air, a droplet of sweat rolling down his temple.

━ Shit. ━ You felt Ghost’s gaze upon your back, when you cursed with such passion. He was waiting on a report. ━ Bullet went through his arm. 

━ The cartel wasn’t wasting money on security, huh?  ━ Gaz mentioned, still quite not believing himself they encountered such skilled soldiers. Why weren’t they informed about that beforehand? They would take a bigger team.

━ But ━ you continued ━ because Soap is so bulky, the ammo didn’t scratch any important artery. 

━ I knew you’d appreciate my form, lass. 

━ Nevertheless, I insist on patching him up.

━ Insist? ━ The big Englishman repeated what he just heard, surely raising an eyebrow beneath mysterious balaclava. At least that's what you imagined him to do. When he looked at you, he saw your scowl. ━ Fuckin’ hell, fine. We need to stay ‘ere until Price comes with backup. 

Ghost’s voice sounded firm and emotionless as always. Maybe there was a hint of annoyance, but who wouldn’t be? The intel wasn’t good enough if the cartel's security managed to take you by surprise and outsmart the special forces. 

Kyle silently went outside to take a look around, patrol the surroundings when you took care of John’s nasty wound.

━ Hey, I’ll manage, no need to–

━ Don’t even start ━ you interrupted Scottish man, rummaging through the medic bag.  ━ You want them to follow us by the trickle of blood you left behind? Or do you want to faint due to blood loss?

━ Alright, alright, I get it, lass. Sweet Jesus. 

━ You’re like children. ━ The lieutenant pointed out at your foolish scuffle, checking each corner of the barn. 

━ Do you know children that carry M4s?━ An even more stupid joke escaped your mouth, before you giggled silently, opening the new package of gause. Even Johnny chuckled, when you began applying pressure on top of his wound. 

━ Keep your morals like this and we just might fulfill our task. 

Ghost definitely had the charisma of an exhausted father, but that was one of his characteristics that not many people were fond of. But you were. You liked his tacky humor, always a way to brighten the day.

━ One-four-one, do you copy? 

A sudden sound of the radio on your vest broke the silence. It was a voice belonging to Gaz, but usually his tone wasn’t so… nervous. Another bad omen. 

━ We need to get out of ‘ere! ━ Just as he finished the sentence, Kyle ran through the barn’s door, M4 rifle in his hand. ━ They’ve got their own reinforcement. 

━ How many? ━ You asked, finishing wrapping a tight bandage over Soap’s bicep. 

━ I saw four cars riding through that bush we came from. ━ Dark skinned soldier answered, glaring through his shoulder. You have to be very aware of your surroundings from now on.

━ Y/C, you feel like sniping? ━ The skull had spoken, the brown eyes looking at you. No, through you. ━ Can you cover us?

━ Yes, I’ll keep an eye from the attic. 

━ Good. 

━ What about Price? Where is he? ━ Soap asked, reloading his weapon. 

The Englishman pressed the button on his radio.

━ Bravo 0-6 this is Ghost, how long?

━ Hang on, four more kliks. Are you still in the barn? ━ Captain asked through the speaking channel only your team had access to.

━ Positive.

━ Good, stay there. Over and out. 

Price’s voice vanished as soon as he echoed through the old stable. Situation wasn’t looking good for your team, but what else could you do? If Gaz was right and the enemy managed to distribute groups of his soldiers around the farm, there was no way out. 

So you had to defend your position and wait. For what? At this point for a backup that miraculously appears from the skies.

You swiftly climbed onto the wooden ladder until you reached the upper floor of the old stable. There were bales of hay scattered around and few windows. One of the bigger ones was facing the courtyard between the buildings. When you were in a position, you took a look around the property. 

Ghost was already prepared on the right side of the building you were in and Gaz was on the other. Meanwhile Soap was slowly walking around the antique fountain in the middle of the courtyard. 

Everyone was ready and anticipating the enemy’s next move. 

━ Gaz, three coming from your left. ━ You warned him through the speaking channel, before pointing the rifle’s end to those mentioned soldiers. 

When the adrenaline bursts inside of your veins, time passes quite fast. Which was a dangerous thing, because if you lost track of it or a consciousness about your surroundings – you would be dead quickly.

You had to withhold your nerves and focus on one task at the time.

After a deep breath in, you slowly let it out. Looking through the rifle’s loupe, you began shooting at the group that just got out of the truck. A gunfire right beneath their feet, before they got perforated with your bullets. 

A bitter, metallic taste spreaded over your tongue. You swallowed some saliva, checking up if you had bit the inside of your cheek. It happened before, when you completely zoned out during a shooting. You were so fixated on the task, you clenched your jaw on the delicate tissue. 

But this time it was just remorse, building up each time you pulled the trigger. Of course, you knew not each inflicted harm caused inevitable death, some just made the enemy’s soldiers… indisposed. Nonetheless, it was a burden you had to carry on your shoulders.

When you cleared out the zone near the parked car, your sight moved to the Ghost outpost. He was stabbing the soldier's neck and shoulder with short and quick movements. In your assessment, he was doing fine.

Then when you wanted to check on Gaz and Soap, there was a thud over the wooden surface that got your attention. You snapped your head towards the sound and saw one soldier that managed to climb  here. 

━ I found the sniper. ━ The man said into his own radio, hooked over his tactical vest. 

He rushed towards you and you tried to point your rifle at him. The man was faster and he grabbed the weapon, stopping you from shooting at him. There was only a little window of time to decide what to do next. So you used all your body weight to tackle that soldier to the ground.

Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you pushed forwards, causing him to fall backwards. Meanwhile, still having an upper hand, you reached for a karambit that was stacked behind your belt. 

You managed to climb on top of him swiftly, because that was your advantage in a clash with big, muscular men. You raised your hand and before the blade reached his chest, the man grabbed your wrist in the air, blocking your further movements. 

For a short while you struggled against his grip, trying to push the knife into his ribcage with the mass of your upper body. However, the mercenary locked you with his leg and rolled over you, trapping you beneath him. 

You took a quick look around – both of you rolled over dangerously close to the edge of the attic. A sight of a few meters depth made you lightheaded. So you continued struggling, as the soldier held a firm grip over your wrist, cutting the blood flow. Even when your wrist went numb, you did not drop that karambit. 

It was your most valuable bargaining chip in this situation.

You huffed a couple of times, slightly changing the position under the man’s frame. But when he finally reached for his gun, you grabbed the short barrel and pointed it far from your head. 

Calculating the next step carefully, you decided to let him win over the knife in your hand. Because with the drop of it, he released your wrist. The man swung his whole shoulder to punch you in the face. 

For a short moment you saw spots in front of your eyes, when his clenched fist met your cheekbone. Ouch. 

And finally, when your arms began to give up, you focused your defense on your legs – they were stronger. You managed to tuck them beneath his pelvis and strengthen your legs, kicking him over your head. Only then, you released the barrel of the gun. 

The mercenary fell over the edge of the attic and onto the ground beneath. You heard the loud thud followed by a crack. He broke his neck.

You laid there for a while, collecting your breath as you just faced death. Quite a normal day in the life of a soldier. The shootouts from the outside began to fade and it got you worried. You had to check that out.

━ Steaming Jesus ━ a familiar voice, brought you back to your full strength. You got up on your knees and carefully looked through the hole in the floor. ━ Is that how you greet people?

The American was standing above the body you just threw from the upper floor. A puddle of blood staining the ground. 

━ Alex! ━ You expressed your enjoyment, seeing your college for the first time in a while. It meant he came with a backup. A miracle of tonight's ambush.  ━ You’re saving our asses. 

━ Come down now, the situation is under control. 

You ran to gather your weapon, before hooking it around your shoulder. You quickly climbed down the ladder and walked up to a man with bright eyes and trimmed mustache. 

━ Laswell send her regards. Price team wouldn’t make it on time ━ Alex Keller explained, putting one of his hands on your shoulder as the two of you slowly walked out of the barn to the courtyard. ━ A bloodbath, huh? Only the four of you?

Soap was sitting on the fountain’s edge, the material hugging his arm wasn’t soaked with blood. “Good” you thought. Some of Alex’s soldiers that were sent here by Kate Laswell walked around the farm to check every corner. 

━ We don’t like crowds. ━ Gaz reached his hand to greet their friend, who was in Urzikstan. At least, that's what they thought. Until now. 

━ Understandable, sergeant. ━ The ends of his mustache lifted up as he smiled. ━ We should wait here for Price and regroup. 

━ So we continue what we started? ━ Just before you asked, Soap and Ghost joined the conversation in the middle of the courtyard, the pathways laid out with stones.

━ We can’t retreat now, they would know we’re after ‘em. ━ The lieutenant explained, why the retreat was an idea not even being speculated here. The presumed cartel would move along with their belongings, the proof you needed to gather. 

So therefore withdrawal was off the table. 

━ We need to strike ‘ard, now. ━ Ghost continued his talk, when the soldiers began to talk between each other from the other side of the abandoned house. 

All of you turned around to see the upcoming Captain Price, pressing his rifle to his chest. 

━ Took ya long enough, Captain. ━ Gaz stated bluntly, few droplets of blood appearing on his forehead. 

━ Yeah, the intel was shit, we’re gonna take care of it later. Now, we have different targets. Gather up. Everyone in one piece? 

The man in his forties looked at each one of you – from head to toes. Obviously, his eyes were locked with the bandage over Soap’s arm, but MacTavish quickly assured him it was only a scratch on the surface. 

Which it wasn’t, yet he wasn’t bleeding, so for the sake of peace you nodded your head to assure Price.

━ Alright, the real fun can begin. We got ‘em outnumbered, this is going to be a quick and smooth operation. No slip ups from now on, understood?

The whole team agreed and began to mentally prepare for what was coming. Captain patted Gaz on his shoulder, before slowly walking away.

━ No more flying corpses? ━ Alex whispered, leaning towards you. It seemed that only the two of you heard the conversation. 

And maybe Ghost who was standing on the other side of Sergeant Keller, because he looked at you with amusement. 

━ We’ll see about that. Just try to get on my bad side, American boy. 

Price whistled in a high pitched tone, announcing that all of you should gather up. 

Once again you had that feeling in your guts, that it was going to be a long, exhausting night. And at the end of the day, your hand would be covered in blood, like a butcher (which you swore you wouldn’t be).