#Pairing: I Swear I'll Protect You Next Time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 9 days ago

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Conjuring Ryomen Sukuna

pairings - Haunted Doll/Demon Sukuna x f!reader

summary - Your haunted doll Sukuna is really creeping out everyone you know, so you're tired of it! He is always watching, he scares your dates away - rude! You decide enough is enough, and after numerous times trying to destroy him, you get the help of a friend to sage/smudge the house. Big mistake!

warnings - Horror tbh lol, COMPLETE CRACK, spitting, name calling, oral (f receiving) Sukuna being psycho and just a freak, mating press, rough sex, creampie, Sukuna is basically Anabelle lmfao.

You can thank @yenayaps for spurring this on and for making the Sukuna pic lmao!! (also @indiewritesxoxo bc they rly get me on the weirdest paths)

You have tried so many times to get rid of your creepy, haunted ass doll!!! He's so torn up and raggedy, he's still covered in dirt from when you've buried him. He's sewn together in places (you never sewed him!?) his creepy ass grin and red button eyes terrifying as ever. You've thrown him in a blender, a dumpster, you've thrown him in the damn pond!

Fuck you burned him, earning some singed raggedy pink hair. But Nothing Works!!

He's always coming back, showing up on your chair, showing up in your fucking bed!? Sometimes you'd wake up and scream, and throw him out of the attic window, sometimes you'd stuff him in a trunk up there and you'd hear his creepy little footsteps as he ended up back in that rocking chair. You'd push him in your closet and he'd be sitting at the dinner table, waiting for you to serve him.

Not like you ever would!

What's the worse is when you tried to bring a date over, and the moment you thought maybe you could get off a bit - (fuck you deserve it living with this demonic doll) - the doors start slamming and the lights flicker! All of your dates run away in fear, and you're left endlessly frustrated all the time.

"I swear, I'm getting rid of you today!" You say this morning, shaking the doll and then throwing it on the floor, just for it to move it's head, making you scream. "God you're creepy, just wait!"

Your friend is a whole hippie, and thank goodness for that. You've buried Sukuna again in your garden, wiping the sweat off your brow as your friend looks at you with a concerned gaze. "I'll be right in, please go ahead!"

You may look insane burying this doll in your yard every week, surely the neighbors are concerned, but they have no clue the torture this damn thing causes. Cheap mortgage payments are not worth it!

"This is what you get for buying a haunted house you know," you're walking in, washing your hands in your kitchen as your friend shakes her head. "The energy in here is insane."

"I know, ugh. You know I couldn't afford anything else!" You dry your hands on a towel as she starts laying out crystals, evil eyes, and lighting the sage. The smoke makes you cough it's so thick, when she hands you one.

"Repeat this - you will not harm me."

"You will not cock block me!"

"Hey!" You blush then, realizing your words, clearing your throat as your friend rolls her eyes. "Why do I deal with you?"

"He really does, I haven't gotten dick since I've been here," you pout and she starts walking through the house, shivering. "Yeah, he sits in my room the most."

"We'll put extra protection in here," she's smudging more, opening all the windows, as you follow her - praying this doll was done - the next step was a whole exorcism!!

The doll doesn't return that day, you almost can't believe your luck, and that night he's still not there! You freely go on a date - he's not even that good of a kisser but you really need to get laid, it's been a whole year since this doll started. He's fingering you good enough in the car, that you decide to bring him in.

Typically, this is when your doll would start messing with you, but the house smells so clean and it's blissfully empty. Your date is kissing down your body as you lay in your bed, and for once the creepy doll isn't even here staring at you!

Yay for Sage!

"So pretty," he's murmuring, kissing up your thigh, you're moaning then, it's just been so long, you were even scared to masturbate because he's watched so much! "So wet..."

"Shh," you didn't need the dude to talk, no you really need to cum - but of course, he doesn't know what he's doing. But that's okay, you're just excited your creepy ass doll is gone, so you tug his face where it needs to be and work with it. "Mnh!"

"Hmm," that sound doesn't come from him, or you, in fact he's buried against your pussy when you look curiously to see it-

That Fucking Doll!

He's grinning at you, making you scream when your date pulls his lips off whatever part of your pussy he was going for, looking at the chair then. "Oh, I didn't see that - it's fucking creepy!"

"Just... um ignore it..." Soon the doll has slammed the damn door, your lights flicker again, and your tv is going on and off. "Dammit..."

"I'm sorry but... this is too creepy, he's like haunted!?" Your date runs out when the doll turns his creepy ass head, and you're done. You tug on your panties, picking the doll up by his hair, scowling.

"I'm getting an exorcist tomorrow, you creepy little shit!" You throw him out of your room with a huff, locking your door and grimacing, throwing a hand over your face.

You almost could have cum just grinding on the guys nose, you're that needy after this year of hell! You're grabbing your vibrator, spreading your thighs then, eyes fluttering shut. You have to just cum and you'll feel a little better, surely, hopefully the stupid doll does his usual routine and comes in after a couple hours.

The vibrations are hitting your clit, and your hips rise up, shutting your eyes and imagining how good it'll be to get rid of this stupid fucking doll, when the vibrator is snatched from your hand and thrown against the wall. You scream at that, eyes opening when a hand comes over your mouth.

Who the fuck is this!?!?

He's got glowing red eyes just like your doll, but he's huge, and he's naked, covered in tattoos as your eyes dart down his throat, his chest, and his big hand lets go. He smirks down at you, when you scooch up the bed, chest heaving, and he eyes your pussy, lapping at his plump lower lip.

"You thought that loser or that toy could make you cum, brat?" his voice is gruff as he speaks, you reach for your phone, but he throws that now too.

"Who are you!? How'd you get in?" You're covering yourself up with a pillow, only for him to throw that now too, as you look all over the room. "I have a haunted doll, he'll scare the shit out of you."

He laughs then, throwing his head back, before giving you an evil fucking grin, straddling your bed and making it creak with his heavy weight, one arm on either side of you. "Oh you're fucking dumb."

You glare and smack the shit out of him then, screaming out as your palm stings, he's chuckling again, and you see him hard, he's fucking huge. Veiny, a good nine inches, leaking precum on your damn bed, as he shoves up your top.

"Get the fuck out, who breaks in naked - you're a creep!" He's chuckling now, shaking his head, pink hair messy, his fingers gripping your breasts.

"I'm tired of watching you try to fuck all these losers," you gasp then, lips parted.

"You can't be..."

"My name isn't Anabelle by the fucking way," he says, glaring at you, and you tremble. "It's Sukuna, king of fucking curses."

"Oh whatever as if you're a king- Raggedy Andy looking- ah!" Sukuna is done with you then, he has a huge hand around your throat, as his other finds your soppy little cunt.

"I'm not raggedy andy, I'm a fucking demon," you're shaking your head again, but when he touches your clit with his rough fingers, you can't help but cry out. "Cunt is desperate, so slutty."

"You're really the doll!? I saged you! Oh fuck," he's rolling in circles now, his heavy cock looking more and more tempting - you weren't really gonna fuck your haunted doll were you!?!? "Ngh!"

"You just brought me out, hah - pathetic, looking at you with your stupid ass crystals, think they work on me?" He's shoved two thick ass fingers inside you now, you're rolling your eyes back, pulsing around them already.

"W-why don't you... just leave me alone... ah!" You're saying it as you're gushing down his fingers. "I was finally gonna cum - you haunted fucking chucky doll!"

"I'm not chucky or fucking anabelle!" He's furious then, pulling out his fingers and shoving them in your mouth, you're sucking on them without thinking, when he scowls at you. "I can't believe you lit me on fucking fire- oh and I'm claustrophobic by the way!? you mean ass little-"

"Don't you dare even! Fuck, could you just... get me off! It's your fault I never do! Maybe I wouldn't burn you or throw you in the pond if you were useful!'

"Useful, you're such a bitch.." you smack him again, just making him harder - it's been eighty years trapped in that stupid fucking vessel, and he's had to watch you naked for a year! He's far more needy thatn you.

"Don't call be that, fucking Robert the doll but even lamer!"

"You listen to too many much horror podcasts, oh and you know he wouldn't have got you off, yeah?"

"Like you can, you're a doll!"

"I'm a fucking demon, now shut up," he's yanked off your panties, shoving them in your mouth, when he leans down and brings your pussy right against his face. "I'll show you how to really cum, fucking insolent brat."

"Who the fuck says insolent- ancient ass- oh fuck," he's spreading your lips, eyeing your pretty cunt, he'd tell you it was pretty if you weren't always trying to destroy him or stuff him in boxes. But for now, he'll think it, drinking your cunt up and moaning as he ruts his cock against the matress. "Oh god! There, there, fuck!" You're tugging at his hair when he nips your clit, smacking your hands now, scowling with his bright red eyes. "Ow!"

"Don't tell me what to do, pathetic human, be thankful I'm letting you have this," he is so fucking pretentious for a doll you think to yourself, wishing you could toss him back into that trunk in the attic until he's sucking on your clit. "Mmm... should thank me."

You're gushing then, how can you not, his tongue swirling your clit, sucking it into his hot mouth, the little thing twitching as he vibrates it with his stupid demon mouth. You wonder if the doll actually killed you and you're in some weird limbo with it, maybe it dragged you to hell, but it feels so good you honestly go with it.

He's messy, sloppy and somehow precise as he drags your thighs closer, sucking up all your juices. You're writhing under him, closer and closer, while he devours your pussy so hungry, he won't tell you how good it tastes either, you're too much of a fucking brat for all that - you've given him PTSD from all the ways you've hurt him!!!

"Cum, now - whiny little brat..." You're screaming out before you can stop yourself, his tongue slipping up to collect all the juices that spill as you're yanking his hair again.

The orgasm hits far too good, you're making a mess and squirting on your - haunted doll's!?- face then, he grins, lapping it up, before leaning up and wrapping a tattooed hand around your throat. He spits right into your mouth after prying it open, you're choking as you swallow it, only for him to bend you in half, slamming his thick cock in as much as it can go.

"G-god... oh my... you're too big, fuck!" You're trying to back off, but he drags you back, smirking as he presses your thighs up, smushing them against your breasts and fucking deeper.

"Tired of listening to you every fucking day, bitchy and annoying, tired of you bringing losers - ah fuck you're tight - home. And tired of - mmm - you trying to get rid of me!"

"I'm - ah! - tired of - fuck, there!" You're done as he's fucking you so good then, you've never had dick like his, it's tearing you apart with each filthy fucking stroke. You're trying to scratch at his back when he pins your wrists down, pressing all his heavy weight on you.

"Shut you up - hah - fuck..." Your cunt is milking him, it's been a good hundred years since Sukuna has fucked anything, he would jerk off in his vessel but it wasn't the same! And he's wanted you too long, so he's trying to hold back for a moment as your gummy walls grip his veiny length.

"W-won't sage you if you... mnh, make me cum again - ah!" He's scowling now, fucking you harder, breaking you in half with his mean cock - you have to hope that he doesn't have some creepy fucking doll stds or something!?

"Haven't fucked in... a hundred years... gonna cum so much, in your slutty little fucking pussy - mine, not that fucking losers..." you feel a little relief, a hundred years he should be okay, but you're still half convinced you're dead or asleep anyway.

"Cum in me," he smirks then. "Oh stop it, just do it."

"Slut, fucking mean ass brat, fucking.... god your pussy..." he also thinks you're pretty, but you sure wouldn't hear that either!

Sukuna fucks you in that mating press, until he's got you cumming again, pulsing around him with your aftershocks, and he lets out a hundred fucking years of cum, white ropes busting in your pussy, bulging your tummy.

"So much what the- you're still cumming!?"

"Shut up, god... fuck..." He's losing it now, he almost kisses you, but instead he's spitting in your mouth again, moaning as he pulls back, watching his own cum being pushed out down his length.

"I'm like hallucinating or dead," you're whining out then, as he pulls back, cum spilling all over your bed, as he smirks, fingering it back into your hole. "I'm sore! It's been a year because of y-you!"

"Shut up, fucked ya good enough yeah?" You're just trembling now, as he pulls back, sighing and laying next to you, on one arm. "I require clothing."

"Aren't you going back to like being a creepy doll?"

"Tch, no, the sage released me, and now your sexual energy is feeding me," he's tugging you against him, frowning as he studies you. "You were so mean to me!"

"You were a haunted doll! And never let me get dick."

"Well obviously not," he's blushing now, and you can't help but giggle. "Do not laugh at me, mortal!"

"Oh sorry, I may have some old sweats or shirts from my ex, let me look." You hop up now, shaking your head when he tugs you back on his lap. "What is it?"

"I'm scared by myself, that's why I kept going to your room, and you just kept throwing me away," he's nuzzling your neck now, kind of sweet for a demonic possessed doll. "Don't do it again!"

"Okay fine, I won't. Now I feel bad!"

"You should!" He's sinking sharp teeth into your neck, fucking you again, as he has much to make up for, making sure to fuck all his frustrations out of his mistreatment!

This is silly LMAO

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clare-875 · 2 months ago

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Distraction or Devotion (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairings: Roronoa Zoro x Female Reader Summary: You think your love is one-sided, but is it? Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Jealous Zoro, Soft Zoro, Alcohol A/N: Been obsessed with Zoro lately 😅 [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You were transfixed by him.

Roronoa Zoro.

He had found his way into your heart and had taken the undue liberty to consume all of its devotion. You didn't know how friendship had morphed so suddenly into the hopes of something more, but that was the predicament you found yourself in now.

What had started as general respect for the other had turned into sparing sessions, light bickering and laughter, drinking and confiding in the other. The days spent at sea spared you much time to get to know the green-haired swordsman, no matter how rigid he stood behind his walls. You chipped and chipped away at them until he let you in on small details, let you pull laughter from him and let you linger in his presence.

The bond you both shared was built on loyalty and an undying trust forged through time and trial. You knew to him, you were a rare individual: one he trusts, one he protects, a comrade and a friend. But to you, the more you chipped away at his walls, the more you got to know the man, stoic and strong and silent, the more he crashed through your own borders and delved straight into your heart.

To you, he was everything, but everything you were so sure you could not have.

"Oi, [y/n], you're zoning out again."

Your eyes snap upwards, and you are met with the sight of Zoro, his sharp eyes on you as he lifts an ungodly amount of weight back and forth over his head, mimicking the movements of his swords. Both of you were out on deck, the only crewmembers that lingered outdoors apart from Luffy, who was somewhere on the figurehead.

"I'm sorry, were you desperate for my attention?"

You tease as you go back to the duty of polishing his swords, a frequent task you found yourself undertaking, but one you did not take lightly. You knew how much Zoro treasured his swords, how much worth was forged upon their blades. They lay heavy in your hands: heavy with responsibility and the weight of Zoro's trust. You didn't know of anyone else he would allow to even breathe near his swords, let alone touch them.

The thought of that made your heart warm.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on your training?"

"Tch, whatever woman, I only said something cause you looked like you were about to fall asleep on the blade. Next time I'll just watch it happen."

You roll your eyes, but a smile lingers on your face as your eyes meet his. The sun had fallen, just mingling with the ocean as it delved deeper into the Earth, bringing forth warm lights that traced the muscles on Zoro's skin. His irises swim in the fervour of the lights, and you swear you see something deep within as he abruptly breaks away from your gaze, the pink on his cheeks surely from his workout and nothing more.

Nothing more, right?

There is more silence as Zoro shifts his focus to his weights once more, the rhythm of his training the only sound that touches the cooling air, until you decide to break the quiet.

"Hey, Zoro..."

You murmur, eyes locked on the blade carefully placed in your lap and the cloth that delicately traces it until you see your own unwavering reflection.

"Yeah?" Zoro grunts as he brings down the weights towards the deck.

"Have you ever thought about love before?"

There is abruptly the seizing of movement, but when your eyes travel upwards again to meet his, he merely looks at you incredulously.

"What kind of question is that?"

You grin at his expression, but continue on, nonchalantly, despite the way your heart pounds against your chest at your own boldness.

"Oh, come on, Zoro. You've never been tempted? I can't count on my hands the number of times women have literally fallen at your feet. Beautiful women, too good for you, of course, but nonetheless."

A beat of silence, and he answers.

"Nope, never thought about it."

His words are blunt, and he continues his training as though nothing was said. You can't deny the slight disappointment that filled you at his abrupt words. But you decide to push a bit more. You want to know more, more of what he thought about you. If you had a chance, if another claimed his heart, if his words were true.

"Really? What about Tashigi? She even knows her way around a sword, you know-"

"Nope."

"Perona? You guys literally spent two years together-"

"So? Still no."

"Hiyori? You two seemed all cosied up-"

"No."

You roll your eyes, unsure as to why your heart starts to feel heavy even as he rejects women you were so sure he could sweep off their feet. Maybe it was the lack of interest in the topic of relationships. Maybe it was the voice in the back of your mind mocking your hopes that he would turn around and say he would choose you instead.

"Nami, Robin??"

You ask, a teasing tone in your words despite the smile that strains on your cheeks.

"What? No way, they're crewmates-"

"You've actually never been tempted? They're literally all so perfect."

You sit in slight disbelief, analysing his expression, but his gaze does not falter, and he reveals nothing. If anything, you witness the tightening of his jaw as he moves to a silent rhythm. You wonder if you have pushed the topic too far.

"It's nothing against them, I have a responsibility and a goal. To become the world's strongest swordsman and to see Luffy become the pirate king. I don't have time for distractions."

His words are blunt to you as they are confirming. You allow the silence to consume the space between the two of you for a moment longer, and yet your heart twists unbearably.

He doesn't have time for distractions.

Of course, he doesn't.

You had witnessed more than anyone the way he trained from daybreak to sundown, every minute for the dream he held, and in support of Luffy's ambitions. What time could he spare for relationships, for women? He already had so much on his mind, so much responsibility on his back. And yet, a question leaves your lips before you can stop yourself.

"Not even time for me?"

You whisper, but Zoro misses your words, his eyes trained on his weights, the crease between his brows a show of his concentration, but the glint in his eyes, one that unravels frustration.

Why? Maybe this conversation was one he did not wish to partake in.

"Did you say something?"

Zoro's words touch the air once more, as sunlight travels his face until it lies static as he meets your gaze again.

"Nothing," you say, more dejected than anything else, despite knowing you should feel unsurprised. You watch as he continues his workout, the air solemn as you let out a quiet sigh, unsure why your heart feels so heavy despite a lack of rejection.

You supposed it was the lack of recognition that had done it.

In-tune crew members had already witnessed your gravitation towards the swordsman, but it was clear to you that your affections were not recognised, nor could they be considered anything beyond friendship by Zoro. Though stupidly relieved to know that he did not have a favourite among the women you listed, you felt stupid in your hopes that maybe, just maybe, you were his favourite.

That he recognised that the way you polish his swords as you do now wasn't out of mere generosity but deep-rooted admiration and care. The way you saved a seat for him beside you at dinner wasn't out of mere friendship but out of hope to get to know him more. The way you seek him out and spend hours by his side, even when there is nothing to be said, was from a yearning to be beside him for as long as he would let you be.

You loved him.

Roronoa Zoro.

Loved the way he would smirk when he teased you to the point where you were sure to combust. Loved the way he is so protective of crewmates in battles, his strength and loyalty unmatched. You loved the way he was so unwavering in his values, so predictable in the best of ways. Loved the way that he cared and was kind, no matter how hard he tried to keep up the tough-guy facade. You loved the quiet moments stolen with him, the way his eyes would soften in the presence of you and the presence of crewmates, the faint smile he bears when he has had too much to drink.

Loved the way he would listen quietly.

Loved the way he ruffled your hair.

Loved the way he searched for you after battles.

You loved him.

But as you watch his devotion to his swords, to Luffy and to his crew. Deep down, you had resigned yourself to knowing that you could never be anything more than a friend. No princess, swordswoman or model could turn his head. How could you?

What did you offer that they didn't?

Emotion fills you suddenly, but you force it away, scolding yourself and quickly finishing off the last of your task. Zoro releases his hold on his weights, stretching lightly as he readies another workout, but he is surprised as you stand and go to walk away.

"Hey, you okay?"

He asks, and you hate the way your heart lurches at his concern, the way you can feel his eyes burning into your back.

"Yeah, I just promised Sanji I'd help him for dinner, I'll see you later!"

Your words are as cheerful as you forced them to be, wandering towards the kitchen unseeingly. You don't see the way Zoro's brows furrow in his confusion, the twitching of his hands as though he wants to stop you and ask why you would indulge in the cook's company over his own. But he merely nods and continues his training.

You merely walk away.

.....

A week has passed, and you didn't know what you were doing.

Were you moving on? But from what exactly?

Exploring other opportunities? Maybe, but why?

You weren't rejected.

Didn't have the hammer beat down on your budding devotion to the swordsman. You were just provided an unspoken resignation by his words.

"I don't have time for distractions."

Like, ever? Was that long-term, short-term, or were you even a card in his hands that he would play?

You were confused and downtrodden, but you were also tired.

One-sided love.

So focused on possibilities and what-ifs, you had forgotten how exhausting it can be. How burdenous longing can be. How the dichotomy of your mind and of your heart can feel like you're being torn in two. Was that dramatic? Maybe a tad. But you now realise how long you have loved Zoro, the years you spent by his side. How can you teach yourself to let go, even a little bit, to seek distance so that if he does choose to reject you in the future, you are not utterly shattered?

You hate that you still hope.

Hope that because you had not named yourself, and because he had not rejected you, that you still had a chance, even if it was years down the line. You grit your teeth as you take a rough swing of your beverage, alcohol burning as you force it down your throat, trying to quieten your mind, trying to forget your feelings.

"Hey, slow down, it's not water, you know?"

And there it is, the provocative tone in his words. The glint of amusement in his sharp eyes as he catches your gaze. The swordsman laughs at your distasteful expression as he downs his second bottle of the night.

"I know that, but do you? You're downing that like it's nothing."

You ask incredulously, deadpanning at the way liquid disappears from bottles. He smirks, much more at ease next to you and with his sake, though he couldn't let you know that. Couldn't let you see how you have him so wrapped around your finger. Couldn't let you know that the smile you bear had him fighting to remain nonchalant, to remain strong in the face of temptation. The temptation in your lips, in your gaze, in you.

"I know, but I can handle it."

You roll your eyes at that.

He notices, but you turn away quickly, hiding your gaze in the dim light of the bar the two of you found yourselves in. Zoro can hear his Captain laughing with a stranger, can hear the love-lorn cook as he talks to Nami and Robin, can hear Brook chatting with the musicians in the bar, and yet he finds himself next to you. He always finds himself next to you. Always you he looks for after battles, always you he sits by when he naps, always you who lingers when he works out, always you he celebrates with, always you.

He wonders why you have been acting strangely this week.

Recently, it hadn't been you who lingered, or you he sits beside. You hadn't been saving the seats you usually do for him, with your bright eyes and wide smile. More often, you had been absent as he worked out, left wondering why the empty space you usually sat in was left cold and dull without you. More often had he taken notice of the unspoken things you do - reminding him of dinner, polishing his swords, filling the quiet in between - disappearing. He wondered if he had taken you for granted.

Even now, as he sits next to you, the closest he has been for days. You are quieter, more sullen, more lost in your mind. The heart in his chest that he didn't know could fluctuate in the face of another, missed you. God dammit, he missed you. And he didn't know what he had done wrong.

You take a glance to your side, only to see that Zoro was now lost in his head, drinking from bottles, with thoughts behind his eyes. You are about to ask what burdens him, but your pursuit is interrupted by that of another.

"Excuse me, love? Can I buy you a drink?"

Your gaze snaps upwards when you meet the eyes of a stranger who has approached your side without your notice. He hadn't been the first to approach you tonight; in fact, you were used to men approaching you with hope and admiration and lust twisting in their irises. It had been so easy before to brush them off in favour of Zoro's company, so easy to say no. But you find yourself considering the offer. Zoro is still distracted by a thought you cannot see, and this man was charming and attractive.

What harm was there really?

"Okay," you say, your words more unsure than you hoped they would be, but the man does not care nor seem to notice, all too pleased to have you on his arm. That is, until you feel a sharp tug on your other hand that lies limp to your side. Your gaze snaps to your left, and you are met with sharp eyes you have memorised all too well.

"Oi, where are you going?"

Zoro's voice is low, protective, his hand lingering on his swords. But his irises betray confusion, and was that hurt that lingered on the crescent edges? Zoro's insides twist uncomfortably at the sight of your hand on another man's arm.

You never indulged in the company of such men; why now?

"I'm just getting a drink, Zoro."

You say confusedly, missing the smirk on the man beside you, missing the tension in Zoro's jaw as he meets his cocky gaze. You feel Zoro's fingers twitch against your skin, his grip not painful but sure against your skin. He didn't want to let you go. But you were now confused.

Why was he acting this way?

But before you can say anything, Zoro lets you go silently, and the man next to you takes you to the bar for a drink.

.....

When you make your way to the Sunny, the sun has touched the horizon, leaking light onto the earth.

Your eyes were trained on the pavement, steps slow and deliberate, but your mind was churning. Along the way, you had seen crewmembers sprawled together on the streets and in bars, but paid them no mind, knowing it was merely a symbol of them having had a good night. Happy to see them indulge in an evening of laughter, drinks and food and each other. You hadn't expected to be out so long, but you found the need to wander a little.

The man who had taken you to the bar was okay at first, that is, until you saw the lust that travelled his features, move to his hands. He had mocked your crew and Zoro in his drunkenness. Had earned himself a good slap to the face and your swift absence, only for you to find that Zoro had left the bar already. You had only been gone for an hour at most, but following everything you had walked the length of the island several times, leading to the sun rising, signalling the beginning of another day.

You travel up the steps and onto the deck, expecting silence, expecting nothing. But you are surprised to see the swordsman, your mind had lingered all night on - had lingered years on - sat looking to the horizon with a pile of bottles scattered around him. Your heart picks up pace quickly, both in concern at the sight of him so adrift he does not notice you and of the devotion you still try to bury. Approaching hesitantly, you are met with the strong scent of alcohol, a sign that he has drunk too much, despite himself.

"Zoro?"

You murmur, nudging his shoulder gently, unsure of his reaction. He turns to you slowly, eyes masked in rare emotion, bottle clunking onto the deck from his grasp, spilling its contents. You furrow your brows, but his voice is low as he speaks to you, avoiding your gaze once more.

"How was he?"

You are taken aback, shocked that despite his inhibited state, that is what he suggests to you. Though you suppose that is what conclusion you would come to if Zoro disappeared with a woman, only to return to the Sunny in the daybreak.

"What's it to you?"

You ask lightly, watching the way his grip tightens on his own skin, sharp eyes on yours as he watches you closely. He is about to bite back until he watches you sigh and pick up the bottles that have been scattered and some shattered, cleaning the mess he has made. He meets your eyes that are on his, and he sees the concern you bear. His heart twists painfully against his chest as he pictures you with the man he left you with.

You.

You were meant to be his.

You were his angel, the one he protects, the one he looks to in quiet moments and laughs with in the confines of the other. He was meant to be the one you adored, the one who came first, the one you sought out. He was the one you were meant to nudge teasingly and drink with and celebrate wins and comfort losses with. He was the one you were meant to grace your presence with. Not some leechy stranger, not some unworthy man he can only now picture in your bed, in your arms, in your heart.

"I asked first." He says, voice quiet, tone low, eyes adrift again.

You smile half-heartedly at his stubbornness, but as you brush away bottles and put them away, you let the silence linger for a while. Once you are done you sit by his side, Zoro hates the way his heart spikes just by your warmth, you hate the way your heart does the same.

"He was an asshole."

You say, feeling Zoro's gaze meet the side of your face as your voice touches the air, but you do not turn yet, admiring the sun as it rises higher. "Wanted me in his bed long before our first drink, talked shit about me, talked shit about our crew..." You feel as Zoro tenses at your words, and that is when you meet his gaze, his eyes widening at your gentle smile, at your adoring eyes, at your proximity.

"... talked shit about you."

You grin as you see his eyebrows twitch, but you don't move, overindulgent in his presence. Yes, you might not be his, not now or ever, but you would take what you got, even if it was the show of his protectiveness from time to time. But to Zoro, he was fighting so hard not to allow his hands to travel to yours, to spill the words he constrained. You turn away quickly before you get too lost in his gaze, though he is already too far gone in yours.

"That was the last straw, you know," you grin teasingly at the sun, "had to give him a good slap to the face to bring him back to reality, then wandered around the island for a good few hours because somebody decided to leave early."

Zoro's gaze widens a fraction of a millimetre, but you do not catch it, yours still to the sky. You don't notice how his chest loses the tightness that had plagued him the whole night. The way he had used the alcohol he usually loved to force an escape from thoughts of you and the man he had regretfully left you with. He couldn't handle it, the thought, the sight of you with another. Couldn't handle another day where you continued to place distance between the two of you.

Then it comes to Zoro so clearly, after so long in despair.

He loved you.

He can't let you go.

There is a warmth on your hand, and it takes you a while to realise that it is Zoro's hand over yours, hesitant, hovering. Your eyes snap to his so fast, he is almost taken aback. He fights the blush on his cheeks as he lowers his calloused hands onto yours, pulling warmth to your own face.

"Zoro?" Your words are hesitant, but his are blunt and unwavering.

"Don't do that again, woman," he says, voice even, eyes far from yours. Two beats pass in silence until his voice reaches the air again, in turn, rendering you temporarily speechless.

"I think I like you."

There is no teasing in his words, no underlying joke. He is vulnerable under your gaze, touch faltering on skin, uncertainty clouding his mind. But to you, a wave of shock travels through your system, and you can't help but let out a yell of surprise.

"What?!"

Zoro winces as he squeezes his eyes shut, not used to the effects of too much alcohol.

"Damn woman, do you have to be so loud?"

You hurriedly silence, before returning to your spot next to him, mind buzzing. Is this a dream? Did you hear correctly? Have you gone and lost your mind? You quickly come to your senses, gathering thoughts that have scattered, until one question clouds your mind.

"But I thought- I thought you said you didn't have time for distractions?"

Zoro pauses, his mind travelling to the conversation the two of you had a week ago. A week ago, when you named women, he could never have considered that way. The frustration he felt when it sounded like you were writing yourself off the list of options, forcing people onto him when all he wanted was you. Was that why you put distance between the two of you? Was that the question that plagued your mind? Was that what you thought?

You hear him sigh, but he pulls you into his side, still a mixture of drunkenness dictating his movements.

"You're not a distraction, just another focus, a vulnerability maybe, that I choose to have," he smirks slightly at your surprise spilling into your stare. "But you're mine, or I want you to be."

Silence touches the air, but Zoro takes comfort in knowing that you have not moved from where you sat, have not moved from his touch, have not wilted under his vulnerable words. In a movement, he feels your hands touch his face, a shine to your gaze that has him blushing to his ears. A hammering against his chest like he has never known.

"I want to be yours."

And somehow, that was all he wanted to hear.

His lips touch yours, in a mix of warmth, of roughness and of the taste of too many drinks. But you feel his hands, strong, secure against your skin, pulling you closer. Your mind is a haze as he moves, still tipsy off of alcohol, still stumbling with nerves, but lost in the place you have wanted to be for so long. He growls low under his breath, his hands moving as though to erase the touch of any other. When you pull away, you are breathless, and so is he. You sit on his lap, and he holds you closer.

A moment of bliss travels the two of you, and yet a yawn comes through your system, exhausted emotionally, of the time spent last night wandering, of the thoughts that raged through your head. And yet now, next to him, you can't find the courage to drift asleep, afraid to wake to your bed and to harsh reality. Zoro seems to be having the same thoughts as you, but in the caress of soft hair, he murmurs against your skin.

"Sleep, woman. I'll be here when you wake up."

Your eyes meet his hesitantly, and though you know alcohol is still in his system, you don't think that is the reason why his eyes soften when he meets your gaze. No, you knew that look, it was familiar, shining with care and softness and that unspoken emotion you had seen all too much before. That unspoken emotion, now free of its speechlessness, is only for you to know. You nod to him, surprisingly comfortable, like everything was how it was supposed to be.

When sleep consumes you, it takes only a beat more for it to consume Zoro, too. Finally free of his burdenous thoughts, of regret, and of needing alcohol to erase his feelings. Zoro now indulges your warmth, the softness of your skin, the weight of you against his broad chest. As a smile lingers on his face, it is then he realises how often you pull the corners of his lips upwards, how often you bring him to a place of peace in a world clouded with anything but.

A distraction? How could you ever be?

He was utterly devoted to you.

And you were now his.

When both of you wake the next day, it is to the incoherent screaming of Sanji, the laughter of your Captain and the agape expressions of Chopper, Brook and Ussop. Nami, Franky and Jimbei look on, unsurprised and grinning. But Robin looks to the two of you asleep in the arms of the other knowingly.

"Finally..."

1K notes · View notes

sturnioz · 4 months ago

Text

‘ESPRESSO’ — MATT STURNIOLO

pairing. matt sturniolo x fem!reader genre. coffee shop au, first time au, fluff, smut

word count. 11.5k

❝I'm just happy I finally know your name... we've been calling you Espresso since your first few days of coming in❞

content warnings. explicit content, porn with heavy plot, loss of virginity (female), protected sex, soft sex, light nipple sucking, oral (female receiving), fingering, lots of kissing, mentions of nerves and anxiety, mentions of big dicks, mentions of stretching out.

"...And then he told me that he's not ready for a relationship, can you believe that? He's been treating me like his girlfriend for the past three months, we cuddle in the same bed almost every night, and he takes me out to dinner. I swear, men are just—"

You tune out the rest of the customers rant, letting the noise blur into the background as you focus on the task at hand, turning the nozzle on the coffee machine and carefully guiding the milk-filled pitcher under the steam wand. Your hand rests lightly on the cool metallic surface, waiting for the milk to warm to the perfect temperature.

Maya, your co-worker, stands beside you, leaning casually against the counter as she checks her watch for the third time in the past minute, her expression filled with boredom. When she catches your gaze, she quirks a small, kind smile your way, and you return it—brief but warm—before refocusing on your task.

Days like this are all too familiar, blending in together into an endless loop: wake up at 6am, clock in at the café around 7, overhear customers sharing their personal dramas (completely oblivious to how loud they're actually being), clean up after them, lock up at closing, and head back to your apartment to do it all over again the next morning.

You can't decide if it's comforting in a way, or just another reminder that you live what feels like a really fucking boring life. But the decent pay and the co-workers—Maya especially—make it hard to complain too much.

You detach the steam wand from the pitcher and reach for a cup, pumping three shots of vanilla syrup. You're just about to pour the heated milk when a sharp snap of fingers and an irritatingly loud whistle cuts through the air.

"Excuse me," you slowly turn to face the customer, resisting the urge to react to her dog-like call as she waves a manicured hand in your direction, her freshly painted French tips pointing at the cup in your hand. "I asked for five pumps of vanilla syrup—Five. And don't forget the extra caramel drizzle this time."

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. Instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, nodding as you turn your back, adding the extra vanilla syrup and making a show of counting to five.

You proceed to pour the steamed milk into the cup, followed by the needed espresso shots, and you finish it off with an extra drizzle of caramel sauce. Once the lid is secured and the cup sleeve is slid into place, you push the drink across the counter toward her.

She doesn't so much as glance at you as she places her card on the reader, snatches the drink, and strides out the door. You exhale sharply through your nose, shaking your head as a scowl tugs at your lips, but nonetheless, you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek and clean your station, wiping down the counter and preparing for the next customer.

Another day, another latte, another fucking difficult customer.

"If she whistled at me like a dog, I would've leaped over the counter and bitten her like one," Maya mutters beside you, and a genuine smile spreads across your face as you feel her arm wrap snugly around your middle, giving you a comforting squeeze. "I'll spit in her drink next time. Really. Just say the word, and I will do it."

You stifle a quiet laugh, amused by her threat. "As much as I would love that..." you turn your head to meet her gaze. "...I'd rather you not get fired."

Maya grins, her arms slipping away from your waist as she teases, "Who says I'd get caught? Nobody has to know."

You nudge her shoulder playfully, and she chuckles before turning her attention to the next customer. Meanwhile, you shift your focus to your own customer standing at the counter, greeting them with a warm smile as you take their order and punch the details into the tablet screen.

You're in the middle of plating up the cinnamon bun they ordered when the soft chime of the door bell catches your attention, and out of habit, you glance toward the door, your eyes landing on someone fairly new: a guy with tousled brown hair, partially hidden beneath a low baseball cap.

The brim of the cap and the hood of his oversized black jacket obscure his face, but you can still make out a few details—sharp cheekbones, and a hint of stubble along his jaw.

His outfit is simple: a white shirt and baggy denim jeans, paired with black boots that match his oversized jacket.

It's the kind of comfortable look you envy... you wish you could trade your uniform for something like that right now.

Not wanting to linger on him for too long, you finish up the order for the paying customer with a polite nod, and she thanks you kindly which prompts you into wishing her a wonderful day, earning a sweet smile in return.

As she walks away, your gaze instinctively shifts back to the guy, now standing in front of the counter. He's too preoccupied with his phone to notice he's next in line, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen.

"Can I take your order?"

"Huh? Oh—yeah, m'sorry," he mumbles, coughing lightly to clear his throat. His eyes stay fixed on his phone as he continues typing something, his voice distracted. "Can I have three iced americanos please?"

"Coming right up." you reply quietly, turning away to start the drinks. Maya steps in beside you, having finished her previous orders to offer a lending hand, and within moments, the iced drinks are ready.

Just as you place them on the counter and prepare to give him the total, he suddenly mutters under his breath, "You've got to be fuckin' playin' with me."

The irritation in his voice makes you freeze for a second, assuming his comment was directed at you. You hesitate before asking cautiously, "What?"

He looks up, startled by your response, and once he realises his mistake, he scrambles to explain. "Wait—no, shit. I uh... I wasn't talkin' to you, I was just..."

For the first time, he raises his head fully, and you can't help but try to get a better look at him. But even now, the brim of his cap and the hood of his jacket cast shadows over most of his face.

Still, you know he's staring at you—silent, unmoving—just by the weight of his gaze.

Feeling a bit shy under his gaze, you blink and glance away, fumbling to fill the silence as you press gently, "Just...?"

He snaps out of his trance, the words tumbling out in an awkward ramble. "I uh—I lost a bet with my brothers, and now I have to buy 'em drinks. I thought they'd just want whatever, but um... they're makin' it difficult 'cos they both want different drinks..."

"Oh," you respond, blinking awkwardly as you glance down at the iced americanos you've already prepared. "Well, alright... I can just make you the new—"

"No!" he interrupts, his voice sharp enough to make you pause. "Fuck—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout—these drinks are fine. Really. I'll take them. They're just idiots, probably doin' this shit on purpose or somethin', I don't know."

His exasperation pulls a light laugh out of you before you can stop yourself, and the sound seems to catch him off guard, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

After a moment, he cracks a breathy laugh of his own, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as though he's embarrassed to have made you laugh.

When you finally give him the price, he retrieves a sleek black card from his wallet and taps it on the reader, and for a second, your professional demeanour falters. He looks you, definitely younger than you'd expect from someone carrying a black card.

A flicker of curiosity passes through your mind, but you push it aside.

It's not your business, after all.

As he adjusts his hold on the cup holders, he hesitates before looking at you again. "Thanks..." his voice trails off as his gaze drops to your nametag. He reads your name softly, so quietly you almost miss it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And he does.

In fact, the days blur into weeks as he becomes a familiar presence at the café. Almost every day, he walks in and orders three drinks—sometimes iced americanos, sometimes a mix of different flavours.

With each visit, he greets you with a warm hello and dives into his usual ramblings about his brothers. His stories are always laced with fond adoration as he recounts whatever they all get up to, and through him, you've become a bit familiar with their personalities, even if you don't know exactly what it is they do.

Despite his frequent visits, he remains a mystery. You still haven't caught a proper glimpse of his full face, obscured by the cap and hood, nor have you learned his name yet.

On some days, after picking up his drinks, he settles at a specific table near the back of the café, close to the window. From his chosen spot, he seems to watch you, though he tries to appear nonchalant about it.

When you glance over, you occasionally catch the subtle twitch of his lips—like he’s trying not to smile but can’t quite help himself.

Normally, this type of odd behaviour from a customer might alarm you. But there's something about him that keeps you from feeling uneasy. If anything, you find yourself always looking forward to seeing him and wondering if he's watching you.

And, though you hate to admit it, you enjoy the attention from this stranger a lot.

"Espresso's late today," Maya remarks, her tone light as she wipes down the counter, frowning slightly at the coffee she spilled earlier.

Espresso—the nickname Maya came up with for the mystery guy—immediately grabs your attention, and you pause mid-swipe with your mop, glancing over your shoulder to survey the café.

It's quiet today, and only a few tables are occupied: a couple engrossed in their conversation, a college student hunched over a textbook, and an older woman savouring her coffee and cake.

"Maybe he's not coming," you suggest, turning back to the floor as you scrub the stubborn coffee stains. "He could be busy."

Maya straightens, tossing the damp cloth into the sink before crossing her arms, deep in thought. Her lips purse briefly before she turns her gaze to you. "Do you think he's famous or something?"

You raise an eyebrow at her out of nowhere assumption. "What makes you think that?"

She rolls her eyes, as if the answer is painfully obvious, and begins counting her reasons on her fingers. "He covers his face constantly, he won't tell you his name, he always pulls up in a blacked-out windowed car—"

"Wait, how do you know about the car?" Maya shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm attentive, okay? I notice these things. Anyways, he never says what he does, and he owns a black card. All these clued add up. Celebrity."

As she finishes her mini-investigation, you hum thoughtfully and set the mop aside, washing your hands at the sink before returning. "Do you actually care if he's famous?"

"Not really. I'm just nosy. Uncovering the secrets of suspicious people makes me feel like I'm in some kind of mystery film. It's fun."

Her words make you smile, and soon she’s off on a rant, proudly sharing her latest theories about some crime show she’s been currently recently. She tells you her predictions, and she even brags about guessing the culprit before the reveal, and you listen, amused.

But your attention is abruptly pulled elsewhere when the familiar chime of the doorbell echoes through the café.

Your gaze instinctively shifts to the entrance, and there he is—Espresso.

He steps inside, dressed in his usual style: a black hoodie, baggy denim jeans, and the black balenciaga cap pulled low over his face. Tufts of dark hair peek out from beneath the cap, and, as always, the brim and hood keeps his identity hidden.

A smile slides across your lips as he approaches, and you greet him warmly. "Hey, you're late today."

But your smile falters when you don't get the same warmth in return.

“Yeah, sorry.” he murmurs softly, his voice drawling with weariness. He doesn't raise his head to look at you, instead he shifts his focus to his wallet which he pulls out of his pocket. “Can I just get a hot chocolate, please?”

“Getting bored of the other drinks already?” you tease lightly, trying your best to engage him in conversation. But the attempt fails. He doesn't respond the way you had hoped, he just quietly taps his card against the machine and walks toward his usual table without another word.

You watch him go, a faint uneasy feeling settling in your chest. Maya catches your eye, and her puzzled expression mirrors your own. You shrug, unsure what to say as you turn to prepare the drink.

Once his hot chocolate is ready, you hesitate for a moment before deciding to do something small to—hopefully—brighten his day. Grabbing a plate, you carefully add a slice of cake, promising Maya with a quick whisper that you'll cover the cost later.

She raises an eyebrow at you but doesn't argue, and you can feel her gaze on your back as you make your way over to his table.

"Here you go," you say softly, setting the drink and plate down in front of him.

He reaches for the hot chocolate but pauses, his hand hovering mid-air as his eyes land on the slice of cake. "I... I didn't order—"

"I know," you interrupt, your tone gentle. "It's on me. You seem like you're having an off day, so..."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stares at the cake, as if he's trying to decide how to respond. Then, he slowly tilts his head back to look up at you, and you catch the slight parting of his lips before they curve into a sheepish smile.

"That's really sweet of you... thank you." his voice is softer than you expected, and it makes your heart do an unexpected little flip.

"No worries," you reply, shaking your head lightly to brush off his gratitude. "I hope you enjoy—"

"Do you, uh, think you can sit down with me?" his question catches you completely off guard, and your words falter mid sentence. Your mouth hangs open slightly as you process his request, and he quickly adds. "If you can, obviously. If you're busy, I get it. That's fine... but if you're not... that would be fine too."

You glance around at the café, taking in the calm and quiet atmosphere. It's not busy at all—just a handful of customers scattered at their tables. When your gaze shifts to Maya, you find her already watching you, gesturing animatedly as she encourages you to take the invitation.

She even redirects your boss, who's just emerged from the back, sending them back into the office with a distraction.

Collecting your thoughts, you respond. "I can sit with you for a couple of minutes."

His shoulders visibly relax at your answer as you grab a chair and slide into the seat across from him, tucking yourself beneath the small table. You're about to ask if he's okay, if he'd like to talk about his clearly hard day, when his next action leaves you completely speechless.

Without a word, he pulls down his hood and tugs off his cap, running his fingers through his hair. and all you can do is stare, your breath catching in your throat.

His face is... gorgeous.

Messy strands of slightly grown-out hair frame his features. Strong cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and those eyes—bright and piercing. He's even more attractive than you imagined, and the realisation sends your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, warmth spreading across your face.

"My name is Matt, by the way," he says, breaking the silence as he picks up the mug of hot chocolate and takes a small sip. Matt. The name repeats in your mind, and you can't help but think how fitting it feels for him. "M'sorry for not introducin' myself before. I wasn't trying to be, like, rude or anythin'... I just can't do that sometimes."

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts, but it's hard to form a coherent response when all you can think about is how his voice fits him as well as his name. But then, his last words replay in your head, tugging at your curiosity.

Your eyebrows knit together as confusion settles in, "You can't do that?"

Matt's expression shifts, surprise flicking around his face as his gaze meets yours. "Do... do you not know me?" You stare at him, unsure of what he means, your silence prompting him to quickly clarify. "I'm not being narcissistic, I swear. I'm a youtuber—content creator, whatever you wanna call it. I just... I get nervous about being recognised, s'all."

"Oh." you hum softly in understanding. Maya's earlier theory about him being someone famous suddenly clicks into place, and you can't help but mentally applaud her for her observational skills. Slowly, you nod before continuing, "That makes sense. But it's fine—you're fine. I'm just happy I finally know your name... we've been calling you Espresso since your first few days of coming in."

Matt's expression softens, his lips curving into a gentle smile. "You talk about me?"

The question catches you off guard, and you swallow thickly, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't say that."

His smile grows and hums in response, staring at you over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip of his drink, the action slow and deliberate. The weight of his gaze makes your heart stutter, and you quickly avert your eyes, shifting your focus elsewhere in an attempt to push away the flustered feeling rising in your chest.

Don't act like this, you scold yourself silently. You need to stop being weird. He's just a regular guy.

But deep down, you know that's not entirely true. There's something about Matt—his easy smile, the way he seems both shy and confident at the same time—that makes you feel things you can't quite name.

Your fingers fidget against the edge of the table, and a quiet thought sneaks its way into your mind, one you try desperately to ignore.

You don't have a crush on Matt already.

Of course you don't.

There's no way.

Right?

You decide to steer the conversation in a different direction, leaning back in your chair in an attempt to appear as casual as possible. "So, what's wrong? Why do you seem so tired today?"

"Just constantly busy, and I, uh... got into an argument with my brothers. It was over something so stupid, but I think it got to me 'cos I'm so tired," Matt explains to you, and you instantly feel a pang of sympathy for him. "But it's fine. I know everything will be back to normal tomorrow."

"You should've stayed home and gotten some rest instead of coming here," you chastise lightly, your tone soft enough to show you're not actually upset with his decision.

"I like it here too much," Matt counters, shaking his head as he picks up the fork provided with the cake. He cuts a piece from the corner, bringing it to his mouth, and his next works are barely audible—almost as if he didn't mean for you to hear them. "I like seein' you."

Oh.

The quiet confession catches you by surprise, and you feel the familiar warmth of flusteredness creeping up your neck. Your hand instinctively rises to rub your jaw, a weak attempt to hide the shy smile tugging at your lips.

You can't help but feel baffled by how easily Matt seems to jump between awkwardness and boldness, leaving you unsure how to respond in moments like this. Does he have any idea what his words do to you?

You glance at him briefly, watching as he nonchalantly cuts another piece of cake. He hums softly in approval of the taste, seemingly enjoying it, and you shake your head with an airy laugh, catching his attention.

His gaze shifts toward you, gesturing to the cake. "Have you tried it before?"

"Not yet," you admit, a smile gracing your lips. "It's a homemade recipe. One of my co-workers made it," The image of the little old lady in her flour-covered apron and frosting-smeared cheeks comes to mind. "She loves to bake."

Matt nods thoughtfully, and then cuts another piece of cake. Instead of handing you the fork though, he keeps it in his grip, extending his arm toward you. "Here, try it."

Your eyes widen at the gesture, surprise and hesitance flooding through you. Time feels like it pauses for a moment as you process what's happening, and your gaze meets his across the table, noticing the way his teeth nibble on his bottom lip.

His expression is genuine though, and there's a slight vulnerability in the offer that makes your heart skip a beat.

After a moment, you decide to give in. Leaning forward, your hand gently wraps around his to steady the fork, and you feel him freeze at the contact, but he doesn't pull away. Slowly, you open your mouth to accept the bite, ready to taste the flavour.

But before you can indulge, the moment is abruptly shattered by the loud call of your name.

Startled, you pull back, breaking the connection before the two of you, and Matt lowers the fork quickly, his hand retreating as if the interruption had startled him just as much.

Standing at the counter, your boss watches with his arms folded over his chest, a look of amusement dancing across his features. Maya stands just behind him, her expression apologetic for ruining your moment.

"What're you doing?" your boss asks, one eyebrow raised. His tone is teasing, though it's firm enough to remind you you're on the clock. "Stop flirting with your boyfriend, kid. You're on work hours."

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to come up with a response, but nothing comes out. Embarrassment washes over you like a tidal wave, and you completely forget you're with Matt as you stand up abruptly, rushing over to your boss and all but shove him into the backroom.

"Hey—what—" he starts, but you cut him off with a rapid string of apologies for pushing him, laced with muttered curse words for his earlier assumption about yours and Matt's relationship.

"I wasn't flirting—and he's not my boyfriend! Why would you say that?!" you hiss under your breath, mortification burning hot. You groan, pressing your palms to your face as you spiral into a ramble. "Oh my god. That was embarrassing. I can't believe you said that. What do I do now? I can't—"

Your anxious rambling is cut off by your boss' deep, amused laugh. "He was feedin' you. What else was I supposed to think?"

From the side, Maya nods with an exaggerated agreement. "That was such a boyfriend move..."

Your boss places a hand on your shoulder, his expression softening slightly. "Look, I am sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. But maybe next time, don't let it happen during work hours, yeah? I already let you two get away with too much—"

"Well that's a fucking lie," Maya cuts in, her brows knitting together as she glares at him. Your boss snorts but doesn't respond, walking back out to the front with a shake of his head. Once he's gone, Maya steps closer to you with an apologetic look. "I tried to distract him for as long as I could, but he caught on pretty quick. At least it seemed like you and Espresso were getting along well?"

"His name is Matt," you tell her as you lower your hands from your cheeks. Her eyebrows shoot up, but before she can say anything, you groan again, pressing your fingers to your temples and rubbing in slow circles. "I'm so embarrassed. I'm gonna have to quit and, like, move away or something."

"Hey, being dramatic is my job," Maya teases as she pinches your arm lightly. "But you got his name though, that's progress."

You hesitate for a moment before adding, "I.. saw his face too."

Maya's eyes widen, her curiosity peaked. "You did? I couldn't see—he looked away and pulled up his hood right after your name was called..." she pauses, narrowing her eyes at you with a knowing smirk. "So? Was he hot?"

You meet her gaze, dead serious. "You have no idea."

After a few minutes of calming yourself down, you finally gather the courage to return to the front of the café, but when you glance toward Matt's table, your heart sinks.

It's empty.

The sight of the vacant chair and cleared space stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You assume he must've left after your boss' comment, feeling awkward and embarrassed. And really, you can't blame him. If the roles were reserved, you'd probably book it out of here as fast as you could too.

You try to shake it off, forcing yourself to focus on work. You clean up the tables, preparing the café for closing, but you deliberately leave Matt's table for last. You know it's silly—prolonging it won't change anything—but you can't help it.

When you finally approach the table, you swallow thickly, frowning as you take in the empty cup and plate. You pick them up and place them on your tray, but as you move, something catches your eye.

A napkin, crumpled slightly from hiding beneath the plate.

You set the tray down and reach for it, your heart starting to race as you unfold it. Scrawled across the napkin in slightly messy handwriting are the words that instantly bring a smile to your face:

𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 ��𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 (555) 555-555 - 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍/𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈/’𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽’

You ended up calling him when you got home from work that day. At first, you were nervous, your thumb hovering over the call button for longer than you'd like to ever admit.

And before you knew it, those phone calls became an important part of your routine. Almost every night, you'd find yourself laughing until your sides hurt, smiling until your cheeks were sore, and discovering little pieces of Matt you'd never known before.

He told you even more about his family—especially his brothers with their inside jokes—and he shared stories about his Youtube career: his struggles with burnout, and the moments that made it all worth it.

And in turn, you opened up to him too.

You told him everything.

To avoid causing any more trouble with your boss, Matt started visiting you during your breaks instead of sitting at a table on your shift, keeping you company whenever you both had a free moment in your schedules.

It didn't take long for him to become a familiar face around the café either. Your co-workers grew fond of him quite quickly, and the old lady baker immediately adored him when he kindly complimented her on her delicious recipes—and she even allowed him to taste-test her newest ones before anyone else.

You started to notice how comfortable Matt was becoming with you over time, especially when it came to physical touch.

At first, it was subtle—the way his shoulder would brush against yours when he sat close, or how his leg would press lightly to yours under the table.

Then, those small touches grew bolder.

His fingers would linger on your arm as he talked, tracing patterns on your skin, and occasionally his hand would graze yours, but neither of you would pull away.

It took you a while to get used to it, but something about Matt made it so easy to accept. His touches felt natural, like they belonged there, and a part of you started to crave them in ways you didn't fully understand.

Then, one afternoon, everything changed.

Matt had offered to drive you home after your shift, something he'd started doing more often as your 'friendship' deepened. This time though, it felt different. So different. There was tension, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

When he pulled up in front of your house and walked you to your doorstep, he made the first move. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks as his lips pressed against yours, soft and warm.

It happened sooner than you expected, but it felt so right—so natural.

From that moment on, kisses became a regular part of your time together. Whether it was when he drove you home from work or when you sneaked away for 'fresh air' during your breaks, his lips always seemed to find yours.

Sometimes it was quick—a stolen kiss.

Other times, it was slower—lingering, like he wanted to savour the moment just as much as you did.

And you found yourself falling for him, bit by bit, with every laugh, every touch, and every kiss.

"So, he's not your boyfriend?" Maya's voice cuts through the whirring of the coffee machine, her tone filled with disbelief as she looks over at you.

"No, he's not," you shake your head as you carefully pour the espresso into a cup.

"But you kiss all the time, and he comes to visit you here almost every single day," Maya points out, her brows knitting together as she watches you add steamed milk and froth to finish the cappuccino.

It's a valid point, one that you've thought over many—many—times.

"Yeah," you hum, steadying the cup. "But he hasn't asked me out officially, y'know?"

Maya blinks, clearly perplexed. "Why can't you ask him then?"

You pause, staring at her like she's just suggested something completely outrageous. "Me?"

"Yeah, you."

The idea of taking the initiative and asking Matt to be your boyfriend sends a wave of panic rolling through you, and you shake your head quickly. "No. No way. I can't do that. I don't even know how to do that."

Maya blinks slower, processing your response. "You just... ask."

You scoff, incredulous. "Absolutely not. I've never done anything like that before, and I'm way too awkward to start now. What if it makes me look desperate? Or what if the timing is all wrong?" you spin around to face her, completely mortified as you mutter, "What if he rejects me?"

"Okay, now you're just overthinking everything," Maya sighs, grabbing a cup and lazily filling it with ice cubes. "Look, you just need to—"

"Excuse me!"

The sharp screech of an impatient customer cuts through the air, making both of you flinch. You quickly turn around, guilt already bubbling in your chest.

"I understand you have boy problems," the woman snaps, glaring at you, "but I'm in a rush. Can you hurry it up?"

Your eyes widen as the realisation starts to hit—you've turned into one of those people. The ones who talk too loudly about their personal problems, oblivious to the world around them.

Oh fuck.

You apologise profusely as you rush to finish the customers order, handing it over with a sheepish grin. She huffs, pays, and storms off, leaving you to groan and press the heel of your palm into your eyes.

"Don't worry about it too much." Maya says, trying to reassure you, and you appreciate the attempt to calm your spiralling thoughts of the day.

You sigh, nodding slowly, and a faint frown tugs at your lips as you grab a rag to clean the counter, trying to refocus.

Maya, however, isn't done. "Matt's supposed to be visiting you on break, right? Just talk to him then. See where his head's at with all this... it's clear that he likes you as much as you like him."

You nod again, this time a little more solemnly. Deep down, you know she's right, but the thought of having that conversation still makes you stomach churn with nerves.

Forcing a polite smile onto your face, you get back to serving your customers. You try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling brewing, but it lingers, making your shift stretch on longer than usual.

It doesn't help that it seems to be one of those days either—the kind where couples seem to flood the café, all smiley and giggly, holding hands and sharing kisses.

Internally, you scowl. You know it's not fair to be so bitter about their happiness, but it's hard to stop yourself from feeling like the universe is rubbing it so carelessly in your face.

You grit your teeth as another couple approaches the counter, all lovey dovey as they order matching drinks. Seriously? .... For real? You can't help but think they're all doing this on purpose.

You know they aren't though. It's not their fault you're so frustrated and insecure. It's not their fault you're stuck in this weird position with Matt, unsure of where you stand.

They're in love—and they have every right to show it off to the world.

As the day drags on and on, you try your best to push aside the negatives thoughts swirling in your mind by focussing on your job, moving from task to task, hoping to make time fly by.

The wait isn't easy—you hate it—but you keep reassuring yourself that everything will be alright.

But, as your break finally arrives, that too familiar feeling of unease settles in your chest once again.

You find yourself sitting alone in the backroom, ten minutes into your fifteen-minute break. Your phone is sandwiched between your cheek and shoulder as you listen to Matt's voice on the other end of the call.

Your thumb instinctively finds its way to your mouth, and you bite down on your nail—a habit you've been trying to get a hold on.

“There’s been a change of plans," Matt says, his words filled with regret. "I don’t think I can come visit you right now—everythin’ is, like, super crazy and…” his voice trails off as he continues explaining, but the words blend together in the background of your mind.

He's not coming.

That feeling in your chest intensifies, and the uncomfortable churning in your stomach grows worse.

“I’m really sorry.” he says, soft and sincere.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” you whisper, your tone a little on the vulnerable side. You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone, and you quickly add. “Seriously, it’s fine. I promise. It just… sucks, I guess.”

“I know, baby,” Matt mutters quietly, his own sadness seeping through.

The unexpected affectionate name catches you off guard, but it brings you slight comfort. Warmth spreads across your face, and despite everything, you smile to yourself shyly.

There’s some rustling on his end, and you hear him adjust the phone before his voice comes through more clearly. “I can see you later, though. I can… come over to your place, if you want.”

"My place?" you repeat, your eyes widening slightly as you sit up straighter. "You want to come over to my place?"

"Well, yeah, I mean—" he clears his throat, trying to sound more casual than he feels. "I have to film a video with my brothers and we won't be done until late, and I still really want to see you. We can have a date at yours or somethin'? I'll bring food or whatever on my way there. I'd offer you to come to mine, but—"

"My place is good," you cut him off, nodding to yourself as if to confirm it. "That's great, actually."

"Yeah?" you hear the smile in his voice, and it brings one to your own face as you hum softly in agreement. "Alright... I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay." you reply giddily.

You'd be completely lying to yourself if you said you didn't want the clock obsessively for the rest of your shift—counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could finally head home.

Spoiler: it didn't magically speed up. The numbers on the clock barely moved every time you checked.

But thankfully, after spilling the details of your plans to Maya, she offered to handle the closing-up duties so you could leave early.

At first, you protested. You didn't want to leave her to do everything alone, but her reassurance—and her reminded that she owed you for covering one of her shifts last week—finally convinced you to accept.

You couldn't say no after that.

As soon as you step out of the café, your mind starts racing with thoughts about Matt's visit. You pick up the pace, practically speed walking to the nearest store to grab some last minute treats—a box of desserts and a pack of beers—and the grocery bag bumps against your leg with each hurried step.

When you finally make it home, you waste no time in kicking off your shoes and heading straight to the kitchen to stash the desserts and beers into the fridge before taking a moment to take in your apartment.

It's not messy, but it's... definitely lived in.

The couch cushions are out of place, a throw blanket is draped over an armchair. There's a few books stacked on the side table, and your empty coffee mug still sits on the corner of the counter where you left it this morning.

You sigh, rolling up your sleeves as you get to work tidying up. You fluff the cushions, fold the blanket neatly, and wash your coffee mug and place it back in the cupboard.

Once everything looks presentable, you dart off to the bathroom to shower, eager to scrub away the sweat and lingering smell of coffee from your shift. You stand beneath the spray and lather up with vanilla scented soap before giving your hair a thorough wash—you even exfoliate—mentally checking off every step as you go.

But when you're back in your room, standing in front of your closet with a towel wrapped around your body, you freeze.

What the fuck are you supposed to wear?

Your eyes scan the rows of clothes, but nothing seems right. Is this a proper date, or just a casual hangout? You've never been in this situation before, and it's impossible to guess the right vibe to match. You don't want to be overdressed and make it awkward, but you also don't want to look like you didn't try.

"I need your help," you blurt into the phone urgently and desperately, deciding to call the best person you know that can handle this type of situation. "Bad. I need your help bad."

There's a pause before Maya's laughter comes through the line, "What are you freaking out about now?"

"I—" you hesitate, gripping the phone tighter as your eyes dart back to your closet, pushing through the hangers for the tenth time. "I have no idea what to wear. I don't know if this is a date. I've never been on a date, so I don't know what people even wear to one."

You let out a frustrated sigh, slumping back onto your heels.

"I don't want it to look like I tried too hard, but I also don't want it to look like I just rolled out of bed and don't give a fuck—"

"Hey," Maya interrupts sharply, calling out your name. "Chill out."

You immediately fall silent, clutching the phone to your ear as you wait for her words of wisdom.

"Let me break it down for you," she begins, "Matt's coming over to your place after hanging out with his brothers, right?"

"Yeah..." you reply cautiously, narrowing your eyes at a skirt in your closet that suddenly feels too much.

"So," she continues. "Do you really think he's going to show up wearing, like, a suit and tie? A button-up and chinos? No. At best, he's showing up in sweatpants and a sweater. Maybe jeans."

You purse your lips, thinking that over. "So... what do I wear then?"

"God. You're hopeless." Maya teases with a loud, dramatic sigh. "Wear something comfortable. Something cute and casual. You have clothes like that, okay? I've seen them."

You nod as if she can see you. "Cute and casual," you repeat. "Okay, yeah, I can do that. That's fine. Thank yo—"

"Wait," Maya cuts in before you can hang up. "One more thing: wear matching lingerie. That red lacy set we bought last weekend? That one."

You freeze, eyebrows furrowing as her words settle in. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you glare at it for a second before returning it to your face. "Why the hell would I need to wear that?"

"Just in case," Maya responds matter-of-factly. "You know... just in case."

"Oh," you say dumbly, blinking as the realisation hits you. "I mean... doesn't have to happen right away, does it? Like—it's not expected or anything, right?"

"Of course not" Maya answers instantly to reassure you. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for. But if the mood is right, at least you'll be prepared. Trust me."

After hanging up, you toss your phone onto the bed and take a moment to collect yourself. Maya's advice repeats in your head as you pull open your dresser drawer, digging out the red lingerie set. It's still neatly folded in the box it came in—the tags still attached.

You hesitate for a moment, then shrug to yourself. At least you'll be prepared. Once you've slipped into the lingerie, you pull on your favourite shirt and jeans—soft, well worn, and flattering in all the right ways. You take a step back to check your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the fabric over your hips.

A touch of mascara, a swipe of lip gloss, a hint of blush and highlighter, and a quick spritz of perfume completes the look.

You're double checking your outfit and makeup when a knock beats on the front door, and your stomach flips. You abruptly move, nearly knocking over the vanity chair in your rush as you smooth out your shirt for the hundredth time, sock covered feet padding across the floorboards as you make your way to the front door.

With a deep breath, you unlock the door and swing it open, and instantly, any lingering anxiety melts away. There Matt stands, his signature black cap pulled low over messy hair, dressed in an oversized sweater and denim jeans.

He smiles at you—a soft, lopsided grin—before shuffling inside after you step aside, his sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor as he toes them off.

You open your mouth to speak, to welcome him into your home, but the words catch in the back of your throat as Matt doesn't even give you a chance. He drops the takeout bag to the floor with a soft thud, and his ringed fingers wrap gently around your wrist, tugging you closer.

A giddy smile spreads across your face as his cold palms cup the warmth of your cheeks, his gaze softening as his lips brush against yours—gentle and so sweet.

He exhales a deep sigh of contentment when you kiss him back, and your hands reach to grip the soft fabric of his sweater to pull him close. But Matt doesn't linger long on your lips, instead, he pulls back just enough to trail quick, playful kisses across your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

Each kiss lands with an over exaggerated smooch, and you can't help the laughter that bubbles up from your chest.

"Matt," you try to speak between giggles. "Stop, you're—"

"No," he murmurs, pressing another smacking kiss to your lips. "Missed you too much... sorry I couldn't come earlier."

You smile softly, your heart swelling as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands still resting on his chest. Gently, you shake your head. "You're here now, right?"

Matt's grin widens, and he bends down to pick up the takeout bag from the floor, straightening up before stepping further into your home.

His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the details—the mismatched furniture, the framed photos on the walls, the soft glow of string lights draped across the windows, and the potted plants perched on the sills.

You shift your weight nervously, watching him take it all in with a flicker of self-consciousness, especially when his eyes linger on the shelf filled with books and little trinkets that probably look a bit chaotic to anyone but you.

"This is a nice place," he says finally, his voice warm and sincere as his eyes meet yours again. "Cosy."

"Thank you," you reply with a soft laugh, swaying lightly on the balls of your feet. "I would've invited you in sooner, but... it never seemed like the right time."

"That's okay," Matt says with a casual shrug. Then, he raises the takeout bag between you, giving it a little shake. "Hungry?"

As if on cue, your stomach growls loudly, causing you to sheepishly smile. "Starving."

It doesn't take long before the two of you settle comfortably on the couch, the food spread out on the coffee table in front of you. A movie plays on the TV—something you both agreed on watching—but as the minutes pass, it becomes background noise.

Matt's attention drifts to you, and soon he's asking about your day—showing genuine interest, listening to you talk as you recount the small details of your daily routine. He even teases you, his grin widening as he asks if you've spilled any more drinks during your shift.

You did that once—maybe twice.

He never lets you forget it. When the conversation shifts and it's your turn to ask him about his day, Matt's expression brightens. The way his eyes light up as he talks about filming with his brothers and brainstorming new ideas makes your chest ache in the best day, and you listen attentively as he rambles, soaking in the passion behind his words.

But then, his tone dips slightly, and he mentions feeling mentally drained—exhausted, even. The confession is so subtle, but it sticks with you as you remind him to take breaks and to focus more on his mental health, but he waves a hand dismissively, brushing off your worry.

You're about to push further, but before you can, Matt reaches for his phone, his energy shifting again as he tells you he wants to show you what he and his brothers have been doing and planning.

He scoots close, the warmth of his shoulder pressing against yours as he pulls up the photos and videos on his camera roll, explaining every detail behind each one. But your ears perk up when another voice cuts through in one of the videos Matt plays, a familiar one that belongs to one of his brothers.

"What are you doin'?" Chris' voice asks, and a second later, he comically slides into frame, his bright blue eyes staring directly into the camera lens, one brow raised in suspicion.

"Filmin' the sunset," Matt mumbles, the camera shaking slightly as Chris steps closer. "Dude, what're you—"

"Is this for your girlfriend?" Chris interrupts, practically shoving his face into view as he wiggles his eyebrows dramatically.

"Yeah," Matt huffs, trying to push Chris out of the shot. "Move."

"Take a video of me. I'm the view now."

"What? No," Matt snaps, scoffing. The camera lowers slightly, but not before you catch Nick in the background, fake gaggling loudly as a muttered, "You're fuckin' insane. Get away—" from Matt is the last thing you hear before the video cuts off.

As the video ends, you find yourself frozen, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. Slowly, your eyes drift from the phone to Matt's face. He's smiling at you—so softly, so fucking prettily—clearly waiting for your thoughts on the videos he just shared.

But your mind is stuck on one thing.

"Girlfriend?" The word slips out before you can stop it, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. "Do... do you call me your girlfriend in front of your brothers?"

"Yeah," he says without hesitation, his eyebrows pulling together in slight confusion. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You never asked," you whisper. You glance down, suddenly feeling embarrassed under his gaze. "I mean... it was never really talked about. We didn't put a label on anything."

Matt lets out a light laugh, scratching the back of his neck as if he's realising it for the first time.

"I kinda assumed we were together," he tells you. "I mean, I don't really see someone almost every day, kiss them, drive them home, and just call them a 'friend'," his cheeks grow a little flushed. "Like, I'd only do that with someone who's my girl."

You can't fight the smile that breaks across your face, and Matt notices it too, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin in a way that makes your heart flutter.

"Guess I should've asked though, hm?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to a softer tone as his thumb gently brushes over your bottom lip. His eyes lock with yours, tilting his head to the side. "Made it official?" he then leans in, his breath warm against your face. "Will you be my girlfriend? Or... is it too late?"

"Never too late."

Matt grins, and before you can say anything else, he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that feels softer and sweeter than any before. His touch is so gentle, and you can't help but exhale deeply as you melt into him.

Kissing Matt is one thing, but kissing Matt who is your boyfriend? That was something else entirely. It feels new—exciting.

But then, as his hand dips beneath your shirt, his palm pressing lightly against the bare skin of your waist, something feels… different. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s unfamiliar, and you find yourself pulling back slightly, your breathing ragged as you meet his gaze with an embarrassed, sheepish grin.

"You alright?" Matt asks immediately, concern etched into his expression. His thumb brushes over your hip, his touch grounding and gentle.

"No—yeah, yes. Everything is fine—great," you ramble with a nervous laugh, trying to collect yourself under Matt's worried gaze. His brow furrows as you scramble to explain yourself, but you decide to surrender and tell him the truth as your shoulders slump. "This is all new to me. I've never had this."

Matt blinks, then tilts his head, raising a brow. "Had a boyfriend?"

"No—well yeah, but," you shake your head with a small laugh and a shy smile. "I'm talking about sex... I've never done that before. I've never, like... been interested, you know?"

"Oh," he mumbles softly, pulling his hand carefully out from beneath your shirt. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No!" you rush to cut him off, your hands curling around his wrists to stop him. "You didn't make me uncomfortable, if that's what you're wondering," you exhale shakily, trying your best to put your feelings into words. "I've never been interested in it before, but with you... I am."

Matt’s eyes widen slightly, his expression shifting to something almost unreadable—surprised, maybe even a little emotional. His hands find their way back to your hips, his grip gentle but grounding as his thumbs brush against your sides.

"Really?" he asks softly.

You nod, your heart beating faster. You want him to understand that this is all new territory for you, but it's something that you want to share with him—to give a part of yourself to someone who truly likes you just as much as you like him.

Matt studies you for a moment, his gaze darting across your face as if he's memorising all your little details. His eyes linger on your lips, noticing how they part slightly, how your tongue nervously darts out to wet your bottom lip.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice trying to soothe you as he inches closer. "You're tremblin'."

"I'm nervous," you admit in a whisper.

"It's alright," he reassures you as his fingers gently tilt your chin up, his touch featherlight as he strokes your bottom lip. "I got you. We'll go slow."

"Slow," you echo, nodding. "Slow is good."

A soft smile tugs at Matt's lips as he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead first, then your nose, before finally dipping down to press his lips to yours once again. Your eyes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, feeling the way his mouth moves against yours.

When you part your lips, a soft gasp escapes you as Matt deepens the kiss, his tongue flattening against yours as it enters your mouth, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You press your hand to his chest again, right over his hammering heartbeat as your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater.

Matt breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he mumbles, "Where's your room?"

Your throat suddenly feels dry, and it takes a moment to gather yourself as you swallow hard, your voice coming out a little hoarse. "Down the hall, first door on the left."

Matt nods, kissing your lips one last time before he rises from the couch, pulling you up with him. His fingers intertwine with yours, his grip firm as the two of you move quietly down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps soft on the wooden flooring.

When you step into the room, Matt's eyes sweep over the space briefly before settling back on you. He doesn't rush you or push you, instead, he just takes a step closer, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone as his eyes search yours, silently asking for permission.

You give him a short nod, and in an instant, his lips mould with yours in a deep, but slow kiss. You kiss him back timidly, looping your arms around his shoulders for your fingers to curl at the hairs on the nape of his neck, while he wraps his around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

He blindly walks you backwards, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed and you drop down, causing Matt to follow closely behind. He straddles you, knees on each side of your hips, keeping his lips locked on yours as his hands trail down your body, his fingers lightly gripping the hem of your shirt.

The kiss breaks for him to gently pull your shirt over your head, and his eyes—blown out and wide—stare down at your chest, all prettied up in the red, lacy bra you put on earlier. He lets out a long, drawn out shaky exhale, rubbing his thumb across the material as his eyes flit up to yours.

“Beautiful,” he compliments, and you immediately grow shy and flustered, unable to properly meet his gaze as he chuckles softly, sliding his hands beneath your back to reach for the clasp.

Your brows raise in surprise at how quick and easy it is for him to unclasp your bra, and the lacy falls from your skin, baring your naked chest to his gaze. He gives you a gentle smile, giving your lips a loving kiss before moving downwards, sucking a trail of hickeys from your neck, to your collarbones, down to your breasts.

Matt cups the plumpy skin in his palms, squeezing softly while his lips wrap around your nipple. You gasp softly at the sensation, feeling the nub harden in his mouth as he licks and suckles. He gives attention to your other nipple too, and your back arches at the touch, breath stuttering as you tilt your head back against the pillows.

However, your breathing grows ragged with nerves as he starts moving south again, almost choking when he gets to your legs. The nerves start to creep back into your system as you watch him unbutton your jeans while he keeps his eyes on yours, giving you a reassuring smile as he pulls the material down your jeans, pressing open mouth kisses to the skin that he reveals.

Your first instinct is to pull away when you become aware of how extremely close he is to your damp panties—not used to someone being so up close and personal to such an intimate place—but he soothingly strokes your thighs in hopes to relax you, massaging his fingers into the plush skin.

"Matt," you murmur anxiously as you feel his nose against your panties as he inhales deeply, letting out a soft sound at the intoxicating scent of your obvious arousal.

Your face heats up in embarrassment at the sight of him between your thighs, and you fidget, hips shifting against the bed sheets as he hooks his fingers beneath the lace, pulling them down your legs to join your other clothes on the floor—leaving you naked and vulnerable.

"You still want to do this?" Matt asks you, pressing open mouth kisses to your thighs as he eyes the glistening folds of your pussy before his gaze drifts up your body, drinking you in. He meets your eyes, laying another kiss on your skin. "We can stop. It’s your choice."

You’re quiet for a moment, unable to think properly over the loud sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. You’re nervous, of course. You’ve never experienced something like this before—something so intimate and raw. Nobody has been this close to you, and nobody has ever touched you the way he’s been currently doing.

But you want this.

You do want this.

You want this with him.

"Please keep going." you confirm, and in that moment, you feel his warm breath caress your skin as he leans closer, his mouth pressing over your clit.

Your body tenses up at the foreign sensation, and your thighs almost close in around his head in an attempt to push him away, but the feeling of his tongue slowly wedging between your wet folds, gently lapping over your slit, makes you crumble.

You’re unable to put how you feel into words as your body slumps on the bed, lips parting with short, airy gasps as you stare up at the ceiling, your fingers twisting in your bedsheets. Matt’s mouth remains latched onto you, alternating between tender kitten licks and suckles on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It’s difficult for you to think straight—so fucking difficult that all you can do is just lay there and take it.

Matt curls his arms around your thighs, moaning softly into your cunt and you gasp at the vibrations. You don’t know what your body is doing, but it moves as if it’s on autopilot, rolling against his face as that knot in your stomach tightens, and tightens, and tightens.

"That’s it," he murmurs between your folds. "Keep movin’. You’re gettin’ close."

"H-how can you tell?" you ask him breathlessly.

Matt smiles, peering up at you through hooded lids, "I can feel it, baby. You're leakin' so much around my tongue."

You whine pathetically at that, and your eyes roll back and your neck strains as Matt’s tongue dips inside of you—the pressure and pleasure becoming too much for your inexperienced body to handle that you can’t help but release whatever tension coils up in your stomach.

Matt hums in approval, squeezing your thighs in a reassuring manner as he laps up your essence, delicately helping you ride out your orgasm with tentative licks. Once Matt finally lets up, you feel yourself grow limp, trying your hardest to catch your breath as you watch him move up your body through hazy vision.

"Good job," he praises you lightly, stroking your cheek with a tender touch. “You did so well."

All you can muster is a tired, sheepish smile, melting against his touch for a moment until it’s moved away too quickly for your liking. You can feel a whine of protest bubbling up in your throat, but you manage to keep it at bay as you watch Matt lean back on his knees, bunching his sweater in his hands before he pulls it over his head, throwing it carelessly to the side.

You take this moment to admire him with the best of your ability: his messy hair hangs just above his eyes, his lips puffy and wet—glistening with your arousal. His body is slim, and you have the sudden urge to run your hands up his tummy and over his chest to curl your fingers around the silver necklace that dangles from his neck, but you’re caught off guard by the sound of metal clanging, and you glance down to see his hands working open his belt.

Matt rids himself of his jeans quite quickly, leaving him in just his boxers. The sight of his cock straining against the white material of his Calvin Klein's has your stomach whirling, and you begin to worry if something of that size will even fit inside of you.

You do avert your eyes when his fingers grip the waistband of his boxers to pull them off, although you can’t look away for too long. You’re curious, and curiosity definitely kills the cat because when you see his cock—big, heavy, laying against his tummy up to his belly button—you know you’re in trouble.

That’s not going to fit.

Silence consumes you, your mouth dry and nerves shot. All you can do is watch him lean off the bed to reach for his jeans on the ground, digging his hand into the pockets to retrieve a small silver packet. He tears it open with his teeth with ease, throwing the empty packet onto your nightstand before pinching the tip of the condom to roll it onto his cock, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

"Did—" you try to find your voice, coughing to clear your throat when it comes out a little rough. "Did you expect this to happen? You were prepared?"

"I didn’t expect it," Matt tells you, his tone filled with honesty and sincerity as he adjusts the rubber, making sure that it was fitted securely. "But it’s always good to be prepared, right?"

Maya’s words from the phone call earlier linger in your mind; ‘it’s good to be prepared, just in case’. You didn’t realise how much that actually applied, and all you can do is dumbly nod your head in response as Matt shuffles forward on his knees, prying your thighs further apart.

You twitch when you feel his fingers gently graze over your sensitive pussy, using his thumbs to pull at your folds, revealing your leaky hole to his gaze. You definitely look away now—trying to not think about how exposed you are to him, literally.

"M’gonna have to stretch you out a little," Matt tells you, and you want to question what he means by that until you wince at the stretch of his finger pushing through the tightness of your entrance, causing tears to bubble in your eyes. "Sorry, baby. It’s okay, s’okay—breathe."

You tense up when Matt adds another one of his fingers, trying your best to focus on his soothing voice when he tells you to relax, and he stills, his fingers still buried deep inside of you as his other hand massages your thigh in gentle motions.

You wriggle, finding it difficult to adjust to the stretch of his fingers as he carefully pumps in and out of your pussy, scissoring them against your gummy walls that makes your thighs twitch and close around his wrist. He continues to quietly praise you throughout, even pressing his thumb to your clit to rub, the pleasurable sensation of your clit getting attention causing you to relax just a bit.

“There we go,” he coos, nodding his head as he watches you. “Relax.”

The wet sounds filling the room is dirty, and you’re embarrassed to know that it’s coming from you. You are wet, and you’re definitely turned on despite being such a nervous wreck, but you didn’t realise you’re this wet.

Matt seems to be fine with it, which makes you feel a little bit better.

It’s normal.

It’s natural.

It’s fine.

You’re unsure on how long Matt has been fingering you for, but you assume it was enough to have you stretched out as he pulls his fingers away from your pussy, surprisingly licking them clean as he hovers above you.

You reach to grab his shoulders while he touches himself, rubbing his cock up and down your sticky folds to lather up your arousal. Matt stares at you, tilting his head to the side as he drinks in your expression.

“You ready?” He presses his tip to your entrance as he aligns himself. Anxiety and nerves courses through your veins, knowing what was about to come, but you’re more than ready—ready to have him in any way you possibly can.

“I’m ready.”

With that, he presses himself into you, slow and steady. The gentleness doesn’t stop you from crying out, your nails digging into his shoulder blades, creating indents in his skin as your cunt and thighs burn from your pressure.

The pain and discomfort is intense, and it hurts much more than you anticipated—the unfamiliar sensation being stretched out and filled making you wince. Matt pauses his hips to give you time to adjust to his size, wrapping his arms around you and kissing away the tears that pool down your cheeks.

“You’re doin’ great, sweetheart,” he attempts to soothe you, his body locked as he glances down to where you’re both barely connected. Only the tip of his cock is nestled inside your opening, and he nibbles down on his bottom lip, knowing this was going to be trickier. “You’re okay, I promise.”

The burn intensifies as Matt begins to inch deeper in, each movement jolts of hot pain through your tender flesh. You have never felt like this in your life, but you’re happy to feel the searing pain gradually give way to a dull ache, which soon turns into a strange, tingling sensation as his hips rock carefully into you.

His steady rhythm and soothing caresses help calm your nerves, and you can feel every ridge and vein of Matt’s cock rub against your tender walls. His hands roam your body, kneading the fat of your hips, stroking up your stomach and breasts, brushing his fingers across your cheeks to wipe away the tears.

Each touch relaxes you further and further, drawing you into the experience, and you’re finally able to wrap your legs around Matt’s waist loosely, feeling him roll his hips deeper against yours. The friction between you both causes you to feel a little stuffy, skin clammy with sweat, but you still refuse to loosen your grip on him—keeping him as close to you as possible.

“Look at you… you’re doin’ so well for me,” Matt continues to praise you with each thrust, his breathing laboured.

You let out a quiet moan, it echoing throughout the room, and the sound of giving in makes Matt press his lips to yours, swallowing the rest of your moans as his cock and tongue work together in motion.

You feel so dizzy, head cloudy and empty as he rocks against you, his pelvis rubbing against your poor clit, the friction making your pussy quiver around him, earning a throaty groan from him, the sound rumbling against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, Matt trails his move along the column of your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh as he continues to thrust, and you arch into him a little, your nails lightly raking down his back as you tilt your head to give him better access.

His tongue darts out to lap at the pulse point in your throat before he kisses and nibbles his way back up to your ear, his voice low and strained as he murmurs, “M’gettin’ close,” his hips stuttering in their rhythm as he fights to maintain his control. “Not gonna last much longer, baby.”

Your body tenses, a whiney noise escaping as the sensations swell up inside you, the familiar feeling of the knot in your stomach forming until you can no longer contain yourself. Your inner muscles clench around Matt’s cock, rhythmically squeezing around him as your second orgasm crashes over you abruptly.

At the same moment, Matt's control shatters, and with a grunt, he buries himself to the hilt inside your cunt and trembles, spilling into the condom with long, hot spurts. His hips stutter, making you wince and mewl at the feeling, but once both of your tremors subside, Matt lays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

It’s hot, and you’re still all sticky and clammy—definitely more than before—but you don’t care, not when Matt nuzzles his face into the crevice of your neck, his lips brushing against your damp skin as he catches his breath.

After a while, he carefully extracts himself from you, pulling out of your wet cunt, and you hiss at the feeling, thighs pressing together to close as Matt stands from the bed. He pulls the condom off, careful not to spill any of his cum across your carpet as he walks into your bathroom to discard it in the trash.

He comes back seconds later, climbing into the bed beside you, pulling you close to cradle you against his body. You immediately nestle into his embrace, your cheek laying on his chest and peering up at him as his hand lazily drifts across your back, alternating between rubbing and drawing random patterns.

“Was that okay?” Matt asks you, his voice soft and quiet.

You smile shyly and nod your head in response, draping your arms around his waist to pull him even closer as his head drops down to place a kiss atop of yours, squeezing you tenderly.

It was perfect.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #©sturnioz

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bluewxrld07 · 2 months ago

Text

Miss Possessive (Luke Hughes)

Warning(s): jealousy, light smut, swearing, little angst, spitting

Summary: Y/N isn't usually one to get protective over her boyfriend... but when one girl who acts like her friend pushes things a liiiittle over the edge, she shows why she shouldn't be one to mess with

BABY BLUES, UNDRESSING HIM. FUNNY HOW YOU THINK THAT I DON'T NOTICE IT

ACTING LIKE WE'RE FRIENDS, WE'RE THE OPPOSITE

"I'm back and I brought the good stuff!" Jack shouts over the loud music, holding a tray filled with everyone's drinks.

Luke lets go of Y/N's waist for a second, reaching over to grab both his and her drinks. She smiles warmly up at her boyfriend as he hands her the cool glass, the pair immediately turning their attention back to Nico's story he was telling about Monday's practice mayhem.

The girl tried to keep her attention on the story, peeking around every so often to check to see if her friends had arrived yet.

Her eyes lit up as she let out an excited and buzzed squeal, seeing the three girls rushing their way over to their group in the busy club crowd. "My girls!" she shouts out, leaving Luke's hold to go embrace them all.

"Finally, the party can start! I've only been looking forward to this all weekend," her friend, Maya, says as she snags the drink from Jack's hands as he is about to sip it. He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in defeat.

"Maya's here everyone!" he sarcastically announces, earning a smack to his chest. Y/N laughs while pulling away from hugging her other friend, Peyton. They all watch the pair bicker per usual, knowing they'd end up in his bed by the end of the night.

As she goes to embrace and greet Mary, she notices her staring over her shoulder with a certain look in her eyes.

Y/N's eyes follow her stare, turning behind her to see exactly where her eyes were met. Which were staring right at Luke, who at the time was sitting on the couch with his legs spread, drink in hand while the other arm lay across the top of the couch as he conversed with one of the boys.

Y/N squints her eyes in a knowing manner, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She looks back at Mary with a smirk, clearing her throat to catch the girl's attention.

Mary's eye snap out of their daze, putting a fake smile on and squealing while pulling Y/N in for a hug. "I've missed you oh my gosh!" she says, Y/N just humming in response.

They pull apart quickly after, Mary squeezing past her to slyly take a seat next to Luke. Luke looks over at Mary, his face dropping when he notices it isn't his girl. He puts on a fake smile and greets Mary, immediately pulling his arm away that sat on the top of the couch and puts it in his lap.

Y/N rolls her eyes, downing the rest of her drink before looking over at Peyton who is talking with Ethan.

She goes up and wraps her arm around Peyton, smiling graciously when the girl looks over at her. "How about we go get some more drinks?"

I'LL BE NICE, UP UNTIL I'M NOT. I'M TELLING YOU , YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE 1 A.M. SIDE OF ME

WHEN I'M TWO DRINKS IN AND YOU JUST CAN'T LEAVE ME AND MY MAN ALONE

Y/N thanks the bartender as she grabs her third drink of the night, feeling more tipsy as the prior shots began to hit. She began to make her way back to her group, seeing as they're all dancing to the flow of the music booming through the club.

Peyton sees her coming over, holding her hand out to make Y/N spin around in a twirl while bopping to the song playing, taking a sip of her drink.

She sees her tall pretty boyfriend, heading his way. Once she is close to him, she wraps her free hand around his back while sipping and nodding along to the song. He looks down and finds her eyes, letting a light smile form on his lips before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"You add it to my tab?" he asks over the loud music, his lips barely touching her ear, but enough to send chills down her spine. She nods, swaying her hips around.

Luke places her in front of him before continuing his conversation with Nico next to him, his hands roaming the sides of her body as he let her dance in front of him. She sang aloud with the girls, letting Maya dance her way over and take Y/N's hands to have her join her girls.

They danced together, sometimes dancing on one another or next to each other while singing the lyrics out loud. Y/N could feel the alcohol buzzing through her bloodstream, letting her hands run freely up and down her body, then along Maya's whom began dancing against Y/N's front.

She let her eyes close and her head fall back with a laugh as her friends began to grind against her, happily playing along. She ten snapped out of it when she feels a squeeze on her arm, seeing Peyton point towards where their group is standing.

Y/N's face falters, a knowing look spreading across her face as she watched Mary try to have Luke dance with her. She could see the disinterest in his face as she would hang on him and take his hand to act if he was trying to spin her around.

"She needs to learn her place," Peyton says over the music and Maya agreeing before they both try to make their way over, only to be pulled back from Y/N.

She just smirked at the girls. "You guys keep dancing with your boys, I'll be back." is all she says before leaving, and walking towards the group.

Luke must've felt her stare, because his eyes find hers and he looks more annoyed than scared. She could see the pleading in his eyes to help, and she just keeps her stare on him as she walks over.

Once Y/N makes it in front of him, Mary immediately looks at her with a fake smile. "Oh my gosh I was starting to worry where you went! Figured I'd keep him company for you!" she says so innocently, Y/N just rolls her eyes and looks up at Luke.

She immediately lets her hands trail up his own hands and to his forearms, slowly backing towards the dance floor as he slowly follows her.

His eyes never left hers, as if he was in some sort of trance. The only time it broke was when she turned away from him, only to lead him through the crowd and towards her friends that were getting close on the floor with their men.

She halts when she's where she wants to be, immediately taking his hands, one hand empty and one holding his almost empty drink, wrapping them around her front. He lets his head lower towards her neck, close to the soft spot behind her ear. Chills forming along her skin.

Y/N can feel the smirk that comes onto his face, letting his lips meet the soft spot, she slowly begins to sway against him. She lets her body roll back into his, following the music and the flow it gives, hearing sighs leave his lips as she moves.

Her hands leave his as they sat lowly on her hips as he was leading them to roll back against him, her hands trailing up her own body before they fly back behind her.

She lets them grip onto the back of his neck where his curls poked out from his backwards hat, earning a groan from her in the process.

"You are trouble." Luke chuckles.

The pair rolled against each other as if it was just them, her blood pumping through her ears. She felt herself weaken when he let one of his hands trail up from her hips, up her stomach, making sure to take his time caressing her breasts before it finally made its way to her neck. At first he let it sit there, but then he tightened his grip and pulled her straight back against him.

She lets out a breathless laugh, biting her lips to keep from a full out smile forming onto her lips. She is snapped out of her trance when she feels someone bump into them a few times, looking over to see Mary grinding up against someone herself, her eyes looking at Luke's the entire time.

But her eyes narrow as she realizes that Luke is so entranced by Y/N to notice her. Mary then sees Y/N's caught her, soon trying to act as if she wasn't just trying to make Luke to jealous.

Y/N just rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the said girl who is trying to hard for a man who is taken.

Look at the floor or ceiling, or anyone else you're feelin

Take home whoever walks in, just keep your eyes off him

The boys all went and sat down for a break, Y/N and her girls all going to get refills on their drinks.

Y/N was beyond annoyed.

She didn't know what else she had to do to get Mary off of Luke, or away from him.

"Girl how have you not put your hands on her yet? I would've when thought it was okay to try and steal Luke while y'all were dancing." Peyton says, thanking the Bartender.

"I don't fucking know," Y/N scoffs with an amused smirk. "She's insufferable. It's not like I don't trust him because I can tell he is just as annoyed. She just can't take no or take a hint."

"If she were all over Jack, I'd be dragging her out by her long ass fake lashes." Maya says, making the girls laugh as they all sipped on their drinks.

"You may just have to fuck him in front of her to get her to leave y'all be," Peyton shrugs, making Y/N almost spit her drink out.

"You're unbelievable!" Maya laughs loudly, playfully pushing Peyton.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head as she laughs, her face heating up from the comment made. "I can't stand her. She doesn't know how to keep her hands or eyes off of him."

Maya nods and points towards their group. "Especially now."

Y/N looks behind her and towards where Maya is pointing, her joking demeanor falling from her face.

Mary was slyly sitting so close to Luke that she was basically almost on his lap, her legs dangling over his thighs, seeing Luke shrug them off as her face leans against his shoulder.

"If you don't drag her out of here, I fucking will." Peyton says.

Y/N turns back around and downs her drink, asking the bartender for a lemon drop shot. "Girl I don't think another shot is the answer right now. She is basically trying to kiss up on your man right now." Maya says, her eyes staying behind them and staring at Mary and Luke.

"Trust me if there's anything that's going to get Luke going," she thanks the bartender for the shot, and hold it up. "It's this."

"What's a lemon drop shot gonna do?"

"You remember the first night we went out to a party together at the Michigan Hockey house?"

"The night where he basically fucked you on the beer pong table?"

"it's because of the one thing I did that got his jealous ass to catch a hint."

Maya raised a brow. "I'm so confused."

Peyton cut in. "She shotgunned a shot into his mouth while everyone watched."

Maya's eyes widened. "Oh he ate that shit up, I remember that clearly now that you say it."

Y/N nods. "Exactly. Just watch how Miss Possessive works." She takes the shot with her, walling back to their section, watching as Luke shrugs Mary off for the fiftieth time of the night.

Y/N's eyes caught Luke's, the complete relief he felt seeing her face making itself closer to him made him feel loads better.

He saw her holding a small glass in her hand, her eyes leaving his to look at Mary. The girl was watching as she threw a leg over his lap so she sat with them on both sides while facing him. His hands immediately coming to rub alongside her thighs.

"I've never been more happy to see you," he says as he blows out a breath. Her eyes still were looking at Mary, keeping the eye contact as she downs the shot and sets the glass behind her.

That's when Y/N's eyes find Luke's, he sees that she didn't swallow the shot and held it in her mouth. "You good baby?" he asks, his hands rubbing his thighs under her dress.

She says nothing, her hands coming up to lean his head back fully. She takes one of her thumbs and presses it against his bottom lip to have him his mouth, her own head leaning down and over his.

Y/N had one hand resting on the front of his neck, feeling his Adams apple bob, while her other hand sat against his jawline with her thumb pulling his bottom lip down to open his mouth fully.

Luke's eyes became lidded, his pants becoming tighter as he knew what was coming next. Y/N puckered her lips, spitting the shot slowly from her mouth and pour into his own mouth. Once it all emptied into his mouth, Luke watched her bite her bottom lip as she took her thumb and pushed his mouth closed slowly.

"Swallow baby" she says lowly, making his face heat up and listen to her orders. He watched as a drop fell down from her bottom lip, his pants feeling tighter than they have been.

Y/N snaps out of her gaze with Luke, her eyes snapping towards Mary whom looked embarrassed and avoided the pair.

"Damn where can I get me a Y/N?" Nico shouts playfully, earning a chuckle from Y/N.

"Very funny," she says, going to stand from his lap, but is stopped as Luke's hands place a harsher grip on her hips. Her eyes fall back towards the boy, who still has his head back against the couch top and his eyes closed.

"Don't move right now," he says, earning a smirk from Y/N.

"You alright honey?" she jokes, watching him huff out a breath.

Before she knows what's happening, he's sitting up, then stands with her still in his grip. his hands traveling to her ass as he adjusts her. She wraps her legs around his torso, the boys all looking at him with amusement on their faces.

"We're heading out a bit early," Luke says to the boys. "Not feeling too well."

"Yeah I'm sure that's what it is." Jack calls out. Luke squints his eyes at his brother, his eyes looking over at Mary who is looking at Y/N with so much envy and jealousy. So he thought why not add fuel to the fire?

Luke's eyes find his brother's once again. "Fine. I'm turned on, and I'm taking my girl home. Might fuck in the car too. Who knows." Luke says, making Y/N's toes curl at his words.

Jack's eyes widen as Luke smirks, walking away from the crowd yelling out a 'goodnight' as they disappear to exit the club.

"You are a troublemaker, love." Luke says as they make it down the sidewalk.

"Needed to show you're mine." she says, placing kisses down his neck as she grips his curls.

Luke groans, his hands gripping her ass harshly in which causes her to moan against his skin. "You sure are miss possessive huh?"

Y/N's face leave his neck to look up at him with the eyes she knows always make him go crazy. "So what if I am, baby?" she says lowly, his eyes dart from her lips to her eyes multiple times, biting his lip as he smirked.

"Yeah we're not making it down the road before I fuck you in this car."

#hockey boys #luke hughes #angst #y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #miss possessive

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ajortga · 1 year ago

Text

can you keep a secret?

pairing: wednesday addams x werewolf fem reader

summary: you miss your girlfriend who's recently transferred to nevermore academy. your persistent whining is able to transfer you to nevermore and cling onto her the whole time there.

word count: 5k+

based off request!

W and R are in a relationship, W transfers to Nevermore. W and R may not have anything in common, but they do on some things, like R being an outcast as well (a werewolf ), R insists their parents that they transfer to Nevermore too. After they successfully did, R immediately finds W, the outcast's curious to what'll happen to R (obvi doesn't know they knew each other).. Basically every student in Nevermore sees them together everyday. One, asks W who R is to W, she answers truthfully, "They're My Lover." everything and everyone just goes crazy

“Cara mia, we live next to each other,” Wednesday says softly, brushing your hair back as you braid her black silky hair.

You hum, a little sad, finishing to braid her two tiny braids that hung low to her chest.

“But I won’t see you in school, baby." A huff escapes your lips as your girlfriend sighs, giving up on trying to coax your madness.

“Or at all,” you add, “you’ll have a damn dorm with some girl that you’ve never seen before. It’s not fair.”

The raven-haired girl rolls her eyes, “I’ll cut off my heart with the sharpest knife I know if I ever started to love someone more than you,” Wednesday suggests, trying to make you feel better.

She cups your cheeks as you refuse to speak and rubs her thumb gently around the pink tint covering them. A way to always make you feel better. Yet she knows better because you certainly don’t look better.

“We’re both outcasts Weds. My stupid parents just won’t allow me to transfer because they think Nevermore is weird. Yet they went to school there. That's not fair."

“They’re just trying to protect you. I'd feel that way too for our daughter if Nevermore had hurt me. If someone ever hurt you, they’re death will be a long one. Sufferable and miserable. So bad that they’ll beg for forgiveness before they bleed out.”

Usually Wednesday would expect you to smile and giggle, but you’re not. Why does your girlfriend have to leave you?

“Can’t you stay?” You ask, voice tiny.

“As much as I sneak out, Mother has already informed everyone including your parents not to let me stay the night. They are used to my.. Tactics per say.”

Your sharp nails from your growth as a soon to be wolfed out werewolf emerges, clawing the wood you attached to your wall when this kind of stuff happens.

"I can sneak you in and I'll even build you a door in my closet," you suggest.

"No, Y/N."

"What if we install a life-like robot and I'll sneak out with you?"

"No."

You huff angrily, slashing the wood.

Wednesday firmly takes your hand, and your hand almost scratches her, yet it stops as you don’t want to hurt her, “Stop that.”

“No,” you state, tugging your hand away and sinking them into the wood, so hard that a big ass dent forms.

Your girlfriend sighs, rolling her eyes as she sweeps her bangs away from her eyes, “I don’t know what you want me to do bambina. Maybe I could.. Sneak you away from this horrid place. But at what cost? Nevermore seems strange. Not strange in a way I’d want to discover in mysteries though.”

She sees the way you sigh, disappointed. Upset.

“You’ll be there for a whole school year, it’s far.”

“I’ll bring my typewriter. Distance won’t change that, swear on my cemetery. I’ll write you letters at night, secretly take the principal's mailbox and send them to you. Or I’ll threaten Thing in my backpack and crawl till he can give it to you.” Wednesday isn’t kidding, her stare is cold, well usually it was cold, but not towards you. “He can suffer in thorns, I’ll stitch him up, just as long as.. You’ll write back?”

You nod, yet you don’t care about the letters, you care about her.

“You’ll send them?”

“Yes.”

“Every night?”

“Yes.”

“What if you begin to stop when you feel like it’s not working anymore?”

“I won’t Y/N.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do.”

"No you don't, you don't know the future."

"But I do know that I won't stop sending my letters. I can feel it."

You stop scratching the wood and you bury yourself on Wednesday, breathing in her scent as you try to comfort yourself. Yet even when the lights are off, your heart is pounding, feeling alone.

A tear falls from your cheek as you watch Lurch stuff his trunk, Wednesday talking to her mother and father, while hesitantly hugging Pugsley.

“You’ll have so much fun.” Morticia says, with a smile, kissing her cheek and staining it slightly with her black lipstick.

“Define fun as boring and a punishment, sure,” Wednesday stiffly responds, yet softens as she looks at you. She takes her mother’s hand off her shoulder and approaches you.

“If you cry, it'll be raining all day. And you don't want it to be all gloomy for you? I don't want my socks wet. A poem, along with two pages written in a small font. One to express my day, and one to express that stupid love so you can sleep peacefully at night with nightmares.” Wednesday says, stopping for a moment, “sweet nightmares,” she adds.

You nod, yet your tear stained cheeks aren’t really helping, she reaches up and wipes it off with her thumb. Then let you hug her, you immediately bury yourself into her and she sighs.

“I’ll be thinking of you, till every grain of sand can be counted.”

You watch her approach the car, then slip in. She has the window scroll down, and you look at her. As the car engine roars, you bite your lip. And slowly watch it wheel away. Slowly jogging till it’s out of sight.

It’s been two weeks. And sure enough, Wednesday has kept her promise. She’s sent you letters you’ve kept in your drawer, they’re never repetitive, but always show you love. You like it like that, knowing that it isn’t a chore for her to write letters for you. If anything, they’ve lengthened in size as she's sent more and more.

It makes you miss her a little more. You have to hug your life-sized stuffed animal at night that she sprayed her perfume on. She also left half a bottle on your counter, just in case it runs out. Though it takes longer to sleep, it makes you feel a little better knowing there was something that was like a piece of her beside you.

Thing has visited you, and you know that little guy has a huge memory. You lost the letter you were going to hand Thing, and though you were a little sad, he moved his fingers and you realized you could speak to him for hours and he would tell Wednesday every detail. She had even wrote to you,

I owe Thing a thank you, yet he can be provoking at times. He had communicated to me for an hour, thirty minutes, and thirty two seconds about your day. I always wonder what secrets lay in the Addams Family. Yet I’m not quite comprehending why Thing has a big memory space.

Nonetheless, I think about you everyday. My roommate, Enid, has been unpleasant with her interesting taste of fashion and colors. It’s distracting. In a negative way. You’re distracting in a way where I can’t take my eyes off your enticing figure Y/N. Weems had bothered me the whole day, smothered me with questions and made sure I was doing fine. No wonder why mother got along with her so much. Those two are like the same person just one with smothered ink. But, something that sparked my particular interest was that you can dorm with two other people. Thing had told me that there was an accident at your school. If you’d like, which I’d appreciate, could ask your mother about transferring, say it’s dangerous. You aren’t a late wolfer, but convince her possibly that Nevermore can increase your chances. Wish you were here, I hate Mr. Tuesday. That white bunny is always staring at me during my typing time. But I can tolerate him a bit more, knowing you gifted it to me. You love Mr. Tuesday, so I appreciate your gesture. It’s not often I get visions, but they’ve almost made me want to experience them more. I see you in them, baking. Writing to me. It makes me almost happy.

Enid keeps trying to get to know me, she’s a strange soul, but she’s a werewolf, like you. You two are nothing alike, yet I think you two would get along a bit too much. Except you don’t blast random glitter pop music during the night. During my WRITING TIME. Even thinking about it rots my brain. But I miss you cariño. Sleep tight, I’ve left at least 300 things to hide in your house and you’ll never expect where they are. But everyone is special, it’ll make you at least smile a little when I tell you each night. Today’s item is snuck inside your bed, I used Mother’s chainsaw to cut through the wood, it’s a tiny version of Mr. Tuesday. I asked Thing the other day to sneak it in that spot and he sanded the wood back in. It should be a sort of door. But I crocheted it during my free time, there are times where I can’t think during my writing time. That is an understatement, but I only think of you. But I’m hoping you can enjoy it for today.

Love you, sleep cozily,

Weds

You smile as you look under your bed, now noticing the small outline from Wednesday’s chainsaw and you open the little compartment to see another crocheted white bunny of Mr. Tuesday. You nuzzle it and place it on your desk. You love him. You even spent a few minutes grabbing white yarn and attaching it to your tote bag.

You think about what Wednesday said, someone had gotten hurt in your school from being stabbed by a senior that was drunk. Obviously he didn’t mean it. But you had seen how anxious your mom got when she found out the news.

It was 11:23PM, and your mom’s room light was illuminated from the hallway. You get out of bed, ruffle your hair, and approach her room. Your only thought is Wednesday.

Before you could even ask, you already noticed her holding a black card, the logo of Nevermore Academy apparent. It said in bolded letters, 1965 Jericho’s long lasting Nevermore Academy. One for outcasts.

“Mom?” You said, your voice slowly quiet, and she looked up at you, waving you over.

“Hi honey,” she replies, “I’ve been thinking about the accident at your school. And I know you don’t like that place that much. And as much as I feel like I should keep you there. Your safety is important to me.”

Your excitement grows, you want to have that wide smile off your face.

“So?...” You question, wondering if she was saying what you were thinking she meant.

“And you keep bringing Wednesday up. So me and Morticia talked, and I talked with your father. We’re going to send you to Nevermore, but only if you want to. As long as you write to us every end of the week and call us. We want our little wolf to meet ones like her. It’s not often you find ones like us here.”

You nod.

“Yes!”

You didn't even think it would be that easy.

As soon as you get the news you squeal and call Wednesday early in the morning. She responds almost quickly, her voice on the other line, “What brings you to call me this early Y/N?”

“I’m transferring to Nevermore!” You say, you were much more excited but your tired voice betrayed you.

There’s a pause, then a small, “What?”

“I’m coming!”

A laugh and you can almost feel your girlfriend smiling with a toothy grin with her ear pressed to the phone.

“I knew your parents would let you go somehow,” she says, voice more excited, yet anyone else would not notice but you.

You can hear some rustling, “I’m going to ask Weems if you can dorm with me. I can kick Enid out for all I care, yet she isn’t horrible. Just, I’d rather spend it with you if she doesn’t allow a three dorm. Maybe I shouldn’t bring up a three dorm at all.”

“Thing, go back home and ask Father if Lurch can drive Y/N to Nevermore. Actually, include that if he won’t ask, I’ll shave his head off. Also make sure that he sprays two times of her favorite perfume, have her favorite sour candy ready, her headphones, her books, and tell him to pack some melon milk for her too. And her cow stuffie. Make sure he’s playing the playlist she made that’s saved in the car.”

There is a pause, and she makes a small, ‘oh oh’

“Baby,” Wednesday doesn’t call you that much, but when she does you’re over the moon. It usually shows that she’s happy. Really happy, yet her voice is still soft and composed, “I installed a door behind your clothes in your closet, guess we’ll unwrap the 300 presents when we go home. But I got another Mr. Tuesday there, he has some sort of costume on.”

She pauses, you hear a random girl jumping up and down in the background, squealing about something as your girlfriend groans and presses her ear back into her phone, sending Enid an annoyed glare, “Pack your stuff, I’ll be waiting. I might as well cut my ears off if Enid won’t stop blabbing her mouth off.” You can tell that Wednesday turns her head to face her new roommate, she says louder, since Enid couldn’t hear her talking to you, “Better yet, slice her mouth off.” Then Enid’s squeals die down.

You grin through the phone as you grab out another version of Mr. Tuesday with a mushroom hat, you hug him tight.

The doorbell rings and you hear your mom open it, putting Wednesday on speaker phone.

“I’m almost done packing.”

“Y/N, honey. Mrs. Addams requests to see you,” your mother’s voice echoes through the hallway and you glance at the door.

You don’t know how Wednesday can hear it but she does, “I’m taking into conclusion that she received my message. Oh yes, she replied with those stupid icons. Yet it is one of a thorny rose and a gravestone.”

“Coming!” You stuff your bags, “Be right back.”

You almost choke as Morticia brings you into her embrace, hugging her back with an easing gentleness.

“Hello little one,” her soft voice says, the one you find comfort in as much as you do Wednesday’s. She gently rubs your hair, “I informed Lurch for your arrival, he’s outside whenever you’ll be ready dear. I’m so glad you decided to willingly join Nevermore. It has been a place that holds many memories. It’s where I met Gomez and fell in love. Maybe Wednesday and you can find the secrets in it. Go on journeys with her. Dig some graves, set them on fire."

It weird you out, but you smile, nodding, “To spend it with Wednesday is all I need.”

“You’re a special soul, a pure heart I can handle. Now go,” she waves you away, “Don’t keep him waiting for long.”

You give her one last grin and look over your shoulder before turning the corner.

After hanging up on Wednesday when you finish packing all your bags, your mother and father hug you goodbye and give you your favorite cranberry juice. Sweet.

It’s cozy in the Addams car, comfortingly with no talk, just the music Wednesday requested (forced) Lurch to play that lingers in your playlist. You feel like a butler with all the requests Wednesday smothered him with.

An hour passes and you can see the way the clouds slightly come into view, then you see the environment change as a sign that reads, “Welcome to Jericho! A Town of History”

Then, you finally see the academy in view, and Lurch arrives right in front, before taking your bags and guiding you to Principal Weems.

“It is my honor to have you here at Nevermore. This school has history, and where you’ll certainly grow,” her smile is wide, a little too welcoming it gets a little scary.

You just give small mumbles and nods, “Well, Morticia called me this morning and I quickly looked through your demographics. It also isn’t a coincidence that you have straight A’s. A 4.3 GPA. Many extracurriculars, and of course, you’re a werewolf. I see.”

“It is no surprise also that you had gone to the same school as another student who just enrolled, Morticia’s daughter, Wednesday. She sure is.. Different. But nonetheless talented. She had asked me yesterday afternoon if it was possible to have a dorm of three, and I’m assuming that you have been planning to dorm with her for the rest of the semester?”

She reads your mind, you immediately nod your head up and down, “Yes.”

“Well, most of the 3 dorms have been occupied, but her and Enid seem to have a slow relationship. I’ll have her in my office today, but by the end of the night or tomorrow morning I’ll give you my answer.” Weems scribbles on a note, writes some address and a name, “You’ll be rooming with Yoko, sound okay?”

You nod.

“Alright, I’ll call Enid up, for your guide.”

“..Guide?”

She nods, “Of course, we have many classes you can do, and people you can meet. She knows this place well, and I know that she’ll open up your shell.”

As Wednesday watches Enid leave, a soft grin forms on her face as she unties Thing from the random crocheted pink jacket Enid made for him.

Her eyes scan Enid as the door closes, then she turns to him, “I’m expecting Y/N is here. I’ve crocheted a questionable amount of Mr. Tuesdays.” She informs, “I shouldn’t have admitted that,” Wednesday sighs, as she pulls out the drawer next to her to reveal at least 40 assorted sizes of the same bunny. There were some in outfits, wigs. Wednesday almost finds it as therapeutic as her writing time. She crochets them whenever Enid leaves their dorm.

Thing smacks his head, and the braided girl glares at him, “Don’t judge me, I can cut off your fingers any time,” she threatens, seeing the way Thing surrendered with two fingers up in the air.

Then he moves around his fingers and does random hand movements.

“You think I’d follow Enid and try to make conversation with Y/N so much that Enid will get suspicious? You’d really think I’d do that?”

Thing agrees.

“Then, you know me too well, let’s go.”

“Enid, glad you’re- Wednesday? It seems like you’ve tagged along,” Weems adds as she almost seems surprised, looking at her. If anything, the look in her eye is cautious.

“Yes,” Wednesday responds, trying to avoid the way your eyes almost smile as you look at her, but if anyone else were to look at you, they wouldn’t notice. “I’ve decided to accompany Enid, this is much more exciting than some other events at Nevermore,” she adds again, not entirely rude.

You sit in the middle while Wednesday takes the only left seat available, scooches her chair closer. Her hand rubs over yours after meeting under the covers of Weem’s desk. She takes note of how a small smile creeps on your face when Weem talks because of that.

“This is actually so awesome,” the blonde cheers next to you, making you turn your head and turn it, confused.

“We’re both werewolves silly! We should dorm 3 together! Wait, are there even any 3 dorms left?” When the principal shakes her head no, Enid sighs, “Then Wednesday can pair with Yoko. Actually, she barely even talks to Yoko, let alone handle her better than she’ll be able to handle me.”

You blink, glance at Wednesday for a moment and she shakes her head frantically.

“What if I dorm with her?”

The question leaves everyone silent, well everyone is surprised but Wednesday.

“You’d want to room with Wednesday while Enid rooms with Yoko?”

There's a lingering silence as you look around, “Why not? I'd like to get to know her better,” you lie. The most you want to do is get to talk to your girlfriend again.

"Oh. You don't want to, you know, get to know Wednesday before actually having to dorm with her?"

"Nope."

"Well, then that’s settled for your dorm. I’ll have to file Enid for a dorm change. But I’d like to ask if that is okay for both Wednesday and Enid.”

“Yes,” your girlfriend immediately responds, then coughs a little to cover up her excitement that’s masked behind her calm demeanor. “I can take a break from someone that is the complete opposite of me.

“I’d be happy to dorm with Yoko, at least I can have my music playing at night and my glitter-”

“My ears are bleeding Enid, don’t mention that word you just said.”

“Glitter?” Enid questions.

“No.”

You giggle from your girlfriend’s demeanor, squeezing her hand under the desk.

“This is Ophiela Hall! You don’t need to find your people here, you can make plenty of friends in other groups, but you have a group of werewolves! And what makes it even better is that we haven’t wolfed out!” Enid jumps up and down and you watch her legs bounce up and down, up and down. She’s like a whole party.

People give you two small looks, both you and Wednesday can tell they’re almost surprised she tagged along with someone whos new. It makes you smile a little.

Your girlfriend notices them whispering about you. Not anything bad, you seem like the sweetest person out of them all, but they’re whispering about the two of you. Even Bianca gives you a cautious look, but you’re too distracted to know what their saying as Enid keeps talking to you and dragging you along. Wednesday follows like a puppy.

“Enid, hey.” A boy speaks up, and you turn around at the new voice, he’s wearing blue and a beanie. The same tie everyone is wearing.

“Oh hi Ajax, this is Y/N. She’s new and I’m showing her around.”

A glare is thrown at Ajax as your girlfriend exhales. You give a small wave, “Hi.”

“You a werewolf too?”

You nod, seeing the way his hat kind of turns sideways, poking some peeking out snakes back into it. That’s scary.

The bell rings and you look around, confused, Enid grabs the paper you stuck in your bag.

“Oh, hey! Your next class is with Wednesday and I, it’s just plant anatomy with Thornhill. Come on.”

Somehow Wednesday gets Xaiver to move away from her, so now you’re sitting next to her.

“What the hell is this class?”

“Thornhill just talks about plants. The only entertaining aspect of this is that I like seeing Bianca fail to beat me. Though that goes in almost everything.”

The auburn hair girl turns around, with a wide smile and fairly big glasses for the size of her head.

“It’s a pleasure to have a new student, I’m glad to have you in our third period class Y/N.”

You embarrassingly smile, everyone looking at you, some with smiles and some with just small glances.

“Could you give us the formula on how to turn this plant into a…” Thornhill goes on and you look at the plant, it seems it’s a Ghost Orchid.

You answer almost immediately, and Wednesday nudges you with her foot to almost say a ‘yay.’

Bianca stares at you as Thronhill clasps her hands together, “Exactly, you know your plants well. I’m sure you’ll excel here. Today we’ll have a change of assignments. It’ll be a challenge for duos against other duos and whoever answers first, and correctly for that fact, will earn a point till all the questions run out. Sound easy enough? Alright, let me get my cards ready.”

A knowing smirk grows in between you two, “We’ll win in no time,” Wednesday states, you look at the duos. It’s you and her, Enid and Yoko, Bianca and Divina, and other people you have no clue about, including Xaiver.

The game starts and before Thornhill can even get to the end of the question, you and Wednesday slap the bell, giving out the answer.

“Quick hands,” Xavier mumbles.

“That’s correct! Great job girls.”

The game goes on, and you’re tied with Bianca’s team. The silence can be cut with a knife as the two duos anticipately wait for the question. As Thornhill begins to read out the question, it takes you two a while to know the answer. Bianca and Divina seem stuck.

It’s several moments before the learning in your past catches up to you, slamming the bell and saying out the answer.

“Correct once again! You two win, great job! You can grab a succulent or stick to two pieces of candy that’s probably expired at the end of class.”

You and Wednesday high-five and to say the least, everyone is surprised because the braided-hair girl never let’s anyone touch her.

Weeks have past, and you’ve never been happier. Giving ideas for Wednesday’s stories that even she never thought about, helping her crochet more Mr. Tuesdays, so much that she had thing steal a laundry basket from Weem’s office, and even braid her hair and put black ribbons. She’s grateful to have you at Nevermore, her stories have been expanding because of you.

Your always stuck to her side, fencing playfully with her, even willing to go out in the woods with her. But she hasn’t went out since your arrival, knowing that you wouldn’t want to leave her side, and she certainly doesn’t want you getting hurt.

Even you and her worked together designing a matching cat on your black and white pajamas.

It’s fun when you two get to talk about life when you two are in your dorms, even better when you two are on the balcony and watching the stars. Wednesday plays the cello while you sing. She loves that she has someone that she puts her closed-off personality aside for.

“I love it, you look so pretty with bows baby,” you say, tying the ribbon.

“You look pretty with bows or without cara mia.”

“Shut ‘p,” you say, smacking her arm lightly as she wraps her arms around you and rubs your hair.

It’s not long till Weems announce that it’s time for lunch.

Wednesday gets up, signalling you to come with her, but when you don’t, she comes back to sit next to you.

“I’m just looking for my necklace, you can go ahead, it won’t take long, promise.”

She sighs, and nods for a moment, then points at Thing, “Help her.”

Thing waves his hands as she blows a soft air kiss and closes the door.

It’s sprinkling a little bit when Wednesday is outside.

“How does Wednesday act so non-hazardous with Y/N? It’s honestly impressive.”

“That’s not impressive, how the hell does she not smack her or give her glares? Do you not see the way her eyes actually look normal when she looks at her? Not even normal, they’re gentle! Plus she was the first to go run and get a bandaid when Y/N accidentally got a paper cut.”

It’s like they summoned the girl, who’s holding a plate of her lunch.

Enid smiles and Wednesday sits down, looking at everyone.

“Are you seriously speaking about me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We want to know why the hell you are actually sweet with Y/N.”

“You could’ve used any word besides sweet.”

“Baby-like?”

“Even worse.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Bianca adds, somehow now being in this conversation, “You killed the biggest spider that was crawling to her, for her.”

“She doesn’t like spiders. Who wouldn’t use not being afraid of spiders to protect someone who is?”

Bianca blinks, then wrinkles her nose, “If it was me you’d certainly let it bite me.”

“Well that’s different.”

Everyone at the table groans, “Exactly!”

“What did I tell you?”

“The only person you’d not let it bite is Y/N, we just want to know why.”

“I’m protecting her because she’s my girlfriend.”

Everyone turns their head to her, “What?”

Enid slams her fists to the table, “I fucking knew it. I knew it! Ajax, you owe me five dollars. I CALLED IT.”

“The Wednesday Addams actually has a girlfriend?”

“Why didn’t we catch on?”

“They’re kinda cute together- don’t even speak or she’ll actually cut your head off if you say cute.”

Everyone is arguing with each other, going crazy. But by the time they cool down and look at where Wednesday was sitting, her seat is empty.

Then everyone looks around and sees her draping her black jacket over your tiny figure, she pulls you closer to her chest as you hold onto her. (Let’s say she’s atleast 4 inches taller than 5’1 in this.) You tug her big jacket over your shoulders as you hug her. She holds onto you and guides you to the table, kissing your forehead and brushing your damp hair.

Even when she comes back, she bends down and takes the butterfly that’s resting on your hair and places it on your hand. “I heard somewhere that if a butterfly lands on you, it means that they see you as a beautiful flower.”

“I never heard that before.”

“I know, I made that up.”

Everyone starts screaming again, making your girlfriend and your heads snap at them.

“Look at them!”

“Aw! So cute!”

“I want to say this is disgusting but they’ll be my roman empire soon enough.”

You turn back to her, seeing her eyes soften, almost happily, "You told them?”

“I didn’t know why they didn’t conclude to that in the beginning.”

Bianca groans, rolling her eyes as everyone is screaming, then Xavier chimes in. "Back to that spider scenario. I definitely think Wednesday would kill it for me."

You glare at him, clinging onto your girlfriend a little more like a koala. She rubs your back as you tighten your arms around her.

"Your sense of self-love is filled with stupidity. I'd kill the spiders that are harmless to you and leave the ones that are most venomous and ugly looking for people like you, have some respect."

Xavier goes quiet, making a defeated grunt.

Everyone does their little, 'awws' again. You turn to her, now that everyone knows about your status.

“At least we can kiss in the hallways?”

“Maybe save that for the dorms.”

“Can we kiss right now?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows lift up, and she sighs, turning you away from the group and giving you a light kiss, as your lips press together, she nudges a small Mr. Tuesday now with inverted colors, a black bunny. They're both holding hearts and have a star over their head.

"Now Mr. Tuesday has a Mr. Wednesday," she says softly, tucking her black jacket tighter around you as you continue hugging her.

"And Miss. Y/L/N has a Miss. Addams."

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega imagine #vada cavell x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader

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enzstr · 7 months ago

Text

A simple gesture

pairing: timeskip pro hero bakugo x florist reader

synopsis: in which a villain attacks a city and how they first met

note: i swear I'll upload the new chapter soon...

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time you met the pro hero Dynamight wasn’t under the best of circumstances.

It had been a chaotic morning. The air was thick with the smell of rain, the clouds hanging heavy in the sky like a warning. You were just finishing up with a delivery when the sound of explosions echoed through the streets. The sudden shockwave rattled your windows, the tremor of it sent a slight jolt of panic through your chest.

You knew that voice. It was unmistakable.

Dynamight, also known as Katsuki Bakugo.

As a Pro Hero, his presence was no stranger in the city. He was loud, brash, and was always making a scene—whether it was in the field or just walking down the street. But today, his usual energetic blasts of power seemed a little... too close to your shop.

You rushed outside, ready to make sure nothing had been destroyed, only to be greeted by the sight of Dynamight himself standing in the middle of the street, a few blocks down, as a villain sprinted away from him, seemingly unhurt despite the trail of fire left behind.

With a scowl, he blasted the villain back with a quick explosion, sending the enemy stumbling across the ground, and knocking them unconscious in seconds.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the nearest cart of flowers from the front of your shop and ran toward the commotion. The villain had been caught, but the street was left in disarray, flower petals strewn about by the blast of Dynamight's attack. The sudden thought of your shop’s inventory sent a pang of frustration through you.

Just as you reached the scene, he was turning to leave, his back facing you. You could see the slight exhaustion in his shoulders, but as always, his demeanor was harsh. Before he could step away, you called out.

"Hey!" You jogged over to him, trying to steady your breathing. "Do you know just how much damage you caused?!"

Dynamight paused and turned, his fiery gaze locking onto you. His frown deepened, and the usual glint of irritation in his eyes returned "Tch, I don’t have time for this. It’s not like it’s a big deal."

"You literally just knocked over half of my flowers!" you retorted, raising your hands in frustration as you glanced at the scattered petals and crushed stems. You weren’t angry, not really—it was just the instinct to protect what you worked hard for.

He glanced over at the mess with a sigh, his expression softening for a brief second, though he quickly masked it with his usual scowl. "It’s not like I did it on purpose," he muttered, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. "I’ll pay for the damages, alright?"

You blinked at him, taken aback. This wasn’t what you expected. Most people would’ve brushed it off or ignored it. But Dynamight, in his own strange way, was offering a solution.

"I’m not trying to take your money." you said, the words coming/ blurting out of your mouth before you could think. "Just... be more careful next time, alright?"

He looked at you for a moment, the familiar tension in his jaw easing up just a bit. He didn’t argue, which was surprising. "Fine," he grunted, his hands slipping into his jacket's pockets/ the pockets of his jacket. "Although, you should learn to stand further away when shit like that happens."

A brief chuckle escaped you. "I’m a florist, not a fighter. I’m used to taking care of plants, not dodging explosions."

He shot you a sideways glance, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Yeah, well... flowers are pretty delicate, huh?"

There was a beat of silence between you before he gave a sharp nod and walked away, leaving you to clean up the mess. His footsteps echoed in the quiet street as he disappeared into the distance. You stood there, staring at the spot where he stood, unsure of what had just happened.

---

A week later, Dynamight returned.

You were tending to some roses by the window when the bell above the door chimed again. You didn’t even look up at first, assuming it was a regular customer.

"Got any damn tulips?" a voice grunted from behind you, sounding annoyed.

You paused, recognizing the voice instantly, and turned to face him, who stood in the doorway with an expression that was half irritated and half... hesitant?

"Uh, sure, right here." you said, motioning to the cooler where the tulips were stored. “What’s the occasion?”

He grunted, his eyes darting around as he clearly tried to avoid saying much. “Just... get ‘em ready, okay?” He said awkwardly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. He wasn’t one for sharing personal details, you knew that much. You prepared the bouquet, wrapping the stems carefully, trying not to notice how his gaze seemed to flicker back to you every few seconds.

"Here you go," you said, handing him the small bouquet of vibrant tulips. "Are these for someone special?"

He snatched them from your hands quickly, glancing at the flowers with an unreadable expression. Then, in his usual gruff tone, he muttered, "Yeah, whatever. I’m just trying to make up for last week."

A small, surprised laugh escaped you. "You’re actually apologizing?"

He scowled but said nothing, his hand/grip tightening around the stems of the flowers. "I’m not... apologizing. I’m just making sure I don’t get yelled at again."

Despite his stubbornness, you could see the sincerity in his actions. "Well, thank you. It means a lot, Dynamight," you said quietly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m sure whoever’s getting these will appreciate it."

He mumbled something under his breath, then turned to leave. But before he reached the door, he paused, glancing back at you.

"Yeah, well... don’t expect me to start buying flowers every week," he said, his tone a little softer than usual. "But I’ll see you around."

You watched him go, your heart unexpectedly light as you stood behind the counter, the soft scent of tulips still lingering in the air.

Maybe Dynamight was a lot more complicated than he appeared. But you had the feeling that this wasn’t the last time he’d be visiting your little shop.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugo katsuki

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xoln04f1xo · 2 months ago

Text

You didn't tell him? - LN04

Angst / Fluff

Pairings: LN04 x Verstappen!Reader

WC: 0.7k

Warnings: Swearing

Divider Credit: @anitalenia

You and Lando has mastered the art of subtlety.

Side glances across the garages. Brushed hands in the back of the team hospitality. Late-night facetimes with pillows over the speaker. The occasional escape from the chaos of the paddock for a few hours that felt like yours and yours alone.

It wasn't that you wanted to keep it a secret. It's just... complicated.

You were Max Verstappen's sister. And Lando? Well, he was Lando Norris, Max's friend and occasional rival, depending on the day.

Max wasn't exactly known for his chill.

You knew that doing this was extremely risky. But you also knew how your brother could be when it came to you - protective, territorial, and stubborn as hell.

So you made a deal with Lando early on.

"When the tie feels right," you had promised, tangled in hotel sheets after the Canadian GP, "I'll tell him."

He had nodded, trust in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But weeks had passed. Then races. Your secret held strong... until it didn't.

It started at Silverstone.

You thought you were careful slipping out of Lando's driver room after the race. But apparently 'careful' didn't include watching for Charles walking by with his PR manager.

The next day... Lando got a text.

Charles: So… you and Verstappen’s sister, huh? Brave. Or stupid. Haven’t decided yet.

Lando almost dropped his phone.

You were waiting for him at the McLaren hospitality when he stormed in, cheeks flushed, phone in hand.

“You told Charles?”

"What? No!" you said, blinking. "Wait... HE KNOWS??"

"He saw you leave. I guess it doesn't take much to do the math and work it out."

"Oh fucking hell."

Lando ran a hand through his hair. "How many more people know y/n? Did we wait too long? Because if Charles knows..."

You bit your lip. "Lando, I'll tell Max. I will. I just... he's been so stressed about the championship lately, and I didn't want to distract him."

Lando gave you a look. “You think he’d rather hear it from Charles in the middle of a media pen?”

Your stomach sank. “…No.”

“Then we need to tell him. Now.”

You spent the next two hours trying to figure out the best way to break it to Max. Lando suggested doing it at dinner - "You know, over steak, like bros do."

You vetoed that instantly.

By the time you worked up the nerve, it was already late. Max had gone to bed. You chickened out.

Again.

The next morning... EVERYTHING exploded

You were getting a coffee in the Red Bull hospitality when Max walked in, tossing his phone onto the table with more force than necessary.

"Why is Charles asking me about Lando?"

You froze.

"What?"

He looked directly at you. "He said, and I quote, 'Hope you gave Lando the talk already.' Care to explain."

Your heart pounded. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

That’s when Lando walked in. Perfect timing, as always. Well Oh Fuck

“Hey, Max,” he said casually... until he saw your face.

Then Max looked between the two of you, and realization hit. Hard.

“…Are you serious?”

“Max...”

“You’re dating Lando? And you didn’t tell me?”

You winced. “I was going to...”

"When? After the wedding? Or when I walked in on you two making out in my driver room?"

Lando raised his hands. "Okay, that was one time..."

“You made out in my driver room?”

You both went dead silent.

Max rubbed his face like he was physically restraining himself from throwing something. “You know, if it had been anyone else, I’d have probably decked them. But it’s Lando. And that’s somehow worse.”

“Worse?!” Lando said, offended.

“You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend! Which is why I’ve been respectful and didn’t just...”

“Didn’t just what, Lando?”

“Okay!” you cut in, stepping between them. “Let’s not do the testosterone Olympics right now. Yes, we should’ve told you. I should’ve told you. That’s on me.”

Max looked at you, exasperated but quiet.

“I care about him,” you said softly. “And he cares about me. This isn’t just a fling.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Finally, Max let out a breath.

“If you’re going to date my sister,” he said to Lando, “you better treat her like she’s the most important thing in your life.”

“I already do,” Lando said seriously.

Max gave him one last glare, then turned back to you.

“…Still mad at you.”

“Noted.”

He walked away with a muttered, “Don’t get caught in my driver room again.”

You turned to Lando, who was already smirking.

“Progress?”

“Big progress,” you grinned. “We only got mildly threatened.”

Click here for more!

#f1 #x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #ln04 #lando norris #lando x reader #mv1

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aperrywilliams · 2 years ago

Text

Little Big Secret (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You’re 36 weeks pregnant with Spencer’s baby. What happens when you are about to give birth and need to contact Spencer while he is in a case out of town?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Pregnancy and labor symptoms are described. Some strong words. If I missed something, let me know. It's a fluffy one. Dad!Spencer coming to light. The chaotic trio I love having their moment (Reid-Morgan-Prentiss).

A/N: I wrote this fic based on this request. I loved doing it! Let me know what you think.

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Being 36 weeks pregnant and stuck in your apartment trying to convince your non-born baby girl to stop kicking your guts is not funny. It's worse when the same scenario occurs at 3 am, and you are alone, unable to sleep in the last 24 hours, exhausted and sentimental because your boyfriend Spencer isn't home.

You won't tell him that, though. You convinced him to go with the team to Trenton for a case, telling him you would be okay and that baby girl Reid won't be here for at least two weeks. That's what your doctor said to you in the last appointment.

Reluctantly Spencer agreed, making you swear you would call him or your sister if anything happened.

"Relax, baby. Everything will be okay. We'll be here when you return from your case," you assured him. "You have to go while you can. Once this girl is born, you'll be stuck here and will get tired of us," you giggled. Spencer's eyes widened.

"What? No! Get tired of you? Never!"

"About that. Do they know why you are taking leave in the next weeks?"

"Not really. Hotch knows, but the rest assume I'll go to see my mom," your boyfriend shrugged.

You still find it unbelievable that the best-known profilers in the country haven't noticed one of their own has a girlfriend for three years and a baby on the way.

At first, you had your apprehensions about why Spencer didn't want his team to know your existence. You thought maybe Spencer felt embarrassed because of you or didn't consider your relationship worth enough for them to know. But your boyfriend assured you it was anything but that. He told you what happened to Haley, Hotch's wife, and the multiple times a team's family member has been exposed to danger because of their job. He wanted you safe. He wanted to protect you.

The only one who knew about you was Hotch, Spencer's boss. But he, better than anyone, could understand Spencer's reasons, so he hadn't said anything.

You understood it and accepted it, even if you both knew that at some point, your secret would not be a secret anymore. For now, it was safer like this.

Exhaustion was all you got now, and even you have been trying to bribe your unborn daughter with chocolates if she behaved and let you sleep. It seemed you succeeded as she stopped making a party in your womb.

You fall asleep thinking about how your life has changed in the past years and how happy you were despite how uncomfortable pregnancy was at this point.

The next morning you woke up feeling a little better. Sleep helped, but your body was still tense, so you thought a warm bath after breakfast was a good idea to relax your sore muscles.

You were finishing your pancakes when Spencer called you.

"Hey, baby!" You greeted.

"Good morning, my love. How did you sleep?"

You didn't have the heart to tell him how uncomfortable you were last night.

"Good. Everything is good here. How is the case?" You tried to direct the topic to him. Spencer sighed.

"I think we are close to catching the unsub, but it had been hard," he confessed.

"I know you'll get him soon," you assured him. Spencer chuckled. He loved how you were always rooting for him. You were his biggest fan.

"I hope so. And you? Our baby girl has been good? When I come back-" he didn't even finish the sentence when someone called his name in the distance. 'Reid! We need you now!'

A heavy sigh left Spencer's lips.

"I'm sorry, love. I got to go," he mumbled into the receiver, guilt dripping from his voice.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't apologize and go to catch the bad guy," you encouraged him.

"I will. I love you so so much. And I love our little one. I promise to make it up to you both, okay?"

"I love you more. We'll be waiting for you."

Despite your efforts to relax during your bath, it seemed baby Reid had other plans, like moving and squeezing your insides. You tried singing to her, telling stories, and everything that came to mind.

You gave up and hopped off the tub. You dried your body and decided to watch some TV. After a while, stuck in a random show, the noise lulled you to sleep without noticing.

Everything would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that an intense pain woke you up suddenly. You didn't know the time, but the TV was still on. You tried to sit on the sofa, but the pain wouldn't leave you, so much so that it was hard for you to breathe. The twisting in your belly was stronger than you'd ever felt and scaring you.

"My sweet girl, I know you're eager to see us, but you have some days left in Mommy's womb, so try to be nice, okay?" You panted, trying to reason with your baby.

You weren't ready to give birth, let alone without Spencer.

But, again, baby Reid had her own plans.

Another sharp pang made you slouch on the sofa; this time, you felt something warm running down your legs. You looked down and saw the liquid drip onto the couch and slide to the floor.

Fuck. Your water just broke.

The morning was a rush for the whole team and the Tremont police. After an anonymous tip, they located the guy who fitted the profile and ended up being the unsub they were looking for. As he had a hostage, the team moved quickly to the warehouse where he kept captive his ex-girlfriend, the source of his rage. Before things went further, Rossi's shot ended with the unsub screaming in pain and the hostage a nervous wreck but unharmed.

Spencer couldn't believe it took them a whole week to locate the bastard, but it was finally done. So they returned to the precinct to wrap the last details and go home.

Spencer was pulling the case photos off the board when his phone started ringing. He saw it was you and hastened to answer. Usually, you didn't call him while he was working.

"Hello?"

But a loud grunt came to his ear instead of your sweet voice. Spencer's eyes widened.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?"

You barely could say a word, the intense pain reducing you to heavy breathing and whimpers.

"Spence-" you managed to say. "The baby. It hurts."

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening."Where are you? What's wrong? Where is Tania?"

Too many questions, and you had answers for all of them. But it was difficult to say a word with the pain cursing your body. After the contraction subsided, you could speak.

"My water broke. I'm home, and Tania doesn't answer. I don't know- ahhhh, fuck!!!"

Shit. You were in labor and alone at home. Spencer wanted to throw up.

"Baby, listen to me. I will call 911, but I need you to breathe, okay?"

"No! Spencer, don't hang up. I need you," you cried.

Spencer paced frantically in the room as Emily, Morgan, and Rossi looked at him, worried.

To call 911? Who the hell was he talking to?

"Reid? What is it?" Morgan tried to get his attention, but Spencer's brain was trying to make a plan to help you without stopping talking to you.

“(Y/N), please. I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me, please?"

JJ and Hotch entered the room at that moment. Both frowned when they saw Spencer pacing and the rest standing and waiting to know what was going on and what to do to help Spencer.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

You couldn't reply to him, crying in pain instead. Spencer thought he could die of panic.

"Yes. But I can't move," you sobbed.

Hotch didn't need much to understand what was going on. Grabbing his phone, he called Penelope.

Spencer was reduced to dumb and didn't know what to do.

"Garcia, I need you to call 911 and dispatch an ambulance to..." he paused and looked at Spencer, who was talking to you. "Reid," Hotch named. When he got no response, he tried louder. "Reid! Where? Where is she?" Spencer's face found Hotch's.

"At my place," he told his boss.

"Garcia, an ambulance to Reid's address. Report a pregnant woman in labor that needs to go to the hospital. I need you to go there too. Make sure she gets to the hospital alright. I'll give you more information later."

Pregnant woman in labor at Spencer's address?

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi shared the same confused looks.

"Baby, the help is on the way. Penelope knows and will help you to go to the hospital. She has a key, so don't worry. I'm on my way, okay? I'll call Tania too," Spencer informed you, moving to collect his things.

"Please, hurry up," you begged. As the call ended, Spencer turned to see his boss.

"Hotch. I have to-. I need to-," Spencer stuttered. Aaron nodded.

"It'll be okay; we are leaving now," he assured Spencer.

Morgan was the first to bring the elephant in the room.

"Can you tell us what's going on?"

Then, Spencer noticed the team hearing the whole ordeal.

"Uh. My 36-week pregnant girlfriend is giving birth to my daughter right now, and she's alone. I need to be there," Spencer succinctly explained as he dialed (Y/N)'s sister's number again without luck.

To say the team was shocked was an understatement. But there wasn't time to ask questions. They needed to move quickly.

Hotch was who took the lead.

"Morgan, you'll drive to the hospital with Reid and Prentiss now. I'll stay with JJ and Rossi to pack everything and follow you. The drive to DC is about three hours; make it two. I'll take care of the traffic police," he said to Morgan, who nodded, grabbing the car keys. "Prentiss, you'll get an open line with Garcia while she joins (Y/N) and takes her to the hospital. Now go!" Hotch instructed, now patting Spencer's back. "You'll get on time. Go," he told Spencer, who nodded and stomped from the room, followed by Morgan and Prentiss.

"Hey, Reid. We'll make it, kid," Morgan assured while driving on the highway, Emily as the copilot. In the back seat, Spencer couldn't stop bouncing his leg, worried about if the ambulance had already taken you to the hospital. On cue, Emily's phone went off.

"Garcia, you're on speaker," Emily announced.

"My lovelies, good news. I got your girl, boy Wonder, and we're heading to the hospital. Besides the pain, she's fine," Garcia recounted, and Spencer could breathe again.

"Can I talk to her?" Spencer asked.

"No, yet; they have her in the stretcher and with oxygen while monitoring her, but as we reach the hospital and will get her admitted, we can call you again. Nonetheless, she asked me to tell you she hated you for putting a baby in her. I really like this girl already," Garcia quipped, making laugh Emily and Morgan. Spencer's cheeks flushed.

"Garcia?" He sheepishly asked. "Can you tell her I love her and am on my way?"

Morgan and Prentiss looked at each other briefly. They still couldn't believe what was happening, but either way, they had a mission to accomplish: get to the hospital before you gave birth, so the resident genius could see his baby born.

"Sure thing. I will. I'll keep you posted," Garcia assured before hanging up.

Spencer could sense that Emily and Morgan were itching to cover him with questions, but knowing his nervous state, they were respectful enough not to say anything.

"I'm sorry, guys. I didn't tell you anything about (Y/N) before," he mumbled.

"And the baby," Emily added with a non-malice tone.

Spencer's face fell with embarrassment. They were his family, after all. And he kept this little big secret from them.

"But we get it, Reid. We do," Morgan ensured.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. We all know this job, and we want the best for our loved ones, keeping them safe," Prentiss said, turning to see Spencer, who nodded. "What I still can't believe is that you kept us in the dark for three years, and none of us ever suspected a thing. They should fire us," Emily added, making Spencer chuckle.

"What I can't believe is you were able to make someone fall in love with you," Morgan quipped, smirking and gaining a slap on the arm from Prentiss. "And get her pregnant! You have been having a game all this time, and I still thought I needed to be your wingman," Morgan scoffed.

"Worst wingman on earth. He had had to do all the work for himself," Emily added. The three laughed.

They were still with an ETA of one hour when Penelope Facetimed.

"Garcia! How is she?" Spencer rushed to ask.

"Hello to you, genius," Penelope greeted. "(Y/N) is already in a room. She's 7 centimeters of dilatation, so we're waiting," she informed, turning the camera to focus you on the bed, exhausted but relieved of being in the hospital already.

"Honey!" Spencer shouted as Garcia handed the phone.

"Are you coming?" you asked in a broken tone. You didn't have much energy at this point.

"Yes! On my way now. Morgan is driving us with Emily," he informed you.

"We're almost there, pretty girl!" Morgan yelled from the driver's seat.

You let a wary smile. Spencer only wanted to be there with you so he could hold you.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"No. No. Why are you sorry? You have nothing to apologize for, okay?" Spencer hastened to point.

"Our little big secret is no longer a secret," you pouted, feeling guilty about the whole ordeal.

"Baby, it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is you and our little girl being okay. Believe me; it's the only that matters to me. I'm sorry for leaving you," Spencer sniffled.

"I love you," you said, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"And I love you so much," Spencer declared, wiping his tears.

You both kept in Facetime for a while. Spencer tried to keep you focused on anything but the pain, though it was difficult when a deep contraction raked your body from time to time.

Spencer recited your favorite poems and stories and recounted your best memories together. As a natural thing, Emily, Morgan, or Penelope made questions and comments about the things you or Spencer said. That helped. You felt accompanied, not only by your boyfriend but also by the beautiful people who were taking care of you and him. If you ever thought Spencer's coworkers didn't care about him, now all those doubts are cleared.

"We're getting there in five!" Morgan announced.

"Garcia, please tell the staff Spencer is coming so they let him rush upstairs," Emily requested.

"On it!" Garcia chirped. “The doctor is here, so I’ll hang up. Boy Wonder, the third floor, hall to the left,” she informed before the call ended.

Pushing the brakes in front of the hospital’s entrance, Morgan turned to Spencer.

"Go, pretty boy. We'll be there waiting," the man assured.

"Go to see your girls," Emily added. Spencer’s eyes were full of tears.

"Thank you. Really, thank you so much," he voiced before climbing off the SUV and rushing inside the hospital.

The doctor announced you were almost ready to give birth now. Just another centimeter of dilation, and you’ll need to push. After he left, you squeezed Penelope’s hand hard. You weren't sure you could do this.

“It’s okay, pumpkin. You can do it. Spencer is already here,” she comforted you. Garcia had just ended her sentence when Spencer rushed inside the room, panting and looking frantically. When he spotted you, you could see the tears in his eyes.

“Spencer!” you cried. He quickly lugged to your side. Garcia sighed, relieved that he was there. Spencer held your hand now, kissing your temple.

“I’m here, my love. I’m here. I won’t leave again,” he chanted, stroking your damped hair.

It was Penelope’s cue to leave the couple alone. But before Garcia crossed the threshold, Spencer ran to her and wrapped her in the tightest embrace he ever gave her.

“Thank you, thank you. For everything,” he mumbled. Garcia could have started crying, but it would be time for that later.

“Anytime, my love. Now go back to your woman. We’ll be outside waiting.” A grateful Spencer nodded before joining you again.

You didn't reach the last centimeter until an hour later. Spencer stood by your side, chanting praises and pushing away your sweat with a cloth whenever you needed it.

When the time came, you were pushing with all the strength you left, but your little girl wasn’t doing it easy for you.

“Spencer, I can’t,” you sobbed. Spencer kissed your head and stroked your hand.

“I know you’re exhausted, my love. But you’re almost there. We’re going to meet our little girl. Want that, right, my little pumpkin?” he talked now to your belly. The waiting room is full of aunts and uncles, ready to see you. They already love you, even if they didn't know about you until three hours ago,” Spencer pointed, and you let out a little chuckle in the middle of the pain.

The feeling of being cared for and loved gave you the last ounce of energy you needed. In the next contraction, you pushed harder, ending with a loud baby cry. Your daughter was here.

When they put her in your arms, wrapped in a white blanket, you couldn't believe it. She was the most beautiful baby in the world—the best combination between Spencer and you.

“You did so good, my love. She’s wonderful, and she’s here with us,” Spencer said, voice full of emotion and tears freely rolling down his cheeks.

You couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Our little big secret,” you cooed. “You’re a lucky baby already,” you whispered to her. Spencer chuckled.

“Should I go to tell them?” He asked you.

“They will kill you if you don’t,” you quipped.

When Spencer showed up in the waiting room, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ were there too.

All eyes were on him.

“A 7 pounds, 2 ounces, and 19.6 inches healthy baby girl,” Spencer announced, the biggest grin plastered on his face.

The room erupted in cheers and claps, everyone taking turns to hug the new father.

Once everyone calmed down, Spencer cleared his throat.

“I want to apologize for keeping this from you. I don't want you to think I don't trust or care enough to tell you about the important things in my life. It's just- you know,” Spencer trailed off. Rossi patted his shoulder.

“We know, kid. We really do,” the older man assured him.

“Yeah, Spence. We understand. That doesn't mean it’s not a big thing, but we get it,” JJ seconded.

“We are just jealous because Hotch was the only one who knew,” Garcia scoffed.

“Boss privilege, I guess,” Hotch shrugged, making the rest laugh.

“Well, being (Y/N) and baby Reid not a little big secret anymore, we can meet them properly, right?” Morgan pointed.

“Oh, yes! Please! I want to meet my goddaughter!” Garcia chirped, and Spencer looked at her, frowning.

“Don’t look at me like that, doctor. I won the privilege when I held that poor woman in pain,” she added.

“Maybe you’ll be the godmother, but I’ll be the cool aunt,” Emily chirped.

“And I’ll be Papa Rossi,” David seconded.

Spencer shook his head, laughing as everyone on the team fought for a place in his daughter's life.

He was so happy to have you and baby Reid. But now his happiness was complete knowing he could share it, and his whole found family could be part of it.

-------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #little big secret #aperrywilliams #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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angrythingstarlight · 10 months ago

Note

mafia!bucky would tell malyshka he has a surprise for her then bring her here🤭

ooo or even mafia!steve and his librarian!

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-sctv-R2DH/?igsh=cDF6ZGlua284N3M=

Summary: Steve is willing to take you anywhere including the library of your dreams.

Pairing: Mafia!Steve x Librarian!Reader

WC: Less than 1.5K.

CW: Relocated reader (but for a vacation so its fine right? Yeah its fine), mafia themes, Steve being sweet despite his unorthodox methods.

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Part of my summer series.

"If you don't put me down I swear to God I'll—" Steve swats your the back of your thighs, cutting you off mid-rant. You raise your head, the best you can anyway considering you're currently upside and being carted around like sack of books. "Did you just spank me?"

Steve chuckles. "No Mo chroí. That was me telling that we're here." He did try to get your attention but you wouldn't let him get a word in so he had to resort to other methods. "This is what me spanking you would feel like. For future reference."

He waits until you inhale, and he can hear the indignant shriek forming on your tongue to bring his large hand down on your ass. Hard. "That one's on the house, the next time you'll have to beg me for it," he teases.

The audacity shocks you more than the sting rippling across your skin. You hit his lower back with your fist. "You smug son of a bitch. When I get down, I'm going to tear your—"

Steve speaks over you, peering down at the guide wringing his hands together as he waits at the entrance. His voice reverting to its naturally smooth, stern cadence. "Has everything been arranged?"

"Of course sir. Every room has been cleared out as you requested and when you're ready for lunch, you just have to alert the staff." The man jogs after him, his shorter legs struggling to match Steve's unhurried pace. You know the feeling, the man's too damn tall, he had easily overtaken you when you tried to escape from him when he showed up at your library and then at the airport. And two minutes ago when he got out the car and was coming around to open your door.

You'd almost feel sorry for the guy, his face turning beet red, except when you glance up at him, he averts his eyes. Coward. "We thank you for your generous donation Mr. Rogers. If you need anything, anything at all please let me or Alina know."

You don't even bother asking for help, instead, you hit Steve again. Nothing. Not even a wrinkle in his jet black suit. He could at least pretend he felt it. Who are you kidding? His broad back is solid wall of muscle and you don't blame yourself for checking out his ass. You're tempted to slap it since it's right there but you get the feeling he'd probably like it. And then retaliate.

Steve gestures for the man to leave and then steps inside. The doors close behind him and he sets you down, an unapologetic smirk pulling at his lips. "You would have said no if I had just invited you so we had to do it my way."

Steve likes this unexpected stubborn streak of yours. It does make it harder to impress you but he's up for the challenge.

"Of course I would have. What part of stop taking me places don't you understand? I don't need your protection. We aren't a thing. And quit looking at me like that." Your rant is only winding up like the start of a dark storm but then he takes your chin in his warm hand and gently tilts your face upward.

And for a moment you forget how to speak.

Exquisite art flows across the ceiling, ornate designs carved into the pillars around you. Books line the pristine shelves, guarded by bronzed statues, their expressive faces telling stories of their own.

You've dreamed about this place, wondered if it was as beautiful as the pictures. Imagined what it would be like to wander among the stacks, surrounded by books written long ago, getting lost in their worlds.

You can't believe you're here—disbelief, awe and delight rush through your veins like wildfire, leaving you off balance.

You let out a soft, reverent breath. Your heart racing behind your aching ribcage. You can't decide if you want to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Tears prick at your eyes. At some point, you had accepted that a place like this would always remain out of reach, you were fine with dreaming about it.

And now, you're here. Because of him.

Steve's thumb brushes over your cheek, drawing your attention back to him. His smirk has lost its sharp edge. There's a yearning in the depths of his deep blue gaze, warm and sincere and it winds around your ribcage quieting the rush of emotions inside you.

This room is brimming with stunning designs and Steve Rogers is staring into your eyes like you outshine every piece of art in the building. Like you're the one who should be admired. Like he'd do just about anything for you. If you let him. You don't know how to handle that, he must see it on your face because he reluctantly drops his hand to his side.

"I'll be over there," he points at a table nestled in a small nook near the doors. His laptop and phone sit by a cup of coffee, wisps of steam curling into the still air. "I'll find you when it's time for lunch otherwise no one will disturb you today."

Your lips part even though you don't know what to say to this infuriating, intriguing man. His blue eyes drop to them and darkening as his tongue languidly sweeps across his bottom lip like he's thinking about kissing you.

Steve has to hold himself back because once he gets a taste of you, he's going to crave more. Today isn't about him. He forces himself to step back and smiles. "Take as much time as you want. It's all yours Mo chroí."

Steve heads over to his table, without a backward glance, leaving you to wonder if he's referring to more than the library.

And as you stroll past the first set of bookcases, you're slowly becoming aware that the idea of Steve being yours doesn't scare you nearly as much as you thought it would.

It's been a while since I've written any Steve fics, let me know what you think. Might do their official introduction next or show what happens when he takes her as his plus one to Ari's wedding 👀. Where else should our mobster take his librarian?

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black!reader #mafia!steve rogers #chris evans x reader #chris evans

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velvetvisionsaurora · 4 months ago

Text

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

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Masterlist

Chapter 2

The Promise

Dawn broke over The Crimson Serpent as Halazia's harbor came into view. After three months at sea, the port city's sprawling docks and rising tiers of buildings would have been an impressive sight under different circumstances. But for five young boys huddled in the ship's hold, the approaching shoreline represented only dread.

"We dock within the hour," Hongjoong reported, having slipped away from the navigator's cabin to rejoin the others. "Final chance to review the plan."

Seonghwa nodded, immediately taking charge of the tactical details. "Wooyoung creates a distraction in the galley—"

"Big fire," Wooyoung confirmed with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Cook's rum stores will help."

"—while Yunho and I move y/n to the delivery crate near the port-side loading area" Seonghwa continued.

Yunho gestured to a large crate they had prepared over the past week, drilling small air holes that looked like wood damage and lining it with stolen sailcloth. "I've marked it with the chalk symbol so we can track it."

"Mingi watches the dock for safe passage," Seonghwa added, "and signals when we can move her."

Mingi nodded once, indicating his understanding of this crucial role. His position assisting the gunner had given him the most comprehensive knowledge of the harbor layout during previous visits.

"And I create confusion in the navigation records to delay departure," Hongjoong finished. "Once y/n is safely hidden ashore, I'll meet you at the rendezvous point."

The plan sounded more confident than any of them felt. The "rendezvous point" was a vague location near the harbor market that Mingi had identified from his observations during their last visit to Halazia. What they would do once reunited, with a five-year-old girl to protect and no resources in a city known for its slave trade, remained a hollow space in their strategy.

"What about after?" Yunho voiced the question they'd all avoided. "Where will we take her?"

The silence that followed revealed the gap in their planning.

"North," Hongjoong decided suddenly. "Away from slave territories. We'll find work on a merchant vessel or in a fishing village."

It was a child's solution to an impossible problem, but none of them had better ideas. The fantasy of escape had sustained them through the final weeks of voyage; examining it too closely threatened to collapse their fragile hope.

"Where's y/n?" Wooyoung asked, noticing her absence from their circle.

"Still sleeping," Hongjoong replied. "I didn't want to wake her until necessary."

In truth, none of them wanted to face her questions. Their plan, desperate and full of potential failures, would be harder to execute if they had to contend with her fear alongside their own.

"We should tell her now," Seonghwa said, practical as always. "She needs to understand what to do when the time comes."

Hongjoong nodded reluctantly and moved toward the small nest of blankets where y/n slept. The sight that greeted him made his chest tighten: she lay curled around Mr. Hugs, one small hand clutching the teddy bear's worn ear, her face peaceful in sleep despite everything. For a moment, watching her breathe, he allowed himself to believe they might succeed.

"Y/n," he whispered, gently touching her shoulder. "Time to wake up."

She stirred, blinking up at him with momentary confusion before recognition cleared her eyes. "Joongie? Are we there?"

"Almost," he confirmed, helping her sit up. "We need to talk about today."

The others gathered around as Hongjoong explained their plan in simplified terms. Y/n listened with surprising composure, clutching Mr. Hugs but asking clear questions that revealed her understanding of the stakes.

"I have to be very quiet in the box," she confirmed, "even if I'm scared."

"Yes," Seonghwa said gently. "Until we come for you."

"And Mr. Hugs comes too?"

The boys exchanged glances. "Of course," Hongjoong assured her. "Mr. Hugs goes wherever you go."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied. "What if something goes wrong?"

The directness of her question caught them off guard. Children her age weren't supposed to anticipate failure so maturely, but y/n had already endured more than most adults.

It was Mingi who responded, breaking his usual silence. "Hide," he said simply. "Wait. We find you."

"Always," Yunho added, reaching out to squeeze her small hand. "No matter what."

The ship's bell rang, signaling all hands to prepare for docking. Their time had run out.

"Remember," Hongjoong said, locking eyes with each of them in turn, "whatever happens, we meet at the rendezvous point by sunset."

As they separated to their assigned positions, he felt the weight of leadership settle more heavily on his young shoulders. They were just children playing a desperate game against adults with all the power, but in that moment, Hongjoong believed completely in their ability to win.

Everything went wrong almost immediately.

Wooyoung's galley distraction succeeded too well. The fire he started in the cook's rum stores spread faster than anticipated, creating genuine panic rather than the manageable confusion they'd hoped for. As smoke billowed from below decks, Captain Redmond ordered all hands to firefighting duties—including the children normally exempt from emergency protocols.

Seonghwa and Yunho, attempting to move y/n to the prepared crate, found their path blocked by sailors rushing to form a water brigade. Worse, in the chaos, the first mate began shepherding valuable cargo—including the crate they had prepared—away from the spreading fire.

"Change of plan," Seonghwa muttered to Yunho, pulling y/n behind a stack of barrels as sailors rushed past. "We need a different hiding place."

Yunho scanned the area desperately. "The captain's boat?" he suggested, referring to the small boat kept for the captain's personal use.

Seonghwa shook his head. "Too visible. They'll check it during evacuation."

As they deliberated, the situation deteriorated further. The fire reached a store of gunpowder, creating a blast that rocked the entire vessel. In the resulting chaos, Yunho was separated from Seonghwa and y/n when a falling spar knocked him to the deck.

"Yuyu!" y/n cried, trying to go to him.

Seonghwa held her firmly. "We can't help him now." The calculated mind that characterized him even at eight years old forced him to make the brutal calculation: one boy injured versus a girl captured. "We need to move."

With the original plan in ruins, Seonghwa improvised. The ship was now approaching the dock in disarray, with the fire adding urgency to their landing. Port authorities were already swarming the waterfront, ready to assist with firefighting and crowd control.

"When we reach the dock," he instructed y/n, keeping his voice calm despite the mayhem around them, "run. Don't stop for anything. Head for the marketplace—the one with blue awnings. Mingi will find you there."

Her eyes widened with fear, but she nodded determinedly. "What about you?"

"I'll be right behind you." The lie came easily, necessary to give her the courage to run. Seonghwa knew he would likely be captured ensuring her escape, but accepted this as the logical outcome.

As The Crimson Serpent lurched against the dock, sailors threw mooring lines while officers shouted contradictory orders. In the confusion, Seonghwa guided y/n toward the gangplank, now lowered for firefighting assistance.

"Remember," he whispered, "blue awnings. Don't look back."

He was about to give her the signal to run when a heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're taking our merchandise, boy?" Captain Redmond himself stood behind them, his face twisted with rage and smoke stains. Despite the fire threatening his ship, he had not forgotten the valuable cargo y/n represented.

Before Seonghwa could react, the captain shoved him aside and seized y/n, who screamed and clutched Mr. Hugs tighter.

"Hwa!" she cried, reaching for him as the captain dragged her away.

“Dove!” Seonghwa lunged forward but was restrained by a sailor who had appeared at the captain's command.

"Get this one back to firefighting duty," Redmond ordered. "And find the others. I want all those little rats accounted for." He glanced at the pandemonium on his burning ship, then at the frightened girl in his grip. "At least I can salvage something valuable from this disaster."

As Seonghwa was hauled away, he caught a final glimpse of y/n's terrified face as she screamed for him. The failure burned worse than the smoke searing his lungs.

Hongjoong, realizing the plan had collapsed into chaos, abandoned his position at the navigation charts and fought his way through smoke-filled corridors toward the deck. The ship was in genuine danger now, with flames visible through several hatches and sailors abandoning organized firefighting for personal survival.

He emerged onto the main deck just in time to see Captain Redmond dragging y/n down the gangplank, her small form struggling against his grip.

"No!" Hongjoong shouted, running toward them. He was intercepted by the bosun, who grabbed him by the collar.

"Where do you think you're going, boy? Ship's burning!"

Hongjoong struggled frantically. "He's taking her! The captain—the girl—"

The bosun glanced toward the dock, saw Redmond with y/n, and grunted. "Captain's business, not yours. Now help with these lines or I'll throw you overboard myself."

Over the next desperate hour, as the fire was finally contained through the combined efforts of crew and harbor firefighters, Hongjoong worked mechanically while scanning the docks for any sign of y/n or the others. He glimpsed Wooyoung being disciplined by the cook, saw Yunho helping move injured sailors despite his own bloodied forehead, but neither Seonghwa nor Mingi appeared in his line of sight.

Most concerning, Captain Redmond and y/n had vanished into the crowded waterfront.

When finally released from emergency duties, Hongjoong slipped away from supervision and headed for their designated rendezvous point—a small alley behind the fish market with blue awnings. He found Mingi already waiting there, a darkening bruise on his jaw suggesting he too had faced consequences for their failed plan.

"The others?" Hongjoong asked urgently.

Mingi shook his head, not looking up. “Scattered. Watched."

“Have you seen-“ Hongjoong rushed out, but Mingi cut him off.

“No. No little shadow.” He said, gripping something tightly in his hand.

Hongjoong nodded, sitting next to his friend and waited as the sun began its descent, hope diminishing with each passing minute. Eventually, Wooyoung appeared, smelling of smoke and sporting a burn on one arm.

"Cook thinks I accidentally knocked over a lantern," he reported grimly. "Believed me because he thinks I'm too stupid to start a fire intentionally."

An hour later, Yunho found them, his tall frame hunched with defeat, a crude bandage wrapped around his head. "I couldn't reach them in time," he said, voice cracking. "I saw the captain taking her away." Mingi quickly moving to support his friend, physically and emotionally.

Seonghwa was the last to arrive, slipping into the alley as twilight deepened into true darkness. His face was streaked with soot, his hands raw from firefighting duty.

"I failed," he stated simply, the admission clearly costing him. "Captain took her directly to the auction house on Harbor Street. Private sale."

The five boys stared at each other in the gathering darkness, the magnitude of their failure settling over them like a physical weight.

"We have to go after her," Wooyoung insisted. "Break in, find her—"

"With what weapons? What plan?" Seonghwa challenged, his practical nature reasserting itself even in grief. "We barely survived today's disaster."

"So we just give up?" Wooyoung's voice rose dangerously.

"Keep quiet," Hongjoong warned, pulling them deeper into the shadows as a patrol of harbor police passed the alley entrance. "We can't help y/n if we're caught."

“Fifteen.” Mingi said, causing the four boys to look at him in confusion. “Guards.”

“Fifteen guards where, Mingi?” Yunho asks gently.

“Auction House” Mingi whispered.

Hongjoong sighed as understanding washed over him. Mingi didn’t get the bruise from a punishment. He got it from trying to get to y/n.

The harsh reality of their situation confronted them: five injured, exhausted children with no resources, no knowledge of the city beyond glimpses from previous port calls, and no realistic way to infiltrate a secure auction house guarded by armed men.

"What do we do now?" Yunho asked, the question directed at Hongjoong, who had naturally assumed leadership of their small group.

Before Hongjoong could answer, a distant bell tolled nine times. The sound seemed to mark the end of something—their childhood perhaps, or the brief period when they had been more than just surviving.

"We go back to the ship," he said finally, the words tasting like ash.

"No!" Wooyoung protested. "We can't leave her!"

"If we don't return by the night watch, they'll hunt us down as runaways," Seonghwa pointed out. "The whole harbor will be searching for us."

"And then we'll never find her," Hongjoong added softly.

The terrible logic silenced even Wooyoung's protests. One by one, they accepted the brutal truth: they could not save y/n. Not today. Not as they were—powerless children owned by a man who viewed them as property rather than people.

As they prepared to return to The Crimson Serpent, now secured with emergency repairs sufficient for the night, Hongjoong suddenly realized something was missing.

"Mr. Hugs," he said, patting his clothing frantically. "Where's her teddy bear?"

The others looked at him in confusion.

"Didn't she have it? When the captain took her?" he demanded.

"She did," Seonghwa confirmed, remembering her clutching it as Redmond dragged her away. "Why?"

"Because—" Hongjoong faltered, unable to articulate why this suddenly seemed important. The teddy bear was just fabric and stuffing, yet it represented everything they had failed to protect.

Mingi stepped forward, holding out his hand. In his palm lay a small wooden disk—the navigational star he had attached to Mr. Hugs' paw.

"Fell off," he explained simply. "During struggle."

Hongjoong stared at the tiny carving, then closed Mingi's fingers around it. "Keep it safe," he said.

They returned to the ship like shadows, using the skills honed over months of captivity to slip aboard unnoticed amid the ongoing repairs. The hold, when they reached it, felt cavernously empty despite being more crowded than usual with damaged cargo.

In the corner where y/n had slept just that morning, Hongjoong sank down, emotional and physical exhaustion finally overwhelming him. The others settled around him, maintaining the protective circle they had formed around a girl who was no longer there.

"I saw her," Seonghwa said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. "As the captain was taking her away. She looked back—at the ship, at us—and she..." his voice, normally so controlled, wavered slightly, "she dropped something. Deliberately, I think."

The others leaned forward, hope flickering briefly.

"You waited to say this until now?" Wooyoung said exasperated. “We were just outside.” He groaned.

“What was it?” Hongjoong asked.

Seonghwa shook his head at Wooyoung’s dramatics. "I couldn't see clearly. But it fell near the base of the gangplank, in that pile of ropes."

Hongjoong absorbed this information silently. Tomorrow, they would search. Tonight, they needed to recover, to plan, to...

His thoughts were interrupted by Yunho's quiet sobs. The tallest of them, the gentle giant who had carried y/n on his back through the ship's corridors, finally broke under the weight of their failure.

"She trusted us," he whispered between tears. "She believed we would protect her."

No one contradicted him. No one offered empty assurances. They simply moved closer, shoulders touching, a physical reminder that while they had lost y/n, they still had each other.

"This isn't over," Hongjoong said finally, voice hardening with a determination unusual for an eight-year-old. "We failed today. But we're not giving up."

"How?" Wooyoung asked, genuine rather than challenging. "She could be anywhere by tomorrow."

"Then we'll search everywhere," Hongjoong replied. "We'll learn everything we can about Halazia, about the slave markets, about whoever bought her. And someday, when we're stronger, we'll find her again."

The weight of this declaration hung in the air. They were children, owned rather than free, with years of captivity likely ahead of them. Yet something in Hongjoong's voice made the impossible sound merely difficult.

"I'm with you," Seonghwa said quietly. Always the practical one, his support lent credibility to Hongjoong's vision.

"Me too," Wooyoung added, some of his characteristic brightness returning. "We'll be the best pirates ever and take back what's ours."

Yunho wiped his tears and nodded firmly. "No matter how long it takes."

Mingi, last to speak, simply placed the wooden star in the center of their circle. "Together," he said. One word that contained everything.

Dawn found them at the harbor earlier than their duties required, using the excuse of checking storm damage to search the area where Seonghwa had seen y/n drop something. The harbor was already bustling with morning commerce, making their task more difficult.

It was Mingi who found it, his sharp eyes spotting the small object half-buried in harbor mud near where the gangplank had rested. He retrieved it silently, wiping away the dirt before placing it in Hongjoong's palm.

Mr. Hugs stared up at them, bedraggled and missing one eye button, but unmistakable.

"She left him for us," Hongjoong realized, throat tightening. "She knew..."

The implication settled over them. Y/n had understood she was being taken away for good, and in her final moments of freedom, had left them her most precious possession—not lost in the struggle as they had assumed, but deliberately placed where they might find it.

"Why would she...?" Wooyoung began, unable to complete the question.

"So we wouldn't forget," Yunho answered, understanding immediately. "So we'd have something to remember her by."

Hongjoong clutched the muddy teddy bear, feeling something fundamentally change within him. This wasn't just a stuffed toy; it was a responsibility. A promise.

"We need somewhere safe to keep him," he said, looking around warily. If the crew discovered them with a toy, it would be taken and destroyed as childish contraband.

"I know a place," Seonghwa offered. "Behind a loose panel in the navigator's cabin. You can access it during your duties."

Before Hongjoong could respond, a shout from the ship summoned them back to work. The moment of communion with y/n's memory ended abruptly, reality reasserting itself with cruel efficiency.

Throughout that day, as they resumed their separate duties aboard the still-damaged Crimson Serpent, each boy found himself dwelling on the teddy bear and what it represented. By unspoken agreement, they gathered again that night in their corner of the hold, forming a tight circle around Hongjoong as he carefully unwrapped Mr. Hugs from the sailcloth he'd used for concealment.

The teddy bear seemed smaller somehow, more fragile without y/n's arms around it. One eye missing, stuffing leaking from a torn seam, fur matted with harbor mud—yet still recognizable as her beloved companion.

"We should clean him," Wooyoung suggested, reaching out to touch a muddy patch.

"No," Hongjoong said firmly. "Not yet. This is how she last held him. This dirt..." his voice caught slightly.

The others understood immediately. The grime wasn't just dirt; it was a final connection to y/n.

"What do we do now?" Yunho asked after a long silence.

Hongjoong looked up, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "We make a promise," he said with quiet intensity. "To Mr. Hugs. To y/n. To ourselves."

Something in his tone made them all sit straighter. This wasn't a child's game or fantasy, but something more profound.

Mingi, who spoke least but often acted most decisively, suddenly produced a small knife he'd stolen from the weapons locker. Without explanation, he drew the blade across his palm, creating a thin line of blood.

Understanding immediately, Hongjoong took the knife and did the same. One by one, each boy marked himself, then pressed their bloodied hands together around Mr. Hugs.

"We promise," Hongjoong began, voice stronger than he felt, "to survive, no matter what."

"To grow stronger," Seonghwa continued, "in body and mind."

"To learn everything we need," Wooyoung added, uncharacteristically solemn.

"To find y/n," Yunho said, tears threatening again but held back through sheer will.

"To bring her home," Mingi finished, the most words he'd spoken at once since they'd known him.

"No matter how long it takes," they said together, the synchronicity unplanned but perfect.

As they released their grip on each other, something shifted in the air between them. They were no longer just five child captives forced together by circumstance. They were brothers now, bound by an oath more meaningful than any formal ceremony.

Hongjoong carefully wrapped Mr. Hugs back in the sailcloth, handling him with the reverence of a sacred object. "I'll hide him in the navigator's cabin," he said. "But he belongs to all of us now."

"Until we can return him to y/n," Seonghwa amended.

"Until then," Hongjoong agreed.

As they separated to their sleeping spots, each carrying the weight of their new promise, none could have imagined how this night would shape the next fifteen years of their lives. They couldn't know that this simple oath, made by children with no power beyond their own determination, would transform them from captives to captains, from victims to avengers, from frightened boys to the most feared and respected crew on the seven seas.

All they knew, as they drifted toward exhausted sleep in the hold of The Crimson Serpent, was that something had fundamentally changed. The world had taken y/n from them, but in doing so, had given them a purpose beyond mere survival.

Above them, Halazia's lights glittered against the night sky. Somewhere in that sprawling port city, a little girl slept without her teddy bear for the first time in her life. And in the belly of the ship that had brought them all together, five boys began dreaming of a future none of them could yet imagine—one that began with a teddy bear and a promise.

#yunho x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez pirate au #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #seonghwa x reader

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crimescrimson · 1 year ago

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Claire Redfield & Steve Burnside in Resident Evil: Code Veronica X (2000) & Resident Evil: Darkside Chronicles (2009) [Masterpost]: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] | [1] [2]

#crimson's gifs: resident evil #Resident Evil #RE #Resident Evil: Code Veronica X #RE: Code Veronica X #RE: CVX #RE Code Veronica #Resident Evil Code Veronica #Claire Redfield #Steve Burnside #Steve x Claire #Clare Redfield x Steve Burnside #Pairing: I Swear I'll Protect You Next Time #Red's Gifset Masterlists

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imaginespazzi · 10 months ago

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Part 7: In All My Victories

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

Somebody said you got a new friend (But does she love you better than I can?)

(In which a writer in an EST timezone uses the PST timezone to announce that technically she's still meeting the deadline)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy

Words: 6.5K

TW: Swearing, Toxic Relationships

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Listen it's past midnight here but it's only around 9 pm in California which is where most of this fic is set so TECHNICALLY I am still meeting my deadline. This chapter is kind of a filler (and I guess that's why I don't love it) because it was gonna be about ~3K longer with another scene but it was either a longer chapter or a Monday chapter and I feel like y'all would prefer a Monday chapter. I have not edited this yet because I simply just don't have the energy to so pretty please point out my errors as you read so I can use them when I edit some time tomorrow. There's probably other stuff I need to say but I'm feeling oddly delirious right now so I'll just end with the usual. Let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033

Paige wakes up to a stream of sunlight tapping at her eyelids and someone’s soft breath tickling against her nose. She can feel a tiny hand pressed against her chest -right above her heart- and the weight of another person’s fingers intertwined against her own. The room is silent with the exception of the clock ticking on the wall and the perfectly harmonized breathing of the other people in the room. Stephie and Azzi. And Paige is scared to open her eyes, scared to move even an inch, scared that if she does either of those things, her dreamlike reality will prove to be nothing but a hopeless mirage.

It had taken Paige a moment last night to really register what was happening around her. Dazedly, she had followed Azzi up the stairs into the guest room. She’d watched, albeit unhelpfully, as Azzi had searched out extra pillows, setting up the queen-sized bed so it could fit three people instead of it’s regular duo. It hadn’t sunk in even as Paige had slowly gotten herself ready for bed, finding herself in one of Azzi’s old oversized t-shirts suddenly overwhelmed with how much she’d missed falling asleep embraced in the scent of the younger woman’s favorite lavender and eucalyptus deodorant. Even as she’d made her way back from the bathroom and found Stephie beaming at her from where she was curled into Azzi’s side on bed, Paige still felt like she was simply just watching everything from a facetime call, like she had been while back in Dallas. It wasn’t until Stephie’s bedtime story was finished and the lights were turned off, when Azzi’s hand finally captured hers underneath the comforter and squeezed gently, that it finally clicked for Paige.

Azzi had asked her to stay over.

Azzi had promised she wouldn’t run away.

And as Paige finally lets eyes flutter open, blinking to adjust to the light, she breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of a promise kept.

Propping herself onto her elbow, she lets herself take in the view of the two people still sound asleep next to her. Paige isn’t a morning person by any means -rarely is she the first person to wake up- but she thinks if this was what she could open her eyes to every time, getting up could become her favorite part of the day.

It’s uncanny how similar Azzi and Stephie are while sleeping. The little girl’s grip on Paige’s shirt is almost as strong as the tight hold her mother has on Paige’s hand. It’s like they’re trying to reel Paige into their world and keep her there forever, like even if she let go, they wouldn’t let her. There’s an air of contentedness on Azzi’s face as she snuggles closer to her daughter and Stephie has a soft smile at being cocooned in the protection of her mother’s arms. And Paige’s whole body aches a little bit because this bed they’re on is definitely not made for three people, but it’s nothing in comparison to the way her heart feels like it might burst from this feeling of and maybe this is how i become whole again.

She presses a kiss against Stephie’s forehead and rubs her thumb against the back of Azzi’s hand before carefully detaching herself from the duo and slipping out of bed. The whole house is still clearly asleep as Paige lethargically brushes and then begins to make her way down the stairs. Her eyes gloss over the pictures placed across the stairwell until they fixate on one that has her in it. It’s an image taken after one of many water fights they’d had at the Fudd household during a hot summer day. Life had been so simple back then when it was water and not bullets that they shot at each other.

Five drenched children are beaming at the camera. Jon and José are posed in some ridiculous stance, their water guns pointed at the camera. Paige, par for the course, is flexing, a far too cocky smirk dancing on her lips because she’d probably won the game (even if nobody else agreed). And then there’s Drew and Azzi. There’s a familiar pang in Paige’s chest as she brushes her fingers over her little brother’s exuberant smile. He’s latched onto the brunette’s back, a blue water balloon in his hand, as Azzi uses one hand on his hip to keep Drew in place and uses her other one to hold a pink water balloon of her own. The Fudds -Azzi- had been as big of a constant in Drew’s life as they had been in Paige’s and she wonders now, as she thinks back to her little brother’s irritation with her joining the Valkyries, if he’d ever forgive her and Azzi for taking that away from him.

“Oh hey good morning,” Tallulah says as Paige lets herself into the kitchen, blanching slightly at the sight of the other woman.

“Good morning,” Paige greets, pouring herself a glass of water as she takes a seat at the island, “guessing you’re making pancakes?”

Tallulah nods with a grin, “Stephie’s orders you know.”

“Ah of course,” Paige laughs, “can’t defy the queen.”

She watches as Tallulah prances around the hardwood floor, grabbing bowls and ingredients, like it’s her kitchen and Paige can’t help the twinge of envy that blooms in her bloodstream. It used to be her. She used to know the Fudd’s kitchen -the whole house- like the back of her hand because really, like Katie always said, it was her home too. But she doesn’t quite know this place, couldn’t tell you where to find the sugar or where the utensils were kept and that stings more than she’d expected. It spirals Paige into the thought that she wouldn’t know any of those things at Azzi’s own house either. And suddenly she’s struck by the reminder that two people who’d once promised to build a world together, had spent the last couple of years, building two separate ones instead.

“Hey,” Tallulah breaks Paige out of her trance, “you good.”

Paige musters up a smile, “yeah- yeah of course. Just- just thinking a lotta things I guess.”

“They’ve all missed you, you know,” Tallulah says softly, “they try not to do it too much around Azzi but it’s always ‘oh Paige would’ve loved this’ or ‘did you catch that bucket Paige made last night’. And whenever the Wings were playing here, it was a no-brainer that they would go.”

“Yeah?” tears prickle against the blonde’s waterline.

“Yeah,” Tallulah confirms, “Tim lowkey lost his mind before you got here last night. Poor man was running all over the place making sure things were good. Katie thought it was pretty hilarious.”

Paige lets out a watery laugh, “that sounds like them-”

“Miss Buecks,” a tiny voice interrupts her before she can say anything and Paige whirls around to see a teary-eyed Stephie looking at her from the last step of the staircase, her bottom lip trembling and panic courses into Paige’s bloodstream

“Stephie,” she practically trips over herself as she rushes to fold the little girl into her arms, “sweetheart what’s wrong?”

Stephie nestles herself into the blonde’s neck, mumbling something incoherent as she holds Paige impossibly tight.

“Stephie,” Paige whispers frantically, concern dripping from her voice, “tell Miss Buecks what’s wrong please. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me sweetheart.”

“Thought you left,” Stephie confesses finally, keeping her head burrowed against Paige’s shoulder, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up. Got scared.”

“Oh honey,” Paige whispers, as she gently coaxes the little girl’s head out from the crook of her neck so she can cup her face, “I’m right here. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Stephie’s quiet for a second, hiccoughing to herself as she searches for something on Paige’s face before she holds out a pinky, “promise you’ll never leave?”

Paige hesitates, the words sitting heavy on the tip of her tongue. It’s not that she doesn’t want to but Paige has learned first-hand about the fragility of the future, about how true the cliché about time changing in the blink of an eye can be. Because the truth is that it’s not just Azzi who’s scared. Paige is terrified. She’d drowned in this ocean once before and as she tries to swim in it again, she can’t quite find it in herself to shed her life-jacket by making an oath that she can’t guarantee to protect from the dangerous tides of circumstance.

And so she hopes it’s enough for Stephie as she caresses the little girl’s cheeks and says, “I promise I’ll try to stay.”

“Okay,” Stephie says softly and Paige lets out a sigh of relief, “I trust you Miss Buecks.”

Paige smiles, giving the little girl a kiss on the cheek before hoisting her up onto her lap, “did you wake your Mama up?”

“No. She’s still snoring,” Stephie giggles.

Paige laughs, tucking that little tidbit away to tease Azzi with later, “how about you and I go get your Mama her favorite coffee?”

“Oh that’s nice,” Tallulah chirps from where she’s still standing in the kitchen, “go get coffee of course. Why would anyone stay here and help me?”

“Go ask uncle José,” Stephie shoots the younger woman an unamused look, “isn’t that what husbands are for?”

Paige stifles a grin as Tallulah narrows her eyes, waving her whisk menacingly at Stephie, “he’s not my husband yet and you watch it missy or maybe I won’t let you be a flower girl at the wedding.”

“Your wedding would be boring without me,” Stephie scoffs, “besides Aunty Tully, we’ll get you a drink too. Uncle Jos�� always says you drink vod-ka, too much of it app-ently, but I don’t know what that is,” she turns to Paige who’s gone bright red in attempt to stop herself from keeling over with laughter, “can we get vod-ka for Aunty Tully?”

Paige tries her best to compose herself, “maybe we’ll just get her a latte and save the vodka for later huh Tulls?”

Tallulah glares at her, flipping her off when Stephie’s gaze shifts towards the door, “just go get the coffee Bueckers.”

***

Not that she didn’t know it before, but Paige quickly realizes just how similar Stephie is to her mother while they’re standing in front of the bakery portion of the coffeeshop and it’s been ten minutes and Stephie still hasn’t decided which sweet treat she’d like.

“Stephie sweetheart,” Paige says, only slightly impatient, “how about the double fudge brownie?”

“That sounds good,” Stephie says excitedly and then her eyes dart towards the cinnamon bun in the corner, “or maybe the ninnamon bun- no wait- Aunty Tully’s gonna put ninnamon in the pancakes so maybe something else. Ooooh maybe a cookie but which one?”

Paige groans to herself as Stephie busies herself looking at the assortment of freshly baked cookies. The old woman over the counter, wearing a name tag saying Ruthie, shares a commiserating smile with her.

“My daughter was like that too at that age. Couldn’t make a decision to save her life,” Ruthie says, a fond look in her eyes while talking about her child.

Paige smiles, “did she ever grow out of it?”

“Well considering we went out to dinner last night and she couldn’t pick between the pepperoni and the sausage, I don’t think they really grow out of it,” Ruthie winks and Paige can’t help but think about Azzi and the way she’d struggled to pick out what to wear to bed last night, staring helplessly between two shirts that practically looked the same.

“Oh I know that look,” Ruthie says, eyes twinkling at the hopeless smile on Paige’s face, as she tilts her head towards Stephie, “you’re thinking about her mother huh?”

“That obvious?” Paige blushes.

Ruthie shrugs, “what is love if it can’t be seen by everyone?”

Love. The word seeps into Paige’s veins, traveling up her bloodstreams until it claws its way into her heart, settling against her ribcage like a rock so that when she breathes, it’s all she can feel. It’s too soon, she knows, and it defeats the purpose of going slow except- it’s not soon at all. Because this isn’t a new feeling, it’s a far too familiar old one that she’d buried as deep within her as possible but is now yearning to get out. It had never gone away, simply lingered in the back of her mind just waiting for this moment. And if she’s honest with herself, Paige doesn’t know if she should fight against it or let herself ride the waves of the before that are desperate to crash against the shore of now.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whines, “come help me choose.”

Shooting Ruthie an apologetic look and ignoring the pit in her stomach at the elder woman’s words, Paige walks over and bends down to the little girl’s height, “how about a chocolate chip cookie?”

“Boooooring,” Stephie crinkles her nose.

“Peanut butter?”

“I’m ‘lergic to nuts Miss Buecks,” Stephie says matter-of-factly and Paige pencils that important fact into her mind’s ever growing list of all about Stephie.

“Salted caramel crunch?”

“That sounds good,” Stephie nods, “yeah I’ll get that,” she says as she turns to Ruthie, “could I get a salted car-mel crunch cookie please?” but Paige doesn’t miss the wistful look she sends towards the rest of the cookies.

“Stephie?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to get you one of each?”

And she’s absolutely going to get a disapproving glare from Azzi when she shows back up at the Fudd’s with almost a dozen cookies in hand but it’s worth it for the way Stephie immediately latches onto her thigh, a dazzling smile lighting up her whole face.

“You’re best-est-est-est Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, staring up at Paige with delight.

“I know,” Paige smirks, “and you better protect me from your Mama when we get back.”

Stephie nods very seriously, “of course Miss Buecks. I’ll protect you with my life.”

Paige ruffles the younger girl's hair before turning to Ruthie who’s grinning at her, “one of every flavor of cookie you have please. Except anything that has nuts.”

“Coming right up,” Ruthie winks at Paige, “your daughter has you wrapped around her little finger huh?”

And maybe Paige should at least attempt to correct the misconception but as Stephie clings to her just a little bit tighter, she can’t find it in herself to say anything but, “yeah, yeah she does.”

***

“Next time you kidnap my daughter, can you at least send me a text?” Azzi says, a grin on her lips as she opens the door to let Paige and Stephie enter back into the Fudd household.

“Good morning Mama,” Stephie says happily, launching herself into her mother’s arms and placing a sloppy kiss against her cheek.

“Morning sunshine,” Azzi laughs, “you seem giddy this morning.”

“Miss Buecks bought me six-teen cookies and she let me eat two of them while we were dri-” Stephie pauses mid ramble, eyes widening as she dramatically slaps a hand over her mouth.

Paige groans as a glare overtakes Azzi’s previously smiling features, “Steph what happened to protecting me?”

“It was an aksy-dent Miss Buecks I’m sorry,” Stephie whimpers, hurriedly cupping her mother’s face, “please don’t be angry at Miss Buecks, Mama. It was my idea.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “I bet it was. But if you already had two cookies, you must be full? I guess that means no pancakes for you-”

“Miss Buecks forced me to eat the cookies,” Stephie cuts her off and Paige gasps at the betrayal, “not full at all Mama because you can’t get full unless you like what you eat and I didn’t like those cookies at all. So I neeeeeeed pancakes.”

“Traitor,” Paige hisses at the little girl who shrugs sheepishly.

Stephie shoots her an apologetic smile as Azzi hides a grin against her daughter’s hair, “I’m sorry Miss Buecks but I really, really want pancakes. I’ll die if I don’t get pancakes.”

“Okay drama queen,” Azzi chides fondly as she puts Stephie back on the ground, “go get your pancakes,” and then she rounds onto Paige with a patented glare.

“I got you an iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream,” Paige says before the younger woman can say anything, practically shoving the cold drink into her hand.

“Sixteen cookies? Paige seriously?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she sips at her coffee.

“You didn’t see her Az,” Paige defends, “she looked so sad when she couldn’t decide.”

“Just because she looks sad doesn’t mean you buy her every single cookie to make her happy,” Azzi shakes her head exasperatedly.

“I’d buy her the whole shop if that’s what would make her happy,” Paige says, sincerity weaved throughout every word of the sentence.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Azzi says softly, a hint of awe in her voice, “you’re kind of a sap Paige Bueckers.”

“Only for you and your daughter Azzi Fudd,” Paige whispers, leaning her head against the younger woman’s temple, “only for the two of you.”

They stand there like that, barely touching beyond their foreheads, yet basking in a certain kind of intimacy that they’ve only ever found with each other. The thing is, Paige’s senses are always heightened, every part of her always alert of what’s going around her. Except when she’s with Azzi. When she’s with Azzi she can let the noise fade to the background and let everything else become a blur and simply just be with Azzi. When she’s with Azzi, she doesn’t have to worry; doesn’t have to have her sword out ready for battle because she knows the younger girl will always be her shield. When she’s with Azzi, Paige is safe.

They’re shaken from their reverie by a cough in the background and Paige reluctantly looks over her shoulder to see Jana regarding them with an amused look.

“Guess I missed a couple of chapters?”

“Shut up,” Paige grinds out, annoyed as Azzi moves out of her space, “what are you doing here so early El-Alfy?”

“I’m here for breakfast because I’m basically an honorary Fudd,” Jana throws her head back before yelling, “RIGHT KATIE?’

“Right Jana,” comes the muffled confirmation from the kitchen as Jana smirks at Paige.

“The better question Bueckers,” the Egyptian prods with a smirk, “is what are you doing here so early?”

“I slept ov-” Paige bites her tongue but it’s too late as Jana’s grin gets wider and next to her, Azzi lets her head drop into her hands.

“You slept over? In which room?” Jana asks innocently.

And of course Stephie chooses exactly that moment to catch wind of the conversation, yelling from the kitchen, “she slept with me and Mama, Aunty J.”

“Thank you for telling me Stephie,” Jana’s eyes twinkle with mirth as she pulls out her phone, “oh I’m about to make some money- hey!”

Azzi snatches the phone out of her younger teammate’s hand, a sweet smile playing on her lips as she starts walking towards the kitchen, “no phones at breakfast thank you!”

“That’s not fair,” Jana whines sauntering after the GSV shooting guard, Paige snickering as she follows the two of them into the kitchen.

“Life’s not fair. Deal with it,” Azzi glares before slipping Jana’s phone into her own pocket, “you can have it back before you leave.”

“Y’all are so mean,” Jana sulks, pouting harder when she reaches out to grab a pancake and immediately has her hand whacked by Tim.

“That one’s for Paige,” the older man warns sternly and Paige sticks her tongue out at her teammate as she grabs the pancake onto her place.

“WHAT?” Jana guffaws, “what’s so special about it?”

Tim shrugs, “absolutely nothing. Just thought it would be funny to see you annoyed.”

“Y’all are the worst adoptive family a player could have you know that?” Jana scolds, pressing her fists to her cheeks like she’s barely older than Stephie, “and to think I was gonna invite the two of you,” she glares at Paige and Azzi, “to a party.”

“Party? Can I come?” Stephie asks excitedly.

“Unfortunately this one’s just for adults kiddo. And it’s not really a party,” Jana explains, “me and Joyce thought it would be nice to do a little team-bonding, especially for you P. Drinks at the bar next weekend?”

“Sounds good,” Paige confirms, “we’ll be there!”

“Oh it’s ‘we’ now is it?” Jana teases, “you guys gonna come together?”

“No,” Azzi says at the same time as a profound “yes” leaves Paige’s mouth. The two of them stare at each other with questioning looks and Paige feels a heavy pit settling in her stomach. Rationally, she knows Azzi’s probably right. No part of going slow includes going to a party with their teammates together, especially not when they’re trying to keep whatever it is they’re doing on the down low. But there’s something about being a secret again, that raises a bitter taste of what killed us then could kill us now in her mouth.

“Awkward,” Jon whistles slowly, only to be met with a simultaneous slap on the back of his head from both his mother and Tallulah.

“I mean- I would have to drop Stephie off here- or umm- at Colleen's so like- logically- practically- uh- it um- it wouldn’t make sense for us to go together,” Azzi says and Paige has to refrain herself from calling it a bullshit explanation.

Instead she gives the younger girl a tight-lipped nod, “right yeah-wouldn’t make sense for us to go together. Obviously,” gritting her teeth and desperate to change the topic, she turns to Jana, “will the whole team be there?”

“A couple of them aren’t currently in the Bay but yeah most of them,” Jana shrugs.

“Oh,” Stephie claps excitedly, “will Aunty Chérie be there? Is she back yet?”

Paige narrows her eyes as both Jana and Azzi exchange looks, “who’s Aunty Chérie?”

“Aunty Chérie’s the best,” Stephie gushes, “she’s really nice and pretty and she calls me ‘mon chérie’,” the little girl does her best attempt at a vaguely french accent and realization starts to claw at Paige’s mind, “so I call her Aunty Chérie. She’s Mama’s best friend on the team.”

Paige tries and fails not to grimace at the sentence; the idea of anyone else being Azzi’s best friend feels like nails being screwed into her skin.

“I’m your Mama’s best friend on the team,” Jana butts in, trying to rescue Azzi from the hole her daughter’s about to dig her into, glancing worriedly between the two former huskies who are doing their best not to look at each other.

“If you say so Aunty J,” Stephie concedes, “but you didn’t answer my question. Is Aunty Chérie back?”

“Yeah she- um Clémence I mean- is coming back for a little bit next week so um-” Jana swallows, clearly not having thought the uncomfortableness of the situation through, “yeah she’ll uh- she’ll probably be there.”

Stephie lets out a whoop of excitement and Paige feels it burn a hole in her stomach. She knows she has no right to be upset at the idea of Stephie being as enamored by another one of Azzi’s teammates but something about it makes her feel queasy inside. Because Clémence Martens isn’t just a teammate. Paige doesn’t know the exact history there; she’d never had the right to ask about it but she’s seen the way Clémence looks at Azzi and she knows she doesn’t like it one bit.

“I thought Clémence was being traded to Atlanta?” Paige keeps her voice low as she leans into Jana. She’s not sure if Stephie knows the news yet and despite the jealousy that’s blooming in every crevice of her body, she doesn’t want to hurt the little girl by accidentally announcing it to her, “why’s she coming?”

Jana sighs, “Joyce invited her cause she was gonna be in town. You know they don’t know about-” the taller woman gestures between Paige and Azzi, “-all of this so. It’s just for one night Paige.”

“Right,” Paige nods, eyes locking with Azzi’s across the table as the younger woman fidgets with the ‘S’ necklace around her neck and shoots Paige a timid attempt at a reassuring smile, “just one night.”

***

August 2028

USA 68 France 64

The entire arena is abuzz for the final 20 seconds of a grueling semi-final match between the storied USA Women’s Basketball team trying to keep their dynasty alive and a vindictive French team eager to avenge their last heartbreaking Olympic loss. France has possession of the ball, shot clock turned off, and Paige has been tasked with guarding Clémence Martens. The woman in front of her, a bench player for the Golden State Valkyries, had never seemed like much of a threat to Paige when they’d met during the W season, but seemed to have become a whole other beast when representing her nation. Clémence is currently leading the French team in assists and is only behind Gabby William in points. Paige keeps herself glued to the woman as she tries to get herself free for the inbound.

The inbounder realizes after a couple of seconds that the French coach’s advice to get Clémence the ball wouldn’t be possible and instead the ball ends up in the hands of Iliana Rupert instead. As gameplay resumes, Paige does exactly as she’s supposed to and she can tell that she’s getting under the French woman’s skin as Clémence curses to herself in her native language. Paige bites back a smirk, secretly pleased at having riled her competitor up. The ball continues to pass around the French players, time ticking away, but the USA’s defense doesn’t allow a good shot until Gabby throws up a miraculous jumper with a second left on the shot clock.

And of course, in a way that’s perhaps too reminiscent of how France had lost in 2024, it goes in.

But it’s not enough and Paige feels blood rush to her ears as the entire arena, decked out in red white and blue, roars with triumph, celebrating the world's greatest team returning back to the finals stage. There’s still one more game but this win is special. They’d been down by 11 points at the half and Paige could almost picture the headlines ready to write themselves about the streaks that could be broken if they lost. But she was no stranger to the pressure that came from playing for a team with a deep history and it had been her and Stewie, partially motivated by their former college head coach frowning at them from the sidelines, that had spear-headed a 23-3 run at the beginning of the 3rd quarter. The USA women’s team hadn’t looked back since and now they were one more step away being golden again.

“You did it,” Olivia screams, running into Paige’s arms as friends and family start to gather on the court, “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks Olivia-” Paige is about to say more when the familiar back of someone’s head catches her attention and, like they always seem to when she’s around, all the words die on the tip of her tongue.

Azzi.

Paige could’ve sworn she’d seen the woman in the crowd at some point but she’d chalked it up to a trick of the light manipulating her eyes into seeing what her heart desperately wanted. But as she watches the woman she’d once imagined celebrating all of her victories with, slowly brush away the tears of someone else’s loss, Paige can’t help but wish that it had been a trick of the light after all. She feels suffocated and she can’t tell if it’s from how tight Olivia’s holding her or if it’s because Clémence is burying her head into the space between Azzi’s neck and shoulder, a space that Paige used to mark as hers. And then Azzi looks above Clémence’s shoulder. Dark brown eyes shimmer with unshed tears as they lock onto watery sky blue ones. They’re standing in other people’s arms and they really should look away but how can they when looking into each other’s eyes feels a little bit like finally coming up for air. And Paige realizes that what she’s really being suffocated by is the regret of you’re supposed to be holding me and i’m supposed to be holding you; it was meant to be us.

Azzi lets go of Clémence first, soothingly rubbing the francophone’s back as she makes her way over to congratulate the USA team, starting with Cam and Aliyah. Paige pulls away from Olivia, oblivious to the way annoyance flits across her wife’s features as she catches sight of Azzi. No one but the blonde notices how hesitant Azzi’s steps are, how she carefully pauses a little longer than necessary with everyone else until she finally reaches Paige, managing to give her a small but sincere smile. Olivia wraps a possessive hand around Paige’s bicep and the blonde fights the urge to shake it off when she notices Azzi’s eyes flickering to it for a brief second before coming back up to her face.

“Congratulations Paige,” the formality in Azzi’s voice feels like acid pelting against Paige’s skin, “you were really good tonight.”

“Thank you,” Paige smiles politely, “it was pretty stressful there for a second but I’m glad we got the dub. But it um-” she hesitates, unsure if she should say the next part, “it would’ve been nice if you were out there with me- with us I mean. We could’ve used your shooting.”

“Maybe next time,” Azzi gives her a half-grin.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Olivia says airily, sharp nails digging a little too roughly into Paige’s skin as her grip tightens further, “there’s plenty of talent up and coming in the next 4 years.”

This is a side of Olivia that Paige is only just beginning to unveil, the side of Olivia that makes snide bitchy comments with a saccharine voice. And Paige really should let it go at this moment, make a mental note to speak with her wife about it later instead of jumping in. But she can see the insecurities brimming in Azzi’s eyes and the words tumble out before Paige can stop them.

“Yeah but no one better than Azzi.”

Olivia stiffens, “right unless she’s injured or pregnant or something. You’re prone to those right?”

“Olivia,” Paige hisses.

“I didn’t mean it offensively,” Olivia feigns innocence and a bitter mix of irritation and anger coils itself around Paige’s ribcage, “just something to think about.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second before a sugary smile, laced with poison, inches itself onto her face, “I’ve only been pregnant once and I haven’t been injured since college which I would expect someone in sports media to know but,” the brunette’s eyes flash dangerously, “I suppose that’s something someone with national media credentials would know, not just a mere local beat writer for Dallas’s fifth most read newspaper,” Azzi turns to Paige, sarcasm morphing into something far more genuine, “congratulations again. I’m really happy for you Paige.”

***

The Reynolds-Bueckers hotel room is a pathetic hot mess that night. Olivia’s livid at Paige and Paige is livid at the stupid #Clézzi tag on tiktok. She’s no stranger to fan edits and she’s definitely no stranger to ship edits and so when the first tiktok appears on her for you page, she knows better than to click on it. She knows better but she does it anyway. And suddenly she finds herself sucked into montage after montage of so-called moments between Clémence and Azzi that fans had noticed and documented. The clips are bad enough themselves but it’s the captions, bold declarations of look at the way she looks at her; no one can love azzi the way clémence loves her, that really piss her off. Clémence might look at Azzi like she’s made of stars but Paige knows that she looks at Azzi like she is the moon, Paige’s moon. As Olivia’s anger bounces off the walls, her rant about disrespect starts to mesh with the audio of the edits that continue to play on the blonde’s phone and Paige wonders if this her God-designed personal hell.

“Are you even fucking listening to me Paige?” Olivia yells, forcing Paige to look up at her wife.

“What do you want me to say Olivia?” Paige asks tiredly.

“What do I want you to say? Well nothing now Paige. She said all of that shit to me and you were silent then so I’m not expecting you to say anything of meaning now either.”

“You’re the one who poked her first-”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Olivia laughs maniacally, “you’re really gonna do this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Paige protests.

“You’re defending her,” Olivia yells, “you’re my wife and you’re defending her. You’re defending your ex. Can you seriously not see what’s wrong with this picture.”

“Olivia,” Paige sighs, eyes gazing down at her phone where another fuckass Clézzi edit has started to play and she rapidly scrolls past it, “it’s been a long day and I just wanna go to bed. I have practice tomorrow and the gold medal game-”

“Right fucking basketball. Again,” Olivia rolls her eyes.

“What-”

“It’s fine,” Olivia pinches the bridge of her nose, the fight draining from her voice, “you’re right go to bed. I’m not- I’m not feeling great so I’ll sleep out here tonight. Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want you to get sick before the gold medal game.”

“Olivia,” Paige says half-heartedly, taking a timid step towards the woman in front of her.

“It’s fine,” Olivia says, “just- just go to bed Paige.”

Paige knows that the last thing she should do is actually listen to her wife. And she knows that if it was Azzi -she hates herself for even thinking this way- she wouldn’t walk away. If it was Azzi, Paige would’ve pulled her into her arms, held her there and made her talk because they both hated going to bed angry. But well if it was Azzi, this whole situation wouldn’t exist in the first place.

And so she ends up in bed alone, still scrolling through random tiktoks in an effort to not have to deal with all the voices in her head, until suddenly she stumbles on a video captioned and at the end of the day she’ll still always be looking at her. It’s a video taken today. Paige is holding Olivia and Azzi’s holding Clémence but they’re staring at each other. And Paige thinks that whoever wrote the caption, had probably gotten it right. At the end of day, she’ll always look for Azzi. She just doesn’t know if she’ll find her ever again.

***

USA 102 Australia 73

Paige can already taste the feeling of a gold medal around her neck as she takes a seat, the crowd roaring with applause as Coach Lawson empties her bench. There’s only fifteen seconds left in the game and her knees are bouncing in anticipation, ready to celebrate a moment she’s been dreaming of for god knows how long. Paige scans the crowd, not even pretending to look for anyone but Azzi and she can’t help the smile that erupts on her face when she spots the brunette with her fingers crossed, a brilliant grin directed in Paige’s direction as she mouths i’m so proud of you.

Olivia isn’t here, claiming she was too sick to come tonight. Paige thinks she probably should be more upset about that. She thinks the whole thing is probably a ruse that Olivia had concocted to get Paige to beg her to come, to get Paige to show her that she wanted her wife there. The other woman's face had fallen when Paige hadn’t really reacted to the announcement, simply pressed her lips to her forehead and mumbled a feeble hope you feel better before leaving. Paige thinks this is probably the first sign they're falling apart. She thinks she should probably care about that a little bit more too.

But the first thing her eyes had landed on once she’d entered the court, was Azzi’s face in the lower bowl and everything else had ceased to exist. Her first petty thought had been a ha! fuck you to the damned Clézzi shippers who claimed Azzi wouldn’t show up today, too busy consoling Clémence. They didn't know Azzi was all-american. Her second thought, the one that felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around her soul, was that of course Azzi’s here. Because Azzi had been there every time Paige achieved a milestone and even if they were barely a shadow of what they used to be, it's only right that Azzi is still here.

Australia doesn’t even bother taking a shot, bowing out gracefully and the buzzer rings.

The entire arena bursts into confetti and music as the USA Women’s Basketball Team clinches yet another Olympic Gold Medal.

Paige doesn’t know who she’s hugging, lost in a sea of red uniforms as she feels herself floating through her teammates. They end up in a huddle, screaming and she can barely make out who’s saying what but it doesn’t matter. The chaos has never felt so fucking cathartic.

As everyone else disperses to find their families, Paige’s eyes land where they always seem to: on Azzi. And maybe she shouldn’t do it, maybe she should think again but fuck it Paige Bueckers is an olympic gold medalist and she’s going to share this moment with the first person she’d ever won a medal for this country with. Her legs move of their own accord, walking and then running and she breathes out a sigh of relief when she realizes that Azzi’s moving towards her too.

“You did it. Oh my god Paige you did it,” Azzi squeals as they crash into each other in the middle of the court, her arms instinctively going around Paige’s neck as the blonds wraps her hands around Azzi’s waist, “I’m so fucking proud of you. I knew you could do it Paige.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Paige breathes out, “I just- it wouldn’t be the same winning without you.”

Azzi’s eyes soften, “I came for you. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say that but- I’m here for you.”

“Good don't want you to be here for anybody else,” Paige tightens her hold on the younger woman’s waist, “we’re gonna do it together next time okay. You and me, we’re gonna be golden together.”

And they both know that they’re saying words they shouldn’t say. That when they break apart from this moment, they’ll have to walk away. But for now, being in each other’s arms is the only thing that feels right, that feels golden.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

382 notes · View notes

zomquette · 6 days ago

Text

You Ain't Kin, Bro (Part 3)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Negan’s sister)

Setting: Alexandria, six-year time jump

Genre: Angst / Drama / Emotional Hurt/Comfort / Pregnancy Fic / Protective Daryl / Fluff / Couple Banter /

Summary: It's been a few months since your last run in with you ex warlord brother Negan. As per the doctors orders, you'd been taking it easy. But apparently your baby has other plans for you...

Warnings: Pregnancy-related medical complications (early signs of preeclampsia) / Emotional exhaustion / Mentions of Death / Reader is trying to act okay (she’s not) / Daryl being overprotective and soft / Domestic scenes full of tension / ANGST / Negan being… Negan / Unresolved family tension / Mentions of past trauma / Language /

Author's note: Ok, I'm gonna need to do a part 4. Soz y'all, I was trying to fit it all in and I just realised trying to squeeze everything I wanted to put just wasn't fair on anyone really. But the next part (the finale) will not disappoint, I swear!! Anyway, enjoy part 3. I had a lot of fun writing it. Some fluffy fluff in there and some super sad bits too. Hopefully, part 4 will be up like before Sunday - it's kinda shaping to be cray-cray rn. I don't wanna give people false hope, but I have a job (kill me) and writing is kinda hard like wtf. I'll shut up now.

The air felt wrong.

Still and thick, like the house was holding its breath.

Daryl moved through it without sound, crossbow in hand, though he didn’t remember grabbing it. The wood grain beneath his boots should’ve creaked—he knew every groan of this place—but the floor was silent, like the walls were conspiring to muffle him. Outside, there were no voices. Dead silent—just that kind of emptiness that tightens your lungs before your brain even catches up.

The hallway stretched out longer than it should’ve. He blinked—and suddenly, the door to the nursery was farther away than it had been a moment ago. The light inside flickered, pale and sickly like candlelight filtered through fog. And still, he kept walking, even when everything in him wanted to stop.

The door was cracked open. Just wide enough to let the shadows out.

He pushed it gently, slow and quiet, the crossbow barrel nudging the wood.

The rocking chair was moving.

No one was in it. No breeze. Just creaking, steady and hollow like it had been going all night. The crib sat untouched—blankets folded too perfectly, the stuffed bear in the corner staring back with glass eyes, its stitched mouth torn.

Then he heard it.

A sound from the far corner. Wet and ragged. Not quite breathing. Not quite growling. Something low, deep in the throat, too broken to be human and but not quite an animal.

He stepped forward. Just one step.

And then he saw her.

You.

But not you. Not really.

You were facing away, rocking slightly in place, shoulders twitching with the awkward rhythm of someone strung up on too many invisible wires. Your hair hung limp and stringy down your back, matted with blood near the roots, and your shirt—his shirt—was stained dark across the shoulders and spine. The flannel clung to you, torn in places, the lower hem stretched tight over the round, bloated swell of your belly. It moved.

Not gently. Not the soft flutter he’d felt when you guided his hand to your stomach before sleep. No—this was different. Violent. Rhythmic. Relentless. Like something was pushing outward, again and again, scraping against the inside of your womb like it was trying to claw its way free.

“Baby?” His voice barely came out. Just air and desperation.

You turned.

Slowly. Mechanically. Head tilting before your shoulders caught up.

Your face was hollow. Eyes milked over in a blind, glassy stare, one cheek torn clean through to the teeth. Your lips were split and slack, jaw hanging loose with a sound that was almost a moan—almost a cry. Dried blood flaked from your chin. Your jaw began snapping open and shut, hungry. One hand twitched against your thigh like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

Daryl’s legs wouldn’t move.

You stepped forward.

Not toward him.

Toward the crib.

He wanted to run. Scream. Do something—anything but stand there while the woman he loved, the woman carrying his child, dragged her rotting feet toward the place where their baby should’ve been safe.

“Stop,” he said, but it barely reached his own ears. “No, no, no—”

You didn’t stop.

You reached the crib, your fingers—swollen and cracked open at the knuckles—curled over the edge. The bump beneath your shirt kicked violently again, harder this time, so hard it made your whole body jolt like a marionette tangled in its own strings. Something inside you was fighting.

Trying to get out.

“No,” Daryl whispered, backing up a step, voice cracking. His breathing was now erratic, blinking wildly to erase the sight of you. “No, no—”

“You gonna shoot her?”

A voice behind him. Familiar. Cold.

He turned—

—and there was Negan, leaning in the doorway, sporting his usual leather jacket, arms folded like he was watching the third act of a movie he’d already seen a hundred times.

He smirked.

“She ain’t her anymore, brother,” he said, voice syrup-slick. “You see that, right? Ain’t nothin’ left in there but rot. So go on. Do what you do best.”

Daryl’s arms refused to raise the crossbow. His hands were shaking too hard.

Negan clicked his tongue, tilting his head.

“What, can’t do it? That’s new. Thought you were real good at getting the people you love killed.”

The locket adorned on your chest slipped off and fell as you reached deeper into the crib—your hand twitching, jerking, mindlessly searching for what was supposed to be there—and then he heard it. A sound inside the belly. A clawing. A tearing. A muted screech, high-pitched and inhuman.

“Put her down,” Negan said again, voice so close it burned. “Before the thing inside her does.”

“NO!” he shouted, voice ragged and cracking in the thick air.

You froze. The mindless circling stopped.

Slowly, your head twisted toward him, neck bending in a too-smooth arc, limbs jerking like a puppet learning how to move.

Your dead eyes locked onto his.

And then your mouth snapped open—too wide, too fast—jaw unhinging with a wet, snarling crack; groaning, drooling at the sight of his hot, tasty flesh.

You lunged.

Teeth first.

⸻

Daryl shot up in bed like the breath had been ripped from his lungs.

He was drenched in sweat, chest heaving, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to tear free. For a moment, the room around him didn’t exist—just shadows on the walls and that sound echoing in his ears, the scrape of undead fingers across wood, the sight of your decaying form reaching for a bite of him-

“Baby?” he rasped, already turning toward you, already reaching—

But you were there.

Alive. Warm. Curled up on your side, breathing slow and steady with one hand resting protectively over the swell of your belly, the other still loosely cradling your mother’s sunburst locket in your palm like it had always belonged there.

He exhaled sharply, the sound shuddering through him like a fault line cracking open. His hand found your side, then your bump, then your back—touching everywhere at once, just to make sure you were whole. Just to anchor himself in the feeling of you, real and warm beneath his palms.

You stirred faintly, turning your body slightly to face him, blinking slow, half-lost in sleep.

“Hmmm?” you murmured, voice rough with sleep, thick with confusion. “S’wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he shifted behind you, slow and cautious, like every movement risked waking you fully. His arm slid carefully around your waist, drawing you backward until your body fit snug against his. Then he adjusted again, slipping lower on the mattress—resting his head against your chest, right over your heart.

He stayed there, barely breathing, his cheek pressed to the soft stretch of skin between your collarbone and the curve of your breast. His hand found the underside of your bump, protective even in stillness.

Your heartbeat thudded beneath his ear, steady and warm.

He closed his eyes.

That was what he needed—just this. That rhythm. That proof. That sound to carry him out of whatever hell his mind had dragged him through.

Daryl let out a long, unsteady breath. One of those breaths that shakes at the end.

There was a faint, sleepy shifting inside your belly where your baby stirred against the press of his hand. That was real.

That was all that mattered.

He didn’t move for a long time. Just stayed there, head rising and falling with each of your breaths, his ear tuned to the steady drum of your heart. One of your hands, still caught in sleep, shifted to his hair—your fingers finding their way through the strands in slow, aimless strokes, like your body knew exactly how to calm him even when your mind was adrift.

Your breathing deepened, soft and even.

You were already slipping back into sleep, unaware of the way you grounded him. He knew you probably wouldn’t remember this in the morning. That made it feel even more sacred—like something secret, something borrowed from the quiet that lives between heartbeats.

The nightmare still lingered like smoke in the corners of his vision, but the feeling of you, the sound of your body continuing on, was enough to anchor him to this moment.

You were getting closer now. A few weeks at most. You’d stopped trying to hide the way your shirts clung to your stomach, stopped shrinking yourself like the weight of being known was too much. These days, you wore it proudly. That—and you were just too pregnant to care who knew.

It had been months since the last time Negan’s name passed between you. Gabriel and Michonne had delivered the verdict not long after: Negan was on strict communication lockdown. No more requests. No more demands. No more guilt-tripping hunger strikes.

Daryl hadn’t asked for it outright—but he’d made his position clear. And Alexandria, to its quiet credit, had responded accordingly. The community seemed to understand that some boundaries didn’t need explanation.

Daryl exhaled against your skin, letting the sound of your heartbeat anchor him, seep through skin and bone alike. That nightmare had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. He knew it wasn’t real. Knew Negan was locked away, that he couldn’t reach you, couldn’t touch a damn thing about your life anymore. But his mind still dragged him through the worst-case endings, the ones where he failed to protect you, where something precious slipped through his fingers.

Daryl tightened his grip around your middle. You murmured something soft and unintelligible, your hand still stroking over his scalp like you were soothing a restless dog in your sleep.

He closed his eyes. Let himself sink into the warmth of you. Your heartbeat was steady. The baby hadn’t stirred. And you were still here, still whole, still his.

Peace hadn’t come easy. Not for either of you.

But in the months since, it had started to settle—bit by bit—like dust after a storm.

Negan hadn’t called for you again. Or maybe he’d finally understood.

But the dream told him otherwise. The way it still clung to his spine like a warning. The way your undead face stared at him - almost like it was taunting him. I’m rotting because of you.

He hated that his brain could conjure you like that. That somewhere, buried deep beneath everything he knew—everything he believed—you were still vulnerable enough in his mind to become a ghost. A thing he might lose. A thing he might fail.

God, he loved you. So much it hurt.

The thought rose like it always did—quiet, reverent, terrifying in its power. He hadn’t expected to have this. A life like this. A future. A family.

And he’d tear the world apart before he lost it now.

You shifted again, nuzzling into the pillow, your hand still tangled in his hair. One leg slid back against his thigh, a lazy little nudge that made something ache behind his ribs.

“Mmm…” you mumbled, not really awake.

He kissed your chest. “I got you, baby. Just go back to sleep.”

You hummed a reply, more exhale than words, and settled against him again.

He stayed like that for a long time. The feeling of your soft, warm skin on his cheek, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the lub -dub of your heart lulled him to sleep, no longer afraid of where his dreams would take him; this was real.

—-

Rain tapped steady against the windows like it had been at it all night—soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby with no end. The bathroom smelled of eucalyptus, the edges of steam still lingering even though the bath had gone more lukewarm than hot. You didn’t care. You were sunk too deep, limbs floating aimlessly, the curve of your belly rising just above the water’s surface like an island. You were half a breath from sleep, if not for the noise.

A dull clunk. Then a grunt. And another muttered curse under Daryl’s breath.

You cracked one eye open to find him crouched awkwardly near the toilet, sleeves shoved up past his elbows, scowling at a babyproofing latch like it had personally offended him. The thing was still backwards—again—and judging by the tight furrow of his brow, it wasn’t the first time they’d gone a round or two.

You blinked slowly. “You want the instructions?”

“No.”

You stretched your arm out over the tub’s edge anyway and reached for the paper you’d tucked into the towel pile. The page felt slightly damp, your fingers felt even damper—wrinkled and soft from the water—but you unfolded it and squinted.

There were pictures. Maybe. Your vision was kinda fuzzy around the edges.

“Okay,” you sighed in your best attempt at helpfulness. “Step one: assess the installation area.”

“I did.”

“Step two: place base of latch on chosen surface…”

He muttered something low under his breath—gravel-thick and probably not meant for translation, but you caught just enough to guess it wasn’t exactly Sunday school friendly.

You blinked again, trying to focus, but the words were dancing a little. “Step… three? Or maybe that’s the French side. Wait. No, that’s upside down.”

He didn’t respond.

You squinted harder, eyes still blurry. Everything felt a bit fuzzy, like the light in the room was too soft, or too far away. You rested your chin back on the edge of the tub. “Ugh, I give up. You’re on your own.”

He glanced over at you. “You ain’t even tryin’.”

“I was trying,” you said with great dignity, gesturing vaguely with the paper like it proved anything. “But the instructions are dumb. Besides, you don’t need me for instructions. I’m just here for morale. I believe in you, sweetie!”

He didn’t look at you right away, just muttered something under his breath as he jammed the latch into place with more force than necessary. Why help when you could enjoy the view of him slightly losing his shit trying to install baby gadgets? Then, after a beat, his eyes slid sideways, slow and grudging, like they were betraying him.

“Thought you were just layin’ there naked to make this harder on me.”

He scratched his jaw, feigning casual; “which, for the record, is workin’.”

You leaned back with an ‘ahh’ and closed your eyes-just smiling slow, all smug and syrupy, your head tipping back against the bath pillow like a queen lounging in her royal waters.

“Still got it,” you murmured.“I’m on a bath leave. You’re gonna have to do the toilet solo.”

He muttered something low under his breath and went back to wrangling the latch, like maybe if he glared hard enough, it’d install itself.

You, on the other hand, stretched a leg slightly, letting your calf rest along the cool porcelain edge while the other floated in the water. “You want me to start rating your work? I can be very constructive.”

“Yeah, I know you can,” he said, a smirk slightly growing on his face. “That’s the problem.”

The wrench clicked against the porcelain again.

You watched him for a moment, your smile tugging slow and soft across your lips, eyes tracing the slope of his shoulders, the way he worked with his whole body like he was squaring off against the world. Your eyes drifted again. Everything still looked a little fuzzy. The steam had blurred the mirror glass, and you felt light in that floaty, dreamy way—like your limbs weren’t quite attached.

Your head tipped back against the bath pillow. One hand rested gently over your bump. You let out a breath and closed your eyes.

“Baby?”

You heard Daryl’s voice again, closer now—low and rough with a tightness that hadn’t been there before. When you cracked one eye open, he was crouched beside the tub, the baby latch long forgotten, his full attention locked on your face. His brows were drawn, mouth set, like something about you wasn’t sitting right. He reached out and gently cupped your cheek, his palm cool against your overheated skin, thumb brushing the bone like he was trying to gauge something unspoken. His eyes searched yours, scanning your features like he was cataloguing every blink, every breath.

“Hm?” you replied, barely having the energy to even do so.

“You alright?” he asked, and this time it wasn’t teasing—it was careful, grounded, real.

“Yeah. Just…” You waved a hand vaguely. “Everything’s kinda soft-focus. Like I’m in a nature documentary.”

He frowned. “You dizzy?”

You blinked again. “Maybe, I’m good. Just… sleepy.”

He reached out and brushed your forehead with the back of his fingers, then moved to your cheek. His touch was cool. You were warm. Maybe too warm.

“Been in there a while,” he muttered.

“I told you. I’ve achieved peace.”

“Gonna achieve dehydration next.”

You smiled weakly. “Do I get a medal?”

He didn’t laugh. He was watching you too closely now.

“Alright,” he said softly, voice shifting into something steadier. “C’mon. We’re gettin’ ya up.”

You groaned. “Don’t wanna. You can’t move me. I’m a beautiful mermaid.”

He snorted under his breath. “Mmm. More like one o’ them big zoo animals they hose down in summer.”

You turned your head sharply, eyes narrowed. “…Excuse me?”

His lips barely twitched. “Didn’t say which one.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

Before he could dodge, your hand flicked up—sending a sharp splash of bathwater right across his shirt. It landed with a wet smack.

He froze, eyes trailing down to the soaked patch on his chest before lifting them slowly to meet yours.

Deadpan. “The hell was that for?”

“You know exactly what for.” Another splash. This one bigger.

“I’m carrying your child, the least I deserve is not to be compared to an elephant.”

“Didn’t say elephant!” He put his hands up, trying to shield himself from another huge splash.

“You wanna start somethin’?” he asked, voice low and even, but his eyes had that gleam again—the one reserved just for you.

“You insult the mermaid, you get the tide,” you replied, smug.

Daryl didn’t respond right away. Still kneeling beside the tub, he just shifted his weight forward, palm braced on the edge. And then—without a word of warning—he hauled one leg over the side and climbed in, fully clothed, like it was the most natural decision in the world.

You shrieked as warm water sloshed everywhere, soaking the floor and his jeans in one loud, chaotic wave. He grinned as he settled across from you, knees bent awkwardly under the surface, the hems of his jeans floating like seaweed.

“You didn’t,” you gasped.

“I think I did,” he said, voice low and rough and entirely too satisfied.

“You absolute freak,” you shrieked, splashing him some more like the damage hadn’t already been done.

He shrugged, water dripping from his sleeves. “Warned ya.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his hands braced on either side of the tub, crowding your space in the best possible way. You tried to glare but it melted into laughter just as he dipped his head and kissed you, slow and warm, with just enough pressure to make you forget whatever witty comeback you had been brewing.

You melted into it. How could you not?

The bathwater lapped gently around your skin, swirling warmer where his body pressed into yours. His clothes clung to him, heavy with water, the denim of his jeans rough against your thighs, the flannel darkened and soaked, plastered to his chest and shoulders. You could feel every inch of him—solid and warm, real in a way that made your heart stutter. He had leaned in with that quiet certainty he always carried, like he didn’t care one damn bit about the water, the mess, the rules of how this was supposed to go. One hand moved from the edge and slipped behind your back, steady and sure, cradling your spine just above the waterline, while the other settled firmly on your hip, fingers splaying out as though he needed to feel your skin there. He pulled you toward him as much as your belly would allow—gentle but insistent, like gravity had shifted just for him.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, a soft brush of lips that deepened with the kind of affection that settled right into your bones. You couldn’t help but smile against his mouth, laughter curling at the edge of your breath. This man—your man—was fully clothed, kneeling in the bathtub like it was nothing, soaking, flannel dripping, hair damp at the edges… and you were very naked, tucked beneath him like this was the most natural thing in the world. Your arms curled around his neck, revelling in how he tasted. Your brain was static but not like it was prior to him sticking his tongue down your throat.

“You’re drenched,” you murmured in between breathes.

He didn’t seem the least bit sorry, still lost in kissing you. You just lay there has you explored each other’s mouths. “Worth it,” he said, voice low and smug, like there wasn’t a single part of him that regretted being soaking wet and fully clothed in a lukewarm bathtub. He pulled back to admire you in your form, eyes wandering over your body. Like a moth to a flame he leaned down to your chest, face pressing to your skin as his kissed, sucked, lapped at your breasts. One of the pregnancy perks for him? Even bigger boobies.

You leaned your head back in the bath pillow just like before, except this times wasn’t so much out of relaxation as it was arousal.

The tile floor was going to be a mess. But none of it mattered. Not when his hands were sliding over your ass beneath the surface, tracing the familiar ridges of your hips, reverent in their slowness like he was committing every inch of you to memory. Not when you had him here like this—weight and warmth and want all tangled together—and he hadn’t thought twice about getting in.

You clung to him without thinking, arms winding around his neck, afraid that if you let go, reason might catch up to him. And eventually… it did. You felt the shift in his breath before he even spoke, the way his grip softened, like practicality was creeping back in around the edges.

Eventually—after one last lazy kiss and a few more playful strokes of his fingers along your waist—Daryl groaned like a man accepting defeat and shifted off of you with exaggerated reluctance.

“Alright, mermaid,” he muttered, dragging his dripping sleeves up again as he knelt beside the tub. “Let’s get you dried off before ye start growin’ gills.”

You hummed, barely responsive as he helped guide you upright with careful hands. The movement was slow, unhurried, the bathwater sluicing from your skin in warm rivulets. His palm slipped around your back while his other hand cradled beneath your arm, taking on most of your weight as he helped you up. He stepped out first over the tub and took both your arms as you did the same.

The bathroom felt cooler now. The steam was thinning, and your skin prickled with the change in temperature. Daryl steadied you, wrapping one of the least-damp towels around your shoulders and reaching for another, drier one from the back of the door.

You stood there for a moment, in front of the sink, swaying gently, fingers curled around the edge of the counter. His hands moved gently over you, drying, patting, murmuring soft things under his breath that sounded like affection disguised as complaint. Something about you being a damn trouble magnet. You tried to smile, but the floor seemed to tilt beneath you. The edges of the room blurred. The sound of the rain faded into the distance like someone had dropped a curtain between you and the world.

You opened your mouth, trying to speak, to warn him, but your throat felt thick and dry and useless.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the haze. “Hey, you good?”

You weren’t.

Suddenly, the world went sideways, and your legs apparently no longer worked. Were they still there? Was anything? Your body went completely numb.

“Woah—woah, hey—!”

His arms caught you before your body hit the tile. The towel slipped from your shoulders as your weight slumped fully into him, your skin slick and cold now, your breath coming shallow. Your head lolled weakly against his chest, and the colour had already drained from your face.

“Shit,” Daryl hissed, one arm wrapping tight under your thighs as he lowered you carefully to the floor, the other pressed flat to your back.

You tried—honestly, you did. You tried to lift your head, to catch your breath, to say something back, anything at all that might ease the fear in his voice. But your body was uncooperative, suddenly distant, like you’d been peeled away from it. Everything felt slow. Dim. Your limbs were heavy and soft, your skin damp and too cool, the edges of the room drawing back as though the world was being pulled away from you one layer at a time.

Daryl’s voice came again, lower now, steadier only because it had to be—because one of you needed to stay calm. His hands moved over you with a kind of frantic precision, as though if he just touched the right spot, you’d spark back to life.

“Stay with me, baby. Come on. Look at me.”

You wanted to. God, you wanted to. To see his blue eyes - it probably wouldn’t return the feeling in your body but it would make you feel a hell of a lot better. But your eyes wouldn’t focus. The ceiling overhead blurred, light and shadow bleeding into one another like paint on wet paper. The sound of the rain was gone now, maybe it had stopped, or maybe it was just somewhere too far away to reach. Everything was growing muffled. Muted. Your breath felt shallow, like it only half belonged to you.

You weren’t sure what was happening. You weren’t in pain exactly, just… untethered. Weightless in the wrong way.

Not dying. You didn’t think it was that, at least. Oh god, am I dying? The thought crawled into the back of your skull like a slow, cold shiver.

What if it’s the baby?

The idea bloomed too fast, too sharp. It pulled at your chest with a dread so thick it could’ve knocked the breath from you all over again if it wasn’t already slipping away. Your stomach didn’t hurt, not really, but it clenched in some instinctive response. You couldn’t tell if anything had moved. You couldn’t tell anything at all.

Daryl’s voice cut through the haze again, ragged now, but still tethering you to the here and now.

“Just stay with me, alright? You’re Ok, I gotcha. Baby, can you hear me?”

You did. Faintly. Like hearing someone call your name through water.

There was comfort in that—knowing it was his arms you’d fallen into. Knowing if your body had to fail you, if the lights had to dim and the room had to spin and your legs had to give out, at least it was him who caught you. You tried to hold onto that.

Tried to follow the sound of him. The feel of him. The weight of his hand on your cheek.

But everything was drifting. Folding in. Quiet.

And then—

nothing.

Evening was setting in by the time the council gathered—hushed voices and hurried footsteps moving through the infirmary, careful not to disturb the still form on the cot. Rain had begun to taper off into a lazy drizzle, the sky outside flushed with dusky blue. Inside, the low lamplight flickered softly and warmly across the worn wood of the infirmary walls, illuminating the pale figure lying unconscious beneath a thin blanket.

Siddiq stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed but tense, jaw tight with restrained urgency. Daryl paced just a few feet away, clothes still wet, his eyes flicking constantly back toward you. He hadn’t left your side until Siddiq asked for space to 'work'.

The world came back in fragments—first the sound of rain still pattering faint against the windows, then the low murmur of voices layered beneath it. Everything felt thick and far away, like your body was stuffed with cotton, like your thoughts had to swim through syrup to reach you. The warmth under your back wasn’t the bathwater anymore, but something firmer, and a blanket had been drawn across your chest. You couldn’t move much—didn’t want to, really—but your fingers twitched slightly against the fabric. Voices filtered in again. You couldn’t make out the words, not at first, but you recognized one of them. Daryl. The rasp of him tugged at something deep inside your chest, and slowly, the rest of the room began to sharpen around the edges. You weren’t fully awake—not yet—but you weren’t all the way gone either.

“We need to get her to Hilltop,” Siddiq said firmly. “As soon as possible.”

Gabriel looked uncertain, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Siddiq, I understand the urgency, but moving her right now—overnight? We don’t have the manpower to keep her safe along the road. And we’ve barely gotten things under control since the last breach.”

“It’s not just urgency, Gabriel. It’s necessity.” Siddiq’s voice didn’t rise, but it gained weight, like each word was deliberately laid down so no one could miss them. “She’s showing early signs of preeclampsia. Elevated blood pressure, dizziness, fainting, visual distortion. That’s not something we can watch and wait on.”

He paused, just long enough for the silence to grow heavy.

“There’s no room to gamble,” he finished. “We need the setup they built at Hilltop when Maggie was pregnant. Hershel was high risk too, so the med wing there has everything I need.”

“If it progresses—and it can, fast—it becomes eclampsia. That means seizures. It means she could lose consciousness completely. Her organs could start to shut down. Without the right equipment, without constant monitoring, that can kill her. And the baby-”

“Dammit, we get it- why the hell we still sittin’ around talkin’?!”

Daryl's voice cracked the tension like a whip.

“We just gonna wait for things to get worse?”

No one answered.

He started pacing hard across the room. His hands were fists. His breath came fast. “We got wheels, don’t we? Wagons? Feet? Don’t care if it’s dark. I’ll carry her there myself.”

“Daryl,” Michonne said carefully, “we’re not saying no. We’re saying we need to think about the safest way to do this.”

“She ain’t got time!” he snapped, voice booming in the tense space

Then he stopped. Just stood there, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the floor. “We’re goin’. Tonight.”

The room fell still.

Even Gabriel, who had been halfway to forming another objection, hesitated. His hands folded together, expression pained but measured.

“Daryl,” Aaron said, gently but firmly. “You’re right to be pissed. No one’s asking you not to be. But going out now, in the dark, unplanned, barely staffed… You know that’s not how we keep people safe.”

“We simply don’t have the numbers for escorts,” Gabriel added quietly. “Most of the patrols are out. We’re stretched thin on overnight rotation as is.”

“Pull whoever,” Daryl snapped. “Don’t care. We leave now.”

“And leave the rest of Alexandria vulnerable?” Gabriel’s voice wasn’t harsh, but it held its own edge now. “It’s not that simple.”

A breath passed. Daryl’s jaw locked like it might snap. Michonne stood, slow and steady, placing her palms flat on the table as she leaned forward.

“Daryl,” she said. “We are doing this. We will get her to Hilltop. But if we go now without covering our flank, and something happens on the road—”

“She could die if we wait.”

“And she could die if something goes sideways out there and we aren’t prepared for it. Out there, everything goes to shit. We can’t half ass this.” Michonne returned, meeting his eyes evenly. “You want her safe? Then we do this right. At first light, then we can at least see what’s coming.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but she didn’t flinch.

Siddiq stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I understand where you’re coming from, Daryl. Believe me, I do. But she’s stable—for now. I’ve checked everything twice. If we monitor her closely, keep her lying flat, keep fluids going, we can safely wait till dawn. And we’ll be better prepared.”

“And we will,” Michonne said. “We leave at dawn.”

Gabriel rubbed his temple. “Who’s going with them? We’ll need at least five. We can’t pull that many off the gate without compromising security.”

“We’ve got Daryl, Aaron, Siddiq and me,” Michonne said. “That’s four.”

“What about an extra set of eyes?” Gabriel said reluctantly. “Someone who can handle themselves”

The air shifted.

“No,” Daryl barked instantly.

“Don’t even say it.”

But Gabriel was already looking toward the corner of the room—toward the unspoken option no one wanted to voice first.

“We’d be stupid not to consider it,” Aaron said. “He’s strong. He listens to you. And frankly, we’re out of options.”

“We don’t need him,” Daryl spat.

“We might,” Michonne said quietly. “This isn’t about what any of us want. It’s about what she needs. He’s still her brother - Don’t you think he has her best interest?”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

Daryl turned, paced hard, hands flexing open and shut.

“I swear to God,” he muttered. “If he runs his mouth—”

“He won’t,” Michonne said. “Because he knows if he does, we leave him behind.”

The silence that followed was heavy with reluctant agreement.

One by one, the council members stood. Michonne’s hand brushed Daryl’s shoulder in passing—gentle, grounding. Aaron gave him a glance that lingered just long enough to carry both understanding and regret. Gabriel said nothing at all, just offered Siddiq a nod before following the others out into the rain-damp dark.

Daryl reassumed his place beside you on a chair, lowering himself slowly, like sitting hurt. He took your hand and traced your fingers one by one, delicately, as if they might snap off.

The room was quiet again.

After the last set of footsteps faded down the corridor and the latch on the door clicked shut, silence crept in like water through a cracked window—slow at first, then rising.

You weren’t fully awake yet, but the world was beginning to creep back in—soft light filtering through the shutters, the distant patter of rain against the windows, and something sharp beneath your ribs that might’ve been memory, or maybe just the ache of coming back to yourself.

Your eyes fluttered open, the ceiling above you swimming in and out of focus, warm and hazy. You blinked again, slower this time, letting the moment settle.

Daryl hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even noticed you were awake.

Still in the chair someone had dragged to your bedside, he sat hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, his head bowed low. His hands were clasped tightly—like if he let go, the whole world might come apart.

You shifted slightly. The tug of the IV pulled against your skin. Cold sweat clung to your neck.

“…Hey, handsome,” you rasped, voice dry and just shy of teasing.

Daryl’s head snapped up like he’d been yanked from miles away. He blinked at you, wide-eyed, stunned—and you saw the exact moment he realised you were indeed looking back at him.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

You cleared your throat. “So, uh—confession time. I was eavesdropping. Just the juicy bits, though. Missed the boring council crap.”

Still, no reply.

“I mean, if I’m gonna be the centre of attention, I should at least get a vote. And snacks. Maybe a tiara—ow.” You winced, hand drifting to your temple. “God, I feel like I’ve been body-slammed by a horse. Specifically in the brain region.”

His chair scraped softly against the floor as he stood, then sank to his knees beside the cot like he couldn’t stay apart from you another second—like he needed to be close, to touch you, just to make sure this wasn’t another nightmare. He pressed your fingers to his lips, holding them there, rubbing slow warmth into your skin as if coaxing life back into it.

Your fingers curled around his. “Hey,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

“You ain’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean… I’m still here. Witty as ever. That’s a start. And I didn’t even pee myself when I collapsed—so, you know, that's two wins.”

His jaw clenched hard. His thumb skimmed your knuckles, but there was no smile. Not even the twitch of one.

You softened, letting out a breath that trembled on the way out. “C’mon, Dixon. Don’t I at least get a smile? I am, after all, on my deathbed.”

“Ain’t funny.”

You bit your lip and let your eyes slip closed for a moment, not because you were tired, but because he was right. You’d been trying to make it all feel normal, grasping at the last fragile threads of calm, twisting them together like they could somehow hold the weight of both your hearts without snapping.

“I heard Siddiq,” you murmured, the words catching on the edge of your breath. “All of it.”

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you he’d heard, that he didn’t want you saying it out loud again. That it might make it more real.

You turned your head and really looked at him for the first time since waking. His clothes were still damp from earlier, clinging to him like he hadn’t even thought to change. His hands trembled where they held yours, and the skin around his eyes was red and raw, like he’d been rubbing at them too long, or maybe trying to hide the fact that he’d cried.

“I need you to know something,” you said softly.

His gaze lifted, wary but listening.

You wet your lips, trying to steady the words before they came out. “You gave me more than I ever thought I’d find in this world,” you said softly. “A home. A reason to keep going. Peace. Love. A life I could only dream of.”

You saw the twitch in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed like he was swallowing something sharp.

“I used to think I was meant to be alone,” you continued, each word measured like you were walking barefoot across broken glass. “Just… floating. Waiting for everything to end. And then you came along—scowling, grunting, swinging your arms around like a feral animal.” A breath of a laugh escaped. “You with your dumb redneck charm. I never stood a chance.”

You gave a fragile laugh, but it broke halfway through. “I mean, how could I not fall head over heels in love with you? You made me feel safe, like I finally belonged. Even now—like this—I’m not scared anymore.”

Your breath hitched. Tears spilled, hot and silent.

“I’m okay with this,” you said, your voice cracking on the lie. “If this is it—if it’s all slipping away—I just… I needed to say it. All of it. How much it meant. How much you meant.”

You tried to smile, but it crumpled.

“I don’t think I even knew who I was before you. I was just drifting. Pretending I was fine. Telling myself I didn’t need anyone.” You laughed again, broken. “Then you walked in and ruined all that. And thank God you did.”

Your fingers trembled in his. “I wanted more time. Not just to survive. I wanted to live. With you. To take things for granted. I wanted stupid arguments that end up in make-up sex, and we couldn't even remember what we were fighting about,” you laughed, breathless as you didn't bother wiping away your tears. “I wanted breakfast in bed, long walks with Dog. I wanted to watch you chase our kid around on the street while I sat back on the porch with some actual coffee. I wanted to annoy the living bejesus out of you for the rest of our lives.”

Your voice cracked higher as your throat closed again. “And now I’m just gonna be some story you tell. Or maybe not. Maybe it’ll hurt too much to even say my name.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore, just staring up at the ceiling as if it would give you the strength to finish.

“I love you so much, Dixon. So damn much. Don’t you forget that. Or I swear, I’ll haunt your ass.”

You were half-laughing, half-sobbing by the time his hand came up to cup your cheek, steadying you, guiding your gaze to meet his. For a moment, you’d expected him to stop you earlier—maybe cut you off with a quiet tease, or hush you with a kiss. But he hadn’t. He’d just listened. Let you say every word.

And when he finally did speak, his voice came out low and raw, like it hurt to form.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Don’t do that.”

Your eyes searched his face. The glassiness in his gaze, the tight line of his mouth—it wasn’t quite crying, but it was close. Like he was holding something back, something heavy, something that refused to be named.

“You don’t get to say goodbye,” he said. “Not like that. Not now.”

“Baby I’m just trying to be realistic-“

“I know,” he cut in, shaking his head. “But we ain’t done. You hear me? You said you wanted more time?” His breath hitched, and a tear slid down his cheek. “It’s yours. We’re gonna get it. All of it. Every damn minute.”

You tried to speak, but a sob caught in your throat instead.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go,” he said, voice wrecked and trembling. “Not now. Not ever. I sure as hell ain’t raisin’ this kid without you. We’re gonna be back home before you know it, and I’ll be makin’ fun of ya for bein so dramatic, and you’ll probababy calll me an ass an’.. throw a bagel at me or sumthin’—”

A watery laugh escaped you, just barely. Your hand flew to the top of his where he cupped your cheek, keeping it in place.

“Ya ain’t quitin’ on me now,” he said, leaning forward. His forehead pressed gently to yours. “Ya hear me?”

His thumb caught a tear on your cheek before it could fall, rough fingers softening as they swept it away. You nodded, wordless, throat too tight for anything more. The weight of everything still pressed behind your ribs, but his touch anchored you—solid, steady, real. He pressed a wet kiss to your lips, hard, as if he kissed you with enough force that he could somehow tether you to earth.

“C’mere,” you whispered, hoarse and cracked, but your smile crooked upward like you were trying to charm him. “I just poured my heart out. The least you can do is spoon me. Preferably shirtless, but either way is fine.”

Daryl didn’t move at first. His eyes just searched yours—wet, wide, wrecked—and for a second, you swore he was trying to memorise your face.

You shifted on the cot, patting the narrow space beside you. “Don't get all shy on me now, Dixon,” you teased, your voice trembling just a little. “Cmon, don’t make me beg. It’s my last wish.”

That finally cracked something. Not a full smile, not yet. But something softened in him. And then he was moving, toeing off his boots without looking away from you, climbing in like the world might break again if he didn’t do it carefully.

You made room for him the best you could, which mostly meant letting him gather you into his arms and hold you like you were the only solid thing left.

“This whole dramatic collapse thing? ” you murmured, nuzzling under his chin. “Just a clever ploy to get you in bed. Looks like it worked.”

His chest vibrated with a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. One of his hands stroked slow down your back, pausing when it reached the curve of your belly.

“Ain't goin' nowhere.”

His voice was low, close, curling into the space between you like something instinctive—like muscle memory, like a promise he wasn’t sure how to keep but couldn’t stop making.

You felt the words more than heard them, spoken against your hair, the heat of his breath warm at your temple. He hadn’t moved since you’d pulled him into the cot, hadn’t let go, hadn’t loosened his grip even once. He held you like someone who didn’t trust the world not to take you the second he blinked.

He shifted to bury his face a little deeper against your shoulder, his fingers sliding up beneath the blanket to trace the edge of your arm, slow and quiet.

And then, barely audible:

“I love you.”

No performance. No pause for effect. Just something plain and real, said like breathing. You stilled—not from shock, but from the way it landed. Like a small weight placed gently on your chest. Familiar, but heavy all the same.

“I know,” you whispered, eyes slipping shut as your fingers found the hem of his shirt and curled there, grounding yourself in the worn cotton.

He was quiet for a long moment. The kind of quiet that held a hundred unsaid things behind it.

You felt his breath hitch before he spoke.

“I just…” Daryl’s voice rasped low, and his throat moved as he swallowed hard. Whatever words he was dragging out next, they felt like they were scraping their way up from somewhere deep. “I can’t lose you. I know that ain’t fair to say—but I don’t think I’d make it. Not this time.”

He didn’t say it loudly. He didn’t need to. It landed heavy, close, like a stone dropped into still water. Your throat burned—not from pain, not really. It was the ache of something pulled too tight inside you. The kind of ache that came from loving someone this much and knowing it still might not be enough to keep you here.

Then his hand moved. Slow and deliberate, he slid his palm across the curve of your belly like he was offering a silent prayer with the weight of his fingers alone.

“I love both of ya,” he said. “So much it don’t even make sense.”

The tears welled up before you could blink them back, blurring the ceiling and the shape of his face, slipping warm across your temples.

“Wow, if I make it through this, I’m putting that on a t-shirt,” you croaked. “Daryl Dixon loves me so much it don’t even make sense.”

That got something out of him—barely. A breath, a huff, crooked and soft against your collarbone. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to be comforting.

And then he held you tighter. Arms wound firm around your middle, jaw resting against your temple, his whole body curved around yours like he was building something—something that might protect you both if the world split open again.

You let him. And for now, just for now, you let yourself believe it would be enough.

Dawn had come soft and half-hearted, painting the world in bleached greys and blues, like even the sun wasn’t sure it wanted to show up for whatever this day was about to bring.

Negan moved like someone being led into a trap—lazy on the outside, but with tension threaded through every step. Gabriel was a pace ahead, arms folded in that tight, priest-on-a-mission posture, and not offering much in the way of conversation. Negan didn’t ask. Not yet.

“So,” he drawled, kicking a pebble ahead of his boot, “we hauling some poor bastard to the Hilltop to die in style or what? Better be worth draggin’ my ass outta bed this damn early.”

Gabriel didn’t stop walking. “You’ll see.”

That didn’t sit well. Not even a little. The way Gabe’s voice flattened on that—too even, too clipped—it wasn’t the usual passive-aggressive preacher tone. This was… grief. Maybe even guilt.

The infirmary came into view like the set of some play he didn’t remember auditioning for.

Siddiq was out front, hunched beside a small crate of medical supplies, double-checking vials and tubing, his mouth drawn into a line of quiet concentration. A few feet away, Aaron stood beside the wagon, one hand braced against the doorframe like he was keeping it open through sheer will. His eyes were on the porch. On you.

Michonne had one arm wrapped carefully around your waist, Daryl taking the other side. Between them, you looked like a ghost draped in fabric. Still breathing, still present, but only just. Your steps were slow, uneven. Every now and then you stopped like the world tilted beneath you and you had to wait for it to right itself.

Your face was turned down. Pale. Eyes blinking in slow motion, as if your body couldn’t quite keep up with the task of staying conscious. The weight of you sagged into them both, your grip clutching Daryl’s jacket like it was the only real thing left in the world. And behind you, padding along with absolute certainty, was Dog.

He hovered so close to your heels he nearly tripped Michonne twice, but didn’t seem to care. Every now and then he let out a low, short whuff—not a growl, not a bark. Just a sound. Like he knew something was wrong and didn’t have the language for it. His eyes stayed glued to you, ears flicking in agitation.

Negan’s boots froze to the ground.

He didn’t say a word. Not a single syllable. He just stared.

Gabriel stopped beside him. Waited.

It took Negan a full ten seconds to find his voice again, and when it came, it was brittle. “That ain’t—” He blinked. “That ain’t what this is.”

No one answered. What could they say?

You looked up right then. Briefly. Maybe sensing his stare. Your eyes glazed past him like they were trying to focus but couldn’t quite manage it. Still, they held on him for a moment too long. Recognition flickered. A shape in the fog.

Then you dropped your gaze again and kept moving.

Judith broke free from Rosita’s hold, who was trying but failing to console the little girl. She launched herself at you, arms wrapping tight around your middle, face buried just beneath your ribs.

“Please don’t go!” she sobbed. “Let me come with you, please—please, I’ll be good, I swear—”

Michonne was already reaching for her. “Judith, baby—”

“No!” Judith clung tighter. “I wanna come! I wanna go too!”

Your arms came around her, trembling but sure. “Hey,” you whispered into her hair. “Hey, honey, It’s okay. I’m just going for a little trip. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Judith shook her head, face crumpling. “You promise?”

You paused for a second too long. It wasn’t fair to make her that promise. And in that space, Michonne gently pried her loose, lifting her up with both arms.

Judith kicked once in protest, but then curled in on herself, crying into her Michonne's shoulder.

Negan stood motionless, watching all of it. Watching you. Watching the way everyone moved around you like they were afraid to disturb something already breaking.

Judith’s sobs faded into the mist as Michonne carried her off, her arms wrapped tight around her mother’s neck, her voice hoarse from crying. The gate hadn’t even opened yet, but already it felt like the goodbye had started. Like Alexandria was shrinking behind you, moment by moment.

Daryl didn’t speak. He just adjusted his hold on you, his arm tight around your back as he guided you the last few steps to the wagon. Your knees buckled once—nothing dramatic, just a flicker—but he caught it before your weight dropped. Like he’d been ready for it. Like he hadn’t stopped being ready since the second he burst through the infirmary doors with you unconcious in his arms.

Aaron was waiting at the wagon’s open door, one foot braced on the step, hand outstretched. Daryl ignored it. He lifted you carefully but efficiently, cradling your frame like you weighed nothing. The make-shift wagon - a car ‘repurposed’ as a wagon by Eugene - groaned under his boots, and then you were inside.

The bench cushions weren’t soft. Nothing about this was. But he settled you down like it was your bed back home, blanket and all. His hands hovered, adjusting your legs, your coat, the spare pillow someone had tossed in. You barely registered any of it—your vision was swimming again, your breath shallow. But his presence grounded you.

Dog jumped in before the door shut, pacing in tight circles before settling across your feet like a sandbag. Heavy. Hot. Protective. You managed a faint smile, fingers threading weakly into the fur behind his ears. “Good boy,” you rasped.

Daryl crouched beside you, resting a hand over your knee. “You good?”

You nodded. “Peachy.”

Outside, you could hear Siddiq still packing supplies into the back storage, giving orders in a clipped voice. Something metallic clanged. Horses snorted.

Then—footsteps. Fast. Erratic.

Negan.

He didn’t stop at the wagon. He stormed right up to it, boots crunching in the gravel, and grabbed the edge of the frame like he needed to steady himself.

“What the hell is this?” he snapped, eyes locked on Daryl. “Why didn’t anybody tell me it was her?”

Daryl’s shoulders tensed, turning slowly, refraining from rolling his eyes at the taller man's outburst. “Told ya everything ya needed to know.”

“Bullshit.” Negan’s voice cracked, the kind of crack that came when anger tangled with panic. “You had me thinking this was some standard run. Trading peaches and patching up farmers. You didn’t say it was her. Didnt care to mention she looked like she’s halfway to a goddamn body bag.”

“Negan,” Gabriel warned from behind, voice low.

“No, don’t you fucking ‘Negan’ me,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You knew she was like this and you didn’t say shit. You let me walk in here crackin’ jokes like this was just another damn Tuesday.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Negan snarled. “You knew this whole time. And what—you figured I didn’t need to know? Figured what, it’d be easier for you if I stayed outta the way?”

“She didn’t want—”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spat, voice loud enough to spook one of the horses tethered nearby. “She can’t even see straight, and you’ve got her loaded up in that damn wagon like she’s cargo?”

Daryl turned slowly, his movements deliberate, as if each one was being weighed for consequence. He stepped down from the wagon and faced him, mud sticking to his boots, jaw tight.

“She didn’t want ya to know,” Daryl said. His voice was gravel—tired, thinned out—but steady.

Negan barked out a humorless laugh, chest heaving. “And you just listened?”

“Stress could take her out,” he snapped back. “Both of em’”

Negan’s mouth twisted. He looked like he might chew through his own tongue before the fury fully boiled over. He took another step forward, fists curling at his sides like his body didn’t trust his mouth to do the work.

“You should’ve told me,” he seethed. “God, I should’ve killed you back at the Sanctuary while I still had the chance.”

Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just stared.

“Atleast then she wouldn’t be in this mess..” Negan continued.

There it was. Like blood drawn from a punch

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, his entire body coiled like a wire pulled too tight. “You think this is what I wanted?” he asked, voice flat. “You think I did this to her?”

Negan scoffed, teeth bared like he was biting back something venomous. “Well, if the shoe fits…” Negan snarled, stepping closer, voice shaking not from fear, but from rage barely held in check. “She ain’t in this situation cause she’s sick. Ain’t ‘cause the world’s hard. It’s ‘cause you couldn’t keep it in your goddamn pants.”

His chest heaved, jaw tight as steel. “That’s why she’s half-dead in that wagon. ‘Cause you went and got her pregnant in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse, like that was ever gonna end well.”

He jabbed a finger toward the wagon like it physically burned him to point at it. “You didn’t give her a future—you gave her a fuckin’ death sentence. And now you wanna act like you’re the hero for holdin’ her hand on the way down?”

Daryl’s jaw locked so tight it ached, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble like a fuse burning low. His hands flexed at his sides, aching to grab something—him—and make him regret every filthy word that just came out of his mouth. He wanted to swing, wanted to see Negan’s smug teeth bloodied and broken.

But your face flashed in his mind—your hand limp in his, your voice gone small, your breathing shallow.

He couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not when every second counted and you were right there, close enough to hear them. To feel this. So he swallowed it down, every red-hot urge to put Negan through the nearest wall, and made his voice low—calm in a way that only made it more dangerous.

“Yeah? Maybe you shoulda.”

Negan took a single step forward, a grin on his face. “Don’t tempt me.”

Daryl wasn't gonna start something; but if Negan threw first, he would be more than compliant to settle the matter.

Negan’s hands curled at his sides, chest heaving like he wanted to spit fire—but then-

“Would you both just shut the fuck up?”

Your voice sliced through the tension, raw and cracked and barely more than a croak—but it landed like a hammer.

Both men froze.

You were leaning against the side of the wagon, one hand gripping the rail, breath shaky, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and pain—but you were there. Watching them. Annoyed.

“Seriously,” you rasped. “If this is how I go out? Listening to you two dick-measuring over my half-dead body? Pass. Gimme a gun, I’ll take myself out right now, and we can save the trip”

Dog let out a low whine, like even he agreed.

Daryl blinked. Negan backed off a step.

And just like that, the air shifted. The tension cracked—not gone, but paused. Redirected. Because whatever the hell this was, it could wait.

Getting you to Hilltop couldn’t.

The gates creaked open with a low groan that carried across the morning fog like the start of a funeral march. The wagon wheels shuddered into motion, crunching over gravel, flanked by riders and quiet resolve.

Daryl let the wagon roll ahead without him, boots crunching to a stop just before the gate. He didn’t look back. Just listened—waited—for the telltale footfalls behind him. Sure enough, there they came. Slower than usual. Like maybe Negan thought walking too loudly might get him a black eye. Again.

Daryl could feel him before he spoke. That jittery kind of presence, thick with unasked questions.

“She your sister,” Daryl muttered, eyes still on the wagon. “So you better keep your shit together.”

Negan let out a dry, nervous huff. “Yeah. Copy that.”

A beat passed. The silence between them still crackled with the static left behind from their almost-fight. Negan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed tight like they might anchor him.

“What happened?” he asked finally, cautious—like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to speak.

Daryl’s jaw ticked. He didn’t answer right away; he just stared at the wagon—at you.

“She collapsed yesterday,” he said flatly. “Blood pressure shot through the roof. Her vision, balance, it’s all gone to shit. Hilltop’s got everythin’ she needs to make it.”

Negan blinked. That stupid swagger of his was nowhere in sight now—just tension, regret, and something quieter. Something shaken.

“So that’s what this is,” he murmured, low. “We’re not runnin’ a convoy. We’re runnin’ outta time.”

Daryl finally looked at him. No expression. Just that same unreadable stare that always made it hard to tell whether he was about to throw a punch or walk away.

Negan scratched at his jaw. “I didn’t know it was like this. Thought I was bein’ dragged along to move some crates, maybe slap around a few straggler walkers.” He paused. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ her… like this.”

“You almost weren’t,” Daryl said. “Wasn’t gonna tell you.”

“Why’d you change your mind?”

“Didn’t,” Daryl muttered. “But we needed the bodies.”

Negan took a breath like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. He stared at the horizon instead, watching the wagon crawl forward like a funeral procession.

“She looks like hell,” he said finally. “Like Ma. At the end.”

Daryl flinched. Just barely. “Don’t say that shit.”

Negan held up both hands. “Alright. No offense meant. Just… callin’ it like I see it.”

There was another long stretch of silence. Tighter now. Strained.

“You think she’s gonna make it?” Negan asked, not looking at him.

Daryl’s voice was quiet, but hard as gravel. “She has to.”

That was it. No softness. No comfort. Just cold, relentless conviction.

Negan gave a slow nod, lips pressed thin. “Somethin' we can agree on. Finally”

The gate groaned as it finished swinging open. The wagon rolled through, mist swallowing its shape in seconds.

And with that, they walked through the gate—tense, silent, side by side. Not friends. Not allies. But men with one shared mission:

Get her to Hilltop. Or die trying

He heard your voice call out weakly from the distance. “-Daryl?”

There was a slight tug at Negan’s chest. There was a time when it would have been him you were calling for to be by your side. Lugging crates and putting down walkers sounded a hell of a lot more appealing than watching your little sister call out for a man on her sickbed that wasn't you.

“Comin',” he called back, jogging to catch up with the wagon, but not before stealing a glance at Negan as he did so.

Daryl climbed in beside you, his arm curling around your shoulders, shielding you from the chill and the world. Negan took up the rear, slower now, quieter, his eyes never leaving the sway of the wagon ahead. No one spoke. Even Dog, perched watchful at your feet, seemed to understand this wasn’t the time for noise. Alexandria faded behind them, and the road stretched ahead like a held breath—long, uncertain, and heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Part 4 - final part

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