#I’ll go back hibernating

[kazuww00]

Malleus’s and Kaz’s daughter

Her name is Sylvaine!

Other oc belongs to @/kyowvies

[dance-your-vision]

The thing about this finals result is that, if you had told me in the first several weeks that Joey would win I would have been perfectly happy about that. He IS a great dancer and was clearly a front runner from the get go. What started bugging me though was how the judges Carrie Ann would sing their praises of him and then turn around to tear down Chandler when she clearly was the stronger dancer. The strongest dancer doesn’t always win this show, and in many cases they shouldn’t, but this entire season just felt like putting one hurdle after another in front of this undeniably talented black woman so by the time we got to the finale it really felt like she of all the contestants should be rewarded for her time there. Not to mention Jenna’s choreography has just not held a candle towards what Brandon has created from week to week. The freestyle for me really was the last straw because I am not going to remember Joey’s in the next week but Chandler’s will truly go down in history for multiple reasons so the fact their journey ended with a third place finish just felt like a huge slap in the face - and honestly kind of icky for the first black pairing to ever make it this far

[eerie-watcher]

i’ve been gone for SO long but i had to come back just to say that yes i do feel a certain way about Ryan Madej lmaooo

[toniodarling]

hi Tumblr I totally didn’t forget I had this app with all that’s been going on

anyways enjoy the most majestic picture I accidentally took earlier today

[kissandtellus]

‘Into the Slick of It’ LADS Omegaverse

Synopsis: The LI’s are deep into their Ruts. Oh no! Whatever shall our brave MC do to satiate their hunger?

Warnings: Omegaverse, Whining, Submissive Sylus and Caleb, Slight pew pew play, Lemurian’s are double slinging in this, Drooling, Slobbering, Caleb’s mechanical arm malfunctions in the best way, its dirty ya’ll fair warning.

Authors Note: I’m going to try and make full-length versions for each! Rafayel’s can be found here! You can also find the ‘Heat’ version HERE.

⋆˚🐾˖° Xavier

Xavier was usually a dignified Alpha. He held open doors for you, bought you anything under the sun, even left his much needed naps (hibernation) to spend time with you.

But when his rut hit him like a freight train, you tried to ignore the scent of him literally leaking from his apartment above. He had locked his doors, curled up in his bedroom with only his fist and one of your sweatshirts.

He’d forgotten to lock his balcony door.

You managed to pull yourself to the railing and slide open the door. His scent enveloped you, as if seeping into your very pores.

The sight the greeted you when you managed to shimmy the lock out of his bedroom door was nearly pathetic.

He was fucking his fist, face flush and balls drawn up so tight to his body in need, they looked like they were aching. Your scent hit him before the sight of you did.

He had no more fight in him.

His pre-cum had completely soaked his fingers. When he pulled his hand away, long, sticky strings of cum connected his palm to his cock.

“M-mm fuck-fuck I can’t stop it. Please,” he was fast, nimble. He was upon you in a second, face buried into your pulse point. From behind his back as he nipped and lapped on your covered scent gland, you spotted the rabbit plush you sprayed perfume on for him.

It was absolutely soaked in his pre-cum. The once pristine black pearl eyes coated his drooling cum.

“Xavier-!”

“M-mm sorry, so sorry, couldn’t help it.” His fingers tear off the scent patches and his nearly busts right against your clothes stomach.

“Just a taste baby, please.”

That taste turned into his rutting into you in the meanest mating press known to man. He was so careful not to let his knot slip inside. Even lacking the few inches of his knot, his nearly purple cockhead drilled into the wall of your cervix like a prayer.

“Haa-X-Xava-ahhhh!” You drooled his name out like a curse. Your hair was splayed everywhere like a halo. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

“Good Omega, good girl-take it-take it! I know you can. Gonna give you this knot. Gonna have you begging for more,” he growled, his canines graving your pulse point.

“Accept this gift from your Alpha.”

⋆˚🐾˖° Rafayel (Full Version)

You ran a washcloth down Rafayel chest. The one pale, milky skin covered with scales. Lemurian rut was different than that of humans. It was more primal, more unhinged. His long tail hung out over the edge of his massive bathtub still.

A fan was sat on high intensity, blowing back his purple locks and the gills behind his ears. “Cutie, can’t I just have a nibble? You are killing me here.” His multi-chrome eyes flashed with a hunger that sent a shiver up your spine.

“That’s the Rut talking Raf, you told me not to listen to you when you’re like this.” The statement was true, but your resistance was wavering.

He was like a pretty siren luring you to your death. He couldn’t control his shifting, nor the way his tail splashed water out of the tub and into the floor.

An hour ago, the slit in his tail had separated, a gush of liquid making way for not his one-but two cocks. The length on top was longer, thicker, angrier.

Rafayel reached with a clawed, webbed hand and locked eyes with you as you tried to cool his off with the water. “My Muse, let me take care of you. I’ll take you back to Lemuria, make you my Queen. You’ll give us so many strong children. I want them to have your eyes.”

It was as if he was dirty talking himself. Whimpers of need spilled from those soft pink lips.

Perhaps Rafayel was the siren from those sailor tales.

Because why else would you have been dragged into the water, fully clothed? Why else would you have let him rip clear through your shorts with his claws?

Why else would you let him not only imaple you with one length, but let him try to coherse you into taking his second one?

“Just once baby-c’mon Pretty, you can take it.” He hushes your blubbering about being way too full. His cocks felt like they could impale your lungs at any second. “I know her so well. She’s strong, just like-oh, ah, fuck!”

Your tight walls gave way just enough for his second cock to snugly stretch out your organs. The rock of his thrust sent the bath water flooding the bathroom floor. His tail nearly had a mind of its own, flopping like a fish out of water while he used you as a means of breeding.

“F-fuck! Rafayel I-I can’t-“

“You can, how else will you be a powerful ruler, if you cannot worship your God correctly?”

⋆˚🐾˖° Zayne

Zayne took all of the necessary precautions to keep his interest during his rut. So much lube, suppressants and less than flattering toys. He always kept this locked away in a trunks. You didn’t need to worry your pretty head about such things.

He bought you an extended stay hotel room until his Rut had passed but you were stubborn. So stubborn that you used the passcode for his house gate and welcomed yourself in.

When you entered, the normally pristine state of his house was destroyed. Your dirty clothes were thrown everywhere, there were scratch marks on corners of the wall as if something-or someone-had to basically drag themselves to the bedroom.

When you finally gained the courage to investigate the feral sounds from the bedroom, your knees went weak.

Zayne had his tie stuffed in his mouth, his button up shirt had been torn open and the shreds hung around his bulging biceps.

The poor toy-oh god, it was molded after your insides, was completely destroyed. The gooey silicone was barely holding together. His thick cock has literally torn the toy into nothing but mush.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?” He growled through the black tie, his eyes never tearing away from the toy disintegrating in his hand.

Zayne promised himself he’d patch you up as soon as his Rut passed, as soon as he finished pummeling your ruined pussy over the back of his couch.

He had defiled every corner of his home with his cum and your slick.

You had tried to crawl away from the mean ‘ole doctor twice now, but each time he just pounced, keeping you pinned beneath his body weight, chasing you like a mutt who couldn’t get his fill.

“Are you refusing your Doctor? Are you refusing the best medicine I can give you, my seed?”

Your vision danced with black spots. He was insatiable. You never quite realized how massive he was, how easily he manipulated you with both his words and his strong grip. He finally gave a warning growl, pinning your hands to the small of your back.

“You wanted to play Doctor so bad, wanted to heal me of my woes. So take it.”

⋆˚🐾˖°Sylus

Sylus was a dragon at the end of the day. A great beast who hoarded his treasure.

That hadn’t changed when he was trapped in the body of a man.

It hadn’t changed how during his Rut’s, he ordered the Twins to keep you away as he hoarded everything precious to him in his room for the next few days.

But unfortunately the two goofballs were not the best at keeping you away. Not that you think they actually tried. Kieran had locked eyes with you when you tiptoed around the corner, before winking and going back to his card game with his twin.

When you pushed open the double doors or his chambers, he was meticulously cleaning the muzzle of one of his guns. But what caught your eye was his cock, flagging and twitching to leave a sticky mess over his belly button.

His eyes snapped up and a low growl escaped his throat before he tried to reign himself in. “Kitten, I told you to stay away.”

He stood from the bed with a grace not befitting his size, his swinging cock, nor the gun still in his hand. He tipped your chin back with the point of hiss and gave your face a deep whiff.

You swear you felt him spurt just the tiniest bit of precum on your sweater.

“Maybe I should let you help me. Let you realize what happens when Prey tempts the Predator.”

But oh-ho, it did not turn out his Sylus had expected.

You were straddling his massive length, his knot resting just outside of your stretched entrance. But his gun was now pressed against his parted, whimper filled lips by yours truly. You were a mean Mistress, watching him beg to pop his knot in.

“Gods above woman, I’ll do anything I-i just-“

You squeezed your fluttering walls around his cock like a vice. “What did I say, big boy?” Your voice was so sweet he might bust at just the thought.

The white haired man bowed his back so beautifully it appeared he might snap in half. His nature was screaming at him to bend this disobedient Omega over and use her like a dirty flashlight. But not her, never her.

Sylus gritted his teeth, that suddenly looked a lot sharper. But his fearsome look was interrupted by his pathetic groveling.

“My Love, My Heart, My Cruel Temptress,” he mumbled, red eyes rolled back to his skull. “Give me the grace of knotting you and I’ll give you any Empire you desire. Just for the chance at breeding this treasure of a cunt.”

⋆˚🐾˖° Caleb

Caleb threw the empty bottle of suppressants so hard against the wall, the flimsy bottle had made an indention in his apartment.

This couldn’t be happening, he could be hitting his Rut on the day you were visiting Skyhaven. His mechanical arm whirred, a loud noise that broke him from his contemplating.

Yeah, of course this thing would act up when his hormones were bouncing all over the place.

When you rang his doorbell three times without an answer, you decided letting yourself in was the best option.

Caleb now regretted giving you a key to his apartment, but not really.

His left hand, the cold one connected to his arm, had short circuited. To the point he could control it. He had growled, tried to push the piece of junk away from his throbbing cock but to no avail.

It was trained to protect him, to relieve any stress or danger he might be in. In that moment it had decided his aching cock and swollen knot were his enemy.

When he looked up at you from the couch, man-spread with his hand pumping his cock, his eyes were filled with tears.

“Pips, Pips don’t look, please-a-ah oh F-“ his but his lips to stifle the noise as a third orgasm ripped through him. The dark gray mechanical hand was coated with white cum, his thighs twitching and knot throbbing with unspent need.

“Oh Caleb-“ you took a step forward, and that was the only permission Caleb needed. His Alpha instincts were in a full rage. He had you pinned down to the living room floor by his fangs digging into the back of your neck. His mechabical bicep was cold against your throat as he drilled into you.

The wet noises were a symphony of just how much he needed you. “Here comes the knot baby-no-no, be a Good Girl. Open her up for me, don’t fight it, oh yeah-oh Good-Good fuckin’ Girl!” His praises sounded jumbled when his knot popped through.

Nothing could beat the way his knot stretched you to the point of tears.

“T-Too big Caleb! Take it-take it outttt!” He would stop in a split second if he knew it wasn’t just your instincts pleading with you to at least give this Alpha a run for his money. He hushed your over-sensitive cries and bottomed out in your warm and very welcoming pussy.

“Nu uh, Sweetpea. You were born to take my cock. Go on, take it baby! Oh, Good Girllll, That’s My Girl!”

[theemporium]

[6.1k] most of the league welcome a bye week as all-stars hits the season calendar. with both brothers picked and the rest of the boys on the team flying out somewhere warm for the break, luke has a decision to make. and that decision ends up being a staycation in new jersey with you—not that anyone else in his life really understand why. (smut)

series masterlist

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“Whoever is in charge of this schedule sounds like a sadist.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” You repeated with a small huff, staring down at your phone screen where—he presumed—you were looking at the Devils’ game schedule. “Surely there’s a better way than playing, like, three back to backs in such a short time span.” 

“It’s hockey,” Luke shrugged, like that somehow explained everything. “It’s just how it is. How it’s always been, to be honest.” 

“This makes no sense,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowed in distaste. “You literally played four games last week! Four! In the space of six days!” 

Luke snorted. “Yeah, Cherry, I’m fully aware. I was at the games. Playing.” 

You shot him a look before letting your brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“The schedule?” Luke asked. 

“No, the hockey player sex god stereotype,” you retorted. “How the hell do they find the time to even have sex? How the hell do they have the energy to even have sex?”

Luke tried—and mostly failed—to bite back his grin. “That’s your big question about hockey players?” 

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “I know you are professionals and all but surely this is a bit ridiculous.”

“Hockey is hockey,” Luke answered, shrugging once again. “It’s just always how it’s been.” 

“So, hockey players are sex gods and sadists,” you muttered to yourself, your focus back on your phone screen. “Good to know.” 

Luke only laughed in response. 

“I don’t get why they don’t just move some of the games to the first week in February,” you pointed out. “You have nothing on then.” 

“Because that’s when All-Stars is,” Luke answered. “They send a bunch of guys from different teams to compete in these challenges and stuff.” 

“Like the Hunger Games?” 

“I—” Luke’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, but less death and violence. People usually stay nice for it.” 

“Have you been reaped?” You questioned, grinning a little. 

Luke rolled his eyes. “No, I have not. They choose the best.” 

You frowned. “You are the best. You’re the best hockey player I know.” 

Luke shot you a look. “I’m the only hockey player you know.” 

“Semantics,” you waved him off. “My point still stands.” 

“No, I get something better,” he stated. “I get a week off.”

You grinned. “Big plans?” 

Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I was just looking forward to a week without Jack banging on my door for morning skate.”

“So you’re going to spend the week hibernating,” you teased, lightly nudging his thigh with your foot. But before you could pull your foot back, Luke had grabbed your ankle and easily maneuvered your feet onto his lap. “God, I’ll need to find someone else to cook for me for a week then.” 

And the thing is that Luke knew you were just teasing. For all his claims of being a great cook (which he was, just in the few meals he actually knew how to cook), he had grown into a comfortable habit with you. He enjoyed spending time at your place. He enjoyed unwinding after bad games or grueling practices. He just enjoyed being around you, both before and after his recent realisation of his feelings. 

But now he was staring at you from across the couch, watching the way you were lounging in one of his old Michigan sweatshirts and just felt that overwhelming urge to say something stupid. 

Instead, he settled on, “you should come over.” 

You paused, raising your brows. “Come over where?” 

“To my place,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Jack will be gone and I’ll have the place to myself. We can just—” He paused, his brain going blank at the sight of your amused expression. “Chill.” 

“Chill?” You repeated, grinning.

“Chill,” he nodded, squeezing your ankle. “Just…I feel like…I’m always imposing in your space, you know? You can impose in my space too.” 

“You are a weird guy, Hughes,” you commented, though Luke liked to think you sounded fond when you spoke. 

“Is that a no?” He asked before he could help himself.

You beamed in response. “It’s not a no.” 

He felt something quite like hope spark in his chest. “So, it’s a yes?” 

“Depends,” your eyes glinted. “Are you still Team Stefan? Because if the answer is yes, I will have to decline.” 

Luke groaned. “I said that after we watched, like, three episodes! Stop holding that over my head!” 

…

“This sucks!” 

“Yes, it sucks so much being acknowledged for your skills,” Dawson deadpanned, watching the way Jack wandered around the locker room after practice, whining and complaining about everyone else making their Bye Week plans.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack huffed, narrowing his eyes at the boy before shifting his attention to Nico, eyes wide and hopeful. “Take me with you? I want to go somewhere warm. I want to go somewhere where the chances of freezing my balls off are lower than zero.” 

“Dude,” Nate scrunched his nose, laughing. “We play ice hockey for a living, you can handle a bit of cold.” 

“Suck it up, superstar,” Curtis called out with a huge grin. “Gotta pay up for having the Hughes name on the back of your jersey.” 

“Moose lucked out,” Jack sighed. “I have Quinn and the bajillion Canucks players that are also going. I swear he rigged the thing.”

“Bajillion?” Nico repeated with a disgustingly fond expression.

“Bajillion,” Jack nodded. “There’s too many of them. No one needs that many Canucks in one place. It’s an infestation.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Nate snorted. 

Jack glared. 

“You not going up to Toronto to support your brothers?” Dawson asked, turning his head to look over at Luke. However, the boy barely reacted. He repeated the question again, and one more time before finally throwing a ball of rolled up tape at the side of Luke’s head.

Luke tore his eyes away from his phone, snapping his head up to find half the locker room already staring at him. “What? What did I miss?” 

“Jack complaining about All Stars,” Curtis answered.

“Oh,” Luke blinked. “So nothing new then?” 

“You're not going to Toronto?” Nico asked this time, before Curtis could say whatever witty response he had ready to go.

“Uh, no,” Luke shook his head. 

“Scared you’ll steal their thunder?” Nate joked, patting Luke’s shoulder as he walked past to get to his stall. 

Jack snorted. “He thinks he’s too cool for Toronto. Probably following John to wherever the hell he is going.” 

John’s ears perked, turning whilst he was still removing some of his gear. “What? Luke said he didn’t want to come with us.” 

Jack paused, frowning a little before turning to Luke. “You’re not going away for the week?” 

Luke could feel his cheeks burning up. “No?” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“At least he also won’t be somewhere warm,” Nico stepped in, a hand on Jack’s shoulder providing more than enough distraction from Jack asking questions as he turned to look at Nico with the embarrassingly obvious heart eyes he has always had for the captain.

It gave Luke the short reprieve he wanted, avoiding the other curious looks he was getting as he glanced down at his phone screen for a moment, grinning at the messages before he locked it and put it back in his bag so he could finish getting changed.

cherry🍒: i hope you know that i am using this opportunity to steal as many of your hoodies as i can before the week is over 

cherry🍒: consider this your one and only warning

…

It was surprisingly easy to prevent Jack from asking any more questions. 

A little too easy, if Luke was being honest. 

But Luke was also not an idiot so he didn’t question Jack’s silence after he mentioned a friend would be staying with Luke for the week. Jack had just stared blankly for a few moments before laughing, shaking his head and walking out the room, muttering something about needing to stop by Nico’s after he finished packing. Luke took it as the blessing it was and didn’t bring it up again.

Truthfully, it didn’t hit Luke how insane it felt to have you with him the whole week until he was running around the apartment, cleaning up whatever he could before his phone began ringing from the other room.

“Dude, you have shit timing.” 

Ethan laughed on the other side of the phone. “You’ve been ignoring me! I feel abandoned. What happened to the Luke who said he missed me?” 

“I never said that,” Luke retorted.

“Rude,” Ethan huffed. “Why do you sound so out of breath? Were you training or something?” 

“Nah, just tidying the place up,” Luke replied absentmindedly, staring at the hoodie he picked up on the floor with a frown. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was his or Jack’s, and usually he didn’t care. But the image of you wearing it thinking it belonged to him when in reality it was Jack’s passed his mind and he quickly shoved it into the washing basket. That would be a problem he dealt with later.

“Ugh, don’t even,” Ethan whined on the other side of the phone. “I’m so jealous, dude. I would kill to be on a beach somewhere right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered as he continued to pick up a few empty bottles of gatorade on the coffee table before pausing. “Wait, what? What the fuck are you on about? Who’s going to the beach?” 

Ethan sounded just as confused on the other side. “You?” 

“No, I’m not?” Luke replied, frowning. “I just told you, I’m at my place.” 

“Yeah, because you are tidying up before you fly out somewhere. For Bye Week.”

“Who told you that?”

“I thought it was obvious? Why the fuck would you not be flying out somewhere?” 

And honestly, Luke didn’t have much of a comeback for that one. Because to everyone else, it did seem weird. He knew that. He gathered as much from the rest of the boys’ reactions in the locker room the other day. He gathered it from Jack’s reaction and Quinn’s message (‘wtf rusty’) when he broke the news in the brothers group chat. 

He knew. 

But somehow trying to justify it to one of his best friends over the phone made him realise how fucking dodgy it sounded when none of them really knew about you.

“So, let me get this straight.” 

Luke let out a deep sigh.

“You declined on going up to Toronto with your brothers because you didn’t want to impose, or whatever dumb shit you said, and let them enjoy All-Stars.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then you had the offer to go to Cabo and the Bahamas with teammates, which you also declined.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And then you decided to stay in New Jersey instead of even visiting us up in Michigan with your week off?” 

“Yup.”

“Dude,” Ethan squawked, offended and confused and downright discombobulated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a concussion? Is this like a mid-season breakdown? Do I need to call for help?” 

Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I think I am being perfectly reasonable here.” 

Luke disagreed—majorly—but he valued his life so he stayed silent.

“You’re gonna get so bored staying in Jersey all week,” Ethan pointed out. “What are you even gonna do?” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply just as the buzzer sounded through the apartment. If anyone asked, he would deny the way his face instantly broke out into a smile. 

“Sleep my ass off. It’s hard being in the NHL,” Luke said in the snobbiest voice he could, letting Ethan cackle on the other side and try to get another word in before he spoke up again. “Look, I gotta run, I’ll call you later. Promise.” 

“He plays in the big leagues and thinks he’s so much better than us.” 

“I am better than you,” Luke grinned. “I remember winning beer pong.” 

“That doesn’t fucking count! Mark was the one who—” 

“Bye, Ethan!” 

Luke couldn’t hang up and rush to open the door fast enough. 

…

Deep down, he knew it was stupid for him to feel nervous about you staying over at his place for the week. 

He had stayed over at yours more times than he could count on one hand. You had become an integral part of his life in New Jersey. You were one of his closest friends. He knew you. He knew you knew him. There should have been nothing that made the week weird. 

But he couldn’t help but feel like it meant more. This was him inviting you to stay over for a few days, to stay at his place whilst his brother was out of town, to spend the week with him when he should be resting and drinking some overpriced cocktail on a beach somewhere warm. 

You were his friend but spending his whole stay-cation with him in his apartment like the two of you were playing house was something far from platonic. 

It was a bit of a mindfuck, but not as much as realising just how fucking easy it all was.

It was different from the various nights he spent at your apartment. It was different seeing you in his space, fitting into his life so easily. It was different seeing you relaxed and laid back, looking like you belonged. 

It was different from the night at his birthday party, where you were one of many faces. It was just you and him, standing in his kitchen or sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. It felt so different but so fucking good. 

Only a few days had passed and yet Luke forgot a time where you weren’t here, where you weren’t by his side throughout the whole day. 

It was dangerous but the warning signs were easy to ignore when his attention was fully focused on you.

“Are you calling me lanky?” 

“It was a compliment!” You insisted, but there was a smile on your face—not that he could see, considering your face was currently pressed against his chest as the two of you laid on the couch to watch the fastest skater skill event. “You would do well in this challenge. It would take you, like, five less strides than the rest of them.”

Luke snorted. “Geez, thanks.” 

“You’ll see,” you murmured, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “You’ll do it one day and win and know that I’m right.”

“And then you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?” Luke guessed, his eyes now on you rather than the tv screen. 

“Obviously,” you replied, lifting your head so your chin was resting on the spot your cheek was squished against moments ago. “I’m always right, Hughes. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier your life will be.” 

Luke raised his brows in amusement. “So when you very confidently said that you loved that movie where Andrew Garfield played Batman—” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, lightly pinching his side but he quickly caught your hand. “We were watching Twilight! I was thinking about Robert Pattinson! I got confused!” 

“Uh huh,” Luke beamed. “Just always so right—”

“You’re being a dick,” you huffed, even if you were smiling. “Here I was trying to give you a compliment—”

“By calling me lanky.”

“—and this is the thanks I get,” you shook your head. 

Luke’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. “Thank you, Cherry. I appreciate the confidence.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” you retorted, your palms warm and comforting against his sides. “Soon you won’t need me to remind you.” 

“But I like when you say it,” Luke retorted.

“Professional athletes and their praise kinks,” you sighed, grinning a little when he reached down to pinch your side this time. 

“I’m the only professional athlete you know,” Luke pointed out, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at the mere idea that maybe he wasn’t. That maybe you knew more, that maybe you had experience with more, that maybe they were far more experienced than him and—

“And you have a praise kink,” you said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “Therefore, my theory has not been disproved. I’m right.”

Luke’s cheeks burned hot. “I do not have a praise kink.”

You snorted, grinning as you lifted a hand to playfully squeeze his cheeks. “Aw, baby, you do and it’s hot. Don’t get all shy about it.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, turning his focus back to the tv instead of the growing smirk on your face. 

But the thought lingered in his mind even as the two of you continued to cuddle on the couch, watching whatever movie you had chosen after the All-Stars events ended. It picked at his brain, chipping away at the self-restraint he had to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night until the two of you were getting ready for bed. 

He was lingering by the doorway, watching you get your side of the bed (because apparently that was also something that came easily to the two of you) ready before you climbed into bed. And before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out the words that were on the tip of his tongue for most of the night.

“Do you really think the praise kink thing is hot?” 

His cheeks were already blushy and pink and hot when you turned your head to look at him.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” You asked, something lighthearted and teasing in your voice that was oddly reassuring. You didn’t think he was a freak for asking. Not that he ever assumed you would judge him, you both were far from that point. 

“Does it change your answer?” He asked, not sounding half as confident as he wanted to. 

Your smile softened a little as you walked around the bed and towards him. You tilted your head back once you were in front of him, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite work out. 

Luke swallowed a little.

“It doesn’t change my answer,” you answered honestly. 

Luke could feel something in his chest tighten. “And what’s your answer?” 

“I think it’s hot,” you told him, saying it so casually as though the two of you were discussing the weather. “I think everyone has a praise kink to some extent but…”

Luke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But?” 

“But it’s different with you,” you said, your fingers lightly skimming against his stomach before curling around the hem of his shirt. “You’re so…responsive. It’s hot.” 

His body twitched, like his skin was too tight for his body. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling a little before using the grasp on his shirt to tug him closer and close the distance between you both. Not that there was much.

Luke was almost embarrassed by the noise he made the second your lips were on his, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you used the leverage against him. He ducked his head down, trying to chase your lips as you continued to tease him and tempt him. He barely realised his feet were moving until the back of your knees hit the bed and you pulled back to look at him. 

“So pretty,” you murmured, close enough to hear the way his breath hitched before you moved down onto the bed, with your grasp on his shirt enough to drag him down with you. 

It was far from sexy, if Luke was being honest. An awkward maneuver of too many limbs and shuffling up the bed that should have ruined the moment, but it didn’t. Because it was you and you were laughing and smiling and snorting when Luke almost decked it on top of you after he got his foot stuck. You made it feel so normal. Like it was all just a part of the charm. 

Maybe it was. Maybe feeling safe enough to be human and imperfect was a part of the charm. 

Because despite the uncoordinated and clumsy scrambling onto the bed, you were still looking at him like you wanted to see how pink his cheeks could turn.

Luke barely put up a fight when you pulled him back down, happily following your movements as he settled between your legs and let you wind your arms around his neck so his nose was brushing against yours before you leaned in to kiss him again. 

Unlike a lot of the other makeout sessions the two of you had, there was no rush. There was no lingering adrenaline from a game he wanted to work off or some bad plays he wanted to forget. There were no teasing messages or risky phone calls that were building up to this moment. There was absolutely nothing but just the two of you lying in his bed, making out because you wanted to. 

Because you wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss you. Because you enjoyed the weight of him on top of you and he enjoyed the way your fingers entangled themselves in his curls. Because for reasons that were beyond his understanding, you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his tongue lightly skimming over the area of his bottom lip you nipped with your teeth.

You smiled up at him. “See? So responsive. It’s cute.” 

He swallowed. “Cute?”

“Cute, hot, sexy, whatever word you want to use, pretty boy,” you murmured, one hand sliding down to cup his face as your thumb skimmed over the apple of his cheek. “All I know is that I like the noises you make.” 

Luke responded by leaning back down, kissing you because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked the way your laugh vibrated against his lips before you kissed back.

But whatever control Luke thought he had on himself when he was with you quickly dwindled as you pulled him closer, letting his body fall on top of you and let your thighs squeeze his sides until he was rocking his hips against yours, until he was practically panting between kisses.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing one, two, three pecks against his lips before your lips traced along his cheek and down his jaw. “That’s it, baby. I can feel how much you like this. S’cute how worked up you get just making out.”

“You’re hot,” he gasped out, like it was self-explanatory. Like it justified why he could feel his dick twitching in his sweatpants, probably already making a mess that he would pretend didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.

Your smile was softer, your hand on his face feeling more intimate as you guided his eyes to meet yours. “I think,” you started, your thumb lightly tracing down his cheek and skimming his bottom lip. “You’re hot too. And that you can come like this. Make a mess f’me.” 

And fuck, he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he did, helplessly grinding against you whilst you kissed him and praised him and made his head fucking spin before he was coming harder than he really should be able to from a simple act. He could lean down, press his lips against yours and slide his tongue against yours and feel the way you cling onto him as he comes. He could do it. 

But there was a buzzing voice in the back of his head, getting louder and louder until—

“I bought condoms.” 

He could see the initial surprise on your face as you processed the words he just blurted out, the eyes locked on his kiss-swollen lips shifting to look up and watch the way he squirmed under the realisation of his words. He watched the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes narrowing slightly like you were observing him, keeping on edge until he spoke.

“You bought condoms,” you repeated, trying and failing to keep the smile off your face. “Big plans for this week?” 

“I—” Luke’s face burned. “That wasn’t… didn’t mean…I was just—” 

“Luke,” you said in a softer voice, your smile faltering a little into something more sincere. “M’only teasing.” 

“Okay,” he whispered, a knot twisting in his stomach with every passing second. He swore he was moments away from just exploding out of pure embarrassment or something just as humiliating. 

“Breathe for me,” you murmured, smiling a little when he let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just because you bought them, doesn’t mean we have to do anything with them just yet.”

Luke swallowed, his whole body thrumming as he replied. “I…I want to.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “Only if you want to, too. Because consent is sexy, you know.”

You laughed a little, both hands now cupping his face so your eyes could meet his. “I do, if you want this. If you’re ready.” 

“It is,” he whispered, nodding again. “I trust you, Cherry. I want this. With you.” 

“Okay,” you whispered before kissing him again, slow and sure and content. 

It made him feel a little less like his skin was shrinking all over his body.

And you kept kissing him until his body didn’t feel so tense, until he didn’t feel like a wooden plank on top of you, until he was relaxed and making those little noises between kisses that let you know he wasn’t as nervous as before. 

You kept kissing him as you lightly nudged him back, letting him lean back on his knees until he was straddling your body, giving him enough movement to lean over and scramble through his nightstand until he found the unopened box of condoms.

He tried to tear the plastic covering over the box off, tried to peel it away but his hands were shaking more than he liked and his heart was pounding in his chest and—

“Hey, relax,” you murmured softly, sitting up and taking the box from his hands with little fight from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. “Nerves, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you promised. “You know we can stop at any time, just say the word.” 

He swallowed harshly. “No, I do—”

“I know,” you smiled. “But I also want you to know that.” 

“Only if you do too,” Luke responded, looking completely serious as he said it. “If you want to stop at any moment too, you have to say something too. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me because it’s my…first time or whatever.”

“I promise,” you smiled before nudging him back, until he was settled with his back against the headboard and you were on his lap. “Don’t worry about the condoms right now, okay? Just focus on me.” 

And Luke did.

Because, in complete honesty, it was very easy to ignore the box of condoms and the bubbling nerves and the growing realisation of what was about to happen. The voice in the back of his head saying ‘oh fuck, this is it’ was barely a whisper when his focus was on you. 

It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of you. He was used to this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him senseless. He was used to you dragging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the side. He was used to you tugging his sweatpants down and letting your own follow and guiding his hand between your legs whilst you whispered filthy things against his lips. 

He was used to the way you always targeted the spot just behind his ear, blowing cool air until he physically shivered. He was used to the way your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb lightly skimmed across your nipple. He was used to choking out a breathless moan whenever your thumb slid along the slit on the head of his cock. He was used to the way you tugged on his hair when you were close, letting the dull pain throb wonderfully at the base of his skull whilst you pressed your face against his shoulder. 

You were right, all those weeks ago back at the start of the season, when you said he needed to build up to this moment. You were right about the different experiences and experiments the two of you had tried and tested over the last few months. You were right when you said it was just like practicing hockey. 

It felt a bit fucking poetic and pathetic to compare his sex life to hockey right now, but he got it. 

The same nerves that bubbled up before his first NHL game were no different. Because even though he had played hockey his whole life, it still felt nerve-wracking to play in the NHL. And even though he had spent the last few months doing so much with you, it was still kind of daunting to know it was all leading up to this.

But just like his first NHL game, it just felt right. 

You felt right. 

This whole moment felt right. 

Luke knew he was not like his friends or teammates. He had spent years growing up with locker room talk, hearing about random hookups in the backseat of a car or halfhearted blowjobs in a bar bathroom. He heard about one night stands and casual flings and situationships that tended to go sour. He had heard it all and it was unsettling to imagine that was the future waiting for him. 

But it wasn’t. 

And it felt a bit comforting to know that he never had to look back on this experience and regret the person he was with or where he was or whatever stupid risk it could cause his career. All he had to think about was him and you and the way you were looking just as affected and turned on as he was right now.

“You still sure?” You whispered, soft and comforting and so fucking caring, it made his throat feel a little tight. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little as he leaned in to kiss you again to emphasise his point. “I trust you. I want this with you.” 

You smiled, still looking so fucking genuine before you leaned over to grab the box of condoms, removing the plastic peel with an ease he was only slightly jealous of. He watched you grab a small foil packet, glancing at him every few seconds like you were waiting for him to jump back on his decision.

“I trust you,” he repeated, confident and sure. 

His hands laid on your legs as you tore open the foil packet. His hands squeezed the fat of your thighs as you rolled the condom on him, stroking him a few times until he was bucking into your touch. His hands were on your waist, supportive and guiding as you slowly sunk down onto his cock. 

“Shit,” Luke breathed out, his breath shaky and gasping. “Shit.”

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I—fuck—I’ve got you.”

The squeeze of your walls around his cock made him want to close his eyes. It made him want to lean back against the headboard, keep his eyes closed and fucking bask in the feeling of you being so warm and tight and intense around him. But the desire to watch the way his cock disappeared into you was stronger, to watch the way your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted as you settled fully on his lap. 

It was fucking memesiring watching the way you slowly lifted your hips and sunk down again. It made him feel like his head was spinning as he watched you continued to move, to sink up and down on his cock, to fuck yourself on his cock and moan his name and look into his eyes and—

“Can I—” He cut himself off, a pathetic and whiny noise leaving his lips when you squeezed around him. “Can I please—”

“Whatever you want,” you murmured, breathless and panting as you leaned in to kiss him like you needed it.

He let himself enjoy the kiss, to enjoy the feeling of being inside you and the weight of you on his lap and your lips on his before he moved. Before he reminded his brain that he can move, that he didn’t have to feel so boneless and helpless, as he shifted until the two of you had rolled over and you were beneath him and—

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, loud and shameless as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg out of the way enough for him to thrust back in as your head feel back against the pillow. “Shit, yes, like that.” 

For a second, it was hard to remember he was even in his own body as he watched you. It was fucking mesmerising as he watched you moan and whine beneath him, as he felt your nails digging into his skin and scratching down his back as you demanded him for more, as you muttered his name between pleas and begs and whimpers. 

Luke kind of wished this moment would last forever. 

Unfortunately for him, he was utterly weak when it came to you. Because you were pretty and sweet and you felt fucking unreal around him, and you were looking at him like he fucking meant something and—

It was so much. Too much. Just fucking enough. 

“I can’t—” He gasped out, his whole body feeling like it was buzzing alive as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and his thrusts became sloppier. “I’m not gonna last long—”

“Come for me,” you breathed out, your hands cupping his cheeks as you wound your legs around his waist. “C’mon, Luke, wanna feel you come in me.” 

And well, he stood no fucking chance lasting after you said that to him.

He could have sworn his ears were ringing when he came. It was intense and overwhelming and disorienting and, fuck, it felt so good. He could feel his muscles tensing, his body rigid and shaking as his orgasm washed over him. He could feel the wave of pleasure rushing through him, leaving every fucking nerve in his body buzzing as he let himself enjoy the way you were squeezing him around him.

He felt like he was on cloud nine when you ran your hands through his curls, your lips against his ear whispering god knows what. But your voice was low and humming and comforting and he could feel his eyes slipping close to enjoy the sound of it. 

He could feel you running your hands over his body, feel the way every inch of skin was pressed against you, feel the way your legs were tightening around him like you didn’t want him to move just yet either. 

After the rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his body felt syrupy. His movements felt slow and unhurried, his thoughts felt like they were floating away. His brain felt fuzzy and pleased and content to just lay on the bed with you, bask in the feeling a little longer before the grossness and desire to clean up took over. 

Luke was more than happy to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, to close his eyes and let out a happy sigh and let himself relax after the really intense last few minutes the two of you had just experienced.

And if Luke was more awake, he would have noticed the way you tensed up the second he spoke. The way your eyes widened, the way your body instantly locked up, the way you went a little pale. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have been able to think twice before he spoke. 

But Luke wasn’t awake. He fell asleep after muttering the one thought that had been on his mind since New Years. 

He closed his eyes and slept like a fucking baby and woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment and not a single sign of proof of the night before except the marks on his skin and the used condom lying on his bedroom floor. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he had slurred into the crook of your neck, his voice barely louder than a rumble as the sleepiness really hit. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have stopped himself from completely fucking everything up. 

.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: noncon, gangbang, elf-reader, orc captors, racism between orcs and elves, captive reader, enslavement, piss drinking, mindbreak, mentioned toe-sucking and rimming, navigating cultural differences

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: THE PILLORY

The orc bandits sold your fellow elves off like slaves, but the commander ended up saving you for himself.

You’d been out of it throughout the ordeal. Already with the feeling of being numb, dumb, and tingly from the top of your crown down to the tips of your toes, you’d soon been overcome with fever as if taken by sickness—or withdrawal. Kept warm in the lap of your captor, you could barely keep your eyes open and must have passed out again—all to the sound of your troop's despair as they were bid on individually and dragged off by different buyers, all adorned collars and chains.

When you woke up again, whatever had you so enthralled and pliant was gone, leaving you feeling much like those times you’d woken from drinking more than your limit—along with a sore ache spanning your entire body, leaving you bedridden.  

Lying there, on a massive fur pelt in a fire-heated tent with a pair of shackles upon your ankles, you decide against your former poor judgment of making demands—this time, staying still and deadly silent, causing no fuss and voicing no complaint in petrified fear of the heavyweight resting at your back, breathing soundly like a beast in hibernation.

You still don’t understand what happened—still don’t understand what got into you—why did you act that way? It was as if you’d completely lost your mind—hijacked by something unholy and depraved—something vile. You’d been possessed—you must have been! To be bred by those monsters, swallow their semen—drink their piss. Thinking about it, the shock of it all cancels out the disgust. How could you have done all that? Sure, you were forced, but you could swear… somewhere halfway through, you started to enjoy it.

“Why so quiet, elf-pet?”

He must have felt the shift in your breathing. Beasts of war sleep with one eye open, after all. Still, you don’t answer—you don’t move a muscle. Stiff and lifeless, you remain, even as his hand—the one dwarfing your hip—slides south.

"Afraid to wake me?"

You just swallow thickly with a whimper as his thick orc finger, weathered by labor and battle, pets your naked sex, rubbing your clit before splitting the lips and playing with the poorly treated hole beneath it.

“Where’d all that fight go, hm?” he rumbles at your stillness, amused by it as he prods your entrance and pulls your bottom against his bulge. “Don’t tell me I fucked it all gone…” 

All you do is quake and tremor, even as his digit breaks through and starts prepping you—slipping in and out slowly, drawing slick as if your cunt was already trained to do so.

His pleased hum rumbles at your back, wreaking your bones—making you feel fickle like a sprout.

“Elves make such good pets once you tame them,” he states, chuckling. “You love cock and cum so much it makes you dumb—a single taste of it and even the priggish of elves like you turn into filthy little whores hungry for more.” 

You feel him fatten behind you—clenching your thighs as it swells up against your rear. 

His arm, the one beneath your head you’d been resting on like a pillow, coils around your neck and pulls you back snugly against him. 

“Don’t worry, elf-pet—” he grins, teeth by your ear in heated words, “I’ll keep feeding you good and full.”

And that's how it goes. Anytime you sober up, he fucks you silly—well and truly silly—silly in the way it makes you indiscriminately slurp his cum off the ground and suck his toes and lick his ass and squeal with joy as he swarms your womb with piss, “Ah feels so nice and warm inside—I love being master’s piss-bucket! Thank you!”

It’s been that way for months now.

He’s taken to calling you Putty because of how dumb and malleable you’ve become, eager to do anything he says, just to please. It disgusted you in the beginning, but you’ve since learned to accept the weakness of your nature—if only for the sake of survival and your own sanity. 

There’s no point in beating yourself up about it—not in this godforsaken part of the world where everyone seems out to do it for you.

You’d known orcs were soulless creatures, but truly, nothing could have prepared you for their level of depravity. If you could, you’d stay hidden inside the tent and never expose yourself to the horrors outside—already sated with those you have to endure within its thin drapes. But unfortunately, your master enjoys bringing you with him wherever he goes. 

Many orcs do, you’ve come to understand. They like parading their slaves, mostly fae-folk like you, around—all dressed skimpily, all with collars—nymphs and fairies often with their wings clipped and elves with their heads shaved in shame. 

Today, you’re out walking the market—you, with your leash on, and him, with his fist tugging it close behind him. 

He’s looking at weapons and armor for the most part and the odd toy or article for you. He likes keeping you pretty, in jewelry and sheer silks that let everyone admire what he has warming his bed. 

Since becoming his slave, he’s taken you to get plenty of piercings and markings. You can’t read their scripture, but he’s told you what he’s marked on your pretty skin several times. His name, of which you’re not allowed to speak, paired with his title as your direct master, as well as his guild’s seal, stating their ownership of you—all in three intricate patterns down your right arm. So, even if you ever do get home, you’ll never be able to wash him off. Another train of patterns on your left arm shows your status as a slave and your worth if anyone but your master were to damage or kill you accidentally.

For all their cruelty—you’re surprised by their level of organization. Though you don’t agree with it, you can at least admit that what they have is some variation of civilization—as supremacist as it is. But then again, elves are much the same—always thinking themselves better than everything, even other groups of fae.

It’s funny, but in a way, you’re almost convinced this is divine justice—the gods punishing you for your false sense of superiority by forcing you to live your life in suffering as an orc’s slave. 

It’s a trial—your last chance at redemption before death. Fulfill it, and heaven will be waiting for you with open arms. Yes, that must be it. 

The crowd becomes thicker near the end of the market street. It seems there’s an ongoing roadside show that many are keen on watching. You hear the jeers and hollers, the oos and ahs, and coming out empty-handed from the market trip, it seems the commotion is enough to pique your master’s interest enough to make him battle his way through to the front with you in toe just behind him—paying no mind to how members of the crowd paw at you. 

One is even so brazen to spit on your chest. But it comes as no shock—nor does your master’s indifference. In orc culture, all orcs are masters and can do what they want to any and all slaves with respect to their direct master. In fact, it’s not uncommon to see masters chain their slaves up like mutts in the street—free for all to have a go.

Actually, you can bet that’s what gathered this flock.

And sure enough, you’re spot on. 

Three fellow fae are on display up on the stage, naked and drenched in cum and sweat and other fluids—all made fully dumb by it.

You’ve theorized why over the months of being subjected to it and could only come up with one sound theory to explain it. Orc fluids must contain strong aphrodisiac properties, maybe even other substances that make their victims so agreeable—a type of natural incentive, possibly to make breeding more plausible and easy for a race so ugly. 

Yes, that must be it. It’s the only thing that could make any sense of the heart-eyes and love-cries you witness on all your otherwise dignified fellow fae.

One of them is folded between two orcs, desperately sucking on one of their tongues with her eyes closed in bliss, taking both their cocks in both her holes. It’s hard feeling sorry for her when she looks so happy, but you know the situation yourself—it’s like your mind’s been replaced by a fluffy cloud, and all you can think to wish for is to be taken higher.

Another girl is on her knees, ass up and head down—with a heavy foot placed on top of her cheek, squishing her pretty face against the wooden stage—tongue out and eyes crossed as he fucks her sloppy cunt with his whole entire fist. The poor girl is so mindbroken she just giggles with a smile, thighs shivering in delight as she squirts out a puddle beneath her.

The last girl is placed on her back on a beam—ankles suspended in the air, tied tightly to two poles—arms tied together under the bench. She’s also got two of them having their fun with her—one in each end in a spitroast. 

You’ve been in her position once—shared like a piece of meat—stuffed overfull with no freedom to spare. You wonder if she’d spoken out of place, too.

The orc by her head tugs his cock in his fist, standing over her head, letting her lick the sweat off his balls before dropping his length on her chest, bunching her tits and fucking through them with a groan, letting his balls swing and drag over her pretty face. But it’s not long before he steps back and puts his shaft to her lips, holding her throat in a light grip as she sweetly teases his dickhole with the tip of her tongue. When he gives her a firmer squeeze, she obediently widens her mouth, gaping to receive the head.

The girl holds it in her mouth like you do for your master, trying your best to suck but only ever managing to drool around it like a roasted pig with an apple between its teeth. Oh, but then something impossible happens.

You swear it’s like watching a circus act—you look on in horror and awe—unable to grasp it as more of the orc’s meaty member disappears down the girl’s swallow—one girthy inch at a time. You watch her throat swell, eyes wide in disbelief as her pipe blows out to accommodate the size, letting it sink inside all the way through down to the hilt.

The audience whistle and shout at her performance—all impressed as the two orcs fuck her on time with each other—out, then all the way in. And honestly, you’re one of them. Blinking at the display, you can barely trust your eyes—the two cocks must be kissing each other's tips inside her.

“What good whores,” your master mumbles at your side, swinging you against his chest with a grip on your jaw, making you face the scene. 

“You see that, Putty,” he gruffs and points at the one you’d already been watching, wide-eyed and drop-jawed. “One day soon, you’re gonna be just like that.”

You dont know why, but watching the filthy scene makes your gut gurgle. How can you be hungry at a time like this?

“A perfect throat-sleeve for me. So deep, I can finally touch your guts from both ends and fill your belly just how you like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku ♡ HxH – Uvogin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[chiasfeu]

as a retired ff writer ive come out of hibernation bc the lack of smallville clark kent ffs is unacceptable tom welling is toooooo fine

sorry for all the grammatical errors i wrote this all at once and didn’t reread

part two

SECRET ADMIRER - clark kent x reader

Fumbling the lock of your locker, you sigh; you were on your fifth day at smallville high school and you weren’t ecstatic to say the least. After your dad had gotten into some legal trouble with LutherCorp your family had to move out of Metropolis to somewhere more safe.. more remote. Adjusting to the rural life of smallville had proven to be difficult and the people seemed strange. Slamming a fist against your locker you try again, meticulously turning the lock of the locker. Click. As you open the doors of the locker, a piece of paper slowly falls out.

Picking it up you read your name in bright red across the folded up piece of paper, you smile to yourself thinking, my very own secret admirer..

Maybe smallville won’t be so boring.

—————

Sipping on your coffee, you annotate your copy of the scarlet letter for English class. “Hey! y/n right?” A friendly voice calls out. You look up from your book, smiling. “Yeah! you must be Lana?” She nods, “I see your getting ready for the English exam, you need any help?” You glance at your book before starting, “I’m good for now.. I’ll let you know if I have any questions!” She smiles again before turning away to walk back behind the counter. Your eyes follow her as she talks to the costumers by the counter, they look familiar— a blonde girl with short wispy hair, and two other guys beside her.

You almost jump out of your own seat when you lock eyes with one of the boys, has he been looking at me this whole time? You think, embarrassed, quickly focusing on your book again. Although you’ve looked away you can still feel his gaze lingering on you.

“Hi.” You’re startled as you hear the voice, looking up at the boy that was staring at you from across the room. Before you can reply he starts, “You’re in my first period Bio class.. you know.. with Jenkins..” You blink, waiting for him to continue. He gulps, “uh well Jenkins is really tough.. and we have our first quiz next class so I was wondering if you would want any help….?” You smile sweetly, what is it with small town folks being so eager to help out? “Yeah I would really like that actually,” He smiles, almost in a relived way. “Great. You’re actually my new neighbor so I’ll just come over to help out,” He says before turning away. You cock your head to the side before saying, “Wait.” He turns around, facing towards you, “I never got your name,” you say.

“Clark Kent.”

—————

You’re sitting on your bed as you peer up at Clark while he explains how to convert moles into grams, “So you’re going to divide the number of particles by Avogrados number..” You yawn tuning him out, your eyes fall the paper that slipped out of your locker earlier today. I still haven’t read that note. You grab the note, opening it up, “y/n are you listening to me.” He says clearly frustrated. “Sorry Clark..” you say apologetically smiling, he notices the paper in your hands and nervously looks back up at you. “What is that?” He says, shifting around in his seat, looking intently at your face. You smile lightly, giggling, “It’s a letter from my secret admirer.” He visibly relaxes, “Oh.. I take it you like having one?” You nod shrugging, “makes smallville a lot more interesting than it could be.” He fake winces, “Smallville is a lot more interesting than you think.” You raise your eyebrows unconvinced, “Really? You’ll have to show me what’s so ‘interesting’ one day.” He smiles glancing down, “Maybe I will.”

You look at Clark’s notebook and your eyebrows furrow, the handwriting looking strikingly similar to the one in the note you found this morning. “Clark..” “Hm?” He looks up at you, “Do you possibly happen to know whoever wrote me that note?” He scratches his head, “No? Why would I?…” You shrug, “Just curious..” He awkwardly smiles before writing in his notebook again. You shift your position on your bed, scooting closer to him, “Clark, it’s ok you can tell me if you do know…” you bring your hand to his exposed forearm caressing it. He coughs before breathlessly stating, “I really don’t know who wrote it, y/n.” You push up against him, drawing circles up his arms, “Hm.. that really is too bad..” He swallows dryly, “yeah?” You nod slowly, “yeahhh.. I would’ve gone along with everything they wrote in that letter..” There’s a moment of silence as he looks at you. He shuts his eyes, sighing hard before confessing, “I wrote it.”

You grin mischeviously, running a hand through his hair, “You really didn’t have to lie, Clark..” He opens his eyes to look at you, his cheeks red from embarrassment, “y/n” “hmm?” You hum, tilting your head bringing your lips closer to his. He glances at them, sighing heavily before parting his lips to say something. He’s cut off by you pressing your lips against his, you feel his body relax into yours, his hands sliding up your back and his lips pushing deeper into the kiss. You pull away from the kiss, your hands holding Clark’s head; using your thumb you wipe lipstick off of Clark’s swollen lips as he looks at you longingly.

Yoau press your lips together, suppressing a giggle, “Hmm it’s getting late.. how about we pick back up tomorrow?”

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki in trouble !

katsuki makes a grave mistake and has to make it up to you.

“ hey.”

silence.

“ hey.”

katsuki is in trouble.

he knew he was in trouble when he playfully poked at your cheek and you kept ignoring him, not even offering him a side glance as you kept scrolling on your phone.

earlier, you had caught him committing the irreparable sin of eating the last piece of cake you had bought from a bakery near school which you had specifically saved for today. you would’ve been nice enough to share it with him if you hadn’t caught the bastard red handed stuffing his face with your cake.

after that you hadn’t talked or looked at him since. and it’s been driving him fucking nuts.

he needs you to talk to him, to touch him, to at least look at him again or he’ll lose it. this was basically torture for him, and you knew that.

he tried acting like he didn’t care, he really did. but that lasted about five minutes before he started getting antsy. he kept clicking his tongue and grunting and sighing every minute or so. he rested his head against his hand where he laid on your bed and he’s been staring—scratch that, glaring at you for what seemed like forever.

katsuki knows he’s in trouble, but he doesn’t like it when you ignore him. you know he hates it, so it’s all your fault he’s acting like this. he wants you to look at him now, and when he wants something katsuki makes sure he fuckin’ gets it.

“yer bein’ dumb, was one slice of cake, you’re really gonna ignore me for that ?” he poked at your side making you jump slightly, but your eyes remained fixed on your phone like you hadn’t even heard him. like he wasn’t even there !

katsuki’s eye twitched.

he sighed, scooting himself closer to you so he could grab the phone you were tightly clutching onto. after wrestling you for it and ripping it out of your hands, you tried crossing your arms against your chest, but he was faster, grabbing both your wrists. you tried getting out of his iron grip but it was futile. screw him, being so strong. it was honestly kind of insulting he wasn’t even struggling that badly, only grunting a bit as he told you to “quit that” and grabbing both your wrists in one hand.

you dont know how he ended up on top of you, but he did and you were suddenly trapped. you wouldn’t go down without a fight though, turning your ahead away from him to glare at the wall.

you heard him huff above you. “ m’sorry okay ? shouldn’t have eaten yer’ stupid cake.” he mumbled begrudgingly. you glanced at him and saw how red his cheeks were as he tried to keep eye contact but simply couldn’t, his eyes darting around the room then landing back on yours.

fuck, he’s cute.

as endearing as he was, you were still a little pissed off. “that was my last slice.” you muttered grumpily.

“i know.”

“that was my last slice.”

“i know.” he lowers himself until he’s laying on top of you and he noses at your neck. “ i’ll get ya another one." he muttered into your shoulder.

you stayed silent for a bit, willing yourself not to smile “really ?”

he shoved his head deeper in your neck, you squirmed at the ticklish sensation of his hair against your cheek. “ yeah.” he grumbles, pressing a sloppy kiss onto your skin. “so quit ignorin’ me, pisses me off.” read : “it makes me upset.”

you can practically hear the pout in his voice as he presses more of his weight onto you like he’s trying to trap you which he probably is. he lets go of your wrists in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. you feel him sigh against you as he waits for your response.

you smile slightly to yourself as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. he lets out a sigh of relief and his hold on you tightens. “don’t ignore me like that again, got it? mean it.” he practically whines into your shoulder. his attempt at scaring you is completely useless when he’s basically trying to hibernate in your neck.

you chuckle “ i won’t if you keep your paws off my food.” obviously he’s unhappy with your answer because he bites you, hard.

“ ow ! katsuki !”

he growls in response “don’t do it at all, dumbass. don’t like it.”

“ well, i don’t like it when you eat my food !” you quipped.

“ didn’t know it was yours.” he answers simply, cozying himself up in your neck. the asshole.

“you could’ve asked me.” you complain, but you’ve got a hand running through his hair and you’re rubbing his back soothingly. he groans.

“ i’ll get you a new one tomorrow, so quit bitchin’ at me an’ lemme fuckin’ hold you.”

you sigh “you’re unbelievable.” you feel him smirk against your neck and he bites it again, softly this time, and looks up at you. a smirk on his lips and you hate how it makes your heart skip a beat or two. screw him and his stupidly pretty face.

“you love me though.” and he knows he’s right with that stupid little self assured grin he has and you’re suddenly tempted to smack it right off his face. with your mouth. lovingly.

you pretend to be deep in thought and he huffs out a laugh, pinching your stomach. you squeal and tug lightly at his hair as payback. he retaliates by shoving his head into your neck again, mouthing and chewing on it like a dog.

“katsuki !” you try to scold him but you’re laughing. you weakly push at his shoulders but it’s useless.

“you love me.” he says again.

he’s insufferable.

“ i do, i do !” you gasp.

“ say it.”

he’s insufferable.

but you wouldn’t have it in any other way, unfortunately.

“ okay, okay !” you grab his shoulders to get him to look at you and when he does his eyes are bright and playful and he’s smiling wide and you mirror his expression, because you do love him.

“ i love you, katsuki.” he smiles wider. his cheeks are pink but he’s still got that stupidly handsome smirk on his face as he speaks “ of course you do.” he leans forward and plants his lips onto yours. you place your hand against his warm cheek and he grips your wrist. when you pull away you’re both breathing a little heavy. he presses his forehead against yours and smiles softly at you. you smile back.

of course you do.

“ you’re still getting me my cake tomorrow.”

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 11

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 7.7k

warning: language, injury

hey guysss heres chap 11 !! sorry for a bit of a delay as ive been sick with a fever 😭 ntm to say other than it's not edited. lmk what u guys think !! hope u guys enjoy 😽🫶🏽

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Paige slumped into her seat by the window, the duffel dropping to the floor by her feet. Caroline scooted in beside her, stretching her long legs out, while Aubrey claimed the other corner of the last row, pulling up her hood and immediately nestling against the window like she was prepping for hibernation.

Paige pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and quickly opened her messages.

Paige: js sat down

Paige: alrdy missing u a lil too much 😅

A beat later, the typing bubble appeared. Paige blikned down at it, her stomach fluttering.

Azzi: im still standing outside like an idiot

Azzi:  miss you alrdy too 

Azzi: stay safe ‘lover girl’

Paige’s face flushed, and she turned slightly toward the window to hide it.

Caroline leaned in and nudged her with her elbow. “So… what exactly did I walk in on back there when I yelled your name ?”

Paige didn’t answer at first, just grinned quietly and kept looking at her phone.

Aubrey snorted from her side. “Please. You saw her. She was two seconds away from proposing to Azzi in the bushes.”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat dramatically. “Bruhhhh can you not ?”

Caroline smirked. “We’re just saying, that looked like a goodbye scene straight out of a movie.”

“She kissed your cheek,” Aubrey added.

“And you looked like you forgot how to breathe after,” Caroline chimed in.

Paige threw a hand over her face. “Oh my god. I hate both of you.”

Caroline grinned. “Anywayss, I have a question.”

“No,” Paige said automatically.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say !”

“I know.”

Caroline ignored her. “When are you going to actually ask her out ?”

Aubrey perked up. “Yea, I’ve been wondering that too. Especially after what happened today…”

Paige groaned louder. “Don’t bring it up.”

“What ?” Aubrey feigned innocence. “The part where prof casually called Azzi your girlfriend ? That part ?”

Caroline laughed. “I swear he didn’t even blink. He just said it like it was common knowledge.”

“Because it kind of is,” Aubrey added.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Paige muttered, covering her face again.

They all laughed and Paige let the moment settle. The truth was, she didn’t mind the teasing. Because under it all, there was something warm and real growing in her chest, something that didn’t feel one-sided anymore.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Paige mumbled, half-heartedly.

“Yet,” Caroline and Aubrey said in unison.

Paige glared at both of them. “Can I breathe for like five mins ?”

“You can breathe after you grow a spine and ask her out,” Caroline said.

“I’m working on it,” Paige said, quieter now, eyes back on her phone.

A new message buzzed through.

Azzi: u better kill it this weekend. 

Azzi: but also come back asap 🫠 

Azzi: sitting on the couch is gonna feel weirdly quiet without u

Paige smiled to herself, thumbs hovering over the screen before she typed:

Paige: weirdly quiet huh ? 

Paige: sounds like someone is getting used to having me around 🥹

The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.

Azzi: maybe i am. 

Azzi: dont make me admit it twice 🙄

Paige’s heart stuttered. She read the message twice, then 3 times, before tucking her phone into her pocket and exhaling a long, slow breath.

“What ?” Caroline asked, noticing the look on her face.

“Nothing,” Paige said, lips curling despite herself. “Just… maybe I’ll ask her when I get back.”

Aubrey let out a slow, exaggerated clap. “Growth.”

Caroline threw an arm around her shoulder. “Finally. Took like five years.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but her smile never left.

She didn’t feel nervous anymore. She felt ready. Well, mostly.

She let out a quiet sigh, tilting her head back against the window again. “Ok, but like… real talk ? I lowkey wanna kiss her so bad sometimes, it’s patheticn.”

Caroline snorted. “Lowkey ?”

“I’m serious,” Paige groaned. “Every time we’re close I just… I pussy out. Like full body shutdown. Brain empty, confidence gone, nothing left but static.”

Aubrey cracked a grin. “Just say you wanna fuck her too while your at it.”

Paige sat up straight, face blazing. “No ! I mean—what ?! No !”

Aubrey held up her hands, laughing. “Relax, it's a joke.”

Caroline was wheezing. “God, your face. That was amazing.”

“Yea, it’s because I don’t wanna—” Paige stopped herself, fumbled for words, then covered her face again. “Bruh, I’m just gonna not say anything about that.”

The laughter softened a bit. Caroline shot her a sideways look, gentler this time. “Anyways, stop overthinking it. If you feel it and you think she does too, just don’t wait forever.”

Aubrey stretched out, grinning. “Yea. Worst case scenario, she beats you to it and you end up the nervous mess.”

Paige groaned. “Perfect. Encouraging and embarrassing.”

But underneath the teasing, something settled in her chest. Maybe this time, she really was ready to stop holding back.

—------------------------------------------

The team dinner that night after they landed in Knoxville had finally wrapped up, the noise of laughter and clinking plates fading as Paige slipped back into the quiet of her dorm room. KK and Ice were sprawled on the couch, scrolling through their phones, while Paige tossed her jacket on the bed and pulled out her phone.

She thumbed open her messages, her fingers hovering for a moment before typing.

Paige: heyyy dinner was pre wild with the way kk was trying to steal the last pizza slice off ice

A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

Azzi: 😭 sounds like a disaster

Azzi: hope ice survived the invasion

Paige smiled, then glanced at KK and Ice.

“Hey, you guys gonna keep sitting there or go to annoy the others ?” she asked.

KK stretched and smirked. “Damn right. We’re gonna go stir up trouble with the others. They’re probably bored without us.”

Ice grinned. “Catch us later, peace out.”

They got up, grabbing jackets and tossing a “Later, P boogers !” over their shoulders as they headed out.

Paige settled back on her bed, fingers itching to type again. She paused, then went for it.

Paige: wann ft ? 

Paige: i kinda wanna see ur pretty face before i knock out

Her heart skipped when the typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

Azzi: nawww sure 🤭

Azzi: lemme js find my charger 

Paige grinned, already imagining that smile lighting up her screen.

The Facetime screen connected with a quiet ding, and Paige propped her phone up against her pillow, settling back as Azzi appeared.

Azzi was curled up on her bed, wearing a loose tank top and soft grey pj pants, her hair tossed up into a messy bun that somehow looked effortlessly perfect. A pair of glasses perched on her nose as she adjusted her charger.

Paige blinked. Her brain stalled for a second.

“Hey P,” Azzi said, voice warm and casual as she sat back and pulled her blanket over her lap.

Paige smiled a beat late. “Hey.”

“You good ?” Azzi asked, 1 eyebrow raising behind her glasses.

Paige cleared her throat, shifting slightly against the headboard. “Yeayea, just… tired. Long day.”

Azzi gave her a look that said uh huh, sure, but didn’t press.

Paige reached for her water bottle, more for something to do than out of thirst. Her fingers fidgeted with the cap. She couldn’t stop looking at Azzi. Something about the way her collarbone peeked out from the tank top, the lazy slouch of her posture, her bare legs tucked under her—it was casual, normal, completely innocent.

But Paige’s thoughts were anything but.

She tapped the edge of the bottle nervously. “You look pre comfortable.”

Azzi glanced down at herself, then back up with a small grin. “It’s pajama hour. You know how it is.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled. Her eyes dipped for a second too long before she looked away quickly, pressing the cold water bottle to her cheek like it might ground her.

Azzi tilted her head. “What time’s final practice tomorrow ?”

“Uh—” Paige blinked. “Eight I think—Oh wait, nine. Then a quick film right after.”

Azzi nodded, shifting her weight and adjusting the blanket again. “And the game’s Sunday, right ?”

“Yea. Early.” Paige tapped her knee restlessly. “We’ll head straight to the airport after. Should be back on campus around like… nine or ten-ish ?”

Azzi’s expression softened. “So I get you back Sunday night ?”

That made Paige smile, even as her stomach flipped. “Yep. Lucky you.”

Azzi smirked. “Lucky me.”

There was a small pause. Paige chewed her lip, trying not to stare too hard at the soft lines of Azzi’s neck or the way her glasses kept slipping down her nose only for her to push them back up with one finger.

It was stupid how hot she looked while doing absolutely nothing. Just existing.

“Hey,” Azzi said suddenly, her tone light but curious. “You sure you’re ok ?”

Paige blinked again. “What ?”

“You’re just… fidgety. More than usual. Did you drink like four gatorades at dinner or something ?”

Paige let out a sharp laugh, then immediately regretted it. “No, I—I’m just tired. Brain fried. Also KK dared me to eat a pepperoni slice with ranch and chocolate syrup on it, so I might still be recovering.”

Azzi winced. “That’s foul.”

“Yea, she’s a menace.” Paige shifted again, tugging her hoodie sleeve over her hand. “Anyway, I’m just kinda out of it.”

Azzi hummed, still watching her. “Well, I’m glad you called.”

“Yea ?” Paige asked, quieter now.

Azzi nodded. “It’s nice. Seeing your face. I feel like I haven’t really seen you in days.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “Same.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt like the kind that only happened when 2 people were a little too aware of each other.

Azzi glanced down at something in her lap and then looked up again, blinking slowly. “You should sleep soon tho. Big weekend ahead.”

Paige exhaled. “I know.”

“You’re gonna kill it,” Azzi said firmly. “Like, I have zero doubts. I wish I could’ve come.”

Paige smiled faintly. “Me too.”

There was another pause, softer this time. Azzi yawned quietly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. The movement made her tank top slip slightly off 1 shoulder. Paige’s eyes darted away instantly.

Focus. You’re just friends. You’re not allowed to think about kissing her. Or holding her. Or—

Azzi’s voice broke through her thoughts again. “Alright, lover girl. You should get some sleep.”

Paige froze, then narrowed her eyes. “You did not just call me that again.”

Azzi grinned. “I absolutely did.”

“Disrespectful.”

“Affectionate.”

Paige couldn’t stop smiling even as she groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. “Ok, goodnight before I combust.”

Azzi laughed. “Night, Paige.”

“Wait—”

Azzi raised her brows. “Yea ?”

Paige peeked out from the pillow, cheeks pink. “Thanks for answering. I… kinda needed that.”

Azzi’s expression softened again. “You don’t have to thank me. I always want to see you.”

Paige swallowed.

“Goodnight for real,” Azzi said, almost in a whisper now.

“Night,” Paige echoed.

The screen went dark, but Azzi’s image lingered behind Paige’s eyes like a brand.

That tank top. Those glasses. The way her voice dipped when she said goodnight.

Paige groaned softly and flopped fully onto her back, draping her arm across her eyes like it might shut her brain off. It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse.

Her mind wandered back to how Azzi looked on that screen. The low lighting. That lazy grin. The way her tank top slipped off her shoulder like gravity itself was teasing Paige. And the glasses ? Unfair.

She shouldn’t be thinking about how warm Azzi’s skin probably was under that blanket. Or how soft her lips looked. Or what it might feel like to have Azzi curled up next to her in real life instead of on a screen.

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, dragging her hands down her face.

Get it together, P

She turned over, yanking her blanket up, as if hiding under it might smother the thoughts threatening to spiral. Her stomach was tight with heat and longing, a low buzz under her skin that made her feel restless and kind of insane.

She flipped again. Huffed into her pillow. Tried counting down from 10.

She made it to 7.

And then—

The hotel room door swung open with a loud click, and KK’s voice burst into the quiet.

“P BOOGERSSSS ! You still alive in here ?”

Paige practically jolted off the bed, heart slamming as she shoved her phone under her pillow and sat up like she hadn’t just been having thoughts she shouldn’t be having.

Ice followed behind, holding a half-finished smoothie and kicking off her crocs. “Damn, she really was gonna fall asleep without us.”

KK flopped onto the other bed dramatically. “You facetiming someone ?” she asked, eyeing Paige’s slightly rumplef blanket and pink-tinted cheeks with too much interest.

“No,” Paige said too quickly. “Just… laying down.”

Ice smirked but didn’t say anything, already scrolling through her phone as she pulled her hoodie off.

KK raised an eyebrow. “Right. Totally laying down and not thinking about someone.”

Paige threw a pillow at her. “Shut up.”

KK laughed, muffled behind the pillow now clutched to her chest. “I’m just saying.”

Paige shook her head, trying to keep her face neutral even as her heart still raced from both the Azzi thoughts and the sudden intrusion.

The girls settled down eventually—Ice plugging in her charger, KK kicking her legs under the covers and the lights went out with a soft click.

Paige turned toward the wall, blanket pulled high, letting the cool fabric soothe her skin.

Her pulse slowed, her body finally settling, the storm in her head dulling to a quiet ache.

Azzi’s voice still echoed in the back of her mind, soft and close.

I always want to see you.

Paige exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

She let herself fall into sleep with that sentence cradled against her chest like a secret.

—------------------------------------------

The next morning, Paige’s phone buzzed quietly beside her bed. She blinked awake and smiled when she saw Azzi’s name glowing on the screen.

Azzi: morning p💗

Azzi: did u end up sleeping straight away ?

Paige smirked, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Paige: morning az💗

Paige: js stayed up for a few more mins thinking abt some stuff 🙃

Azzi: mhmmm sameeeee 😭

They kept texting between breakfast, break, and before Paige’s practice, lil messages popped up such as a quick joke, a reminder to drink water, and a few goofy selfies.

Later, after practice, Paige found herself scrolling through Azzi’s messages during downtime, the corners of her mouth tugging up at every text.

Finally, unable to resist, she typed out:

Paige: i miss u azziiiiiiiiiii poo poo

The reply came almost instantly:

Azzi: i miss u too paigeeeeeeeeyyy pee pee

Paige’s chest warmed with a quiet joy. She wasn’t sure how this whole thing had happened but she didn’t want to question it. Instead, she let herself enjoy it.

That afternoon, while wandering around Knoxville with a few of the girls, Paige’s eyes caught something colourful behind a shop window. A gigantic stuffed unicorn, its pastel pink mane, Azzi's favourite colour, shimmering faintly under the sun, stared back at her with oversized, glittering eyes.

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture, then sent it to Azzi with a message:

Paige: this giant majestical beast of a unicorn reminds me of u 

Paige: too magical for words

Her phone buzzed quickly:

Azzi: NAWWWWW THATS ADORABLE🥹

Azzi: + ure impossible🫠

Paige smiled, then slipped inside the shop while the others continued chatting outside. She paid for the unicorn quietly, tucking the receipt in her pocket. It would be a surprise for Azzi—something sweet and silly she could bring when she returned back to Storrs.

—------------------------------------------

By the time dinner was over and the team had trickled back to their rooms, Paige had changed into her favorite green pj pants and a black nike sports bra as the room was a little humid, and she couldn’t be bothered with a shirt. Her hair was still damp from the shower as she crawled into bed, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warm air.

KK was in the corner chair with airpods in, humming along to some song, and Ice was already passed out, hood up and blanket over her head.

Paige reached for her phone. 

Paige: u up ?

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Azzi: always

Azzi: everything alr ?

Paige grinned, thumb hovering for a second before she typed again.

Paige: i js wanna talk to u

Paige: if ur not too tired obviously

There was a pause this time, longer than usual, and then—

Azzi: ofc js gimme 2 mins

Azzi: ft ?

Paige’s stomach did that stupid thing again.

She typed back:

Paige: yes pls

Paige glanced over at KK

“KK,” Paige said, low but firm.

KK looked up, pulling an airpod out.

“I’m about to be on a call,” Paige said, stretching her legs out and crossing one ankle over the other. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

KK grinned immediately. “Define stupid.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “KK.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t start,” Paige warned, holding up a finger just as her phone rang with the incoming facetime. Her stomach flipped as she tapped her screen to answer.

Azzi’s face filled the screen, her curls were tied up messily, skin glowing, sweatshirt slightly slipping off 1 shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, voice a little raspy, eyes immediately locking on Paige.

Azzi had fully intended to say more. Something casual. Chill. Maybe a sarcastic comment. But her brain short-circuited the second she took in the sight before her.

Paige, leaning back against her pillows in those familiar green pj pants, the waistband riding low on her hips. Sports bra hugging her just right. Skin still a bit wey from her shower. Collarbone and shoulder blades defined, arms resting behind her head like she didn’t even know what she looked like right now.

Azzi blinked. “Um.”

“You good ?” Paige asked, eyes twinkling, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She knew.

“Yea,” Azzi cleared her throat, shifting slightly on her bed. “Just—long day and that.”

“Mhmmmmmm,” Paige said, smug as hell.

Azzi was about to retaliate with some smartass comeback when KK launched herself across the room and popped into frame behind Paige grinning.

“HEY GIRLYYYY.” KK yelled, nearly knocking Paige’s phone out of her hands. “Wus good ?”

Azzi laughed, recovering fast. “What are you doing ?”

“I just had to come say hey,” KK said, like it was her duty. Then, without even pausing for air, she turned to Azzi with a wicked glint in her eye. “Yo, did Paigey here tell you what she said earlier ? To me and Ice ?”

Paige froze. “KK, shut the fuck up—”

“She was staring at one of your ig posts like she was in heat,” KK continued gleefully, ignoring Paige completely. “She said—‘How is she real, like be fucking serious. She’s actually so fine it pisses me off.’”

“Kamorea.”

Azzi blinked fast. “Wait, what ?”

“Oh, and then Ice was like, ‘She’s so obsessed she’d legally change her last name without even dating her,’ and Paige just groaned and rolled off the bed like she couldn’t take it.”

“You’re actually gonna die,” Paige muttered, reaching for her pillow.

“Oh nonono,” KK said, backing up but laughing hysterically. “The world deserves to know the truth. You’re so gone for her—OH SHIT !”

Paige had flung her pillow with precise aim, hitting KK square in the face. But KK just doubled over, cackling.

Across the room, a muffled groan came from under the blanket.

“You idiots are too fucking loud,” Ice said, voice groggy.

KK whipped around. “Ice ! Back me up ! Tell Azzi what Paige said earlier.”

Ice pushed her hood back with a dramatic sigh, rubbing her eyes. “Paige said Azzi looked so good it made her want to walk into traffic.”

“What the fuck,” Paige said, propping her phone onto the bedside table as she lunged at KK.

Azzi burst out laughing, nearly dropping her own phone as the chaos on Paige’s end escalated instantly. Paige tackled KK to the floor, both of them shouting and wrestling, tangled in limbs and blankets and limbs.

“Take it back !” Paige yelled, straddling KK and trying to pin her down.

“NEVER,” KK wheezed, laughing uncontrollably. “THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE—PAIGE, STOP—I’M TICKLISH !”

Paige took full advantage, fingers jabbing at KK’s sides mercilessly. “Say you’re lying.”

“I CAN’T—YOU DID SAY IT—FUCKEN STOP—ICE HELP ME !”

And because Ice was Ice, she stood up, stretched like she had all the time in the world, and said, “Yea, ok,” before walking over and joining the pile. She plopped down on KK’s legs and poked at her ribs while Paige continued her tickle attack.

The 3 of them were a mess on the floor—yelling, laughing, tangled up like idiots.

Meanwhile, Azzi had flopped onto her back from laughing so hard, the phone now propped up against her pillow as she watched the absolute trainwreck unfold on the screen.

But in between fits of laughter, her eyes kept drifting. Kept finding Paige.

The way the hotel light hit warm and low, casting soft shadows on her. Her back arched slightly as she wrestled KK, the definition in her arms and abs on full, distracting display. Her cheeks flushed from laughing, from moving. 

And Azzi. 

She was not ok.

She was laughing, sure, but also not at all paying attention to anything KK or Ice were yelling now. Her face was warm, throat tight, and she had to actually look away from the screen for a second to collect herself.

When she looked back, Paige had finally pinned KK down and was breathless from laughing, hair a mess and a wide grin on her face.

Azzi swallowed.

“You guys are so dumb,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray how flustered she actually was.

Paige leaned back onto her heels, pushing hair out of her face, and grinned at her. “And yet you still called.”

Azzi shook her head, cheeks aching from smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re hot,” Paige said without missing a beat.

Then, almost immediately, her confidence cracked just a little. “Wait—shit, I didn’t mea—”

KK screamed. “SHE ADMITTED IT—”

“SHUT. UP.” Paige grabbed the pillow again.

Azzi just laughed harder, covering her face with her hand as KK yelped and Ice casually sidestepped the next flying pillow.

—------------------------------------------

After a while, Paige finally sat back on the bed, still catching her breath, hair wild and cheeks flushed from the fight. KK and Ice were still grinning like idiots, exchanging glances.

Azzi wiped a tear of laughter from her eye and shook her head. “You guys are terrible.”

KK grinned. “Hey, we’re just the entertainment. Don’t blame us.”

Ice nodded solemnly. “Yurrr, somebody’s gotta keep the mood light before you two decide to get all sappy n thsat.”

Paige shot them a mock glare but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She glanced back at the screen, catching Azzi’s eyes again.

“So,” Paige said, trying to sound casual but failing, “whatchu wanna talk about ?”

Azzi smiled, cheeks pink. “I dunno. Just… stuff. How your day went. How you’re gonna annihilate that game tomorrow.”

Paige rolled her eyes but felt her chest swell a little. “Stop buttering me up. I’m already feeling the pressure.”

“Good,” Azzi teased. “Means you care.”

They talked quietly for a while, sharing dumb stories from the day, swapping low-key jokes, and just… existing in the comfortable silence between words.

KK’s voice cut through softly from behind Paige. “Hey, Azzi, you hearing this? Paige is basically melting over you.”

Ice snorted. “Dude, they’re basically a puddle over there.”

Azzi laughed. “You two are awful.”

Paige laughed too, then looked back at Azzi, her smile a little softer now.

“You should sleep,” Azzi said gently. “Big day tomorrow. Gotta show out.”

Paige smirked. “I will. Eventually.”

Azzi gave her a look. “No scheming. Just sleep, ok ?”

“Bossy,” Paige teased, but her voice was warm.

Azzi grinned. “Only cause I care.”

Paige’s heart did a tiny flip. “Ight. I’ll go to sleep. Promise.”

“Good,” Azzi said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Night P. You’re gonna kill it tomorrow.”

“Night Az,” Paige said, voice quieter now. “Thanks.”

Azzi ended the call leaving Paige smiling at the quiet glow of it, the room finally still.

KK poked Paige’s side, smirking. “You’re blushing.”

“Piss off, KK,” Paige muttered, but the smile didn’t leave her face.

Ice stretched and yawned dramatically. “Alrightyyyy, I’m out.”

KK threw an arm around Paige’s shoulders. “Same. Let’s get our beauty sleep, girly pops.”

Paige rolled onto her side, sighing. “Yea. Goodnight you assholes.”

“Night Paigeyyy,” KK and Ice chorused, already pulling their blankets up as they all driftrd off to sleep.

—------------------------------------------

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that came in the early morning. The ac hummed softly, and Ice’s light snoring filled the space like background noise.

Paige blinked awake slowly, groggy and warm under the covers. For a second, she just laid there, listening to the stillness.

Then she reached for her phone, screen lighting up instantly with a few unread notifications. 1 at the top stood out.

Azzi: morning superstar 💗

Azzi: go be great tdy 

Paige stared at it for a second, then buried her face in her pillow with a muffled groan and a grin so big it hurt.

She rolled over, thumbs flying.

Paige: morning az 💗

Paige: u rlly tryna make me soft before a game huh

Paige: it’s working btw

Azzi’s typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

Azzi: naww 😭 

Azzi: wellllll u better cook smth up 

Paige laughed quietly, the nerves from earlier already starting to ease into something steadier. She stretched once, then tossed the blanket off and sat up, already feeling more awake.

Behind her, KK cracked 1 eye open. “Lemme guess. The bae texted you.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbled, but she didn’t deny it.

Ice rolled over. “Better get moving, game day. Time to be that dawg.”

Paige grinned, already heading for her bag. “Damn right.”

—------------------------------------------

The team had just finished warming up and was now huddled in the locker room, 5 mins before tip-off.

Paige slid her phone quietly out of her bag, careful to keep it hidden from coach and her teammates. Her thumb flicked open the screen.

A new message from Azzi lit up the screen:

Azzi: goodluck p 💗

Azzi:  rdy to watch u cook :)

Attached was a photo of her ipad propped up against her pillow, the commentators of the game and clear—Tennessee Lady Vols vs. Uconn.

Paige smiled, heart kicking up a notch. She typed back fast:

Paige: thank u az 💗

Paige: i will try my best 🙂‍↕️

Paige tucked the phone away, took a deep breath, and looked around at her teammates. Time to bring everything she had.

—------------------------------------------

The buzzer sounded sharp and final as the starting 5 stepped onto the court. The energy inside Thompson-Boling Arena was intense—orange everywhere, the Tennessee crowd loud and relentless. But Paige didn’t flinch. She bounced on her toes, laser-focused, eyes scanning the court.

The ball went up, Jana slapped it back cleanly, and Uconn took the first possesssiob.

Paige caught the ball from Kaitlyn and immediately pushed. Tennessee set up quick, but Paige hesitated only for a second before attacking the right side. 1 hard dribble, crossover left which made the defender bite and Paige glided past her into the lane.

Eurostep. Bucket.

First 2 points on the board.

The next few minutes were a blur of high-level basketball. Tennessee punched back hard. Their guards were quick, aggressive. Their bigs boxed out relentlessly. But Uconn held their ground, moving like a unit.

Ashlynn hit a smooth corner 3 off a drive-and-kick from Kaitlyn.

Sarah snagged a tough offensive board and put it back with authority.

Jana swatted a post-up layup into the stands.

And Paige ? Paige was locked in.

She drove baseline and finished with a reverse.

She pulled up off a screen and drained a smooth midrange.

She stripped a pass clean and went coast to coast, finishing through contact for the and-1.

By the end of the first quarter, it was tied 19–19.

In the second, Tennessee started to press. Their guard picked Paige up full court, trying to wear her down. But Paige didn’t panic. She used her handle like a weapon—tight and quick.

Behind-the-back, change of pace, then a no-look pass to Ice who subbed in for the finish.

In their next possession, Paige hit Kaitlyn on a cut with a bounce pass so sharp it split 2 defenders.

The crowd was loud, but Paige was louder with her game. She scored again on a step-back 3 with a defender draped on her. Net barely moved.

Still, Tennessee wouldn’t go away.

They ran the floor. Hit back-to-back 3s. Got physical inside. At halftime, it was neck-and-neck: 37–36, Uconn up by 1.

In the locker room, everyone was dripping sweat and adrenaline, gulping water and breathing heavy. Paige sat, towel draped over her shoulders, staring down at her shoes for a second before glancing at the screen of her phone. No new message from Azzi this time, but just knowing she was probably busy watching ?

That was enough.

She stood, tossed the towel aside, and looked around. “We got this,” she said simply. Her voice didn’t have to rise. They all felt it.

In the third, Paige came out firing.

She hit a 3 on the first possession, then found Caroline who was now on, trailing for another 3. Uconn built a small lead, but Tennessee clawed right back, feeding their post and pushing transition. The crowd roared with every bucket.

Still, Paige didn’t blink.

The fourth quarter started 59–59.

Every possession mattered now. Every cut. Every switch. Every box out.

—------------------------------------------

Azzi sat cross-legged on her bed, blanket wrapped loosely around her waist, ipad balanced on a pillow in front of her. The stream was clear, commentators in full swing, and the arena noise roaring through her airpods like she was courtside. Her heart pounded with every play. Paige was everywhere, lighting it up, finding teammates, talking on defense. She looked locked in.

Azzi couldn’t stop smiling.

She watched as Paige threaded another pass through traffic, then hit a pull-up jumper like it was nothing. “Let’s go,” Azzi whispered to herself, biting her lip as she stared at the screen.

When the third quarter ended, she stretched her arms overhead, exhaling. “You’re killing it, P,” she muttered like Paige could hear her.

But then midway through the fourth—everything shifted.

Paige caught an outlet pass and took off in transition. She cut right, planted hard and crumpled.

The stream cut to a different camera for a beat, but Azzi had seen it. Paige grabbing her ankle. Wincing. Staying down.

Azzi’s heart dropped.

“Nonono—” she whispered, sitting upright now, her hand flying to her mouth. The broadcast cut back to Paige being helped up by trainers, limping slightly, jaw clenched. She wasn’t putting full weight on it. Azzi could see the pain and the frustration on her face.

Paige didn’t return to the game.

Azzi didn’t even register the rest of the fourth. Tennessee went on a run. Uconn looked shaken. 

Final score: 74–68. Tennessee win.

The buzzer sounded, but Azzi’s attention was on her phone now, thumbs flying.

Azzi: what happened ???

Azzi: r u alr  ???

Azzi: paige PLEASEEEEEEE text me when u can

Azzi: im so sorry abt the game as well

Azzi: but fk that cs i needa know if ur ok ??

No response.

Azzi sat there frozen, refreshing the messages, staring at the read receipt that never came. She paced her room, then tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

Half an hour passed. An hour.

Then just as she sat down again, her phone lit up. Incoming call: Paige.

Azzi snatched it up. “Paige ?!”

There was a pause, then Paige’s voice came through which was soft and a lil scratchy.

“Hey.”

“Are you ok ? I was freaking out—what happened ?”

Paige sighed on the other end. “It’s just a rolled ankle. Not bad. Swollen, yea, but the trainer thinks it’s minor. I just… couldn’t go back in.”

Azzi exhaled, heart still in her throat. “I was so worried. You didn’t text. I thought—God, I thought it was worse.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” A pause. “I just… needed a min.”

Azzi could hear the weight in her voice—the frustration, the sting. “No need to apologise P. I get it. You played your heart out. That loss wasn’t on you.”

“I still feel like shit,” Paige admitted. “I hate being on the bench. I hate watching us lose. And now this ankle’s gonna be a thing for who knows how long…”

Azzi was quiet for a second, then said gently, “Where are you now ?”

“Back of the bus. Heading to the airport.”

“You by yourself ?”

“Yea. Wanted space.”

There was a pause on the other end—then, Paige’s voice, barely above a whisper:

“Can I come straight to yours when I get back ?”

Azzi didn’t even let her finish the sentence.

“Of course,” she said. “Always.”

There was another silence, but this one felt different. Calmer.

“I’ll see you soon,” Paige said.

Azzi nodded, even though Paige couldn’t see it. “I’ll be up.”

—------------------------------------------

The bus rolled quietly into Storrs later that night, headlights cutting through the dark as the team filed off 1 by 1, tired and low after the tough loss. Paige stayed close to the back, wincing slightly as she shifted weight off her injured ankle.

Aubrey and Caroline caught up to her as she gathered her things, their expressions softening when they saw the way Paige moved carefully.

“Hey, we got you,” Aubrey said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Let us carry your stuff.”

Caroline nodded, already reaching for Paige’s duffle bag. “And what’s that for ?” she asked, gently lifting the oversized, sparkly unicorn plush peeking out from the top.

Paige hesitated, then gave a small, tired smile. “It’s a gift for Azzi.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Caroline. “Azzi ? Oh, ok. That’s sweet.”

Paige shrugged, “Yea. I’m actually heading to her dorm, if that’s cool.”

“Totally,” Caroline said, slipping the duffle onto her shoulder. “We’ll help you get there before we head to ours.”

The 3 of them stepped out into the cool night air, the campus mostly quiet except for the gentle souns of the breeze through the trees. Paige leaned a little on Caroline as they walked toward the dorms, her ankle throbbing but manageable.

When they reached Azzi’s building, Aubrey smiled again. “Alright, P, we’ll drop this off with you. You sure you’re good ?”

Paige nodded, cheeks flushed from the day and the long ride. “Yea. Thanks for helping.”

Caroline and Aubrey gave her supportive grins before heading off to their own dorms, leaving Paige standing at Azzi’s door with her duffle and the giant unicorn tucked under her arm.

Paige shifted the weight of the unicorn in her arms and pulled out her phone, fingers moving quickly.

Paige: im outside your door :)

A second later, the door opened.

Azzi stood there in a hoodie and shorts, eyes immediately locking onto Paige and then the massive, glittery unicorn she was holding out like some kind of ridiculous offering.

“What— ?” Azzi blinked, then laughed in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Paige said, her voice low and a little sheepish, lips twitching into a tired smile. 

Azzi reached out and took the unicorn like it was made of glass, hugging it close to her chest. “This is… insane. And perfect. Thank you. Seriously.”

She glanced down at Paige’s ankle, the compression wrap still snug with some ice, and then quickly stepped aside. “Come in.”

Paige stepped past her, limping slightly, and Azzi followed, grabbing the duffle bag from her shoulder without a word.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Azzi turned and wrapped her arms around Paige.

Azzi’s chin tucked over Paige’s shoulder, Paige burying her face into Azzi’s neck. They didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just stood there, breathing in each other’s presence.

“I missed you,” Azzi whispered.

Paige’s fingers curled into the back of Azzi’s hoodie. “Missed you too.”

They pulled back only slightly, still close.

“I was so worried,” Azzi said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Paige’s face. “When you went down… I couldn’t think straight.”

“I’m ok,” Paige murmured. “Just needed to see you.”

Azzi nodded, eyes shining, then motioned gently toward the bed. “Come on. Get off that ankle.”

Paige made her way over slowly, lowering herself down onto Azzi’s bed and leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out, ankle elevated on a small pillow. Azzi adjusted it carefully, eyes focused.

“Imma grab a new ice pack,” she said, already heading for the mini freezer.

“Thanks,” Paige said, her voice quieter now, the exhaustion catching up with her as she finally let herself relax in the place she’d wanted to be all day.

Azzi came back a moment later, a fresh ice pack wrapped in a towel. She knelt at the foot of the bed, gently replacing the old one on Paige’s ankle.

Azzi stayed there a moment longer, her hand lingering on the new ice pack, like letting go too soon might make Paige wince again. Then quietly, she stood and climbed up onto the bed, easing in beside Paige with a quiet sigh.

She leaned back against the headboard just like Paige, their shoulders brushing, the soft rustle of blankets settling around them. Without a word, Paige lifted her arm, and Azzi tucked into her side like she belonged there, resting her head gently against Paige’s shoulder.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The room was dim and quiet, lit only by Azzi’s desk lamp, casting a soft glow over the unicorn now perched on her chair.

Paige was the first to break the silence, voice low. “We should’ve won that game.”

Azzi nodded lightly against her. “You were unreal, though. The way you moved and hit those jumpers, ran the offense… it was all you. Everyone saw it.”

Paige gave a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Doesn’t mean much if we lose.”

“It does to me,” Azzi murmured, lifting her head just enough to look up at her. “You were locked in tonight. It was—God, it was so good to watch.”

Paige’s jaw tensed. “I felt it too. Like, I could feel the rhythm of the game. And then…” She trailed off, glancing down at the bandaged ankle. “I planted wrong. One second I’m flying, next second I’m on the floor.”

Azzi was quiet for a beat, then said softly, “When you didn’t get up, my stomach dropped. I thought—I don’t know. I was just really scared.”

Paige looked over, eyes catching on the concern still etched into Azzi’s face.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know,” Azzi whispered. “But it’s you. You’re not supposed to be the one getting hurt. You’re the one who gets back up.”

Paige turned her face away, voice cracking just slightly. “I hate that I couldn’t finish.”

“You gave everything you had,” Azzi said, reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers, thumb tracing gently along Paige’s knuckles. “No one who watched that game would say you didn’t.”

Paige leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “I just wanted to win.”

Azzi squeezed her hand. “I know.”

They sat in silence again, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

Then, quietly, Azzi whispered, “You’re here now. That’s all I wanted tonight.”

Paige opened her eyes, turning to her.

She tightened her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her a little closer.

“Me too.”

The room stayed quiet.

Azzi stayed tucked into her side, her weight warm and grounding, her head resting just below Paige’s collarbone. Their fingers were still laced together, and Paige could feel the slow, steady rhythm of Azzi’s thumb brushing over hers, over and over like it was the only thing keeping them both tethered to the moment.

But Paige’s mind wasn’t still.

It was spinning—softly, slowly, with a kind of ache that sat somewhere between fear and wanting.

She could feel it rising, curling in her chest, in her throat.

The urge to make a move on her.

She didn’t know when it started. Maybe it had been building since that first night Azzi pulled her into a hug that lingered a second too long. Or maybe since the facetime call, when Azzi’s voice softened just for her. Or maybe it was this exact second, when everything felt a little cracked open and unguarded.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, so loud she was almost sure Azzi could hear it.

She glanced down.

Azzi was looking ahead, quiet and calm, completely still against her.

And beautiful. Not in the way people always said it like a compliment, but in a way that made Paige’s breath catch, like Azzi was the only thing in the room that felt real.

Paige lifted her hand free from Azzi's grasp slowly, hesitating only for a heartbeat before brushing her fingers under Azzi’s chin.

Azzi turned her face up at the touch, eyes meeting Paige’s.

Something shifted.

A silent, slow gravity pulling them in.

Paige leaned down just a little, her hand guiding Azzi’s face toward her. Azzi didn’t resist as she leaned  too, just as slowly, her eyes flicking down to Paige’s lips, breath catching.

There was a pause and then they met.

Soft.

Paige’s lips brushed against Azzi’s like she was testing the edge of something she wasn’t sure she deserved. Azzi melted into it instantly, her hand coming up to rest lightly on Paige’s chest, right over her heart feeling the way it raced beneath her palm.

The kiss deepened gently, their mouths moving in quiet sync, slow and warm and aching with everything they hadn’t said. Azzi’s lips parted slightly, and Paige followed her lead, her tongue just barely slipping past the edge, tasting her—soft, patient, nothing rushed.

Azzi sighed softly into her mouth, a small sound that made Paige’s whole body pulse.

They stayed like that, kissing in slow rhythm, breaths mingling, hearts loud in their chests.

When they finally parted, it wasn’t sudden. Just a slow, natural pull away, foreheads nearly touching.

Neither of them spoke.

Azzi smiled first—just a tiny, breathless curve of her lips.

Paige smiled back, eyes soft, thumb still brushing along Azzi’s cheek.

Azzi then tucked herself back against Paige as they intertwined their hands again and they just sat there in the stillness, pressed close, eyes shining, lips swollen and hearts steady in the quiet hum of something new.

Paige swallowed once, her eyes flicking down to their intertwined hands. Her thumb rubbed lightly along Azzi’s again, slower this time, almost nervous.

“I never really told you…” Paige’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I kept telling myself it was nothing. That you were just a friend, or my tutor… someone I could lean on.”

Azzi’s eyes stayed fixed on hers, patient and steady.

“But… I think I’ve felt something more for a while,” Paige admitted, the weight of the truth loosening from her chest. “I tried to ignore it. I thought maybe it was just me, or that it would pass.”

Azzi’s lips curved into a soft, understanding smile. “You’re not alone,” she said quietly. “I’ve been feeling it too. More than I wanted to admit.”

Paige’s heart skipped, the tension breaking in a fragile kind of relief.

“So… maybe,” Paige said, breath catching a little, “maybe we should stop pretending this is just friendship. What do you think about… going on a date ? Like, really going out ?”

Azzi’s smile widened, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I think that sounds perfect.”

They both laughed softly, a mix of nervousness and happiness blooming between them.

Before they could say more, Paige reached up, cupping Azzi’s face, and kissed her agin slowly and tenderly.

Azzi leaned into it, returning the kiss with the same gentle warmth. 

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads brushing, Paige let out a small, sheepish breath of a laugh. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I probably should’ve saved the first kiss for after the date.”

Azzi smiled, her voice soft. “It’s ok, I’m glad you didn’t.”

Their smiles lingered, quiet and full.

Then Azzi shifted just slightly, her voice a low whisper against Paige’s skin.

“Wait—before we fall asleep,” she said, pulling back with a small smile. “I gotta take a picture. For the memories. First kiss deserves some documentation.”

Paige blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azzi was already slipping off the bed, grabbing her camera from the shelf by her desk. “Cmon,” she said, eyes gleaming as she held it up, walking back toward the bed. “We’re doing two. So we each get one.”

Paige rolled her eyes affectionately, but sat up straighter as Azzi climbed back beside her, camera held out in 1 hand as she leaned in again.

Their lips met just as the first flash went off—soft and smiling into the kiss, the moment sealed in light.

They kissed again for the second photo, slower this time, just as full of warmth. Azzi clicked the shutter and they parted again, both of them breathless with quiet laughter as the second polaroid whirred out of the camera.

A few minutes later, once the pictures had developed, Azzi grabbed a pink gel pen from her desk drawer and took 1 of the prints carefully in her hands.

She wrote the date in tiny numbers at the bottom of the polaroid’s border.

Then, she stood in front of her combo board in front of her desk, where other polaroids were already pinned—all of them including Paige.

She added the new 1 right next to them. The kiss. The beginning.

Paige watched from the bed, quiet, something soft blooming in her chest.

Azzi turned back to her with a grin, holding out the other photo. “Yours to keep.”

Paige took it, smiling down at the image in her hand. Then she looked up at Azzi.

“Thanks Az,” she whispered.

They crawled under the covers together, lights dimming, the world softening as they both drifted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[n6ptunova]

could you maybe do a matt sleepy fic?💕💕

a/n: this is so cute ty for the requestt bae i hope i did it justice!🫶🏼

warnings: none just fluff :)

lazy days were pretty common with matt. nick and chris always poked fun at you guys calling you “boring”, but you loved every moment with your boyfriend, including the quiet ones.

some days you put on a romcom, eat snacks and laugh, cry, cringe at various parts of the movies. other days you just enjoy each other’s presence, bodies melting into each other- not in a sexual way- just very intimate.

usually you’re the small spoon, resting your head on his chest, one leg swung over him while he gently plays with your hair. you guys even have this silly little game where he traces his fingers on your back and you have to decode the message he wrote. his cold hands dragging softly across your skin sends shivers down your spine, making it hard to focus on what he’s writing.

“come on, baby, guess,” he chuckles, the sound travelling straight to your ear as if it has healing abilities (it does). you made a random guess and he giggles again. “nopeee, try again, loser.” you’ve taken multiple guesses at this point, and none of them were correct.

“you’re so bad at this, oh my god,” he teased you as you lightly smack his bare chest and tell him it’s your turn to write something.

although matt will never admit it, sometimes, he loves being the small spoon. i mean, what could be better than nestling his head into your neck, his hair tickling your chin as you scratch all the way from his head to his back. he’s in literal heaven.

on days when matt just wants to sleep all day, you’re a necessity. he literally cannot fall asleep without being in your arms lulled by the sound of your heartbeat. it’s so sweet but if you need to grab a snack or go to the bathroom, his grip tightens around you as he faintly mumbles, “nooo, stay with me.”

“matt, i need to pee, i promise i’ll be done quick baby,” he sighs, “let’s just stay in bed all day i’m sleepy, please?” his tired voice tugged on your heartstrings, how could you say no to that? you agreed on his plan with the condition that he lets you pee.

once you were back, he hums in contentment as he snuggles into you again, kissing your cheek and neck while he assumes his previous position. “talk to me.” that’s another thing, he lovess falling asleep to your voice. good god was he whipped. you do as he asked, rambling on about your day until eventually you both fall asleep and hibernate for the rest of the day like cute little bears in the winter.

tags: @mattscoquette @et6rnalsun @sturnsxplr-25 @strlvvr @sturniluvr

[lisenberry]

I've come much too far to let you go now (please, don't let me go)

Bear Shifter Price x Reader

2.4k

E/MDNI

CW: Breeding, Primal Play, talk of pregnancy.

(AO3)

You made the mistake of leaving only once. 

It was a cold, dark morning when you awoke from what seemed like a never-ending slumber.  And yet, you were no more rested than when he first brought you to his den, however many days or weeks it had been since.

The curtains were closed tight, but beyond the windows of the cabin, you could hear the birds singing from the trees.  Not the long, ardent harmonies that ushered in the spring, but the lethargic, chipped calls of creatures simply existing.  Passing the time from season to season.  Darkness to light.  Waiting for the wind to calm and the sun to rise again in the great North Woods of Maine.

You were a creature as well, although perhaps just as different from the juncos and black-capped chickadees as you were from him.  The man beside you in bed.  Whose shallow breathing and slow heartbeat were only a temporary affliction.  He had ears so sharp they could hear the flutter of your lashes as you opened your eyes.

Muscles deceptively taut under a soft pelt of dark hair and a layer of cushy insulation, ready to pull you tightly back against him should you shift the slightest in his arms. 

You brought a hand up to scratch at his head over your shoulder, to soothe him back to sleep and shush him with your assurances. 

“I’ll be right back, John.  Just need to pee and get a drink.  I’ll put another log in the stove.”

A displeased grunt was all the resistance he offered as you crept from bed on stiff legs and cramped feet.  You immediately missed the warmth of him as you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and tip toed across the chilled wood floor.

The kitchen was brighter than the bedroom.  He tended to only rise for a meal when it was too dark to awaken fully.  His heavy-lidded eyes would barely open while he leaned against the doorframe and shoveled a stack of crackers or a few bites of jerky into his maw before he nodded his thanks and returned to sleep.

But that morning, you were alone in the grey light of an overcast sky.  Outside, everything was white but for the green tips of the pines that rose like barbed claws from the frozen earth. 

The cabin was warm, it was safe.  But still, you ached to open the door and set your bare feet in the snow.  To run off and see if you’d leave a trail like the brave deer and rabbits that stayed active and free throughout the long winter.   

Or if it was all just a dream and you’d never woken up at all.

Hibernation was not your natural state of being.  You were only given one life.  A finite collection of years.  To sleep through a quarter of each seemed wasteful.  Such prolonged exhaustion, clouded thoughts, and inactivity were against your nature.  Rest was something to be earned when the work was done, not a necessity for survival.  It made you feel helpless.  It made you feel weak.  An offense to the universe.  A blatant disrespect for time. 

Your body, and your mind, resisted it in the brief moments of clarity you scraped at like frost from a window.

You chose this, you reminded yourself.  You’d chosen him.

He’d explained it all so thoroughly, when he was sure you wouldn’t run from him.  That he wasn’t just larger, stronger, faster than any man you’d met before, despite the creaking of his knees and the rugged depth of his gravelly laugh.  That he wasn’t just intense, protective and voracious in his appetite for food and fucking because of some closeness to the basest parts of human nature.

He was a bear.  In his heart, and in his DNA.  He’d spent his life searching for a mate, making his den, protecting his territory and his home.  He fought, he ate, he slept.  He waited for you. 

And when he finally found you, you stayed.  You’d never seen someone so happy, and it was contagious.  But he had been dormant for too long.  Out of your reach, despite the closeness of your flesh.

You loved him, and yet you still opened the door and felt the first gust of winter on your face since the one before.  When you were all alone and near starved.  For everything beyond the tangible—hope, touch, friendship. 

You inhaled an icy breath like shards of glass into your lungs and the world seemed to pause.  Even the birds hushed at your intrusion.  There was an unfathomable silence, but for the whistle of air in your ears.  It all felt too bright.  Too clean.  Too empty.

There was nothing out there for you, you realized then.  Everything was back where you left it.  But you couldn’t move any longer.  You stood up to your ankles in the snow.  You’d gone too far, your trail disappeared behind you and the cabin was far out of sight.

Let it be a dream, you prayed silently, as you willed yourself to take a step, and then another.  He’d be so disappointed when he woke up.  To find his mate frozen to death.  Remains eaten by a bobcat or a lynx.  Picked over by the buzzards and crows.  After he’d taken such care to keep you safe.

You thought you imagined the first howl.  A trick of the wind or perhaps it was your own whimper that sounded like the mournful yip of a coyote behind you.  It was the second from in front of you and the third from your flank that left no uncertainty.

Coyotes were solitary, except when they hunted together when food grew scarce.  You might have stood a chance against one, if you had better use of your numb limbs and something to scare it with, but not three.

Getting back to the cabin before he knew you were gone was futile.  Your own only chance was for him to find you before it was too late.

“John!” you screamed, as loud as you could.  Louder than you’d ever screamed before.  It tore through your throat and your ears.  “Help!”

Your plea hadn’t finished echoing across the foggy expanse when you heard something crashing through the woods in front of you.  The thundering of paws and the chuffing of a predator large enough take on a coyote.  Large enough to kill you.

It burst through the brush like a dark shadow, incredibly fast for its size, graceful enough that the only sounds it made were intentional.  Shock and awe.  Fear and intimidation.

The coyotes scattered with cries of deference and submission, and you cowered into a ball, forgetting everything you knew about black bear encounters as it sniffed and snorted at your neck.  Growled its impatience and annoyance straight into your ears. 

You didn’t know whether he was still himself inside.  If he knew it was you with a critical understanding, or if you were just a familiar scent.

A pitiful, soft human who’d gotten lost in the woods.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” a harsh voice called out.

His voice, at least.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to—”

“Mean to what, run away?”  He picked you up over his shoulder and carried your shaking, sobbing form back in the direction of the cabin.

“I just needed to...to breathe.  I couldn’t breathe.”  Your sobs only intensified as his roamed his rough hands over your legs, your ass, and your cunt along the way.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, just c-cold,” you stuttered, teeth chattering.  You’d lost the blanket on the ground, and there wasn’t much covering you aside from your own weak furless skin.  His own steamed with exertion, red and hot to the touch as if he’d shed some hot suit of armor.  Or an overly thick coat.

He kicked the door to the house open and wrapped you in fresh blankets warmed by the stove.  Before you knew it, you were back in the bedroom again, hog tied in the soft flannel throws and stuck underneath his tremendous weight.   

“Of course, my girl would put up a fight.  Make me chase her down.”

Why did he sound so proud?  It was difficult to make out his features behind his dark, overgrown beard.

“You’re not angry with me?” 

It felt like he was angry, as he pushed into you without warning, and by the punishing pace he set.  The biting grip on your hips as he pinned you to the mattress.  The glint of his bared teeth in the low light.

“Just needed attention is all.  Missed me, did you?  Just have to ask next time,” he panted out the words between thrusts.  Sweat from his brow dripped in rivulets from his chest onto yours.  “I’ll calm you right down.”

The tingling in your hands and feet as they adjusted to the heat was no match for the hot coil burning and building against the pressure of his pounding at the nerve-riddled top of your channel.  It erupted with release as your walls softened and shook around him.

“Please, John.  Please,” you begged, but he had already given it to you.  Fresh tears sprung for your eyes in both apology and gratitude.

The renewed energy of his lovemaking was such a contrast to the docile beast he’d been for weeks.  The transformation to his bear form would have drained him, sapped any resources he’d saved from inside his body.  And yet he didn’t hesitate to spend them all, to release everything he had left inside of yours.

“I’ll keep you happy, love.  Don’t need to run.  I’ll keep you too full to run.”  He nuzzled the side of your cheek as you both came down, his body still atop you.  Ready to go again if you stirred.  To expend his precious stores as many times as needed to fuck you back to sleep.

His DNA became yours, just for a little while.  It mixed within you, swirled in your womb and urged you to rest alongside him.  In preparation for all that awaited you come spring.  A pull so strong your body couldn’t resist it. 

And you no longer had the clarity of mind to try.  

As the snow slowly turned to rain, and the thaw began to spread, his grip on you loosened.  His own breaths deepened, and his heart sped up to match the steady beating of a downy woodpecker’s beak along the logs of the cabin. 

It was as if he could hear the worms return to the surface.  The insects scurrying from beneath the rocks and the decaying leaves.

“Is it time?” you asked hopefully, anxious to feel the sun on your face and grass between your toes again.

Your nest of blankets and pillows reeked of smoke from the wood stove, musky sweat and seed.  You itched to wash it all away and hang them out to dry on a wildflower-sweetened breeze.  To open the windows and let it all in.

“Not quite.  Spring of Deception, love.  Another freeze is coming tomorrow,” he grumbled, his softened cock sliding from you in its own exhausted surrender.  It’s milky emission too gummy and viscous from the night before to follow behind.

The effects of his influence were no match for the cacophony of bird song outside the windows, and the promise of the world moving forward around you.  You’d survived your first torpor.  It was time to live again.

“Sleep then, if you wish.  But I am starving.”

He may not be able to keep you in bed forever, but he’d learned his lesson on leaving you alone for too long.  You weren’t in the kitchen cupboards for more than a few minutes before he darkened the door behind you, squinting groggily at the light and tugging a pair of pants over his hips.

“I’ll put the coffee on,” he yawned his offer of assistance. 

“I’m going to make a cake, I think.  To celebrate.  With carrots and cinnamon, toasted nuts and applesauce.  I think there’s even a few eggs left.  And brown butter frosting.”

Your mouth watered as your brain moved faster than it had in months. 

“What are we celebrating?” he asked, as he added another log to the stove.

“I don’t know.  A new season.  New life.  Maybe even for us.” 

By the way you caught him looking at your belly and the slight shake of his head, you had your answer.

He knew the mating didn’t take in the way he knew it would snow again.   He could smell it in the air.  Could smell it on you.  You’d bleed soon.

“Maybe next year will be easier,” you offered gently.  While you were disappointed, but not overly despondent, you wondered if he felt the same.

He’d explained before that bears only bred successfully under perfect circumstances.  Would he take it as a personal failure in his fortification of the den?  In caring for you and keeping you well and full as he promised?

Or would he blame you, for fighting against it?

“Plenty of time to get it right, and things to do before then,” he assured you, smiling in a way that warmth flooded his glacier blue eyes. 

No, he wouldn’t give up.  Not on you.  Not ever.

“And if it never does?”  Perhaps the differences in your nature were too great.  The odds too overwhelming, even for him.

“Then I’m glad we have each other.  And maybe we’ll raise some dogs instead.  Or orphaned cubs.”  He said the last so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.  It was on his breath like an afterthought that slipped through a crack before it could close.

“You’d do that?” you asked, disbelieving, although you shouldn’t have been surprised.  Taking great care of other people’s muppets was his life’s work.

“Aye, with you I’d do anything.  If it kept you happy.”

Kept you with him, he didn’t say. 

“I’m not going anywhere, John.  I promise.”  And you meant it.  “Now pour me a coffee, will you?  Before it gets cold.”

And before the next storm blew in.

_____

(This is a silly little homage to some of the amazing Bear-shifter works I've read, both in this fandom and others.

"landscape with honey" by emphemeron (ceilidho) and the "Your Heart Is The Only Place That I Call Home" series for Halsin from Baldur's Gate by cozy_ships (thecoziestbean) are two of my favorites.

I've had a bit of a bout with seasonal depression and every time I hear "Lonely Cowboy" by KALEO I think of our man Price. This is the result.

[foxtrology]

saturated (2)

dr!joel x resident!reader

inspired by the pitt on hbo | series | ao3 link

warnings: this chapter contains graphic depictions of medical trauma, emergency procedures, mass casualty events, and mentions of suicide. it also includes themes of burnout, grief, and ptsd in a high-stakes hospital environment.

reader discretion is advised. please take care while reading.

word count: 14.k

─────

When Joel got home—close to two in the goddamn morning—the whole house was dark.

The silence was thick. The kind that clung to your ribs.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. The house smelled like soap and something vaguely floral—your shampoo, probably. The faint hum of the AC pressed against the windows. The kind of quiet you only got in those brief hours when Austin’s chaos had finally exhausted itself.

He didn’t call your name. Didn’t have to. He knew exactly where you’d be.

Joel stripped in the hallway—peeling off his shirt, the weight of the day sticking to his back like a second skin. His pants followed. Then the socks. By the time he stepped into the bedroom, he was just muscle and scars and the heaviness of too many years in too many trauma bays.

You were already there.

Curled on your side. One of his old shirts stretched over your frame. Face half-buried in his pillow, chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of real sleep. Not a nap. Not collapse. Sleep.

Joel stopped in the doorway. Just stood there. And looked.

The sight of you hit him like a truck. Like adrenaline withdrawal. Like breathing in after hours of smoke.

His jaw twitched.

He didn’t say anything—just moved forward, slow and heavy, and collapsed onto the mattress. His arm slung across your waist automatically, hand spreading over your stomach. He pressed his face into the back of your neck, breathing you in like oxygen.

His other hand found the bandage on your collar. Still there.

His fingers flexed. Jaw locked. But he didn’t wake you. Not yet.

Instead, he held you. Tighter than he probably should’ve. Like if he let go, you’d evaporate. Like the ER might find a way to pull you back inside.

5 AM. That's when your alarm went off like a goddamn war crime.

Some soft piano chime you thought was “gentler” when you set it last week. Now it just sounded smug.

You blinked, groggy, warm, your face mashed into Joel’s shoulder. It took a full breath to realize where you were, what day it was, why you were so sore.

You groaned. Joel didn’t move.

“Alarm,” you croaked.

“Mmph.”

“Joel.”

His grip tightened around your waist. “No.”

“We have day shift.”

“I’ll kill it.”

“You can’t murder the clock.”

“Bet I fuckin’ could.”

You shifted, rolling onto your back. Joel growled low in his throat, dragging you with him, one knee wedging between your thighs, face nuzzled against your throat like you were a pillow made of Valium.

“I have to get up.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Fucking hell.”

He exhaled against your skin, then rolled back, dragging himself upright like a bear waking from hibernation. His hair was a mess. His eyes were still half-closed. But he stood.

Wordlessly, he offered his hand. You took it.

The walk to the bathroom was slow, your bodies brushing with every step. Joel flipped the light on with a grunt, and both of you flinched.

“God, we look dead,” you muttered, staring at the mirror.

“You look good dead,” Joel grunted, already twisting the shower knob. “Like a real pretty corpse.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.”

Joel climbed in first, pulling you in after him. The shower was hot. Scalding, almost.

You both stood under the stream for a long moment—silent, eyes closed, just breathing. Letting the water peel the last twenty-four hours off your skin.

Joel’s hands found your hips. Not to pull you close. Not to start anything. Just… to be there. To hold on.

His voice, low and gravel-warm, “That scratch still hurt?”

You touched the bandage near your collarbone. “A little.”

He turned you slowly, gently. Tilted your chin. His fingers traced the edge of the gauze, then peeled it away with surprising tenderness.

The scratch wasn’t deep, but it was angry. Red. A little raw.

Joel hissed through his teeth. “That son of a bitch.”

“Joel.”

He ignored you. Instead, he reached around, grabbed a washcloth, and began cleaning it. Soft. Meticulous. Like you were something fragile.

You stood there, heart knocking against your ribs, while Joel Miller—a man who’d cracked skulls open and stitched arteries in the middle of chaos—washed your fucking neck.

“I’ll put fresh gauze on it after,” he muttered.

“Okay.”

He rinsed the cloth. Pressed it to your shoulder again.

“Doesn’t look infected. But you need to stop fucking touching it.”

“I didn’t touch it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, once. Maybe twice.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “Stop. Or I’ll tape your whole damn neck shut.”

“Hot.”

“Not a joke.”

You smiled. He kissed you once, slow and tired and deep, water trickling between your bodies. Then he turned off the shower and handed you a towel.

You did your skincare in the mirror while Joel dried off behind you. He didn’t rush. He never did in the mornings. Not with you.

Even when he was grumpy. Even when his shoulder ached or the weather made his knee act up. He always moved slow. Always stayed close.

You patted moisturizer into your face. Joel watched in the mirror.

“You really do all that shit every morning?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What does that one do?” He pointed at your serum bottle.

“Makes me glow.”

“You already glow.”

You blinked. Joel pretended he didn’t say it. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and eggs by the time you padded in barefoot, dressed in fresh scrubs, hair still damp.

Joel was at the stove. Mug in one hand. Spatula in the other. His back was bare—broad and solid and scar-laced, a roadmap of every trauma he’d ever lived through.

He flipped the eggs like a man who didn’t give a single fuck what Gordon Ramsay thought.

“Yours are over easy,” he muttered. “Mine broke. Don’t say shit about it.”

You slid into the chair at the counter and wrapped your hands around the coffee he’d already poured for you.

“You didn’t have to cook.”

“You didn’t have to work eighteen hours yesterday.”

He handed you a plate. Sat across from you. Forked into his eggs with quiet aggression.

The silence between you was comfortable. Not empty. Never empty. Just resting.

After a few minutes, Joel reached over, tugged your scrub collar down, and gently pressed a fresh bandage onto your scratch. His fingers were warm. Careful.

He didn’t say anything while he did it. Didn’t need to. You didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.

By 6:30 a.m, you stood in front of the front door, bags slung over your shoulders, Joel double-checking for his badge like it might have betrayed him in the night.

“You ready?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked at you for a second. Really looked.

Then he opened the door.

“Come on,” he grunted. “Let’s go do some damage.”

And you followed him out into the already-waking heat of Austin, the sky pink and soft with the kind of hope that always, always dies by noon.

Another day. Another battlefield. But you weren’t going in alone.

Joel held the car keys like he held trauma shears—tight, deliberate, and like if anyone else touched them, they’d lose a finger.

His truck—gray, dented, stubborn—sat in the driveway like it had been through as much as he had.

You’d only driven in together a handful of times, mostly on mornings after holidays or hellish shifts, or when he’d muttered, “Don’t drive. Just come with me,” while already pulling on his boots.

Today was another one of those days. After everything that happened on the Fourth—an explosion, a thoracotomy, a sparkler in someone’s orbital socket—it made sense. 

“You good?” he asked as you locked the front door behind you.

“I’m not bleeding,” you said. “That’s progress.”

Joel grunted. “Barely.”

He opened the passenger door for you—something he never acknowledged but always did—and waited until you were settled before circling around to the driver’s side. The truck rumbled to life with a grumble and a low groan, like even the engine had seen some shit.

The drive to Austin General was quiet. Not the tense kind. Not the I’m-thinking-of-ten-thousand-things kind either. Just comfortable. The kind of silence that only happens when two people have nothing to prove to each other.

Joel drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, thumb tapping once every few seconds. You drank coffee from the thermos he’d packed. It tasted like Joel—too strong, no sugar, with that bitter edge that clung to your teeth. You didn’t mind.

At a red light, he glanced over.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

You met his gaze. “Are you?”

He exhaled through his nose. Looked back at the road. “Guess we’ll find out.”

By 6:47, you both pulled into the staff garage behind the ambulance bay entrance.

The hospital loomed above like a tired giant. Some of the windows still flickered from the backup generator cycle. Yesterday’s trauma team hadn’t even had time to hose down the exterior concrete where one of the blood trails had baked into the pavement under the sun.

You climbed out of the truck and walked beside Joel in silence.

At the security desk, Bill looked up from his paper cup of coffee and raised one brow. His face remained unreadable, but the faintest twitch of his beard might’ve been a smirk.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Bill,” Joel grunted.

Bill looked at you. “Y’know, we should just assign you a cot somewhere in trauma. You basically live here.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. “She doesn’t sleep in trauma.”

Bill lifted both hands, innocent. “Didn’t say she did.”

You bit back a laugh. Joel walked a little faster after that.

Inside, the ER was already humming. Not screaming—yet—but definitely buzzing with the kind of low-level chaos that meant the night shift hadn’t completely imploded.

Maria stood at the nurse’s station, arms crossed, tablet in hand, her expression locked somewhere between impressed and murderous. She saw you both and didn’t even blink.

“You’re late,” she said to Joel.

“It’s 6:54,” you said.

“Exactly.”

Maria sipped from her mug. “We’ve had two walk-ins for lacerations, one minor burn from someone reheating their goddamn barbecue ribs, and a psych eval sitting in Bay 3 who thinks he’s Abraham Lincoln.”

“I’ll take Lincoln,” you muttered.

“Be my guest.”

Jesse slid past the station with a chart in one hand and a breakfast sandwich in the other. “Doc,” he said, nodding at you, “what are the odds I can bribe you into seeing my walk-in?”

“Negative a thousand.”

“Worth a shot.”

Ellie arrived next, a little too awake, a little too caffeinated, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. She spotted you and nearly tripped over herself.

“You’re here,” she said. “Didn’t you stay late last night? I thought Joel was gonna drag you out of here by the hair.”

Joel, behind you, muttered something indecipherable under his breath.

You smiled sweetly. “No hair-pulling necessary. I left voluntarily.”

“She was ordered,” Jesse added, grinning.

Ellie gasped. “You listen to him?”

“He's my boss.”

Joel coughed.

“Anyway,” you said quickly, “what did I miss?”

Riley poked her head out from the medication room. “We’re still trying to find where someone put all the tetanus shots. And Henry lost a patient.”

“What?” you and Joel said in unison.

“She walked out,” Riley clarified. “He said she was in Bed Nine, but turns out she got tired of waiting and stole someone’s vape on her way out.”

Joel exhaled sharply. “I swear to God.”

“Henry’s been in the bathroom since,” Riley added helpfully.

Joel growled something that sounded like "fucking hell" and walked toward the staff lounge like he needed to punch a wall.

Abby showed up right then, bag slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from the shower. She caught sight of Joel’s retreating form, then turned to you.

“Still alive?”

“Barely,” you said.

“Cool.” She paused. “Thanks again for yesterday.”

You nodded. “You okay?”

Abby looked down the hall, where Mel was just walking in, laughing at something Dina said.

“I’m working on it.”

You didn’t press. She didn’t offer more. But she stood there with you a moment longer before heading to the lockers.

The first trauma rolled in at 7:11 a.m.

A teenage girl, collapsed at a summer soccer camp from heat stroke. Vitals tanking. GCS of 9. Her skin was dry and hot, lips cracked, and by the time she hit Trauma Two, her body temp had climbed above 104.

You worked fast—Joel barking out orders from the head of the bed, Abby on fluids, Ellie on vitals, Jesse running labs, and you directing the cooling blankets like it was your second job.

Joel watched you the whole time, his jaw tight, but he didn’t correct you.

Didn’t override you. Just moved in sync. By 8:02 a.m., the girl was stable. Still groggy, but breathing on her own.

Joel peeled his gloves off and muttered, “She’ll be fine. Keep an eye on her sodium.”

“Already ordered a BMP,” you said.

He nodded. One of those short, gruff nods that meant good.

The morning passed in pulses. Nothing exploded. Nothing caught fire. It was all… controlled chaos. Predictable. Achievable.

But Joel never let you out of his sight for long. Every time he walked into a trauma bay and didn’t see you, his head would snap around like a predator searching for prey.

When you passed each other in the hallway, his fingers brushed your lower back—just a second, just a breath, always too brief to be obvious.

No one said anything. But they all saw. And no one dared fucking comment.

9:35 a.m. brought the day’s weirdest consult: a man who had somehow—somehow—fallen onto a pool noodle in a way that required a surgical extraction.

“Really?” Tess said, exasperated. “It’s always the pool toys.”

You snorted. “He said he thought it would float better with air pressure.”

Tess stared at you. “Did it?”

“No.”

Joel didn’t speak during the consult, just glared at the chart like it had personally insulted him.

“Can’t people just swim?” he muttered on his way out.

By 10:17 a.m., you had already diagnosed a kidney stone, popped a shoulder back in, and sedated a guy who thought his dog was a government spy.

And then Joel pulled you aside in the trauma hallway.

“You eaten?”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s been four hours. You eaten?”

“No.”

He handed you a granola bar. “Sit down. Now.”

You didn’t argue. And he didn’t leave.

He sat next to you on the bench outside the medication room, arms crossed, eyes scanning the floor like it had wronged him. You ate in silence.

And then, after a beat, “You still hurtin’?”

You touched your collar. “No. It’s healing.”

Joel’s hand rose, thumb brushing the edge of the gauze. His touch was careful. Calloused.

“You tell me if it doesn’t.”

You nodded. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t stop watching you.

And it hit you all over again...

You were in the middle of a storm, inside a building held together by caffeine, trauma tape, and anger issues—

And still, every time Joel Miller looked at you, it felt like home.

Even here.

Even now—on the worn-out bench outside the medication room, surrounded by the hum of flickering fluorescents and the antiseptic stink of blood crusted into the grout.

Even after eighteen straight hours yesterday, after breaking someone’s chest open with your own hands, after watching a child code and a Roman candle take off someone’s face, Joel still looked at you like you were something safe.

Of course, he wouldn’t say it.

He’d just toss you a granola bar and glare at the floor until you finished eating.

Which, for Joel, was basically a love poem.

You took the last bite, licked peanut butter off your thumb, and leaned back against the wall. He didn’t move. Just watched you quietly, like he was still trying to make sure all your parts were accounted for. You couldn’t help but glance down at the gauze still covering the scratch at the base of your neck.

“Still healing,” you said softly.

“Good,” Joel muttered. “Otherwise I’d have to fire every nurse in this place and start over.”

You rolled your eyes. “Including Marlene?”

“She gets a warning.”

You almost laughed—almost—but before the silence could turn warm, the trauma radio cracked overhead.

“Incoming minor burn trauma. Twelve-year-old male. Backyard explosion. ETA two minutes.”

Joel stiffened.

“Another fucking firework?”

You stood up. “The holiday was yesterday.”

“Yeah. And the idiots were born today.”

The boy came in with his dad, a frazzled man in mismatched socks who kept saying, “I told him not to touch it. I swear to God, I told him.”

You and Joel met the gurney just as it was wheeled into Exam 4, Ellie jogging at your heels with a tray of supplies and Henry clutching an ice pack and his iPad.

The kid was alert. Crying, but not screaming. His arms were mottled red, patches of blistering skin already forming down both forearms. His hair was singed at the front, and the smell—burnt hair and plastic—hit you like a slap.

“Name?” you asked gently.

“Derek,” the kid whimpered.

“How old are you, Derek?”

“T-Twelve.”

You nodded. “Okay. You’re doing really good. We’re going to clean this up and keep you from hurting more. Do you know what kind of firework it was?”

Joel glanced at the dad.

“Big one,” the man muttered. “From yesterday, I think. One of those leftover mortars.”

“You didn’t throw it out?” Joel snapped.

The man flinched. “I thought I did—he found it in the back corner of the yard. I didn’t think—”

“Clearly.”

“Joel,” you said quietly.

He bit back the rest of it and stepped aside, hands flexing at his hips. His jaw ticked.

You went to work. Saline flushes. Cool compresses. Henry handed you a burn dressing, and Ellie worked fast with the IV.

Joel hovered behind you—watching, but not stepping in. He only did that when he trusted you completely.

You caught his eye once, just for a second. He didn’t say a word. But that look? That was him saying: I’ve got your back. I always do.

Derek whimpered. You knelt beside him, brushed the hair back from his sticky forehead.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay, alright? You scared the hell out of us, but you’re gonna be just fine.”

The kid nodded. Sniffled. “Okay.”

Joel’s voice, low and steady, “We’ll monitor for inhalation injury, but he’s stable. Admit for observation. Abby’ll help you with the burn sheet.”

You nodded, and Joel finally stepped back.

When the door swung shut behind him, Ellie whispered, “He’s so intense. I don’t know how you do it.”

You smiled faintly. “He means well.”

“Yeah. But he says it with, like, a knife.”

You didn’t get a break before the next call hit.

Marlene appeared, holding a file and a cup of hospital coffee so black it looked cursed.

“We’ve got a lady in Exam 2,” she said. “Still drunk from last night. Fell in the shower. Split her head wide open. She’s conscious, but loopy. Needs imaging for a concussion and a shit-ton of sutures.”

“Any chance she’s friendly?”

“She asked if I was her mailman.”

You sighed. “I’ll take it.”

“Atta girl.”

In Exam 2, the woman was sitting up on the gurney, a towel clutched to the side of her face, blood soaking through the edge. Her mascara was halfway down her cheek, and her smile was bleary.

“Hey,” she slurred. “You’re so pretty. Are you a nurse? Or a lifeguard? I fell in the tub and thought I was drowning.”

“I’m a doctor,” you said, pulling on gloves. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Dottie. Like the baseball girl.”

“Okay, Dottie. Can I look at your head?”

“Sure, baby. You can do whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

You stepped closer, peeled the towel back gently. The wound was bad. A long, curved laceration just behind her ear, splitting the skin open like a broken eggshell. Definitely needed imaging. Possibly staples. Definitely stitches.

“Jesus Christ,” Abby muttered, stepping in behind you.

“She fell on the soap dish,” you said.

“Oh God

Riley stuck her head in. “CT’s clear. No bleed.”

“Good,” you said. “Abby, grab the suture kit.”

Dottie blinked at you. “Hey, baby? You married?”

You glanced up. Joel was leaning in the doorway. You didn’t even hear him walk in.

“No,” you said, smiling sweetly. “But taken.”

Joel’s brow arched slightly. His gaze swept over Dottie, then the bloody towel, then your hands, and finally back to your face.

“She stable?”

“Yep.”

“Need anything?”

You shook your head.

Joel lingered just a second longer than necessary. Then he left.

Dottie blinked at the door. “He your boss?”

“Something like that.”

“He looks like he could bench press a firetruck.”

“Only on Mondays.”

By 11:42 a.m., the ER was once again, somehow, overflowing. Tess was yelling at imaging. Mel was arguing with a pharmacist. Jesse was holding two urine samples in one hand and his lunch in the other, looking very scared and conflicted.

You slipped into the breakroom for thirty seconds and collapsed into a chair.

Joel followed. Closed the door.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

“Liar.”

You looked at him. “You okay?”

He paused. Then said, “No.”

You both laughed. It wasn’t even funny.

Joel leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“I’ve never seen you do a thoracotomy before,” he said. “You handled it better than half the staff.”

“Thanks.”

“I meant that.”

You swallowed. “You didn’t have to let me do it.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you do shit. You earned it.”

Silence. Warm. Tense. Real.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Joel said quietly. “Yesterday. When he scratched you.”

“I know.”

“I thought if I looked away for a second, you’d be the one on the table.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.”

But his jaw was tight. His hands clenched.

You stood. Crossed the room. And laid your palm over his chest.

His heartbeat was steady. Heavy. A little too fast.

“I’m still here,” you said softly.

His hand covered yours.

“I see you, you know,” he murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

“Even when you think I’m not looking. I always see you.”

Your breath caught. But before anything else could happen—

“Trauma alert. Code yellow. Two incoming. One penetrating, one blunt-force. ETA three minutes.”

Joel’s eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Duty calls,” you whispered.

He nodded once. “Stay close.”

You didn’t need to be told. You always did. Because this was Austin General. And there was no such thing as peace.

Only the seconds between impact.

It was 12:00 p.m. when the ER exhaled again. Not the quiet kind. Not the peaceful kind. Just a different kind of pressure—like a room that had been holding its breath for too long and now didn’t know what to do with all the oxygen.

You glanced up at the wall clock in the trauma hallway. Still ticking like a metronome to madness. The second hand clicked forward and you didn’t even register it anymore.

You lived in 15-minute increments now. The rest of the world could burn as long as you made it to your next trauma bay.

Joel was still beside you, silent after the last code yellow. One penetrating trauma, one blunt-force. Both stable now, upstairs for imaging and consults. Joel hadn’t even taken off his gloves when the doors swung open again.

A wheelchair rolled in. Pushed by Bill.

The man in it had to be at least eighty-five. Skin loose, shoes untied, button-up shirt with the collar wrong on both sides. His face was red, sweat pooled in the lines of his cheeks, and he was gripping his chest like it had insulted him in public.

“Said it was just heartburn,” Bill muttered. “I told him he needed to get checked. He argued. Then he nearly passed out in the lobby next to the vending machine.”

“Probably the vending machine’s fault,” the man wheezed. “Those goddamn Funyuns.”

You stepped forward. “Sir, what’s your name?”

“Leonard.”

“Okay, Leonard. Can you describe the pain?”

Leonard waved you off with a wrinkled hand. “Been having it since last night. Ate my niece’s chili. Too many beans. Feels like somethin’ goin’ on in my chest, but it’s just gas. Happens all the time.”

You blinked. Joel didn’t.

“Put him in Trauma 5,” Joel barked. “Now. Get EKG, draw a troponin. Monitor vitals. Oxygen, nasal cannula. I want a chest X-ray on deck. Now.”

“Joel,” you said softly, “he says it’s just—”

“Silent MI,” Joel growled. “Seen it before. Pressure like gas, no radiating pain, no nausea. Happens all the goddamn time in older men. They die in recliners because no one took ‘heartburn’ seriously.”

Leonard blinked up at him. “You always this dramatic, son?”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “You want to live or not?”

“Suppose I do.”

“Then shut up and let us do our jobs.”

Joel turned on his heel and stalked into the trauma bay, already pulling a fresh pair of gloves on. You followed, heart thudding.

Jesse arrived two minutes later, dragging the portable EKG cart, out of breath and covered in something unidentifiable. “Sorry—somebody vomited in the hallway and I slipped in it. I’m okay. My ego may be injured. But okay.”

Ellie peeked around the curtain. “Did someone say heartburn?”

“Silent MI,” you corrected. “Joel wants labs now.”

She saluted and disappeared.

You stood on the left side of Leonard while Joel worked the right, laying leads, pressing his fingers into the man’s wrist to feel the pulse.

His touch looked rough, but you knew Joel. You knew how careful he actually was. How tightly he held control when something inside him screamed.

“BP’s dropping,” Joel said sharply. “Ninety over sixty. Jesse, get a second line. You—” He jerked his chin at Henry, who had wandered too close. “What do you do when your patient’s having an NSTEMI?”

Henry froze. “Uh—start oxygen, get nitro ready, prepare for aspirin?”

Joel’s face was stone. “Did you say ‘prepare for aspirin’?”

“I—I mean—give it?”

Joel stepped closer, towering over him. “You either know it or you don’t. There’s no ‘prepare’ when your patient’s dying, kid.”

You touched Joel’s arm gently. He glanced at you. His jaw unclenched—just barely—and he stepped back.

You looked at Henry. “Aspirin’s in the second drawer. Grab two, chewable. Go.”

Henry bolted. Joel didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to. The EKG machine began its infernal printing, and you read the strip.

“ST depressions,” you muttered. “It’s real.”

Joel nodded once.

Leonard blinked up at you. “Huh. Not just gas, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

You smiled despite yourself. Joel huffed something that might’ve been a laugh.

You stabilized Leonard. Got him a nitro drip, pain eased, vitals up. He was admitted upstairs to cardiology with a sarcastic goodbye and an invitation to his niece’s funeral chili cookout next Sunday.

Joel didn’t look at you for a few minutes after the bed rolled out, just stood in the trauma bay, eyes on the floor, fists still flexing.

He didn’t like being right when being right meant someone could’ve died.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Old men are stubborn.”

“You’re one of them.”

He looked at you. Finally. “And I’m still alive.”

You shrugged. “For now.”

He smirked. Just a little. You let that be enough.

It was barely 12:35 p.m. when the nurse’s station erupted again.

This time, it was Riley who flagged you down. “We’ve got a walk-in. Kid. Came in with her older brother—he looks like he’s barely older than her. Said she’s been scratching her head for weeks. No insurance. No PCP. No meds.”

“Lice?” you asked.

“Yeah. Like, bad. Real bad.”

Joel was standing next to you, reading a chart. You watched his spine stiffen. He didn’t say anything. But his jaw locked.

You followed Riley to Exam 9.

Inside, the girl was maybe eight. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Her hair was matted and greasy, dark streaks where she’d clearly tried to scratch herself bloody. Her little fingernails were dirty.

She sat on the edge of the bed like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Her brother—maybe fifteen—stood in the corner, arms crossed, eyes flicking everywhere but you. His hoodie was ripped. His sneakers had holes.

But he was standing between his sister and the door like he’d fight anyone who looked at her wrong.

You knelt beside the girl. “Hey. I’m one of the doctors. Can I take a look at your head?”

She didn’t speak. Just nodded. Barely.

Joel stood in the doorway. You felt him before you saw him. That dense kind of presence he carried like a loaded weapon.

You parted the girl’s hair. Winced.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Hundreds. Literal hundreds of nits. Clumped at the base of the scalp, crawling along the strands. Her ears were crusted with scabs from scratching. This wasn’t new. This was neglect.

“She’s had it for months,” the brother said. His voice cracked. “I tried. I bought shampoo. She cried. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a—” His voice broke. “I’m not a mom.”

Joel still hadn’t said a word. But his knuckles were white around the file in his hands.

“She’s not in school?” you asked gently.

“Not since May,” the boy said. “I had to keep her home. They called CPS last time. I can’t—she’s all I have.”

Joel turned. Left the room.

You blinked.

Ten minutes later, he came back. Carrying two pharmacy bags.

He handed them to the brother.

“Shampoo,” he said flatly. “Good kind. Gloves. Shower caps. Combs. Clean pillowcases. Antibiotic cream for the scabs.”

The boy stared. “I—I don’t have—”

Joel stepped forward. Didn’t yell. Didn’t scowl.

Just said, “You’re gonna take her home. You’re gonna wash her hair. You’re gonna follow the instructions. She’s gonna stop scratching. She’s gonna sleep on clean sheets. You’re gonna do all that. And you’re not gonna thank me. You’re just gonna do it.”

The boy swallowed. Joel leaned in, voice low.

“And if your parent lets this happen again, I will call every agency in the goddamn state.”

The boy nodded.

Joel turned to you.

“Discharge her,” he said.

Then walked away.

You caught up with him three rooms down, grabbing his arm.

“Hey.”

He didn’t look at you. You touched the inside of his wrist, where the pulse still jumped.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” you whispered.

He grunted. “Wasn’t trying to.”

You smiled. He didn’t. But his shoulders loosened. And that was something.

It was still 12, but edging closer to 1 p.m.

The air inside Austin General’s emergency wing had shifted—not louder, not even busier, just…stranger. Like the rhythm of the day had slowed just enough to notice it was about to snap.

You were reviewing discharge paperwork for the lice girl when Riley stepped into the nurses' station, looking pale.

“We’ve got a walk-in,” she said. “Elderly. No ID. Found wandering outside the H-E-B on 7th.”

You blinked.

“She walk here?”

“Not sure,” Riley said. “Bill brought her in. She didn’t resist, but she’s confused. Doesn’t know where she is. Keeps repeating the same name.”

Joel, across the station, stiffened.

“Put her in Exam 7,” he ordered. “Monitor vitals. No restraints unless she tries to bolt.”

You followed Riley down the hall, into Exam 7, where the woman sat alone on the gurney. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Wiry. Her blouse was stained, shoes on the wrong feet, and her white hair was frizzed into soft static. Her hands twisted in her lap like they were searching for something they’d lost decades ago.

You approached slowly. “Hi. I’m one of the doctors. Can I ask your name?”

She looked at you with watery blue eyes that didn’t quite see you.

Her voice came small, papery, “Angie. Angie. Angie.”

She said it again. Then again. Just one name. Over and over. Not in fear. Not in panic. Just…lost.

“She won’t stop saying it,” Riley whispered. “We tried the emergency contact on her bracelet—no answer. No address in the system.”

Joel arrived two minutes later. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway. Watching. Like he was trying to remember someone. Then he moved forward. His whole frame tense, jaw tight.

“Ma’am,” he said gently. Gentle, for him. “Do you know where you are?”

“Angie.”

He crouched beside her, his voice lowering.

“Can you tell me who Angie is?”

She reached out. Clutched his forearm. Her grip was strong. Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just sat there and let her hold on.

“She was my girl,” the woman whispered. “She was mine. And I lost her.”

Your throat went tight.

Joel nodded. Quiet. “We’ll find her, alright? We’ll look.”

You blinked hard, looked down at your tablet.

“Vitals stable,” you murmured, clearing your throat. “Labs ordered. Jesse’s on the phone with Adult Protective Services. Henry’s calling nearby care facilities.”

Joel stood slowly. His eyes flicked to you.

“She’s not goin’ anywhere,” he said. “Not ‘til someone claims her.”

You nodded. “And if no one does?”

He didn’t answer. But his hand stayed clenched at his side.

You left the room, heart heavy. And then the trauma doors opened again. Because of course they did.

“Room 3,” Mel said, moving fast beside you. “Sixteen. Football player. Came in with chest pain during summer conditioning drills. Dizzy, shortness of breath. Coach made him come in ‘just to be safe.’”

You blinked. “Vitals?”

“BP 110/72, HR 98. No fever. Clear lungs. Slight systolic murmur on auscultation. No known cardiac history.”

You looked at her sideways. “You said sixteen?”

Mel nodded. You pushed open the curtain.

The kid on the bed looked older than sixteen. Broad-shouldered, lean muscle, tan lines from Texas heat. His football jersey was wadded under his arm. Sweat plastered the front of his undershirt to his chest. His eyes were scared, but trying to play it cool.

“Name?” you asked.

“Cory.”

“Okay, Cory. You said this started during practice?”

“Yeah. We were doing sprints, and my chest felt weird. Like tight. I got dizzy. Coach said maybe it was the heat. But I’ve played through worse.”

You glanced at the monitor. “Has this happened before?”

He hesitated. “...Once. A few weeks ago. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want them to pull me from reps.”

“Any family history of heart disease?”

He looked down. “My uncle died of a heart thing in his forties. I think.”

You exchanged a glance with Mel. She was already typing.

“Okay,” you said, keeping your tone light. “We’re gonna run some tests. Just to be safe. You’ll be outta here in no time.”

Cory nodded, trying to smile. You stepped outside with Mel.

“Order an ECG,” you said. “Echo, too. Let’s rule out structural causes. Maybe a stress test if cardiology doesn’t scream at us.”

Joel appeared beside you like a shadow. “You talking about the kid in 3?”

You nodded. “Systolic murmur. Episodic chest pain with exertion. Could be heat stroke. Could be anxiety. Could be nothing.”

“Could be HCM,” Joel said flatly.

“Yeah.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. “I’ll get Imaging. We’re not missing this one.”

It didn’t take long. The echo told the truth. Joel called you into the radiology reading room himself.

The image flickered on the screen—thickened ventricular septum, diastolic dysfunction, the unmistakable pattern of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

Your stomach dropped. Joel didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at the monitor, his arms crossed, tension rippling through every inch of his body.

He finally looked at you. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.”

Joel exhaled, low and slow, “Want me to do it?”

You shook your head. “No. I’ve got it.”

He looked at you—really looked—then nodded. “I’ll be right outside.”

You sat beside Cory on the edge of his bed, the curtain pulled closed to block out the chaos of the ER.

He looked at you like you were about to hand him the keys to his future.

“Good news?” he asked.

You didn’t sugarcoat. You never did.

“We found something.”

He blinked. “Like, something bad?”

You swallowed. “It’s a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It means your heart muscle—specifically the wall between the two lower chambers—is abnormally thick. It makes it harder for your heart to pump blood effectively.”

Cory stared at you.

“No. No, I—I feel fine most days. I’ve always passed physicals.”

“It often doesn’t show up until something triggers it. You’re lucky it did. If you’d passed out without anyone around…”

You let it hang there. He didn’t move. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“So... what does this mean?”

You paused. “It means no more football.”

Silence.

Then, “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, no, no. That’s not—” His voice broke. “I’ve been training for this since I was ten. I just got invited to the summer showcase at UT. I’ve got coacheslooking at me. I can’t—I can’t—”

You didn’t stop him. You let him feel it. You stayed right there as he buried his face in his hands.

And when he finally looked up, eyes red, lips trembling, you said, “You’re alive, Cory. You’re going to stay alive. But you have to change course. That’s what matters right now.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t throw anything either. So that was something.

Outside, Joel was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. When he saw your face, he didn’t ask.

Just said, “You did good.”

You shook your head. “I hate this part.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Means you still got a soul.”

You didn’t speak again until you were back at the nurse’s station.

Jesse handed you a chart, Abby appeared with a new tray of IV kits, Ellie was arguing with someone about a urinal, and Henry was missing again.

Just another moment. Another beat. Still 12:57 p.m. Still not screaming. But the wind had shifted. And everyone could feel it.

The shift in the ER—subtle but total. Like someone had cranked the volume of the world to one notch below unbearable. No screaming yet. Just the weight of everything pressing down.

That’s when she came in.

You didn’t catch her name at first. Only her voice—sharp, cracked, desperate—and the unmistakable phrase, already being said before the curtain was even closed,

“I need Dilaudid. Just give me the Dilaudid.”

You looked up from the trauma board.

Across the hall, Jesse stood outside Exam 11, arms crossed, face locked in that uneasy grimace he wore whenever he was trying to hide discomfort behind professionalism.

“She say Dilaudid?” you asked.

Jesse nodded once. “Yelled it. About four times. Then cried.”

Mel passed behind you, muttering under her breath. “This again. Jesus.”

“Vitals?” you asked.

“BP 132/89, HR slightly elevated. Says she’s a chronic pain patient. Fibromyalgia, lower back disc degeneration, migraines. Lists ten meds she’s ‘allergic’ to.”

You winced. That checklist. The impossible one. The one that throws the whole room off-balance.

You stood, snapping on gloves.

“I’ll take it.”

“Of course you will,” Jesse said, smiling faintly. “You’re the only one she hasn’t screamed at yet.”

She was in her late thirties, maybe forty. Hard to tell—her face was drawn, eyes sunken with fatigue. Not from lack of sleep, but from years of wear. Her hair was tied back, but uneven. Her nails were chewed raw. Her hands trembled with the kind of exhaustion that made your throat ache just watching it.

She looked up when you stepped in. Her first words weren’t a greeting.

“Please don’t tell me it’s Tylenol. Please don’t fucking tell me it’s Tylenol again.”

“I’m not telling you anything yet,” you said gently, pulling the curtain closed. “I’m just here to talk.”

Her eyes narrowed, waiting for judgment. You didn’t offer it.

“I’ve been through this a hundred times,” she said. “I get it. You think I’m a junkie. That I’m drug-seeking. That I’m trying to score. But I’m in pain. I’ve been in pain since I was twenty-one. My spine is a fucking mess. My doctor retired last year and I’ve been in withdrawal ever since. No one will touch my chart.”

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s talk about it.”

Joel arrived ten minutes later. You knew he would. He always did when the air got like this—tense, cracked like thunder waiting to fall.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood outside the curtain, arms folded, listening to your voice as you walked the patient through the same set of questions you’d asked every chronic pain case before her...

When did the pain start?

What does it feel like?

What helps?

What’s made it worse?

She cried. Quietly. You stayed still. And Joel finally stepped in.

His eyes flicked from you to the patient and back again.

“What’s your name?” he asked flatly.

“Trina,” she whispered.

“You’ve been here before.”

“I have.”

“You’ve asked for Dilaudid every time.”

“Because it works.”

Joel’s gaze didn’t soften. “You know we’re not a refill station, right?”

“I’m not asking for a month’s supply. I’m asking for one dose. To stop my legs from feeling like they’re being set on fire.”

You saw it. The twitch in Joel’s jaw. That old scar that flared when he gritted his teeth too hard.

“She’s in pain,” you said softly, more for him than for her.

He didn’t look at you. Not yet. But his silence cracked.

“She allergic to morphine?” he asked.

“Yes,” Trina said, too fast.

“Hydrocodone?”

“Also yes.”

Joel exhaled. “What about Toradol?”

“Gives me hives.”

“Tylenol?”

“Do you really think I’d be here if Tylenol worked?”

Joel was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, low, sharp, “Jesse. Get me her chart from the last three visits. I want full tox screens. And a list of filled prescriptions.”

Jesse moved fast.

Trina shook her head. “You think I’m lying.”

“I think we have a system that doesn’t help people like you,” Joel said flatly. “And I think you’ve been burned so many times you stopped trying to prove you’re telling the truth.”

That shut her up.

Joel turned to you. “Walk with me.”

You followed him outside the trauma wing and into the hallway, where the walls weren’t bleeding pain.

He stopped. Looked at you hard.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “But I don’t like watching someone twitch like that either.”

“She’s not faking,” you said.

“I know.”

“She’s terrified of being labeled again.”

“She already is.”

He rubbed his hands down his face.

“This system is broken,” he growled. “We treat pain like it’s a negotiation. Like people should earn relief. Like we can guess who’s in agony by how polite they are.”

You blinked. “So…what do we do?”

Joel met your eyes. “We treat the fucking pain.”

When you walked back into Exam 11, Joel was already writing the order. Single dose of IV Dilaudid. Low dose. Under supervision.

Jesse came back with her history—no flagged behaviors, no record of prescription fraud. Just an endless trail of bounced-around providers, ERs, urgent cares, and desperate attempts to find anyone who would believe her.

You administered the dose yourself. Her eyes filled with tears the second it hit.

“I’m not high,” she said. “I’m just…I don’t hurt. For the first time in a week.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Outside, Joel leaned against the wall, watching the floor. When you came out, he looked up at you. Just once. You nodded.

“She’ll be out in an hour,” you said. “Then Ellie will talk to her about follow-up care.”

Joel nodded. Said nothing. But when you reached for his wrist—quiet, unseen—he let you hold on.

His pulse was steady. But now the screaming had started. And you weren’t letting go.

But the hospital didn’t care about things like stillness, or intimacy, or the fragile moment where you could feel someone’s pulse through your fingertips.

The ER didn’t care that you’d just poured your soul into a woman who hadn’t known if she deserved relief. It was 1:00 p.m. now, and the shift had turned.

Afternoons always brought something. The morning was for predictable chaos—broken bones, missed meds, barbecue injuries, and complications from last night’s poor decisions. But one o’clock? That was when the weird showed up. That was when the city remembered you existed and decided to test your limits.

You were barely logging the Dilaudid patient’s chart when Riley jogged toward you, hands flailing like she was chasing a balloon.

“Influencer in triage,” she hissed.

You stared at her. “What?”

“She’s live-streaming.”

“What?”

“She said it’s very important for her community to see her medical journey in real time. Jesse’s with her. He’s trying not to lose it.”

You followed her back to triage. And there she was.

Hot-pink leggings. Some light thing attached to her phone. False lashes that looked heavy enough to injure someone.

She was sitting on the triage cot like it was her dressing room, iPhone held high in one hand, the other dramatically bandaged with a gauze square the size of a postage stamp.

You heard her before she saw you.

“Hey my babies! So, I was viciously attacked by a bee at Barton Springs—like, full-on survival moment—and now I’m in the ER because I have a severe, deadlyallergy and my throat literally almost closed.”

Jesse was standing beside her, trying to get a blood pressure reading without being captured in the livestream. He looked like he wanted the fluorescent lights to explode and bury him in debris.

You cleared your throat.

The influencer whipped around. “Oh my God—are you my doctor? You look so young. She looks so young, right?” She gestured to the camera. “Everyone say hi!”

You didn’t say hi.

You turned to Jesse. “Vitals?”

“All normal. No swelling. No signs of anaphylaxis. She drove herself here. Took a Benadryl an hour ago.”

“Tongue? Throat?”

He shook his head. “Clear.”

You turned to her.

“You said you have a deadly allergy?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t use your EpiPen?”

She blinked. “I didn’t bring it.”

“You didn’t have someone drive you?”

“I didn’t want to wait.”

“You took Benadryl?”

“Yes.”

“And you can breathe?”

“Obviously.”

You stared at her. She smiled, perfectly white teeth catching the light of her phone. You stepped forward and gently tapped the screen of her phone, turning it off.

She blinked. “Um—what—?”

“You’re in a medical facility,” you said. “Not a film set.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, scandalized. “You didn’t just touch my—”

“HIPAA,” Jesse muttered like it was a prayer. “HIPAA, HIPAA, HIPAA.”

You turned to Jesse. “Get her a discharge summary and a lollipop.”

The woman gasped. “I’m going to post about this—”

“I encourage it,” you said with a smile.

As you walked away, Jesse fell into step beside you.

“She tried to ask me to pose for a ‘we made it’ selfie.”

“Did you?”

“She said her brand is about healing through visibility. I think I disassociated.”

You reached up and patted his shoulder.

“You’re a soldier.”

He nodded solemnly. “Vietnam flashbacks. Except worse.”

At 1:18 p.m., you barely made it through three bites of a protein bar before Ellie appeared.

“There’s a new mom in 6. Fever. Pain. Baby’s here. She looks rough.”

“How rough?”

Ellie hesitated. “Like... I think she hasn’t slept in a week. She’s got that twitchy eye thing going on. And she’s reallytrying to hold it together.”

You finished the bite and followed her back.

Room 6 was darkened, the baby cradled in a bundle in a too-big hospital bassinet next to the bed.

The woman on the bed looked pale, blotchy, fevered. Her sweat-soaked tank top clung to her back, her breasts visibly swollen beneath it. One side red and inflamed. Her eyes flicked to you like she expected to be judged before you even opened your mouth.

You spoke softly, “Hi. I’m one of the doctors. What’s going on today?”

Her voice broke on the second word. “It hurts. My boob—it’s hot, and red, and he won’t—” she looked at the baby—“he won’t latch, and I’ve tried everything, and I haven’t slept in four days, and I think I’m dying.”

You pulled gloves on. “How old is he?”

“Thirteen days.”

You nodded. “This your first?”

“Yes.”

You glanced at Ellie. She stepped back, knowing this was yours.

You moved slowly. Sat beside the bed.

“You’re not dying,” you said gently. “You have mastitis. It’s a breast tissue infection. It happens, especially when a baby has trouble latching or feedings are inconsistent.”

The woman bit her lip.

“But I’ve been pumping. And massaging. I tried warm compresses. I even—God, this is so stupid—I googled something about cabbage leaves. I’ve been putting lettuce in my bra.”

“That’s not stupid,” you said. “That’s desperate. And you’re allowed to be desperate. You’re exhausted. You’re in pain. You’re feeding a human with your body and nobody told you it would feel like being hit by a truck and then asked to do calculus.”

She started to cry. Not loudly. Just the soft, hiccuping sobs of someone who finally got permission to fall apart. You stayed.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” you said gently. “We’re going to get you on antibiotics. We’re going to get you a lactation consult. We’re going to bring your fever down and manage your pain. And you’re going to sleep. Even if I have to sedate half the wing to give you peace, you are going to rest.”

Her hand gripped yours. Tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You stayed a little longer. Then got up to start her orders. When you turned, Joel was there. Leaning in the hallway. Watching. He didn’t speak. Just met your eyes. And something in his gaze—soft but sharp—wrapped around your ribs like a wire pulled tight.

You walked out into the hallway, toward him.

“She’s gonna be okay,” you said.

Joel nodded.

“She was scared out of her mind.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how people do it. Alone.”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“They shouldn’t have to,” he said.

And he didn’t say more. Because it was the afternoon, high times. And Austin General was still full of screaming. But with him standing there, watching you like that? You weren’t screaming anymore. But the world outside your skin was.

The clock ticked past 1:17 p.m., and Austin General spun on without pause. The afternoon haze crept in through the automatic doors like breath through a cracked rib, uneven, persistent, fragile. The AC buzzed too loud in the nurse’s station. Someone spilled coffee near the crash cart. A fluorescent light in Room 12 flickered so fast it gave Mel a headache.

And the cases? They didn’t slow. They just changed shape.

A post-op patient arrived just after the new hour mark—transferred from another hospital across town.

He came in on a gurney soaked in sweat, with surgical dressing that reeked of necrotic tissue the second it hit air. His wound site—deep in the lower abdomen—was leaking pus that ran dark yellow, laced with streaks of green. Red, angry skin stretched outward from the edges of the incision like it was being peeled from the inside.

He didn’t even try to sit up. Didn’t have the strength.

You read the transfer note. Appendectomy. Four days ago. Complained of fever and worsening pain. Told to "monitor at home."

No antibiotics. No follow-up. Just “Tylenol and fluids,” according to the record.

Joel read it over your shoulder. Said nothing at first.

Then, very quietly, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You glanced at him. “He should’ve been here days ago.”

“He should’ve been in the OR again days ago.”

He turned and walked out. You followed. He didn’t go to Trauma or Radiology or even the consult rooms.

He went straight to the break room. Shut the door. Pulled out his phone. You heard him dial. Then tap the speakerphone.

“Dr. Kevner.”

Joel’s voice dropped into the register he only used when he was holding a scalpel or about to verbally eviscerate someone.

“Kevner. Miller from Austin General.”

“Joel, hey. You got the transfer?”

“Yeah. The one with the abscess the size of a grapefruit.”

“Right. We figured it was best he go to you guys since you’ve got more trauma coverage—”

“You let a post-op with signs of sepsis walk around for four days?”

“We were monitoring remotely. His vitals weren’t concerning—”

Joel’s fist slammed against the break room table. “You think a rotting gut smells like nothing, Kevner? You know what kind of post-op infection this is? The kind that eats people.”

“Joel—”

“You abandoned this kid. He came in tachycardic, hypotensive, oozing pus out of a dressing that looks like it was stuck on with duct tape. You didn’t even give him Augmentin?”

“We didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think at all. You dumped him on us ‘cause you didn’t want him crashing on your floor.”

“That’s not fair—”

Joel’s voice cut sharp and flat. “He could’ve died in a goddamn Uber, Kevner. So here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m writing a formal review. I’m calling the state board. And if this kid doesn’t walk out of here whole, I’m sending his mom your malpractice address directly.”

Silence on the other end. Then the line clicked dead. Joel stared at the phone. Then looked at you.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

He just shook his head. “I fucking hate this job sometimes.”

And then you heard it. The doors. Bursting open. You turned, gut coiling instinctively.

Frank was running. Covered in blood. Tommy was behind him, hauling the stretcher with a speed that made the wheels scream across tile.

On the gurney, a teen. Seventeen, maybe. Thin. Torn clothes. Blood on the chest. On the jaw. Across what was left of his right leg.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

“Hit by train,” Frank shouted. “Intentional. Jumped. Emergency stop missed. He was trying to die.”

The kid was missing skin. From his hips down. Left thigh torn open, right side fully degloved—flesh ripped back like a sheet, exposing red muscle and shattered bone. The meat of his body was visible. Raw. He looked like a person half-finished.

No pulse. No movement. Nothing.

“We can't give up on him!” Tommy barked. “He was crying when we got to him. He wanted help. He changed his mind!”

You threw your body into motion.

“Get him in Bay 1!” you screamed. “Now!”

Joel was already sprinting beside you, barking orders.

“Massive transfusion protocol! Jesse—run the O-neg. Mel, grab crash kit. Riley—intubation tray. Henry, get out unless you’re ready to bleed.”

Frank stayed. His knuckles were red from where he’d done compressions all the way here. Tommy stood against the wall, hands shaking. You didn’t flinch.

“You’re not dying here,” you whispered to the kid. “Not on my fucking table.”

It was chaos. The kind of chaos that strips the skin off your soul.

You intubated. Jesse missed the first line. You got it on the second. Ellie handed you a chest tube. Blood pooled beneath your shoes.

Joel’s hands were moving fast, precise. His voice was sharp, relentless. Every word from him cut through the noise.

“Three units, wide open.”

“Another 8.5 ET. He’s swelling.”

“Where’s ortho? We need vascular now.”

But you could see it. People were starting to doubt. You saw it in Abby’s eyes. In the silence from Henry. Even Riley flinched when she saw how much of the kid’s leg was just gone.

You stood over him. Chest compressions in progress. Bleeding not slowing. Vitals flatline.

“He’s D.O.A.,” someone whispered.

“No, he’s not,” you snapped. “We’ve got a window. He was alive ten minutes ago. He was crying. We are not letting him die because we’re tired.”

Joel’s voice barked, “You heard her. Move.”

You cracked ribs with your own hands. Pushed epinephrine. Tilted the table.

Blood pressure came back. Faint. But it came back. You felt it. A flutter. A whisper in the radial.

You stared.

“He’s perfusing,” you gasped.

Joel looked up at you. And in that moment, he didn’t look mean. He looked awed.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

Not until he was intubated. Not until you had tourniquets in place and trauma had arrived with the crash team. Not until his mother arrived—shaking, sobbing—and saw that her son was still breathing.

You walked out of Trauma 1 covered in blood. You peeled off your gloves in one motion. And Joel was waiting. Right outside the door. He said nothing. Just looked at you.

You wiped your arm on your scrub top. “He wanted help.”

Joel nodded.

“You saved him,” he said.

You stared. “We did.”

Joel stepped closer. There was blood on your cheek. He wiped it with his thumb. Then stepped back.

But his hand lingered a second longer than necessary. You didn’t say thank you. You didn’t need to.

It was still just past two. And you weren’t letting anyone die today. Not if you had anything to do with it. But eventually—because it had to—the adrenaline slowed.

Your body remembered that it was attached to muscles and bones and nerve endings that ached. Your stomach, neglected for the last six hours, growled loud enough to startle Jesse as he walked by with a chart.

And right then—like a miracle made of takeout foil and white plastic forks—the break room door opened to reveal something that almost felt like salvation...

Lunch. Real lunch. Catered. Paid for by the hospital’s owner—someone you’d never met, who apparently existed solely in Board meetings and vague references to lawsuits—but they’d bought food.

For you. For the chaos warriors who’d dragged themselves through yesterday’s Fourth of July madness, who’d patched gunshots and peeled melted plastic off children’s hands, who’d kept hearts beating, lungs breathing, and somehow still made it to work again today.

Jesse poked his head out of the break room. “Sandwiches. Tacos. Pasta. There’s even cold lemonade in one of those big-ass jugs.”

Abby trailed behind him, face flushed, ponytail crooked. “There’s salad too, but it’s Austin. Everything’s got quinoa.”

You finally exhaled.

Then you turned to find Joel—but of course, he wasn’t with the rest of the staff. Not in the hallway. Not near the triage desk. Not hovering beside the trauma bays like he usually was, scanning for errors in posture or medication orders.

Joel was gone.

In the break room, the noise was louder than it had been all day—but it was a different kind of loud.

This wasn’t the shriek of monitors or the scuff of gurney wheels or the metallic ring of dropped surgical tools.

This was laughter. Riley perched on the edge of a chair with her feet on a cooler, stuffing a taco into her mouth and trying to explain something about a failed Tinder date with a guy who claimed to be “emotionally polyamorous but spiritually monogamous.”

Mel snorted lemonade through her nose. Henry looked traumatized but impressed.

Ellie was cutting up her food into impossibly small bites and pretending she wasn’t listening to Maria’s story about a bachelorette party injury involving an ill-advised pole and three tequila shots.

Jesse was leaning back, both feet up on the table, eating pasta like he hadn’t seen carbs in weeks.

You saw Dina step in too—eyeliner smudged, hair pulled back, smiling in that sleepy, warm way she did after hours of difficult conversations with scared families. She grabbed two tacos, no plate, and stood beside the fridge with her hip against the counter, finally letting herself just be for a minute.

Even Tommy and Frank had stopped in—Tommy pulling Frank a chair like he was courting him all over again, both of them sweaty, still in EMS gear, still stained from the train call.

Everyone was here.

Except Joel.

You found a takeout container and began assembling a plate.

You knew what he liked—sliced brisket, no sauce, potato salad, not too much—one of the little cornbread muffins, the kind no one else touched because they looked dry but he liked them anyway.

You wrapped it tightly in foil. Wrote his initials on the top with a Sharpie you borrowed from Jesse, who gave you a knowing smirk and didn’t say a word.

You placed it in the staff fridge like it was sacred. It kind of was. Then, only after, did you sit down. Your feet ached. Your scrubs were stained.

There was dried blood beneath your fingernails and pressure still echoing in your chest from the compressions you'd done less than an hour ago—but for this one breath, this tiny sliver of a break room universe, everything felt normal.

Warm food. Smiling faces. The hum of microwaves and dumb inside jokes. It was the kind of peace that didn’t last long in an ER.

But god, it mattered. And when you finally stood, stretching your arms overhead, the quiet in your limbs was the only thing louder than the laughter.

You didn’t find Joel until almost an hour later, near the ambulance bay.

He was alone, as always, leaning against the edge of the wall like he belonged to the concrete.

You could tell he’d washed his hands—again—because they were still red. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. His expression unreadable.

“You missed lunch,” you said softly.

He glanced at you. Then back at the parking lot.

“You eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

There was a beat.

Then you added, “I saved you a plate.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded once.

Then, just barely audible, “Thanks.”

You stepped closer. Not too close. Not where anyone could see. But close enough that he could hear the difference in your breath. Feel the way you looked at him.

“You need to eat, Joel.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t think I’d survive another one of those cases.”

“But you did.”

He looked at you then. And for just one second, the mean lines in his face softened.

“Because you were there,” he said.

You didn’t smile. But you reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist. That was enough. No one said anything else.

Not until the alarms blared again, and your pagers lit up, and someone in the nurse’s station called your name.

But in that quiet space between bites and blood, you’d built something. Something soft. And real. And his.

That word sat in the back of your throat for the next twenty minutes. Didn’t leave. Didn’t try to. It just lived there quietly, pressing against your pulse every time you remembered the way Joel had looked at you when he said it.

“Because you were there.”

Because you always were.

That moment might have lasted longer—maybe even slipped into something softer, something even riskier—but just then, the intercom crackled.

“Doctor Miller and third-year, please report to the nurses’ station. Family on line two.”

Joel sighed like it was a personal attack.

You followed him back in, glancing up at the board as you passed, everything still full. Every bed still filled. Every name glowing under fluorescent helllight.

Kathleen was manning the phones even though it was technically not her shift yet. She handed Joel the receiver like she was handing off a grenade.

“It’s the dementia patient’s family,” she said quietly. “Finally called back.”

Joel blinked. “They just now called back?”

“Yeah. Line was disconnected all morning.”

You leaned in, listening.

Joel pressed the receiver to his ear. “This is Dr. Miller.”

The voice that came through was young. Male. Rushed. Guilty.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry. I just got this message. I—I lost my phone this morning at my son’s soccer practice, and I didn’t realize until after lunch that I’d missed like six calls from the hospital. I just— Is she okay? Is my mom okay?”

Joel’s mouth tightened.

“She’s stable. Came in around noon. No ID besides a bracelet. She’s been repeating the name Angie.”

“Yeah, that’s my daughter. Angie’s her granddaughter. They’re very close.”

Joel glanced at you. You nodded. It made sense now.

“I can be there in twenty minutes. I swear. I—I didn’t mean for her to be alone that long. My wife was watching her during the game and thought she was napping upstairs. But then...”

His voice broke.

Joel exhaled. “She’s safe. Come to the main ER entrance. We’ll walk you back.”

Twenty-five minutes later, a tired man in cleats and a youth league jersey stepped into the unit. One sock still grass-stained. His face drawn with guilt, worry, exhaustion.

You saw him before he saw her. When he did—when she turned toward the doorway, blinking like she was waking from a dream—his whole body just collapsed inward.

He rushed to her side. Kissed her head, “Mom. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Angie’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looked up at him, confused for a second. Then her face changed.

“I missed the game,” she said softly.

The son’s eyes welled. “I know. Its okay.”

“No,” she whispered. “I missed it.”

He crouched beside her, face pressed into her hand. And for a moment, you and Joel just stood there. Silent. Watching.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel murmured. “I’m not made for this part.”

You smiled. “Yes, you are.”

He didn’t argue. The spell didn’t last. It never did.

You were halfway through prepping a patient with an infected foot ulcer when Tess appeared beside you.

“Hey,” she said flatly. “Need your help with a situation.”

You looked up. “What kind of situation?”

“The yelling kind.”

You blinked. “Verbal or physical?”

“Unknown,” Tess said, already walking. “But if it turns physical, I get to hit first.”

Room 9. The door was shut but not sealed, and even from the hallway you could hear the argument happening inside.

You stepped in just behind Tess.

A man in his late forties sat on the edge of the bed, clearly agitated. His chart said “chronic shoulder dislocation,” but you could tell from the way he was gripping the call button that pain was only half the problem.

His eyes locked onto Tess immediately. “I said I wanted another doctor.”

“You got one,” Tess said, pointing at you. “She’s better than me anyway.”

He scoffed. “She’s a kid.”

You didn’t flinch. “I’m a third-year. You’re in a trauma facility. You came to us. So let’s work together.”

He bristled. “You’re gonna listen to me?”

“That depends. You planning on throwing anything at my face?”

“Not unless you treat me like a junkie.”

You met his stare. Dead on.

“Sir, I’m going to treat you like someone in pain. That’s it. You be mean to my staff, I will have you thrown out.”

Tess smirked behind you. The patient didn’t blink. But after a moment—he sighed.

“Fine.”

“Good,” you said. “Now take off your jacket so I can look at your shoulder.”

Twenty minutes later, his shoulder was relocated, the swelling addressed, and he’d even asked if you were “one of the good ones.”

You said, “Aren’t we all?”

He muttered something about you having a better bedside manner than Joel.

You grinned. “Don’t let him hear that.”

When you stepped out, Tess nudged your shoulder with her fist.

“You’re gonna be chief one day,” she muttered.

“I don’t want to be.”

“Yeah, well. That’s why you should be.”

You returned to the nurse’s station, found your coffee from earlier, now lukewarm and neglected.

Joel passed you a fresh cup. Didn’t say a word. Just handed it over. You took it. Sipped. Winced.

“No sugar?”

Joel shrugged. “You’re sweet enough.”

You blinked at him. “Did you hit your head today?”

“Shut up.”

And he walked off. But his hand brushed your back as he did. Just barely. Just enough.

And for now, that was enough. Until it wasn’t. Because the ER never let you be full for long.

Around 3 PM, you got the usual trickle—low-stakes, high-frustration patients who were always sprinkled like salt across your chart. A man who’d had a panic attack on the bus and insisted it was a heart attack. A toddler with a plastic bead up his nose. A woman who demanded stitches be done by a plastic surgeon only,as if this were Beverly Hills and not an Austin trauma bay where blood was still on the floor from a degloving.

At 4 PM, six more beds were filled.

A teenage girl who fainted after fasting for a fitness challenge—Joel had muttered something about the world being broken before ordering a bag of D5 and a banana.

Then a man who’d been trying to remove a mole on his own with a butter knife.

You didn’t ask.

By 5 PM, everyone was tired again. You could feel it. The tension in the staff’s collective shoulders. The quiet way Ellie was curled up in a corner chair with a bag of goldfish and her head against the wall. How Abby and Mel were both standing too still while they wrote up discharge summaries. How even Maria looked like she might consider caffeine an inadequate substitute for a coma.

You were standing at the crash cart, double-checking supplies with Riley, when your pager vibrated hard against your hip.

Trauma incoming. MCI. Multiple victims. Truck rollover I-35. ETA 7 min.

Seven minutes. You didn’t even have time to swear before Joel’s voice cut through the air like a bullet.

“Mass casualty protocol. Jesse, get on the loudspeaker. Ellie—triage out front. Tess, you’re with me. Everyone not actively coding a patient, suit up.”

The break room emptied like floodgates opening. People ran without asking where.

You’d trained for it. You’d run drills. But nothing prepared you for the noise. Nothing will ever prepare you for the noise.

The first ambulance came in like a screaming red siren of the apocalypse. Behind it, a second. Then two more. You heard the unmistakable wail of Tommy’s voice yelling from behind the gurney, “Four trapped under the rig, we got two with crush injuries and one flail chest!”

Frank shouted, “Driver ejected. Helmetless. Pulseless on scene. We brought him anyway!”

Jesse and Kathleen threw triage tags like confetti. Red. Yellow. Black. You watched Riley pale when she saw the black one—expectant. Not saveable.

“Don’t look at the tags,” you muttered to her. “Look at their eyes. Look at their breath.”

You were thrown into Trauma 2 before you could breathe again.

A girl. 22, maybe. Covered in gasoline. Glass embedded in her legs.

Abby was cutting through her jeans with trauma shears. You held pressure on her abdomen. Mel came in behind you with a crash cart and blood.

“She was in the back seat,” Henry said from the doorway. “Not belted. Hit the seat in front of her when the cab rolled.”

Her pulse was thready. Her pupils sluggish.

“She’s tamponading,” you said. “Prep for chest tube.”

Joel’s voice from across the hall, “Do it! Don’t wait for me!”

And so you did. By 6:10, the ER was a battlefield.

Three bays were full. Four more patients were lined against the wall on backboards, IVs taped to their arms like lifelines. Tess had gone through two pairs of gloves and one set of scrubs. Maria had yelled at the ortho resident and then Jesse.

Joel hadn’t stopped moving once.

He was yelling. Barking orders. Throwing himself into the middle of every collapsed airway, every exposed femur, every chest full of blood. He was mean, but he was brilliant. And everyone followed him because he didn’t let people die unless he had to.

You worked on a man who had glass lodged in both hands and a piece of rebar poking from his side.

When he screamed, you leaned into him and whispered, “We’re not going anywhere. You hear me?”

He nodded, tears leaking into the surgical drape.

Outside the trauma bay, Dina was trying to calm a young woman who’d just watched her boyfriend pulled from the wreckage with no face left to recognize. Kathleen held a clipboard like a weapon, ticking off names, counting bodies. Even Bill—the usually stoic, quiet security guard—was hauling gauze boxes and water bottles down the hall like his own life depended on it.

And Tommy?

Tommy had blood on his uniform, his hands, his face. He leaned in the hallway, catching his breath, but when he saw you stumble, he caught your elbow.

“You good?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t smile. Just nodded. “You’re doing good.”

And you moved on. Because more were coming. Always more.

Joel finally paused near the nurses’ station. Just for a second. Just to find you.

And you were there. Bloodied, sweating, but still standing. He looked at you. You looked back. And no words were spoken.

Because you didn’t need them. Because everything you were was in that moment—the carnage, the chaos, the calm between it.

And that look? It said, I’m not letting you go. Not here. Not ever.

The doors opened again. More sirens. More blood. And you went.

Because this didn’t end with quiet. It ended with screaming. And you were still listening. Still moving. Still breathing through blood-soaked gloves and adrenaline that wouldn’t leave your bloodstream even if you begged.

It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of the clock above the medication room that it hit you...

7:48 p.m. The whole goddamn day had disappeared.

You blinked, chest rising, eyes burning. Your last actual sip of water had been sometime around noon. Your stomach was an empty cavity. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d sat for longer than twenty seconds. And still—you kept going.

Because the truck rollover had swallowed the hospital whole.

No one had noticed time moving. Not you, not Jesse, not Riley or Ellie or Maria or Kathleen, who still had her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose even though she wasn’t reading a damn thing.

Even Joel, who usually noticed everything, had missed it.

The ER had never fully quieted—it just shifted pitch. And then you heard it...

That strange, bittersweet sound of relief.

Night shift was coming in.

You heard Dina first, talking to Gail, the night counterpart.

“Two still critical. Five stable. Four being observed. One transferred to ICU. One—” Dina’s voice dropped—“black tag.”

Gail nodded, already tapping her badge for access. She didn’t flinch. Just stepped into chaos with the deadpan precision of someone used to storms.

“Where’s Joel?” she asked.

“Still barking at the trauma bay,” Dina muttered. “Still bleeding brilliance all over the floor.”

You smiled without meaning to.

Then saw Ellie, shoulders slumped, yawning so hard her mouth cracked like a hinge.

“Go home,” you told her. “You’re done.”

“You sure?”

“Go. Before I sedate you.”

Ellie flashed a thumbs up and disappeared toward the locker rooms.

As the shift change solidified—chart updates being handed off, new meds prepped, triage re-opened—you paused. Just for a second. You leaned against the wall outside Trauma 2 and let your head fall back.

The hallway buzzed in waves. Squeaking shoes, IV pumps clicking, the murmur of names being handed over like heirlooms.

You felt something like satisfaction. And exhaustion. And something else you didn’t want to name yet.

You saw Joel before he saw you.

He was in the far corridor, talking to Tommy and Tess—gesturing with one hand, still wearing a drying bloodstain on his sleeve.

But his eyes shifted. And then, he was walking toward you.

The hallway fell quiet behind him. Just for you.

And when he got close—close enough to make the rest of the world vanish—he tilted his head and said,

“You alive?”

You nodded. “Barely.”

He sighed. “Let’s go.”

You were almost to the exit when you remembered.

You grabbed his plate from the fridge—the one you’d made hours ago with food that was probably tepid and a little sad by now, but it was still his.

Still a reminder that someone had thought of him.

You held it out wordlessly. He took it from you and didn’t say a word either. He didn’t need to.

The parking lot was a dreamscape—soft shadows under orange lights, buzzing insects echoing across the concrete. The world outside didn’t know the trauma that had happened just beyond those double doors.

Joel walked with you in silence.

He wasn’t limping, but he moved like something in him ached. You understood. Your own joints felt like chewed leather.

You reached his truck. He moved to the passenger side and opened the door for you. And just as you turned to climb in, you felt it.

His hand. On your hip.

And then...

His mouth. On yours.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, intimate, full of all the things he hadn’t said today.

His hand slid up your spine, holding you flush to him, his chest still warm from the heat of the hospital. His other hand rested just above your hip, steadying you like he thought maybe you’d fall apart otherwise.

You gasped softly into him. Not because you were surprised.

But because it was the first time all day you’d felt something that wasn’t pain or duty or adrenaline.

You felt like his.

He pulled back just enough to speak against your lips.

“You were a fuckin’ force today,” he murmured. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Your hand clutched the front of his scrub shirt.

“I didn’t want you to.”

He chuckled low. “I know.”

Then pressed his forehead against yours.

“You’re everything in there,” he said. “You know that?”

You nodded.

And whispered, “So are you.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Not the kiss of survival. The kiss of belonging.

Then, finally, he helped you into the truck. Closed the door gently. Walked around the front. Climbed in beside you.

And pulled away from the curb—toward home. The hospital shrank behind you in the mirror.

But the blood on your shoes? The pulse in your throat? The memory of your hands holding someone back from the brink?

That stayed. And so did he.

Joel’s truck rumbled beneath you like an old, steady heartbeat. The sun had finally dipped below the skyline, casting Austin in a warm gold that faded fast into dusky blue. The windows were cracked, letting in a breeze that smelled faintly like asphalt and humidity. The AC was on low. One of Joel’s hands was wrapped around the steering wheel.

The other? Firm on your thigh.

His thumb rubbed slow, absentminded circles against your scrub pants, just above your knee. Like he was reminding himself you were real. That you were there, not a ghost of adrenaline or a fleeting high of some trauma-stained day.

Neither of you talked at first.

Not because you didn’t have things to say—God, you both did—but because the quiet between you was too good to break just yet.

You watched the trees pass by, each intersection blinking soft yellow as the city wound down. Joel looked ahead with that same furrow in his brow he always wore post-shift, like he was cataloging every life you’d both touched, every one you couldn’t save.

Eventually, you reached over, fingers brushing his wrist.

“Long day.”

Joel let out a dry breath. “Understatement of the fuckin’ year.”

You smiled, eyes still on the road. “You were incredible.”

He scoffed. “You saved that kid with no pulse. Don’t think I missed that.”

“We all saved him.”

“No,” Joel said, shaking his head once. “You did. You never backed down. I saw you. I always see you.”

The truck slowed at a red light. His hand squeezed your thigh gently.

“You’re the reason I’m still doin’ this,” he said, voice soft enough it barely made it over the hum of the engine.

You turned toward him, brows pulling in slightly.

“I thought you hated this job.”

“I do.”

“Then why stay?”

He finally looked at you. And his voice dropped, low and certain.

“‘Cause it brought me you.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

The red light turned green. And the truck rolled forward again.

But you reached for his hand this time—threaded your fingers through his, grounding both of you in something real, something steady.

Something yours.

His house smelled like a mix of you two.

That warm, familiar scent, something earthy, grounded, lived-in. The second you stepped through the door, you peeled off your shoes like they were made of concrete. Joel locked the door behind you, then watched silently as you reached up, untying your scrub top with tired fingers.

He followed suit, tugging his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He toed off his boots with one heel, not even bothering to look where they landed. The soft thud of fabric on the hardwood floor was the only sound between you.

You met his eyes. No words needed.

Your hands found the hem of your scrub pants. His fingers were already at his waistband.

Every motion was slow. Heavy. Not sexual, not frantic.

Just… tired. Intimate.

A ceremony of shedding.

You padded quietly toward the bathroom together, your bare feet on the cold tile making you shiver slightly—until Joel stepped in behind you and turned the water on, checking it with his wrist before nodding toward the showerhead.

He pulled you into the warm steam with him.

And for a while, nothing existed but the water.

Joel’s hands found your hair first. You leaned forward, eyes closed, and he carefully lathered the shampoo through the strands, massaging slow and patient like he was reading scripture. His fingers were so gentle they almost tickled. You hummed under your breath, leaning into it.

Then he reached for the body wash, poured it into his palm, and rubbed slow circles into your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. Every touch deliberate. Caring.

He kissed your neck once, lingering there like he didn’t want to let go.

You turned and took your turn, washing him the same way.

You traced the scars on his chest like memories. Watched the muscles of his stomach flex under your touch. Washed his hair with care. Rinsed the dried sweat from his collarbones, the bloodstain from his wrist that hadn’t come out yet.

You both stood under the spray for a long time after that. Water pounding against your bodies. No talking. Just existing. Together.

The couch welcomed you both like an old friend.

Joel pulled on a pair of sweats and tossed you one of his ancient, threadbare t-shirts—the gray one with a faded Longhorns logo and a hole near the hem. You crawled beneath the blanket with your knees tucked beside you while Joel microwaved the plate you’d saved him.

The smell of brisket and cornbread filled the room.

He brought it over with a fork.

You both ate, passing the fork back and forth between bites, eating slow, savoring the quiet.

On the TV, some rerun from a cooking competition show played in the background. A judge was yelling about under-seasoned risotto. Neither of you really watched.

Joel looked so different out of the ER. His face a little softer. The worry lines across his forehead had faded just slightly in the warm lamplight. His arm was slung behind your shoulders, fingers occasionally grazing your upper arm like they were drawn there on instinct.

“Didn’t think I’d make it through today. After everything with yesterday...” you murmured, watching him chew.

He swallowed, then passed you the last bite of cornbread.

“But you did.”

“I did.”

“Because you’re tough as hell,” he said.

You looked at him. “Because you were there.”

Joel’s eyes met yours. He leaned forward, kissed your temple, and didn’t move away for a long time.

You didn’t walk to the bedroom. You were carried.

Joel scooped you up the way he had before—one arm under your knees, the other around your back, pressing you to his chest like something sacred.

You buried your face in his shoulder. His skin still smelled faintly like your soap.

He set you down gently on the bed, pulled the covers back, and slipped in behind you without a word.

His body curled around yours instinctively—the big spoon, always—and he dragged one arm over your waist until your back was snug against his chest, your legs tangled, your heartbeat steady.

The house was silent except for the hum of the fan.

His fingers splayed against your stomach. You reached back and rested your hand over his.

And just before you fell asleep, you heard him murmur into your hair...

“I love you.”

You didn’t need to say it back. He already knew.

And the hospital could wait. Because tonight, this was the only shift that mattered.

taglist: @secretlettersfromyourlove @areamir @hermionelove

[andy-15-07]

Hello, I love your fics! Would you write a Paul mescal or Pedro pascal x gf!actress reader where she like to sleep with a bunch of blankets and Paul or Pedro is complaining about it in like an interview or something? Maybe with flashbacks?

Too Many Blankets

PAIRING: Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 873| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Pedro Pascal settles into the guest chair under the bright studio lights of Late Morning Chat, adjusting his blazer with a self‑deprecating grin. Across from him, host Marisol Vega flips through her notes. Her smile is warm, conspiratorial.

“Pedro, your latest film is a smash, congratulations,” Marisol begins. “But I hear there’s someone else stealing your attention these days,your actress girlfriend, Y/N?”

Pedro leans back, chuckles. “Guilty as charged.”

Marisol raises an eyebrow. “She must be pretty special.”

He smiles, eyes softening. “She is. Absolutely.”

“Now,” Marisol says, tapping a note, “I hear Y/N has a… unique sleeping habit.”

Pedro’s grin twists into mock horror. “Unique is one word for it.”

Marisol laughs. “Care to elaborate?”

Pedro rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “She… likes blankets.”

Blankets? The audience titters.

Pedro holds up a hand. “Not just one or two. I’m talkin’,eight, nine, ten blankets on the bed.” He shudders theatrically. “Growing up in Chile… we had like, one heavy duvet. That was it. But Y/N,she’s layering like a wedding cake. Electric blanket, wool blanket, fleece blanket, comforter, throw,she’s got more linens than Ikea.”

“Wow,” Marisol teases. “How did you even notice?”

He throws up his hands. “It’s the Sahara Desert in our bedroom. I get cold at 22 degrees Celsius. I wake up feeling like I’m being suffocated by the Himalayas.”

You pad into the bedroom in fuzzy socks, hair in a messy bun, pajamas soft and oversized. Pedro is already nestled under the blankets, hair tousled, one arm flung over the mound of bedding. You grin, pulling a bright teal fleece throw from the chair.

“Cold?” you ask sweetly, draping it over him.

He peeks out from under the covers. “Too many,” he groans.

You laugh and pull out another,this one cream with tassels,dumping it on top. “Just one more.”

Pedro stares, exasperated. “What do you even need all these for?”

“I like them,” you shrug, burrowing into the soft layers. “They make me feel safe.”

He shakes his head in mock stoicism, but his lips twitch. “Anything for you, princess.” He peeks at you, then sneaks a kiss on your cheek before rolling away beneath the blanket avalanche.

Back to the interview. Marisol’s eyes sparkle. “You’re upset… but adorable about it.”

Pedro laughs. “I’m part bear. I like to hibernate, sure, but I also need to breathe.”

“Has Y/N ever threatened mutiny?”

“Every night,” he says, deadpan. Then softer: “She’s convinced I need the warmth. If not for the cold, then for those cozy mornings, you know?”

Dawn light leaks through the curtains. You’re already awake, tangled in layers, reading a script. Pedro shifts beside you, nose buried in blankets.

You hum a tune, slide out from under the layers,revealing half the bed to the chill air. “Morning.”

He blinks awake. “Where’d you go?”

You tease the sheets with a foot. “I’m… making coffee.”

He groans. “Coffee’s no good without a cuddle.”

You snort. “Try climbing under this.”

He eyes the blanket mountain and tries. His body slips and slides down, limbs flailing. You laugh so hard you spill your tea.

He finally emerges, victorious but winded, with just his head and one arm above the blankets. “I’ll never get used to this.”

You wink. “You’ll adapt.”

He sniffles dramatically. “I’ll die trying.”

Back on stage, Marisol leans forward. “You make it sound like a heroic quest.”

Pedro shrugs. “Any quest for comfort is heroic. And every time I finally escape those blankets, Y/N looks at me like I’m a conquering hero.”

The audience “awwws.”

Marisol grins. “So what’s your strategy? Are you investing in thermal underwear?”

He groans theatrically. “I was. Then Y/N brought me heated socks. Heated socks!”

“She spoils you.”

He smiles warmly. “She does. And honestly… it’s the best kind of torture.”

Marisol laughs. “You can handle ten blankets, electric socks,what can’t you handle?”

He looks at the ceiling in mock reflection. “My pride. And maybe small talk with other actors.”

She nods. “We’ll let you keep your dignity somewhere under those blankets.”

He nods solemnly. “Thank you.”

Marisol turns to the camera. “Pedro Pascal, everyone,heroic blanket‑conqueror, loving boyfriend, and cinematic legend.”

The audience erupts in applause as they cut to commercial.

Later, at home, you collapse onto the bed already piled high with blankets. Pedro follows, arms crossed but smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“Back for more?” he teases.

You pat the spot beside you. “Join me.”

He hesitates at the foot, picks up one blanket, and flings it over you.

“Enough!” he declares.

You smile from beneath the layers. “One more?”

He rolls his eyes but gives in, piling three more on top, then drops beside you in defeat.

You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. “I love you,” you murmur.

He presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I love you, too… even if you smother me.”

You wiggle happily. “Cozy?”

He exhales contentedly. “Perfect.”

The two of you lie tangled in blankets,an absurd fortress of warmth that you’ve built together. Pedro sighs, breathing in your hair. “Good night, princess.”

“Good night, bear,” you whisper back.

And underneath ten blankets, a fleece throw, and two comforters, you both drift off,warm, content, and exactly where you belong.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎclark when you're on your period౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x clark kent

Breathing felt like a chore whenever this time of the month came around. You were taking in staggering breaths, sniffling and trying not to cry. This was normal. You should be able to deal with this like every other woman on the planet who bled but for some reason this was your body and mind’s breaking point. 

You’d had to leave work early because the hurt in your back was untouchable by any amount of shifting or standing you did, and you couldn’t bring yourself to write, staring at the empty document in front of you, the little black cursor blinking at you and beating a hole into your chest. When you approached your superior tentatively, telling her you weren’t feeling well, she nodded in understanding, which had been something of a surprise. This was a woman who ran her branch like a ship, and yet she told you that you could just as easily do your work at home and you didn’t need to worry and, with a little smile, that drinking hot water worked wonders, at least for her.

Packing up your things, you’d stopped on Clark’s floor to let him know you were leaving early. His brow crinkled with worry, and he’d asked softly if you wanted him to come with you, to which you firmly shook your head. No need for the Daily Planet to be sans two reporters on your account. He’d insisted on walking you downstairs and calling you a cab, kissing your forehead when it showed up. “I’ll try to get off a little early, okay?” he’d whispered, thumbing your cheek. Cloudy with pain, you’d nodded, trying not to let him know how truly awful you felt. You knew his super-senses could detect quite a bit, but anything you could hold back was worth it. Had he known about the crippling pain wrapping a ring of fire around your midsection he would have insisted on getting in the car with you.

Writing had proved more bearable on the comfort of your couch, Fish curled up at your feet. You’d popped a few painkillers and felt more at ease waiting for them to kick in, even bringing yourself to eat a little something. At around two, you decided to take a shower.

Almost instantly you’d known it was a bad idea. The steam and hot water made you lightheaded, and you had to sit down to finish washing your hair. You skipped shaving, your knees weakening by the second. This was a new sensation- usually showers made you feel better, not worse. 

Switching off the water, your body felt heavy, a strange hot and cold sensation running up your arms. When you got out, you wrapped a towel around yourself, taking in deep, laboring breaths. The pain was back, nagging at your lower torso with a vengeance. Whimpering, you set one foot forward, but your legs felt like cooked spaghetti. You dropped to the floor like a flower petal, towel still wrapped around yourself, legs bunched to your chest.

Everything was so foggy, and your urge to get up was suppressed by the cool tile against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you felt tears rising in your throat. All you wanted was to take care of yourself and you couldn’t even do that. Why couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow to shower, or even tonight? Before you’d gotten in you’d felt the twinges of pain beginning to nag your senses but ignored them, wondering how bad they could possibly be. The answer was somewhere beneath this floor, where you could feel your own heartbeat.

There was a faint ringing in your ears, and your shoulders were going stiff and sore. Your wet hair was sticking to your neck, and you were itching to move it away, unable to lift your hand. Maybe you’d never move again, since this pain was only going to keep going into hibernation, but never disappearing completely. 

You’d nearly succumbed to it when a warm palm settled onto your side, fingers grazing up and down over the towel. When the familiar deep voice caressed your ears you nearly wept. “Oh, honey.”

With an embarrassing sniffle, you tried to move to look at him but he clicked his tongue. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Let me get you up.” When you opened your eyes you could see his black socks, and when he carefully moved you to sit up against the cabinets, his blue eyes were soft and concerned. “I’m gonna get you dressed, okay?” He waited until you nodded faintly to stand up, still in his dress pants and white button down, tie loosened. Clark left and returned in the blink of an eye, holding one of his t-shirts, your gingham sleep shorts, and a pair of your special period underwear. You flushed a little seeing them in one of his big hands but he barely batted an eye as he unwrapped your towel and worked them up your legs. He set aside the blood-stained towel and put his t-shirt over your head. “You want me to brush your hair?”

“Mhm.” He nodded and slowly leaned you into him, scooping you up into his arms and holding you close. You found the strength to wrap your arms around his neck, and he grabbed your brush before going into the bedroom, holding you as if you weighed no more than a stuffed animal. Clark sat you between his legs, kissing the crown of your head before beginning to work the brush through your tangled, damp hair. The movements were gentle, and whenever you tensed at a knot he lightened his efforts. 

When he was done he leaned you back against him, resting his chin on your head and rocking you back and forth ever so slightly. “I have Oreos and smoothie stuff and I’m making coconut chicken for dinner. We’re gonna lay on the couch and eat cookies and watch whatever you want after you drink your smoothie and take more painkillers. Mkay?”

Your brain was so foggy and dazed that you nodded, his plan sounding like heaven. “How’d you know I needed help?”

“Had a feeling,” he muttered, kissing the top of your head. “Plus I could hear Fish meowing before I even made it up to the room.” When you started to ask, he smoothed your hair. “I gave him some tuna. He’s okay.”

You smiled softly when he reached for your favorite blanket, lifting you into him again and bringing you to lay on the couch. He clicked the TV remote and handed it to you while he went to make your smoothie. Putting on an old, long movie you loved, you smiled when he padded over to you, holding a glass filled to the brim with pink drink. “Drink this.” He set the pill bottle on the coffee table and dropped a straw in your glass. “I’ll be right back.”You’d barely begun to take a sip when he returned, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

Clark eased himself under you, his warm body making you sigh. He was like a heating pad. He kissed your temple, setting a warm hand under your shirt over your lower back. With the other, he lifted an Oreo from the package on the table and held it out for you to bite. 

Even though you were hurting you smiled, taking the cookie and humming when he rubbed your back. Come hell or high water he was always gonna make sure you felt better. Clark’s affinity for human beings and rescuing them was doubled when it came to you, and it warmed you inside and out that humanity’s hero had a special need to protect you.

[doomedmoth]

War is Over

Pairing : Reader x Daniel Ricciardo x Max Verstappen | Poly fem!reader

Warnings : use of y/n, smau, polyamory, queer drivers, reader is around 30

Synopsis : You’re just a mechanic at RedBull, not much more to say. Nothing in your contract says you can’t be friends with drivers, right ? The little lines very clearly says you’re not allowed to show it all though. When your chosen “family” fails you, all you can do is hope your loved ones save themselves too.

Moth’s prophecy💡: Hi cryptids, honestly I have no excuses to give, sorry for the randomness of it all, I just needed to get this out to process with the pain of loosing Daniel. I can only hope he finds happiness away from the shit show that RedBull is becoming. Probably going back to hibernation, see ya !

[Messages] Dumber has sent you a text

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yourusername : How it started / how it’s going (swipe for my face when I’m not covered in grease). Hello to everyone new here, I’m Y/N, Chief Engine Power Conformity Mechanician at redbullracing ! Based in the never-sunny town of Milton Keynes, but you might see me around the paddock at most races to make sure no one explodes ✌🏻

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F1mech little miss mini boss 🫡

yourusername be glad to have me around to do the dirty work

F1mech Yes ma’am very grateful ma’am 🫡

redbullracing Your work is so crucial and we are happy the world gets to know you more !

redbullracing Also it was sunny last we came to MK ???

yourusername nobody tell admin we take out the fake blue sky windows when he comes by

user1 lmao I live in Milton Keynes and can attest we haven’t seen the sun in weeeeks

user2 never wanted to be a redbull neon sign so bad

user3 I can see why they hide her in the shithole that is Milton Keynes, the whole paddock would go crazy over her

user4 she would make such a cute wag omg !!

user5 bet every girlie is on their man’s back whenever she’s around

user6 she works for RB soooo… d’you think her and checo…? 😳

user7 she already has someone guys !! Though we have never seen his face, but I think she’s more interested in the cars than the ones inside them

user6 checo is married and still it doesn’t stop him lmao

user8 are you part of the pit crew ?? Never seen you before ! /g

yourusername I’m not !! I mainly work on the cars before and after the races and practices to make sure everything is in place, not faulty, and compliant to both Redbull’s and the FIA’s standards of security 🤗 but 60/70% of my work is at the factory, and the paddock parts happens behind close doors, so no worries

maxverstappen1 she makes sure nobody dies

yourusername and god knows y’all make it hard sometimes

danielricciardo yeah this second pic is so much better

yourusername oh don’t start me boy

danielricciardo hihihi 🤭

user9 hello Daniel ???

user10 How can I work at Redbull too pls I beg you I’ll even make coffee and mop the floors

yourusername check our offers on the website honey !! Most jobs require some experience or diploma but we also offer internships and graduate programs if you want to make your way in

user10 thank u 🥹

user10 that’s how you got in ?

yourusername nope, I’ve worked on cars forever and in motorsports for years before getting to F1, but we have plenty of opportunities in non-technical fields too!

user11 pretty, kind, works in f1, not single, lemme just Google how to be like you

user12 you okay dude ? Throat not hurting too much from gagging on her dick

user13 lmaoooo yeah seeing her looks that’s probably a daddy’s girl who got put in exec and pretends to know what she’s talking about

user14 wouldn’t be shocked if her “work behind closed doors” is ordering actual mechs around like minions

danielricciardo is your little ego so hurt by the fact that you’ll never be talented enough to get to her place that you’ve resorted to running your shitty mouth online ? Breath getting stinky mate, careful 🤢

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yourusername : Everything’s twice as fun with you

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user15 lover boy lover boy lover boy !

user16 I’m more excited for the face reveal than for my best friend’s wedding

user17 pls get checked wtf

user18 wait isn’t he blonde ? who’s the dark haired one in some pics ? With tattoos ?

user19 you might be new but Y/N always post pics of lover boy randomly, so some pics are old, and he often dyes his hair !

user18 wow damn I need his hairdresser coz this is cleaaaaan

yourbff don’t tell me you let him touch your car

yourusername lmaooo never 💀 tried to teach him to change some parts on his

yourbff and…?

yourusername ended up doing it…

yourbff at least he’s cute !!

yourusername Hey ! That must counts for something !

user20 not them bullying him coz he either doesn’t have socials or is not allowed to answer

yourbff what ? us ?

yourusername Never 😇

user21 oh damn she bagged herself a hottie

user22 HE bagged himself a hottie have you seen her ??

user23 couple goals and we ain’t ever seen his face like

user24 ain’t no need for a face with a body like this

user25 kinda looks like Max on the 6th slide no ??

user26 lmao as if

user27 the man can bag any celebrity doubt he cares for a factory girl

user28 the pic with the RB can lol

yourusername trained him well 😇

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user29 replied to the story :

oh yeah I keep forgetting y’all old money rich rich

user30 replied to the story :

so we all forgetting about Horner’s accusation ?? Truly just RB’s bitch in the end

user31 replied to the story :

Is that y/n ?? Didn’t know the mechs were invited to those events

danielricciardo replied to the story :

man I do take amazing pics when the models look so good

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yourusername : vitamin sea 🌊⛱️🐚 Australia, you never disappoint

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oscarpiastri wish we could have hung out more 🥺

yourusername we hung out at your house bby!!

user32 BBY ?? SOMEONE CALL LILY COZ THIS BITCH IS OVERSTEPPING

oscarpiastri we didn’t hang out you repaired my mom’s car while Lily and I were drinking WARM BEERS ON THE FLOOR

yourusername SORRY YOU CAN’T APPRECIATE MY CRAFT LIKE YOUR MOTHER DOES also hi to lils 💕🌸🎀

oscarpiastri DON’T BRING MY MOM INTO THIS she said she misses u 🤗💕✨

user32 oh

yourusername yeah

oscarpiastri yeah

nicolepiastri yeah

yourbff you need to turn off work like for reeeaaaal

yourusername how can I when those two are literally glued to my hip

danielricciardo shocked sad disappointed

maxverstappen1 Lover boy will hear about this

yourusername Are those threats ? Remember I literally have power over your life

danielricciardo not mine anymore lol Lover boy WILL HEAR about this

user33 oh so that definitely erases the possibility of Max or Daniel being Lover Boy

user34 as if there had ever been any evidence of that

user35 Lover boy in the Redbull cap ??

yourusername Yep ! Max gave it to him

user35 daaaaamn he is ripped

yourusername hihi 🤭

user36 no one questioning why the fuck is a mechanician hanging so much with drivers ??

user37 *chief mechanician

F1mech oh shit buddy thank you, we weren’t aware we couldn’t be friends with people we spend more than half of the year on the road with

maxverstappen1 cancel your ticket rn mate, you can’t vacation with us

F1mech come on user36, see what you’ve done ?? Maybe if you hadn’t questioned it I could have gone, fucker

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user38 has replied to your story :

Not you posting this straight after the checo announcement 💀

yourbff has replied to your story :

just saw the news, is Danny ok ?? Pls call me

maxverstappen1 has replied to your story :

Booked you a table at San Marco at 8, sorry I can’t be there tonight…

it’s okay, I know how it is, I just don’t want him to be alone… thx for the restaurant 💕

[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

user39 has replied to your story :

omg same

user40 has replied to your story :

IS THAT DANIEL ???

user41 has replied to your story :

the tattoos ??? girl we knoooow

redbullracing has replied to your story :

y/n ?

yup yup yup sorry

This story has been deleted.

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user41 has replied to your story :

lmao miss thing is piiiissed

yukitsunoda0511 has replied to your story :

i can’t find my controller d’you have one more ? 🥺

yes bby just come before your food gets cold

user42 has replied to your story :

She supports Max’s rights but mostly Max’s wrongs

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user43 has replied to your story :

preeeaach 🙌🏻

user44 has replied to your story :

all redbull employees protesting the FIA has me going !! Tell Horner to open his mouth too for once

danielricciardo has replied to your story :

I want this pic as my new lockscreen

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danielricciardo : l've loved this sport my whole life. It's wild and wonderful and been a journey. To the teams and individuals that have played their part, thank you. To the fans who love the sport sometimes more than me haha thank you. It'll always have its highs and lows but it's been fun and truth be told I wouldn't change it.

Until the next adventure.

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redbullracing 🫶🏻

user45 SHUT UP

user46 the audacity

user47 you promised you would treat him better !!

user48 Daniel > Perez

user49 DTS fan

lewishamilton legend 🫂

user50 game recognize game

user51 tell Mercedes to give him a seat

maxverstappen1 Head up ! Many more beautiful moments to come, somewhere you’ll be recognized and appreciated 💪🏻 our time together isn’t over, but I’m glad for all the racing, the laughs, the nights, for you ❤️

user52 wow hm Max no need to make all of us cry

user53 I feel like I’ve just walked in on something very personal…

user54 maxiel 😭😭😭

user55 he was the best mate you ever had, never should have left RedBull

yourusername Working with you was an honor, but getting to know and appreciate you made my whole life brighter, and I can’t thank you enough for this 🌞 no contracts can bring us apart, see you around honey bee 💛

user56 the little dig at RB’s contracts lmao

user57 why does honey bee feel much more intimate than honey badger ??

user58 we haven’t seen this level of emotion for De Vries, yet you were already working for the “RedBull family” if I’m not mistaken ??

user59 maybe because no one gives two shits about De Vries ??

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yourusername : Well, there it is. After 15 years of working on cars, the last 10 in motorsports, last five in Formula 1, it’s time for me to take a break. It was just perfect to finish it off in my hometown Austin, and I’m so grateful to my friends and family who made the trip to celebrate together. I remember my first week at Milton Keynes, my whole life in a suitcase. Abu Dhabi 2021, and those stories we’ll keep for our old days. I was so proud to be part of this, the champagne, the fireworks, the love. The day Daniel came back to us. The people I’ve met, the opportunities I’ve had, none would have been possible without you, ‘Bull. It’s been oh so amazing, but oh so tiring. I’ve reached a point in my life where I need my environment to be aligned with what I want, my values and the people I love and care for. So it’s goodbye.

F1, thank you for everything. I’ll miss you, but I gotta go. 💙

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F1mech I solemnly swear to not make anything explode, to always triple check my laces, to never pick Yoshi in Mario Kart because it’s yours, and to forever keep you close to my heart. Thx mini boss, you were amazing 🫡

yourusername Thanks Callum, you’re gonna make me cry now…

user60 US TOO 😭

user61 naaaaah another one leaving RedBull, shit is really going down

user62 where do you think she’s going ? Aston ?

user63 or Ferrari

yourusername Sorry to disappoint but neither ! It’s really a full break, for a while at least, I need to get my head out of the oil and machinery

user64 leaving England then ?? What about lover boy ??

yourusername Lover boy was never British eheh, who told you that ? 🤭

user65 if Lover boy is confirmed to be Daniel I’ll loose my shit

user66 I will always root for Max though…

user67 he has tattoos omg it’s never been Max !!

redbullracing Now it’s pretty sure MK will never see the sun again with you gone 😭

user68 we still hate you

user69 fuck off

yukitsunoda0511 🥺🫶🏻

yourusername 😚🫴🏻💕

yourbff it’ll be hard, but it’ll be good

yourusername thankfully i won’t be alone

yourbff not long to wait

yourusername yeah, soon soon

user70 ???

user71 I have a headache just thinking about everything the soon soon could be about

user72 really doubt Max is staying much longer in RedBull seeing how many engineers are quitting

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user73 has replied to your story :

no yeah we get it this looks much better than the factory lmao

user74 has replied to your story :

Honey bee ?? I’ve heard that one before

oscarpiastri has replied to your story :

Mom said you haven’t gone to see her yet ! Meanie !

user75 has replied to your story :

crazy how Max starts winning again since you’re gone

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F1 : BREAKING : Max Verstappen has announced his retirement after winning his 4th World’s Drivers Championship.

Record breaker.

Late braker.

Legend.

#ThankYouMax

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user76 WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

user77 when I tell you I fell to my knees

user78 screaming crying throwing up

user79 I refuse to believe this is true

user80 what the hell was this season

user81 DTS is gonna have a field day with this one

user80 doubt 10 episodes are gonna be enough

redbullracing There aren’t enough words to describe the impact you’ve had on our history, Max. You’ll forever be a pillar of the RedBull family, and an icon of the sport. Tudududu 🧡

lewishamilton Thank you for the challenges, you’ve always pushed us to go harder. Never thought I would have to see you leave, but we’ll keep your legacy running 👑

user82 Alonso when ???

user83 Who’s gonna take his seat ? Honey badger comeback ?

user84 doubt it, he said in the only interview he gave that he had some friends to go see a few continents away, bet he was talking bout Danny

user85 April Fools ?

user86 In December ??

user87 I really don’t understand why, everything was going much better with the car lately

user88 I think he’s just done with the sport, he said multiple time he wouldn’t force it if he didn’t feel like it anymore

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[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

user89 has replied to your story :

wait, if that’s lover boy, who’s the guy you were with lately ??

user90 has replied to your story :

Sydney airport !!

user91 has replied to your story :

OMG I KNEW I SAW MAX IN SYDNEY THIS MORNING WTF I RECOGNIZE HIM

yourbff has replied to your story :

you did it bby, it’s time to rest now

ily, we will 💕

user92 has replied to your story :

The timing with Max quitting RB is so odd I’m seriously questioning my sanity rn

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[Instagram] yourusername, danielricciardo and maxverstappen1 just posted a photo

yourusername, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 : War is Over.

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[Instagram] danielricciardo has added a story

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[Instagram] maxverstappen1 has added a story

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[Instagram] danielricciardo just posted a photo

danielricciardo : From sneaking out of restaurants to barricading the doors of our shared hotel rooms, I wish I could have told the world earlier how much I love you. But I’m glad I can now. There’s something magical about finding the one, so when you find the two, you’ll make any radical change necessary to protect them. Think you were right Maxie, the farm life does suit us.

This was the Honey Badger, peace ✌🏻

Liked by yukitsunoda0511, yourusername, and others.

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[Instagram] maxverstappen1 just posted a photo

maxverstappen1 : Turning off comments coz those two are mine and you can only admire them from afar. I know they’re pretty. They’re mine. And I’ll say it as many times as I want now. Mine mine mine mine mine

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[Instagram] yourusername just posted a photo

yourusername : Oh, I’m sorry, did I say Lover Boy ? I meant Boys 🤭

Liked by lilyzneimer, F1mech, and others.

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user93 WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

user94 mother is finally letting us out of the cage and none of us can take it

user95 the first pic

user96 I could die

user97 who the fuck even took it

user98 she said “y’all won’t let me post their faces ? I’ll give you the whole sextape”

user99 I knew it I fucking knew it Maxiel nation we won

oscarpiastri so happy for you guys, go be free with the little goats 🥹

yourusername pls try to survive

maxverstappen1 and if RB tries to buy you RUN BACK HOME

user100 oh shit it’s time for no filter Max era

yourusername you’ve had a taste this year, be prepared for the real deal

yukitsunoda0511 finally i can stop pretending to not speak English when asked about you

danielricciardo you were pretending very well if I may say

yukitsunoda0511 thanks !

user101 oh yuki sweet summer child…

user102 don’t tell me in Japan already ??

yourusername you really took a good look at this pic and thought “yeah, those two are straight” ? It’s a you issue honestly

user102 yeah okay fair

user103 7th pic ???

maxverstappen1 Abu Dhabi ‘21

maxverstappen1 tasted better than champagne tbh

user104 oh so y’all are just leaking EVERYTHING now, no fucks given

danielricciardo I had to pay a lot for those pics to not get out back then so yeah kinda

danielricciardo which is a shame when we look so good

user105 sooooo… about the high performance athlete….?

maxverstappen1 yes.

yourusername yes.

danielricciardo 💕

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[Twitter] danyfanclub just posted