#here's to hoping nothing breaks in that time ^^

[cocastyle]

I See You

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — breaking my two years of not posting in honor of this amazing movie and character. the Thunderbolts* has reawakened my fire to write and I couldn’t ignore it. so here you go! this will be a bit of a short series. i kind of envision around three parts or so? anyways, i really hope you enjoy this and know this is your last warning before you continue on!! so if you haven’t seen the Thunderbolts* please save this for later <3

also, did you all notice the easter eggs i included ?? 👀

Part One Part Two

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Bob Reynolds wasn't quite sure how any of this had happened. One minute he was pretty sure he had been dying and the next he was trapped in a series of never ending nightmares. Except it wasn't just his nightmares, there were other people's too.

He knew he had been having these moments where he didn't remember things, knew that there was something going on at a deeper level than he wanted to admit. He thought with Valentina explaining this power he had been given that it would explain everything he had been feeling, that the darkness wasn't truly his but something brought on by this experiment.

But he knew the truth and walking through these endless nightmares only proved that. The darkness was his. It was a culmination of everything he was feeling, everything that had been consuming him, and it had only taken more of a physical form thanks to the Sentry project.

Bob had no way of fighting this thing, no way of taking back control of his body. And at this point he wasn't even sure if he wanted control. After all, he was just Bob. He was useless. He was nothing. Everyone would be better off without him.

So now he was trapped with no where else to go but to walk through the thousands of rooms of everyone's deepest regrets and shames.

It had been an accident at first, but sometime after his own meth chicken nightmare was when he first started stumbling into the other rooms. He saw so many things, felt the guilt and weight that everyone else felt. One in particular had stuck with him when he had ended up watching the loop of a blind lawyer watching his friend die over and over. Bob couldn't watch that for very long before he was hurriedly trying to get to any other room but that one, the blind man's cries still rattling his bones.

Bob didn't know how long he walked for or how many rooms he went through until he got to one that made him pause as he came face to face with Tony Stark. It had been a while since the hero's death, but still seeing the face of the man that had helped bring everyone back from the Blip made Bob falter slightly.

Someone's biggest trauma was Tony Stark?

Bob took a couple steps back, his eyes scanning over the room as he tried to ground himself in what was going on. He seemed to be in someone's apartment. The place would've been nice if it weren't for the fact that whoever was living here clearly hadn't been picking up after themselves in quite some time. And by the look Tony Stark was making as he glanced at the dirty dishes in the sink, it seemed he was thinking the same.

Bob knew the signs before he even saw her. It wasn't just the state of the apartment, but it was the feeling in the air. That feeling of despair, sadness, and nothingness. That feeling of knowing you were alone and there was nothing you could do about it. It clung to everything in the apartment and Bob's heart ached slightly at the sight. After all, he knew what this was like. He knew it too well.

"I can feel you judging me," a voice said, instantly pulling Bob's attention to the couch where a girl was sitting with a blanket wrapped around her and a bottle of vodka in hand. She wouldn't meet Tony Stark's eyes as she stared at the bottle, her fingers numbly fiddling with the label. "I didn't ask for you to come over and judge how I'm living. Hell, I didn't even ask you to come over, so you might as well go."

Tony let out a soft sigh, "Kid, you were ignoring my calls. Of course I was going to come check on you."

"Ever think I ignored them for a reason?"

Tony huffed and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table before dragging it over in front of the couch. He sat down in front of the girl, tilting his head slightly as he watched her before saying, "You can't keep living like this."

"You think I don't know that?" she asked, her voice bitter. “Why are you here, Tony?”

Tony just watched her in silence before saying, "Listen, Steve and Natasha came to see me yesterday and—"

The girl slammed the bottle down on the table so hard Bob thought it would break. Her eyes were red rimmed as she glared at the man and muttered, "No. We're not doing this. You're not going to sit there and try to rope me into some crazy plot to try and bring everyone back. It's been five years and I'm done, okay? I have nothing left in me anymore and I don't give a shit, so just leave."

"Kid—"

"I said leave!" she exclaimed, her eyes beginning to glow white with a power that Bob could almost feel beneath his own skin. "I'm not some sob story for you to try to fix, okay? I messed up and didn't kill Thanos in time and half of the universe had to pay for it. I'm done trying to help. All I ever do is hurt people."

She looked away, her voice rough when she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Bob sucked in a breath at that, understanding washing over him as he watched the broken girl do everything she could not to cry.

"Y/N," Tony began but the girl simply shook her head.

"No, Tony. I'm done. Just leave and go ahead and do yourself a favor and never come back. It's not worth your time or energy and I sure as hell don't want you here," she said, her head still turned.

Tony stilled slightly at her words. "You don't mean that," he told her, but before he could even blink, Y/N had used her telekinesis to pick up the bottle of vodka and send it hurtling in his direction. The man barely had time to duck out of the way before it flew right past where his head had been and shattered against the wall. Tony turned to her in surprise but the girl was already getting up and walking to the door of what had to be her bedroom.

"I miss him too you know," Tony called after her causing the girl to still.

"Stop," Y/N warned him, but Tony ignored her and instead stood up, his eyes not leaving her as he clearly made no move to leave.

"Y/N, he wouldn't want this for you. That kid loved you so much. He would be devastated by—"

"I said stop!" Y/N yelled and before anyone knew what was happening, a force was suddenly throwing Tony across the room. The man thought fast and his nano suit had wrapped around him before he could even hit the wall and Bob watched as the color drained from Y/N's face at what she had done.

She was shaking as she stared at Tony, but by the time he was looking back up at her, the Iron Man mask sliding away from his face, she was cold once again. "Get the hell out of my apartment," was all she said before turning and walking into her room, slamming the door behind her. Bob watched her go, frowning slightly as the scene began to play again.

"That was before they won against Thanos," a voice said causing Bob to flinch in surprise. He quickly turned around to find Y/N a little ways behind him, sitting down at a chair in the corner of the room. Her eyes continued to watch the scene playing out in front of her and Bob was almost beginning to question if she had spoke in the first place when she muttered, "That was the last time I saw him before he died."

Her eyes met his then and Bob stilled under her gaze. She was a couple of years older than the version of her from the memory, a little more put together but in the kind of way that screamed help more than her younger self's look had. She had learned to mask it more, that much was clear. Or maybe it was just that Bob knew where to look, that he saw himself when he looked at her and knew in more ways than one just how tired she was.

"Who was he talking about?" Bob asked, silently cursing himself for that being the first thing he said but knowing he now had to just go with it. "The guy?"

Y/N hesitated, her eyes glazing over as she got lost in thought. There was a tiny moment of utter sadness that flashed across her face but it was gone so quickly as she muttered, "I don't know." She let out a sad laugh. "Isn't that sad? It's like there's blanks in my memory. All I know is that there is this immense feeling of loss not just once, but twice. Every time I try to think of him it's like the image of him only gets fuzzier."

Bob was silent for a moment. "I have trouble remembering things too," he admitted. "There are these moments where it's like I'll wake up from a dream I don't remember having and that time is just gone."

Y/N's eyes flickered his way, her gaze shifting over him in a way that made him stand up a little straighter. "I walked through a lot of rooms before ending up here," she told him, her eyes still studying him as though she were trying to piece him together. "This was the only one I couldn't leave."

"Why?" Bob questioned.

"Why did you stop in this one?" she retorted and Bob blinked in surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she stared blankly at the boy. It was a moment before she looked away and back at Tony who was watching her past self slam the door shut behind her as the memory started back up again. "I just wanted to see him again, I guess," she whispered. "I always hated this moment, hated that I pushed him away like that and left him to fight Thanos without me. Sometimes I wonder..."

She trailed off before shrugging slightly and looking back at Bob. "Guess I was as shocked by seeing Tony's face as you were when you walked in," Y/N said. Bob barely even thought his question before she placed a finger against her temple and let out a small sigh of exhaustion. "Telekinesis," she stated. "Just a fraction of the power I was born with, but it comes in handy from time to time. I knew who you were the second you walked into this memory. Your mind is very loud, but not in the way you'd expect it to be."

Bob wanted to ask her more, but it was clear she didn't want to expand on that comment. Instead she merely tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair she sat in and said, "So you're the one doing this."

It wasn't a question. She said it as though it were fact. Not that she was wrong, but something about the way she said it still made Bob's throat constrict.

"It's not. . .it's not me. It's—" Bob broke off and he could see the way she stared at him, knew that she was reading his mind. She blinked and quickly looked away. "Sorry," she whispered. "I can't help it sometimes. You lock yourself away long enough and you'll find it harder to control what once was so easy. But I get a sense that you know that."

Bob let out a small sigh, his eyes flickering over the past Y/N who sat on the couch with a haunted look in her eyes and a tight grip on the bottle in her hand.

"We've all done some bad things," Y/N told him, answering the questions flying through his mind. "I had the unfortunate experience of being the reason half the universe died. I was there that day that Thanos went to Wakanda to take the Mind Stone from Vision. I was the last one there before he snapped. I could've stopped it, but I let his words get to me and . . . well, you know the rest."

“The Blip,” Bob muttered and Y/N nodded solemnly. He could see her trying to keep it all together, but the tension was practically radiating off of her as she avoided his gaze.

“Go ahead and say it,” Y/N told him, her gaze locked on her past self who was busy hurling the bottle at Tony’s head. “You probably lost someone in the Blip, right? Had to suffer five years without them? Who was it? Family? Friends?”

Y/N didn’t even give him time to respond as she let out a sigh as if everything were pointless, “It doesn’t matter. Everyone still thinks the same thing, but I don’t blame them.”

“It’s my fault,” she admitted. “I caused everyone so much pain and suffering and then, when I had the chance to make things right, I pushed everyone away and locked myself in my room. Then Natasha died. Then Tony. And eventually Steve followed. And where was I? Drowning my sorrows in a bottle like the asshole that I am.” Y/N scoffed slightly at herself, the fury in her eyes something most people would probably flinch at but all Bob could do was soften at the sight. “So go ahead and say what you want. Call me names. Shout at me. Tell me how much of a monster I am. I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

Bob didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say. Not because it was all too much to process, but because he understood it. He understood what she was feeling. The pain and the anger. The guilt and regret. The shame. He understood it in ways he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But the silence was loud and Y/N wouldn’t meet his eyes. She just stared at the scene in front of her as her past self’s voice filled the silence between them, her voice rough as she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Y/N flinched at those words, her face crumbling slightly as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Bob felt his heart ache at the sight and for a moment, he saw himself sitting there in that chair. But more importantly, he saw her. He saw Y/N for who she truly was. He didn’t know what to say to her to make her better, so instead he just thought it.

I see you.

Y/N's eyes snapped up to him and Bob knew he hadn't had to say that out loud. She had heard him loud and clear.

She stood without another word, her eyes never leaving his as she walked towards him. She was quiet as she stopped in front of him, her gaze turning questioning as she studied him.

You do see me, don't you?

Bob let out a small gasp as her voice echoed in his head. He stared at her with wide eyes, but didn't flinch away not even when she took a step closer so that they were only a breath apart.

I can feel it, you know? That darkness. It calls to me.

"You know where he is?" Bob asked and Y/N quickly shook her head.

"I'm not talking about the Void," she whispered. She gently lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. "Here."

Bob's breath stuttered and he tried to keep his heart from racing as he whispered, "W-what does it say?"

"That it understands," Y/N replied. "That it sees what’s inside my own heart.” She hesitated before giving him a sad smile. “Like calls to like after all."

Bob stared at her, his eyes flickering over her face. He had thought she was pretty before, but up close she was even more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Her eyebrow quirked slightly as if she had heard that thought and maybe she had, but Y/N was already moving on which he was silently thankful about.

“You feel it too,” she said and Bob didn’t need to say it out loud to confirm her thoughts. After all, he knew what she was talking about and she was right. Ever since he had emerged into this room, he had felt a sort of tug. It was the reason he had stayed. He thought it was because of seeing Tony Stark, but it was because he had felt her from the moment he had stepped foot into that room.

It was because he had seen her before ever laying eyes on her and it seemed she had done the same.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bob admitted, his words strained. “Every time I think I’m getting better, that I’ve finally pulled myself out of that darkness, I just. . .”

“Get pulled back under again?”

Bob was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor as that same feeling of shame that always crept up when he thought about his problems beginning to rise in the form of a blush on his neck, “Yeah.”

There was a gentle touch against his chin before Y/N lifted his head so that his gaze met hers once more. Her touched lingered for just a moment, but then her hand was dropping back down to her side. Not once did she move the one that was still resting on his chest and above his heart, the only source of comfort either of them seemed to need.

She gave him a sad smile, her eyes getting a sort of far off look as she whispered, “Sometimes the hardest battle you’ll ever face is with yourself.”

Bob felt tears prick his eyes at those words and for a moment, he even felt a sense of comfort. Someone knew what he was going through. Someone understood.

He had never had that before.

“How do we beat it?” Bob’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Y/N seemed to come back to herself at those words, her eyes locking with his once more and her hand tightened on his shirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’d like to figure that out. Together.”

Bob swore he stopped breathing at those words.

“Together,” he repeated, tears filling his eyes slightly out of disbelief.

Y/N merely nodded and she gently reached up, her thumb quickly swiping under his eye to brush away a stray tear that had fallen. Her own eyes were lined with tears as she whispered through a soft laugh, “Yeah, together. As long as you’re okay with being friends with the girl who does nothing but screw everything up.”

Bob couldn’t stop the small grin that began to peak out, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly as he opened his mouth to respond.

It was then that the doors to the room flew open, darkness flooding in and covering the walls and floors with black tendrils as it raced towards the two. The two stumbled back and away from each other as they tried to avoid the darkness creeping in and Y/N let out a small shout when her past self and Tony dissolved into nothing but shadows.

“Bob,” Y/N called out, but the boy was already reaching for her. He had ahold of her arm within a second and he pulled her to the one corner of the room not covered in darkness just yet.

His eyes were wide as he scanned what was left of the room, his grip tightening on Y/N’s arm in slight panic and confusion as he tried to process what was happening.

The darkness had never come after Bob before.

Not like this.

Something had signaled the Void. Something had scared him.

Bob’s eyes flickered to Y/N who was leaning into his touch, the tips of her fingers already beginning to glow white as she clearly analyzed the situation. His fingers felt warm against her forearm and for a moment he let himself remember the feel of her hand on his chest, the way her breath had fanned his face, and the way her words had wrapped around his heart like a hug he hadn't know he had needed.

And he knew.

The Void fed off of his sadness and loneliness and whatever Y/N had been making him feel was the opposite. The Void would do whatever he needed to crush this feeling, to stay in control. Even if it meant there were casualties along the way.

Bob’s heart ached at that thought and he quickly turned to Y/N who was backing closer to him as they were pushed further into the corner of the room and her memory. She moved her arm out of his grasp in order to hold her hands up, a white light emitting out against the darkness as she tried to hold it at bay.

"Bob, what's going on?" she asked. "What do we do?"

"I—" Bob was panicking now, the thought of Y/N getting hurt making him feel so many emotions that he hadn't felt in a long time. It scared him how much he felt towards the girl within just one conversation. He already knew he would do whatever needed to be done to save her and that thought alone scared him in more ways than one. Even more than the plan that was beginning to develop in his head, the plan that would save Y/N but would mean leaving her at the same time.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Y/N's head whipped in his direction. "Bob, no. You can't run. You have to fight this thing. If you don't, the darkness will only continue to consume you," she said.

"Cause you know what that's like?" Bob retorted, his panic and fear making him sound bitter. "We just watched the same memory over and over of you letting the darkness take over. If you can't fight it, what makes you think I can?"

Y/N's eyes softened slightly. "Bob," she started, but the darkness pushed closer towards them and she let out a strangled sound as she strained to keep her powers in check.

Bob watched her for a second, his eyes flickering over her one last time before he leaned forward. His lips brushed gently against her ear and he felt her shiver slightly under his touch. His breath came out shaky as he whispered, "I would've liked to be your friend."

Then, before she could do or say anything else, Bob had pulled back and thrown himself against the wall of the memory. His body broke through the barrier and into the next room, the darkness leaving Y/N behind in favor of chasing the boy.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out as she attempted to lunge after him, but the darkness threw her back and by the time she was up on her feet again, the memory had sealed itself around her, forcing her to relive the same moment with Tony while Bob got away.

- - -

Bob didn’t know how long he ran for. All he knew was that it took forever for him to get back to his own rooms. He almost cried when the meth chicken scene appeared before him, but he didn’t stop there. He continued his trek even after the darkness eventually faded away, now satisfied that Bob was back where he belonged.

Everything was just too loud, the memories too much for Bob to withstand while that feeling of utter loneliness crept up on him once more. It was foolish of him to think he could ever have someone understand him, that he could ever have someone in his life without hurting them in the end. He had done this to himself.

He deserved to be alone.

At some point Bob eventually managed to find the attic of one of his memories, the only quiet place in this miserable void, and he was quick to tuck himself away in there, away from all the noise and the darkness that he could feel feeding off of everyone's chaos.

It was only then that he sat down and curled in on himself, his breathing shaky as he tried to push every last thought of Y/N out of his head.

"She's better off without me," Bob whispered to himself like a mantra, his head tucked close to his knees as he let the stillness envelope him in a hug much different than the one Y/N’s words had given him. “She’s better off without me.”

“Everyone is.”

[suguwu]

last light on: part one

Years after your break up, Itoshi Sae returns to Japan.

He finds he left more than just you behind.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

pairing: itoshi sae x f!reader, one-sided itoshi rin x f!reader

wc: 4k

cw: aged up characters/pro-footballer au, sae and reader have a named daughter together that reader hid from him, exes to lovers, complicated relationships.

notes: i couldn't contain myself any more. after several false starts (aka me posting and deleting while having a meltdown), here is the real thing. i owe my life to @lorelune for their input and advice on this fic—i cannot even begin to explain. anyway, i hope you enjoy this first part! please note this will have slow updates - please be patient with me, thank you!

Japan is a haunted place for Sae.

He forgets that, most days. He spends most of his time as far away as he can get. And Sae is not a man who lives in the past; he is focused on the future, on the endless horizon of upcoming days. 

Then he steps onto Japanese soil and remembers you. 

You live at the edge of his memory, gone wispy with the passing years. These days, you’re just the tilt of your lips; you’re the elegant slope of your shoulder. An outline of yourself, an imprint left behind on a foggy window. 

You’re a ghost of the worst kind: one of his own making. 

And Japan is your territory. You linger in the very air; he breathes in sea salt and thinks of the taste of your tears. It stirs something inside of him that he’s quick to ignore.

This trip is no different.

The plane lands at the first bloom of dawn, pink streaking across the sky like petals. Sae’s been up for a while, reviewing game footage on his iPad. He makes another note before he puts it away; there will be plenty of time to review more.

By the time he slides into the car, the sun is starting to peek over the horizon. The light is sweetly golden, soft and warm, and to his surprise, your smile flashes through his mind. It’s one of the things he’s never forgotten, but he keeps it tucked away, under the melon rind curve of the bitter smile you gave him when he left. 

He shakes off the memory. He starts the game footage again, his teal eyes sharp, a scalpel’s edge. He watches for a few more minutes before he sighs. He pauses it and takes out his phone, ignoring the notification from his manager. Instead, he navigates to Instagram.

It’s a relic of his past life. He’s never updated it since going pro; he can’t be bothered. He can’t even remember the last time he opened the app. Maybe to see what his PR team had posted on his official one. 

He clicks into his profile. The most recent post is almost as old as the account itself; it's the beach at twilight, the waves eating at the shore.

Right.

He'd deleted all his photos of you.

With a sigh, he navigates back to his feed. He scrolls a bit, flicking through most of the photos without a second glance. It’s all tepid, glimpses into tedious lives that he doesn’t care about. He’s just about to close the app down when something catches his eye.

It’s you.

Older now, but undoubtedly you. You’re facing away from the camera, but he knows the line of your neck, the swan’s wing curve of it. He swipes to the next photo in the set; you’re still in the background, but you’re in profile this time, lips tilted sweetly, wine-kissed. 

He swipes again, but you’re not in the next picture. When he glances at the caption, it doesn’t tell him anything, but you’ve commented. He clicks the link to your profile, but it doesn’t take him anywhere. His lips thin; he tries again and gets the same result. 

When he tries to search by your username, nothing comes up.

You’ve blocked him.

His brow furrows. It’s not entirely unexpected, but he had thought that the years might have softened you towards him. He sighs and tosses his phone onto the seat next to him before starting the game footage once more.

It’s for the best.

—

Sae does not dream often.

Or if he does dream, he simply doesn’t remember. He wakes in the morning and nothing lingers. There are only the cobwebs of sleep, which he blinks away with ease.

But tonight—his second night in Japan—he dreams of you. 

It’s hazy in that way that dreams often are. He knows it’s your first apartment, the one with the flickering porch light you always left on for him, but he can’t make sense of the rest. It fades into the background, leaving him with only the starglow of your eyes peeking over the horizon of your shoulder as you disappear from room to room. 

You weave through the apartment with easy grace. He follows until he doesn’t, watching you vanish into the kitchen—a tiny, cramped thing with plants stuck wherever they can fit. You glance back at him, half-devoured by shadows. There are tears shining on your cheeks. Your lips part, and as you start to speak—

He blinks awake. 

Sae stares up at the ceiling. He runs a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair and sits up. The hotel room is dim, the rising sun held at bay by the thick curtains. If he were someone else, he might think of the shadows that you peered out from, but he doesn’t. The dream is already fading. 

He gets out of bed. The curtains part under his hand; the sudden gleam of the sun makes him squint.

He opens the window, as he always does. The breath he takes is deep; it fills his lungs with the fresh bite of the morning air. It washes away all but the dregs of the dream. He takes another breath and buries those dregs deep.

He buries you.

—

Like all ghosts, you refuse to stay buried. 

By his fifth day in Japan, Sae has thought of you more than he has in years. He’s not sure what it is about this trip in particular; you’ve always returned to mind when he’s back, but never to this extent. 

It’s annoying.

With a sigh, he taps his pen against his notebook. He glances out the window and sees the hydrangeas waving in the breeze, tiny puffy clouds. He thinks of you, petal-bodied, and sighs again. He pulls out his phone and starts a text to his manager.

Sae has always been a man of action. 

He’ll exorcise you himself.

—

Your neighborhood reminds Sae of Kamakura. 

It’s nicer than he expected; a family neighborhood, based on the parents walking by with children perched on their hips like little birds. The houses are a mosaic of architecture, a few odd styles standing out, just like his childhood. It’s only missing the kiss of salt in the air, the sea’s eternal presence. Instead, there’s the earthiness of the park that cuts through it, pungent and grassy after the morning’s rain. 

He crosses the street as the light turns; according to Navitime, your house should be on the other side of the park. The foliage swallows him down, a verdant throat, before it spits him back out into a manicured playground. Children are laughing, bright peals of sound like summer windchimes. 

He glances at the parents lining the sides of the playground and blinks.

Sae thinks of the Instagram post from just a few days ago. He hadn’t paid much attention to who posted the pictures, but if he were to pull it up again, he knows exactly who it would be.

Rin.

Rin, who is currently staring at him from his spot next to you. 

It can only be you. There’s a ghost of the girl you were just under your skin, blooming like a spring bud. It’s in the way that you move; it’s in the way that your eyes gleam. The imprint of you that’s haunted him given new life. Made real again. 

You still haven’t noticed his brother’s early onset rigor-mortis, because your attention—your attention is on the little girl snuffling on your lap. 

She’s a tiny thing, no older than three. Her hair gleams cherry-dark in the sunlight, the faintest sheen of red shimmering through it, and when she blinks, her long clusters of lashes sweep across her cheek like clouds. She blinks again, slow and sleepy, and it’s all sunlit stained glass, her eyes a familiar shade of brilliant teal.

His shade of teal.

The world narrows. Sae takes a step forward without thinking about it. 

The little girl yawns. Her nose crinkles with it, twitching like a bunny’s. You lean down to nuzzle your nose against hers, a little smile unfurling on your lips, a night-blooming flower. She bats at you with a tiny hand before rubbing at her eyes.

Sae watches, entranced.

A shadow falls over him; a hand pushes against his chest. He glances up into burning turquoise eyes. 

“Rin,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Rin steps closer. His lean muscles are coiled tight; his lip curls back in a snarl. He’s blocked Sae’s view of you and the girl, a sheepdog circling his lambs. 

“Stay away from them,” he spits out.

Sae blinks. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m not here to say hello. Stay away from them.” 

He’d known. Sae has always had a quick mind; on the field, he needs only the smallest glimpse of information to put together the puzzle pieces, to build his strategy. He’d known as soon as he’d seen his daughter, but this—Rin and his bared fangs, Rin and the fear trembling just beneath his fiery tone—it confirms everything. 

He has a child.

“Them,” Sae muses. “So the kid is hers. Mine, too.”

Rin’s hand flexes at his side, his long fingers twitching. “Go away.”

Sae raises a brow. “It’s a public park,” he points out.

Rin scowls, moving fluidly with Sae as his brother tries to step around him. “She doesn’t want to see you,” he says. 

“She can tell me that herself.”

“Not telling you should speak for itself.”

Sae lets out a breath. “You can’t stop me, Rin.”

“You don’t deserve them,” Rin says, his turquoise eyes aflame, flaring like the auroras in the night sky. 

Sae realizes that he is not the only one you haunt.

“And you do?”

Rin goes stiff. 

Sae hums. “Does she know you’re still sniffing after her?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a no.”

“At least I’ve been there. At least she wanted me there.”

Sae’s jaw flexes. “But she still doesn’t notice you.”

“You—”

“Sae?” you say. Your voice warbles, delicate birdsong, his name sweet on your tongue. 

Rin flinches. 

A little smirk flickers to life on Sae’s lips. Rin’s fingers flex, his glare deepening, but he wavers as you step closer. It gives Sae an opening. He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he pushes past him. 

Rin makes a sharp noise, but Sae ignores him.

You're his focus now.

There was a time that your eyes lit up when you saw Sae, but as he draws closer, he sees only wariness. A wolf with its lips drawn back, giving a glimpse of teeth. Not yet bared, but the promise of a bite. 

“Sae.”

That airy warble is gone; your voice has settled into something cooler, the first kiss of winter on an autumn day. There’s a slight furrow to your brow, but Sae still knows you. There’s a tremble to your lower lip; there’s sorrow tucked up secret in the corner of your mouth.

He says your name. Watches the way you cup your daughter (his daughter) closer to you, her little face burrowed in the gentle curve of your neck. You have one hand cradling the back of her head, as delicate as a dove’s wing, your fingers splayed like feathers.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Looking for you.”

Something flickers across your face, a fleeting summer storm. 

“Japan, Sae. Why are you in Japan.”

He shrugs. “It’s still my home, you know.”

“Is it?”

Your daughter makes a small, musical noise, shifting in your arms. You hush her, humming softly until she falls still again, lulled back into sleep. Sae watches the way her little hand curls into your sweater, tiny fingers anchoring her to you. 

(He wonders, briefly, if she would hold onto him in the same way.)

"What's her name?" he asks.

"Why do you care?"

He sighs. "Games don't suit you," he says. "Tell me my daughter's name."

Something in you hardens, frost spiraling across a river's surface.

"Rin," you say quietly, and his brother steps in front of him again, blocking his view of you and his daughter. He flexes his fingers as Rin scoops up the little girl; she mumbles quietly before settling against his lean shoulder. It's easy, born of familiarity, and something in Sae grows teeth.

"One brother wasn't enough for you?" he asks.

Rin whips around, fury lining him like a cloak, splitting through him like a thunderclap. Your hand comes up to rest on his other shoulder, restraining him with the most delicate of touches. An owner pulling her dog's collar.

"It's fine," you tell Rin. "Can you settle her in the stroller, please?"

Rin's turquoise eyes are aflame, burning like a comet's tail through the velvet sky. He stares down Sae for another breath before he turns back to you.

He leans in close; too close for Sae to hear what he says to you.

You nod, and Rin sends Sae one last glare before he walks away, carefully cradling the little girl in his arms. Sae's gaze catches on her small form; he thinks of the sea foam that washes up onto the shore, too delicate to last.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, turning back to you.

You meet his gaze steadily. "You wouldn't have stayed."

Sae shoves his hands in his pockets; he stays quiet. You watch him, your lips curling down at the edges, like wilting leaves.

"What do you want, Sae?"

"My daughter."

"You can't have her," you say. "You'll break her heart."

"Like I broke yours?"

"You didn't break my heart, Sae."

He watches you for a moment. You meet his gaze steadily, but he sees the cracks in you. The ghost of who you were before he left you behind. The girl you’ve grown out of, her skin too small for the woman you’ve become. 

"Yes," he says. "I did."

You sigh. "Go home, Sae."

"I will," he says easily. "But not without her."

You stiffen. "You'd take her from me?"

"No," he says. "You're coming too."

"Fuck off."

He steps in close, until he can feel your body heat, until he can hear the soft breath you suck in. Longing cuts across your face, a wound torn open. It’s gone in a breath, but Sae sees it.

"You miss me," he says. "Don't you?"

"Fuck off, Sae."

"That's not a no."

Your hand comes up as he pushes closer; you splay it across his chest. The heat of it sinks through his shirt, like spring sunlight, gentle and warm. He waits, but you don't shove him away. He wraps a hand around your wrist, stroking his thumb over the tender underside. Your eyelashes flutter, a butterfly’s wing.

"You miss me," he says. "Say it."

"I miss you," you breathe.

The words are delicate, spider’s silk. They linger in the space between you, a gleaming web spun from your trembling lips.

Sae leans closer, until he can smell the honeysuckle-kiss of your shampoo. 

"Then let me in."

You let out a shaky breath. Your fingers flex against his chest, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt.  "Sae—"

"Yeah?"

"No," you say, finally shoving him away. He steps back gracefully, his face impassive. “Don’t do this to me. You won’t stay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I do.”

Sae studies you. Your eyelashes are damp; one of them has caught on your cheek, a dandelion seed. There’s an urge to reach out and sweep it away with his thumb. He shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“Do you give Rin this hard a time about leaving?” he asks.

“That’s different.”

“Not really.”

“Sae.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

You purse your lips, a flower bud pinching shut. “This isn’t about Rin.”

He glances past you. At the edge of the playground, his brother is rocking the stroller with long, practiced movements. It’s a strange picture, this snapshot of Rin; his ease speaks of a life already lived. 

Rin leans down; he’s reaching for the girl’s foot, kicked over the side of the stroller. Sae stares at that tiny foot, cupped carefully in the palm of Rin’s hand.

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not.”

He returns his gaze to you. 

“It’s about my daughter.”

Something flashes across your face; Sae thinks of the last days of summer, the slow swallow of them.

“You mean my daughter,” you say. “She’s not yours.” 

He sighs. “We both know she is.”

“No,” you say. “Not in any way that matters.” 

Sae was stung by a sea urchin, once. He’d stepped on it in the shallows, its prickly body hidden amid the shadowed, worn rocks of the tidepool. The spine had pierced through the bottom of his foot; he’d bled. He hadn’t been able to play soccer for a week.

But he hadn’t held it against the sea urchin. 

It was just protecting itself.

“I would say helping create her matters rather significantly.”

(Okay. He had held it against the urchin. A week was a long time to be banned from soccer.)

“It doesn’t,” you say. 

Sae tilts his head. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be so scared right now.”

You flinch.

“I’m not—”

“You are.” 

Quiet falls between you. Your eyes flash in the sunlight; Sae thinks of heat lightning, how it never touches the ground. 

“You’re right,” you say, so softly that it’s almost lost to the wind. “I’m scared.”

He waits. 

“Tell me I don’t have to be.”

Sae glances past you again. He wishes he could see into the stroller, that he could see his daughter’s face again.

“I can’t.”

Your face crumples, delicate origami crushed in a fist. 

(You have always reminded Sae of the lacquered origami that’s scattered around your bedroom like stars. Like them, you’re tough enough to protect yourself against the elements, but underneath it all, you’re still paper.) 

The creased paper edges of your devastation slice through Sae, scoring the tender underbelly of him, the part he’d thought had long hardened against such cuts. He thinks of roshambo; perhaps he should have known.

Paper always beats rock. 

But if he’s cut, you’re wounded, a deep, terrible thing. You’re curling in on yourself, just slightly, as if that can staunch the sorrow seeping from you. Your lower lip trembles, but Sae can see the anger starting to filter in, a sunset bleeding across the horizon. 

You blink away your unshed tears; the remnants of them leave your lashes glistening, the sunlight catching in them like a prism. Sae watches you piece yourself back together, your anger the glue, glowing through you in kintsugi gold. 

You take a deep breath.

“You’re such an asshole,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t bother to refute it. He knows this is where most people would apologize, but he won’t. Not for telling you the truth. 

“I want to see her,” he says instead. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

You go stiff, a marionette pulled upright by its strings. He wonders if you’re thinking of what you both know: Sae does not ask for things. He does them, consequences be damned. It’s an olive branch, one barely blooming, a twig of a thing. But it’s there. 

“No.”

Sae doesn’t flinch, but he feels his jaw go tight, his teeth clicking together, bone against bone. He flexes his fingers at his side.

“You—” he starts, voice chilled, a blade of ice. 

“You can’t just walk into her life,” you say, cutting him off sharply.  

It stops him in his tracks. He’s not used to that, not anymore. People tend to listen when he talks. The surprise keeps him from responding, giving you enough time to add: 

“And you can’t just walk back into mine.”

He doesn’t need long to recover, though. “Even though you miss me.”

Your expression twists, souring at the edges, the first hint of rot in overripe fruit. “That doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

“I don’t care what you think, Sae.”

“Yes,” he says, “You do.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, denting the plush flesh. “You’re such an asshole,” you tell him again. 

“I know.”

The wind picks up; it catches at your clothing, plucking at it with playful fingers. You smooth the fluttering fabric back down with a trembling hand. 

“You can’t see her,” you say softly. “She won’t understand.”

“Won’t understand what?”

“Why you have to leave again.”

“You don’t know that.”

You sigh. “I do,” you say. “It’s hard enough with—” 

You pause, clamping your mouth shut before you can finish your sentence. Something cold curls through Sae, a winter river that snakes between the banks of his ribs. 

“With Rin, right?” he asks. “It’s hard enough with Rin.”

You watch him for a moment, your eyes wary, a rabbit peeking out from the brush. You nod.

Sae exhales through his nose. “I see,” he says coldly.

You wince. “Sae—”

“Don’t.”

It’s not his usual calm tone. It’s shatterglass, keen-edged and ready to cut. He hates it. 

Your eyes widen. There’s something in your expression that Sae doesn’t want to name. It catches beneath his skin like a burr, sharp and unrelenting. 

“Sae,” you say softly. “I—”

A piercing cry rents the air, splits it apart like a blade. Sae blinks, but you’re already whirling around, heading for the tree Rin has settled under with the stroller. His brother is hefting the screaming girl into his arms, his big hand stroking along the slip of her spine, but she’s still wailing, a high, animal keen. She reaches for you as soon as she sees you, her chubby hands grasping at air.

She buries her face in your neck as you cradle her. Sae’s too far to hear what you’re murmuring, but her wailing starts to trail off. Your hand settles at the back of her head, cupping her close, a gentle promise. 

Sae steps forward just as Rin shifts, curling around you like a shield. There’s a flash of turquoise heat; Rin’s expression is a dare.

He should know better. Sae has never been one to back down. 

He ignores Rin and comes closer, until your voice floats to him. It’s softer now, but it’s steady. Sure. 

“It was a scary dream, huh?” you say, pressing a kiss to the crown of the girl’s head. “It’s okay. You’re awake now. Let’s go home, yeah?”

The girl’s answer is lost in the salt of your skin, her face still glued into the curve of your neck. You seem to understand the squashed words perfectly, though. You hum an agreement and adjust her in your arms. She finally peels away from the cradle of your neck. There’s silvery tear tracks mapped across her chubby cheeks. From under her wet eyelashes, there’s a peek of teal, a crescent moon of familiar color. She sobs again, low and wrenching.

Something twists through Sae, a tender bruise being pressed. He takes another step forward, but before he gets close enough to garner your attention, Rin slinks forward, blocking him.

Sae gives him a sharp look, but Rin’s thundercloud scowl only darkens. 

“Not now,” his brother hisses. “Are you stupid, you shitty brother?”

Sae glances past him. His daughter has buried her face in your neck again; only the sunset sheen of her hair is visible. You’re curled protectively around her even as you search the stroller for something. 

Sae is not one to back down, but he also knows how to pick his battles. 

He nods to Rin; his brother blinks, his scowl softening in his surprise. Rin watches him for a moment before clicking his tongue. He doesn’t nod back, but Sae doesn’t need him to. 

Sae watches as Rin turns back to you and coaxes the stroller out of your grip. 

“Let’s go,” he says gruffly.

“Okay,” you say, hushing the girl as she whimpers softly. “Got everything?”

“Yeah.”

You glance back at Sae. It’s only for a breath. For a moment, he thinks you’ll say something, but you don’t. You turn around and start down the park’s path, Rin pushing the stroller at your side.

Sae watches until the verdant throat of the park swallows the three of you up.

You don’t look back again.

[sugusama]

hii, i loved your Katsuki fic and wanted to submit a request. katsuki x american gf reader, where he’s never met her but they try to talk throughout the day by texting or calling despite time difference. then they meet at the end of the fic as a surprise for katsuki (still UA au please). tyy :)

꒰🫧꒱﹒ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ﹒⟢ featuring: katsuki bakugo ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ bakugo never expected to fall for a girl halfway across the world… especially one with a six-hour time difference and a laugh that lives in his head rent-free. between classes at ua and her busy days in america, they text, call, and fall a little deeper with every message. but what happens when time zones and screens aren’t enough anymore? ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ fluff, comfort, a little angsty, ua based, black female reader, she/her used, lowercase intended, not proofread, bakugo has broken english, italics = japanese ๑•́ ₃ •̀๑

word count ☆ 1.1k

authors note ☆ hello hello! thank u so much for ur kindness 🌼 here you go! i hope you like this one just as much! if u would like anything else let me know!!

katsuki didn’t want to be part of any dumb online chat.

he hated talking for no reason. hated random people. especially hated wasting time when he could be training or doing something that mattered.

so when denki shoved his phone in his face during break and said, “bro, you gotta try this,” katsuki’s immediate response was no.

“it’s a server,” denki explained, grinning. “for, like, international hero fans. some of them are trying to get into schools like u.a. and they ask the weirdest shit.”

“not my problem.”

“c’mon. you can mess with them. they’ll lose their minds when you answer.”

“fuck off.”

but that night, katsuki couldn’t sleep. his shoulders ached from drills. his head was too loud with thoughts he didn’t want to think. and his phone, tucked under his pillow, kept buzzing with notifications from that stupid server denki added him to.

he stared at the screen for a while. thumb hovering over the app. then—he opened it.

a flood of posts. some boring. some weird. some flat-out wrong.

and then one message caught his eye.

|“so like… do students at u.a. really spar? like actually hit each other?”

the username was unfamiliar. your profile picture was a blurry sky—probably taken from your phone. and your bio just said “sleepy. always.”

he stared at your message longer than he meant to as he tried to decipher it.

then typed, slowly:

|“yes. we fight. real hits.”

a full six minutes passed.

he didn’t think you’d respond.

but you did.

|“wait WHAT. like actually?? is that even allowed???”

he snorted, eyes narrowing with a half-smile.

| “yes. is real. allowed. strong hits.”

your response came quicker this time.

| “dude! i’m american. our schools make us wear helmets to run in gym class. this is unfair.”

he let out something close to a laugh—just a small huff of breath—but it surprised him.

he didn’t answer. didn’t need to.

he already bookmarked your name.

he didn’t expect to hear from you again.

but the next night, just after dinner and before study hour, you were there.

| “hi again, explosion boy. (you got a better name?)”

he stared at the screen for a second before replying:

| “bakugo.”

| “ooh. that sounds cool. you sound cool. are you?”

he hesitated, then typed:

| “yes.”

you sent back the laughing emoji. then:

| “humble too.”

he didn’t know why it made his chest feel tight.

from there, it became… a thing.

late-night messages. voice notes. pictures.

you sent him one of your lunch—a sandwich and chips, nothing fancy—but you added,

| “i ate thinking of you. does that make me weird?”

he didn’t answer for a full hour.

then wrote:

| “no. i like that.”

you replied with a blushing emoji.

he stared at it too long.

he never liked phone calls. they were too much. too close.

but your voice was—soft. kind. playful in a way that made his chest ache.

your first voice note was just:

“hi. it’s weird hearing myself talk to you, but i wanted you to know what i sound like.”

and he listened to it.

three times.

the first time just to hear your tone. the second to understand every word. the third because… he missed it, even if it had only been a minute long.

his reply was rough. hesitant.

“hi. uh. i… don’t like talk. much. but… i like yours. voice.”

you sent back:

| “that was the sweetest thing ever, actually.”

after that, you started calling.

not every day. not long.

just enough.

he’d lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling, half-listening to your rambles about work and siblings and the weather. he didn’t talk much. didn’t know how to say all the things he was feeling in a language that always made his tongue trip.

but you didn’t mind.

you’d say, “you don’t have to talk. just stay on.”

so he did.

it happened slow.

your voice became part of his routine.

your good morning texts came while he was getting ready for class. your “i’m heading to bed, katsuki” messages always landed when he was on patrol.

you started sending pictures of things you loved. a book. your porch light. a sunset from your window.

he started sending them back.

once, he sent you a picture of his hand after training—bandaged, calloused, rough. and you wrote:

| “ i hope you rest, even when you think you don’t need it.”

and that line just… stayed.

for days.

he reread it during class. during silence. during nights when his head was too full and nothing felt steady.

he didn’t say he missed you.

but he did.

quietly. constantly.

time difference was cruel.

he hated that you were waking up when he was falling asleep.

he hated how sometimes he’d send a long message and forget what he wrote by the time you answered.

he hated how his chest twisted when he saw your name and couldn’t respond.

but you always made it easy.

“ i know you’re tired. you don’t have to talk. i just wanted to say i’m thinking of you… i’m still here. still cheering for you. always.”

you made it feel like you were closer than you were.

and yet, the space between you ached more with every week.

he didn’t notice when he fell.

not until kirishima asked him why he was smiling at his phone.

not until his chest ached when you didn’t text.

not until he caught himself learning english phrases just to tell you things the right way.

he didn’t tell anyone.

not even you.

but he sent you a voice note at midnight, after a long day, voice hoarse and quiet:

“i… i like talk to you. always. i wait for you. even when late. just so you know.”

you didn’t reply with a voice note.

you replied with a text:

| “me too, katsuki. every day.”

he didn’t sleep that night.

it came suddenly, the text message read:

| “if i ever came to japan… would you wanna meet me?”

he sat up in bed like he’d been punched.

heart pounding.

he typed.

deleted.

typed again.

finally, he sent:

| “yes. i want. i wait for you.”

and then he waited.

one hour.

then two.

you didn’t reply that night.

and he told himself it was okay.

even if it wasn’t.

two weeks.

that’s how long it took.

two weeks of silence. of almost texting you. of wondering if he’d said something wrong.

then—midnight.

his phone buzzed.

| “come outside kats <3 ”

his hands shook.

he ran.

didn’t care who saw. didn’t care that he was barefoot.

and there you were.

standing at the gate. hoodie on. suitcase by your side. scarf he mailed you wrapped around your neck.

you smiled.

“hey.”

he didn’t say anything. just stared.

you stepped forward. nervous.

“you’re taller than i thought,” you teased.

he swallowed hard. voice rough.

“you’re… real.”

you laughed. tears in your eyes.

“told you i’d come.”

the aching, the quiet missing, the longing—

and then he held you.

and everything he’d been holding in— spilled into the way he buried his face in your neck and breathed like he could finally exhale.

[pitchsidestories]

Betrayal in Blue II Barcelona Femeni x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2009

summary: At Barça, Reader saw Keira, Lucy, and eventually Ona as family. But when Keira transferred to Chelsea mid-season, it felt like a betrayal for her. (pairings: Lucy Bronze x Keira Walsh x Young!Reader (platonic), Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze (romantic)) requested

author's note: Hi, we had a lot of fun writing this and hope you enjoy reading it just as much. 💙❤️

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

When you first joined Barcelona’s first team, everything felt overwhelming. Between the big names and the intense competition, you felt completely lost. But then, to your surprise, two English players stepped in and took you under their wings within the first few weeks.

First, it was Lucy. She had a great way with young players, was funny and teasing and full of energy. You instantly felt drawn to her. At the same time, she worked quietly to build your confidence. Then came Keira.

A lot calmer and more grounded. She always had something kind to say, but she also knew exactly when to challenge you. They both quickly became anchors in your life, essentially adopting you.

But things shifted a bit when Lucy left for Chelsea the following summer. She was gone but never really. She kept checking in, sending you messages after games and FaceTiming you whenever you needed a pep talk. And you still had Keira.

“Remember, Kei, when…”, you started but burst into laughter before you could finish. You stood on the training pitch, drenched in sweat after a long session in the bright Barcelona sun.

Keira didn’t need you to finish. She was already laughing. “Oh my god, yes!”

“What are you talking about?”, Ona asked, wiping sweat from her forehead, eyes flicking between you and Keira.

You waved it off: “Nothing.”

“Tell me or I’ll ask Lucy later.”, the defender threatened with a grin.

You groaned: “Not Lucy.”

Keira shook her head, smiling: “She was involved in it.”

You giggled again, remembering Lucy trying to teach Keira how to properly prank you, but Keira had no patience for it and ended up pranking Lucy instead.

“It’s not that important.”, you said, catching your breath from laughing so hard.

Ona gave a theatrical shrug and gave in. She was clearly used to you and Keira having secrets with her girlfriend.

While you recovered from laughing, you watched Keiras face turn serious within a heartbeat. Your heart dropped. That look was never a good sign.

“But I’ve got to tell you something important.”, she suddenly said quietly, her eyes on the grass.

You frowned at her: “Like what?”

“In a few days I’m returning to England.”

It didn’t register right away. The winter break was almost over, and the second half of the season would start soon so you quickly made a connection.

“For a holiday?”, you asked.

There was silence.

You stared at Keira, Keira stared back at you before she finally shook her head.

“No. To sign for Chelsea.”

Her words hit you with full force. Shocked, you protested: ”What? No!”

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”, the English midfielder apologized, avoiding your gaze and choosing instead to stare at her feet.

You swallowed hard. The pain was still raw as you replied: ”Not you too.”

“Oni will still be there for you.”, Keira reminded you gently.

The hurt was too fresh. You spoke without thinking and instantly regretted it when you saw the hurt look on Ona’s face: “But that’s different.”

“I’ll take Coco for a short walk so you two can talk.”, the defender declared, clearing her throat. Normally, the three of you would go together—but this wasn’t normal.

Watching her quietly walk away, you turned your attention back to the older footballer: “Kei.”

“I know.”, she sighed.

Overwhelmed by emotion, you started to tear up: “This isn’t fair. Why is everyone leaving me?”

“We’re not leaving you. Since Lucy and I came here, we’ve been through thick and thin together.”, Keira clarified.

“Yes, see!” It was hard for you to picture Barcelona without her.

She looked at you with empathy: “Y/n, you can do this on your own now. You don’t need us anymore. Just know—we’ll always be cheering you on.”

“I don’t. I’m not ready for this.”, you insisted.

But Keira didn’t accept that. On the contrary, the midfielder said softly, a sad smile on her lips: “Trust me—you are.”

Months had passed since Keira left Barcelona for London. Now, in April, she was back in the Catalan city to face her former team in the first leg of the Champions League semi-final.

Before the match, Lucy placed a hand firmly on her ex-girlfriend’s shoulder: “Kei, you know she’s still mad at us, don’t you?”

“I know,” Keira nodded. “She hasn’t replied to any of my messages. She only speaks to Ona.”

Lucy muttered a curse under her breath: “I hate that.”

“Me too.”, the younger woman admitted quietly.

As memories of all the moments the three of you had shared flickered through her mind, Lucy mumbled: “She was like family.”

“She is family.”, Keira corrected immediately.

The defender fidgeted with her white hairband, clearly unsettled: “Yeah. Exactly.”

“At least Oni’s still keeping an eye on her.”, Keira added in a hopeful tone, just as Ona approached them in the tunnel, her face lighting up with a wide grin.

“She definitely is.”, Lucy said, beaming as she turned to her girlfriend. “Hey, Oni.”

“Hi, amor.” Safe within the concrete walls of the stadium catacombs, the Barcelona defender leaned in and gave her a featherlight kiss.

“Disgusting. Get a room… but after the game please.”, Keira muttered with a grin, rolling her eyes as she passed them on her way to the pitch.

Lucy shot her an annoyed look: “We didn’t plan on making out during the game.”

“No, we’re professionals.”, Ona added, laughing.

“I was just joking.“, Keira said and peered out towards the pitch before asking: “Where’s our problem child?”

“She’s coming. With Vicky and Salma.”, Ona whispered, nodding subtly toward the dressing rooms where you were just emerging.

“Do you think we wants to see us?”, Keira asked carefully.

Ona shrugged, her eyes fixed on you: “You can try it but be prepared for a cold welcome.”

Lucy frowned at the two of them. “I don’t care. I’m going to say hi.”

She let go of Ona and stepped forward just as you approached, flanked by Salma and Vicky.

You stopped shortly in front of Lucy and Keira and flashed them a fake smile: “Oh, hey. Ready to lose today?”

“No, you’ll lose.”, Lucy teased playfully. But you didn’t fall for it. You weren’t ready to forgive them yet.

You flipped your ponytail over your shoulder and continued to walk toward the pitch: “In your dreams, Bronze.”

“Bronze? We’re not even on first name base anymore?”, you heard Lucy call after you.

You stopped in your tracks but didn’t turn back: “Don’t pretend to be hurt by that.”

“I’m not. I’m just surprised.”, she replied, voice steady.

That calm tone only filled you with anger. You finally decided to turn around: “Why?”

Lucys expression didn’t shift: “I thought we were family.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh: “Family doesn’t leave one by one.”

“Yeah, they do.”, she protested.

You shook your head. There was no point in discussing this, not as long as she believed she’d done nothing wrong.

“I got to warm up now.”, you said curtly and turned away.

“Y/n?” It was Lucy again.

“Yes?“, you snapped, not even hiding the annoyance in your voice.

“Good luck for the game. You’ll need it.”

You didn’t reply. You just kept walking, straight onto the pitch.

You didn’t know what exactly happened but somewhere in the second half of the match, you found yourself on the ground. A flash of excruciating pain tore through your knee. You couldn’t get back up, you could barely even breathe through it.

Grass clung to your face, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about the players surrounding you either, their worried frowns blurring at the edges of your vision.

Keira called out your name, her voice filled with deep concern.

“Are you alright?”, asked Lucy, sounding just as worried.

But it was Alexia who gently placed a hand on your shoulder, shooting warning glances at the two former Barcelona players: “Don’t touch her.”

“Ale, she’s our friend.”, the Chelsea midfielder reminded her ex — and your current captain.

You quickly reassured the three older players once the initial shock began to subside and the adrenaline kicked in: “I’m fine.”

“Come on. You’ve got this.” As you got back on your feet, Alexia encouraged you: “Let’s beat them.”

“Yes, please.”

While she guided you away from the two who had once felt like family, something began to shift in your mind. Were you still angry with them for leaving? Absolutely. And yet, it was impossible to ignore the anxious looks on their faces — their worry for you was written all over them.

To steady yourself, you redid your ponytail, determined to push thoughts of the English women aside until after the match. Now was the time to grit your teeth, power through the game, and win this.

Everything had worked in your favour, and the 4–1 result was a clear statement.

“Clau! Oni! That was amazing! What a win!”, you cheered, jumping up and down with your teammates.

“4–1! Great game, girls.”, Ona beamed.

Claudia, who had scored, wore a victorious grin: “That was so fun.”

The celebration came to a sudden halt when Lucy approached.

“Y/N? Good game.”, she said, a note of pride in her voice that took you by surprise.

A shy smile flickered across your face: “Oh, thanks. You had a good game too.”

“It wasn’t my best.”, the English defender admitted.

Knowing how much she hated losing, you couldn’t resist teasing her: “Yeah, I think we all noticed that.”

“Amor…” Ona began, trying to comfort her girlfriend.

Lucy’s gaze softened as she looked at her. “Give me a sec,” she murmured.

Then, turning back to you, she offered: “Jersey swap?”

You hesitated for a moment before replying in what you hoped was a casual tone: “Sure.”

“Hey, I was about to ask her, Lucia!”, Keira protested, playfully nudging the dark-haired woman aside.

Lucy smirked: “Be quicker next time.”

Ignoring her teasing, Keira focused her full attention on you:“Y/N? You were brilliant.”

Their banter, their compliments — it all warmed your heart, despite everything that had happened over the past few months. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

“Thank you.”, you responded sincerely, your voice full of gratitude.

In a playful, comradely gesture, you lightly poked the midfielder’s side, nodding towards the couple who appeared to be in a world of their own: “Ew, right?”

“So ew,”, Keira agreed with an amused smile.

You two looked at each other and immediately burst into giggles, just like back in the day.

Lucy, finally pulling away from Onas lips, shot you both playfully annoyed look: “We can hear you two, you know that, right?”

“Good!”, you laughed, teasing.

“Good?!”, Lucy repeated, feigning offense.

Ona placed a hand on Lucys arm, smiling softly: “Don’t listen to them, amor. They just love to tease.”

As she pressed another kiss to Lucys lips, Keira turned back to you and studied you for a moment.

“We’re good again?”, she asked cautiously.

Your heart still ached, knowing none of this would last once you all left the stadium. But at the same time, it felt comforting to be reminded that even when they left, they never stopped loving you.

So you nodded. “Yes. We’re family, after all.”

To your surprise, Keira started to smile and opened her arms: “Family hug?”

You knew she wasn’t the biggest hugger, so there was no way you could deny her.

“Yes.”, you agreed and stepped into the hug.

Lucy joined quickly, without a word.

You saw Ona standing slightly off to the side, watching the three of you with a gentle smile.

You waved her over: “Ona, you too.”

Her face lit up: “Coming.”

The four of you stood there, hugging tightly. You felt the safety you always associated with them. Maybe they had been right: family might come and go but it never stopped being family. And now, you had Ona to add to your ever-growing football family.

As soon as you all let go, you were already hoping Barcelona would play Chelsea many more times.

image sources: pinterest,https://www.instagram.com/wchampionsleague/p/DIrY9FWNEVm/?img_index=4

[formulaonecrumbs]

junie i could use osc irl rn. how about him comforting reader, trying to help keep her pain under control. massaging her hips, arms, sides, thighs, back, stomach, stomach (all things that are hurting after surgery). just trying to let her relax.

-🧸

slow hands

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: oscar comforts reader after surgery with soft touch and care.

warnings: post-surgery recovery, pain management, full-body massage

A/N: i’m so scared my writings getting too repetitive and u’re gonna get bored of it but i’m running out of ways to make these different and fun and stuff 😭😭 i hope u enjoy it regardless. LOVE U ❤️

p.s. that IS a nial horan reference in the title :p

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’re barely out of your pain meds haze, body heavy and aching, when oscar settles beside you on the bed with the quietest, gentlest kind of care.

“you okay?” he asks softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. his voice is warm like sunlight, all concern wrapped in love, and you don’t have the energy to do anything but nod.

“hurts,” you mumble, voice small. “everything hurts.”

“i know, baby. i got you,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “just tell me where.”

you take a slow breath, blinking heavy eyes open. “hips. thighs. stomach. back. arms. literally everywhere.”

he gives you the smallest smile—soft and sweet—but there’s nothing teasing in it. “we’ll go one at a time then, yeah?”

he starts with your arms, gentle circles of his thumbs in the muscle, soft pressure, checking your face every few seconds like he’s reading it for pain. he works down to your wrists, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there. then your thighs—he moves slow, spreading warmth into each sore inch with long, steady strokes.

“just wanna get the tension out of you,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your knee. “you’ve been through so much, baby.”

his hands glide to your stomach, skimming the swollen skin around your incision site without pressing too hard. you flinch slightly, and he pauses. “too much?”

you shake your head, even though your eyes are fluttering closed. “feels nice. just tender.”

he keeps his palms open, broad and warm, rubbing in the most featherlight rhythm, like he’s trying to soothe the hurt straight out of you with love alone. “i hate that you’re in pain,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

“but you help,” you whisper back. “you always help.”

his hands move to your hips and sides, rubbing where he knows the cramping hits hardest, working knots of pain away in slow, loving passes. and when he gets to your back, he helps you turn gently, so carefully, like you might break if he moves too quick. he kisses the top of your spine, trails soft fingers along the curve of it.

“i’ll stay right here,” he says. “no matter how long it takes.”

you hum in your throat, drowsy, limp under his touch. “you’re too good to me.”

“not possible,” he says, already tucking the blanket back around you. “you deserve all of this. more than this.”

and he keeps going, hands everywhere you hurt, until the ache starts to dull and you can finally, finally rest. wrapped in warmth, soft love, and oscar’s voice whispering, “sleep, baby. i’ll be right here when you wake up.”

THE END :>

[merakiui]

Ok but mama georgina leech who’s very first gift to you is a pure snow white silk and lace lingerie set for your wedding night with one or both her sons and a fertility potion with aphrodisiac properties that she pulled a few strings to get just for you 👀

>:D hehehe Mama Leech who didn't realize just how strong of an effect it would have on you, a human who isn't used to being under the influence of magic very often. Poor thing; you've gone and soaked through your pretty lingerie, and all before her boys could tend to you. Good thing she found you here in the hall. She'll take care of you until they break away from the party to scoop you up for consummation time. <3

She offers her sympathy, pressing her two fingers to your sopping panties and rubbing through the frilly fabric while you cling to her arm and stifle your whines in the ruffles of her elegant dress. There's a hazy look in your eyes and you stumble over your apologies. You didn't mean to... it's too strong,,, you feel so hot. Maybe she'll guide you to your room to help you out of your dress so you're in nothing but the lingerie.

There are so many people in the party. After all, it's a Leech wedding. This is a very important event for family members and people associated with Mr. Leech...and anyone else hoping to curry favor with the next two heirs of the family business hehe. She'd hate to leave a pretty darling like you alone and wanting, so perhaps she'll just give you enough pleasure to keep you sated before (politely) dragging her boys out of the party so they can finally get to work on giving her some grandchildren. :)

[inseobts]

Heyyy. Can I request a part two of "Luffy's sister" where she met then meet Sabo?

Luffy’s ‘sister’ pt.2

sabo x fem!reader

part 1

a/n: I tried to use the anime canon events so it could contain spoilers for these who didn't watch dressrosa arc yet! also I tried my best to explain that you're not their sister lmao

tags: dressrosa arc spoilers, sabo spoilers?, emotional reunion, memories, humor, slow burn (really really slow)

words count: 5.3k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You’ve never been good at sneaking around.

But today, you’re a ghost... hood up, steps light, slipping past the guards with your heart pounding in your ears.

You weren’t trying to get involved. You just wanted to see Luffy. Make sure he’s okay. Make sure the plan hasn’t blown up in his face again.

You find a small side passage near the Colosseum’s underground tunnel. It leads to an open area behind the stands, away from the crowd’s eyes. You peek out carefully.

And there he is.

Luffy.

You exhale in relief, until you see what he’s doing.

He’s on top of someone, arms wrapped tightly around the man like he’s trying to crush him.

Your eyes widen.

“What the—?” you mutter, stepping out into the open “Luffy?! What are you doing?!”

He doesn’t even flinch.

You hurry closer, panic rising “Oi! Why are you fighting outside the arena?! Who is this?!”

You try to pry him off the stranger “Let him go! He can’t breathe—are you crying? What is happening?!”

Luffy stays stuck, unmoving, his grip unnaturally tight, rubbery and impossible to break.

You groan “Oh, come on. Of all times to use your stupid Devil Fruit…”

You plant your foot and yank again, finally pulling Luffy backward just enough that the other guy can breathe. Luffy’s arms stretch as you drag him off, his face still teary.

You stand up straight, panting “Jeez, dramatic much? Why are you even trying to kill someone like that...”

You don’t turn around yet. You’re too busy scolding him.

“Honestly, I thought you were here to blend in and keep a low profile, not body slam strangers underground. You’re gonna blow the whole—”

Luffy suddenly grabs your hand. His grip is warm and shaking.

“Y/N...” he says in the middle of his sobbing.

You blink.

“What?”

He doesn’t say anything.

He just pulls you toward the man behind you.

You turn slowly and freeze.

The man standing before you looks older than the boy you remember... taller, broader, his blond hair messier than ever. There’s a jagged scar running down the side of his face. His eyes are softer now, but familiar. Too familiar.

You stare.

Your mind tries to say it, but the name won’t come out.

Your body doesn’t move. You don’t speak. You just look at him, your expression unreadable. Nothing on your face gives you away. Not shock. Not anger. Not tears.

Just silence.

Luffy is quiet too. He watches both of you carefully, like he knows this is your moment.

The blond man steps closer, slowly, cautiously. His voice is calm, but low, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

“...I was hoping I’d find you too.”

He pauses.

Your hands hang limp at your sides.

He takes one more step “It’s me. It’s Sabo.”

Nothing.

A flicker passes through your eyes, but your face doesn’t move.

Sabo lowers his head a little, voice softer now “You probably thought I died.”

Still, you say nothing.

He almost smiles painfully “To be fair… I thought I did too.”

A wind moves through the tunnel. Quiet. Heavy.

You just stare.

No tears. No yelling. Just a stillness so sharp it makes Luffy shift uncomfortably behind you.

Sabo doesn’t push. He just stands there and waits.

The silence stretches.

Sabo is still standing there, a few feet from you, eyes steady and soft. He’s giving you time. Space. But your body feels frozen, like it hasn’t caught up with what your eyes are seeing.

He’s alive.

He’s real.

He’s right there.

But you can’t process it.

You blink slowly, once.

Then you turn… not to him, but to Luffy.

Your voice is quiet. Too calm.

“I’m going to wait outside.”

Luffy flinches a little “Huh? Wait—Y/N, don’t you wanna—?”

You’re already walking.

“I’ll be outside” you say again, not turning back.

You don’t look at Sabo. You don’t look at Luffy again either.

You just leave.

The tunnel bends, and the second you’re alone it hits you.

Your knees buckle.

You catch yourself against the wall, but it doesn’t matter. The sob breaks out of you like a punch to the gut. Then another. And another.

You slide down to the ground, hands trembling.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

And you said nothing, you just left.

The tears come fast, hot, quiet, unstoppable. You bury your face in your arms, biting your lip to keep the sound in. But your body shakes anyway. Your chest aches with everything you never got to say. Everything you buried.

You’re not even sure what hurts more, losing him before, or seeing him again now.

You don’t know how long you sit there but you don’t move. Not yet.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel.

You wipe your face quickly, trying to steady your breathing, but your eyes are still red. Your shoulders still shake.

You know that rhythm. You don’t look up.

“...Luffy.”

He crouches in front of you. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you with quiet eyes and a small frown, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you into a hug or sit silently until you ask.

Finally, he says, “He didn’t know you were gonna be here either.”

You flinch—but only slightly.

You look away “Don’t.”

He tilts his head “But—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He stays still.

You wipe your eyes again, harsh this time, like you’re trying to erase the weakness. You breathe in through your nose and push yourself up with stiff legs.

“We’re here for Ace’s fruit, for Doflamingo etc” you say, voice flat, like nothing just happened “That’s the priority.”

Luffy stares at you. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I get it,” he says softly, after a beat “But you don’t have to—”

“I do.” Your voice cracks just slightly “Because if I don’t focus on that, I’ll fall apart again.”

Luffy looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. Instead, he just nods.

You finally glance at him, your expression calmer now, but your eyes still tired. Still swollen. You offer a shaky smile.

“Let’s finish what we came here for.”

The chaos has slowed for now.

You’re seated on a stone ledge just outside one of the old Dressrosa corridors, away from the crowd and the noise. Law is nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. His eyes are half-lidded, but you know he’s alert. Always is.

You sit quietly for a while, the silence not awkward… just thick with things unspoken.

And then, like it sneaks out of your mouth before you can stop it, you ask “...What would you do, if years ago, you saw someone you love die right in front of you…”

Law’s eyes open just a little.

“…and then one day, out of nowhere, they show up alive. Like nothing happened. Like those years of grief didn’t even exist?”

He looks at you.

He knows exactly who you’re talking about. And you know exactly who he’s thinking of too.

Law doesn’t answer right away. He looks off to the side, like the wind carries memories he hasn’t let himself face in years.

Finally, he says, quietly “I would do nothing.”

Your chest tightens.

He shifts just a little, as if that confession cost him something “If he walked in front of me right now… I wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t move. I’d probably think it was a trick.”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t think there’s a right way to react,” Law adds, glancing at you now “Grief... changes the way you see the world. Coming back from it doesn’t happen in one moment. Not even if they return.”

You nod slowly. For the first time since seeing Sabo, something inside you… softens.

Maybe your silence wasn’t wrong.

Maybe your reaction was your answer.

You look down at your hands, voice barely above a whisper “Thank you.”

Law just hums quietly “Don’t thank me. Just give yourself time.”

The silence settles again after Law's last words. You're not crying anymore, just sitting there with your arms resting on your knees, the ache in your chest finally dulling.

Law glances at you sideways.

Then, deadpan as ever, he says “Are you sure you’re Luffy’s sister? You look… normal.”

You snort, caught off guard “Wow. Rude.”

He smirks, just barely.

You shake your head “I’m not his real sister, anyway.”

Law raises an eyebrow.

“When we were little,” you start, your voice softer now, “Luffy, Ace, and Sabo made this whole brotherhood pact thing. You know—swore on sake cups, made it official, the whole dramatic act.”

Law nods once, silently amused.

You roll your eyes a little “I wasn’t there when they did it. They didn’t invite me. Said it was a boy thing or something dumb like that.”

Law gives you a dry look “That tracks.”

You grin faintly “I was so mad. Didn’t speak to any of them for days. I even bit Luffy when he tried to apologize.”

Law’s eyes flicker “You bit him?”

“Hard,” you say proudly “But you know Luffy. He just kept showing up, acting like nothing happened. Then one day, out of nowhere, he tells someone I’m his sister. Said I was there when they made the promise, and I’ve just ‘forgotten.’”

Law blinks “He… rewrote history?”

“Loudly and convincingly,” you say with a laugh “Ace just ran with it. After a while, they both acted like I was part of that pact from the start. They even started getting mad at me when I didn’t call them my brothers.”

You exhale “ But Sabo never got the chance to go along with the lie.”

There’s a long pause “…I’m kind of glad.”

Law watches you closely now, sensing the shift in your tone.

You look away, your voice quieter.

“Because I don’t think I could’ve handled hearing my crush call me his little sister.”

That surprises a chuckle out of him, soft and sharp “Makes sense.”

You give him a sideways glance “What does?”

“Why you looked like you saw a ghost and got punched in the heart at the same time.”

You groan “I did not—”

“You absolutely did.”

You cover your face with both hands “Ugh. I hate this.”

Law, surprisingly, just says, “It’s fine.”

You peek at him through your fingers.

“It’s not like he called you his sister yet,” Law adds with a shrug “There’s still hope for your embarrassing feelings.”

You shove his shoulder but you're smiling now.

Dressrosa is a battlefield.

Buildings cracked in half, marines flooding the streets, chaos unfurling like smoke. But you’re already deep in it, your body flickering into flowing strips of fabric that twist and snap like whips. You stretch your torso around a collapsing wall, harden the strands like steel, and knock out three soldiers in one elegant motion.

“Always dramatic, aren’t you?”

The voice drops from above.

You roll your eyes before you even see him “You again.”

Sabo lands beside you, spinning his staff lazily “Don’t act like you’re not thrilled.”

“I was, until the part where you showed up.”

He grins “You used to be nicer.”

“No, you used to be less annoying.”

But your mouth twitches. You hate that it feels normal again, bickering with him like nothing happened. Like there weren’t years of silence and grief between you.

The fighting pulls you back into rhythm.

You move fast, wrapping a strand of your now-hardened fabric around a marine’s leg, yanking him off balance. Sabo intercepts another with his staff and a burst of flame. You duck under his arm as he swings, your body briefly unraveling into long sheets of cloth that snap back into place behind him.

“Still showing off” he mutters.

“You’re the one on fire.”

“Jealous?”

“You wish.”

Your fabric slams into the ground beside him, cracking the earth and knocking back a group of enemies. His flames chase the shockwave, torching the air in a clean arc.

You’re mid-battle, wrapping around enemies, flipping them off their feet. You're swift, focused, a total force.

But your damn hair won’t stay out of your face.

You keep blowing strands away, grumbling between punches “Stupid wind—stupid hair—get out of my face!”

Sabo’s voice cuts in from behind you “You never fixed that, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder “Fixed what?”

He ducks an enemy’s attack and then jerks his chin toward you “Your hair always did that when you fought. Thought you’d have learned by now.”

“Excuse you—my hair is a strategic distraction.”

Sabo laughs “You used to say that exact line.”

You freeze for a half second.

That tone. That smile.

Suddenly

Flashback You’re back in the woods. Same old gang, same old forest clearing. You’re younger. Sweaty, annoyed, trying to keep your hair tied back as the boys spar with sticks. It keeps falling into your face. You hiss under your breath, yanking it into a terrible knot. Sabo notices from across the clearing. Later that day, he shows up with a long, fraying strip of ugly, faded blue fabric. You frown “What is that?” He shrugs, trying to sound casual “Something to keep your hair out of your face.” “You made me something?” “Shut up. It’s not a big deal. I just don’t want you blaming your losses on bad hair.” You wear it every day for months. At the time, you thought it was just friendly teasing.

Now, mid-battle, back in the present, your hair still flying wild and his eyes still on you like he remembers every version of you, and you realize it wasn’t just a scarf.

He glances sideways at you, eyes warm “You really haven’t changed.”

You smirk “I upgrade. Learn the difference.”

When the final marine falls, you harden your leg into woven steel and deliver a clean spinning kick to finish it off.

Silence settles in.

You’re both standing in the middle of the ruined street, breathing hard. Sabo spins his staff once more and slides it onto his back.

You raise a hand, palm up “Not bad. I’ll give you a C-plus.”

He raises an eyebrow “C-plus?”

“C for ‘Could’ve-done-it-myself.’”

But you’re smiling genuinely, for the first time in a long time.

He laughs, then high-fives you without hesitation.

The contact is quick but his cheeks color the moment your hand slaps his.

You pause, blinking at him.

He’s still smiling, but it’s softer now. Maybe even shy.

Realizing what just happened, you quickly drop your hand and turn away, mood snapping back into place.

“Whatever,” you mutter “Let’s keep moving.”

But he doesn’t let the silence linger.

He steps up beside you, voice lower “We need to talk.”

You don’t look at him, but your answer is quiet. Solid.

“Later.”

He watches you for a moment, and for the first time today, he doesn’t feel like you’re slipping away again.

The little safehouse is quiet, tucked in the hills after the battle. Everyone’s exhausted. Robin pours tea, Franky’s patching his arm, and Usopp is dramatically recounting a battle no one asked about. Luffy’s already halfway through his third plate.

You’re leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, trying to ignore the way Sabo keeps stealing glances at you across the room.

It’s almost peaceful.

Then Usopp opens his mouth.

“So this is your brother, huh, Y/N?” he says, nodding toward Sabo with a big grin.

You whip around and punch him in the arm.

“NO.”

“OW—WHAT?!” Usopp yelps, clutching his arm “What’d I do?!”

Sabo blinks, genuinely confused “Wait… you’re not…?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples “I’m not their sister. I was never part of their little brotherhood pact.”

Luffy’s mouth is too full to answer, so he just grins guiltily.

Zoro raises an eyebrow “But Luffy keeps calling you his sister, you even introduced yourself that and told us you were in the pact.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “Actually those three idiots didn’t want me in the original pact. I wasn’t ‘boyish enough’... I sulked for weeks.”

Sabo pauses, eyes widening a little “Wait… I was the only idiot. I asked them not to invite you.”

The room goes silent.

Your heart skips a beat “You what?”

“You… hated me that much?” you say, voice suddenly quieter, tinged with something raw “You didn’t want me to be part of your family?”

Sabo’s eyes go wide “What? No! I didn’t hate you. I… I told them not to invite you because…”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking incredibly awkward now, flustered, even.

“…because I had a crush on you. And I didn’t want my crush doing a brotherhood pact with me. That’s weird.”

You blink. Hard.

Flashback You’re all sitting around a fire after stealing food from the town again. Luffy’s asleep already, curled up like a cat. Ace is leaning back on his elbows, smirking. You’re messing with a broken dagger you found, cleaning the rust off with a cloth and not really part of the conversation. Sabo is beside you, stealing glances. Too many glances. Ace notices. Of course he does. He nudges Sabo with his elbow and whispers just loud enough, “You’re being obvious, lover boy.” Sabo nearly chokes on his bread “I’m not—shut up!” You look up “What are you two whispering about?” Ace grins “Nothing. Just telling Sabo he’s dreaming too big.” Sabo scowls “I said shut up!” You narrow your eyes “Why? What’d he say?” Ace just shrugs with that smug look “Told him you’re way out of his league.” Sabo turns even redder “AACE—” You freeze. Your hands go still on the dagger. “…You guys are mean,” you mutter, standing up quickly “Don’t joke like that.” Ace blinks, caught off guard “Hey, I was just—” But you’re already walking off into the woods, pretending your face isn’t hot. Pretending it doesn’t sting. You thought they were teasing you. Mocking you for daring to think you could be anything but “one of the boys”. That maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Strong enough. Good enough. You had no idea Sabo was blushing for a different reason entirely.

You realize Ace wasn’t being cruel that day.

Sabo wasn’t embarrassed for you, he was embarrassed because of you.

You didn’t mishear them.

You just didn’t believe it could be true “…Come again?”

He avoids your gaze “To make them go along with it, I promised Ace and Luffy that… uh… I’d make you their sister-in-law instead.”

The entire room freezes.

Sanji drops his cigarette. Nami almost chokes on her tea. Even Zoro raises both eyebrows.

Flashback You're running toward the clearing where Ace, Luffy, and Sabo are whispering, clearly plotting something. You’re grinning, excited to finally be part of one of their “important meetings”. “What’s going on? Did you find treasure? Are we stealing meat again? Count me in!” They go quiet. Ace gives Sabo a long look, and then sighs “It’s not about meat.” Luffy squints at you “It’s not for you.” Your smile falters “What?” Sabo hesitates “We’re… making a brotherhood pact.” You blink “So? I’m here too.” Ace rubs the back of his neck “It’s a brotherhood. You’re not a brother.” Luffy crosses his arms “Yeah. You’re not even tough enough.” That one stings. You ball your fists “I’m tougher than all of you!” They don’t answer. The silence says enough. You storm off, cheeks burning, not from rage, but from humiliation. After that you avoid them for days. Then weeks. You sleep in different spots. Train alone. Refuse to talk to them even when they try. They’re clearly lost. Ace tries bribing you with dumplings. Luffy leaves a weird drawing of the four of you fighting a sea king (you’re drawn tiny). None of it works. Sabo watches you with guilt in his eyes but never approaches. Until on morning, when you're sitting alone by the river, skimming stones and still furious. Sabo shows up, hands in his pockets. Doesn’t speak for a long time. He sits beside you, quiet again. He doesn’t bring up the brotherhood. Or the fight. Or the fact that you cried when no one was looking. Instead, he hands you something small. A rusty key on a string. “What’s this?” “It’s the key to my secret treasure chest.” You squint “What treasure?” “Can’t tell you. It’s a secret.” You narrow your eyes “How do I know there’s anything in it?” He shrugs “Guess you’ll have to find it someday.” You roll your eyes “Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Sabo smiles, just a little “It’s our promise. If you ever find it, you can keep everything inside.” “Even if it’s full of bugs?” “Then I’ll owe you a treasure better than anyone else’s.” You look at the key again, trying not to smile. You tie it around your neck without saying a word.

Sabo rubs his neck, looking like it physically hurts to admit “I didn’t want you calling me your brother. I had a crush on you. I couldn’t do that promise with you there. I panicked. I was a kid, okay?”

Silence again.

You stare at him, face slowly turning red “You WHAT?!”

Sabo’s ears are red now “It made sense at the time! I was nine!”

“WAIT A SECOND,” you shout, whirling around to Luffy “YOU KNEW?!”

Luffy keeps chewing “Mmhmm.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING?!”

“I forgot!” he grins, crumbs flying “But yeah, Sabo said he’d marry you or something, so we didn’t let you be our brother.”

You bury your face in your hands.

Usopp whispers, stunned, “So… wait… you were engaged and didn’t know it?”

Franky slams the table “THAT’S SUPER!”

“Luffy,” you growl, still covering your face “We are having words later.”

Sabo scratches the back of his neck and finally, softly says, “So… does that mean I don’t need to avoid the conversation anymore?”

You peek through your fingers at him, expression unreadable.

“…Later.”

And Sabo smiles because this time, he knows you mean it.

The safehouse is still too quiet after Sabo’s confession. The crew is frozen in various degrees of “What did we just witness?”

You’re still trying to process the idea that Sabo, your childhood thorn in the side, your years-long ache, the boy you grieved, apparently planned on marrying you before he even learned how to write cursive properly.

Your face is burning.

He looks just as flustered, sitting stiffly like he doesn’t know if he should run or hide.

Then, of course, Luffy happens.

“Well then,” Luffy says through another mouthful of food “Why don’t you tell him you had a crush on him too? That way you’re even!”

Dead silence.

Your entire body freezes.

Sabo chokes on his tea.

You snap your head toward Luffy, eyes wide with sheer disbelief.

You walk over and punch him in the shoulder hard “Luffy, shut up!”

“Ow! What?! I’m just helping!” he whines.

“I don’t need help!”

Zoro smirks from the corner “You kinda do.”

You ignore him.

Your heart’s pounding in your ears, hands twitching with nervous energy, and you can feel Sabo’s eyes on you, uncertain, hopeful, soft.

So before anyone else can speak, you walk straight over to him, grab his wrist, and say, “Outside. Now.”

Sabo blinks, startled, but lets you pull him to the door.

Sanji whistles under his breath “Someone’s about to get a love confession or a fist in the face.”

“Or both” Nami mutters.

The door slams behind you.

The air outside is quieter. Cooler. Still buzzing with post-battle energy, but calm enough that your thoughts start to catch up with you.

You let go of his wrist.

He doesn’t speak yet.

Neither do you.

Until you finally turn around, arms crossed tight.

“You’re seriously telling me… all those years ago, you didn’t let me be your sworn sibling because you liked me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously “It sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“It is dumb.”

“…Yeah.”

Pause.

You stare at him “You meant it?”

He looks at you now.

Clear-eyed, warm, and with the kind of steady patience that says "I’ve waited years already... I can wait another minute".

“I did.”

Your voice is smaller now “So what now?”

Sabo steps closer, hands in his pockets, smile soft “Now… you can either say Luffy was right—”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“—or you can tell me to forget it all and we go back to awkward eye contact and pretending to fight about things that don’t matter.”

You hesitate.

Then you exhale “...I did have a crush on you. Back then.”

His expression shifts, something like awe and relief.

“And now?” he asks quietly.

You roll your eyes and glance away “...Still kinda mad at you.”

Sabo grins.

“So… I’ve got a chance?”

You finally smile, barely “Ask me again when Luffy isn’t listening.”

The sun has dipped low behind the hills, casting the small safehouse in a warm gold glow. Most of the crew has drifted into sleep or taken watch. The quiet hum of insects and the distant crash of waves fill the night.

You’re sitting on the back porch steps, watching the sky turn from orange to violet, your arms loosely wrapped around your knees. You know he's behind you before he speaks.

Sabo doesn’t ask if he can join you.

He just does.

You don’t look at him right away, but you don’t move away, either.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” you ask softly, “or were you just trying to be poetic in front of an audience?”

He chuckles lightly “I meant it. All of it.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking up at the sky now, the firelight from inside catching his features, older, worn, but still him. There’s a calm to him now, but it feels earned, not effortless.

“I wanted to tell you… what happened to me” he says.

You nod, settling in without interrupting.

“I don’t remember the shipwreck. Not really. Just flashes. Pain, water, fire. Then… nothing. I was with the Revolutionaries. Dragon found me. Saved me. They told me who I was, gave me a name, a life. But not my memories. Not really.”

His voice is low, steady.

“I kept having these dreams, though. Faces I didn’t recognize. A little boy with freckles. A loud kid with a hat. A girl with bright eyes who threw a sandal at my head once.”

You smile faintly.

“I didn’t know what they meant. Just that I woke up missing something. Missing someone.”

He finally turns to look at you.

“And then, when I saw that article about Ace… it all came back. Like someone cracked my chest open. Every memory. Every promise. Every dumb plan we made.”

You swallow hard.

“And I realized,” he continues, voice softer now, “that I missed you three all this time. But not in the same way.”

You glance over at him, and this time, your gaze lingers.

“I missed Ace like a brother. I missed Luffy like the idiot best friend he always was. But you…”

He breathes in, slow and steady.

“You were different. There was always something in my heart that felt too heavy, something that wouldn’t let me move on. And now I know why.”

Your pulse skips.

Sabo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“I’m glad I listened to that weight every time it slowed me down. Because now… I got a chance. With you. After all these years.”

Silence stretches between you, warm and electric.

You don’t speak right away. You just lean your shoulder into his, lightly, gently. No dramatics. No tears.

Just quiet understanding.

“…Good,” you murmur “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles, slow and sure, and for the first time in years, that heavy part of his heart finally feels light.

Now Sabo preparing to leave. The chaos of Dressrosa is winding down, but the ache in your chest is ramping up.

Sabo is leaving...

Again...

You knew it would happen. You told yourself it wouldn’t hurt. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry.

But here you are, standing with the crew near the docks, arms stiff by your sides, lips pressed tight together, and that familiar burn rising in your throat.

Sabo is saying his goodbyes, quick, easy, all smiles and handshakes.

Then he turns to you and your eyes meet.

And something in you breaks.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes sting. And before you can stop it, before you can hide behind sarcasm or anger like usual, your face crumples.

The first tear falls before you even realize it.

Then another.

And another.

Until you're full-on crying in front of everyone.

You gasp softly and try to turn away, embarrassed, but it's too late. The damage is done.

Everyone freezes.

Even Luffy looks stunned, eyes wide with surprise “Y/N…?”

Sabo’s entire expression shifts, from shock, to concern, to something impossibly soft.

He steps forward and cups your face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping the tears you can’t stop.

“Don’t cry,” he says quietly “I promise we’ll meet again soon.”

You sniff, voice catching “You said that last time…”

“I mean it this time,” he whispers “And I won’t let anyone, or anything, stop me from coming back to you.”

You lunge forward before you can think.

Your arms wrap around him tightly, fiercely, your first real hug since he came back, and it shakes with everything you couldn’t say until now. Your fingers clutch the back of his coat, and you don’t let go.

He hugs you back instantly, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

He leans down, lips near your ear.

“When I come back,” he murmurs, “we’ll go on our first date.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, arms tightening around him. You nod but you don’t look up.

You can’t. Not yet. Not when your chest still feels like it’s breaking.

But his heartbeat is solid against yours. His warmth is real.

And this time, his promise feels real too.

The crew is quiet after Sabo’s departure. Too quiet.

You’re sitting on the deck, knees pulled up to your chest, staring out at the waves. The salty wind brushes your face, cooling the sting left by tears you didn’t plan to shed.

You’re still hugging your arms around yourself, trying to feel normal again.

The crew watches you from a respectful distance.

Then they start moving in.

First is Sanji, with a tray.

“I brought snacks,” he says gently “And tea. It’s sweet.”

You take a sip. It is sweet... too sweet. You gag.

He immediately fumbles “Wait—okay—too much honey—I can make another—”

Then Chopper waddles up with a blanket.

“I brought something soft! It’s warm and smells like medicine!”

You blink “…Why does it smell like medicine?”

“Because it’s mine...” he says proudly.

You pat his head anyway.

Then Usopp sits beside you and, very seriously, says, “If it makes you feel better, I cried for two hours when my goldfish died.”

“…You had a goldfish?”

“…No.”

You blink.

And you burst out laughing.

It slips out of you like a hiccup, and suddenly your shoulders shake, not from sadness, but from the absurdity of your friends trying so hard to comfort you in the worst ways imaginable.

You’re still wiping your eyes when your gaze locks onto Luffy across the deck.

He’s crouched on a barrel, chewing meat, acting like nothing ever happened, and suddenly your laugh dies.

Your expression flattens into cold fury.

You stand slowly. The crew senses the change and clears a path as you stalk over.

“Luffy,” you say sweetly “You wanna explain to me why, for years, you insisted I was your sister but never once told me Sabo had a giant crush on me?”

Luffy blinks up at you, meat hanging from his mouth.

“…I forgot?”

“YOU FORGOT?!” you roar, grabbing him by the collar.

“I THOUGHT YOU LIKED ACE!” he shouts, flailing “I DIDN’T THINK YOU NEEDED TO KNOW YOU WERE BREAKING SABO'S HEART!”

Zoro, from the side “He kinda has a point.”

“STAY OUT OF THIS, MOSSHEAD!”

Usopp whistles low “There she goes. She’s back.”

You let Luffy go with a growl and storm off, cheeks burning, but this time, it’s not from tears.

It’s from the tiniest bit of hope starting to grow in your chest.

Because now… Sabo has a promise to keep.

[arkaiveofurown]

Hii! How are you

So I'm new here, idk if you take requests, but if you do, could you please write something about katakuri? Like big mom arranges Katakuri's secret lover's marriage with oven or cracker. But katakuri speaks up (for the first time) against his mom.

Braver Than Silence

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Reader

He was raised to hide everything soft and vulnerable—his mouth, his thoughts, his love. But in your light, Katakuri found something he never thought he deserved: freedom. And when Big Mom threatens to take you away, he learns that some truths must be spoken, even if it means defiance.

Word Count: ~2,900 words

tag: fluff, secret relationship, family conflict

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: this is such a nice request——thank you so much! it’s my first time writing about katakuri and i really hope i did him justice (⸝⸝╸-╺⸝⸝)

——

Katakuri doesn’t speak much.

He watches. He calculates. He acts only when necessary.

But you know more.

You know how his eyes soften when you smile. How his shoulders relax when you brush his hand. How his scarf sometimes slips when you’re alone and he doesn’t rush to pull it back.

He doesn’t say, I love you.

He doesn’t have to.

Because when you sit together on the cliffs just outside Totto Land’s borders, you rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets the silence hold the meaning.

“Do you think she’ll ever know?” you ask softly, referring to Big Mom.

Katakuri is still. “If she finds out, she’ll take you away.”

You nod.

And neither of you say what you both feel—because even in your secret, the danger is real.

Still, he brushes your pinkie with his, letting it curl around yours.

He’ll protect you.

Even if he never says it.

⸻

It happens at a banquet.

The room is filled with laughter and sweet, dripping wine. Crackers crunch under feet and the table overflows with frosting, pastries, and fresh meat.

You’re helping Smoothie with the seating arrangements when Big Mom’s voice cuts across the room:

“I’ve decided it’s time. You’ll marry into the family officially.”

You freeze.

“I’ve chosen Cracker,” she continues, smiling wide. “He’ll treat you well. You’ve been around long enough to be trusted. This is good for Totto Land.”

The room goes quiet—except for Cracker, who gives you a smug little grin.

You feel Katakuri’s stare before you even look.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Of course he doesn’t.

Of course he will always put the Charlotte Family first. He upholds their pride and status above all else. That’s how he was raised. That’s who he’s always been.

Of course it’s them over anyone else.

Even over you.

Even over himself.

⸻

You don’t cry—not until you’re alone.

When Katakuri finds you that night, he says nothing at first. He just closes the door behind him, the click of the lock soft, heavy.

You face away from him, staring at the cold mirror in your room.

“I can’t marry him,” you whisper. “I can’t even pretend to want it.”

He steps closer, and you feel the heat of his body behind yours.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.

“It’s yours?” you snap. “For not saying anything? For always hiding me like I’m a shameful secret?”

The air thickens.

“If I told her, she’d hurt you,” he says. “You know she would.”

“So what?” Your voice breaks. “I’m just something you visit in the dark while your mother decides my future?”

He flinches—but doesn’t move.

“I love you,” you say finally, trembling. “But I won’t survive this if I’m treated like nothing.”

Silence.

Then, low:

“You’re not nothing,” he says.

You turn your face halfway toward him.

“Then why are you always quiet when it matters?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then:

“I wasn’t afraid she’d say no.”

You look at him.

“I was afraid she’d say yes.”

He steps around you slowly, enough for you to see his eyes. Not just shadowed by his scarf, but guarded. Worn.

“I’m afraid of what she’d do if she knew.”

You stare at him.

“To her, love isn’t sacred. It’s… strategy,” he says, voice rough. “Everything personal is a tool. If she knew how much I loved you, you wouldn’t be safe. You wouldn’t be yours anymore. You’d stop being someone I chose—and become someone she controls.”

He looks away, jaw tight.

“She’d use you against me. Or worse—decide to ‘correct’ me by handing you to someone she could command more easily. Someone obedient. Someone like Cracker, just so she could show her dominance.”

You blink hard, something cold crawling down your spine.

“She wouldn’t be giving you a place in the family,” Katakuri says. “She’d be taking you from me.”

You stay quiet.

He lowers his voice even further. “That’s why I never said anything. Not because I’m ashamed. Not because I doubt you. But because the moment you’re exposed, you’re no longer mine. You’re Mama’s… ”

His eyes lift to meet yours again—something raw flickering in them now.

“I didn’t want to lose you to her.”

⸻

Katakuri doesn’t sleep that night.

He stands on the balcony, arms crossed, scarf pushed down. The moon reflects off his sharp features, jaw tight with thought.

Brûlée appears behind him.

“You’re thinking about her.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Brûlée sighs. “You always protected your siblings. Even when you hated them. But this—this is different.”

Katakuri doesn’t answer.

“Are you going to let her go?” she asks softly.

And his jaw clenches.

“No,” he says. “Not this time.”

⸻

It’s rare for Katakuri to speak in front of the family.

Even rarer to challenge Big Mom.

The room is full again—this time for a wedding announcement feast.

You’re standing beside Cracker, your face numb, hands clenched behind your dress. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but the cold weight of the moment makes it hard to breathe.

Katakuri enters late, his scarf half-lowered, his mouth visible.

Gasps echo as he speaks.

“She’s not marrying Cracker.”

Big Mom’s grin falters, eyes narrowing.

“What was that, Katakuri?”

“She’s not marrying anyone,” he repeats, his voice like steel. “She’s mine.”

The room goes dead silent.

Then chaos.

Cracker shouts. Smoothie drops her drink. Perospero starts laughing.

And Big Mom stands, her towering figure looming over the room.

“You went behind my back?” she roars.

“I protected her from you,” Katakuri replies, his voice calm but unwavering. “Because I knew what you’d do if you found out.”

Big Mom’s eyes flare with rage.

“And you thought I wouldn’t control you?” she spits, her voice dripping with venom.

Katakuri takes a step forward, his presence growing more intense. He stands taller now, his usual reserve slipping away for the first time in years.

“I’m not your soldier anymore,” he says, his tone full of finality.

The tension in the room is suffocating—everyone watches, breath held.

Big Mom’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You think you can just defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I’ve spent my life protecting this family, but this time… I won’t let you control her,” Katakuri says, his voice softer now, but no less fierce. He’s speaking from the heart. “I’m done letting you decide who belongs to who. She isn’t a pawn in your game.”

He pauses, his eyes now searching for yours, as if he draws strength from you.

“And she’s never been a pawn,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “She’s the one who’s always accepted me—all of me. My flaws, my imperfections, the things I’m not proud of. She loves me for who I am. Not because of the family name, not because of what I represent, but because she sees me. For the first time in my life, someone sees me for who I am, and that is what I won’t let you take from me.”

You stand there, stunned by his words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest despite the storm that rages around you. But it’s the way he looks at you that holds your attention the most—the quiet, raw tenderness beneath all his resolve.

Big Mom’s face contorts with rage and disbelief. “This is the son I raised? A traitor who chooses his love over his family?”

Katakuri doesn’t flinch. “I choose her because she’s made me see something you never let me have—freedom. I choose her because I finally know what it means to be myself, not just the thing you made me into.”

Big Mom’s fists clench, shaking with fury. “You are my son. My right hand. You owe everything to this family. And you—”

Katakuri interrupts her, his voice finally cracking the surface of his usual calm. “I don’t owe everything to you. I owe my loyalty to the family, yes. But I owe my heart to her.”

The silence is deafening now.

Katakuri steps closer to you, his hand reaching out for yours. “Come here,” he says, his voice quieter now but full of an undeniable pull.

You move before you think, your feet carrying you to him instinctively. His hand takes yours, fingers firm and grounding, as though they’re the only solid thing in the room. His grip tells you everything—you’re not a secret. You’re not something to be hidden anymore. He’s done hiding.

And for the first time, you see fear in Big Mom’s eyes.

Because she’s losing control.

Of him.

⸻

You’re sitting beside him in his private quarters, the storm long passed.

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

You rest your head on his shoulder now, feeling the way his heartbeat finally begins to slow.

“Do you regret it?” you whisper.

“No.”

A pause.

“I should have told her long ago,” he murmurs. “But I was afraid.”

“You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of losing you.”

You tilt your face up to him.

“And you didn’t,” you whisper.

He pulls his scarf down completely.

And kisses you.

Not in secret. Not in shadow.

But in light.

Braver.

[inkyrainstorms]

New horizons and crashed alien ships, yippee

it’s an Unusualogist’s dream, really

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

NEW THERAPIST II.

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After your incident with Joel, born out of a moment of weakness, you both silently agreed to pretend like it never happened and continue with the therapy sessions. But it’s not that simple, not for either of you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (Joel in his 50s, youre age is not mentioned, but it's legal!), masturbation,, unprotected sex (piv), nickname ( first time being called baby ), strong language, getting caught

A/n: Hi! You wanted next part, so here it is! I hope you like it, I'll maybe think about writing another part🤭 , anyways if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You see him every day now. Just like you agreed.

Joel shows up without fail — every single workday, without exception. He never misses a session, never cancels, never even shows up late. And somehow that should feel like progress. Like he still wants to see you. Like he still wants you. But the moment he sits down and you begin the session, the illusion breaks.

He barely speaks. One sentence per hour, if you’re lucky. Otherwise it’s grunts, shrugs, subtle nods, all taking you back to the very beginning. To when he first stepped into your house with arms folded and walls higher than Jackson’s outer gates.

It’s like nothing ever happened between you. Like that night was a glitch in the timeline. Like you dreamed it, and now you’re awake.

And maybe it’s your fault. No, it is your fault. If you hadn’t invited him in, hadn’t handed him the joint, hadn’t let your hands wander… maybe you two could’ve actually been friends by now. Close. Laughing. Maybe he’d trust you. Maybe you wouldn’t sit across from him now, counting how many times his jaw clenches, wondering what it would feel like to touch it again.

But you did sleep with him. And the worst part? You fucking liked it.

There isn’t a single day that passes without the memory clawing its way back to the front of your mind. Joel — his hands, his voice, his breath against your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was a prayer he didn’t believe in. The way he fucked you like he was angry about it.

You’re wet the second you think about him. Every. Damn. Time.

You know it’s wrong, in a thousand different ways. He’s your client. You’re his therapist. He’s so much older than you. And while it’s not illegal, it’s morally a fucking disaster. If anyone in Jackson found out, you’d both be drowning in whispers for the rest of your lives. He’d be torn apart. You’d be discredited, outcasted.

So why do you keep wishing he’d shove you against a wall and fuck you like tomorrow doesn’t exist? Why does your desire scream louder than your conscience?

Joel’s no better.

He thinks about that night constantly, sometimes in fragments, sometimes in full color, detail by aching detail. He’s zoning out more than usual. Tommy catches him doing it, asks him what’s wrong. So does Ellie. Maria. Everyone. Joel just mutters something and brushes them off. But he’s not here, not fully. Because his mind’s still with you.

The way you moaned beneath him. The look in your eyes right before he lost control. The sound you made when he came. And more than anything, the thing that plays over and over in his head, is what you said right before you left:

“I wasn’t that high.”

You knew what you were doing. That morning, when you got dressed in silence and slipped out the door, he didn’t know what to think. He still doesn’t. Did you regret it? Did you hate it? Were you ashamed of him? Of yourself? Because he sure as hell doesn’t regret a fucking second of it.

You hear the knock just after noon. Right on time. Like always.

You open the door, and there he is — same worn flannel, same unreadable stare, same posture that’s somewhere between exhausted and closed-off. Joel steps inside with a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. No smile. No words. Just routine. Just him.

You try not to look at the space between his fingers as he shoves his hands in his pockets. You try not to remember what those hands looked like gripping your thighs. You try, but you fail.

He sits down on the couch across from you without waiting to be asked. Like he always does. You follow, notebook in hand, heart in your throat.

“How’s your sleep been?”

No answer. He shifts. His eyes flick to the side.

“Any more fights with Ellie?”

A shrug.

“Have the headaches gotten worse?”

Silence.

You press your lips together and glance down at your notes, but you’re not seeing the page. You’re seeing him. The way he looked that night. That moment his voice broke into a groan, face twisted in something between pleasure and guilt, whispering your name like it burned.

You want to ask. God, you want to ask so badly. What are we doing? Are we pretending it didn’t happen or are you just pretending for my sake? But you can’t.

This is his session. He decides what you talk about, not you. And clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t push. You just sit in silence with him, again.

The minutes crawl by. The clock ticks too loud. Joel’s eyes barely meet yours. You think about how different it felt that night — when his gaze locked with yours like he was drowning and you were the only air. Now, you’re back to being strangers who know each other’s skin.

When the session ends, you close your notebook slowly, half-expecting him to leave without a word and throw something he would pay with onto the table right in front of you.

But instead, he reaches into his coat. And pulls out a small bag, of weed.

He hands it to you, no explanation, no preamble. His fingers brush yours for a second too long. That same electric sting, that same unspeakable tension hums between your skin. You take the bag automatically before you can stop yourself.

“Seriously?” you ask, eyebrows raised, trying to make it light. Trying. Joel doesn’t say a word.

You give a breathy, nervous laugh. “Last time this shit got us in a mess, remember?”

It’s out before you can stop it. Before you can think. Joel’s jaw tightens.

That was the first time either of you ever acknowledged it out loud. The sex. That night. Even just referring to it as a mess was enough to stir the air into something thick and unbearable.

You instantly regret it. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s angry, or ashamed, or maybe just tired.

There’s a long, aching pause. Your stomach twists. He finally speaks, voice low. “You want it or not?”

You nod, clearing your throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hate how small you sound. Joel nods back, once, then walks to the door without looking at you again. He leaves without another word. The door clicks shut. You’re left holding the bag. Not just the literal one. God, why the fuck can’t you just shut up sometimes?

The evening sky is full of stars, a light breeze is blowing outside and your house is quiet. Too quiet.

You sit curled up on the worn couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and underwear, your legs folded beneath you, a cup of lukewarm coffee cupped in your hands.

A single lamp casts a soft amber glow across the room, painting golden edges onto everything , your book, the edges of your thigh, the faint lines under your tired eyes. The town outside is asleep, and the world feels so still it almost hurts.

You’re reading, or trying to. But your eyes have scanned the same sentence for the fourth time now, and none of the words are sticking. Your mind drifts. Again.

You don’t mean to let it happen. You never do.

But there he is — Joel. In the dark corners of your thoughts, in the way your chest tightens, in the way your thighs press just a little closer together. He’s always there now. He has been since that night.

The book slips from your lap without a sound.

You don’t even hear it fall. All you hear is your heartbeat, thudding dully in your ears like a warning, or a promise.

You’re stretched out across the couch now, one leg bent lazily, the other draped over the edge, toes curling slightly against the fabric. The mug rests abandoned on the table beside you, half-full, forgotten. Your skin feels too tight for your body, as if every inch is strung with tension.

It starts slowly. Hesitant. You let your fingers skim over your lower belly through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. The hem has ridden up, exposing the curve of your hipbone, the faint trail of hair leading downward. You trace that line gently, barely brushing your skin, as though testing your own restraint. But there’s none left.

You push your hand beneath the waistband of your underwear.

The fabric is already damp. That warm, sticky kind of damp that makes your breath catch, even if no one else is there to notice. Your fingers slide against your folds — swollen, sensitive, aching — and a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can catch it. He did this to you.

You imagine it’s his hand instead of yours, large and rough, the pads of his fingers pressing where you need it most. He wouldn’t be careful. Not now. Not after the way you left. Not after the things you said.

Your fingertips circle slowly at first, barely pressing, just enough to make your hips twitch. You close your eyes and let your head fall back against the cushion, breathing heavier now, the heat curling low in your belly like smoke.

You can feel your arousal gathering, thick and wet, coating your fingers as you push deeper. The pressure is delicious — enough to make your thighs tense, enough to make you whimper. You imagine his voice again, rough and low, whispering filth in your ear. “You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” The phantom sound of it makes your whole body jerk.

You bring your other hand up, slide it under your shirt, palm your breast, thumb grazing the hardened nipple. You moan softly, helplessly. You can’t stop. Don’t want to.

You fuck yourself harder.

Not fast — not yet — but deeper. One finger becomes two, and the stretch makes your breath stutter. You twist them just enough to make your back arch, hips lifting from the couch. Your slick walls clench around the intrusion and the tension inside you starts to burn.

Your thoughts blur.

You see him, above you, inside you, all over you, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, between your legs. You imagine his weight pinning you down, the gruff sounds he’d make when you clenched around him, the way he’d look at you like he was both furious and starved.

Tears prick your eyes. You hate that you want him like this. That your body remembers him more clearly than your mind ever could. That your release is building faster now, helpless and hot and overwhelming.

Your thumb circles your clit in messy, frantic motions, and your body trembles, thighs shuddering, breath shallow.

You cry out when it hits you.

Not loudly — the sound is broken, strangled — like you’re trying to keep it in, like if you make too much noise someone will know. Your body curls around the sensation as waves of heat crash through your core, and your fingers don’t stop until it starts to fade, until you’re shaking and overstimulated and aching with the weight of what just happened.

You lie there afterward, hand still tucked between your thighs, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

And all you can feel… is empty. No warmth. No comfort. No Joel. Just the ghost of him. And the terrible silence he left behind.

You have the day off, and it should feel like a gift. But instead, it feels like a sentence.

No obligations, no appointments, no expectations — nothing but time. Time to sit with yourself, with your thoughts, and the longer you’re alone, the louder they become. They crowd into your mind like smoke under a door. And no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, with coffee, with reading, with cleaning, even with music, it’s no use.

Everything leads back to him. Back to Joel.

The silence of your home is saturated with the memory of his voice, his hands, his mouth. Your body seems to pulse with the echo of what he did to you. Of what you let happen. Your core aches around nothing, emptiness pressing against the very place you want him most.

It’s unbearable.

You drag yourself to the bedroom and start to get dressed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt. You’re not going anywhere specific — not yet — but you know you need to go. Anywhere. Out into the woods, into the town, maybe even into the little bar Maria runs near the edge of Jackson. It doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s not here.

You need space from your own head. You’re pulling your hair up when the knock comes. Three firm raps at the door. Confident. Familiar. You freeze.

For a second, your mind scrambles through names, possibilities. Maybe a client forgot your schedule. Maybe it’s Kate with a surprise visit. You already feel yourself preparing a polite excuse “Sorry, I’m off today,” when you move toward the door.

But when you open it… Joel’s standing there. Your heart stutters so violently it feels like your whole chest trembles.

He’s in that worn flannel again, the one with the tear near the elbow, and his hair is still damp from a recent shower. His face is unreadable — maybe just the hint of tension in his jaw, maybe not. His eyes find yours and you swear they hold every sin you’ve tried to forget.

“Joel,” you say, your voice tighter than you meant it to be. “Hey.”

He gives a short nod, like it costs him something. “Hey.”

Silence swells between you like smoke in the lungs.

You grip the door just a little tighter, unsure what to say. You weren’t ready for this — you hadn’t planned this scene, hadn’t run through the dialogue in your head a dozen times like usual.

Then Joel speaks first. His voice low, like gravel dragged across concrete.

“I came by last night.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t fidget. Just says it plain, like a fact.

“I knocked. Waited a while.” A pause. “You didn’t open.”

Your stomach twists.

You force a soft breath and give a strained smile. “I was already asleep,” you lie.

Were you asleep? No. You were wide awake, wrist-deep in thoughts of him, biting your own knuckles so you wouldn’t say his name out loud.

Joel nods slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but doesn’t push. You blink, trying to re-anchor yourself. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “Everything okay?”

There’s a beat. And then he shrugs. Casual. Too casual.

“Just figured I’d let you know they’re talkin’ about openin’ up a flower shop over near the old mill,” he says. “Could be good for Jackson. Maybe you’d wanna see it sometime.”

A flower shop.

You stare at him, stunned by the absurdity of it. “Oh,” you manage. “Thanks… that’s nice of you.”

Another beat of silence. You’re both standing there like statues — two people who’ve done things they can’t take back, pretending to be normal on a quiet morning.

He nods again, then finally steps back.

“I’ll… see you around,” he mutters, voice lower now. Almost hoarse.

And then he turns, walks off your porch, hands in his pockets like it’s just another morning. Like he didn’t drive himself crazy last night, standing in the cold outside your door, trying to work up the nerve to ask what the hell you both were.

You close the door gently, then lean your back against it. Your fingers grip the wood behind you, nails digging in, trying to ground yourself.

What was that?!

You didn’t notice right away. You’d been going through your things casually — restocking your small cabinet of items you keep for sessions: herbal supplements, teas, oils, pain relievers, and the occasional light sedative for especially anxious clients.

Your fingers move automatically through the jars and boxes… until they stop.

The tiny glass bottle with the white label — the one that holds your low-dose headache relief capsules — is empty. Fucking empty.

You stare at it in disbelief for a moment, then double-check. Then triple-check. You even crouch down and look behind the shelf, like the bottle could’ve magically rolled out of view. But it’s gone. And so are the backups. You’re completely out.

You mutter a curse and stand up quickly, grabbing your bag.

The pharmacy in Jackson isn’t far, and you make the walk briskly, hoping it’s just a quick fix. A refill. Nothing serious. But when you step inside and ask, the answer you get is exactly what you didn’t want to hear.

“Sorry,” the pharmacist says, not even looking that sorry. “We’ve been wiped clean since last week. Next shipment’s delayed. Could be a few more days.”

You press your lips together, managing a tight nod before stepping back out into the street. Days. You don’t have days.

You can’t treat people without being properly stocked — not when so many of them come to you barely hanging on. You need your tools. Your basics. This isn’t optional.

So your mind goes straight to the only possible solution. You’ll have to go to the next town over. But that means driving, and you don’t drive. Which means you need someone who does.

There weren’t many people in Jackson with working vehicles. And fewer still you knew personally. You considered asking one of the women from the community board, or maybe Maria, but you quickly scratched that idea.

You weren’t exactly “close” with anyone here. Not yet.

Which leaves you with Joel. Goddamn it.

Half of you sparks at the idea. The other half wants to slam your head into a wall.

The last thing you need right now is to sit next to him for hours — in a confined space, the air thick with unspoken tension and memories you can’t scrub out of your brain. And yet… part of you wants it. Craves it. Needs to see him, to be around him, even if it hurts.

Before you can think your way out of it, you’re already walking.

His place isn’t far. And with each step closer, your pulse climbs higher, fluttering like wings under your ribs. When you reach his door, you pause, press your hand to your chest, and take a deep breath.

Then you knock. You hear the familiar shuffle of footsteps, the sound of a door unlocking. And then — there he is.

Joel.

He looks like he always does, which is to say, fucking unfair. Fitted jeans, a plain gray shirt that hugs his shoulders just enough to make your stomach clench, and his usual scruff that you know feels exactly as rough as it looks. You blink and force your throat to work.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey,” he echoes, brows raising just slightly in curiosity.

“I, uh…” You glance down briefly, regroup. “I need a favor.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes shifts. He stays quiet.

“I need to get to the next town. The pharmacy here’s out of something I use in sessions and… I can’t really go without it.”

You stop, letting the weight of your request land. Then continue, quieter now.

“And I know you drive. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but I don’t have another option.”

Joel doesn’t say anything at first.

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment it’s impossible to read what’s going on behind that dark gaze. It’s not that he’s debating whether or not to help. You can tell that part of him already decided before you even knocked.

What he’s weighing… is something else. Something heavier.

But in the end, he just gives a small nod. “Alright,” he says. “Lemme grab my keys.”

You watch him disappear into the house, and a strange mix of relief and dread spreads in your chest. Your body feels hot. Anticipatory. Like you just stepped into something dangerous and didn’t have time to check the water’s depth.

When Joel returns, keys in hand, he doesn’t say much. Just jerks his head toward the road. You fall into step beside him. And together, you start walking toward the truck.

Silence stretches like a taut thread between you and Joel. Outside, the world is still. Inside, the air feels heavy, thick with everything unsaid, everything you’ve both been pretending not to carry. There’s something hanging between you, undeniable and tense, and it’s begging to be addressed.

You shift slightly in your seat. Even though you’ve made a life out of understanding human minds, of listening and guiding, this… this is something different. Something raw. Something far too personal. You don’t know whether speaking up will mend it, or ruin everything.

Joel seems just as conflicted.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the low light. He breathes in slow, calculated. His mind is circling too. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. God, the last thing he wants is to fuck this up with you. But this thing between you—the tension, the distance—it’s driving him insane. You shared the most intimate night, and now you’re sitting like strangers.

So he speaks first. Careful. Low. His voice thick.

“I keep thinkin’ about that night.”

You look at him. He keeps his eyes on the road, but you can see it—how much it costs him to say it aloud.

“I keep thinkin’ about you.” He exhales sharply through his nose. “Doesn’t matter what I do. Can’t stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch him. Watch his jaw flex, his lips tighten. Your heart is hammering so loud you can’t tell if it’s yours or his. There’s hope fluttering inside your chest, rising like smoke.

Then Joel glances at you, quick but intense.

“I was at your place yesterday. Lights were on. I—I heard you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink. “You… what?”

But before you can ask more, he veers gently to the side and pulls the truck over by the trees, killing the engine. Quiet wraps around you both like a second skin. He turns to face you. And then it all spills.

“I’ve been losin’ my goddamn mind. I hear your name and my chest tightens. I see your house and my legs go numb. Every night, it’s the same. I close my eyes and it’s you. Always you. That night—what you looked like, the sounds you made, the way you touched me…”

His voice lowers. Gravel, but soft.

“My body remembers. Even when I wish it didn’t. Even when I know I probably shouldn’t… I can’t stop.”

Your mouth is parted, stunned. Everything in you stills.

This wasn’t just lust. He felt it. He’s been feeling it—drowning in it just like you.

You want to say something. Anything. But he keeps going.

“I know I was scared. I didn’t know how to deal with it. You’re my goddamn therapist.” He laughs, bitter and breathless.

“But I can’t ignore it. You’re not just some woman. You’re the woman I think about before I sleep. When I wake up. When I breathe.”

He looks wrecked. And beautiful. His lips, soft and cracked. His hands, strong but trembling slightly. His jeans, creased tight against his thighs. His hair, mussed from his hand running through it too many times. His eyes, like an open wound, filled with you. And his beard, messy, perfect, framing the mouth that ruined you and made you all at once.

You can’t hold it back anymore. You reach for him—grab his jaw with both hands, your fingers curling along the scruff of his cheeks, your thumbs brushing the edge of his lips. You pull him toward you. Hard.

Your mouth crashes against his in a kiss that’s been waiting far too long. It’s deep, desperate, a little messy. His breath hitches against your lips. Then he groans low and melts into it.

His hands grab your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. His tongue meets yours like he’s trying to taste every ounce of pain and need that’s lived in him since that night. Your teeth graze his bottom lip and he growls.

But then he pulls away. Just slightly. Breathing ragged.

“This ain’t right,” he whispers. “We said it was a mistake. It was the weed. We—we can stop now. Do it different.”

“I don’t want different,” you breathe out, already leaning in again.

“I want this. You.”

And before he can answer, your lips are back on his. His tongue swept inside—slow, thick, possessive. You whimpered, clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, your knuckles white. His hands were everywhere: cupping your jaw, sliding behind your neck, running down your spine with a firm, greedy touch. Each graze of his calloused skin against yours made your entire body light up.

There’s no guilt, no hesitation, no logic, just heat. Raw, blistering heat. Your fingers dig into his hair, fisting the strands while his hands roam over your body with a kind of urgency that makes your skin burn.

Joel growls low against your lips. It’s a deep, primal sound that goes straight to your core. You feel it throb through you, pulse between your legs.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, breathless. “I need you.”

He pulls you over the console, desperate hands sliding under your shirt. You gasped when his palms touched your bare stomach. Your muscles twitched. He noticed, smirked against your lips, and then yanked the fabric up, over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you.

Your bra followed. You didn’t even remember him undoing it, but it was gone, and so was any sense of shame. His mouth was on your collarbone, then your chest, trailing kisses along the top of your breast, murmuring filthy praise in between breaths.

“Been thinking ‘bout these,” he rasped. “Since the fuckin’ second I saw ‘em.”

His lips closed around your nipple and you nearly cried out. His tongue swirled, flicked, sucked, while one of his hands kneaded the other breast—rough, reverent, aching with need. You arched your back, grinding down into his lap, and that’s when you felt it—all of him. Hard. Thick. Pulsing through his jeans.

“Oh, fuck—Joel…”

Your voice broke, hoarse with lust. He bit down gently, then released you, panting, eyes dark and molten.

“You feel that?” he growled, thrusting his hips up against you. “That’s what you do to me.”

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was kiss him again, deeper this time, messier. You needed to feel more—all of him. Your hands fumbled for his jacket, his shirt, pushing layer after layer away until he was bare from the waist up. His skin was hot. Taut. Scarred and strong, and utterly beautiful.

Your palms slid across his chest, over his shoulders, down the ridges of his stomach. He shivered under your touch. And then his hands were on your jeans.

“You want this?” he asked, voice rough like gravel.

“Fuck yes I want this,” you gasped.

He unbuttoned your jeans with practiced urgency, tugging them down along with your panties in one fluid motion. The cold air made you shudder. So did the way his eyes dragged over every inch of your now bare skin. Slow and heavy, like he was memorizing you.

“Christ…” he breathed. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You reached for him next, your fingers trembling as you undid his belt. His cock sprang free the moment you got his jeans open—thick, flushed, already leaking. You swallowed hard.

He groaned the second your hand wrapped around him.

“Jesus—fuck.”

You stroked him slowly, teasingly, watching his eyes flutter shut, his jaw clench, his hips jerk forward with every pump. His precum smeared across your thumb. You spread it, tightened your grip, made him hiss.

But it wasn’t enough.

He pulled your hand away, grabbed your thighs, and lifted you into his lap again. His tip brushed against your entrance—hot, heavy, throbbing—and you both froze, trembling.

“Please,” you whispered. “Joel. Please.”

He didn’t need more. With one hand guiding himself, he pushed inside you—inch by inch, stretching you wide, filling you to the point of breaking. Your head dropped back. His mouth fell open.

“F-fuck—you’re so—tight—”

You whimpered at the stretch, at the burn, at the overwhelming fullness. He didn’t move, not yet, just held you there, buried deep, chest heaving.

“Look at me,” he said, breathless. You did. And in that second, the whole world disappeared.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first—pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in with a force that made your body jolt. The car creaked. The windows fogged. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs shaking with every sharp thrust.

“Fuck—fuck—Joel—”

His name was a prayer on your tongue. A desperate, broken sound.

You rode him hard, grinding your hips against his, panting into his mouth, chasing the high you knew was coming. Every thrust made your stomach tighten. Every slap of skin against skin pushed you closer to the edge.

He held you tight, one hand on your ass, the other on your back, growling curses and your name like they were one and the same.

It’s not just sex. It’s release. A collapse into each other. A confession spoken through sweat and heat and skin. Every time you moan, his name slips out like a prayer. Every time he curses, it sounds like worship.

Your bodies moved in rhythm, tangled and burning with need, every breath a gasp, every touch a spark.

The inside of the truck was sweltering now, heat coiling around you both like a fever, the creak of the leather seats became a steady soundtrack to the way your hips met his, desperate and relentless.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, dragging you down harder against him, fingers spreading across the curve of your back as if anchoring himself to reality through your skin. His breath was ragged, hot against your ear, each groan vibrating straight through your spine.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice thick, low, strained. “You feel so goddamn good.”

Your thighs trembled as he thrust deeper, harder. The car rocked with each movement, soft creaks and thuds echoing off the frame like a chorus to your desperation.

You dug your fingers into his shoulders, sweat slick under your palms, your nails dragging lines down his back through the cotton of his shirt.

The pressure inside you built with every grind, every sound that left his lips—gritty, breathless, hungry. He was chasing it, just like you, both of you straining toward that breaking point.

The slap of skin, the warmth of his chest pressed to yours, the way his mouth found your neck, open-mouthed and fervent, only added fuel to the fire in your belly.

And then he wrapped his arms around you tighter—one strong, grounding embrace. A quiet, guttural noise tore from his throat as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the shift in him—deeper, slower at first, then faster again, his body determined and burning.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your hips rolling down to meet every push of his.

“I’m not,” he growled. “I’m right there with you, baby…”

Your bodies met in a frantic pace, sweat dripping down your spine, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you close, locked you to him like the world could fall away and he’d still keep you safe—keep you his.

Your moans turned breathless, rhythmic, until you were both caught in it.

Eyes squeezed shut, nerves alight, lungs gasping for air. And then it hit you both at once, like a crashing wave, your bodies seizing, clinging, shaking in each other’s arms, a quiet cry leaving your throat as Joel’s hand fisted in your hair and his mouth caught yours in a trembling, open-mouthed kiss.

He came with a broken moan, gripping you tight, spilling deep inside, trembling as he collapsed against you. You came with a loud cry against his mouth, legs shaking, core clenching until you released on him.

You stayed like that for a long moment—pressed together, drenched in heat and breath, hearts pounding in sync.

Your breath was still uneven, but the chaos had ebbed. The sweat cooling on your skin mingled with Joel’s as he stayed wrapped around you, his arms strong and secure, one large hand splayed gently across your spine. His other traced slow, soothing circles along the curve of your hip, grounding you, steadying your racing heart.

The rhythm of his touch shifted, no longer frantic, but tender. Worshipful. The kind of touch that said I’ve got you. I’m not letting go. And you felt it, every muscle in your body slowly unwinding under his fingertips, like knots being untied one by one.

You breathed in the scent of him, salt and pine and something undeniably Joel. You’d never felt safer. Never felt more seen.

And when you finally lifted yourself from his lap, pulling away just enough to catch your breath, you found him staring at you with eyes so soft it nearly knocked the wind from your lungs.

Big, brown, puppy eyes. Vulnerable. Full of unspoken questions: Are you okay? Did I go too far? Do you regret this?

You smiled, gently, warmly, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. Not hungry this time. Not desperate, but quiet and loving. The kind of kiss that answered every silent worry in his gaze.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your cheek. He let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“We should… probably get dressed and get movin’,” he murmured, his voice husky, still soft from what you’d shared.

You laughed lightly, nodding. “Yeah… probably a good idea.”

The two of you began putting yourselves back together. You slowly started pulling out of him, both of you growling through clenched teeth, Joel squeezing your bare hips. You glanced sideways, becuase you wanted to. Maybe it was intuition, or you just had the urge to look towards the forest, but something caught your eye.

Out the window. Beyond the fogged-up glass, two small figures. On horseback. Emerging from the trees.

You squinted. One of them—a girl—looked young. Both did, actually, but the one in front… her face. There was something so familiar about it. She stared straight at you.

Her expression wasn’t just surprise. It was disbelief. Fear. And maybe, just maybe, even disappointment. Your breath caught and your heart skipped a beat.

“Joel…” you said, voice suddenly tight.

He followed your gaze, turned to the woods, and the second his eyes landed on her, his whole body locked up, his face went pale and his breath stopped.

“Ellie,” he whispered, the name leaving him like a punch to the gut.

You snapped your head toward Joel, panic wide in your eyes, your chest tightening as a thousand thoughts crashed into each other.

What did she see? How long was she watching?

Joel turned to you, his eyes just as shocked, just as lost, then flicked back to the woods where the girl still sat on her horse, motionless. You didn’t speak and neither did he.

You didn’t need to, because you both knew, that you were fucked. Badly.

HEYY! Thank you so much for reading!

If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a beautiful day!

LOVE YA!🥭🍂

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

The Manuscript // Luke Hughes

wc: 1.1k

cw: angst, breakup, sad shit man, there’s no happy ending in this.

There was a time where all you could think about was the joy of stepping through the door. The excitement about seeing him. The wonder of what the rest of your day was gonna be like with him.

There was never a time you worried, a time where you ever felt second in his life. You were, and he always said, “will be my number one. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

All that feels so distant. All the love, the spontaneity of him, the kisses in the doorway unafraid if the neighbors saw, the slow dancing in the kitchen.

The late nights he swore he wasn’t tired just so he could have a few more minutes with you. That all seemed so foreign.

Your bed wasn’t a comfort anymore, his pillow wasn’t your safe space while he was gone. He wasn’t yours anymore. No matter how many half hearted “I love you.” he gave as he walked out the door, you knew he wasn’t there. That wasn’t your Luke anymore.

There was a time where you’d wake up to flowers and breakfast in bed. There was a time he’d pick your outfit and give you a time frame to be ready for a date. There weren't any dates anymore. There wasn’t eating dinner together anymore. There was nothing. All you two shared was that stupid apartment that hurt every time you walked into it.

Tears filled your eyes as you packed your last box. Reminders of the words he mumbled as he walked out the door.

“This is my job! You know that! You act like you haven't been around my family and hockey for the last 5 years. This isn't any different. Now I have to go.” All you could do was nod. A silent understanding. He didn't have to understand yet, but you did. It was an understanding that no matter how difficult it was, Luke would always choose the sport over you. And who are you to get in the way of what makes him happiest?

The box that held all the signs of your relationship. All the pictures, all the gifts, the jersey’s, the jewelry. Your neck felt naked, that “L” pendant leaving a burning pain in its wake. You couldn't bother taping it, just left it sitting on the dining table.

One final breath and you were out the door. Dropping your keys with the neighbor and a promise he’ll give them to Luke tomorrow when he returns from the last road trip of the season.

He had wondered why you never responded to his text. You always responded, you always were so excited to see him home. Truthfully? He was excited to be with you again. He missed you so badly. His mind hasn't been right, and he knows he’s been a shitty partner. He’s been eating himself alive with it. Since Jack had his injury he had to pull more weight for the team. He had just hoped you'd understand. You'd be in the kitchen with dinner and he could just talk.

When Luke had finally stepped in front of his door, his shoulder eased. He was met with a dark apartment. An apartment that suddenly didn't feel like your shared home.

As soon as the lights flicked on and he didn't see your shoes or your bag by the front door - his chest felt heavy. His mind runs a mile a minute, the panic setting in the moment he sees the opened box. The folded piece of paper with his name on it, and that necklace he gave you in high school with it is what broke him.

With shaking hands and hot tears slowly falling from his eyes, he grabbed the paper.

Hi Lukey,

I know this is kind of cowardly and for that I apologize, but I didn't know how else to do this. You’ve probably got an idea at this point what’s happening. After you read this, please make sure you listen to the doorbell footage from Tuesday at 5:40pm.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep breaking my own heart hoping you're going to magically be different. And yeah, that’s shitty of me. I tried talking but I was only met with a stupid empty promise of dinner together tomorrow and those dinners never came. I know it’s been hard for you too. I know you've been so busy with the team and I'll never fault you for that, you're doing your job. You're doing what I know you love, what I've watched you do for so many years. You know the difference though.

I need you to think about how long it’s been since you ate a meal with me? When was the last time you kissed me, or even hugged me? Months, its been months Luke. Months I went feeling like the butt of a really bad joke. Months I felt like I wasn't important, wanted, or loved. I hope you understand my hurt, I hope you can understand why I did this. Why I left. Why I couldn't stay in a home, in a partnership that did not value the other anymore, in a partnership where only one side's feelings mattered.

If there’s anything I forgot for some reason, I went home. You can have Jack or Quinn drop them off when you’re all at the lake house in a few weeks.

I'm sorry Luke. Please take care of yourself, and don't forget, the dryer shrinks your uniform. Has to be on delicates. Good luck, Lukey.

No. Fuck, this cant be happening he thought to himself. This has to be some sick joke. His feet moved faster than his brain did. He was running down the hall, fuck the elevator. He can't wait, he needs to get to the airport.

He wasn't paying any attention, too focused on booking the flight on his phone before he bumped into someone. Not just someone, Jack.

“Hey, hey. Luke! What's your problem, why are you crying?” Jack asked.

“Fuck dude, shes gone. I need to go, I can't let her just leave Jack!”

Shaking his head, he ignored his brother's questions. He had one plan, and it was to get to you.

He opened his phone and went straight to the footage you referenced in your letter.

You were stood in the hallway, tears staining your cheeks. God he hated this, he hated knowing how badly he had hurt you. He never wanted to be the reason for your tears and now he was the only reason behind those. You took a deep breath and looked up to the doorbell. I loved you Luke, so much. I’m so sorry. I lived for the hope of it all for so long now, I hope you understand.

He did understand, he understood why. He didn't blame you for it either. He had lost the one person who loved him, all of him. Flaws and all. He lost her.

[kinabinaxoxo]

♡♡♡ Reward ♡♡♡

Sevika x Reader ٩(^ᗜ^ )

Feminine reader. Dick appointment. Obsessed Sevika. Squirting, Fingering, Oral. She doesn't really talk much in this one more of a performer tehe. Kinda rushed ngl :) kinda proof-read. Hope you enjoy toodles mwah. MNDI

Paint nails Go to bank Grocery shopping Finish report for big meeting tmrw Do laundry FOLD laundry Clean around apartment Put away dishes Take a shower If you finish give yourself a reward ;)

"Finally" you say to yourself placing down your notepad and pen while looking over to read the time.

7:03 p.m.

A reward would be nice after spending the whole day tending to your apartment, running errands, and dreading having to go back to work tomorrow.

You reach for your phone sending a quick text before continuing back to what you were doing. No point in wasting time considering how early it was. Plus you have a meeting to attend tomorrow morning.

The sweet scent of a vanilla and marshmallows candle fills your apartment with its aroma as you sit at your vanity rubbing lotion and light oil over your soft skin.

“Ugghh I hate Sunday nights” you say to yourself as you finish rubbing lotion on your legs.

You go to your bed to put on your pajamas. A simple set. Light pink tank top with a small white bow between your breasts and shorts to match.

Turning on the TV you decide to watch your favorite show at the moment to pass the time by.

1 hour later *Knock* Knock* Knock*

Opening the door its Sevika standing there as expected with flowers.

"Awww Sev you didn't have to" you take the flowers from her while reaching for Sevika's hand to pull her into your apartment as she closes the door with her foot.

Sevika actually knows you don't like when she shows up empty handed but yet you act surprised every time. She thinks it's cute plus she enjoys buying you things not expecting nothing in return. To her your presence is enough but Sevika knows why she's here tonight.

Dragging Sevika into the kitchen you grab some scissors and begin to trim your flowers. Sevika stands behind you watching. Admiring you.

Sevika also loves your apartment. Everything about it reminds her of you. It's cozy, cute, and always smells good just like you. To her it feels like it's another way of being inside you.

Grabbing a vase you fill it with water and put flowers in there. You head over to your dining table that's where you decided to put it as Sevika trails behind you.

You reach over placing them down.

“Thank you for the flowers baby"

You turned around to face her. Sevika was hot on your tail already so there’s not much space between you two.

Those grey eyes staring into yours. Eager to get the night started but she's patient.

"My pleasure angel."

Sevika hand makes it way to your lower back bringing you closer.

Your hands snake up to her neck pulling her down wanting a taste of her. A fresh woody musk with a hint of smoke fills your nose. You love it every single time, it's so intoxicating.

Your heated bodies pressed together just as y’all lips meet fitting together like puzzle pieces. You could taste the liquor she had probably not that long ago.

You feel Sevika's hands make their way down gripping your ass before lifting you, immediately you wrap them around her waist.

Breaking the kiss you work your way down to her neck, gently sucking and nibbling as she walks towards your bedroom.

Over to the bed she places you down on your back. Standing back up she begins removing articles of clothing. You lay there and watch.

Tossing her clothes to the side and now back in between your legs grabbing them. Now with one on her shoulder as she's caressing the other.

Sevika begins placing kisses on you starting at your feet down to your knees down to your thighs and finally to your pussy. Kneeling down she lightly kisses on her through your shorts.

She rubs your pussy feeling how wet you are even through the fabric of your shorts.

A low moan escapes your lips as she teases you. However you grow more impatient ready to be drilled into the mattress.

"Hurry up and fuck me Sev" you slightly yelled and pouted.

Just like a dog she listens. She loves your little attitudes.

Sevika smirks while reaching for the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down and throwing them to the side of the room.

Her tongue gliding up and down your wet pussy then roughly sucking on your clit switching between the two.

It felt so good as your hand reaches her head. Your fingers now intertwined with her hair lightly massaging it.

"Fu-uuck Sevika" you throw your head back, back arching off the bed.

She has your legs pushed back, knees to your shoulders with a firm grip on your thighs.

Her low hums causes vibrations to your pussy enough to make you crazy and a moaning mess.

Bucking your hips into her mouth as you get closer to cumming. Sevika adds two fingers inside you immediately receiving a reaction.

Moaning out "Just like that baby yesss"

Whimpers leaving your lips as you squirm under her touch.

Sevika picks up the pace with her fingers twisting them in and out of you as if she's in a hurry for you to cum all over here face.

"mmmhhahhh right there right there"

You begin to grind against her face and fingers feeling the pressure build up in your stomach before letting out a cry of pleasure.

"Ugghh im cumming" you breath out releasing it all on Sevika

Not an issue for her as she's already licking it all up and cleaning you up with her tongue. Making her way back up to kiss you as she she rubs her cock up and down your pussy tapping it on your clit.

You whimper into Sevika's mouth as your body twitches since your clit is now sensitive.

She pulls away lining her cock with your hole staring at your pussy.

Sevika loves your pussy. How it taste, how pretty it is, how wet you get, how good it feels being inside you, the wet sounds, the warmth of it. When it clenches around her fingers.

She slides her cock into you causing you to wince a little, happens every time. Sevika slowly goes back and forth until you adjust to her size.

"Fuck me Sevy."

Picking up speed giving you what you want holding you by your ankles.

Missionary is her favorite.

This way she gets to see all the good angles of you. All the faces you make, your tits bouncing from the pounding she's giving you, and gets to kiss you as much as she wants.

Pants, moans, and sticky wet sounds fills the room.

You reach up pulling her down into a kiss as Sevika never loses her rhythm.

Sevika starts to rub you clit with her thumb causing to depart from the kiss and moan into her mouth.

“Ugghh you fill me up so good baby” you moan out

Sevika lowers her head to your neck sucking on it leaving marks. Next, your breasts. Taking turns with the both of them. Sucking and nibbling on one while kneading the other like its dough.

Her main focus is pleasing you....like always but she strives for better each time. As if she'll never have another chance.

Removing her thumb from your sensitive clit she guides it into your mouth. Taking it in your mouth you suck on it staring into her eyes.

"You are so fucking sexy" Sevika says as that turned her on even more. It motivates her to fuck you into the mattress.

Going even faster now you throw your head back as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

The knot in your stomach coming even faster now.

You let out moan after moan cry after cry. As now its getting to much to handle.

You're a squirming mess trying to get out of Sevika's hold but she has a good grip on you. Another reason why she loves this position, she's more in control.

"Aww what's wrong mama?" Sevika asks plowing into you.

You're too out of it to respond her all you can do is moan as a response.

"You gonna cum for me baby? huh?"

Her words send butterflies to your stomach mixing with the tight knot in your lower stomach.

"nnghhyyessss" is all you manage to let out.

"Then cum for baby"

Without a second thought you squirt all over Sevika lower half leaving a big mess underneath you. The intense feeling in your stomach is now gone as you let out small whimpers closing off your climax.

You turn on your side now worn out. You feel the bed dip in on both sides of you. Looking up you see Sevika hovering, both hands on each side of the bed.

"You can handle one more right?" She questioned as she's sliding in you again.

As she begins picking up the pace you reach your hand to her lower stomach slightly pushing against her.

She takes that as a chance to grab your arm and pin it behind your back. Going twice the speed it makes you wonder where all this energy came from.

"Shit s-slow down" you cry out the feeling overwhelming

"Cmon baby take it like a good girl."

Sevika watches as your ass bounces off of her. Clapping and squelchy sounds fills the room as your moan gets louder and her thrusts rougher.

You eventually started to fuck her back, throwing your ass on her wanting more as the pleasurable feeling started to come back.

She stops and let you take over. Enjoying the view. Fucking you from the side like this.

"That's my pretty girl"

Leaning over Sevika places her lips on yours as you place your hand onto the back of her neck.

You smile in-between the kiss. Thinking to yourself,

"The best reward"

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I hope you’re happy.

I can’t stop thinking about sorcerer Stan and I absolutely don’t have time to write the aus I’m thinking of.

Because I’m just imagining if he clicked and didn’t have support.

Princess Stan au- he clicks before the whole dragon thing, maybe when Rico traps him in the chest, and Ford heads down south to investigate reports about some evil spirit in the shape of a man wantonly destroying everything

Normal au- he clicks sometime during his drive up to Gravity Falls and is just so out of it when he gets there. Probably breaks the portal without thinking of it while Ford is right there

I have essays to write! You stole all my brain space!

I'm very happy >:)

If Stan clicked with no support, he'd be casting for as long as he had that battery (if on a path of whatever he clicked with). Once it goes out, or he loses it, then the magic exhaustion's gonna hit bad :) Especially if hes not close to the wellspring to help him recharge faster and more naturally. At this point in the story the only reason they gave the battery back is because Stan was so magically depleted they needed the extra jump, and then he's limited to bed time use just because they need to exhast him so he'll actually sleep. Relying on it long term is not good for anyone.

Ford hears about some spook down south and jumps at the chance to investigate a magical anomaly of this caliber. It could be a wraith, or a ghoul, or some other creature thats' been mistaken for something spectral. So they get to the last place it's been sighted, look for clues and find!

Nothing. There's no evidence of some monster of magical creature. Just human tracks, around inhuman feats of destruction. There's no explanation Ford can find, and none of the bait he's using works. Gets so frustrated until he spills all his findings to fiddleford, who squints and just goes 'sounds like a sorcerer with a bad click.'

Ford discovering the first Sorcerer in generations, hearing all these rumors and Fiddleford telling him 'sounds like a sorcerer' would be so exciting for him. A sorcerer! Who needs help (judging by all the stories and what Fiddlefords told him about how they work)! Ford's going to swoop in and help this poor individual out before they get hunted down and killed for all the destruction they're being compelled to do.

Then he finds them, and its Stan. Stan, who has no idea whats happening to him, no idea why or how he's bending reality to his will, only that he needs to keep breaking things. He's tired and sick and confused and really, does Ford need that metal guy? Or fingers? Or anything and can't Stan just smash a little more? He needs to do it or else he's pretty sure he's going to explode. Its not a pretty sight, especially since Stan hasn't had the time to fully recharge his reserves just wakes up, does magic until he collapses, then repeats it the next time he wakes up again. Which is not good! That battery isn't safe for humans for a reason, and Stan relying on it is just making him sicker.

At that point it becomes a race to drill any rune into his skull before he gets burned out and dies. Extra angst if Ford hasn't discovered the wellspring yet, so its him, Fiddleford, Emma-May, and a sickly Stan living in Fords wagon on the run from both the wizard authorities hunting Ford down for suspected illegal wizarding and from the various parties interested in the first sorcerer in centuries. Stan's not helping here, as he's so far off the deep end he's barely coherent and just wants to keep breaking things. Spends the whole time tied up in the back and gagged while Fiddleford frantically tries to teach him anything.

As for a canon Stan sorcerer... hmm..

Stan doesnt click on the way up, but he's close to it. He's tired, exhausted, on the run and last bit of rope, but Ford needs him. Ford needs him, and Stan's going to help him. Going to go back, and they'll fix it and be brothers again. Just so long as he doesnt break anything else, not like everything else in his life he's touched.

So he gets there, and its mostly the same, except they get to the basement that is just humming and singing with magical runes and power, and Stan, who is so very close to taking that step, is transfixed by it. Lets assume magics gone mostly the same way, in that it faded, but unlike Princess Stan now its coming back. Its surging back to life, and wizards are already casting verbal spells but there hasn't been any sorcerers yet, because all the old bloodlines are so faded and dry there's nothing for the runes to click with.

Except now Stan's here, and for whatever reason he's managed to find himself with a huge magic reserve, and is a second away from clicking. And Ford is saying something, something important, and Stan's trying to listen, trying to finally be there for Ford, when he hears the 'first worthwhile thing in your life' and

BREAKS

Because really? this is it? This is all Ford wants from him? To go even further away? To never see him again? To swoop in and run an errand, then good bye Stan? Just call him like a dog, and not treat him like a brother? The one person Stan thought he ever had any kind of chance for some kind of positive relationship, and all Ford sees is someone to come and kick whenever it suits him.

And to top it all off, Stan's getting his brain blasted with some kind of deep truth about the universe, about how destruction and creation are interlinked and can't be defined or done without the other. Fords yelling about something and all Stan can see is that giant portal behind him. That giant portal that Ford cares more about than his own brother, his own family.

What would it look like if it fell to pieces?

Isn't even aware of what he's doing, Fords voice a distant buzz, just has his eyes locked on all those whispering runes and writing some weird symbol in the air and thinking about the whole thing coming apart.

Then it does, one screw and nail at a time, in the form of a golden glow thats coming from Stan and might be Stan? And Fords still yelling, but all Stan can see is the wave of metal parts crashing to the ground, and all he can feel is this deep warmth he hadn't realized was there before getting sucked out of him.

Then something hits him in the head and he blacks out. (its Ford, who saw all the yellow, saw Stan not reacting and using some kind of strange magic to tear apart his portal, and panicked hit Stan in the back of the head with the journal. That, combined with the huge amount of power Stan was pumping out to break the portal, just instantly ko'd him)

Since Stan was not accidentally draining himself or suffering mega trauma from a dragon slaughter, it does not take him three days to wake up. It takes him, like, ten minutes, and in that time Ford has already tied him up in a panic, because what? What was that? And also why and how dare he and really Stan! Always breaking things and what did Bill promise you! And Why did he want to break the portal because Fords really stumped on that one.

Stan has no idea what just happened, who Bill is, or if breaking the portal was good or bad. All he knows is that a sleep deprived scientist with only ten minutes does not make good knots, and he needs to write that funny symbol on as many things as possible pronto. Breaks out, instantly uses it on the nearest surface, gets whacked in the back of the head again. This loops at least two more times, before Stan finally yells at Ford for hitting him, and how he has no idea what his brothers talking about or whats happening just that he needs to write that symbol on as many things as possible, because its telling him to.

Now Fords dealing with a pissed off Bill and a baby sorcerer without knowing anything about how sorcerers work. Bill Knows though. Bill would be happy to take this one off his hands in fact. Stan broke his other portal, but he's pretty sure he can use him to make another one.

All he has to do is teach him the right rune after all, and unlike princess Stan Bill doesnt have to be nice :)

Hope that helps your brain space!

[wlwsoccerfics]

Practice incident (LucyBronzeXOnaBatlleXTeenReader)

Warning: reader is hard of hearing(she can hear 20 % in the right ear and 10% in the left ear. Reader is getting hurt.

A/N: what's Written in ' ' is signed. You asked for another one with HOH reader so Here it is.

Summary: there is a little incident at practice.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn't. You were at practice. Accidentally getting am elbow to the face. Hitting your ear hard. You whimpered. Holding your head and ripping your hearing aid out, cause the side that got Hit Made some funny noises.

"y/n!" Lucy said and ran over. Aggie who was the one that accidentally hit you, kept apologizing.

"i am so sorry!" Aggie stated . You knew it was accidental. So you weren't angry with her. You were too busy trying to shake off the dizziness.

"it's fine." You said, still in a bit of a shook. Ona gently sat you down. Cause she didn't want you to fall over. Lucy picked up your hearing aid and took out the other one you still had in your ear. She then put them away.

'let's get you home!' your mom signed.

'i am fine. I just need a little break." You replied.

'no, you are not fine, we are going home and you take it easy for the rest of the day!" Your Mami stated. You wanted to protest again but your Mom picked you up and carried you to the Car after throwing you over her shoulder. You looked like a toddler after a tantrum.

"No discutas sobre esto, cariño." Your Mami said and sighed softly. It was more for herself cause you couldn't actually hear it without your hearing aids. ( Don't argue about this, darling. )

"she is stubborn, like someone else i know." Your Mom stated.

"talking about yourself, Bronze?" Your mami replied and grinned softly. Your Mom put you in the Car and buckled you up. Honestly you kind of got it from both of them.

"funny!" Your Mom answered but couldn't help and grin softly.

At Home your Mom insisted on carrying you inside. Sitting you down on the Couch.

'sweet Girl, are you feeling sick? How is your dizziness?' Your Mami wanted to know. Your Mom grabbed a water from the fridge.

'i am okay. My head only slightly hurts. It's not pain, just a little pressure." You let them know.

'get some sleep, hopefully the pressure will be gone then.' Your Mom suggested.

'Sounds like a plan.' You answered. Your Mami taking Off your shoes and handing you a blanket. Narla quickly walking over to cuddle up to you. You gently stroke her head and smiled before closing your eyes. It took you like two minutes before you ended up falling asleep.

Your moms both were in the kitchen now, cooking your favorite food Paella.

"do you think she will be fine after that nap, Love?" Your mom asked.

"i sure hope so." Your Mami stated.

"i am just glad nothing too serious had happened. " Your Mom said.

"you two worry too much." You told them, standing in the doorway of the Kitchen. Now wearing your hearing aids again.

"it's our Job as your moms!" Your Mami let you know.

"okay fair point! But i already feel better. It wasn't so bad. I already told Aggie to stop apologizing. Cause she sent me multiple Texts, saying how bad she felt. And i told her that i am fine and will be back to practice tomorrow." You said softly.

"so you really aren't feeling dizzy anymore?" Your Mom wanted to know.

"nope i feel fine." You stated. Walking over to hug them both.

"that's very good to hear." Your Mami answered. Both of your moms hugging you back.

You spent the rest of the day having Family time before going back to practice the next day. Giving Aggie a hug, cause she had gotten you your favorite chocolate as an apology and you wanted her to know that you and Your hearing aids really were fine.

"are you sure that you are okay?" Aggie asked.

"yes, 100%!"you told her.

"okay. I am relieved to hear that!" She let out a sigh of relief.

"want to Partner Up for drills now?" You asked her and she agreed.

"i would like that!" She said and you stayed Partners for the rest of the day.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

This, is my Solemn Vow

Part 17 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: I don't want to spoil anything, but this part contains similar themes as most other parts of this series, including discussions that may be deemed as dark. Be warned.

It was looming over your head, twisting your insides into knots, and you were pretending that everything was okay.

When you wake up in the morning, he asks you to get dressed, taking you down to the marina, and guiding you onto a barge styled boat, with a restaurant inside.

You have breakfast beside him for the few hours it takes to sail around Sentosa island, wearing a loose yellow sundress, while he wears an olive green t-shirt tucked into black jeans.

You looked like a lemon-lime combo, and you can’t help saying this to him at some point throughout your journey, laughing with him as though everything was alright.

It wasn’t.

You were both pretending and you knew it. Clinging to the role of husband and wife because you had no idea what would happen after.

It was fucking weird.

You would hold his hand, and tuck yourself into the space beside him, but you resisted kissing him, because you were confused and this was confusing and you might tear your hair out if you didn’t clear the air soon. 

It was familiar to you… but also not. 

You could at least admit to yourself that there was an easy friendship here, if nothing else, you liked sitting with him, and listening to him speak, and engaging him in light conversation about tides and wind resistance.

Something twists sharply in your chest at the thought of being only friends with him.

When you get back to your hotel room, you curl your hands into fists, anxious and determined to have it out before you find yourselves stuck in this strange purgatory for much longer.

You strike a match, lighting one of the scented candles you’d gotten in your time here, letting the aroma of sage and Palo Santo wood calm you. 

He’s in your bedroom taking a call, you can hear the calm cadence of his voice as you find the stupid divorce papers, pulling them out of their hiding place in your luggage.

You feel like you’re ambushing him, when you drop it onto the nearby marble countertop, bracing your arms on the sturdy surface and willing yourself to have the strength to say what you have to say.

You hear him step out of the room, his muffled footsteps as he approaches, and then slows down when he notices you.

You gulp, looking up at him, his face is calm, but it’s his eyes that hold all of his heartbreak.

“It’s time for that talk.” You whisper ominously.

He sucks in a shaky breath, approaching, giving you a sharp nod.

“I’ll start simple- I remember that night we got married.”

You watch him nod in understanding.

“I had the rings with me… hoping for a chance to work them in. You stopping to look at the veil was my perfect opportunity.”

“If I hadn’t stopped, did you have a backup plan?”

He glances down, nodding.

“I would have made you sign the papers and fabricated the witnesses.”

You shake your head.

“If I had been a little bit more sober-”

“-but you weren’t. You were tipsy enough to go along with me, and sober enough to consent. I kept you right on that precipice the entire night. I was standing on that balcony, counting the shots you were taking, making sure that you didn’t have more than you could handle. I wanted you impressionable, not unconscious.” 

You can’t fight the horror that his words draw out of you.

“You know how that makes me feel, right? Like I’m just some pawn in your twisted web.”

He swallows, nodding, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know. I just don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

“Did you,” You struggle to ask the words, “Did you have any hand in Dominic breaking up with me?”

The corner of his mouth lifts, he shakes his head.

“I knew he would fuck up eventually. I wanted to kill him so many times, but I needed you to see him for the piece of shit he was.”

“Oh.”

You swallow, trying to get yourself together before you ask your next question.

“What if I didn’t go along with your trap? Would you have killed me?”

He glances up in shock at your question. You give him an apologetic smile, unable to phrase the question in a better way at the moment.

“I could never bear the thought of ever hurting you,” He whispers, approaching till he’s right in front of you. He raises a hand to cup your cheek, “However bad of a person you think I am, I need you to know that no matter what happens between us, I will always put your safety first. I’ve watched you from afar for years, I knew what kind of person you were before I’d ever slipped that ring onto your finger. I hoped that I could give you exactly what you needed if I had the chance.”

You swallow, eyelids fluttering at the soothing feeling of his hands on your face.

“If we got divorced. Would you keep stalking me?”

He holds your gaze, your heart hammering as he answers without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Well, that wasn’t terrifying at all.

“You-” You huff in exasperation, “Why didn’t you just ask me out on a date like a normal person?”

He chuckles.

“I keep trying to tell you- I’m not normal.”

You groan, laughing at his words in the next moment.

“Okay, I wish I had a clear answer, maybe I’m like a dog that isn’t socially adjusted so I do weird shit and hope I don’t get caught. I’ve never been like this before either, I’m usually more… subtle when I approach women. But there’s something about you, something that made me terrified of your rejection.”

His thumbs dance thoughtfully on your cheeks as he looks away, deep in his own head.

“And the more I got to know you, the more I saw you, the real you hiding under all those layers of anxiety and insecurity, I realised that we were more alike than expected.”

You gulp, your dark tryst in the castle coming to mind.

He looks back at you, those dark eyes of his trying to see into your mind.

“Can you honestly say, without a doubt, that you hated seeing how obsessed I was? Would you really rather watch me pretend to be less?”

“That’s not fair,” You argue, “You didn’t give me a choice.”

“I know,” He says firmly, “And don’t you love that?”

You gulp, raising your hands, you push him away, angry at the way he makes you feel with such a dangerous question.

“You’re so-” You were going to say ‘insane,’ but hadn’t he been admitting that the entire time?

You stop, your eyes drawing to the manilla envelope, the gears turning in your head at a too slow rate for you to comprehend.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” He begs.

It takes you a moment to get the words out.

“I’m… scared that I’ll regret my decision.”

Billy releases a slow breath, and when you turn your head to look at him, his eyebrows are drawn together, the faintest hint of a wrinkle in the space between. His eyes take on a glassy appearance as they fill with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispers, and you can almost feel the defeat in the tone of his voice.

You glance away, unable to meet his eyes, there’s a strange feeling inside of you, a hurt you can feel coming but it’s not quite there yet.

“For what, exactly?”

“For… loving you the way I do.”

You try not to let your words choke you, though they beg for your decimation. You didn’t know heartache could come on so gradually.

“And what way is that?” You pry.

He’s quiet for a long time, and you glance up at him, seeing the way his words stick in his throat, the same way yours do, the way sweet words have the bitterest taste.

“Tell me.” You demand.

“Please.” You beg.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’d let you ruin me, destroy every piece of me,” A slow breath, “If I could just stay with you a second more. A moth and a flame, Icarus and the sun. I don’t want to exist without you.”

Your mind reels with the implication that he thinks you’re going to be his destruction.

It’s a calm sort of anger, your hands shaking imperceptibly, your heart trembling in the very same way.

“Fuck you, Billy Russo.” 

His glassy eyes meet yours, dark pools of love and despair. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t shy from your anger, so ready to accept it, prepared for your rejection.

The way everyone in his life had abandoned him before.

“I didn’t choose this,” You hiss, stepping into his personal space, “I definitely didn’t ask for it. You took any agency I had and made it your own. You made me your own.”

He closes his eyes, it cracks your heart into pieces to watch tears stream down his face.

You reach up swiftly, locking your fingers behind his neck, bringing your face right up to his.

After a moment, you bring your thumbs up to wipe at the tears on the apple of his cheeks.

“You’re not Icarus, Billy, and I am not the sun.” You finally breathe to him.

He shakes his head, disagreeing with you silently.

“It’s true,” You urge, pressing your forehead to his, “You’re not falling.”

And with one final kiss to his lips, you reach over, grabbing the little pile of divorce papers, and letting the edge of it touch the flickering candle.

You hear his choked breath, and you smile, angling the papers so that the fire eats the material faster.

“Till death do us part.” You mumble to yourself, the finality of your decision sinking in, the immediate relief of it comes as fast as the fire does.

One moment he’s letting you hold him, and the next moment he reaches for the papers, pulling them from your hands and dropping them on the counter to continue burning. 

You open your mouth to protest, the papers are going to scorch the marble if they’re not moved, but Billy steals your focus, turning your face forcefully to pull you into a kiss.

You make a sound of surprise, eagerly responding to him, understanding how badly he needs to be reassured right now.

Your kisses are bruising, so forceful that they borderline on pain, you grip his shoulders, humming happily as he pulls you even closer together.  Your brain glitters like shattered glass, embracing sunlight.

“I love you,” He says into your mouth, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You can’t help your giggle.

“I love you too, Billy Russo.”

He groans, his hands roam your body, tugging your dress up on his way to squeeze your ass. His mouth is unrelenting, kissing over your neck, down to your clavicle. The pleasure you feel is alive under your skin, begging for more.

“My wife.” He hums in between kisses, “My perfect wife.”

You feel like you’re being mauled, and you can do nothing but take it, smoke fills your nose, and you turn your head to see the divorce papers almost halfway on fire.

You want to warn him about the fire alarm, but at the same time he turns you, pinning your front to the counter, tugging forcefully at the strap of your dress until you hear the seams rip. You only have a second to gasp before he bites down gently on your shoulder.

Pleasure explodes behind your eyes, you shudder as his hands find their way under your dress, palming over your panties, before he slips his warm hands under them.

“I need to feel you.” he breathes into your ear, the heat of his words setting your insides on fire and you nod, your body responding to every part of him.

His fingers find your clit easily, pressing down, he hums in approval when he finds you wet and swollen.

You make an embarrassing squeaking sound, his tongue gently tracing its way over your shoulder, and up your neck a little till his lips meet your ear.

“You're so wet, baby.” He praises easily, “Did hearing how obsessed I am for you get you like this?”

“Yes,” you groan, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He chuckles, palming your breast over your dress, while his fingers swirl purposefully over your clit, making your hips move in an attempt to grind on his hand.

“There’s no going back now, you know that right? I’m not letting you leave again. You’re mine. Forever.”

You nod frantically, understanding the consequences of setting the divorce papers on fire, glancing at them, watching the flame consume your only chance at escaping him.

“You’re mine now too.” You breathe.

He swears, pulling his hands away and spinning you once more to face him. His mouth finds yours just as he grips your hips firmly and seats you on the countertop. 

The marble is fucking cold against the back of your thighs, but you can’t help sinking your fingers into his hair and rubbing your tongue against his messily as you hear the clink of his belt being undone.

You smile into the kiss, thinking that he’s so feverishly eager for you and of course, you feel the exact same, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his magnificent cock, his answering groan into your mouth as you stroke him firmly, sending ripples of delight through you.

He huffs, pulling you to the edge of the countertop before tugging your panties to the side. You want this so badly that you feel the ache between your thighs worsen, a thrumming in your center that begs for relief. 

His eyes meet yours when you align the head of his cock to your entrance, searching your eyes for reassurance as he presses in.

“Deep breaths baby.” He guides, watching as your eyes roll shut, nodding your head. He’s big, you almost forgot how big, now astutely obvious as his cock demands you yield for him.

You try to relax as best as possible, feeling him sink in further, making you feel so full.

You whine his name, and he leans in to press a kiss to your mouth, unintentionally sinking himself deeper into you.

Your thighs tremble, wrapping around his hips, you bring your arms over his shoulders so you can bury your face in his neck.

“Doing so good,” He praises, “My perfect little wife.”

You make a keening sound, struggling not to clench around him prematurely, gripping the back of his neck, breathing him in as he fully fits himself into you.

You’re so wet, but it’s been a month without him and it stings in the deepest parts of you, brings about an ache that hurts and feels so undeniably good all at the same time.

He takes a moment, you feel him kiss the top of your head, the gentleness of the act unintentionally making you clench around him.

His next groan has an unhinged manner to it, drawing back subtly to press into you again.

Fuck, it feels immeasurably good, you baffle at the willpower he has to take it slow for your sake.

You can tell he’s trying hard to rein himself in. The veins on his neck poking out from beneath his skin, his breaths are all shuddery against your hair.

You want him insane with desire, tipping your head back, you look up at him before you whisper in your sweetest voice.

“Please, husband, I need you so bad.”

His breath catches in his throat, and you watch as all the self-control bleeds from his eyes.

He makes a low sound, one hand tightening on your hips, the other reaching up to tangle in your hair.

“I was trying to be nice, wife. But you don’t want nice, do you?”

You shake your head rapidly.

He snaps his hips forward, your mouth dropping open at just how forceful his movements are.

He does it again, and you can’t help the little sound of pleasure that leaves you, his cock, stretching you open in a painfully perfect way.

His hand tightens in your hair, tugging so that your head is tipped back while he keeps snapping his hips.

“Do you want me?” He asks, his words warm against your lips.

“Mmm, I do.” You hum in the affirmative.

He grunts.

“Say it.”

“I- ah- I want you.”

His nose brushes yours, “Fuck. Fuck.” he swears.

There’s nothing you can focus on except how primal this feels, to be taken like this, to freely give yourself to him, to feel each movement he makes and have your body respond with bliss. And then his actions grow more forceful, faster, your thighs tremble around his hips, your body shaking as the pleasure overwhelms you, pushing you right up to that edge before you can even comprehend the feeling.

He knows, you watch him grin as he realises how quickly you’re on that brink, body shaking, head swimming in hazy desire with each thrust he makes.

“Do it, sweetheart. Come all over your husband’s cock.”

Your body tightens, and with one final push of his hips, you hit your breaking point. 

An unintentional sound leaves you, your inner walls flutter around his cock as the shockwaves grow more intense, finally gripping him tightly, your eyes rolling back in your head as you lose control of your body. It feels like lightning, the way it electrifies each of your nerve endings, making you feel like there’s energy coming right out of you as you hit that peak.

Your fingers claw into his shirt, gripping for dear life as you come so hard you stop thinking. You hear him groan loudly, his cock fitted deep inside you as you explode around him, giving him exactly what he asked for. You squeeze him so tightly that you swear his length is imprinted into you, dropping your head into the crook of his neck as you come down.

You still shake in the aftermath, looking up at him, you give him a weak smile, holding him closely as you continue to tremble.

“Perfect.” He hums, leaning down to kiss you, and then he withdraws subtly to press into you again.

His pretense of control is all gone, you can tell by the wild look in his eye, and the sharp, uncontrolled movement of his hips. 

He’s so alluring in this moment, taking what he needs from you without apology, his hair askew from your hands, his body hot beneath all his clothes, your orgasm being drawn out by your perfect husband.

“I love you.” Are his last words before he buries his face in your hair and groans- his orgasm taking control of his movements, filling you with his cum.

You even feel his cock throb inside of you, your body so hypersensitive that you feel every little move he makes inside of you..

He laughs deliriously into your hair, and you find yourself smiling in turn.

“Fuck. That- was so fucking good, little wife.”

He studies you, strokes your hair, cups your face to tilt your head up so that he can keep kissing you passionately, moaning into the kiss like he’s still hungry for you, as if his spent cock isn’t already softening inside of you.

He waits, till you’re calm, till your body has stopped shaking, to withdraw himself.

You hum when you feel a touch of soreness, clenching when you can feel his cum, slipping out of you in that uncomfortably messy way you’ve grown to love.

“Does anything hurt?” He asks softly, bringing his mouth back to yours when you look away- glancing at the smoking pile of divorce papers.

“No,” You answer into his mouth because he gives you no other choice. He hums in delight, before scooping you up, walking you down the hallway towards your bed.

“I need to hold you.” He murmurs, as if you don’t already know, seating you on the bed as he undresses himself, kicking his pants away, and pulling his shirt off.

You wait patiently for his help, as he kneels in front of you, clad in only his boxers as he leans in, reaching around to unzip your dress.

You study his tattoo, as he tugs the torn dress down your torso, and you tilt your hips up to let him get it totally off.

You watch his eyes roam over your body, a pleased smile on his face. It takes him a few seconds to locate the ink on your hip.

He blinks, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, tilting his head, eyebrows draw together before he looks up at you in surprise.

“Is this real?” He questions, glancing down once more to trace his thumb along the edges.

It’s right at the front, over your hip joint, about the approximate size of your hand.

It’s the same snake that’s on his shoulder, except this time its fangs aren’t bared, its serpentine body is wrapped around the stem of a rose. 

You know what you wanted it to mean, that he owns you, in every dark possessive way he wanted. This was you, allowing yourself to be wrapped up in him, for better or for worse.

It was a sign, that you would always love him, no matter what.

“Snakes,” you whisper softly to him, too afraid to break the trance that he’s in, “shed their skins all the time. They are symbols of transformation and rebirth. Misunderstood, but deadly when underestimated.” You repeat the words he said to you as best as you could remember.

His eyes are filled with tears once more when he looks up at you, a shy smile graces your features as his dark eyes consume you.

His jaw tightens, as he rises, and goes from staring up to looking down.

Desire sparks once more in the deepest parts of you, his darkness is like an aphrodisiac, it makes you want to be very good for him.

“Get naked,” He hums, “Lie back on the bed.”

You tug the straps of your bra down frantically, and then your panties are tossed in his direction when you get them off.

When you settle, he presses his palms to the bed, crawling toward you, fingers gripping around your right ankle to bring it up to his face.

He kisses the inside of your ankle, beard scratching along your skin as he works his way up. His other hand finds your pussy, your mouth dropping open as he rubs his open palm messily over your cunt, his thumb swiping over your clit swiftly.

“Mine.” He finally whispers into your inner thigh, “You’re all mine.”

His words make you rut your hips into his messy palm.

He draws his palm away and you whine, breath stuttering when he brings his hand up to your face, hovering right above your nose.

“Taste us.” He says in a low tone that warns you not to question him. You huff, running your tongue along his palm, humming as you catch remnants of his cum and your arousal on his hand.

When you’re sure his palm is clean, you feel him drag his thumb over your lips, a deep concentration in his eyes, as though he’s trying to stop himself from doing something.

When his fingers go around your throat, cutting off your gasp with a squeeze, you finally begin to get a hint of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Tap me on the shoulder if it’s too much.” He murmurs with absolutely zero explanation, your eyes widening and he leans in, and you feel his hard cock pressing into you in the next moment.

You groan, the sound muffled by his hand on your throat, his cum from earlier making it so perfectly easy to slide right into you. 

You feel your body relaxing to accept him, the head of his cock touching your cervix in a way that makes you see stars, your breathing sharp and shallow while he grips your throat.

He begins with a rough pace, that only gets rougher as time goes on, grunting and moaning into your ear, whispering on shaky breaths every version of how good your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

You wish you could respond to him, or even articulate a thought, but you can actually feel any semblance of thinking leave your head with each move of his body on yours.

Chest to chest, he gives you a delirious smile when he sees the tears of bliss slipping from your eyes, the grip on your throat eases, but doesn't relent.

“Were you hoping to see me react like this, little wife?” He leans in, licking at your tears, “Is this what you fucking wanted?”

You gasp, nodding violently. 

His skin slaps loudly against yours with how forceful his thrusts are, and you begin sobbing, begging him to never stop.

“Stop? No, sweetheart,” He withdraws from you, for only long enough to flip you over, tucking a pillow under your hips, leaning over you till you can feel his front pressed to your back.

“I'm not fucking stopping.” He whispers sweetly right before he enters you again.

Your moan is almost a shout, the way he feels so much bigger, and even more unrelenting in this position.

It doesn't take long before you're mewling out a warning that you're close to orgasm.

“Take every inch of my cock.” He grunts, speeding up the force of his thrusts until you feel like your body is about to supernova.

“I'm gonna keep you like this, nice and full of my cock until you beg me to stop.” He chuckles breathlessly over you, “Forever, little wife.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, your body stiffening as you cry out, before your orgasm slams into you, making you tremble violently as you come.

“That's it- oh fuck you're squeezing me so tight-” He groans, and while you come apart around him, you feel his movements stutter as he releases inside you once more.

You're still trembling as he pulls out of you, collapsing into the sheets as your body aches in sweet bliss. Billy grabs the pillow, tossing it behind him so that he can pull you into him.

You curl against his body happily, resting your head on his bicep, barely able to keep your eyes open but wanting desperately to be reminded of the things you've been missing when he wasn't around.

“I love you.” You sigh, the emotion building too much in your chest to be left unsaid.

He pauses his act of pulling a thin sheet over your bodies to look at you. Tilting his head he smiles softly, before cupping your jaw.

His kiss is deliciously slow, your heart fluttering softly in your chest at the sensation of his slow passion.

He breathes out a sigh, rubbing the length of his nose against yours. 

“Fuck. There aren’t words.” He hums to himself for a second, “Hold on let me think of some.”

You smile, opening your eyes when he raises his head a little, deep in thought, your eyes find their way to the beautiful snake inked onto his perfect skin.

“You don’t have to,” You whisper, “...Find the words I mean.”

“I really do, I need you to understand how much you mean to me.”

“I know.” You protest softly, pressing your palm to his face, moving over his jaw, and down his neck.

He blinks, looking down at you.

“I want to feel your body crushed next to mine in the morning when I wake up. I want to memorise the colour of your eyes in the darkness before I fall asleep.”

He pauses, his eyebrows drawing together as he searches the deepest parts of his brain for the right words.

“I want you to reach out and touch me anytime you want, because when you do, you remind me that there’s a person out there that sees me- all of me- and you’re not scared of it.”

You take a slow breath, trying not to disrupt his thoughts, desperate, hanging on to his every word.

“I’ve spent my entire life trying to be worth something, to convince people that I belonged wherever I was, but I never really believed it… until I met you.”

He finally meets your gaze, tilting his head, giving you a small smile.

“I don’t just love you. It’s more than that. You’re my reason. You’re why I breathe.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, an ache in your chest as you look into his eyes. 

You say his name softly, fingers tangling in his hair as you coax his mouth down to yours.

He groans into it, cupping your jaw to tilt your chin higher.

“My wife.” He whispers into your mouth, before he kisses you again and again.

You grin.

“My husband.” You reply.

.

“What’s taking you so long?” You call from your spot in the warm bath, glancing at the open door, trying to catch any sight of Billy moving around.

“Patience, wife, I’m just getting something.” He calls back.

“Get it faster,” You whine, “I miss you.”

He steps into your line of sight, grinning at you as he raises one of those fancy water bottles in explanation.

You almost want to ask, but you assume he’s bringing water and not wine because of the copious amounts that ‘Dave’ has seen you drink in the last week.

He places the water on the ledge beside you, before kicking his boxers down his legs. You lean forward, allowing him to slide in right behind you, smiling when he grips your hips to pull you into his lap in the warm water.

“I remember our first bath.” He teases, bringing a hand up between your breasts just like the first time, to wrap his slender fingers around your throat.

“What was it I said? Nothing feels more right than this.”

You laugh, closing your eyes, settling against him.

“I have something for you.” He murmurs, and you open your eyes, turning your head to look up at him, thinking about all the possibilities and zeroing in on the most probable.

You can’t help your grin, raising your left hand out of the water expectantly.

Billy blinks in surprise, before he chuckles, reaching to pick up something on the ledge beside him, before he slides it onto your finger.

“You might know me a little too well.” He acknowledges, as you watch your wedding ring glint under all the suds clinging to your hand.

You link your left hand with his right, letting it settle under the water as you relax into him once more, a small kiss to your head.

“If there was anywhere else in the world you wanted to be right now… where would it be?” Billy asks after a few moments, his voice is low and calm, as at ease as you feel.

The corner of your mouth ticks up in mischief.

“I would be… hmm… in a cozy little cabin in the snowy woods.”

He hums, amused.

“All by yourself?”

“No, I have my bodyguard, Dave with me.”

It’s not an answer he was expecting.

“Dave?” Billy asks with an incredulous tone.

You giggle.

“Yeah, it’s cold, and I want to get cozy, and I sort of annoy my bodyguard Dave by making him do things for me because I’m not the best at keeping tabs of everything, so I boss him around a lot, the poor guy.”

“I’m sure Dave likes being bossed around by you.” Billy thinks aloud, playing along.

You nod.

“Yeah, but I’m especially bossy this time, and the snow gets worse, and I make the mistake of drinking a little too much alcohol because it makes me feel so warm.”

You can almost feel the air supercharge with electricity when Billy realises where this is going.

“Definitely, a poor choice, princess.” He murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You clench around nothing, trying to stay perfectly still.

Nodding, you continue talking as if nothing is wrong, “Dave would probably be so angry, having to take care of me, I doubt that’s even his job.”

“On the contrary,” Billy interjects, “His job is to protect you, even if that’s from yourself. If you push him enough, there’s no telling what he might do- or how he might go about teaching you discipline.”

A low moan of delight leaves your throat, you find your hips rolling in need, desperate for friction.

“He’d probably pull my clothes off, so he could touch every part of me, cuffing my hands behind my back-” You shudder when Billy’s fingers find your clit, rubbing generously at the aching spot under the warm water.

“He’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk, mark your pretty skin so that you knew, deep down, who’s really in charge.” Billy raises his other hand to pluck gently at your stiff nipples.

You grin, nodding.

“And then, when I’m nice and full and dripping with his cum, he takes a few pictures so that he can tease me about them later.”

“That’s quite a dream, little wife.”

You smile, turning your head to kiss the column of his neck.

“No rush, we’ll take our time working up to that.”

He kisses the top of your head.

“Of course.”

You shift your hips, feeling his stiff erection under you- telling you exactly how he felt about your pretend scenario. 

There were so many things you wanted to do with him, and you couldn’t wait, the prospect of a lifetime with Billy Russo made you happier than you could imagine. Even better, the knowledge that he was just as content with you, as you were with him, made all of the hardships of the past, present and future seem absolutely worth it.

Because when it really came down to it, you were together now, and it didn’t matter how it started, whether it was accidentally,

Or on purpose.

.

.

.

[surdino]

If you're still looking for drabble prompts.... Payneland, 50?

Send me drabble requests here!

Oh, I am ALWAYS looking for drabble prompts!!!

Thanks so much for requesting payneland!! Haven't written them in a while, so I hope this is satisfactory 🫶

---

Edwin notices. He notices because he notices everything, especially when things have to do with Charles. He notices Charles most of all.

There's the soft, gentle way he treats Niko. The jokes he exchanges with Crystal, throwing an arm over her shoulder and caging her in his embrace even though she can't feel it and neither can he.

He notices the way he treats their clients. The way he comforts those in pain. The way he always searches for the best in people, even if those people don't deserve it.

Charles is kind to him, especially. He's kind to Edwin in a way that makes him feel incredibly selfish. He wants to gather Charles up in his arms or lock him away in their office and never let him go again.

He's in love, and he's never getting out of it. He realizes it on a stormy afternoon while Charles reads to him because he feels as though he needs to pay him back for all those cold nights Edwin read to him.

It's not a scary realization. For once in his life, Edwin isn't frightened by the potential future. He's known he's been in love with Charles for a long time. Now, knowing it's something certain... It makes things more predictable.

The sky is blue, they are ghosts, and Edwin is going to be in love with Charles for all of eternity. However long that is, for people like them.

What does surprise him is Charles' silent confession. He doesn't even realize it at first.

Charles is around him a lot, that has always been the case. What has not been the case is the near constant touching. Charles will place a hand on his shoulder or on the small of his back. At first it makes Edwin jump. Later, he doesn't notice it anymore. It becomes a part of who they are.

Then come the flowers. The notes.

One night it storms again and Edwin whispers to him, loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Charles?"

Charles looks up from the book he's been reading to him, another silent confession of his love, his devotion.

"Are you in love with me?" Edwin asks, blunt as ever. He has never been very good with social cues, but this is something he should know. The answer would change nothing about how he feels towards Charles.

Charles blinks at him, before he breaks into a smile. "Yeah, mate."

Edwin bites his lip. He doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet. Charles continues reading.

The same night, after the storm dies down, Edwin feels he has to ask. They haven't decided anything yet, and he's unsure of how their relationship will continue if they don't talk about it.

"The flowers. The notes," he states.

"It's because I love you," Charles answers.

The way Charles says it, like there's not an inch of room for doubt. "Your heart is always on your sleeve," Edwin remarks. It's there when he helps Niko, or Crystal. It's there when he smiles at Edwin from across the room.

"Only around you, because you're the only one that knows me so well," Charles tells him, not moving from his spot in Edwin's chair. "Too well, in fact."

"I don't think I could ever know you too well," Edwin says and that is his answer, he can tell from the glint in Charles's eye.

Maybe their relationship is still something undefined, but he loves Charles and Charles loves him. The future is certain. They will forever be something. Together.