#CONFIDENT SMART KNOWS HER WORTH

[thekenobee]

I started watching “Stage Struck”

[kentucky-daisey]

How do you make friends as an adult or ask someone out when you have social anxiety?

I've had a crush on this person for awhile now and we played D&D tonight with our group of mutual friends and had a lovely conversation (along with a few other players) after the session finished and it was a really great night. And then she and I left at the same time as one of the other people and even though the other player turned left, the general direction my crush lives in, she chose to turn right with me, if only to walk the half a block with me before turning right again towards her place, but not before we stopped to finish our conversation. Like, maybe I'm reading into it, but I felt this kind of hesitation to stop chatting? We were just talking about the recent snowy weather and work. But our earlier conversation had her giving me direct eye contact (which neither of us really does because anxiety) and it didn't make me nervous. I felt comfortable with it.

Ugh. I don't know. I'm such chicken. But I think I might want to pursue something, even if it's just becoming better friends, because we do have a lot in common. And if something were to happen, I think I'd be okay with it. Which I definitely haven't been ready for in the past.

It's been my goal to work on my social anxiety and the more I think about tonight, the more stressed I get. But in the moment, I felt so calm and comfortable and I might see a path forward where I actually do something for once. And it's sort of exciting!

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P3)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: Here comes more time at the cluubbb. Rafe is more of a dick in this than in the last one ngl (ik she want that dick tho). Also her and jj- my heart she's literally his mother figure stop.

warnings: mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, a strip club, naked women, drug dealing, aggressive behaviour, black mailing.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13)

The bass thrummed through the club, vibrating up through the floor and into her bones but she barely noticed anymore. The neon lights and the low murmur of conversation, all of it was just background noise now.

She was draped across the lap of one of her regulars, a middle-aged man named Daniel who always paid well and tipped even better. His hand rested on her thigh, fingers just barely brushing against the hem of her skimpy skirt which didn’t even cover her ass, and she giggled at something he said- some stupid joke about how his wife would kill him if she knew where he was. ‘Most likely’ she thought to herself. Y/N traced her nails lightly over his shoulder, tilting her head just enough to make him think he had all of her attention.

"You always know how to make a man feel special sweetheart"

Daniel mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His wedding ring glinted under the dim club lights. She had to push down the small tug in her stomach and just smirked, leaning in so her lips ghosted just past his ear.

"That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?"

Daniel let out a low chuckle, his hand slightly patting on her thigh,"Worth every damn penny."

She smiled at him- sweet, teasing, practiced- and her eyes flicked toward the entrance for a split second, scanning the room without making it obvious.

Just another night - just another guy.

Daniel's fingers trailed absentmindedly along the bare skin of her thigh, the warmth of his touch barely registering beneath the practiced detachment she had perfected over time. He took another sip of his drink, eyes raking over her with appreciation.

"You should let me take you somewhere nice one of these days"

He murmured, voice thick with whiskey and the kind of confidence only alcohol could provide. Y/N let out a soft laugh, she loved living into their fantasies- it always entertained her most- not to mention it gave her the best tip. Tilting her head to the side as she traced slow circles over his chest with her fingertip. She teased, voice sultry but laced with amusement.

"Oh yeah? Think your wife would be okay with that?"

"She doesn’t have to know."

He grinned, a little too smug and she couldn’t repress her smirk, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Mm, tempting," she purred, shifting slightly in his lap, feeling the way his breath hitched at the movement.

“But I think you like to hide me right here..."

"So smart, aren’t you?"

Daniel exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. She only smiled, knowing exactly what he wanted to hear. And just like that, his hand slid up, tucking a few crisp bills into the thin waistband of her panties. The sensation of paper against her skin was familiar, almost comforting in a strange way. He always paid well- one of the few reasons she tolerated his lingering touches and lazy smiles.

"That’s for being my best girl"

He said, his fingers brushing against her hip before dropping away. She glanced down at the stack peeking out from the band of her panties, counting the edges in her head. A few hundred at least. Good. Y/N leaned in closer, her lips just shy of his ear once more.

"You keep treating me this well, Danny, and I just might start believing you,"

She whispered, her breath warm against his skin. He chuckled, a deep, indulgent sound, before finishing off the rest of his drink. But just as she was about to shift, reposition herself to make him forget about everything except her and what he had left in his wallet, that same shift in the air from earlier prickled at the back of her neck- and then she felt it.

A gaze.

Heavy, unrelenting, watching her from across the club. Y/N had felt the weight of his stare before she even turned her head. It was always like this. Like some sixth sense, a quiet, nagging feeling at the back of her mind that told her exactly when Rafe Cameron was watching her.

And lately, it was all the damn time.

Her gaze flickered over to where he was sitting- Rafe, lounging in a booth with Barry beside him, the two of them deep in conversation. Barry was grinning, talking what appeared sluggishly, but Rafe wasn’t listening. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on her, the dim glow of the club reflecting off them in a way that made her stomach twist. She rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide it.

Of course he was here again.

Ever since he and Barry started coming around more often, their business booming, Rafe had made it a point to lurk in the background of her nights. She never knew if it was just to get under her skin or if he actually had some purpose behind his actions- which she doubted. Either way, she was sick of it. Turning back to Danny, she let her fingers run over his collar, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she leaned in.

"What do you say we take this somewhere a little more private, hmm?"

"You‘re a naughty girl Bunny"

Danny grinned, already pulling out his wallet. Y/N just forced out a smile, taking his hand and leading him toward where the private rooms were located. Rafe’s grip tightened around his glass, the condensation slick against his palm as he watched her. His jaw flexed, a slow inhale as Daniel let her take his hand and lead him toward the back rooms with that same effortless sway in her hips, that same lack of hesitation.

Like it was nothing- because it was nothing, that’s what he told himself, anyway. And yet, something ugly twisted inside him, something hot and slow-burning, clawing up his throat and settling behind his ribs like a weight. It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t.

It was disgust. Yeah. Disgust at how easily she paraded herself around. Disgust at how she let men like Danny put their hands on her, whisper in her ear, slide cash into the band of those tiny fucking panties. Disgust at the way she looked at Rafe like he was a problem. His fingers twitched against the glass, the ice inside shifting with the movement. The door to the private rooms clicked shut, sealing her inside with another man. His stomach turned and Barry’s elbow nudged into his side,

“Gott' em panties in a twist cuz?”.”

Rafe's fingers drum against his thigh, his jaw clenching as his eyes stayed fixed on the door Y/N disappeared behind. He just exhaled slowly, lifting his drink to his lips. The whiskey burned its way down his throat, but it didn’t do a damn thing to settle the irritation simmering in his chest. His gaze snaps to the side as Tommy strolls past. Without a second thought, he stands up, stepping into his path and placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey man-”

Rafe drawls, flashing that easy-going grin that never quite reaches his eyes. Tommy stops, brow furrowing as he looks at him.

“Rafe. Everything good?”

Rafe keeps his grip firm, steering him slightly away from the main floor, lowering his voice just enough, “Need to talk to you about something.” Tommy eyes him warily but gestures for him to go on.

“That girl Y/- shit what’s her- Bunny right?.” Rafe tilts his head toward the private rooms where she’d disappeared to, his lips twitching. Tommy follows his gaze and gives him a small nod of understanding, “yeah?”

“I don’t want her doing private dances anymore.”

Tommy blinks, taken aback, “What?”

“You heard me.” Rafe shifted his weight, standing a little taller as he continued, “No more private rooms for her. Not with other guys, at least.” Tommy scoffs, shaking his head at his absurd request.

“That’s not how this works. She’s one of my best girls. Lotta guys pay good money to have time with her.”

Rafe frown slightly- surprised at the man’s refusal, he lets outs a small hum of amusement, before pulling a roll of cash from his pocket and peeling off a few hundred dollar bills, letting them sit between his fingers.

“That’s cute,” he says. “But see, I’m not asking.”

“You want her to stop doin’ privates… why, exactly?”

Tommy’s expression tightens as he looks at the money, then back at Rafe. Barry, who’s been watching the exchange with mild amusement, finally chimes in. “Oh, he wants her dancin’ for us now?” he says, grinning. “Would ya look at that”

Rafe tilts his head, his rolling his eyes at his friends retort. “Something like that.” Tommy exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“This isn’t a fuckin’ charity, Cameron. I can’t just—”

“You can if I make it worth your while,” Rafe cuts in smoothly, tapping the stack of cash against Tommy’s chest before pressing it into his hand. “We both know you like money, Tommy. I’ve got plenty of it- so what’s the problem huh?”

Tommy glances down at the bills, hesitating. “I’ll keep it simple for you,” Rafe continues, lowering his voice, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

“She dances for me. Me and Barry. No one else. Every time we’re here.”

Tommy lets out a long breath, eyeing Rafe for a moment before slowly nodding. “Fine. But if she asks, this wasn’t my idea.” Rafe grins, stepping back as he claps the man on the shoulder, “Pleasure doing business.” As Tommy walks off, Barry lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“You’re pussy whipped Cameron.”

Rafe scoffs, leaning back in his seat, his tongue running over his teeth. “Nah, man…” He shakes his head, picking up his drink and taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a quiet clink. His eyes flick back toward the private rooms, dark and unreadable.

“Just gotta make sure she knows who’s in charge.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dressing room was a haze of perfume, hairspray, and soft music playing from someone’s phone in the corner. Bright, round vanity bulbs framed the mirrors, casting a warm glow over the space, reflecting sequins, silk, and lace. The air carried the sounds of quiet laughter, the snap of compacts closing. Y/N sat at her usual spot, adjusting the strap of her new bra, eyes flicking over her reflection. The strap was loose again- annoying. She huffed, tugging it into place just as Tommy’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Y/N. Need a word.”

“Why?”

She turned, brows furrowing as he gestured her over to him. She slowly rose up from her seat, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor getting lost amongst the chatter of the other few girls scattered around the room. She made it up to the door way and stood opposite the man eyebrows slightly furrowed as she folded her arms waiting. Tommy exhaled through his nose, arms crossed over his chest.

“No more private dances.”

"What?”

“You’re not doing them anymore.”

She let out a dry laugh as the sudden new revelation, “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s where I make the most money Tommy.”

He didn’t say anything because he knew it was going to be an issue- he also knew it was an inane request. Yet he just kept looking at her, like he was waiting for her to let it go. But she wasn’t letting it go. Her eyebrows were drawn down uncomfortably connoting her distress as her voice rang out once more.

“What the fuck is this? I can’t believe you think that I’m just going to dro-”

“-Rafe Cameron put in a request.”

And just like that, the blood in her veins ran hot. Her stomach twisted at the name alone. “A request?” she repeated slowly, already dreading where this was going. “Yeah.” He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

“No more private dances for anyone but him and Barry.”

She blinked. Then laughed. A dry, humorless sound. “You’re fucking serious?”

“I’m serious.” As soon as the words passed his lips the the expression of confusion was wiped off of her face in an instance, now being replaced by a face twisted with anger,

“You’re actually letting him tell you how to run your own damn club?”

“Watch it, Y/N.”

“-No, you watch it, Tommy”

She snapped, “I work here and you’re supposed to be my boss. But it doesn’t fucking look like it.”

“I am the boss. And I’m telling you how it is.”

A few girls nearby went quiet, exchanging glances. Tommy took a step closer, lowering his voice. It was uncommon for him to be stern with them, after all he considered most of them like family. So the fact they were all currently sitting watching him lecture Y/N had them slightly on the edge of their seat. She scoffed, shaking her head at him.

“Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, well, believe it.”

Tommy shot her a look. “Do your job Y/N” With that, he turned and walked off, leaving her fuming. Moments after, Y/N stormed out of the dressing room, jaw clenched, fists tight at her sides as she weaved through the dimly lit club. The bass-heavy music thumped in her chest, the colored lights flashing over bodies, over money exchanging hands, over the world she had to survive in. She spotted them right away- Barry leaned in close to some guy, murmuring low as a roll of cash was slipped into his palm. Rafe sat beside him, relaxed, legs spread, beer bottle in one hand, his other draped over the back of the booth like he owned the place. Her blood boiled at the sight of him.

“Are you fucking serious?”

She hissed the moment she reached them, eyes locked on Rafe. Barry let out a low whistle, not even looking up from the customer. “Well, I’ll let the lovebirds sort this one out,” He muttered with a smirk before leading the guy toward a darker corner of the club, leaving them alone. Y/N didn’t waste a second.

“Do you have any idea how much money I’m losing because of your shit?”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem Bunny.”

Her voice was sharp, but quiet enough not to draw attention. Rafe, as always, looked entirely unfazed. He barely lifted his chin to meet her glare, taking a slow sip from his bottle before answering.

“Besides- I think I can afford to pay for a stripper.”

Her teeth clenched so hard it ached. Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She was about to snap back, about to tell him exactly where he could shove his money, when his eyes darkened, and he cut her off.

“Just shut up and do your job.”

“-Excuse me?”

She inhaled sharply. He gestured lazily toward the small stage beside their booth, the one with the pole gleaming under the soft purple lights. He tilted his head, a slow, smug grin curling on his lips.

“Go on—I’m waiting, Bunny.”

Fury burned through her, white-hot. She stepped closer, her chest rising and falling heavily, her pulse drumming against her skin as she lifted up her hand pointing at him- ready to curse him out in front of half the club. Rafe watched her, his amusement growing the angrier she got. Before she could let loose, Tommy was suddenly between them, a firm hand on her arm.

“Hey- hey"

He warned, his voice low, expression sharp. Y/N’s breaths were heavy, her fists trembling at her sides as she glared past Tommy at Rafe. He only smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world. Tommy stepped in between them, his hand firm on Y/N’s arm, his voice low but controlled.

“Are we gonna have a problem here?”

He asked, but his eyes flickered between Y/N and Rafe, knowing exactly what was about to happen. Rafe didn’t flinch. He leaned back, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“Ask your bitch, man.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, blood boiling at the words, her heart pounding in her chest- she genuinely felt like she was going to pass out from rage. She whipped her head toward Tommy, her gaze sharp with fury.

“You’re gonna let him talk to me like that?”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and his eyes softened just a fraction. He lowered his voice, like he was trying to calm the storm brewing inside her.

“Look—do this for me, and I won’t take a cut out of your payment ever again.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered over his face, her anger simmering down just enough to process his words. No cut? That would make a huge difference. The weight of the decision settled into her chest. She let out a long sigh, her body trembling with the frustration of it all.

“Fine.”

“Great. Now get up there.”

Rafe watched with a knowing grin, his eyes never leaving her as she reluctantly made her way to the pole. She could feel the heat in the room, the music vibrating in her veins, but the irritation still pulsed through her every movement. Her fingers wrapped around the pole which was cool against her hot palms, and with one fluid motion, she spun herself around it- her body a controlled chaos. The lights reflected off her skin as she danced, each move a mix of anger and seduction, trying to drown out the growing tension inside her chest.

Rafe leaned back in the booth with Barry now. He watched her every move, the smirk never fading from his face. Barry let out a low whistle, nudging him. Rafe slapped his arm, as if to shake off the tension of the moment, before yelling out over the music, his voice loud and clear:

“Shake your ass like you mean it!”

Y/N’s eyes shot up, meeting his for a brief second, the rage in them burning hotter than before. She tried to block him out, focusing on her routine, but his words dug into her, fueling the anger that she kept buried deep. Her body flowed into the next move, a slow, deliberate drop to her knees her back arching, her gaze never leaving Rafe’s as she pushed her hips up, challenging. Then, with a slow, deliberate crawl, she made her way toward the end of the small stage where they sat. Each step was calculated, her body close to the floor, her hips swaying with a rhythm that seemed to pierce right through him.

The whole time, she didn’t look away, not once breaking the eye contact- she refused to let him think she cowers under his glare.

Rafe’s hand tightened around his beer bottle, his focus locked on her. He couldn’t help but sit forward, leaning in slightly, the raw intensity of her stare pulling him in. His fingers gripped the neck of the bottle, almost white-knuckled, before he took a slow sip, as though the action could calm this sudden heat inside him.

It didn’t.

Y/N didn’t break eye contact. Her body felt on fire, the music in her bones, the anger in her veins. She reached the edge of the stage and paused, just a foot or two away from Rafe, her chest rising and falling with every breath, her muscles aching but refusing to give in as she ran her hands down her body. His smirk faltered for just a second before it returned, but it wasn’t the same. There was a flicker of something else in his eyes now.

“My private little dancer hmmm?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the beach as the Y/n and Pogues basked in the warmth of one of the rare days off she had. The ocean shimmered in the distance, the waves rolling in lazily against the shore and all of them were lounging around, enjoying the moment of peace. Pope, ever the thoughtful one, sat up and glanced over at the girl,

“So, how’s your job going, Y/N?”

He asked, his voice casual but curious and Y/N shot him a look, raising an eyebrow.

“Jesus Pope- stay in school man”

She teased, shaking her head. The group burst into laughter, and even Pope couldn’t help but crack a smile at her response. Sarah, still amused, chimed in, “Is it that bad?” Y/N groaned dramatically, rolling over onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows to look at the blonde haired girl,

“I’m serving kooks all day, getting yelled at if I bring them a steak at the wrong temperature, if their lemon slice is on the wrong side of the plate… It's just- it’s shit.”

John B and Cleo laughed again, yet she found the others nodding sympathetically. Kiara, who had been humming to herself while watching the waves, looked over at JJ with a playful glint in her eye.

“You should get a job Jayje” she clawed out to the boy who was wading through the water, her voice teasing. JJ groaned and threw a hand up in the air. “Not you too,” he replied dramatically. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she sat up, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Thank you, Kie! Someone else here who has common sense.”

Kiara grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not that hard JJ,” she joked. JJ shook his head, muttering under his breath, but there was a playful glint in his eye as he watched the gang, clearly enjoying the lighthearted moment. Y/N leaned back, soaking in the easy banter and warmth of the sun. John B stretched out on his towel, a relaxed smile on his face as he glanced over at Y/N.

“It’s nice you could join us though.”

“Thanks JB”

She responded, her voice light as she let out a small hum, resting her head on her folded arms and giving him a grateful look. Just then, JJ, hair still dripping from having left the water moments prior, bounded over and flopped down on top of her, his back sprawling out across hers like a human blanket.

“Jeez, JJ!”

Y/N exclaimed, nearly knocking the wind out of herself under his weight. “Uh, rude?” JJ grinned, his cheek pressed into the sand as he looked up at her.

“You’re heavy as hell, J”

She shot back, trying to wiggle out from under him. The rest of the group laughed, with Cleo shaking her head. “You’re a big back rude boy.” she teased. JJ immediately shot her a look. “Yo- shut up…” he grumbled, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. The atmosphere was easy and familiar. JJ shifted his weight slightly, settling more comfortably. He looked out over the ocean for a moment before his tone shifted.

“I miss this”

He said, his voice quieter now, almost like a confession. Y/N turned her head just enough to catch his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He let out a small sigh, his gaze lingering on the others for a moment before meeting hers, “You’re just busy all the time.”

“I know J, I know.”

Y/N nodded, the weight of her words settling between them as she spoke. JJ huffed softly, clearly trying to hold back some frustration.

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m doing it for you, yeah? You’re my brother, J. I’d do anything for you.”

She cut him off, her voice soft but firm, JJ’s eyes softened at that, but before he could respond, his stomach gave a loud rumble cutting him off mid-sentence. Y/N couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of disbelief. “Hungry much?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up much?”

JJ groaned, but his stomach gave another loud growl, making everyone laugh. “Let me go get you something to eat,” she offered, already starting to rise. But JJ wasn’t having it. He reached out and grabbed her arm before she could get up, holding her in place.

“Okay, okay, let go”

She said, trying to wiggle free. He just squeezed her tighter, pressing his body closer to hers in a hug. Y/N patted his back sweetly before she let out an exaggerated groan.

“Ew, Jay, you’re all sweaty!” 

Y/N stood in line at the food truck, the warm sun still casting its golden light over the beach as the waves crashed nearby. She couldn’t resist—her favourite fish tacos were the perfect treat, and she’d ordered enough for the whole group. She was balancing her drink in one hand while she fumbled with her phone, checking to make sure everyone had their orders right. Then, just as she was waiting to pick up the food, she heard that familiar voice behind her.

“That’s a lot of food for one person, Maybank” Rafe said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He eyed the stack of boxes she was waiting for, a smug smirk on his face.

“Sure you can afford all that? Or do you need me to front you a little cash?”

“I can fucking afford to feed myself, you asshole.”

Y/N didn’t even turn around at first, knowing exactly who it was and she shot back without missing a beat. Rafe tutted at her attitude, clearly amused. He stepped closer, his presence still as commanding as ever. “Careful,” he warned, his voice dropping just a notch.

“I could always let your little secret slip, you know? Wouldn’t want your brother finding out how you’re really making money.”

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t let him see it. She turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. “You wouldn't dare” He just leaned in a little, his smirk widening. “Oh I would,” he said, his voice low, teasing.

“Ruin your perfect little world, wouldn’t I?”

As Y/N stood at the food truck, Rafe’s smug grin never left his face as he stared at her, clearly enjoying the quiet torment no one else had taken notice of. But as they exchanged words, JJ, who had just been chatting with the others, saw the two of them. His eyes narrowed, and a surge of protective instinct kicked in. He took a step forward, moving toward them with purpose.

“You got a problem Cameron?"

JJ muttered, his gaze darting between Y/N and Rafe, his jaw tight. Y/N quickly stepped between them, placing a hand on JJ’s chest to stop him from taking another step- she knew how impulsive her brother could be.

“Jay, let it go”

She said firmly, her tone not leaving room for argument. Rafe just watched, the smug smirk on his face growing wider as he looked Y/N up and down folding his arms. His eyes held a silent warning, the kind that said ‘I’ve got you and there's nothing you can do’ without speaking it aloud. JJ didn’t take his eyes off Rafe, but with a sigh, he let Y/N push him back. He mumbled under his breath,

“You’re lucky she’s here.”

“Oh you bet”

Once she’d pulled her brother away from Rafe and they were on their way back to the group, tacos in hand, JJ couldn’t help but throw a question out. He looked over at Y/N with a raised eyebrow, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

“Since when do you listen to what Rafe says?”

Y/N just takes a slow bite of her taco, trying to ignore the question. The food tasted like cardboard in her mouth as she chewed slowly, her mind racing.

“Just… leave it Jay.”

Her voice is tired, and JJ can see the exhaustion behind her eyes. He’s about to press her again when he catches the look on her face- a mix of frustration, anger, and something else… something he can’t quite figure out. He lets it go, but his mind is still buzzing. He knows she’s hiding something from him- and he can’t deny that it pisses him off. She’s his older sister. She’s always been the strong one, they’ve always stuck together. So why won’t she tell him what’s going on with her…?

As JJ dropped the subject, Y/N let out a quiet breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. But the heaviness didn't lift. She couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt- and all of it was tied to Rafe. She hated herself for letting it get this far but she couldn't let JJ get involved in it, not yet.

Not ever.

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[extinctlesspains]

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐞-𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐞-𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐤, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬.

　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The rules of the games were clear: trust no one, form alliances only if necessary, and never show weakness. Sae-Byeok lived by those principles, but there was one complication she hadn’t accounted for—you.

From the moment she noticed you, something shifted. It wasn’t love at first sight or some fairytale nonsense, but a quiet realization that she found you… distracting. You had a way of carrying yourself, a confidence and calm that stood out in the chaos of the game.

And it wasn’t just your demeanor. You were beautiful, in a way that tugged at her focus. She hated it.

But even more frustrating? You knew. Every time she tried to get close, you seemed to read her like an open book. And instead of playing along, you made her work for it.

It started during one of the few quiet moments in the dormitory. Most of the players were either asleep or murmuring in hushed tones, strategizing or trying to make sense of their situation. Sae-Byeok saw you sitting against the wall, your arms draped lazily over your knees as you stared at the floor.

She didn’t think twice before sitting down beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. You didn’t acknowledge her at first, but she wasn’t deterred.

“You’ve been keeping to yourself,” she said, her voice low.

You turned your head slightly, offering her a faint smile. “Not much worth saying.”

Her lips twitched in a smirk. “So, what’s your plan?”

“Plan for what?”

“For staying alive,” she said bluntly.

You shrugged, your eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to impress me enough to team up.”

It was a challenge, and she knew it. She leaned in just slightly, her voice dipping into a playful, almost seductive tone. “You don’t seem easy to impress.”

“I’m not,” you replied smoothly, meeting her gaze.

Sae-Byeok’s smirk widened. She liked a challenge.

Over the next few games, Sae-Byeok’s interest in you only grew. She’d catch herself glancing your way during tense moments, like the tug-of-war game where you held your ground with surprising strength.

Between games, she made more attempts to talk to you, to draw you out of your shell. She wasn’t subtle about her attraction, either—leaning closer than necessary, finding excuses to brush against you, her compliments laced with an undeniable flirtation.

But you remained frustratingly nonchalant.

One night, as the dorm quieted, she sat beside you again, her tone casual but her intentions clear. “You know, I don’t trust anyone here.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. “Not even me?”

“Especially not you,” she replied, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You chuckled softly, and she found herself staring at the curve of your lips. “Smart move,” you said. “I could be dangerous.”

“You don’t scare me,” Sae-Byeok shot back, leaning closer. Her voice softened, growing almost intimate. “In fact, I think you like the attention.”

You met her gaze, holding it for a long moment before shrugging. “Maybe. But you’re going to have to try harder.”

The opportunity to push things further came late one night. After the lights went out, you slipped away to the bathroom for a moment of solitude. Sae-Byeok noticed and followed, her steps quiet as she slipped inside behind you.

You turned, startled. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not sneaking off to do something stupid,” she said, though her tone lacked any real conviction.

“Right,” you said, crossing your arms. “And this has nothing to do with you wanting to corner me alone?”

She smirked, leaning against the wall. “Maybe it does.”

Her boldness caught you off guard, but you didn’t back down. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. Her eyes traced over your face, lingering on your lips. “I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, your voice softening despite yourself.

“You,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you already knew that.”

The tension in the room was almost suffocating. Sae-Byeok was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from her body. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your arm.

For a moment, you considered pushing her away, keeping up the game. But the way she looked at you—intense, vulnerable, and so full of want—made you falter.

“Sae-Byeok,” you murmured, and before you could overthink it, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to hers.

She responded instantly, her hands gripping your waist as if afraid you’d change your mind. The kiss was slow at first, a testing of boundaries, but it quickly deepened, all the tension from the past few days spilling over.

When you finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“You win,” you whispered, and she let out a soft laugh, her lips brushing yours again.

“I always do,” she teased, her voice full of satisfaction.

[kiwriteswords]

could you write a hotch x reader story where reader is literally a knockout bombshell and the team meets her for the first time and both are humbled and shocked tht Hotch could pull that. Also maybe she works in different department of the FBI, but not BAU and derek and others have always talked about how hot reader is but happy id they cnt have reaader that hotch can!

The Beauty and The Boss

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Thanks so much for the request! Sorry, it took me so long to get it written :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: Mild language, fade-to-black smut scene, reader wears makeup, workplace flirting, commentary about reader's appearance by BAU, jealous!Hotch, mention of a Holiday party, mentions of a bar scene.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism hides a secret: he’s been in a relationship with you, the stunning agent who turns every head at Quantico. While his team spends months admiring and teasing about you—unaware of the truth—Hotch quietly enjoys keeping the relationship private. But when the BAU holiday party reveals the truth, the team is left shocked, realizing the woman they’ve been swooning over is already spoken for by the man they least expected.

The Quantico breakroom buzzed with life as Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, a grin stretching across his face. “I’m telling you, there’s not a person in this building who doesn’t turn their head when she walks by.”

Emily Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms as she perched on the edge of the counter. “Understatement of the year, Morgan. She’s practically stopped traffic in the hallways more than once.”

Penelope Garcia, seated with her tablet, chimed in. “More like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus, wielding a to-do list and a killer power suit. The woman is unreal.”

You had no idea you were the current topic of conversation as you breezed through Quantico’s corridors. Your heels clicked against the tiled floor with the kind of authority only a seasoned professional carried. Your fitted blazer hugged your form just right, the kind of attire that screamed competence but still left a trail of stunned admirers in your wake. You were a boss, and you knew it—not in an arrogant way, but in the way a woman who worked twice as hard to get half as far in a male-dominated field knew her worth.

Little did they know that, as much as they admired you from afar, you had a certain someone who saw all those layers they missed—someone who knew how you carried the weight of your team, your projects, and your life with equal parts grace and grit.

That someone was Aaron Hotchner.

Unbeknownst to the BAU, the stoic Unit Chief had been keeping a significant secret. You and Aaron had been together for over a year. Though you both worked under the same massive roof, your respective departments didn’t often overlap—an intentional boundary to keep things professional and out of sight from prying eyes.

Aaron entered the room just as Morgan’s laughter rang out. “No, but seriously, Hotch, you’ve seen her, right? You can’t tell me someone that fine doesn’t have half the men here wrapped around her finger.”

Aaron’s sharp gaze flicked to Morgan, his jaw tightening subtly. “Morgan, shouldn’t you be focusing on case files rather than office gossip?”

Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, man, beauty like that deserves to be appreciated.”

Emily grinned. “Don’t let Strauss hear you. She’d have you running sensitivity training for a month.”

Garcia waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Hotch is just annoyed because she’s his type. Dark hair, smart, confident—maybe there’s some unspoken pining we don’t know about.”

Aaron’s lips pressed into a firm line as he reached for a file, “Let’s keep the speculation to yourselves. We have enough on our plates without playing matchmaker.” His tone was calm but carried enough weight to signal the end of the conversation.

He didn’t let his composure falter, but inwardly, he found himself caught in a tug-of-war between amusement and annoyance. You were undeniably stunning, and he couldn’t blame his team for noticing, but their casual banter skirted dangerously close to the truth.

Later that afternoon, the sun streamed through the tall windows of the BAU bullpen, casting golden streaks across the room as you entered. Your heels echoed confidently against the polished floor, their rhythmic click commanding attention as you moved with purpose. A fitted pencil skirt emphasized the natural sway of your hips, and your blazer was tailored perfectly, hinting at the strength and grace beneath. Loose curls framed your face, falling just so, and your makeup—subtle but flawless—added to the aura of a woman who meant business.

Conversations quieted as you passed by the desks. Agents glanced up from their work, some stealing longer looks than they should have, while others leaned toward their neighbors to murmur something under their breath. You didn’t acknowledge the attention. You were used to it. Your focus remained locked ahead as you carried the neatly bound folder in your hands, its weight a mere fraction of the responsibility you carried daily.

You reached the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office just as it opened. He stepped out, his posture as straight and commanding as ever, but his sharp eyes softened for the briefest moment when they landed on you. The shift was imperceptible to anyone else, but you caught it—it was the kind of look he reserved only for you.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted evenly, his voice steady but low enough that it felt personal.

“Agent Hotchner,” you replied with a nod, the professionalism in your tone betrayed by the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of your lips.

Behind you, Morgan's voice rose in a stage whisper. “And there she is…”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your expression neutral as you extended the folder to Aaron. “I just need your signature on these budgetary adjustments. It’s time-sensitive.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly as he accepted the folder, his long fingers brushing against yours briefly. “Of course,” he said, already flipping it open to skim through the pages. “Give me a moment.”

As he turned and walked back into his office, you followed without hesitation, pushing the door closed behind you. The muted sound of the latch clicking shut seemed to signal a shift in the atmosphere. The second the door was closed, your composed expression melted into something softer, teasing.

“I heard Morgan,” you said in a low voice, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. You set a hand on your hip, leaning slightly as you watched him work.

Aaron’s lips curved into a subtle smirk as he scribbled his signature onto the documents. “They talk about you often,” he replied, not looking up right away. “Morgan more than most.”

You tilted your head, your brow arching playfully. “Jealous?”

Finally, he looked up, setting the pen down and stepping closer. “Observant,” he corrected, his tone dry but his gaze warm. He handed the folder back to you, and as his fingers brushed yours again, the slightest spark of electricity passed between you. “You look stunning today, by the way.”

“Today?” you teased, your voice dropping slightly as you tilted your chin. “What about yesterday?”

Aaron’s smirk deepened, the rare expression enough to make your stomach flip. “Every day,” he replied smoothly, his voice dipping into that low, velvety tone that sent a thrill through you. He stepped just close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—subtle and clean, just like him.

For a moment, the space between you felt charged, but you straightened, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. “Careful, Agent Hotchner,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Someone might notice.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rare but rich. “Let them speculate.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement, but you turned on your heel, your exit as purposeful as your arrival. Behind you, Aaron watched, his expression softening again as the door clicked shut. The office suddenly felt emptier without you in it, and the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips.

Moments after, when you stepped out of Aaron’s office, the door closing softly behind you, you nearly collided with David Rossi. The veteran profiler stepped back gracefully, offering you a warm smile as his eyes flicked to the folder in your hands.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “You’re lucky Hotch doesn’t have a ‘No Stunning Women’ policy in his office. Makes the rest of us forget what we’re working on.”

You gave a polite laugh, your smile measured but warm. “Always a pleasure, Agent Rossi. Don’t let me distract you too much.” With a nod, you stepped past him and continued down the hall, your heels clicking confidently on the polished floor.

Rossi watched you leave, shaking his head slightly before stepping into Hotch’s office, and shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t tell me your office doubled as a runway, Aaron,” Rossi quipped as he took a seat across from Hotch’s desk, still grinning.

Hotch didn’t look up from the report in front of him. “Rossi.”

“I’m just saying,” Rossi continued, leaning back in his chair. “Agent Y/L/N is quite the… presence. Can’t imagine you get much work done when she’s around.”

Hotch finally glanced up, his sharp eyes locking on Rossi with a calm but pointed look. “She’s one of the most competent agents in this building.”

Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. “No offense, Aaron. I’m just appreciating fine talent when I see it. Professionally, of course.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift as he returned to his paperwork. “Make sure it stays professional, Dave.”

Rossi chuckled, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. “Noted. I’ll leave you to your work, but for the record… you’ve got good taste.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked up for a brief moment, narrowing slightly as Rossi turned to leave. Once the door closed behind him, Aaron exhaled, his jaw relaxing as the corners of his mouth twitched faintly. You had that effect on people. Rossi wasn’t wrong about that, but Aaron wasn’t about to let anyone reduce you to just that. Not on his watch.

It wasn’t much later in the week when the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar as the BAU team finally unwound after wrapping a grueling case. At their usual table near the back, JJ, Penelope, and Emily leaned close together, conspiring with mischievous smiles. Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, his beer in hand, as he glanced across the room toward you.

You were with your own team, sitting at the far end of the bar. The laughter coming from your group was infectious, and more than a few heads in the bar had turned to admire the sharp, confident woman at the center of it all. You were a vision, dressed in a fitted, dark emerald blouse that complemented your glowing skin, your hair falling perfectly into place despite the long week.

Emily nudged Derek, her grin widening. “Now’s your chance, Morgan. She’s right there, and she’s smiling. That’s basically an invitation.”

Penelope nodded eagerly, swirling her cocktail. “Seriously, Derek. You’re Mr. Smooth—to make one of your famous sweet moves. She’s gorgeous, brilliant, and, let’s face it, probably way out of your league, but you’ve got charm. Use it!”

JJ smirked, sipping her drink. “They’re not wrong. She’s definitely the type to keep you on your toes.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment. “You ladies make a good point. Pretty boy over here has been staring so hard, I think he forgot how to blink.”

Reid’s head snapped up, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I haven’t been staring—I was observing!”

Penelope laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. “Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that.”

Meanwhile, Aaron Hotchner sat quietly at the edge of the table, nursing his drink and doing his best to keep his expression neutral. He caught Rossi’s amused glance and ignored it, his attention drifting toward you. Across the room, your eyes flicked to his, and in that instant, the noise of the bar seemed to fade. Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, and Hotch’s lips twitched in response, his gaze steady but warm.

“Alright,” Derek announced, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Time to show you all how it’s done.”

As he sauntered toward you, the rest of the team watched with poorly concealed anticipation. Hotch leaned back slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he took another sip of his drink, clearly amused.

At the bar, Derek slid into the seat beside you, his trademark charm on full display. “Well, well, Agent Y/L/N,” he began, flashing you a dazzling smile. “A woman like you at a place like this—it’s like a shooting star landing in a parking lot. Rare. Unexpected. Stunning.”

You turned toward him, your smile warm but professional. “Agent Morgan,” you greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering if I can buy you a drink. You look like someone who deserves only the finest.”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head. “That’s kind of you, but I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You sure? A woman like you turning down a Morgan Original? That doesn’t happen often.”

You smiled, leaning in slightly, your voice light but firm. “I’m flattered, Derek, really. But no, thank you.”

Derek blinked, clearly surprised but respectful, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a good night, Agent Y/L/N.”

As he returned to the table, Rossi leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “I think I know why she turned you down.”

Derek arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten us, wise old man.”

Rossi swirled his drink lazily. “She’s already seeing someone.”

That caught the team’s attention. JJ frowned thoughtfully. “She doesn’t wear a ring.”

Emily shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. Rossi’s probably right—someone like her? Definitely taken.”

Penelope gasped. “She’s got to be dating some rich CEO type. Like a Christian Grey situation—minus the creepy stuff. You know, private jets, expensive suits, maybe even his own island.”

Reid tilted his head. “Statistically, high-powered women often prefer partners who are equally accomplished, so it’s not unreasonable to assume…”

Hotch, listening quietly, couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath. It was rare for him to indulge in such amusement, but their wild guesses about your personal life were too far from the truth to resist.

“Something funny, Hotch?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

Hotch met his gaze evenly, his lips twitching. “Just enjoying the show, Morgan.”

From across the room, you glanced at him again, your eyes meeting his with a spark of shared amusement. You knew, just as he did that the truth was far more satisfying than any of their guesses.

That night, the familiar warmth of your shared apartment enveloped you as you stepped out of the bathroom, your hair still damp from the shower. The soft glow of the bedside lamp lit the room in hues of gold, casting a gentle light over Aaron as he stood at the dresser, folding his tie with precision. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and his expression was calm, though you could tell from the faint tension in his jaw that something was on his mind.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—calm, methodical, and yet there was an intimacy in the gesture that always left your heart fluttering.

You crossed the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old FBI academy T-shirts that hung just above your thighs. It was soft and familiar, smelling faintly of him, and you loved how it made you feel wrapped in his presence.

As you climbed into bed, you leaned back against the headboard, watching him with a small smile. “You’re quiet tonight,” you teased, running a hand through your damp hair. “That’s usually my thing.”

Aaron glanced at you, his lips quirking slightly before he shook his head and continued folding. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighed, placing the tie in the drawer before turning to face you, his arms crossing over his chest. “My team.”

You raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? What did the BAU do this time?”

Aaron smirked faintly, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his watch. “It’s not what they’ve done. It’s what they keep saying.”

You tilted your head, your curiosity piqued. “Do tell.”

He exhaled, his voice even but carrying a hint of frustration. “They don’t stop talking about you. Derek, Emily, Penelope… even Reid, apparently. It’s constant.” He turned to look at you, his dark eyes warm but serious. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let it slide because they don’t know. But I think I’ve hit my limit.”

A slow smile spread across your face as you scooted closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’re jealous,” you teased, your voice light and laced with amusement. “Aaron Hotchner, stoic leader of the BAU, is jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he replied firmly, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I just don’t appreciate them… ogling you.”

You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin against his shoulder. “You know I think it’s kind of hot when you’re jealous, right?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression softening. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s sweet that you care so much. But you don’t have to worry, Aaron. I’m yours. Completely.”

He turned fully now, his hands coming up to rest on your knees as he looked at you with a rare softness in his eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate hearing that.”

You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Good. Because it’s true.”

He kissed you back gently, one hand sliding up to cradle your cheek. When you pulled away, you saw the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Aaron lingered close for a moment, his thumb brushing your cheek in a rare display of vulnerability before he exhaled softly and pulled back. Standing, he moved toward the dresser with the same calm, deliberate manner that always captivated you.

His hands went to the buttons of his shirt, working them loose one by one. The sound of each button sliding free seemed amplified in the quiet of your shared space. You couldn’t help but admire the way the soft light played over his features—his strong jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more striking.

Aaron shrugged off his shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and the scar along his side that you knew he sometimes still tried to hide. He folded the shirt with the same precision as his tie, setting it neatly aside before slipping out of his slacks and into the lounge pants he favored at night.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you teased, your voice warm and playful as your eyes lingered on him.

He glanced back at you with a small, knowing smile. “Enjoying the show?”

You grinned. “Always.”

Aaron shook his head slightly, his smirk growing as he crossed the room and slid into bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the familiar warmth of his body radiated toward you as he leaned back against the pillows, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you close.

“You really don’t have to worry about what your team says,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I only have eyes for you.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face toward his. “You’re sure about that?” he asked softly, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the question’s seriousness.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one who gets this version of me. The rest of them don’t even come close.”

Aaron deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that still sent your heart racing. His hand slid down to your hip, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside your shared room ceased to exist.

The soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of your shared laughter filled the space as your words became unspoken reassurances, translated into the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way he kissed you as though you were his lifeline.

In the darkness, as the lamp flicked off and the night stretched on, you made it perfectly clear—he was yours, and you were his, completely. Always.

The annual Bureau holiday party arrived soon after and was in full swing, the large event hall buzzing with laughter and conversation as agents and staff mingled under the soft glow of festive string lights. Tables lined with food and drinks flanked the room, and a DJ played a mix of holiday classics and upbeat pop songs. The BAU team had claimed a table near the center, already deep into their drinks and holiday banter.

Derek leaned back in his chair, scanning the room with an easy grin. “Alright, I’m calling it now. This year’s party MVP? Gotta be me. I’ve got the charm, the moves, and the mistletoe strategy ready to go.”

Emily rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. “Your confidence is astounding. Let’s see how it plays out when someone turns you down again.”

Penelope chuckled, adjusting the festive reindeer antlers perched on her head. “Maybe don’t aim for anyone who’s already out of your league, like a certain Agent Y/L/N.”

“They’re never letting that one down,” Reid laughed. 

Derek smirked. “She’s not here yet, but hey, holiday parties are all about surprises. Maybe she’ll get a look and change her mind?”

JJ raised a brow. “Speaking of surprises… does anyone else feel like Hotch is acting weird lately? He’s been way too quiet during our usual teasing.” Will was at her side, with an arm wrapped over her shoulders. 

Rossi, swirling his glass of whiskey, gave a knowing smirk but said nothing.

The conversation halted abruptly as the door to the hall opened, and heads turned to see Aaron Hotchner entering with you at his side.

The two of you stepped into the room, hand in hand, your fingers loosely intertwined as Aaron scanned the crowd with his usual composed demeanor. You looked radiant in a fitted emerald dress, its sleek design effortlessly elegant, while Aaron’s sharp black suit was understated yet commanding.

The BAU table fell silent, their jaws collectively dropping.

“Is that…?” Penelope started, blinking rapidly.

“Hotch,” JJ finished, her voice barely above a whisper. Will let out a breathy laugh. 

“And Agent Y/L/N,” Emily added, looking between the two of you as if she’d seen a ghost.

Morgan leaned forward, his grin faltering. “No way.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he caught their stunned expressions. He led you toward the table with a calm confidence, his hand still firmly in yours.

“Evening, everyone,” he greeted, his tone as steady as ever.

You smiled warmly, giving a little wave with your free hand. “Hi, guys. Hope we’re not late.”

The team exchanged glances, still struggling to process what they were seeing.

Derek was the first to recover, though his grin was more sheepish than his usual swagger. “Well, damn. Hotch, you really know how to keep a secret.”

Hotch arched a brow, his hand resting protectively on your back as he pulled out a chair for you. “It’s never been a secret. Some things are worth keeping private.”

Emily leaned closer to Penelope, muttering, “Okay, I officially feel bad for every single comment I’ve ever made about her in front of him.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Same. Oh my gosh, same.”

JJ shook her head, laughing softly. “And Derek, all the flirting?”

Morgan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t know! But I’ll admit when I’m beat. Respect, Hotch. You’re a lucky man.”

Hotch’s expression softened slightly as he glanced at you. “I know.”

Rossi, still sipping his drink, chuckled. “For the record, I knew when to quit. The first time I made a comment about her, the look Hotch gave me said everything I needed to know.”

You raised a brow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what look was that?”

Rossi smirked. “The one that says, ‘Say one more word, and you’re not making it to retirement.’”

“Back into retirement,” Hotch corrected with an amused look. The table erupted into laughter.

Emily leaned forward, her curiosity winning out. “Alright, spill. How long has this been going on?”

You exchanged a glance with Aaron, his hand still resting lightly on your back.

“A little over a year,” you admitted, and Hotch nodded. 

“A year?” Penelope gasped. “And you managed to keep it quiet this long? I’m impressed.”

Hotch’s gaze swept over his team, his voice calm but with a subtle warmth. “We wanted to keep things professional. But we both agreed it was time.” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes as he added, “Especially before one of you asked her out on a date next.”

The team erupted into laughter, though Derek groaned, throwing his head back. “Aw, come on, Hotch! You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

Emily smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You really did shoot your shot, Morgan. Respect for the boldness, but hindsight? Not your best moment.”

Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, barely containing her giggles. “I’m never going to stop picturing Hotch sitting back in his office, watching that go down and just... waiting.”

JJ joined in, shaking her head with a grin. “Honestly, Derek, if looks could kill…”

Derek held up his hands in surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, alright! I didn’t know, okay? And for the record, I was nothing but a gentleman.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you smiled at him. “You were, Derek. I thought it was sweet.”

“Sweet?” Hotch interjected, his tone laced with playful sarcasm as he glanced at you. “I’d call it… bold.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow, your smile widening. “Aaron.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he looked back at the table. “But in all seriousness, I can’t blame anyone for noticing how incredible she is. I just happen to be the lucky one.”

The table quieted for a moment, the sincerity in his tone catching everyone off guard. Emily was the first to break the silence, raising her glass with a grin. “Well, here’s to the two of you. A BAU power couple if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Cheers to that,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes sparkling.

As the team raised their glasses once more, you glanced at Aaron, your fingers brushing his under the table. His quiet smile and the gentle squeeze of your hand told you everything you needed to know. You were his, and he was yours, and no amount of teasing or surprise from his team could change that.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

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@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

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@justyourusualash

[22ayla21]

I have two Idea now about amphoreus male husband

I love your writing! 🤭✨

This is the first one :

How trio amphoreus husband( separate) react to their wife get Flirted by a man who don't even know she is already married, the man just thought the ring in her finger is just a accessories.

You are very brave... but not very smart

The reaction of the men of Amphoreus when a stranger decides to flirt with his wife, not knowing that she is already married

Mydei notices immediately that someone has dared to flirt with his wife. His eyes instantly become colder, and his gaze acquires a predatory focus, as if he is assessing the prey before striking. He does not make a scene, does not intervene immediately, but first watches how his wife will react. If she coldly brushes off the impudent man, he will only smirk and mentally praise her.

If the man is too persistent, Mydei approaches his wife and simply stands next to her. He does not say a word, just stands, towering over the situation, his arms crossed over his chest. The very fact of his presence is more pressing than any warning.

When the man finally understands that this terrifying crown prince of Kremnos is her husband, Mydei only smirks. Without malice, but with a clear subtext: "You're in trouble, buddy." He does not make scenes of jealousy, because he knows his wife and trusts her. But if the man continues to pester, Mydei will step forward and say something like, "You're very brave. But you should be smarter."

In extreme cases, if the man doesn't get the hint, he simply puts his hand on his wife's waist, pulling her toward him. Or, even better, he takes her hand and lazily plays with her ring, showing that it's not just jewelry.

He doesn't raise his voice or threaten, but his posture, tone, and icy gaze do the trick. Even the most self-confident suitors usually quickly realize that it's best to retreat.

Anaxa does not make a scene, but his expression becomes stony, and his gaze becomes piercing and appraising. It is as if he is calculating whether it is worth wasting energy on eliminating this misunderstanding or whether it is better to wait until his wife sorts everything out herself.

If the man goes too far, Anaxa casually mentions something like, “How interesting your method of communicating with other people’s wife's is” or “It’s amazing how careless some people are in choosing an object for flirting.” He does not make any sudden movements, but simply comes closer, standing behind his wife or next to her, creating an invisible but tangible comfort zone around her. His height and posture alone can make another man think.

Anaxa does not give in to emotions, but steel appears in his voice. If the man continues, he asks something like, “Are you this persistent with all married women?” - and in a voice that makes it clear that it is better to answer correctly. If a man considers a ring on his wife's finger to be just an ornament, Anaxa can calmly remark: "I wonder if your jaw is just an accessory, too?" Depending on his mood, he can hug his wife around the waist, kiss her temple, or simply call her by an affectionate nickname so that the rival has no doubts.

If he sees that his wife herself cheerfully and confidently puts the man in his place, he simply stays aside, watching the situation with a slight grin.

But if the flirting goes too far. Then the voice becomes icy, the smile disappears, and the man feels that an unknown weight is suffocating him. Even if Anaxa does not say a word, it becomes clear to everyone: it's time to apologize and leave.

At first, he watches. Phainon does not immediately intervene if he sees a man trying to flirt with his wife. He evaluates the situation, her facial expression, the tone of her voice. If she is clearly annoyed, he acts faster.

If the suitor is too persistent, Phainon approaches and calmly places his hand on his wife's waist or shoulder, while casting a silent warning glance at the stranger. He does not immediately reveal his identity, but rather asks with a slight grin: "Well, I hope you at least asked her husband for permission to flirt with her?"

If she laughs or enjoys the situation (knowing that Phainon is nearby), he only smirks slyly, allowing her to "deal" with the suitor herself. But if she feels discomfort, this is a reason for quick intervention.

If the suitor persists, even after hints, Phainon may feign indifference, but say something like: "You know, you're not the first one to mistake her ring for an accessory. But the previous one was smarter - he realized his mistake in time." He does not make a scene or behave aggressively. He simply takes his wife by the hand or puts his arm around her shoulders, leading her away, leaving the suitor to digest what happened.

Despite the outward calm, if someone has gone too far in flirting with his wife, Phainon will not forget it. He will not do anything right away, but the person who crossed the line may feel invisibly "pushed away" from Amphoreus's society in the future. Phainon knows how to make unpleasant people cease to exist in his world, without even realizing why.

[writeriguess]

AUUHGYUFJSGKUHIAJL I love your writing sm!! can I request maybe like Denki or bakugou with a reader who's super stressed with parents who like...always drag down her hopes? if not then it is totally fine!! thank you so much for reading!!!!!!! <33 keep up the great work xoxoxo /p <33

Explosive Comfort

You were curled up on the couch, phone pressed to your ear, Bakugou sitting nearby with his arms crossed, scrolling through his own phone. He wasn’t paying attention at first—not until he noticed how still you’d gone, your knuckles white where they gripped a throw pillow.

Then he started listening.

Your parents’ voices came through the speaker, cutting and cold.

“You always expect too much, and then you’re disappointed. We’ve told you before, haven’t we? Maybe if you were more realistic, you wouldn’t be so stressed all the time.”

Your heart sank, but you bit your tongue. “I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” your father interrupted. “That’s the problem. You keep thinking life is supposed to turn out a certain way, but it doesn’t. You’re wasting time on things that won’t get you anywhere.”

Your stomach churned, but you forced out, “It’s not a waste.”

Your mother sighed. “Sweetheart, we’re not trying to hurt your feelings. We just don’t want you to get your hopes up when we know how things will turn out. You should focus on something more practical instead of chasing—whatever this is.”

Bakugou tensed beside you, his fingers tightening around his phone. His sharp red eyes flicked to your face, catching the way your lips trembled even though you weren’t crying. The way your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

It pissed him off.

But then your father spoke again.

“You’re not special. Stop acting like you are.”

The phone was snatched from your grip before you even realized Bakugou had moved.

“Oi, you miserable bastards,” he growled, voice rough with unfiltered rage. “The hell kinda shit is that to say to your own kid?”

A pause.

“Excuse me?” your mother’s voice asked, suddenly wary.

“You fuckin’ heard me,” Bakugou snapped. “What kinda parents tear their kid down instead of buildin’ them up? You think you’re helpin’? You think you’re bein’ realistic?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Sounds more like you just don’t want her to do better than you ever did.”

“Who is this?” your father demanded, bristling.

“I’m the guy who actually gives a shit about her,” Bakugou snarled. “Unlike you, apparently.”

“Now listen here—”

“No, you listen!” Bakugou cut him off, voice crackling with fury. “She’s smart, she’s talented, and she’s got more heart than either of you could ever dream of having! And you sit there tellin’ her she’s not special? That she should just give up? Like she’s not worth anything?!”

You had never heard his voice so sharp, so raw.

“If you don’t wanna support her, fine,” he went on, seething. “But you don’t get to drag her down just ‘cause you gave up on your own damn dreams. She’s already stressed enough without you two tryin’ to rip out whatever confidence she’s got left.”

Your mother tried to stammer something, but Bakugou wasn’t done.

“She doesn’t need your bullshit doubts. She doesn’t need your negativity. And she sure as hell doesn’t need your permission to be somethin’ great.”

Silence.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, hands clenched together in your lap.

Then Bakugou exhaled sharply and spat, “She’s done listenin’ to you.” And with that, he ended the call.

The room was eerily quiet. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Bakugou ran a hand through his hair, still buzzing with anger. Then he turned to you, his expression softening—just a little.

“You okay?”

Your throat felt tight, but you nodded. You weren’t okay. Not really. But for the first time in a long time, someone had stood up for you. Someone had fought for you.

And that meant everything.

Bakugou clicked his tongue and ruffled your hair, his way of grounding you. “They don’t know shit. You hear me?”

You swallowed hard and nodded again, this time with a bit more strength.

“Good,” he muttered. “Now c’mere.”

You barely had a second to react before he was pulling you into his arms, holding you tight, safe, warm. And for once, the words that had always made you doubt yourself didn’t seem so loud anymore.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Boost" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 1074 words

-

James had never struggled much with his self-worth, his view of himself. But he had not realised until recently how dependent his pride was on other people’s opinions. So, when James was studying alone with Regulus, and the younger boy did nothing but insult him, he needed a little boost to his confidence.

With a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, James was going to ask someone to be his date, and who—besides Regulus—could say no to a face like his? Now, James hadn’t intended to do this in front of Regulus, it just worked out that way. He spotted Tracy in the library, and realised that she was a girl, at the very least.

“Hey, Tracy,” James called. “Wanna come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Tracy smiled at him and nodded. “Sure.”

James Potter was back in the game, ladies and gentlemen. When he looked back to Regulus, James saw that he was fuming, clutching his quill with a grip hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“What? Did you want to ask her?” James scoffed.

“No,” Regulus muttered. “Shut up.”

“Wow, great comeback. I’m wounded, Reggie,” James mocked.

Regulus did not say another word for the majority of the study session, simply glaring at James occasionally. James didn’t know what his problem was. The only reason James was studying with Regulus was as a favour to Sirius. Regulus had asked for Sirius’s fifth-year notes, but Sirius had thrown all of his away and knew that James still had some. Out of the kindness of his heart, and his love for Sirius, James had offered to go over them with Regulus, as his handwriting was somewhat…illegible. Despite his generosity, Regulus did not seem at all grateful that James was giving up his time to be here.

“What the fuck does this even say?” Regulus muttered. “How can you possibly have handwriting this awful?”

“Sorry, Mr. I-Write-In-Cursive-Because-I’m-A-Pretentious-Git,” James grumbled. He took the page. “That clearly says unicorn blood!”

“How was I supposed to read that?” Regulus whisper-shouted. “The ink is smeared across the page!”

James frowned at the parchment. “Yeah, I reckon I wrote this one with my left hand.”

“Why would you do that?” Regulus questioned, eyes narrowed as if James was losing his mind.

“I’m ambidextrous,” James said with a grin, though he knew realistically it wasn’t a brag. He was ambidextrous in the sense that both hands were equally as shit. 

Regulus just groaned and took back the parchment, continuing to try to decipher James’s handwriting, as he refused to just have it read to him, because ‘I’m not a toddler, Potter. I don’t need a bedtime story’.

On Monday evening, when the two next studied together, James felt somewhat uncomfortable. Strangely, it had nothing to do with Regulus, but with Tracy constantly looking over and smiling at him. James did not like to be this person, he hated being in this position, he hated when people liked him and he didn’t like them back. He felt guilty about leading them on and guilty about breaking it off or rejecting them. There was nothing wrong with Tracy; she was nice, funny, and smart. James wanted to like her back. But his mind seemed occupied, and he didn’t know why.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Regulus sighed. “You could just go if you’re so occupied.”

“Huh?”

“That girl is eye-fucking you,” Regulus mumbled, face hidden by his hand rubbing his forehead as he wrote.

“No, she’s not,” James muttered. “And I’m not interested, anyway.”

Regulus, for some reason, seemed to relax a little at this. They got back to work and James tried his best to ignore Tracy. But, on the way out of the library, Tracy stopped him to talk about the next time they could see each other. 

James had a small, minor, tiny problem with wanting everyone to like him all the time. Sure, they were exceptions, like most of the Slytherins. He was a Gryffindor, of course they weren’t going to like him, it wasn’t anything personal. But he had a genuine and all-consuming fear of disappointing people. So, he did the most logical thing. He said: “Uh, sorry, I realised I’m, uh, gay.”

“Oh.” Tracy’s face fell, but she quickly put on a smile. “Good for you, James. Sorry for bothering you.”

As she walked away, Regulus raised his eyebrows. James winced. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings!”

“You know if you ever date another girl she’ll realise you were lying,” Regulus pointed out.

“I wasn’t lying, per se, I was…obscuring half the truth,” James defended. “I’ll just have to find a good guy, then.”

“Too bad Lupin’s taken, I think he’s the only datable person in your entire friend group,” Regulus scoffed.

“Hey, I have very fuckable friends,” James protested, then grimaced. He had a strange instinct to protect all of his friends, though he wasn’t sure any would be happy to hear that he thought this, except maybe Sirius. “Ooo! You could pretend to-”

“No.”

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

“I could pretend to be your boyfriend?” Regulus asked, eyebrows raised. When James nodded, Regulus shook his head. “First of all, that’s an awful cliché. Second of all, fuck off.”

James groaned and followed after Regulus as he started to walk away. “Come on, you owe me one.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Regulus said.

Now, James didn’t want to get too arrogant or anything, but he was a very persuasive person. He was confident that he could get even Regulus Black, certified-grumpy-piece-of-shit, to listen to him. And, sure enough, after delivering a long and charming monologue about all of his good qualities (Regulus had called it pestering, but potato whatever), Regulus gave in.

So, that evening, Regulus and James walked into the Great Hall together. Regulus turned and left a chaste kiss on his cheek, and oh. Oh, this would be a problem. James stuttered out a goodbye, his face almost seeming to burn where Regulus’s lips had been.

“Bye, Jamie,” Regulus bid. Of course, James knew the nickname was just for show. But, fuck, that didn’t change the way his stomach flipped. He suddenly understood why they called them butterflies.

James sat down at his usual spot, right next to Sirius, face red and realising a lot of things at once.

“What the fuck was that?” Sirius hissed.

“I think I’m in love with your brother,” James answered dumbly.

[wrtzia]

Girls night - Bsf!Reader x Stiles Stilinski

Summary ; Lydia and Allison are determined to make Reader realise her and Stiles aren't just friends.

Warning ; none

''I don’t know if we can call it that,” your gloss met your lips, the bracelets on your wrist ringing against each other. Three of them were gifts from the main subject of your conversations ; Stiles Stilinski.

Friends since childhood, lately that friendship was starting to become more, your feelings growing every time you were with him. You weren’t a very confident girl, even though you were acting like it, so in your eyes, him liking you back was impossible. Sadly for you, since you refused to admit it and he remained oblivious, your two best friends had taken it upon themselves to bring your feelings to light.

The red head looked at you before meeting eyes with the third girl, “I think she’s blind.” and of course, Allison didn’t deny. It had became a routine ; since that day you got injured during one of the famous pack plan and Stiles stayed at your side during three whole weeks, the girls didn’t let you forget about the way you looked at him, every day finding a way to talk about your feelings towards him and the slight blush on your cheeks when he would put a hand on your arm or shoulder. Every single one of your moves with the boy earned a comment from Lydia, Allison almost always joining.

“I don’t understand why you don’t tell him. It’s obvious he likes you too” you saw the black haired girl through the mirror, eyes fixated on her. It was easy for them, they both were in a relationship. After all, Lydia was the popular girl of school, so she had every boy at her feet, begging to be seen. Allison was dating Scott, one of the sweetest boys you knew, yours and Stiles’ best friends since always.

Stiles’s best friend.

How hadn’t you thought about that before ? If someone knew about Stiles’s crush, it was him. You turned your chair in a swift movement, now facing your two friends. From the look on your face, eyes lit up, mouth slightly open and eyebrows furrowed in determination, they immediately knew you had an idea. Coming from you it probably was a horrible one.

“Scott is our solution !”

The other two exchanged a look, agreed your plan would be a bad idea without even having heard it yet. Lydia was the first one to speak, her words met with a head tilt. “Let us know your genius plan then.”

Your voice was decorated with pride, as if you had come up with the best plan in the world. “We need to ask him.” Like that, you knew it sounded dumb, too naive, but Scott actually was bad with keeping secrets so you had no doubt it would work. Your friends did though, Lydia busting laughing as Allison sat on your bed, one eyebrow raised.

“I..Just asking him ? That’s all? I mean, Stiles is his best friend, he wouldn't spread his best friend’s secret.”

“Not to me,” you pointed at her, finger finding the place on her chest covering her heart, “but he would for the love of his life.”

When Lydia turned to look at you, her eyes letting you know she was interested, made you feel like the smartest people - which you knew you weren’t. Allison was hesitant, which was easy to tell by the way her eyebrows were slightly furrowed and her teeth were playing with her dry lip. “Come on Allison, it’s smart ! He tells you everything !”

You didn’t expect the really smartest one here to join you, her voice showing her disbelief, not believing herself for agreeing with your plan. “I hate to admit it but it could work. I mean, we all know how dumb boys are.”

And with a sigh, Allison grabbed her phone, “what should I text him ?”

A winning smile found your lips. If this plan works, you would finally be able to know if you had a chance, if your heart beats increasing every time you were with him had a meaning, if it all was worth it. Excitedly, you grabbed her phone, fingers pressing the letters with both excitement and nervousness, your feelings all mixing.

“Hey scotty. I was just wondering, just in a curious way, would Stiles happen to have feelings for..Y’know”

You carefully added your name, taking your time to type every letter, as if it would make your name look prettier, softer. More attractive. Without waiting for the girl's reaction, you pressed sent, the text disappearing to find Scott's mails.

Your head turned to look at them with a proud smile when the phone immedately buzzed back, signaling the boy had answered. This time, it was Lydia's turn to grab it to read the text, reading it aloud. ''I thought it was obvious he do''

Allison and the red head exchanged a look when you happily bounced, clearly liking this new. ''And how does that help? We already knew th-"

You cut the girl, ''No, we thought. We weren't sure ! No we are.''

You were quick to grab your phone and leave, ready to head at the boy's house, the girls behind you exchanging a look as you left.

''She went in her pajamas''

Main masterlist

[fromheavensent]

ﾟ｡⋆ pretty girl ⋆. 𝜗𝜚 ⋆˚ ⊹

she is so pretty, smart, beautiful inside and out, dreamy, lovely, amazing, wonderful, divine, feminine. she is super confident and can handle anything. she knows her worth and knows exactly what she wants. her skin is glowing and she is in love with herself. she is me. i am her. ❀⋆.ೃ

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p. bueckers vi.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: slight angst. nothing else i think.

word count: 6225

note: i know i took my sweet time… so sorry… but hey y’all better actually like and reblog ts since you’ve been asking for me and threatening me like ANIMALS (jk)

masterlist

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

The days that followed the preseason game against the Aces passed like molasses. Thick with tension, unspoken words, and the residue of a night neither of them could erase—no matter how hard Soraya tried.

She hadn’t spoken to Paige since that night. Not really. Not after Paige had shown up at her hotel room, eyes stormy with need and confusion, not after Soraya had pushed her far away. Soraya could still feel the weight of those words sitting heavy in her chest. A mistake. She’d meant them when she said it. Or at least she’d tried to.

The silence after had been brutal.

It wasn’t just awkward now, it was charged. And that charge, that tightrope of volatile energy, was exactly what Soraya didn’t trust herself with. So she pulled back.

Hard.

The first step? Cutting out the most intimate inconvenience. Rides to and from practice.

Her old car had been sitting at the shop for weeks, and after getting a final call about the cost of repairs, she’d barely blinked before deciding it wasn’t worth the hassle. She had the money. NIL deals during her college years, quite a few good endorsements, and smart savings had left her more than stable. She didn’t need to keep driving around an old car out of sentimentality. That was old Soraya, too attached to the familiar, too scared to let go.

The new her needed something that matched the version she wanted to be. Untouchable, sharp and unfazed.

So she walked into a dealership two mornings later and drove out with a sleek, matte dark green Ford Mustang GT5. The engine purred beneath her hands like it belonged to her. Fast. Beautiful. Built to outrun things.

It suited her.

But she still couldn’t quite bring herself to face Paige directly.

Instead, she handed the news off to Dijonai, muttering something about not wanting drama, not wanting to give mixed signals. "Just let her know I don’t need the rides anymore," she said flatly, eyes fixed on the floor of the locker room as she laced up her shoes.

Dijonai raised a brow but didn’t push. “Alright. I’ll tell her.”

When Paige got the message, standing by her locker with her bag slung over one shoulder after Soraya had already left, she went still. The words hit a place inside her that was already sore and raw.

“Oh,” she said, voice tight. “Cool. Makes sense.”

She nodded like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t a slap in the face. Like she hadn’t secretly waited to feel needed again. Like she hadn’t hoped for one more silent drive with Soraya sitting beside her, moody and quiet, maybe, but present.

She doesn’t want to be around you, Paige reminded herself. She made that clear.

Still, the image of Soraya behind the wheel of that gorgeous car, wind teasing her hair, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, lips parted around a straw or a smirk. God. It haunted her.

The distance between them only stretched wider in the days after. At practice, Soraya barely looked her way unless it was during drills. On court, they were seamless, electric. Off court? It was like Paige didn’t exist.

And yet, every time she glanced up, she found Soraya already looking. Only for a second. Just long enough to feel it like a spark behind the ribs.

Then she'd turn away. But Paige felt it. Every time. And it was starting to drive her insane.

She didn’t let the disappointment show. Didn’t let it register anywhere but in the pit of her stomach, where it tightened like a cramp she refused to acknowledge.

She was Paige Bueckers. Calm. Composed. A rookie in the W, carrying the weight of expectations with her usual quiet grace. People had always talked about her like she was inevitable. Her game. Her presence. Her poise. She had girls lining up for a chance to be close. She was not supposed to be distracted. Not by someone she barely knew. Not by a teammate. Not by her.

And yet… here she was.

Checking the parking lot before every practice. Watching for the flash of matte green. Wondering what song Soraya was playing. Who she was thinking about. If she ever looked over and thought about that night. The one Paige couldn’t stop replaying, no matter how hard she tried.

It pissed her off. Not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much, when she knew better.

This was supposed to be her season. Her career. Her focus. And yet, all it took was a quiet look, a cold shoulder, a memory that burned hotter than it should’ve—and suddenly Soraya was in her head again, uninvited and immovable.

She hated it.

But she couldn't stop it.

The next days were blurred.

Practice, film, weight room, media, repeat. The second preseason game against the Toyota Antelopes had come and gone—another checkmark on the calendar, a win in the books. The team looked sharp, energized, ready. The coaching staff was optimistic. Reporters were already crafting headlines about the Wings’ potential chemistry, their balance of veterans and fresh legs, the fire humming just beneath the surface, waiting for more fuel until it’d burn down the other teams.

And yet, beneath all that buzz, Soraya felt like she was unraveling.

Not visibly. Not obviously. That was never her way. On court she was still locked in, sharp passes and quick reads, knockdown threes from the corner pocket. The moment the ball was in her hands, she came alive. But once the drills were over, once the lights dimmed and the structure dissolved into silence, something in her dimmed too.

She was quieter than usual. Not that she was ever the loud one, but even her normal, dry one liners had gone missing. She lingered behind at practice, always the last to leave the locker room. Her headphones were in more than out. Even Dijonai couldn’t get much more than a “nah, I’m good” when she offered to hang after practice.

By the time the regular season opener hovered less than 24 hours away, it was becoming noticeable.

She told herself it was nerves. Told the others the same, when anyone asked. Just the usual preseason jitters, nothing to worry about. Everyone got a little on edge before the first official tip. It was believable.

And yet the dread in her chest felt nothing like nerves.

It was heavier. Denser. Less like static and more like pressure, pressing behind her ribs, building with every hour. Not quite fear, not quite sadness. Something tangled in between.

Soraya knew what it was, even if she refused to say it aloud. Even if she’d avoided watching the footage her assistant coach sent her of their first regular season opponent.

And that was the real reason her sleep had been light. Why her palms wouldn’t stop sweating. Why she hadn’t been able to finish a full meal in nearly two days, appetite evaporating as soon as she sat down.

The gym echoed with the rhythmic squeak of sneakers against polished hardwood, the dull thump of basketballs hitting the court, and the low murmur of teammates exchanging morning banter. Soraya moved through it all like a ghost—silent, focused, already dressed down in her black practice shorts and navy Dallas Wings tee. Her braids were pulled back, expression unreadable. She wasn’t there to socialize. Not today. Not ever, really.

She headed straight for Chris, who stood near the scorers' table, clipboard in hand, tracking player rotations before drills officially started.

"Coach," she said, voice low but firm. “What’s the fine looking like?”

Chris barely looked up. “For the T?”

She nodded once.

“Already handled.”

Soraya blinked. “What do you mean, ‘handled’?”

Chris flipped a page on his clipboard, shrugged. “Paid. You're good.”

The answer was too easy. Too vague. Soraya wasn’t the type to let details slip past her. “By who?”

“Don’t know,” he said with a casual whistle between his teeth. “Didn’t come from payroll. Someone paid it directly. Now go warm up, I need you sharp today.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. He blew the whistle, summoning the team into lines. Soraya didn’t move immediately. Her brows drew in as she watched him walk off, a hollow tightening blooming behind her ribs.

Who the hell would pay her fine?

It wasn’t cheap, two hundred, maybe a little more. And she could name on one hand the people with both the spare money and inclination to do something like that for her. Dijonai? Maybe. But even that felt off. Her best friend would've at least mentioned it—or made a joke out of it.

And that left one other possibility.

Soraya didn’t want to give the thought weight, didn’t want to let it curl into something more than passing curiosity, but as the team broke into pairs for drills and she heard Chris call out, “Bueckers, Mensima, you’re up first,” it became impossible to ignore.

Of course.

Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Practice went on like normal. On the surface, at least. Soraya and Paige moved fluidly through passing sequences, pick-and-roll drills, and shooting reps like they weren’t at odds. Their chemistry on court was undeniable—clean, practiced, electric—but the silence between them was deafening. Every glance was loaded. Every accidental touch burned.

Still, the question gnawed at her, sharper with each drill. Until finally, during a water break, Soraya caught sight of her across the gym.

Paige stood near the far bench, a towel slung over the back of her neck, scrolling through her phone like nothing in the world could bother her. Lips wrapped around the mouth of her water bottle, cheeks faintly pink from exertion, strands of blonde hair curling at the edges of her temple. She looked disgustingly at ease.

Soraya’s jaw flexed.

She didn't want to walk over there. She didn’t want to give Paige the satisfaction, didn’t want to seem like she cared. But the question had rooted itself in her brain like a splinter, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to let it go unless she asked.

So she did.

Crossing the gym, ignoring the way her stomach clenched with every step, Soraya stopped just short of her and spoke without preamble. “Did you pay my fine?”

Paige didn’t flinch, didn’t even stop typing. She simply lowered the water bottle, barely glanced up, and replied in the flattest tone imaginable, “Yup.”

That was it.

Yup

Soraya felt her fingers twitch at her sides. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” she said, her voice tighter now, less measured. The irritation was starting to bleed through. She hated feeling indebted. Hated more that it was Paige who did it.

This time, Paige did look at her. Just for a second. Cool blue eyes meeting hers, unreadable. “And I didn’t ask you to play the hero for me.”

The words hit harder than Soraya expected.

Her breath caught, but only for a fraction of a second. “Wasn’t for you.”

A small, derisive snort slipped past Paige’s lips. She didn’t argue, didn’t fight it. Just gave a humorless smirk and said, “Sure.”

Then she turned and walked away.

Soraya stayed there, frozen in place. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her jaw clenched so tight it ached. She should’ve been angry. She was angry—at Paige’s arrogance, at her own stupidity, at how something so simple had already left her off balance again.

And yet, beneath the frustration, that same unbearable warmth lingered. The memory of Paige’s hands, her mouth, the way she looked at her—the same way she used to look at basketballs, at gold medals, like they were everything she ever wanted.

Soraya shut it down.

There was practice to finish.

And feelings had no place here. Not that there were any.

Soraya couldn’t go home.

The silence in that place was too loud. The air too still. The walls too thick, too suffocating when her thoughts started spiraling. It wasn’t even late when practice had ended, but the second she stepped inside her apartment and closed the door behind her, she felt it creeping in again—that familiar gnawing at her chest, the ache that came with memories she thought she’d already buried.

She didn’t bother changing out of her practice clothes. Just tossed a different shirt over her head, grabbed her keys, and left. She needed movement. Distraction. Chaos. Something to drown out the noise inside her own head.

So she drove. With the windows rolled down, letting the wind whip through the cabin as she sped through the city. First to her favorite café for a cold matcha that she barely tasted. Then to the little gelato place tucked between two shops, ordering a double scoop of pistachio she didn't finish. She stopped by an old bookstore she used to visit during her rookie year and browsed without buying anything. Wandered through a thrift store, then found herself at a trendy axe throwing place, pretending that the loud music and even louder laughter around her didn’t make her feel more alone than she already was.

By the time the sky had begun to fade into hues of lavender and gold, she was in Garland, parked in front of an empty playground she’d unintentionally passed and turned back around for. Something about it felt a little cinematic—quiet, tucked away, untouched.

She sat on one of the swings, her body heavy but her mind racing. The sun was melting into the horizon now, casting streaks of orange and purple across the clouds, bleeding into the blue that darkened with every passing second. Her legs rocked gently, the old swing creaking beneath her as she moved, half lost in the rhythm, half desperate to escape the storm behind her eyes.

She tried not to think of it all. Tried not to think about the game tomorrow. About what it meant. About who she might see again.

It shouldn't be bothering her—not after all this time. Not after all these years. Not when she'd rebuilt herself from the ground up. But it was. God, it was. And she hated herself for it.

She pulled out her phone and took a couple photos of the sky, even though she knew they wouldn’t do it justice. Then, almost instinctively, she opened her messages. Dijonai had texted her again. Something lighthearted, something sweet, trying to make her laugh. Soraya smiled faintly, but didn’t reply.

Instead, she shoved her phone into the back pocket of her sweats, forgetting to lock the screen.

A minute or so passed, the swing shifting in lazy motions beneath her. Then came the faint buzz against her lower back, soft and barely there, but enough to pull her out of her daze. She pulled the phone out, confused, and held it to her ear when she noticed the ongoing call.

“Hello?”

“Finally. What the fuck, Soraya? Why would you call me and not say a word?”

Her heart stopped.

That voice—it struck something deep. Familiar, unmistakable. A voice she hadn’t heard in more than monosyllables all week. A voice she’d almost convinced herself she didn’t miss hearing.

“I didn’t call you,” Soraya replied, a little too quickly. Her tone was flat, carefully neutral, but it carried a tremble if you listened closely. “Must’ve been a butt dial or something.”

There was a pause. Soraya could hear Paige breathing, could feel her hesitation.

Then, “Are you drunk?”

The question caught her off guard. “What? No.” Her brows pinched together. “I’m sober.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Bueckers,” she said, sharper now, exhaling slowly as she rubbed her palm over her chilled forearm. “I’m sure.”

Another long silence. Then Paige again, softer this time, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask. “Where are you?”

The question shouldn’t have mattered, but something about the way she asked it made Soraya’s chest tighten. She almost lied. Almost told her to mind her business, hung up, put more distance between them like she’d promised herself she would.

But Paige's voice… there was something unguarded about it. Something tentative. Something that made her stay.

“Some playground in Garland,” Soraya finally answered, her voice low, trying to sound unaffected. “Was just... killing time.”

Another pause. Paige didn’t reply right away, and Soraya could picture her now—lips pressed together, trying to play it cool even though she was probably gripping her phone tighter than she meant to.

“It’s dark out,” Paige said eventually. Still calm, still even toned, but underneath it was something else. Something closer to concern.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“You’re out there alone?”

Soraya shrugged, even though Paige couldn’t see her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is.”

That made Soraya pause. The words were simple, but they landed heavier than they should have. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes drifting to the last fading line of sun as it disappeared behind the trees.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “Just didn’t feel like being at home.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Paige replied gently. “I just… I think you should head back. It’s getting late.”

That tone—so measured, so casual—it nearly fooled Soraya. But not quite.

She hated how that did something to her.

“Yeah. I was about to,” she lied, standing slowly and dusting off her hands, pretending like she hadn’t been planning on staying until the stars came out.

There was another stretch of silence on the line, the air now filled only with the faint hum of traffic in the distance and the distant chatter of cicadas.

Neither of them said what they really wanted to say. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Do you miss me?’ ‘Why does it still feel like this?’

Instead, Paige cleared her throat softly. “Get home safe.”

Soraya let out a quiet breath. “I will.”

And then, for just a moment, she hesitated before ending the call, not wanting to let go of the only warmth she'd felt all day. But she pressed the red button anyway.

The screen went black.

She slid the phone into her pocket and walked toward her car under the darkening sky. For the first time in days, her head was a little quieter.

The drive home was a blur of neon lights, long stretches of highway, and bass-thumping music so loud it rattled her windows. Soraya didn’t care. The volume wasn’t for enjoyment, it was survival. Every beat, every lyric, every thunderous crash of sound was another wall built to keep her own thoughts out.

She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached, veins standing out across her hands like tension made visible. Her jaw was clenched, brows drawn together, eyes fixed ahead, but not really seeing. She was still stuck back there—on that swing, under the sunset, with Paige’s voice lingering in her ear like a ghost she hadn’t asked for.

She didn’t know why it was affecting her so much. Why this, of all things, had cracked another thing open inside her, as if whatever she was currently fighting against, wasn’t enough. It wasn’t like they hadn’t spoken in weeks. It wasn’t like she cared that much. So what the hell was wrong with her?

“Get over it.” she muttered aloud to herself as she pulled into her spot and cut the engine.

But even as the engine died, the storm didn’t.

The silence that followed was deafening, so she moved quickly. Grabbed her bag, locked the doors, and climbed the stairs to her apartment two at a time, like rushing through it would somehow spare her from the weight pressing into her chest.

The second she got inside, she flicked on the lights, tossed her keys somewhere on the kitchen counter, and kicked her shoes off with little care for where they landed. Her shirt came next, flung over the back of a chair, her body now chilled from the evening air but still overheated from the mental war she’d been losing all day.

When she finally collapsed into bed, the ceiling stared back at her, blank and cold and offering no comfort. She rolled to her side, dragging her comforter over her legs, phone still in her hand.

She didn’t want to check it. Didn’t want to invite anything else into her head tonight.

But the screen lit up anyway. One message.

Bueckers: did u get home safe?

It wasn’t a long text. Wasn’t poetic. No punctuation beyond the question mark. No capitalization. So plainly Paige. So casually worded, like it didn’t mean much at all.

Soraya stared at it for a while, the glow of her phone soft against the shadows of her bedroom. She reread it three, four, five times over, fingers hovering above the screen like she wasn’t sure how to respond—or if she even should.

She considered liking it. Just tapping the little thumbs up and being done with it.

But something inside her moved before she could second guess herself.

pretty ice queen: yes.

Simple and distant, but a reply nonetheless.

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t even stay to see if the message would get marked as read. She locked her phone and shoved it under her pillow, rolling onto her back with a long, shaky exhale.

The room was still. Too still. Her thoughts began to creep back in almost immediately, uninvited and relentless. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to slow her breathing, tried to convince herself that everything was fine. That it was just another night before another game.

But she couldn’t shake the tension sitting heavy in her limbs. Couldn’t shake the sound of Paige’s voice from earlier, the concern buried beneath her guarded tone. Couldn’t shake the fact that something about tomorrow felt less like a game and more like a reckoning.

Sleep, when it finally came, didn’t come gently.

And when it did, it came with dreams she wouldn’t remember but would feel like bruises the next morning.

The next morning crept in slower than usual, sunlight slicing through her half open blinds in streaks of pale gold. Soraya stirred beneath the covers, her body aching in that strange way anxiety sometimes left behind, as if dread had settled in her bones overnight and decided to stay.

But she was calmer than the day before. Not okay, not light, but emptied. Like she'd spent the whole previous day wrestling with the weight of her nerves until her body couldn’t carry them anymore. There was nothing left to fight, nothing left to panic about. Just the quiet before the storm.

Acceptance was the only thing that remained. She still didn’t want to face what today held. But she couldn’t undo the schedule. Couldn’t avoid the inevitable.

So she laid in bed for hours, scrolling through her phone, watching the ceiling shift colors as the sun moved across the sky. The stillness didn’t comfort her, but it didn’t scare her like it used to either. It just was.

Eventually, she dragged herself up, moved through her apartment like muscle memory, and got ready. Hair. Light makeup. Her signature jewelry. She didn’t feel like showing up, but she would look like she did.

Dressing for the tunnel walk had always been one of her small joys. One of the few game day traditions she clung to, something that allowed her to feel like herself for a few brief minutes before the noise of the arena swallowed her whole. The cameras, the lights, the crowd—none of it mattered as long as her outfit hit.

Today’s was a little louder than usual. A little more dramatic. A denim halter vest, cropped and hugging her torso just right. A short denim skirt, the waist cinched in with a wide brown belt. Brown heeled cowboy boots that added a good two inches to her already long legs. And, of course, a brown cowboy hat to top it all off.

Texas in a fit. Sharp and soft. Fashionable and dangerous.

And yet, as Soraya stepped out of the car and entered the College Park Center, she felt hollow inside. She heard the sound of cameras clicking before she even reached the mouth of the tunnel. Felt the eyes on her, the quiet murmurs, the usual anticipation that came with her arrival.

She knew she looked good. She knew this outfit would hit every highlight reel, every fashion Instagram and sideline post. But none of it reached her.

She walked, head held high, boots clicking against the concrete floor in a steady rhythm. Her face was stone. No smile, no smirk, no spark in her eyes like usual. She didn’t wave to the staff standing off to the side. Didn’t throw a wink toward the media crew. Just kept walking, shoulders back, chin lifted, as if her armor was stitched into the denim she wore.

She passed the first camera, gave it a small, mechanical nod. A gesture more out of muscle memory than engagement. And then she kept walking, disappearing down the tunnel without another glance, her expression unreadable.

This was her stage, her ritual. But today, it didn’t feel like hers at all.

The locker room hummed with energy, a current of excitement running through the space as the team geared up in their pregame practice clothes. Sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, laughter bounced between walls, and music played softly in the background. A hype playlist looping through the speakers, half drowned by the chorus of voices and half zipped duffle bags. It was a familiar chaos, comforting to most.

But not to Soraya. At least not today.

She sat in her chair, her posture perfectly straight, eyes fixed on her reflection in the long mirror lining one of the locker room walls. She could still hear the music, still hear her teammates hyping each other up, but it all felt far away and muted, like she was listening to everything from underwater.

Her fingers moved with mechanical precision, adjusting her ponytail, tugging it just tight enough to ground herself. Then came the translucent powder, dusting gently over her cheekbones, her forehead, her nose. Lock it in. Set the mask. Don’t let it slip.

Dinonai was beside her, her locker stationed conveniently close, something Soraya was more grateful for now than ever. The older woman kept glancing at her, brow slightly furrowed as she slipped on her practice jersey and tied her own hair up.

“You good?” she finally asked under her breath, low enough not to catch anyone else’s attention.

“Yeah.” The lie was effortless. Practiced. Like brushing her teeth. “Just tired.”

Dijonai didn’t buy it for a second, but didn’t push—she already knew. The blonde just nodded, as if to say ‘okay’, and went back to getting ready. But her eyes didn’t stray far.

As they made their way down the tunnel toward the court, Soraya could feel her heartbeat intensifying with every step. She rolled her shoulders back, cracked her knuckles, tried to center herself.

‘You’re okay. You’re safe. You’ve done the work. You’re not who you were. She can’t touch you now.’

But the mantra felt thin. Like it wasn’t made for this kind of storm.

The moment her foot touched the edge of the court, something in her tightened.

She blinked into the stadium’s lights, the vibrant noise of the arena beginning to swell, and scanned the floor instinctively. Her stomach was already in knots, but it wasn’t until her eyes landed on her that everything inside her dropped.

It was as if time folded in on itself.

Leah Katz.

The name alone hadn’t hurt in a long time. The memory had dulled over the years like old bruises fading from purple to yellow. But seeing her again—seeing the exact line of her jaw, the piercing blue eyes, the unmistakable height and that slicked back blonde ponytail—was like reopening an old wound with a single glance.

Dijonai must’ve seen it. Must’ve felt the way Soraya froze beside her, the subtle flinch in her stance, the way her breath caught too quickly. She reached down without saying a word and took her hand, grounding her. Their fingers linked and she gave it a firm, anchoring squeeze. It didn’t fix it, didn’t erase anything, but it helped keep Soraya on the floor.

And yet, even as Soraya tried to steel herself, tried to return to the composed, unreadable player she’d trained herself to be, the two teams were already gathering near midcourt for their pregame greetings.

It was a ritual, small talk, handshakes, light laughter. A sense of camaraderie before the competition kicked in. Soraya kept her expression flat, her nods minimal, her words nonexistent. Everyone knew she wasn’t the bubbly type. She didn’t hug, didn’t linger, didn’t pretend. They were used to it.

But Leah wasn’t.

She drifted by Soraya at just the right moment, close enough that the scent of her perfume—a faint, expensive floral reached her nose and that alone made Soraya’s feel ill.

“You look good,” Leah murmured, almost offhanded. Then a wink, quick and casual, as if it meant nothing.

Soraya froze, every nerve in her body lighting up like a match had been struck down her spine. She’d forgotten her voice. That smooth, practiced tone. That calculated calm. The trace of a londoner accent curling around each syllable. Hearing it again, so close, so familiar, was like touching a scar that still hadn't faded under her skin.

It brought nausea.

And rage.

She said nothing. Couldn’t. Her body tensed, jaw tight, eyes fixed on a spot just over Leah’s shoulder as Dijonai tugged her away, their joined hands still clasped. Just move. Just get away. Just breathe.

But Paige noticed.

Standing on the outskirts of the huddle, stretching and chatting idly with another teammate, her eyes had drifted to Soraya just in time to catch the interaction—what little of it there was. She didn’t catch the words, but she caught the flicker of discomfort, the unnatural stiffness in Soraya’s body. The way her shoulders, usually squared and proud, subtly curled inward like she was trying to make herself smaller.

And Leah Katz. That name had floated past Paige's awareness once or twice over the years. Few highlight reels, overseas buzz, a few murmured conversations she never cared enough to finish.

At first, Paige chalked it up to nerves.

It wasn’t exactly unusual. First game of the season, a packed College Park Center, fresh off training camp, with half the team still adjusting to the league’s pace. Everyone had something weighing on them. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was the cuts earlier in the week—Mai and Madison waived last minute. Maybe it was that Soraya didn’t want to be here to begin with.

Or maybe… it was because of her.

She hated that her mind even went there.

But now, watching Soraya from across the court during warmups, Paige knew it wasn’t any of those things. At least, not just those.

There was something different about the way Soraya moved. Jerky, too fast, too sharp. Her body looked like it was trying to outrun something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet. Paige watched her miss three jumpers in a row. Three. Soraya never missed three in a row. Not in warmups. Not without looking like she was about to throw the ball into the stands out of frustration.

She cursed under her breath after each shot, not caring who heard her. And even from twenty feet away, Paige could see it. The tension in her shoulders, the twitch in her jaw, the way she shook her hand out like it wasn’t just her aim that was off but her entire body.

It wasn’t nerves. It was something else. Something deeper.

Paige grabbed a ball and started her own drille, but her eyes kept drifting. She told herself to stop looking, Soraya had made it very clear where they stood. But concern wasn’t a switch she could flip off, not when it was her. Not when she looked like that.

She went up for a layup and landed hard, barely registering the motion. Her eyes immediately flicked to the other end of the court again, drawn like a magnet.

Then she saw her.

Blonde. Tall. Lynx warmup jacket draped over her. And unmistakably watching Soraya.

Paige froze for a second. She didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but she couldn’t ignore the way that woman’s eyes kept cutting toward Soraya like she had a right to look at her. Like she knew her.

It wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t scouting.

It was something else. Familiar. Intimate. And unwanted.

Paige’s jaw clenched. Her palms burned. She bounced the ball once, twice, too hard, letting it smack the hardwood before catching it again. She knew she shouldn’t care. Not about Soraya. Not after everything. But the blonde kept looking over—subtle but persistent. And Soraya hadn’t even glanced back once.

That told Paige more than she needed to know.

It wasn’t a flirtation. It wasn’t nostalgia.

It was fear.

And suddenly, Paige didn’t want to play anymore. She wanted answers. She wanted that woman off the court. She wanted Soraya to stop pretending she was fine when it was clear she wasn’t.

The Wings were holding their own. Barely.

It was a constant back and forth, each time they clawed up a two point lead, the Lynx would rip it away within a possession or two. It wasn’t a bad game by any means. Just… not enough. Not sharp enough. Not her.

Paige had only seen Soraya play a handful of times, two preseason games, a few scrimmages, on the screen of her iPad. But she already knew enough to know this wasn’t it.

This wasn’t the Soraya Mensima she’d been warned about. The one that had mercilessly snatched a championship away from her. The one who drew defenders like blood in water, the one who never backed down from contact or let herself get outpaced. This version was hesitant, distracted. Her offense was clunky, rushed. Her defense worse.

And then it happened during the second quarter. Soraya was guarding Leah. Or at least, she was supposed to be.

Leah cut baseline, slipped through a screen, and laid the ball in uncontested. Soraya hadn’t even moved to contest it, she’d just watched her. Like her feet had been stuck to the hardwood. Like touching Leah in any way would burn her.

Paige clenched her jaw as the whistle blew and halftime rolled around.

She got roped into a short interview near the tunnel, giving rehearsed lines about adjustments and staying locked in. But all the while, her eyes followed Soraya.

She was trailing behind the team, slower than usual. Unfocused.

So the second the cameras were off, Paige handed the mic back and cut across the tunnel, weaving past staff and players until she caught up.

Paige reached forward and caught her arm.

“What the fuck—let—” Soraya twisted, startled, her voice already defensive, until she saw who it was. Her expression shifted, but not to relief. Just less tight. Less guarded.

Paige tugged her further into a quieter corner of the tunnel, her voice low but sharp. “Why are you playing like you’ve never been on a court before?”

Soraya blinked. The line hit harder than it probably should’ve. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing like a scolded child. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Paige said. “What’s going on with you?”

Her grip was still on Soraya’s arm, though loose enough to break. She didn’t know what she was doing—this wasn’t her. Not the Paige people expected. But she was pissed. Concerned. Both, maybe.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soraya snapped, pulling her arm free. “Sorry I’m not playing to your standards, I guess.”

Paige didn’t flinch. She should’ve. But she didn’t.

“Well you’re selling the game,” she shot back. “So stop eye fucking that Katz girl and fix it.”

Silence.

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could rewind time. Take them back. Bury them. Anything.

Because the look Soraya gave her—it wasn’t just hurt. It was disgust and betrayal.

Like Paige had peeled back a scar that hadn’t fully healed and poked it for sport.

A sick twist churned in Soraya’s gut. Her shoulders went rigid, lips pressed into a thin line. Eye fucking? She could barely even breathe around Leah, let alone look at her. And now this girl who she’d met less than a month ago was accusing her of shit she had no idea about?

She didn’t speak. Didn’t yell. Didn’t give Paige the satisfaction of a retort.

She just turned and walked.

Down the tunnel, towards the locker room. Shoulders high, spine stiff, but with something undeniably wounded in the way her steps slowed the further she got.

Paige stayed behind, frozen in place, her mouth parted like she wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t.

She ran a hand down her face, then through her hair, dragging her fingers along her scalp like she could scrape the guilt off. Her jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.

She didn’t know if it was worry. Or competitiveness. Or burning jealousy. Or the fact that she hated seeing Soraya let anyone take her power away.

But whatever it was, she’d just made it worse. So much worse.

extended taglist 🐆 — @thelightknight21 @private-but-not-a-secret @angryflowerwitch @jieysiee @angelliicc @paigebaby5 @ttytttt-gndgnvbm @syraxbigfanfr @forward1212 @niya500 @wosolipa @enchantingesme @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @ksimsplayer @hggbiijj @pupbistro

[glowettee]

-`♡´- how to have the mindset of cher horowitz ✧˖

════════════════════════════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 . ✦ . ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

cher horowitz isn’t just a character, she’s a lifestyle. effortlessly charming, stylishly intelligent, and always in control of her world. she moves through life with confidence, kindness (unless you cross her), and a touch of calculated oblivion. the secret? her mindset.

if you want to embody that breezy, effortlessly put-together energy, it’s not just about looking the part. it’s about thinking like cher. because let’s be real, a true it-girl never second-guesses herself.

cher has been an icon ever since clueless came, she has always had an optimistic outlook of life. she a rich girl but she's generous, and kind, and she knows when and how to stand up for herself. in my personal journey, i have been working on different traits i want to adapt and cher horowitz has so many that i added to my list. this post is how you embody the mindset of cher, and how you can adapt it to your personality and mentality <33 - mindy ✦

💡 how to adapt cher horowitz energy into your mindset 𐙚˙⋆ :

❥ be delusionally confident. cher never asks if she’s the best, she just knows she is. move through life like you deserve the best, because you do. repeat after me: i am the moment.

❥ use intelligence to your advantage. sure, she says “i totally paused” while failing her driving test, but cher is smart. she knows how to use her charm, persuasion, and quick thinking to get what she wants (case in point: her debate speech on why people should “totally stockpile” their extra outfits). so, never play dumb. strategically play smart.

❥ never let them see you sweat. cher faces challenges with an effortless, slightly confused grace. failed test? she negotiates extra credit. unexpected problem? she improvises. the key? never panic. act like you always have a backup plan, even if you don’t.

❥ romanticize your daily routine. cher wakes up to a computer-generated outfit planner, applies lip gloss while serving life advice, and makes even gym class look like a fashion show. take notes. elevate your morning routine. sip matcha from a pretty cup. study in an aesthetic setting. make every little habit feel high-end.

❥ charm is your superpower. being persuasive isn’t about manipulation. it’s about knowing how to talk to people. smile, compliment, and read the room. if cher can talk her way into better grades and out of parking tickets, you can talk your way into anything.

❥ know your worth & don’t settle. cher refuses to entertain anything below her standards. even if it’s fashion, friendships, or love interests. adopt this mindset. stop chasing people who don’t put in effort. stop accepting things that aren’t exactly what you want. you are the prize.

❥ have a signature aesthetic. cher’s vibe? preppy coquette meets california princess. your vibe? whatever makes you feel like her. curate your wardrobe, your playlist, your notes app, your everything. consistency is what makes an aesthetic powerful.

❥ turn every moment into a main character scene. cher doesn’t walk, she glides through life with effortless confidence. she twirls her pen in class, makes a simple “ugh, as if” iconic, and somehow always has a perfect comeback. embody this energy. make your life feel cinematic.

𐙚˙⋆ mindy’s personal tips to channel cher energy 💋

✦ create a go-to power outfit. cher has iconic looks on standby, so should you. plan an outfit that instantly makes you feel confident & put together. bonus points if it’s preppy chic.

✦ practice the “cher voice.” slow down your speech, add a touch of playfulness, and speak with certainty. even if you’re saying something ridiculous, say it like it’s groundbreaking.

✦ walk with an effortless, floaty confidence. stand tall, relax your shoulders, and glide, not rush. confidence is in the pace.

✦ set high standards--then raise them. cher never settles, and neither should you. it doesn't matter if it’s skincare, study goals, or the people in your life, only accept the best.

✦ always have a backup plan. one of cher’s best qualities? adaptability. even if it’s an outfit disaster or a last-minute change of plans, never be caught off guard. keep a “just in case” solution for everything.

cher horowitz isn’t just a character. she’s an energy. she’s confident, effortlessly charming, and always in control of her world. if you start thinking like cher, you’ll start living like cher. and trust me, that’s a lifestyle worth having.

════════════════════════════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 . ✦ . ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

𐙚˙⋆𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽𐙚˙⋆:

[prettygirl-gabi]

If you'd ask me why I like Paige bueckers I'd say it's cause she pretty and tall...

But...If you asked me on a deeper level from my perspective, I’d tell you it’s because Paige Bueckers is more than just a great basketball player—she’s a competitor in every sense of the word.

It’s the way she carries herself on and off the court. The way she leads, not just with her words but with her actions. She’s been through injuries, setbacks, and doubts, but she always comes back stronger, like she refuses to let anything define her except her own determination.

I’d tell you it’s the way she plays—so smooth, so smart, so effortless. She makes the game look easy, but you know behind it is years of hard work, hours in the gym, a fire that never goes out. She sees the game differently, like a step ahead of everyone else, and it’s mesmerizing to watch.

It’s her confidence, too—not cocky, just assured. Like she knows exactly who she is and what she brings to the table. And then there’s the way she interacts with her teammates, the way she hypes them up, takes responsibility when things go wrong, and lifts them when they need it.

And maybe, beyond all that, it’s the way she makes people believe in something. Whether it’s in women’s basketball, in her, or in the idea that no matter how many times life knocks you down, you can always get back up.

Paige is passionate about her craft. To me she's like a firefly or the North star guiding a way. She's helped me stay afloat in my darkest moments, yet she doesn't even know it. I know that there is a day where she will have to say goodbye to UConn, but it won't be the last of her and her craft. She's someone who is selfless. Caring. Gentle. Understanding. Driven. Passionate. True to herself.

So yeah, she’s pretty and tall. But if you asked me why I like Paige Bueckers? I’d tell you it’s because she’s a fighter. And that’s something worth admiring.

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

IDEAL TYPE

Characters: Gun Park, Goo Kim, James Lee

What I belive is, rather than brawn Gun will likely be more compatible with someone more on the brainy side.

Has affinity for more feminine yet strong type like Bulma from DBZ.

Strong doesn't necessarily have to be translated into physical strength: yes he will appreciate it but you two will mostly test it out for dominace and let's just say it won't take a very healthy turn in relationship.

Part of it is due to his Yakuza upbringing and the patriarchal environment he grew up in. In the initial phase he will only seek you out for pleasure but if you are of help in the grander scheme of things and show potential for what you are capable of. Absolutely sexy

Lets be honest he will be into looks. But not very high maintenance supermodel type just keep the basics intact and a well groomed and well kept person who knows their worth.

Confidence is actually the key to his heart. No he won't coddle you and give you lot of reassurance. He will be blunt and brutally honest. Understand it's from a good place and that's how he shows his care. So if you take his advice and improve on certain areas he will be really content.

And no don't listen to him always. Show him his loopholes, where he lacks what he can do to improvise.

Overall he likes a baddie who knows her worth and value and won't bend for anyone💕

This goofball like cute girls. Period🤪

Well well his first love is money, and he isn't afraid to admit that at all.

I feel he will be more into petite women. You know to show that he will protect you from this dangerous world blah blah..

Someone laid back and relaxed who knows when to be mature and when to turn into full on clowns. So that he can have best of both the worlds

Infinite patience. Not just because of his antics but because its very very very difficult for him to emotionally open up. Is quite guarding then he lets on and needs someone to break those walls.

Well once he is in love, pretty much everything you do is cute or adorable so looks aren't that much for him. And mostly likely to go for someone normal.

I don't mean to demean it's just that you don't need to have certain potential or bring something to table for him to love you ,I believe. If there is genuine connection, Goo is more than happy🥹😁💞

I'll do Teen James and Adult James differently😤

Okay teasing, push and pull , how far you can go without reacting to his charms

Someone firm in personality . Show him, his place. Mr James Lee you might be a national level all rounder but you ain't getting this heart so easily.

Let's be honest this all comes from his thrill and the rush he feels in winning and dominating. He wants to conquer and show. So ladies in case of Teen James "Play Hard to Get" will seriously do wonders for you🤣

Also someone who has their own passions and ambitions going on. The rare moments you two get to have with each other will seriously make him very happy

Dominate him. As in discussion and disagreement are always welcome and it's a huge plus point who can be on the same wavelength as him. But don't do it for the heck of it.

I don't know why but having soft , gentle hands will be his thing. This dude is into looks and want someone beautiful but not high in priority.

If you can make him forget all his worries and the two of you can, even for a moment live like normal teenagers for a bit you are golden.

And pls don't break his heart for just showing and parading him around like a trophy. He will know from the start. So someone who really looks for him for who he is and beyond the genius. Friends to lovers💙💜

Well let's be honest James in his adulthood is a manipulative ass. So someone smart and really intellectual who can see through all this facade.

See besides all the fluff and shimmery, let's face facts this guy uses people like tools and how they can benefit him, I'm pretty sure Kitae is also just another tool in his arsenal. You need to be equally talented as him and someone who can match his level. Not an extraordinary overachiever but have your things going on.

But as Tsumiki was described in JJK " As long as she has an unshakable moral compass which doesn't deflect easily there is nothing more I can ask for". This is what fits his ideal type best.

See if he is dating you he really trust you a lot and you mean a lot but again he will hide things from you. Not for lying and deceit but you don't have to worry your pretty little head about Gang and stuff. This might put a dent but if you understand he is doing it in good faith it might work for you. Otherwise arguments 😭😞

I feel like since he is more on the calm and composed side. Someone goofy will really help. Not a full blown clown but you know a bit of comedy here a few pranks there.

He is still a tease and he loves to see your reactions. So if you are really shy he will have a lot of fun pushing your limits

Well he likes refined, elegant women. Kpop has shown him all the shades so at this stage in his life not really into looks.

A genuinely nice and kind human being who won't bend to his ways all the time and he can really trust is what gets his heart.

[annicht]

teamwork

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader | very suggestive fluff

word count: 1.8k

Warnings: post timeskip Kuroo x coworker! reader, fluff nsfw-ish language

@ anni says: I'm Kuroo Tetsurou's whore. neways, this was just another self indulgent drabble that was lost in my drafts. [cover by loony, go give her some lov]

the lingering stares, the coffee excuses, the light subtle touches while exchanging papers, the gossipy chatting every lunch break,

the way you look so goddamn hot when you’re focused in your work and how that sometimes distracts him from his own work…

and also the inhuman strenght he needed to gather to divert his stare from your plump thighs when you cross your legs under the desk… the privileged view from his desk across from yours can be also a burden sometimes

and then there’s that damn high heels you use… not often, though. only when there’s important meetings. makes you feel more confident, you said once. but god, when you use it he just want to lay on the floor for you to step on him

there’s more and more and so much more about the office bond he shares with you that irks him both in the right and wrong ways.

working in the JVA marketing implied that your most strong stakeholder was the promotion division, once the areas needed each other to thrive

therefore, makes total sense that you and Kuroo were so close to each other, right?

so it’s normal when you’re training a new intern and he tags along with the excuse to help you, but spends the whole time glaring menacingly at the guy when he stares at your cleavage a little to much, isn’t it?

or when he passes by your desk, leaving a chocolate every other week, with his handwriting in a note thay says “that presentation was sick, congratulations ;]” or “you deserve a raise, but take this chocolate in the meantime >:)” or some other silly thing that makes you smile

your eyes always dart to him, flashing a playful smile

but you also can’t help but think to yourself that he wanna fuck you so bad— and the thought itself is so entertaining that you shake your head, snorting, as he eyes you puzzled

the tension is clear for you as much as it is for him… he, too, checked all your boxes. a handsome smoking hot smart and competent man that has his eyes set on you? you’d be crazy not to enjoy

so, eventually, you would throw paper balls at him while he’s focused, making him roll his eyes and smirk

but also, you bring him coffee when you go get it for you. you know how he likes, he works so close to you, why wouldn’t you bring him one too?

and the glint in his eyes makes it worth it every damn time

neither of you were making the first move so soon, but everyone in the office knows about the unspoken bond you share, gaining some attention in gossip groups around the floor

but then, one day, you were working until very late, apparently alone at the office.

and suddenly, he popped up back in the office after having left already, with a can of beer, a loosened tie, two buttons opened, walking torwards your desk, placing the beer on your desk, beside your papers

you looked at him tilting your head puzzled

“Where did you get that?”

“At the bar across the street”

you tilted your head even more

“You were at the bar across the street and came back to the office to hand me a beer?”

“Exactly”

he said matter-of-factly, making you snort. his words were subtly slured, indicating he drank enough to get at least tipsy

“Why?”

“Why not?”

he answered shrugging, and you read through his attempt to divert the topic. but you also know he’s very stubborn, so you just brush it off

“How did you even know I was still in the office? It’s late…”

you say, while opening the can and looking at the hour on your computer

“It’s the first Monday of the month, you always stay late finishing the monthly report… Besides, I saw the light on from across the street… just put two and two together”

“Damn, you’re good—”

you say, amazed at how he memorized your routine by now, while sipping your beer, sighing as the cold liquid soothes your tense muscles, feeling the last motivation to end the report today getting obliterated

he watches your every move like a hawk, walking sneakly behind your chair to rub your shoulders

you sigh, feeling a chill down your spine with his touches, humming softly with the massage

“You’re done with the report?“ he asked, his fingers rubbing circles in your back muscles, sliding to your shoulders. you lean in his touch

“No… But I think I can finish it tomorrow morning,” you reply, trying to suppress the pleasure in your voice from his magical touch.

he chuckles lightly, lowering his torso to lean closer, his breath hitting your neck, making you shiver embarrassingly

“That’s what I thought,” he says softly, his hands never ceasing their movements, the tension that’s been building between the two of you for months feels like it’s finally reaching a boiling point

before things get awkward, you start to stand up from your chair, closing your laptop on the desk, sipping your beer casually,

he took advantage of the moment to pull your chair away, leaning closer, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth on your ear

“Don’t I deserve a… reward… for the beer and the massage?”

he whispered, his words borderline suggestive, the warmth of his breath making your heart race, his arms encircling your waist in a new way… despite your supposed closeness, it’s the first time you feel him this close.

his voice is like velvet, seductive and irresistible, making you question if this was a good idea.

you pathetically place your free hand on the desk to anchor yourself, feeling the weight of the intensity that has been building between you

”Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time? Pinning me on the desk when there’s no one around?“

you whisper back, your voice dropping to a sensual tone as you lean back in his chest, looking at him through your shoulder

the tension is palpable, your mutual attraction finally coming to a head. you put your beer down on the desk, meeting his gaze with a daring look, ready to cross the line you’ve been flirting with for so long.

“And what if I have?” he whispers back, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. “What are you going to do about it?”

his challenge hangs in the air between you, a gauntlet thrown down, waiting for you to pick it up.

and that’s exactly what you do.

you turn around to face him, raising your chin to line your mouth with his, as his hands unconsciously sneak around your waist and your hands rests on his chest

“I might just finally kiss you… would that be bad?”

his eyes darken when he realizes you’re on the same page, his hands working to pull you closer.

“That might be the best idea you’ve ever had,”

and just like that, you two give up, succumbing to the tension building for months,

he leans in, or you lean in… its indistinguishable who kissed who first, but you capture each other’s lips in a heated intense kiss, your tongues already seeking each other’s and you taste the faint malt of the beers he had earlier, sighing with the deliciousness of it all

he gives one step further, boxing you on the desk behind, making you lean back, his hand traveling down your hips

you retaliate, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting softly, making him groan

he pushes his tongue inside your mouth again, and you gladly take it, sucking on it, kissing him back with the same passion

it feels almost relieving having him like this after so much tension building. it feels right.

he parts the kiss, but keeps his lips on your jaw, leaving a trace of wet kisses down, reaching your neck

you lean your head back, giving him free reign there, which he gladly take it, switching from kisses to bites, making you moan softly

your moan unlock something primal in his brain, and one of his hand on your hips travel down your thigh, reaching the back of your knee, pushing up on his waist, while the other arm encircle your waist, pushing you flush against him

all that while assaulting your neck with languig nibbles, and you can’t help but let out a chuckled moan with a smug smile

“Fuckk… eagerrr, are we?”

you say, low and purring, and the way you draw the words from your mouth goes straight to his pants, making his cock twitch, unconsciously grinding his hips against your thigh.

he grins, groaning a little in your neck, the tone vibrating against your chest

it takes you the damn last bit of strenght to knock some sense into him

“Mmhm… Kuroo… there’s cameras in the office… ”

you say slightly breathless, threading your fingers in his hair, gripping, trying to pull him away from your neck

“Call me Tetsurou”

he say lowly and you can’t help but huff a breathy chuckle

“Tetsurou…” you say, rolling his name from your tongue, liking the sound of it “there’s cameras—”

“They’re not gonna check the cameras unless something gets stolen…”

“We’re not fucking in the office,” you say categorically, your last ethical straw working doubled against the wetness in your panties

he parts from your neck, looking straight at you with hazel hazy eyes, his lips curling in his famous lazy smirk with a hint of smugness

“Oh? So we are fucking then?”

you narrow your eyes, he got you now.

you snort, grabbing his tie and pulling him for another kiss, mumbling a quick “Shut up”

he kiss you while chuckling against your mouth, his hand on your thigh progressing further, sliding your skirt up and invading under the hem of the clothing, feeling the soft skin he drooled so many times before—

“Not here, Tetsuro—”

he grumbles, releasing your thigh and raising his hands in mocking surrender

“Okay, okay… I get it” he says, then he takes your hand, pulling you closer to him “but you’re coming to my place now, and I’m not taking no for an answer”

as you two leave the workplace giggling and holding hands, your coworkers on the bar across the street watch the scene, all ready to let the gossip spread, but also knowing it was bound to happen eventually

[shanastoryteller]

Meg is the first choice, of course, but she’s not suited to this type of long term mission and they all know it. The problem is, almost none of them are. The nature of the beast, she supposes.

That’s why it ends up being her, in the end. Well, it’s almost Ruby, but there’s one thing she has that Ruby doesn’t.

How she ended up here in the first place.

She thought Clyde loved her. She thought he’d take her away, from her father and her terrible life, and so when he died too young, before he could fulfill any of his promises, she’d sold her soul to bring him back.

But he hadn’t kept a single promise. She’d died in her father’s house.

“You remember being in love, don’t you?” he asks, cruel in his callousness, which is different than his other types of cruelty. It’s all he has, shining out in a thousand different ways. “You’ll be better at faking it.”

All she does is fake it.

“Yes,” she says.

This mission gets her topside. It’s worth it for that alone.

~

She slips into a pretty blonde named Rebecca first but by the end of the day, the girl’s screaming has given her a headache, and she slips right back out. She’ll probably just think she had a bad trip.

He’d offered to arrange something for her, but she wanted to pick herself, and she’s not interested in having someone crying and moaning in the back of her mind. But it’s not like there are a lot of options.

She could kill one, of course. But she’s never – she hasn’t been topside, before. Everything she’s killed before had already been dead. So she hovers for the next week, looking for some sort of opportunity, for something she can use that’s not going to scream at her.

The day before she’s going to have to either pick someone or risk being sent back, there’s a car accident.

The girl’s heart is still and her body’s warm, blood pooling down her head, but that’s nothing she can’t fix. She settles into the body, jumpstarting the heart and can feel the skin on her head knitting back together. It’s also blessedly, thankfully silent, with her the only one inside this body. The driver who hit her is dead and people are crowding in, a crying girl pulling her free. “Anne! Anne, are you okay, oh my god, I can’t believe that happened-”

She wrinkles her nose before smoothing out her expression.

The name will have to go. She’ll say she’s reinventing herself after tragedy, or something, but she’s not going to walk around responding to Anne. That’s not her name.

Anne’s a sophomore, which isn’t ideal, but she’s beautiful and doesn’t have that many friends and barely talks to her family, so she’s actually perfect.

She’s also blonde.

She’d been blonde before too.

~

All the demons who had run these sort of missions before give her advice, tell her things that will help her. Some of their assignments had lasted months, but no one’s tried to do it for as long as she’s supposed to.

He likes smart girls.

Be confident. Be flirty. He’s shyer than he looks.

He never had a mother. He likes it when girls take care of him.

He likes to take care of girls too. He wants to feel useful.

She’d had dreams, before, of all the ways she’d could escape her father. It wasn’t common for girls to get more than a basic education, but she’d been smart. She could read and do complicated sums and enjoyed the quiet evenings when she balanced her father’s books. She’d thought she might like an advanced education, thought it could get her out of her life, but hadn’t known how to manage it.

Clyde had seemed easier. More attainable. More realistic.

She’d sold her soul for nothing in the end. She hadn’t even got the full ten years of her bargain.

She doesn’t know how much of their advice she can take.

She can be smart, but considering the school they’re at, all the girls will be smart. She hadn’t been confident or flirty, which is maybe why she’d latched onto the first boy who smiled at her. She never had a mother herself and doesn’t know to act like one.

She’s never been taken care of and doesn’t know how to do that either.

There’s no way for her to do this. She’s going to be replaced and sent back below and he’ll be angry at her and she hates hates hates when he’s angry at her, what he does to her.

“Are you okay?”

She looks up, something cold on her tongue, but falters.

He’s standing there, warm hazel eyes and long dark hair, hunching to try and make himself smaller, and a smile on his face that does nothing to hide his concern.

“Do you ever feel like,” she starts, her dead stolen heart beating too quickly, “everything is falling apart around you and you have no idea what you’re doing and like maybe your whole life is one huge mistake?”

Well, fuck. She’s definitely being replaced now.

Except Azazel’s favorite throws back his head and laughs, smile stretching into a grin. “Every day of my life, more or less.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asks, scrubbing a hand over her face.

He shrugs. “Well, my brother would say women and liquor.” He seems to realize how that sounds a moment later and he pales, “Um, not that I’m – I’m not saying, I wasn’t trying to. He’s just sort of a cad, and – I wasn’t trying to, with you, uh.”

She feels herself softening in spite of herself. “So you’re not one to apply that method yourself?”

“No,” he says firmly, eyes wide. “God, I’m just – I’m sorry. I – I’m Sam.”

“Hi Sam,” she returns, with a smile she doesn’t have to fake. “I’m Jess.”

~

She’s not supposed to fall in love with him.

She’s to worm his way to his side. She’s to keep him from running back to his family, to keep him from rebuilding the bridges he’s burned. She’s to keep him distracted and focused on her until his powers activate and then she’s to guide him into using them, to be supportive and loving and to push him straight into Azazel’s arms.

Sam loves his family so much.

He talks of his brother all the time. His father less, the emotions there more tangled, but love no less fierce.

She nudges him away from it, talks to him about how it’s normal for families to grow apart, to say that they’ll understand when he graduates, that he’ll show them they type of man that he is.

By the time he graduates, his powers will start manifesting, and he’ll avoid his family without her prodding. He knows what they’ll think of him, then, and Jess tells herself that she’s helping him. That this is for Sam’s own good.

If he’s with her, then he’s safe. His father won’t kill him while he’s safe at school. He can’t kill Sam for powers that he’ll never know about.

It’s easy to dig into the anger for his father, to use his last words to Sam as a way to hold him at her side. His brother is more difficult. Jess doesn’t do much with that, in the end, tells herself that it would be too complicated, too suspicious, and as long Dean is sticking with their father it amounts to same thing anyway.

The truth is more complicated.

His father will kill Sam if he has to.

She doesn’t think that his brother will. She thinks that maybe he’d choose to protect Sam, over their father’s wishes, over everything he’d been taught, no matter the consequences.

She fears that she and Dean have a lot in common.

She invites Sam over for holidays, makes summer plans with him, holds as much of his attention as she can manage.

She studies and makes friends and laughs and spends so much time with him, but not all of it. It has to be believable after all, has to be constant, in a way that it didn’t have to be with all the other demons sent to take care of him.

Jess lives a life that had been denied to her and tries to do what she was sent to do and does the one thing she was definitely not supposed to do, which is fall in love with Sam Winchester.

~

His brother shows up in their apartment and she knows that she’s going to lose him.

Sam tries to act angry, but she knows him too well. He’s moving around his brother like a flower following the sun and she asks him not to go, tries to find the words to keep him here, but they all get caught in her throat. If she begged, if she threw a fit, if she demanded it of him, he would stay. He’d tell his brother he’s sorry but he’d stay with her and not help him and burn their relationship for good. He loves her enough to do that for her. She knows it.

She loves him enough not to make him.

He kisses her and she knows it’ll be the last time. He doesn’t.

“What did that take, five minutes?” Azazel is right there, breath on the back of her neck, and his anger fury rage pressing down on her even closer. “Over three years at his side and you lost him in five minutes. What a waste.”

“I kept him for over three years,” she says, tries to keep her voice steady, but knows she fails.

She had him for over three years.

“Not good enough,” he whispers, lips on the shell of her ear. “Guess I’ll have to send Meg in after all.”

Pain erupts hot across her stomach and her screams mix with his laughter.

~

Love always burns her in the end.