#Every time I think I’ve made the most self indulgent thing ever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wintrwinchestr · 8 months ago

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obedience | part 2

summary: a week ago, you and joel had experimented with a new kink, and it’s been on your mind ever since. you had been too shy to ask to try it out again, but joel always knows exactly what you need.

warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, pet play (egregious use of “puppy”, joel teaches you dog commands and refers to your hand as your paw, among other things), d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, praise kink, degradation/dumbification kink, cockwarming, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampie, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, etc), talk of reader wearing a collar, joel giving reader a bath/washing her hair, hella aftercare, reader has hair and can be carried by joel, implied age gap but reader is an adult, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 5.7k

a/n: literally nobody look at me please. this the most self indulgent self insert shit i’ve ever written in my life and if you get it you get it idk what else to say!!! anyway thank you for being patient with me and reading what i write, my big girl job takes it out of me sometimes but that’s what i write this type of shit to deal with <3 nice comments and reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed or if this awakened something in you :)

(read part 1 here if you missed it)

dividers by @saradika

“You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

It had been a week now since Joel had punished you, denied you for acting out over the phone, for disobeying him and sending him lewd photos of yourself when he had explicitly told you to stop. But you hadn’t listened, he wasn’t having it, and when he had returned home from work late that night, he had called you by a new name. Puppy, he had spat at you several times as he made you chase a ruined orgasm on his steel-toed work boot.

The pet name hadn’t left your mind since then, repeating itself over and over, along with his question of if you wanted to be trained, if you wanted to be his pet. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself becoming desperate for it. Each day in the office was a struggle to stay focused on even the simplest of tasks, your thoughts overrun with fantasies of Joel getting you on all fours for him, giving you commands and praising you for following them, tugging you towards him by a finger hooked into a collar to tell you what a pretty puppy, what a good girl you’re being for him.

You’d left work every evening for the past several days with a damp spot in the seat of your panties, feeling ashamed by how depraved and inappropriate almost every one of your waking thoughts had become. When you would greet Joel at the door all needy and wanting, he would tease you with a “What’s gotten into you, lately, hm?”, but never push for more than you were willing to reveal to him, though he thought he might have had an idea. He would take you to the bedroom and have his way with you the way you liked, the way you had usually craved, before he had turned your world upside down by deciding on a whim to try somethin’ new that fateful night.

Joel would be more than willing to try it again, to follow through with that question he’d asked you, but he decided he was content with waiting for you to come to him, for you to decide when you were ready for him to make you his good puppy once more.

–

The weekend begins just like any other. Joel’s internal clock wakes him up no later than seven in the morning, the sun just barely streaming in through the blinds in your shared bedroom. He tries to keep his creaks and groans to a minimum as he rolls out of bed, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before quietly padding his way into the kitchen to get a sizable pot of coffee brewing. He lets you sleep for another couple of hours, knowing full and well at this point in your relationship that he has the wrath of your grumpy morning attitude to face if he doesn’t. He does think it’s cute, though, how your face twists up into a pout but your eyes stay scrunched closed if he wakes you up at a time you deem too early.

When Joel does decide it’s a sensible time for the two of you to get a proper start on your generous two days off from the slog of your weekday jobs, he cracks the bedroom door open gently, making his way over to your still-sleeping form. He softly brushes some of your knotted hair out of your face as he places your mug of coffee on the nightstand beside your head, prepared just the way you like it. Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned cream and sugar? Or just plain black, for that matter? Can’t believe you like it with all this cinnamon vanilla whatever you have me dump in it, he had teased, not long after you had first started sleeping over at his place. Can’t believe you drink it without anything in it. It needs at least a lil’ somethin’ sweet in it, you had bantered back to him, to which he was quick to reply with Got my somethin’ sweet right here, don’t I? before pulling you into his lap and kissing you hard until both of your cups ran cold.

You smile at the memory in your half-sleepy state, slowly blinking your eyes open to see Joel’s warm and familiar smile. “Mornin’, sweet girl,” he says, his grin only growing wider when you greet him back with the cute little squeal that comes out when you stretch your arms over your head instead of an actually intelligible word. “Got some emails and borin’ stuff to catch up on this mornin’, why don’t you just stay comfy and sip on your coffee while you wake up for a bit, hm? Probably be done in time to get lunch together somewhere, how’s that sound?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you reply softly, real words this time, as you push yourself up to sitting while Joel props your pillows up behind you for your back to rest against. You don’t put up much of a fight against the yawn that stretches your jaw, rubbing your blurry eyes as it does.

“Alright, gimme a kiss, sleepy girl. Enjoy your creamer with a splash o’ coffee,'' Joel taunts through a chuckle. He presses his lips to yours, and his coarse beard tickles the skin around your mouth, making you giggle. The smile hasn’t completely faded from your face by the time he slips out of the bedroom to head into his office, shutting the door gently behind him.

Extending a hand down to your nightstand, you hook your fingers through the mug’s handle and slowly bring it up to your face, careful not to spill any. He’d chosen your favorite Daddy’s Girl mug, the phrase written in bold pink text curved over a little illustration of two blue daisies. You always thought your coffee tasted a little better from this mug, somehow. Taking your first sugary sweet sip, you think the sentiment is as true this morning as it’s always been.

–

A little while later, when you feel somewhat more awake thanks to plenty of caffeine and sugar working its way through your body, you finally force yourself into comfortable clothes different from the ones you slept in. With your hair sufficiently tamed, face washed, and teeth brushed, you decide now’s as good of a time as any to try and act on the plan you’d been concocting over the past couple of days, waiting for a moment just like this to pounce on.

You still felt too shy to bring it up to Joel, to tell him how badly you’ve been wanting him to treat you like his little pet, and go even further with it this time. You know he’d never judge you for it, and he had seemed to like the experiment just as much as you did. But something about your little fantasy still felt taboo and shameful, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to use your big girl words and ask for it.

Though, you had finally realized, maybe you didn’t have to ask for it. Maybe you could quietly tip toe into his office one lazy Saturday morning and sit at his feet, nuzzle into his thigh until he brings a hand down from his keyboard to scratch behind your ear, asking you What’re you up to down there, babygirl?

And that’s exactly where you’ve found yourself now, answering his question with a dreamy whimper, leaning into his touch as the feeling of his fingers on your skin makes you smile so blissfully, wiggling on your knees.

“What’s got you feelin’ so snuggly this mornin’, hm? Just need some lovin’ from your Daddy?” he asks in his still-rough morning voice, gazing down at you affectionately.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his calf and rubbing your cheek against the soft leg of his sweatpants.

“Alright, lil’ thing. Just got a couple more emails to take care of and then I’m all yours, promise.” He removes his hand from your scalp to start typing again, and you pout in protest.

Joel shoots a stern look down to you. “Poutin’ don’t typically get us what we want, now does it? Be patient, sweetheart, just a few more minutes.”

You release another upset noise, louder this time, and then he’s pushing his rolling chair back, your grasp around his leg coming apart as he does.

“Came in here actin’ so good and sweet, where’d this bratty girl come from, hm? If there’s somethin’ you want, gotta use your big girl words and ask for it, you know that,” he scolds, his expression becoming more serious.

You hadn’t meant to elicit this reaction from him at all, and it causes your eyes to well up as you stare at the carpet, avoiding his gaze. Opting to answer him with just a shrug, you fidget with your fingers in your lap to distract yourself from the sting behind your eyes. You do attempt to open your mouth and make your desires known to him, but think better of it, and any big girl words you did have swirling around in your brain are replaced by yet another half-hearted little whine.

A whine that sounds… a little familiar to him.

“Oh, I see…” Joel muses, a little less authority in his voice as he assumes a more relaxed position in his desk chair. “I think I know what’s goin’ on here.”

You look up to meet his eyes, tilting your head in confusion. The action prompts his lips to tug into a knowing smile, and he leans forward in his seat, making a beckoning motion with his hand. “C’mere, baby. Between my legs.”

You obey immediately, crawling towards him to close the small distance between you, settling in a kneeling position between his spread thighs. “Good girl,” he praises, and the words make you beam as he cups your chin, the moisture that had been blooming along your water lines now forgotten.

“Think I know why my sweet girl ain’t usin’ her words with me this mornin’...” Joel says, scratching at the soft skin under your chin with his fingertips. You can’t help but lean into his touch, lashes fluttering, and it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Reckon it’s because puppies don’t know to, hm? They just whimper and whine for attention from their Daddies cause they don’t know how to talk, ain’t that right?”

You let out a pathetic little noise when he finally says the word, the one that’s been dampening every pair of panties you own for the past week, but that you’d been too scared to ask to hear again. But you were right after all, you didn’t have to ask for it, because Joel always knows just what you need, somehow.

He uses his grip on your chin to nod your head up and down for you, and continues talking down to you in that gravelly tone of voice that makes you feel like you’re about to melt straight through the floor. “Yeah… ‘F you wanna be Daddy’s lil’ puppy this mornin’, tha’s alright with him. Figured you oughta be missin’ it by now, seein’ as how you liked it so much the first time around…”

You’re barely processing what he’s saying, your lips slack and eyes unblinking as your cunt releases little pulses of slick into your panties. Something about Joel seeing through you so clearly, calling you out on your newly discovered kink and using it to pull you hard and fast into this familiar saccharine headspace, has your whole body burning hot with arousal.

“And if I know one thing about puppies, it’s that they need some trainin’, don’t they? ‘Specially impatient ones like the pretty thing I’ve got sittin’ at my feet. Don’t you agree? Don’t speak, just nod, babygirl.”

It’s unusual for him to request a nonverbal response, as opposed to a Yes, Daddy, but you’re grateful for the change as you allow yourself to fall deeper into your role. You give him what he asks for, a couple of eager nods in quick succession, even though you aren’t quite sure where he’s going with this yet.

“Asked you twice to be good and patient for Daddy, and all I got was poutin’ and whinin’ instead, didn’t I? Think my lil’ pet oughta learn her first command today: Wait. Because good puppies know how to wait for their treats, don’t they, sweet girl? Again, just nod for me.”

And you do, slower and with a little more guilt in your expression this time. But despite him making you admit to your disobedience, you’re not sure you’ve ever been more fucking soaked than you are right now. You’re throbbing, aching, shifting on your knees in an effort to get even the smallest bit of relief. You think you might be releasing little whimpers, but you can’t be sure, already feeling so floaty and far away from just his words alone.

Joel spots your desperate movements, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his chair, adjusting for his own arousal, and gets an idea.

“On second thought… Got another command I might like to teach you first. Somethin’ a lil easier for that dumb puppy brain of yours to understand, hm?” He tilts his head at you, lips curved into a mocking pout.

Your eyes flutter and roll to the back of your head involuntarily, his degradation prompting the instinctual response from you. Another syrupy slow nod lets him know you’re ready to learn, to obey to the best of your ability.

“Alright, sweet thing. When I say paw, want you to put your hand right on my knee here, ‘kay?” Joel explains, patting his muscled leg for clarity. “Paw, baby, gimme paw,” he coos at you, his tone not dissimilar to the one he uses to speak to actual dogs.

Forcing your brain to work through the dense cloud of submission that shrouds it, you lift your hand and place it on his knee, just like he had demonstrated. His enthusiastic reaction to your obedience startles you at first, but you break into a beaming grin when you see the proud expression he wears.

“Good girl, tha’s a good girl,” he praises, scratching at the top of your head and ruffling your hair. Using his touch as a distraction, Joel places your paw over his hardening bulge with his unoccupied hand, the thick shape of him prominent through his thin sweatpants. He tightens his hand on top of yours, prompting your fingers to squeeze him. He guides your hand into massaging him for a second or two more, long enough for your melted puddle of a brain to connect with the nerve endings in your fingers. Your breath hitches when you realize what it is you’re feeling, your blissed-out expression morphing into a more desperate, wide-eyed one as you focus your attention to the movement of your hands.

“Yeah, feel that, sweet girl? Feel what you do to Daddy by bein’ so good for him?” He prompts, and your thighs squeeze together as you grope him. You can’t help but draw your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it to stifle the needy whimper that threatens to escape.

“You wanna sit on it, pup? Hm? Wanna keep Daddy’s cock nice ‘n warm while he finishes up his work?”

Your aching cunt squeezes around nothing at the premise, and you nod so hard it makes you dizzy. You move to push yourself off the floor and stand up, but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Ah ah, gotta use your words this time. Speak, baby,” Joel commands, and it takes you a second of searching to find the ability to do so again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, wanna s-sit on it…” you answer softly, and you’ve never heard your own voice sound so wanton. It comes out in a pitch that you almost don’t recognize as your own, featherlight and dreamy and desperate all at once. The need in your voice alone is enough to satisfy him.

“Good girl, just learnin’ all kinds o’ tricks today, aren’t we? Trainin’ you so well… C’mon up here, babygirl,” he permits, and uses his big hands and sturdy forearms to assist you in your awkward and eager climb into his lap. “Take it out, baby, get your treat.”

You whine as you situate yourself atop his thighs, tossing your head back with a dramatic flair, overwhelmed and frustrated by all he’s been asking of you. You just wanted him to turn your brain off, to praise you, to not have to think while he plays with you however he wants, and instead all he’s been doing is asking you to listen, sit, speak, obey. But of course, you should know better by now, that Joel likes making you work for it, to wait for it.

“Hey,” he scolds, grabbing your face and pulling your head forward from where it had flopped between your shoulder blades. “You were doin’ so well, bein’ such a good, obedient girl. Don’t start actin’ up on me now. Could always change my mind, not let you have your treat after all. You want that?”

“No, Daddy…” you admit, your words distorted through the way your cheeks are squished together. He’s not using much force, just enough to keep your focus on him.

“‘S what I thought… Go on then, pup,” Joel commands, and you make quick but clumsy work of freeing his already leaking cock from the loose confines of his sweatpants and briefs. He lets go of your face in favor of placing both of his hands on your hips, lifting you up while you pull your loose shorts and panties to the side, maneuvering his length to just barely prod at your wet little entrance. You flit your eyes from where the two of you meet back up to meet his gaze, hesitating while you look to confirm your permission one last time.

“Sit, puppy,” he says through a smirk, and you release a sharp whimper as you sink down onto his cock.

On instinct, you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between Joel’s neck and shoulder, rolling your hips back in preparation for a satisfying buck forward. His grip on your skin turns iron, holding you in place and preventing you from chasing after your pleasure.

He cuts off your pout with a strict, “I say you could move?”

“Mmph– No, Daddy,” you mumble into his firm muscle.

He huffs a mocking breath through his nose. “Really are jus’ a dumb lil’ thing for me, ain’t you? You already forget what you’re ‘sposed to be learnin’?” “‘M sorry, Daddy–” the embarrassment from his demeaning words makes you squirm, and his grip on you becomes bruising.

“Don’t need you to be sorry. Jus’ need you to listen. You’re gonna wait like a good girl ‘til I say you can start grindin’ that messy lil’ puppy cunt on me. We clear?” he orders, his deep baritone traveling straight from your ear to your needy core, the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock already damp as a result.

You hug yourself closer to him, little fingers clawing at his t-shirt in an attempt to ground yourself, and nod meekly.

“Speak,” he spits again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, clear…”, you whine, managing to lift your head up just enough for your voice to come out a little more coherently.

“If I let go so I can finish up my work, you gonna behave and hold still for me?”

You don’t seem to have a choice, but you agree, anyway. “Mhm, yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now wait,” Joel instructs.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, the incessant clicks and clacks of Joel’s keyboard and mouse becoming more and more irritating with each passing second. Those sharp mechanical sounds, the vibration of his chest against yours whenever he clears his throat, the feeling of his pulsing cock as it splits you in two, it’s all so fucking much. You can’t help but release little whimpers and whines, pathetic pleases and Daddys that he either shushes or chooses to ignore. Any slight movement you make in an attempt to relieve some of the ache, he just responds to with a coo of wait, pup, and the tone of his commands as you twitching, clenching around him, soaking his cock more and more. It has to have been at least fifteen or twenty minutes by now, and at this point you’re sure he must be clicking around his desktop aimlessly just to drag out your training a bit longer.

Eventually, the noises stop, and Joel breathes a sigh as he replaces his large hands on your hips, their touch much more gentle this time. You lift your head from his shoulder to face him, wide and watery doe eyes frantically searching his face for a sign that the wait is over, that you’ve finally earned your treat.

He grants you a soft smile, lifting a hand and using it to just barely grasp your chin, tilting your head side to side as he admires you.

“Got such a sweet girl in my lap, don’t I? Knew she could be good, just needed a lil trainin’ hm?”

You nod, already feeling so overwhelmed that your mind has started to drift elsewhere, to the relief you’ll hopefully be feeling in just a few minutes, after he’s finished toying with you.

He releases your chin, ghosting his hand downwards along the column of your throat, stopping when his thumb and fingers are resting on the tops of your collarbones. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just admires the placement of his hand for a moment, then hums.

“Neck would look so pretty with a collar wrapped around it, don’t you think, pup? With a lil’ heart-shaped tag danglin’ from it, engraved with my name so everyone knows that you belong to me? That you’re my puppy, hm?”

Fuck.

The sentiment alone, the domination and ownership of it all, has you crying out your most pathetic noise so far this morning, eyebrows peaked with need as you bite down on your lip so hard you think you might’ve drawn blood. Joel predicts your reaction, clamping down on your hip with his other hand to stop you from moving before he’s decided you’re allowed to.

Again, you nod, willing to agree to anything and everything he wants from you if it means you’re getting closer to getting what you want from him, what you need.

“Say it, baby,” Joel demands of you, his voice calm but commanding.

You tilt your head at him, humming a confused little noise, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Say it, c’mon,” he repeats. Your foggy brain is on a second or two delay, but it catches up eventually, and you realize what he wants to hear.

“I’m y-your… ‘m your puppy,” you say, softly, your voice tinted with embarrassment.

“Wha’s that, sweetheart? Didn’t quite hear you. One more time for Daddy.”

You swallow hard, inhaling a shuddering breath before repeating the phrase a little louder, with a little less control. “I’m your p-puppy, Daddy. I’m your puppy, ‘m Daddy’s–”

“Yeah, y’ are, fuck.”

He moves his hand from the base of your neck back to your hip, and uses his strong grip to hold you still while he begins a series of sharp but rewarding thrusts in and out of your swollen cunt, each one seeming to hit deeper and deeper inside you. Falling against him once more, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face into him while you let him fuck into you like a doll. His movements are quick and desperate as he growls an incoherent string of filthy praises in your ear, his words accompanied by the sloppy wet sounds of skin on skin.

“Perfect girl, Christ, tight lil’ puppy pussy feels so fuckin’ good, always feels so fuckin’ good. Such a good girl, such a good goddamn girl for Daddy.”

The harsh bounce of your body in his lap jostles every last one of your thoughts from your brain, and he relishes in the animalistic cries and yelps you mumble into the flesh of your upper arm, now damp with your drool. He must feel the moisture as it pools underneath your face and wets the thin fabric of his t-shirt, because then he’s laughing at you, spewing more obscene words at you as he spears you up and down on his cock.

“Shit, are you fuckin’ droolin’ on me, sweetheart? Got this messy cunt and that pretty mouth both soakin’ me, Christ. This cock make you that dumb, hm? You Daddy’s dumb puppy?”

You are, you both fucking know you are, so you agree and repeat it back to him to the best of your fucked-out ability because you know it’s what he wants to hear. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to hear it too, the self-degradation lighting your whole body on fire as some of that heat forms itself into a tight ball in your tummy.

Joel’s hips begin to stutter, his hold on you starting to falter, complete sentences turning into sharply whispered expletives as he nears his orgasm. He can feel you squeezing around him, notices the telltale sign of your muscles tightening and your breathing coming out in short bursts, and uses that four letter word against you one last time.

“Not yet, babygirl, don’t you fuckin’ come for me, not ‘til I say. Wait,” he spits through gritted teeth.

You were so ready, just teetering on the edge of your orgasm, all you needed was a few more jackhammering thrusts and you’d be careening down the steep cliff of it. It takes everything in you to hold it in, to not let go. But you’ve been so good for him, and Joel doesn’t have it in him to torture you much longer, and he permits you to finish just a few minutes later.

“Alright, come, puppy, come for Daddy,” he orders, and you spasm in his lap with a debauched cry, that ball of heat in your tummy dispersing through your bloodstream, igniting every one of your nerves and sending sparks flying behind your eyelids. He reaches his high at the same time, spilling his release inside of you the way you both like.

It takes a few moments for the both of you to come back into yourselves, heaving chests eventually matching each other in a more relaxed rhythm. Joel softly scratches at the back of your head while you place delicate kisses mindlessly along his neck and up behind his ear.

“You were so good, sweetheart. Always take everything I give you so well,” Joel quietly praises next to your ear. He touches his lips to the side of your head, then your temple, then gently maneuvers your face so that he can press a final kiss to your forehead. Your eyelids flutter open in response, and your lips tug into a sleepy grin as you focus on his face. “There she is, my beautiful girl.” He sweeps a few tangled locks of hair away from your face, and even though you know you must look like a mess, you let him admire you anyway.

“Still up to go out for some lunch? After we get ourselves cleaned up ‘n all,” Joel asks, shifting his gaze down to where his spend leaks from you, staining both of your clothes a darker color and dripping onto the fabric of his desk chair.

You pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a bit before shaking your head.

“No? Tha’s alright, sweet girl, don’t blame you one bit. You’ll still let Daddy get you cleaned up though, won’t you sweetheart? How’s about I run you a bath with some o’ that new flowery bubble bath you just got, hm?”

You light up at the premise, nodding eagerly, and Joel flashes his handsome smile at you in return. “Alright, hang onto me, baby,” he says, and you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as he scoops you up and carries you to the bedroom, his softening cock still nestled inside you. The two of you detach when he sets you down on the small, handmade wooden bench adjacent to the tub, and leaves only for a moment to retrieve your favorite pink blanket from the living room. He wraps it around your shoulders when he returns, and starts the bath for you. He makes sure to squeeze a generous amount of the bubble bath into the roaring stream of water, ensuring that the bath is sufficiently fragrant and relaxing.

When the tub is full, with mounds of white soap bubbles threatening to spill over the smooth porcelain walls, he helps you strip out of your clothes, tugging your bottoms down your legs as you remove your own top over your head. Joel offers you one of his hands to steady yourself with as you step into the bath and lower yourself into the steaming water. It feels perfect, because just like he knows exactly how you take your coffee, how you want to be fucked without you having to ask, he also knows the almost-too-hot temperature of bathwater you prefer.

He allows you to wash your own body, while he uses the cup you keep by the tub to douse your hair with water, using his rough fingertips to massage your favorite coconut shampoo into your scalp. You’re almost done scrubbing yourself by the time he’s raking conditioner through your damp ringlets, and then he’s rinsing you clean, the humid air in the room now smelling like a dozen different flowers and fruits, all of them mixing together to smell definitively like you. It’s his favorite scent in the whole world.

You don’t exchange many words during your bath, mostly enjoying the intimacy of the activity in silence. The action alone is enough to let you know how deeply the two of you care for each other, how much you trust and love each other.

When the water eventually runs cool, Joel helps you out of the slippery tub, and wraps you in one of your plush bath towels, a lighter shade of pink than your blanket, but just as soft.

“I’ll let you finish up in here, and I’ll see about orderin’ us some delivery, hm? I’ll get you whatever you want, and we can throw on a movie to watch while we eat, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good, Daddy,” you reply, the bath leaving you feeling refreshed and more like yourself, able to find your voice again.

You settle on ordering your favorite fast food, and it arrives shortly before you tiptoe your way into the living room, your wet hair now pulled up into a clip while the rest of you is dry and comfortable, wrapped in a soft lounge set and your cozy blanket.

“There she is, the Poky Lil’ Puppy,” Joel teases, removing your containers of chicken tenders and fries from the plastic bag they arrived in, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You giggle at his quip, settling down on the cushion next to him. “I’m not… poky, or whatever,” you reply, in a tone of voice that isn’t sure if you’re supposed to feel complimented or offended.

He looks at you in minor disbelief for a second, then moves his head and brows in a gesture that suggests something like touché. “It’s the name of a kids’ book. Written a lil’ before your time, I guess.”

“Oh… I’ll take it, then.” You settle against Joel’s warm, sturdy form as you munch on a fry, watching the TV screen as he flips through the most promising of the half dozen streaming services he’s subscribed to. “You know…” you start, but let the rest of your sentence drift away, not sure if you want to continue.

“Yeah, babygirl?” he replies, and it encourages you to finish your thought.

“I really liked, um… what we did today. Earlier,” you continue, doing your best to push through your shyness in an effort to get better at communicating your desires with him.

Joel pauses his browsing, putting the TV remote on the table so he can meet your eyes. “In my office, you mean?”

You can’t help but smile cheekily at the memory. “Yeah… I really like being called… that, I think. And if you don’t think it’s too weird–”

“Course I don’t, sweetheart. Would never judge you for likin’ what you like. If it makes you happy, makes you feel good, if it ain’t hurtin’ anyone, then there’s nothin’ wrong with it, baby.” Joel’s turned his upper body to face you now, to make sure you understand the sincerity of his words.

You smile, and his reassurance gives you the confidence to continue. “I really like that… collar idea,” you admit softly. “Maybe we can try that next time.”

He tucks his tongue into the pocket of his cheek, his face forming into a satisfied expression. “Thought you might. Keep bein’ Daddy’s good girl, he just might get you one. Maybe a matchin’ leash, too, somethin’ to tug on when I need you to listen.”

Your eyelids perform their involuntary flutter, a quiet whimper escaping your lungs at the thought.

“Alright, settle down now, baby,” Joel says through a chuckle, shaking his head before kissing the top of your head affectionately. “Got all the time in the world to try whatever we want. Just focus on eatin’ your lunch for now, sweetheart.”

You snuggle up close to him after he starts the movie you both decided on, happily eating your salty and savory meal as you watch. For the rest of the afternoon, you feel warm and satisfied for a few different reasons, the most important one due to how grateful you are to have Joel.

He takes care of you, understands you, and loves you like nobody else ever could. And it’s mornings like these that make you especially aware of that fact. You’ll be his good girl for as long as he wants you to be–forever, hopefully–and he’ll always give you exactly what you need in exchange for it.

Even if that something might be a collar with his name on it, fit for his perfect little puppy.

tag list (no pressure if this one isn't your thing!!) @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw (if your name is crossed out it won't let me tag you!!)

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

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cl6teen · 1 year ago

Text

come and see me ❀ ln4

in which everybody knows just how whipped your long distance boyfriend is for you

contains: social media!au, student!reader (21-22), whipped!lando who spoils you a bunch, a short little thing because i love writing for lando, this is purely self indulgent lmao; but to my requests dw im certainly getting to them

📍 rio de janeiro

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, bsfsinstagram and 79,477 others

yourinstagram clearly not much studying is being done!

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landonorris goddamn

landonorris first

bsfsinstagram this is getting out of hand

landonorris 😍😍

landonorris how are you so beautiful??

landonorris hey

yourinstagram hi i have a boyfriend 🥰

landonorris he’s a lucky guy

maxfewtrell please just come visit so that lando can shut up and stop whining about you

liked by yourinstagram

luv4lando lando always having post notifications on for yn is so boyfriend of him 😭😭

user hes literally head over heels for her

oscarpiastri please do your schoolwork

yourinstagram you’re one to talk 😬

liked by yourinstagram, f1bestwags, danielricciardo and 533,266 others

lando.jpg tfw when u miss ur girlfriend but she’s across the world

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danielricciardo my man my man my man lookin ass

landonorris my girl my girl my girl , and what about it?

yourinstagram i love you 🥰

yourinstagram call me call me call me

landonorris yes ma’am 😍

user lando seems like the type to mention his relationship at any moment and i’m here for it

oscarpiastri he does 😒

landonorris you act like it bothers you

oscarpiastri i just listen because i can’t tell you to shut up

user omg i’ve just gotten into watching f1 but who’s this?

user lando’s girlfriend! he’s head over heels whipped for her

bsfsinstagram please stop facetiming her while we’re trying to study ☹️

user get you a man like lando norris

yourinstagram he’s a one of a kind, but good luck trying!

user nothing was more sweet than watching lando’s post race interview when he said his celebratory plans were going home and facetiming y/n

user need this kind of love in my life asap 😩

my man 🏎️

are you back from the beach?

you

mhm, just made some dinner

wanna see the photos i took?

my man 🏎️

the answer’s the same every time babe

you

i’m screaming into my pillow and kicking my feet rn

my man 🏎️ loved an image

my man 🏎️

holy shit yn

😩😩😩

is that the dress i sent you??

shit, it looks good, you look so good in it

im glad i bought it

you’re the prettiest woman i’ve ever seen

you

lando omg

stop it stop it

my man 🏎️

i cant praise my girlfriend?

i should buy you more things

you

please don’t 😭

this was more than enough i’m so in love with it

my man 🏎️

if i can’t see you i can at least spoil you

i was going to get you a van cleef stack, what colour did you want?

you

lando norris.

i don’t need a van cleef bracelet.

my man 🏎️

what about some heels?

you

you’ve already got me a bunch, my closet is begging for more space

how about you get me podium on your race in singapore?

i cant wait to watch tomorrow

my man 🏎️

well that’s already a guaranteed

i’ll just surprise you 🤍

you

okay love 🤍

liked by landonorris and 231,900 others

yourinstagram come and see me for once (lando)

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user awe the photo from his stream earlier 🥺

user HELP when he saw that y/n was watching he got so smiley and excited

bsfsinstagram not the partynextdoor lyric

yourinstagram the best of the best

landonorris im coming.

yourinstagram yeah sure 😓

user the period???

danielricciardo is this shade 🤔

yourinstagram most definitely not daniel, get off my page

bsfsinstagram danielricciardo you can get onto mine instead 😍

user realer than real

user does anyone else thinks she’s always too quick to show off her body, like she barely wears any clothing

landonorris shut up

bsfsinstagram shut up

oscarpiastri shut up

danielricciardo shut up

user omg if i was that user i would have no choice but to stop living bc how u get cussed out four times back to back

my man 🏎️

you shouldn’t worry about that comment angel

it’s been a few days, they took it down

you

i know, lots of people say it anyway

it shouldn’t bother me

my man 🏎️

it’s okay if it bothers you

but don’t change because of it

i like what you wear

i actually love it

you

🙄

of course you like it

you like everything about me

my man 🏎️

why wouldn’t it?

you’re so smart and kind

and fucking beautiful

i won the lottery

so don’t change yourself to fit a rando’s wants

who the hell even are they

you

i love you so much

i wish you were here right now

my man 🏎️

yeah, me too

but i got you that gift i was talking about

it should have arrived by now

you

oh i didn’t even notice

my man 🏎️

yeah they said they dropped it off at your door

you

okay i’ll go check, i’ll facetime you in a bit to try it on

liked by bsfsinstagram, mclaren, landonorris and 643,444 others

yourinstagram so he did in fact come and see me…

tagged landonorris

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user lando standing on business norris

liked by yourinstagram

landonorris i hope you liked the gift i sent

yourinstagram i love it so much

danielricciardo are you not the gift in question lando

oscarpiastri ik your grades are cussing you out rn

yourinstagram i’m actually still getting all A’s i’ll have you know

bsfsinstagram parents reunited in brazil!!

yourinstagram 💋💋

liked by yourinstagram, danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 895,256 others

landonorris 🇧🇷 with this stinker

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user the differences in their posts are taking me outtt

yourinstagram why would you post that

landonorris why wouldn’t i post that?

user will you be back in time for qatar?

mclaren he better be 😅

danielricciardo this is so girl from ipanema core lando

landonorris shut up mate

oscarpiastri when lando finally sees his girlfriend again and is no longer there to complain 🙏🏻

landonorris you know you miss me

oscarpiastri say hi to yn for me

yourinstagram best boyfriend ever 💋

landonorris only for you 🤍

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 x female reader #navigation.#f1 x you #ln4 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #f1 x poc!reader

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merakiui · 1 year ago

Text

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rollo flamm #yandere rollo flamm x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: period sex

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imaginespazzi · 8 months ago

Text

Part 6: Leaps of Faith

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7

I hope that you catch me, cause I'm already falling (you put your arms around me and I'm home)

(In which a writer who can see the end approaching starts building towards that ending)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 8.0K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Good evening my lovelies <3. Happy Sunday and Happy Mothers day! First of all, I wanna thank y'all for being ever so patient with me. I know I've been pretty bad about updating lately and y'all have been so sweet with your asks and I really appreciate it. This fic is very close to its end. I probably could have ended it with this chapter but there's a very specific ending I want to write so this one is more of a self-indulgent filler but I think y'all will like this one. There will be one more chapter and then an epilogue of sorts. Once again, there are most likely logistical inaccuracies. I'm not even gonna lie, the editing on this one is shoddy so there are definitely grammar errors/typos. For now, ignore them and I'll go fix them later. As always, even if we're near the end, feel free let me know what you liked, what you didn't and anything you'd like to see before we get to the end. Have a wonderful week my angels <3

April 2024

“It’s a little early for ice cream hon,” Azzi jumps at the sound of her mother’s voice, startled eyes following the direction of the noise to find Katie leaning against the kitchen door, with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a little early to scare the living bejesus out of me mom,” she says with a hand to her chest.

If possible, Katie’s eyes roll even further at her daughter’s sarcastic tone as she makes her way over to the kitchen counter. She’s gotten herself a spoon and everything, ready to steal some ice cream for herself, when she notices the flavour. Next to her, Azzi stiffens.

“You hate mint chocolate chip Az,” Katie says quietly.

“I couldn’t find the strawberry ice cream,” Azzi defends stubbornly, her face taking on a guarded expression.

Katie walks over to the freezer, opening it and pointing at the strawberry ice cream, Azzi’s favourite, that’s sitting in plain sight, “it’s right there.”

“Well,” Azzi splutters, “I’m trying something new,”.

“You hate trying new things.”

“I’ve grown up I guess.”

“Azzi.”

“Mom.”

“Azzi, why are you eating ice cream you hate at 4 in the morning?” Katie finally asks in her best mom voice, sighing when she gets a mumbled response from her daughter, “in words Az, please.”

“Paige likes it,” Azzi admits slowly, and before Katie can say anything, before Azzi can dwell on what she’s said, she launches into a rant, “god knows why. Actually I know why because she’s stupid and weird and likes the dumbest shit. Who the fuck likes mint? Who the fuck likes mint and chocolate together? Gross. This shit is disgusting. It tastes all wrong. Paige is just-,” Azzi throws her hands up in the air, “she just doesn’t understand that some things don’t belong together. They can’t. They’re too different and it just- there’s a fucking balance to things you know? And she just- she doesn’t get that. It’s just- it’s not meant to be.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re eating it right now,” Katie says carefully.

“Because I miss her,” the truth bursts out of Azzi like an erupting volcano, burning itself into every crevice of her skin, “because for some fucking reason I don’t hate the taste of mint chocolate chip. Because maybe they do go together and maybe I’ve been the stupid one this whole time.”

Since she’d stepped out of the hotel in Cleveland, all Azzi could think about was going back, saying fuck it to all the useless logic she’d come up with and going back to the only thing in her life that had ever made sense her Paige. But as it often did in that clichéd battle between head and heart, her head had won out. And she’s never questioned why her head wins so much, why she’s always chosen to listen to the practical side of her brain, until now. Until now when the urge to turn back time, to make herself stay in that hotel room, is all that’s consumed her for the last week.

“Azzi,” Katie wraps her arms around the younger girl, “what happened with you and Paige?”

Azzi hesitates for a second and then everything’s spilling out of her lips, the good, the bad, the inbetween, all of it tumbles out like an uncontrollable waterfall. There’s something freeing about being able to say it all out loud, something freeing about the tears Azzi finally lets roll down her cheeks. She grips the edge of the counter to keep herself from keeling over, starting to feel herself crumble under the heaviness of all these stupid feelings.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” Azzi whispers, “we used to be so easy.”

“Oh Az,” Katie rubs a thumb against her daughter’s cheek, “you used to be kids. You’re all grown up now. It’s always harder when you’re older.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I just want to be the way we were again.”

“So why don’t you?” Katie asks like it’s the most simple solution in the world and Azzi shoots her mother an exasperated look.

“What do you mean? How do we even do that? We can’t be just friends again. We tried. Were you not listening at all?”

“Azzi, sweetheart, you’ve never been just friends.”

“That’s not true,” it’s a futile attempt at arguing against what’s become more of a fact than an opinion in Azzi’s life. It’s a truth she’d let herself acknowledge once and then buried deep within her, scared that once unleashed, it would ruin everything. Except, it turns out, even without it, things had still turned to dust.

“Do you remember when you came home from Minnesota that first summer with Paige? You were either moping around or you were on call with her. There was no in between. It got better eventually, the moping stopped but the calls? I think you fell asleep on facetime with her almost every night. And you were tired every morning after, you barely had time to eat before school but every time I suggested that maybe you cut back, that was never an option,” Katie smiles fondly, “it’s when I knew.”

Azzi does remember, remembers talking about everything and nothing, remembers laughing and crying, remembers when Paige’s breathing was the only lullaby that could relax her into sleeping. And she remembers battling with that voice in her head, the one convinced there’s something more, silencing it with I’d do this with anyone. But that wasn’t true then and it’s not true now because Paige has never been just anyone, never been just a friend. Because even if Azzi’s never been brave enough to say it out loud, Paige is and has always been everything.

Despite knowing the answer and maybe dreading it just a little bit, Azzi asks it to her mom anyway, “what did you know?”

“That she was your person. You were too young, I couldn’t call it love just yet but I knew Paige was different then, she was yours in a way none of your other friends were. You were different around her,” Katie nudges her daughter, “Azzi you’ve always been just a little bit in love with her and she’s always been just a little bit in love with you too. The two of you have just been a matter of time.”

Azzi closes her eyes, and unlike other people, she doesn’t see darkness or little spots of light, she just sees Paige. Her mother’s words wash over her, like acid in her self-inflicted fight the feelings wounds and yet, the idea of she’s loved me too feels like a band-aid being delicately placed on the scars of her heart.

“And place,” she whispers, eyes still closed, “we never seem to get time and place right.”

“Why do you need to?”

Another exasperated look is sent Katie’s way at that question, “we live on different sides of the country mom, what do you mean why do we need to?”

“I mean the two of you have barely ever been in the same place. But you made it work, when you had even less, when you felt even less. But you’re adults now. You have other resources now. And I know timing is difficult but- it’s you and Paige. What are you so scared of Azzi?”

Azzi sucks in a deep breath, “what if Paige runs away again?”

“What if you run away again?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who was the last person to walk away, Azzi?,” Katie sighs when Azzi is adamantly silent, “I know she hurt you by leaving. I know she hurt you by pushing you away. But you did the same thing. You chose UCLA,” Katie holds up a hand when a frustrated Azzi tries to interrupt, “and it was the right decision for you Azzi and she should have supported it. But that doesn’t meant you didn’t hurt her and then you chose Zoe-”

“I didn’t choose Zoe-”

“Yes you did Azzi. Sweetheart you’re my daughter and I will always tell you the complete truth even if it’s not what you wanna hear. And the truth Azzi is that Paige might have hurt you in 101 different ways but that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her back in 99 different ways too.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azzi whispers, “that’s the problem mom. It hurts when she hurts me but it hurts even more when I hurt her. I don’t want that for us but I just- I just don’t know how to stop it without stopping us.”

“You haven’t even tried, baby. Paige held out a hand and you ran away.”

“She left first. How am I supposed to trust that she won’t just do that again," all that’s missing from Azzi’s stubborn whine is a foot stomp.

“Because she came back. It took her a little bit, I know, but she came back and she’s ready to fight, the question is, are you?”

“Why are you defending her?” Azzi splutters, “who’s side are you even on?”

“There are no sides to this sweetheart. The two of you are on the same side. So maybe instead of fighting against her, take that hand, fight with her.”

***

The WNBA draft is a momentous occasion this year. With a hyped draft class like no other, and the promise of even greater ones in the future, there’s a sense of celebratory hope dangling in the air. When the invite had first come in, Azzi had known the same one would be sent to a certain blonde in Connecticut as well. And a part of her had wanted to hide herself away from that possible collision, but every other part of her wanted nothing more than to get just a glimpse of the blonde.

One moment Azzi is surrounded by flashing cameras and the echo of her name on everyone’s lips, the next everything around her is fading away her eyes meet Paige’s on the other end of the WNBA draft orange carpet. It’s nothing new really. Since she’s met her, the blonde has commandeered all of Azzi’s attention whenever she’s nearby. Sometimes it feels like all of her other five senses fade away to give birth to a secret sixth one, one that’s solely dedicated to Paige, one that’s terrifyingly all-consuming. And yet, despite the heaviness of we’ve said too many goodbyes, for the first time in what feels like eternity, Azzi feels like she can finally breathe.

And then Paige looks away.

And Azzi’s back to struggling for air.

It’s selfish of her, she knows, to expect something, not when she’d been the one to leave them stranded on different islands. But Azzi doesn’t seem to think logically when it comes to Paige and even as she tries to turn her focus back to posing for the camera, every inch of her body is dangerously aware of the blonde’s every move, just a mere few feet away from her. Her conversation with her mother is echoing in her head, giving rise to dangerous desires of what if i grabbed your hand and we ran away together.

Paige is a natural on the orange carpet, all dazzling smiles and twinkling eyes. She glides through it, inching closer and closer to Azzi, but never giving away any sense of discomfort. And if it was anybody else, maybe they’d never catch onto the nerves hidden beneath Paige’s facade of calm, cool and collected. But once upon a time Paige used to be Azzi’s favourite puzzle and she has every part of the blonde committed to memory. It’s in the way Paige’s teeth gnaw at her lips for the briefest of seconds, in the way her right index finger is begging to tap a beat against where her hands rests on hips, in the way she’s blinking just one too many times.

And then with one more heavy footed step from Paige, the distance between them is barely a couple inches and they let out identical breaths of air, both of them keeping their focus on the cameras in front of them. It’s loud, too loud, and still all Azzi can focus on is the sound of Paige breathing. The air around them is thick with tension. It feels a bit like they’re silhouetted against a sky made of words they’ve left unsaid and clouds of all the bitter mistakes they’ve made are hanging over their heads. And when their pinkies brush together, and a jolt of electricity sends shivers of I miss you more every day again her skin, Azzi questions if she’s ever made the right decision when it comes to Paige.

“Wait wait wait,” Ari cuts in, as she squeezes herself in between the two of them, “I wanna get in between the two of you.”

A harsh cry of no sits heavily on the top of Azzi’s tongue as the older woman forces a break in whatever little bit of contact she’d had with Paige. She feels a little pathetic, the way every little inch of her skin is craving for that touch back. It had been nothing, a barely there moment and still Azzi thinks, when she goes to bed tonight, if that was all she’d get of Paige, then it’ll be the only thing that’ll feature in her dreams.

“Alright one with just Paige and Azzi,” Ari directs the media, stepping out of the way and pushing the two younger girls together. And it’s laughable that a little brush of their pinkies had Azzi feeling any type of way because when they’re suddenly pressed together, every inch of Paige’s side fitting into Azzi’s like it belongs, the way the world suddenly bursts with light and colours makes Azzi wonder if every moment without Paige has simply been monochrome.

It comes to them naturally how to pose together, arms winding around each other’s waist, heads involuntarily leaning against the other’s. And the smiles might be for the cameras but Azzi knows hers is the most real it’s been all night. It might be temporary, she might lose Paige in the chaos, but for now Paige is here and Azzi has learned how to be content with whatever little she can get.

As the media moves to capture other people, the logical thing to do would be to separate, to let go of each other. But instead they stand there, still completely wrapped around each other, heart rates in sync as they breathe in each other’s presence. And then Paige’s hand falls from the small of Azzi’s back to tangle their fingers together and they let out identical sighs of relief, something so cathartic in the purposefulness of that touch. Everyone is too busy to notice that the two of them have fallen into a whole other world, one where there’s only two of them and every emotion that they’ve only reserved for the other. There’s no words exchanged as Paige guides the two of them out of the spotlight, somehow keeping their hands clasped together in secret, despite the ever growing crowd. And Azzi doesn’t know this building at all, doesn’t have the faintest clue where she’s being led to, but as long as it’s Paige pulling her along, she doesn’t care where, she thinks she’d go anywhere.

Paige stops abruptly in a secluded corridor, turning to fully face Azzi. And the sincerity in the blonde’s crystalline blue eyes, as they roam every inch of Azzi’s body before coming to fixate on her face, steals the air away from Azzi’s lungs. Paige has gotten better over the years at building walls, but with every new lock she places on her emotions, there’s a key to open them that seems to always find its way to Azzi. In the delicate golden hue, Paige shines brighter than any star ever could and in the dim light Azzi can make out every bit of hurt and love and please can we just have this moment that Paige can’t put into words.

“Hi,” Azzi whispers softly, hands itching to reach out and caress Paige’s skin.

“Hi,” Paige says back, even quieter. She stares at Azzi as if she’s memorising every little detail and then her face crumbles. Azzi feels her heart drop at the single tear that trickles down Paige’s cheek as she lets out a broken whimper. And this, this unspoken power they seem to have over each other, the uncanny ability to just hurt each other without any bit of effort, is what scares Azzi the most. It’s too much. They shouldn’t be able to do this.

“Paige,” Azzi’s fingers twitch but she hesitates, not knowing if it’s the right thing, “fuck- P what’s wrong?”

Paige doesn’t reply, eyes wandering down to where Azzi’s trying to keep her hands still against her sides and when she looks back up, her eyes are bloodshot, “what’s wrong? What’s not wrong Azzi? You won’t even fucking touch me.”

“I didn’t-” Azzi struggles to speak, “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Can you just- fuck- can you just stop overthinking things for once in your life. Of course I want you to touch- you know what nevermind. This was a bad idea. You made yourself clear and I’m just- fuck- I should- I should just go.”

She sounds adamant enough but all it takes, when Paige moves to leave, is the strangled cry that leaves Azzi’s lips. The sound is enough to pull Paige right back in. She takes one look at the tears brimming in Azzi’s eyes. And then she’s pushing Azzi against a wall, hands on either side caging the younger girl between her body and the hard surface behind. She presses their foreheads together and Azzi feels like every part of her might just be a part of Paige too.

“I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. It’s barely been two weeks and I- fuck- Azzi- I’ve missed you every single second and now you’re here and I still miss you. And it really fucking hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi whispers, finally letting her hands cup Paige’s cheeks, and it’s worth it for the way Paige seems to completely melt into her touch, “I’m sorry I keep hurting you. I keep thinking I’m doing the right thing but- I don’t know- I feel like I’m always doing the wrong thing when it comes to you. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

“Just let me be with you,” Paige’s voice is wrecked with desperation as she presses herself as close to Azzi as possible, “I’ll be your whatever- whatever you give me- whatever you want- I just- I just want you Az- whatever little bit you’re willing to give me- I’ll take it- and if you want me to wait- fuck Azzi- I’d wait forever- you know that right? However long it takes, baby. Just want you- just want us.”

Leaps of faith are scary. Azzi’s never been great at taking them, too cautious, too much of a worrier. She’s more of a step back from the cliff kind of person. If she doesn’t jump, she can’t fall. But here’s the thing, when she was fourteen, Azzi jumped off of her first hypothetical cliff. It had been on a plane, when after avoiding one too many deep questions, Azzi had admitted to a girl she barely knew,that maybe she could like girls. It was the first time she’d ever let herself acknowledge that truth about herself and the girl next to her was a stranger but there was something about her, something that screamed i’ll hold your hand and if you jump it’ll never be alone. And ever since then, that girl, Paige, has always been there. Hands outstretched, ready to jump off any ledge. Because if there’s hard ground underneath, then they’ll learn how to fly together and if there’s water, they’ll figure out how to swim. With Paige there has always been the promise that, whatever it is, they’ll figure it out together. And it’s with that promise in mind, that Azzi takes the leap of faith.

“Me too,” Azzi whispers, heart beating erratically.

“What?” Paige searches Azzi’s face, as if waiting for her to take it back.

“Us. You. You and me. I want that too,” a ghost of a smile begins to creep onto Azzi’s face, and for the first time in god knows how long, she feels feather light, a little bit like she’s floating on a rainbow.

“You mean it?” Paige asks earnestly, hands moving from the wall to clutch at Azzi’s waist, “don’t play-Azzi- okay- you mean it for real?”

“I do. I want this- I want this so much and I’m still- I’m still really scared and maybe it’ll be a disaster but I- I want to try. With you.”

Azzi used to think she knew all of Paige’s smiles. Her small, not quite fake, but only for cameras and people she didn’t quite know, smiles. Her just for my friends smile that was filled with mirth and childlike joy. Her basketball smile that transformed into a smirk when she got too cocky. Her only for Drew smile, soft and filled with so much adoration and pride. Her Azzi smile, the one only the brown-skinned girl gets to experience, a smile that made Azzi’s her heart swell with love. But the smile that stretches across Paige’s face now, is one Azzi’s never seen before. This one throws Azzi’s entire world of balance, so bright, so big, so full of emotions. If she could, she’d tattoo that smile onto her skin forever.

“We’re really doing this?” Paige asks, still a little stunned. It wasn’t what Azzi had planned for tonight. She hadn’t really had any plans for what would really happen. But then Paige had walked in and all Azzi could see was forever she was tired of fighting against.

“We should take it slow okay-” Azzi wraps her arms around the older girl’s neck, keeping their foreheads still against each other’s, “I don’t- I don’t wanna rush into things and fuck it up. I can’t- fuck- I can’t lose y-”

“You won’t,” Paige swears, squeezing at Azzi’s wait, “I won’t let you. We can take it slow. We can take it however you want- I just- we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” Azzi can’t help the grin that fills up her entire face, “yeah we’re doing this.”

And as they surge forward to claim each other’s lips, and as they meld every inch of themselves into each other, and as they smile and cry into the kiss simultaneously, and as they etch promises into each other skin, and as they let themselves finally fall into each other, for each other, it feels a lot like coming home.

***

July 2024

The early morning sunlight casts a dark shadow across Paige’s face, causing the still asleep blonde to scrunch up her face in irritation. Azzi, who’s been awake for nearly half an hour now, can’t help the fond smile that creeps onto her own lips. She shifts herself to block the sun and Paige lets out a content sigh, burrowing herself further into her pillows. And the thing is every moment with Paige is special but there’s something about waking up to her in the morning. Azzi’s always awake first and it gives her ample time to just admire the girl in her arms, blond hair tousled all over her pillow, lips parted slightly open, and one arm always, always, splayed across Azzi’s torso, holding her close. Over the course of time, Azzi’s found out that the second she moves, Paige seems to feel her leave, waking up instantly.

There had been an adjustment period if Azzi's honest. It had taken her a while to shake that fear of Paige not being there in the morning. The first morning, she’d been scared to open her eyes, even if she could feel Paige’s presence right next to her. That had been one of the few mornings that Paige was fully awake first, hovering above Azzi to wake her up. And when she finally did get the courage to open her eyes, the first thing Azzi had seen was Paige, blue eyes sparkling with unfiltered adoration, a smile filled with promises of every morning just like this. And that had been enough.

Azzi reaches out to brush a hand through Paige’s soft blond hair, mesmerised by how pretty Paige looks in the morning glow. A lot of Paige belongs to the world now and Azzi’s not opposed to sharing really, because someone so fucking perfect, deserves to be celebrated like that. But there are some parts of Paige that belong to Azzi and Azzi only, some parts Azzi cherishes as being only hers. This is one of them and Azzi takes a snapshot of it, knowing she’ll need it to function in a few months, when she won’t get the real thing.

“Are you watching Paige sleep?” Azzi almost jumps at the sound of Drew’s voice at the doorway, having been too immersed in Paige to have even heard the door open, “that’s kinda creepy Azzi.”

“Jesus Drew, whatever happened to knocking?”

“I forgot?” Drew grins, before he plops on the bed, the force of it making the whole frame shake a little bit.

“Drew!” Azzi chides, “you’re gonna wake her up.”

Drew cocks his eyebrows, sparing his sister, who seems unphased by the sudden little bit of chaos around her, still fast asleep, an unimpressive look, “please she can sleep through anything. Besides, it’s already 9. I thought we were gonna do things. I been up for aaaages.”

“She’ll be awake soon,” Azzi smiles, ruffling the younger boy's hair. Drew rolls his eyes and it’s remarkable how much he resembles Paige, not just by face, but the mannerisms too.

He huffs for a second before his eyes sparkle with an idea, “what if we pour water on her!”

“Drew!” Azzi chastises again, trying not to giggle.

“Boo,” Drew crosses his arms across his chest, “you used to be so cool Azzi.”

Azzi laughs as she’s reminded of a younger version of herself, scheming with Drew on how to wake Paige up. And it’s not that she’s beyond that really, tucking the water idea for a rainy day, but Paige looks too peaceful this morning and she wants to preserve that look of serenity on the older girl’s face for just a little bit longer.

“Hey Azzi,” Drew says after a while and Azzi hums in response, “when you and Paige get married, I can still be a groomsman right? Even if there’s no grooms?”

“Wha- where did that come from?” the brunette’s eyes widened at the question, sitting up a little straighter.

Drew peers up at her with all the innocence of a pre-teen, “you are gonna get married right?”

“I don’t-”

“It’s too early for your yapping Drew,” Azzi’s saved from answering by Paige’s tired voice entering the conversation. She looks over to find Paige’s eyes already on her, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at Azzi. If Drew wasn’t sitting right there, Azzi would lean over and kiss her and let Paige deepen it until they were both satisfied.

“Oh thank god,” Drew cheers dramatically, “I thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

Paige scoffs, the arm that’s still wrapped around Azzi’s torso tightening its hold, “I wish.”

“Well you’re awake now so get up,” Drew whines, moving from his spot on the end of the bed, to flop on top of Paige’s body instead, “get up, get up, GET UP.”

“Get off,” Paige groans but there’s no real force behind it. Azzi watches with a fond smile, as Paige flips Drew over so that she can tickle him, eliciting rounds of laughter from the younger boy. Something in her heart flutters, her mind going back to Drew’s question. She’s never really been one to think too hard about marriage and children and that domestic suburban life, leaving it up to fate, but now- well, maybe.

“Okay aight aight enough. Go get ready for breakfast and we’ll be down in a second,” Paige says, ushering Drew off of the bed.

“You can just tell me you want me to leave so you can kiss Azzi you know?” Drew scrunches up his nose, “you two are gross.”

Paige sends him a stern look and gets a dramatic eye roll in return but as he always does, Drew does as he’s told, mock saluting the two of them and skipping out of the room.

“He’s right by the way,” Paige says softly, turning back to where Azzi’s leaning against the backboard, “I do want to kiss you.”

Azzi smirks lopsidedly, “what’s stopping you?”

She squeals in surprise when Paige pulls her, the force of it causing both of them to tumble onto the front-end of the bed. Azzi ends up on top of Paige, hands resting around her neck, the blonde’s hands holding her waist in place.

“Good morning,” Paige grins, clearly proud of herself as she chases Azzi’s lips to pull her into a searing kiss.

“Good morning,” Azzi whispers back, thumb caressing Paige’s left cheek.

“Just so you know,” Paige pulls away, a determined glint in her eyes, “we’re so getting married one day.”

***

October 2024

Azzi’s mood has been rancid for the last couple of weeks. It’s terrible she knows; it makes her irritating to play with and a nightmare to live with. But even if this had been expected, that she would be on one end of the country and her heart would be on the other side, it doesn’t stop her from constantly being in a state of missing Paige. And it’s different from before, now that there’s a certain surety of of course i’ll see you soon but soon never really feels soon enough.

“Azzi can you please get the door,” Kiki calls from her room when the doorbell rings.

“I’m busy,” Azzi grunts back, snuggling further into her pillow with a book she isn’t actually reading, “you go get it.”

“Azzi please, I’m literally in the middle of getting dressed,” Kiki yells exasperatedly.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s pretty sure her teammates are about this close to plotting her murder, and deservedly so, Azzi would sink back onto her bed and let the incessant doorbell noise continue. But she does love her teammates, thinks Kiki probably deserves to change in peace, and it forces her out of bed, grumbling away about annoying visitors. Until she actually gets a look at the visitor. Paige stands on the doorstep, confident as ever, a bouquet of roses and peonies and lilies in her hand.

“You’re here,” Azzi breathes out, staring in awe.

“And thank fucking god she is,” Kiki quips from behind her, “maybe we can finally get our old happy Azzi back and not this bitch.”

Paige laughs, “watch how you talk about my girl Rice.”

“You’re here. You’re really here,” Azzi whispers again.

“I heard you missed me baby,” Paige says, her cocky smirk betrayed by the softness in her voice. And then Azzi is flying into her arms, throwing Paige off balance.

“So fucking much,” Azzi admits into Paige’s neck, eliciting a giggle from the blonde, “Kiki’s right. I have been a bitch.”

“Just a little bit,” Kiki calls out again but there’s a new fondness in her voice. It’s funny how her team, even the haters, have slowly become Paige fans. They’d been hesitant at first, just like the UConn girls, but now well, it seems the basketball world’s Montagues and Capulets have learned to accept their star players’ relationship.

“Missed you too Az,” Paige’s tone is vulnerable as they break away, “alright, go get changed, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Or…,” Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, “we could stay here and do something else.”

Paige shivers under her touch, stepping away to keep some semblance of control “n-no I have plans,” but she can’t help but kiss Azzi’s pout away, “it’ll be worth it, I promise. Besides,” she bites at Azzi’s ear, “there’s always later.”

***

“Your big plans are to bring me to the supermarket,” Azzi cocks an eyebrow as they walk down one of the many aisles, “you turned down sex for this? Should I be offended?”

Paige doesn’t say anything, concentratedly looking at signs, trying to figure out a specific section, before an aha! moment dances over her face, and she pulls Azzi with her, the younger girl going willingly, despite the eye roll. She stops triumphantly in front of the sushi section and Azzi looks at her quizzically.

“I’m getting you supermarket sushi,” Paige says pointedly, “and then you can get me mac and cheese.”

And if you brought me sushi I’d have brought you your favourite mac and cheese. Oh. The realisation of what Paige is doing trickles around Azzi a little bit like rain after a long summer drought. She thinks back to the bouquet, everything suddenly making sense.

“You’re such a dork Paige Bueckers,” Azzi says softly, tapping the older girl’s nose.

“Your dork,” Paige grins cheesily, “now hurry up and pick one. I don’t wanna miss the sunset.”

***

Once she catches on it, it doesn’t surprise Azzi to find that Paige has everything planned out perfectly, down to the exact spot in the park- the one by Paige’s recovery airBnB, the one they’d taken countless walks in trying to repair their friendship- where the two of them can be away from everybody else, in their own little bubble. And she has a picnic blanket, that’s a little small but they don’t really want space from each other anyways. They lean against a tree, food set up in front of them, Paige’s laptop, carefully piled on top of a couple of books to be the perfect height, set a little bit further away.

“So what NBA game are we watching?” Azzi asks with a smile and Paige groans, “what? Was that not part of the plan?”

“Dude come on. It’s the beginning of October. Please tell me you know the NBA season isn’t happening yet,” Paige rubs her temple, only a little endeared by the comment, “are you sure you’re a basketball player?”

“There are games in October. I swear I’ve seen them before,” Azzi says sceptically.

“Yeah at the very end of the month, not right now.”

“Well then close enough,” Azzi says indignantly, “I don’t need to know the exact day.”

“Whatever you say baby,” Paige acquiesces with a smirk and it earns her an elbow to the stomach, “what the fuck? That shit’s domestic violence you know?”

“Big words Bueckers, didn’t think you knew them,” Azzi teases, placing a kiss against Paige’s offended expression, before settling herself against the blonde’s side, sighing contentedly when she gets a kiss on her temple in return. They’re cliché enough to put on Love and Basketball, but Azzi doesn’t really end up watching much at all. In between slow kisses, she almost falls asleep a couple of times, the comfort of Paige’s arms like a blanket wrapping her in the warmth of this is my fairytale.

“THE POLAROID,” Paige’s shout breaks Azzi out of her haze as she feels her body being shaken off, the blonde rummaging through her bag for the camera, “we have to take the polaroid. My wall needs it.”

“Oh yeah a tiny polaroid picture of us inbetween all your Lebron posters, a perfect fit,” Azzi drawls only to be met with a scathing look from Paige.

“It’s for important things and Lebron is the most important of them all,” Paige explains with complete seriousness, as she finally finds the polaroid camera and shimmies back to Azzi with it in hand.

The sunset is beautiful. Pink, purple, orange and blue, all blending together to create the perfect picture. But Azzi thinks it’s not nearly as beautiful as the girl in front of her, not nearly as beautiful as the date Paige had planned, not nearly as beautiful as the future she can so clearly see now. Her mind drifts back to the night of the phone call, and she can almost hear Paige’s sobs again, can still hear her own voice breaking. Back then, they had seemed impossible, a butterfly like dream that danced out of their grasp.

“Hey,” Paige captures her chin with two fingers, “where’d you go?”

Azzi shakes her head, “nowhere. I’m right here. With you. Where I should be.”

“Sappy goof,” Paige snorts but she kisses Azzi like she’ll take those words and hide them in the labyrinth of her mind, protect them there forever.

Taking the picture is a task, both of them bickering about angles and lights. It’s unnecessary arguing, in true Paige and Azzi fashion really but there’s something so mundanely domestic about it that Azzi finds herself wanting to memorise this moment too. They finally get the frame just right, somewhere in between what they both wanted. Azzi smiles at the camera, her Paige smile, as the blonde in question presses her lips against her cheeks.

Click.

And Azzi hopes, that however many years later, when they have a home of their own, amidst all the photos that they’ll take over the next years, this one will be hung somewhere on their wall, a testament to finally realising every dream they’d dared to dream together.

***

December 2024

There are pebbles being thrown at her window and Azzi has to stop herself from laughing when she peers down to see Paige, freezing cold in the Virginia December air, staring up at her with a goofy smile. She shakes her head when her phone rings, knowing it’s Paige and answers it with her own foolish grin.

“What exactly are you doing?” Azzi asks, “come back to bed.”

“You said I was unromantic. I’m trying to be romantic,” Paige’s teeth chatter in the cold, as she balances her phone in one hand, still throwing rocks with the other.

“I didn’t say that and throwing rocks at my window is supposed to be romantic? You’re going to wake the whole house up.”

“That’s what they do in all the good rom coms. And you said and I quote ‘we’re kind of boring’. You might be boring Azzi Fudd but I most definitely am not.”

It had been a throwaway comment Azzi had made at dinner with some friends from high school. One of her friends had been going on and on about some adventurous trip that she and her boyfriend were going on, and then asked Paige and Azzi if they had any of that planned. To which Azzi had replied that they were a little too busy, considering they were college basketball players still in season, and besides they were “kind of boring” people. She hadn’t meant it in any type of way. Personally, Azzi likes boring. Paige however, seemed to have taken the comment to heart and Azzi had woken up at 2 a.m. to an empty bed and the sound of something being thrown at her window.

“Okay I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You're really interesting baby and the most romantic person in the world. Now will you please come back to bed,” Azzi concedes, already missing the feeling of being cuddled up in her blankets with Paige’s body heat keeping her nice and toasty.

“No,” Paige says indignantly, “come down here.”

“Paige, it's freezing. It’s gonna start snowing any minute.”

“Exactly. That’s exciting.”

“Sleep is exciting,” Azzi whines, but she’s already padding around her room looking for a warm sweater, grumbling under her breath about the warm California sun she’s missing. She tiptoes down the staircase, wincing at the one step that creaks just a little too much, before pushing herself out the door. And it’s freezing cold, there’s sleep in her eyes, but it’s all worth it Azzi thinks, it’ll always be worth it, just to experience Paige’s smile.

“Knew you’d come,” Paige grins cockily, mittened hands pulling Azzi into her.

“Yeah yeah. What are we even doing?”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige bellows dramatically, “may I have this dance.”

Azzi stares at Paige’s outstretched hand wondering if this is some sort of cry for help, but one look at Paige’s face tells her that the girl in front of her is being absolutely serious.

“This is your idea of exciting? Dancing in the street while it’s freezing with no music?” Azzi raises an eyebrow, but she takes Paige’s hand.

“It’s spontaneous,” Paige says the last word with a flourish, as she spins Azzi, “why not dance in the street when it’s freezing with no music?”

And well, that’s a fair point. If anyone were to look out their window that night, they’d probably think the two girls were somewhat crazy. Laughing and giggling and tripping over each other as Paige hums a melody and Azzi occasionally joins in. It’s ridiculous and corny and cliché and perfect. And then the first little bit of snow falls, white drops circling around the two dancing girls, snowflakes catching on their eyelashes. The dim glow of the streetlight is enough to catch identical smiles on the two girl’s faces as they revel in each other.

“You know some people say if you make a wish during the first snowfall, it’ll come true,” Paige whispers, still waltzing the two of them around, cheek pressed to Azzi’s, “you wanna try?”

And the thing is Azzi doesn’t really believe in all of that, in magic but something about Paige, something about this moment feels magical. It makes a believer out of Azzi.

“Yeah,” Azzi smiles, “let’s make a wish.”

They stand still, holding hands, eyes closed, both a little breathless, as they make their wishes. And when they open them, if it feels a little bit like maybe their wishes have already been granted, well they’ll share it in a secret smile but never out loud. After all, wishes don’t come true if you speak of them.

***

April 2025

7 seconds to go in the National Championship and Azzi’s UCLA Bruins are down by two points. It’s her last chance, having already declared for the 2025 WNBA draft, to win a national championship, to bring home their first basketball national championship since the 1978 team that had won the AIAW championship, to win their first NCAA championship ever. It had taken some sheer luck to get to this point if Azzi’s honest. As a two-seed in the Spokane region, they’d benefitted from their one-seed having been eliminated early and then getting to face a Cinderella six-seed in the final four. On the other side of the bracket, UConn, the favourites coming for a repeat, had been stunned by another team, the team that UCLA was now facing. That had caused a bit of a second-hand sting and Azzi’s not really trying to take revenge for Paige, but it'd be a lie to say the get back at them for me babe from earlier this morning isn’t ringing in her head.

The play is simple, set screens for Azzi, get her open, get her the ball. A two would get them to a tie and three would win it outright. Either will do. It’s a little too reminiscent of last year when Azzi had failed at tying the final 4 game and she can still feel that loss on the tips of her fingers. They break out from their last timeout, breathlessly running to their spots on the floor. The whistle blows, Kiki inbounds the ball and everything is a blur. All Azzi knows is the shot clock is winding down. She runs off of what feels like a million screens. And then she’s open on the wing, for a millisecond. A perfect pass from Kiki makes sure the ball lands straight in Azzi’s hand. And she doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even notice the defender put up a hand, she shoots the ball. There’s two people on the court that know for sure that ball is going in the minute it leaves Azzi’s fingers, the shooter herself and her biggest fan in the stands, who’s been just a little bit in love with that shooting stroke, since before anything else had even begun.

With a delicate swish, the ball falls through the net, the buzzer sounds around the arena, the crowd explodes in blue and gold, as the UCLA Bruins win the 2025 national championship.

Everything stills in Azzi’s brain for a second, her thoughts taking a second to catch up to reality. She’s never really been one to emotion on the court, keeping herself steely guarded through most games, even at the very end. But now, triumph and pride and just utter happiness at finally achieving one of her biggest dreams, comes roaring to the surface, manifesting itself throughout her entire body, as she lets out a scream of joy. Her teammates engulf her and she gets lost in a sea of hugs and tears and bright, decadent smiles.

As thing start to calm down, there’s really only one thing on Azzi’s mind and Paige’s words echo in her ears, because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. And Azzi thinks maybe Paige had discovered one of the biggest truths of their life with that, the truth that at the end of day, in any moment, big or small, happy or sad, the one person Azzi wants next to her, is her Paige. It’s been that way since she was fourteen, and too young to really understand the meaning of wanting someone forever, and she thinks if she has her way, it’ll be like that for the rest of her life, the rest of their life.

Paige is beaming in the crowd, standing next to Jon and José, a #35 jersey proudly adorning her torso. She waves when she catches Azzi’s eyes, always her biggest cheerleader. And Azzi throws caution to the wind, fuck it, not caring that there’s still a large crowd or that cameras are likely to follow her every move. She pushes her way into the stands, stopping right in front of the blonde.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad would kissing you right now be?” Azzi asks, still a little breathless.

A myriad of emotions flicker through Paige’s face before settling on a mischievous smirk, “probably pretty bad but you should do it anyways.”

Azzi grins before merging their lips together and everything else fades to the background, until she’s consumed by nothing but Paige. They break apart far quicker than either of them would like and Azzi expects to feel just a little bit of fear at what she’s just done, likely given the media a spectacle they could run a million and one stories about but instead, with her forehead still pressed against Paige’s, she feels nothing but calm.

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi whispers and Paige’s eyes widen. They’ve known it for a while now but it’s the first time either of them have said it.

“Say it again,” Paige demands.

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi says again, grinning so hard, she thinks it might become her permanent expression, “like really fucking in love with you.”

“I’m so in love with you,” Paige whispers, pulling Azzi into a bone-crushing hug.

And this might not be the moment where everything finally comes together. There’s still so much life left to live, so much that they still need to work through, so much they’ve yet to deal with. But for now, Azzi has a national championship and she has the love of her life, the rest will work itself out, or so she hopes.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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sovlstr · 8 days ago

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Maria Giovanni x Sans Gaster

The wolf and willing mouse

——————

General rant involving personal matters and past trauma, check tags for reference.

As much as I enjoy tumblr, I find that anytime I use it I am doomed to come across things I don’t like. I mean, thats a given, but when its past the “2016 ship and let ship phase” of the internet, it gets tiresome. “Why cant we bring back 2015 internet when everyone was chill with random incest?” because most of us were barely pushing middle school and most definitely didn’t know better. Call it a failure of the adult fanbase, introducing amino and tumblr and deviantart to many young and impressionable people that came to see it as normalized. Thankfully, most of us have moved on and realized the faults of the past- our parents, or a lack thereof- and the enablers of the fandom that got away scot free.

It comes as no surprise that me, and many others, are not particular fans of the “solygbm” story, with its slander of characterization- Sans a rapist, Grillby a pedophile, abuse fetish, and ever so diligent self inserting of the author. Thats not to slander it- if you’re into the taboo, just indulge responsibly in designated areas is all I ask. I do come to find it repulsive though, as a “victim” to it. You would think that even as an ex frans and sans fangirl, I’d be more tolerant to it. Well, ex proshipper, as result of 7-10 years sca. The amino incidents… did make it worse but hey, character development or something.

It was never something publicly shared or indulged in- I think I knew better- but god did it fuck me. I do indeed blame the incest I was exposed to as a child, apparently was so normalized to the fault I hadn’t realized it until maybe, 13-14. Once hating that I’d become the example every anti use(proship affects young people and reality yadda ya). But there is such a fortunate truth in that argument. Thankful to god I had a mother who supported me through it all, god bless her sweet heart. Regretting the things I was enabled in- yea, looking at you RivenSkies on Amino. Imma catch you one day, you and that guy who harassed 12 year me for drawing humanized Rarity in random deviantart outfits.

Besides those faults, the problem with aus and is that one really can’t disconnect from that part of the fandom, being such a significant fixation and infouence that would issue losing some of my most valued friends. People that I’ve come to trust as of now, which is why I’m fine with people knowing this. I’ve simply decided to, for my own sake, stray away from the fandom itself. Undertale AUs, I mean.

Fiction is such a major component of reality. If I physically didn’t feel myself cringe and my heart sink a little lower every time I stumbled upon- and you know who you are- a frans post, when I’ve done what I can to reduce the sight from my mind, then I wouldn’t argue that fact so much. But it really does. Especially when its characters you have watched and mimicked for such a large majority of your life. Let’s face it- every fandom is fucked up. It seems the more innocent the game the more dubious its fans are. I really cant figure it out why but honestly, the aus and stories are the main factor keeping this fandom alive. Thats the charm of it all.

Anyway, backtracking from my thoughts on this favorite fandom of mine. I’ve decided that for my own sake, I spend a bit less time on this platform. Even all its gifts and glory, I really just can’t risk my happiness for something so rapant in the fandom. Im thankful for the people who have made this experience the best it was. Sorry if I scared anyone, this sounds awfully lot like a goodbye note LOL. Just expect activity to be ~3/4 times a week, short spurts of checking in and saying hi. Instagram- with Tiktoks awauted ban and increase of dubious content(cant search up anything without seeing 🌽), has became my safe haven. I have a larger audience, more actives oomfs, so much content to explore and hopefully better filtered tags. Feel free to reach me, whether on Insta or just here.

Final note! I will be posting all chapters of Don Dew here soon given the risk of ao3 being banned as well. I also barely use the latter and prefer what I’m used to. Thank you for reading ^_^

——————

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shutupptara · 2 years ago

Text

‘tis the damn season - nathan mackinnon

summary: set during the 2020-shortened season- you’re home for christmas when you run into one nathan mackinnon on a grocery run. it’s been years since you’ve last talked, let alone seen each other, but it’s quickly like no time has passed. and the road not taken looks real good now..

i’ve been writing this since 2020. much like all of my writing i’ve posted, you have @kat-hearts to thank for this. she lovingly bullied me into finishing a piece i hadn’t touched in years. set at christmas, but not a christmas story. also set during the pandemic, so reality is very hand wavy (aka the nhl pushing the season happens, but lockdown isn’t reallllly a big deal) so if that bothers you, maybe skip this one.

is this any good? i honestly don’t know, but i know i loved writing nate so pls enjoy

word count: 13,151

warnings: alcohol use, strong language, explicit sexual content MINORS DNI, a general disdain for life and choices made, a tiny bit of angst, hating on Florida (it’s okay i live there) a LOT of self indulgence

title from ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift

It wasn’t that she didn’t like returning home for holidays, it was just a huge ordeal every time it happened. Not only was it a 3,000 mile trip, there was always ice and snow to contend with. Coupled with her well-meaning, albeit overbearing, neighbors, the holidays get to be a bit much for her to handle. Still, there’s something wonderful about the tranquility of home. Refreshing, really. With a year as stressful as 2020 had been, it was a blessing to be able to return home for the holidays.

Her first true day of Christmas break, her mother begs her to go to the store for her: there’s so much baking to prepare for, and while she is happy to do the shopping for her, she knows it’s so she won’t see her wrapping presents. Even at 26, her mom insists upon marking her gifts ‘from Santa’, and the nostalgia of it always makes her smile. So, against her better judgment, she ventures out to the closest Sobeys. She has her jacket and scarf pulled tightly around her, unwilling to admit to herself she really can’t take the cold anymore, but mostly wanting to hide to be in and out as quickly as possible.

She grabs a cart on her way in the store, unlocking her phone and holding it open in front of her, eyes sweeping across the list her mother had sent her with. It isn’t terribly long, thankfully. She makes quick work of grabbing what she needs, moving down the aisles long ago committed to memory with ease. Various other things get tossed into the cart as she moves: chocolate covered pretzels, a case of Diet Coke, her favorite cheese crackers.

When she reaches the wine aisle, she shrugs to herself, deciding it’ll be best to have some on hand, in case of an emergency. She grabs a bottle of Roscato for her mom, and two bottles of cab for herself. Once they’re safely in the cart, she makes her way to the checkout line. There’s quite a few people crowded there, and she tries to maneuver around to a shorter line, her brow furrowing when she spots a rather large looking man a few feet in front of her.

As she gets closer, realization washes over her. “Nathan MacKinnon,” she stops in her tracks, heart swooping in her chest. “As I live and breathe.” It comes out before she really even processes what’s happening.

He turns, almost as if in slow motion, his eyes widening when they land on her. “My god, it’s been ages. What are you doing here?”

She smiles slightly, suddenly hyper aware of how messy her hair is, and the fact that she hadn’t tried very hard when getting dressed this morning. “Could ask you the same thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you home for Christmas.” She knows for a fact she hasn’t. It was the one reprieve of being back in Cole Harbour - Nate was never here.

“Yeah, I’m usually not,” he shrugs. “I uh, you know with the year as crazy as it’s been, and the season being pushed, I’ve actually been home most of the year. Hanging out with Andy, Sid, Jack, Pete...” There’s a longing look on his face, mirroring the ache she knows is lingering in his chest. There’s an identical one inside of her, and she knows she’s to blame for the pain Nate’s dealing with. This wasn’t a particularly easy run in for either of them, but it’s almost refreshing in a way? She doesn’t care about the buddies he’s spending his time with, she would’ve asked if she did, but it’s obviously important to Nate she know, and she doesn’t want to read too much into that. Maybe he wants her to know he’s not spending time with another girl, and she hates that part of her is hopeful because of that but it’s not fair to be. She can’t expect him to stay single forever, simply because being here and seeing him has every feeling she’s ever felt for him rushing back.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” she laughs. “I’m really glad I ran into you.” There’s a surprising amount of truth to that. God, it’s been almost eight years since she’s seen Nate, even in passing, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t followed his career. She’s from Canada for Christ’s sake, of course she follows hockey.

“I am too,” Nate grins. “Hey, you should come by later. There’s a few people coming over, no one you hate,” he raised his eyebrows and she can’t help but laugh. “No expectations, just drinking and fun. It would be nice to catch up.”

Without hesitation, she’s blurting out, “I would love that.”

“Great!” Nate exclaims. She can practically see him center himself in that moment, try to keep it together.

“I’m staying at my parents’ house,” she offers. Though I would much rather be with you, her mind continues, and she shakes her head to try to clear it. “Are you still two doors down?”

Nate reaches a hand up, rubbing the back of his hand awkwardly. “Nah, I bought a house when I signed with the Avs. It’s a bigger one, out on Albany Terrace. I think you’ll like it.”

She smiles brightly. “I’m excited to see it.”

“Yeah?” Nate mutters.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’ll text you the address,” he offers. “Guess that means you have to give me your number.”

___

She makes a substantial effort to not show up right at 8 pm. It’s difficult, as she’s been a compulsively early person her whole life, but this time it feels necessary to be “fashionably late”. It helps that she fusses with what to wear for over thirty minutes- this shouldn’t be a big deal, and she doesn’t want it to be, but that doesn’t change the anxiety that’s swelling in her chest. She tells herself this isn’t anything to stress, it’s just catching up with an old friend and if things are awkward, she can always leave. Still, as she pulls up to Nate’s house, she realizes there’s a part of her that’s a tiny bit excited.

She takes in a slow breath as she kills the engine, nodding to herself as she climbs out of the car and heads up the walkway. She’s clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels in her left hand, never showing up empty handed instilled in her at a young age. She rings the doorbell, glancing around curiously as she waits. Her heart is pounding, and she’s ready to turn and bolt back to her car when the door swings open.

Nate’s standing in front of her, a soft smile on his face. She lets her eyes sweep over him, admiring the beige cable knit sweater straining over his shoulders. He looks so relaxed, so incredibly casual. “Hey! So glad you made it. Come in.” He steps aside, closing the door behind her. “That a bottle of Jack?” She can’t do anything but nod, holding it out to him wordlessly. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he laughs. “Everyone’s in the living room. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Nate leads the way through the house, stopping briefly in the living room on his way to the kitchen. “Hey guys!”

She peers around him, relieved to see there really wasn’t anyone she hated in attendance. Pete, who she's known her whole life and his girlfriend Hannah are first to greet her, ushering her to sit beside them.

“Hey squirt, it’s been ages,” Pete teases.

“You forget I’m older than you,” She laughs. “But yeah, it’s been a long time.”

“Where are you living now?” Hannah asks.

“Florida. Been there for almost five years.” She falls quiet then, eyes glancing at where Nate is still standing.

He fidgets, and clears his throat. “I’m gonna grab a drink.” With that, he disappears around the corner, and she’s left to slump into the couch.

For a while, she mostly listens to Pete talk about his job, or the crappy apartment Hannah’s parents are begging them to move out of. It’s only a matter of time until they end up engaged, she knows, and she’s happy they’ve found happiness. It does little to help her feel like less of a leper, though. As soon as she’s able to find a break in their one-sided conversation, she jumps on it, taking the opportunity to disappear into the kitchen. Nate’s on one of the other couches, talking to Andy about getting a Call of Duty game going, and that’ll be enough to keep him occupied for hours. No chance he’ll notice her absence until she can figure out what the hell she was thinking showing up here tonight.

She heads straight for the freezer when she enters the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of Jack, and grabbing a solo cup laid out on the counter. She drops a handful of ice into the cup, followed shortly after by a hefty pour of the dark liquid. She brings the cup to her lips after taking a long drink.

“Jack on the rocks, eh?” A voice behind her asks.

“‘Tis the damn season,” she mutters, turning to spot Sidney Crosby leaning against the doorframe. She raises her cup to him, taking another long drink.

He lets out a honking laugh, eyes sparkling. “It’s nice to see you again.”

She quirks an eyebrow, “didn’t really think you’d remember me, to be honest.” She had only encountered Sidney a handful of times, and she never thought she’d left much of an impression. Truth be told, she was always a little star struck around him- it was hard not to be.

He furrows his brow, frowning. “Come on, I met you a bunch of times when you lived in Pennsylvania. And Nate talked about you nonstop when you were-“ he trails off, shrugging.

“Pen pals?” She offers. She can tell Sidney doesn’t see it as bitter. There’s a sadness in her voice she probably won’t ever be able to shake when she’s talking about Nate.

He shakes his head, but doesn’t push her, thank god. Instead, he steps into the kitchen, pours himself a cup of Jack on rocks, and clinks his cup against hers. “Here’s to escaping hometowns,” he toasts.

She grins. She takes another long drink, frowning at her cup when she realizes it’s nearing empty. “I think I may get drunk tonight, Sidney.”

He offers her the bottle, “I’m with you. Let’s do it.”

Surprisingly enough, Sidney Crosby is the one to save her from the awkwardness of the evening. True to his word, he does stay in the kitchen and drink with her. They talk about everything from Sid’s most recent cup wins to why on earth she decided Florida was a good place for her to settle down. They tread very carefully on any conversation that can take a turn to Nate, and she’s thankful Sidney read the room. He’s quite fun to be around once you chip away the exterior and he lets his guard down. They relocate to the table in the corner, and keep the bottle of Jack between the two of them, both casually refilling their cups as the night wears on.

When the bottle is almost empty and she can feel her head swimming, she jumps at the sound of another person entering the kitchen. “Ah, this is where you’ve been hiding.” Nate takes the seat beside her at the table, his leg bumping against hers as he maneuvers his chair. “Should’ve known you’d ditch me for Crosby.”

Opposite them, Sidney snorts. “Nah, just needed a drinking buddy, is all.”

“Sid is surprisingly good at drinking Jack,” she offers.

“Yeah?” Nate grins. “Seems like you’re pretty good too. Have you eaten anything?”

She taps her finger against her lips, considering, before shaking her head dramatically. “Nope.”

“Maybe we should fix that...”

Again, she shakes her head. “No room for food. Just alcohol.”

Nate smiles at her, and even in the haze of the alcohol, she feels her heart warm. It’s that same fond smile she’d loved so much when they were together, and she knows she can’t let her mind run away from her, but at the moment, she can’t rationalize why that’s the case. “In that case, let me break out the good stuff.” He stands up, heading to the cabinet above his stove. There, he grabs a fancier looking bottle, a dark brown liquid sloshing around as he carries it over to the table. “Crown Royal XR, so you never forget where you came from.” He takes the liberty of pouring her and Sid a glass before fixing one for himself, and reclaiming his seat.

She sniffs the liquid in the cup, eyes widening. “Ooof.”

“Don’t quit on me now,” Sid goads. He nudges her with his elbow, giggling.

She shakes her head adamantly. “Momma didn’t raise a quitter,” she announces. She raises her glass, waiting as Nate and Sid follow suit. “Here’s to Cole Harbour’s golden boys.” She sees Nate roll his eyes, but he’s smiling when he brings his glass to his lips.

She takes a long drink, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. “Oh, that is really smooth.”

“Everything’s better when it’s Canadian,” Sid pipes up.

She giggles at this, which makes Nate quirk an eyebrow. “There’s no arguing that point, Florida.”

“Come on, Florida isn’t that bad,” she insists.

Nate looks to Sid, then back to her, shrugging. “The fact that you have to say it that way doesn’t help your case.”

“It doesn’t snow there!”

“Boo,” Sid says.

“How do you even survive without hockey down there?” Nate adds.

“Shut up, there’s hockey! My friend Nick would argue Tampa is a huge hockey town. Wait- oh my god!” She cuts herself off, looking around excitedly. She pats the pockets of her pants, pulling a face when she can’t find her phone.

“What are you doing?” There’s a distinct amusement in Nate’s voice.

“Where’s my phone? I wanna FaceTime Nick. He always gives me shit about knowing y’all. He pretends he doesn’t believe me because he’s never met you, so somehow that means I haven’t? I don’t even know...”

“Nick your boyfriend?” Nate grumbles, voice low.

She just snorts out a laugh, and takes her phone when Sidney slides it over to her. She clicks around on it for a second, then the distinct sound of a FaceTime call fills the room. She drums her fingers against the table impatiently, eyes lighting up when the line clicks on.

“Hey!” An excited voice fills the room.

“Hey Nick! What’re you up to?” She keeps the phone close to her, keeping Nate and Sid out of the frame.

“Well, it’s almost one in the morning on winter break so obviously I’m drunk with Garrett.”

“Tell him I said hi,” she insists.

“Sure. What’re you doing?”

Her eyes light up again, and she grabs her glass excitedly. “I’m also drunk, but I wanted to show you who I happen to be drunk with.” She downs the rest of the liquid in her glass and slides her phone back farther on the table, angling the camera to capture all three of them in the frame. “I give you Nate MacKinnon and Sidney Crosby.”

“Holy shit. That’s- fucking hell, that’s actually Sidney Crosby!”

She chuckles, turning the phone to face Sid and he waves awkwardly. “I told you, you don’t grow up in Cole Harbour without knowing the pride and joy of the city.”

“But you said you’d only met him a few times! And Nate MacKinnon too, what the fuck...”

“In the flesh. Oh, and Nate wanted to know if you were my boyfriend before I called.” She peers over at him, watching his cheeks flush pink. He opens his mouth to protest, but Nick quickly cuts him off.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Just one of my best friends, dude. You have my blessing. I know she would love to date a hockey player.”

“Yeah? Good to know.” Nate smirks.

“On that note, we’re going back to drinking now. Just wanted to humble brag real quick.” She flashes a toothy grin. “I’ll make them get dinner next time they’re in Tampa. Maybe you and the whole crew can come along.”

“Yes, totally! Have fun! Merry Christmas!” She wishes him a Merry Christmas back, and she’s ending the call, she hears Nick muttering to Garrett: ‘yes that was Sidney fucking Crosby’. She drops her phone down onto the table then, glancing over at Nate expectantly.

“So that’s Nick, my not boyfriend. He’s a big Lightning fan, and he hates the Penguins.”

“Charming,” Sid laughs. “Seems nice though.”

“Nick’s the best,” she agrees. “He and Danielle get me through living in Florida.”

“Ah, so you do admit Florida sucks?” Nate presses. He offers her another drink, and she nods eagerly. When her glass is full, he raises his to her. “Fuck Florida.” She taps hers against his, smiling widely.

“Fuck Florida, indeed.”

___

Another hour slips by as the three of them sit in the kitchen. The rest of Nate’s house is quiet, save for the inevitable hockey talk they’ve slipped into. Nate’s sobered during their time sitting there, his attention focused mostly on her and her half hearted responses. Poor girl is exhausted.

“Time for me to head out,” Sidney mutters. He pushes his chair back from the table, clapping a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Uber’s outside. Thanks for having me, Nate. Nice catching up with you.”

“Bye Sid!” she brightens up, waving her fingers as he giggles and heads out the door. “Then there were two.”

“Sure I can’t interest you in some food?” Nate offers.

She shakes her head adamantly, eyes glossy, head swimming. “No, I told you... no room for food.” She rests her arms on the table, dropping her head down on top of them and peering up at Nate curiously.

He chuckles, resting a hand on her elbow. “Okay, time to get you home.”

She pulls a face, nose scrunching up in disgust. “Naaaate,” she draws out, “no.”

“Come on,” he laughs. “I’ll even tuck you in.”

She narrows her eyes at him, still frowning, “you promise?”

“Cross my heart.” He offers her his hand as he stands, helping her to her feet as soon as she agrees. He hooks her arm through his when she sways, trying to keep her steady on her feet. “I’ve got you.”

It takes some maneuvering, and a lot of patience on Nate’s part, but eventually, he’s able to get her into the front seat of his truck. He buckles her seatbelt for her when he slides behind the wheel, starting the car as she starts complaining about how uncomfortable his seats are.

“Good thing your parents live less than three minutes from here, huh?” He teases. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her head slumped back against the headrest.

She’s quiet for a long time, and he has to tear his eyes from the road to make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep. When he does, he catches her gaze. “Nathan?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles.

“You don-“

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. “No, Nathan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I walked out I just- fuck, I didn’t want to be a WAG. I didn’t want hockey above all else, always. It wasn’t fair for me to do that.”

He’s quiet, hand gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Well, it wasn’t fair of me to make you feel like that would be your reality.” He hesitates, taking a slow, deep breath. After a moment, he nods to himself. “We can call it even.”

He offers her a shy smile, and she can’t stop herself from returning it. She unhooks her seatbelt and slides closer to him on the bench, resting her head against his shoulder. “Deal. Thank you, Mack.”

___

When they arrive at her parents’ house, Nate kills the engine and lets out a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” She groans, but sits up straight.

“Fine,” she grumbles. She pushes the door open hastily, climbing out and crosses her arms over her chest. Nate simply shakes his head, taking her arm again and leading her up the pathway carefully. He knows it’s icy, and the last thing they need is the both of them to eat shit.

As soon as they reach the front door, Nate shushes her, trying to remain as quiet as possible while he pulls out the spare key from beneath the mat. He’s done this countless times before, and truly, it never gets any easier.

“Mack, remember when you tried to sneak me in drunk right before you left for juniors?” She laughs. She just giggles even louder when he presses a finger to his lips, eyes pleading. “You always take care of me.”

“I know, shhhh. I always will. We’ve gotta get inside.” Moments later, Nate gets the door open, tugging her across the threshold. He pulls the door shut as quietly as possible before glancing up, spotting her parents in the living room, sitting on couches reading. “Hi guys,” he sighs.

“Nate,” her mom smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Sorry about this.. She was drinking with Sid and I didn’t want her driving-“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she whines. “I’m perfectly fine, Nathan.”

Her dad gives him a knowing look, chuckling. “Thanks, son.”

“Lucky to have you around, Nate,” her mom adds. “You know the way.”

He nods, tugging on her arm to lead her up the stairs to her childhood bedroom. She grumbles the entire way, complaining about being “too tired to see” or “everything’s spinning, I’m going to die”. Nate can’t contain his laughter, which only seems to frustrate her more. She glares at him when she finally gets the door to her room open, kicking her shoes off by the door and flopping down onto her bed in a huff. “Who let me drink me so much,” she groans.

“That would be Sid,” Nate leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s an enabler.” She lifts her head up, peering at him thoughtfully. “I was afraid to talk to you tonight,” she admits. “And he supported my stupidity to try to make me feel better. At least his heart is in the right place.”

Nate’s brown furrows. “Why would you be afraid to talk to me?”

She pushes herself up into a seated position, crossing her legs underneath her. “A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now.” Her voice is low, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know what we have in common anymore, or if you’d even want to talk to me.”

“Hey,” Nate says, pushing himself off the doorframe and stepping into the room. Two strides bring him over to the bed, and he sits beside her, craning his neck down to catch her eye. “I asked you to come over because I did want to talk to you. Do.” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know why but I never expected to run into you, and when I did, all I could think about was reconnecting and... I don’t know, being friendly again? There’s a pretty big you shaped hole in my life.”

She looks at him, eyes sweeping over every last detail of his face. She wants to blame the alcohol for how attractive she finds him in that moment, but she knows she can’t. Nate has always been gorgeous, and their time growing, apart, has only increased that. “I’ve got a big Nate Mack hole too,” she admits.

Without wavering, he reaches out and rests his hand on hers, rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin there. “Tomorrow, then. I’m coming by with breakfast and we’re gonna play pond puck.”

She can’t help the groan that falls from her lips. “I’m going to be far too hungover to be on skates tomorrow.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you drank half a bottle of Jack,” he grins. “Night.”

___

True to his word, Nate does come by first thing in the morning. She crawls out of bed at the sound of laughter down the stairs, wincing when the light hits her eyes. She manages to pull herself together to look somewhat presentable, though her headache is enough to have her debating hiding under the covers for the day.

“Oh, look who’s up!” Her dad teases. He’s sitting opposite Nate at the kitchen table, reading the paper like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Nate laughs. “I brought Timmies.”

“Black?” She mutters, reaching for the cup gratefully. He nods. “Not iced, but I guess I’ll live. Thanks.”

Nate rolls his eyes, bringing his own cup to his lips and taking a long drink. “We gotta get you out of America. Not iced, pft,” he scoffs.

“Nate’s got a point, kid. You’re barely a Canadian anymore.”

She gives him a pointed look. “I didn’t hear you and mom complaining in Florida in January last year.”

Her dad grins. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“Yeah, sure,” she smiles.

“You hungry at all?” Nate asks.

“Just coffee for me,” she raises her cup to him.

“Alright. Should we get going then?”

“A heroic return to my pond puck career,” she jokes. “Should be great with this hangover.”

Her dad laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Don’t let her fall through the ice, Nate.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He flashes a winning smile as he gestures for her to head out the door in front of him. “Your dad was thrilled to help me find your old skates in the garage this morning,” he tells her as they climb into his truck.

She rests her head against the cold window, eyes shut. “Of course he was.”

“It was nice to see them again,” he says quietly. “I always really liked your parents.”

“Good thing, they love you.” And it’s completely true. To this day, her mother still asks her about Nate. What’s he up to, if he’s seeing anyone... it would be sweet if it wasn’t so painful for her to have to relive every time she brings it up. Her dad is thankfully more subtle- they really only talk about Nate when hockey comes up. Of course they both keep tabs on the Avs, and it’s a common ground that is far more exhaustive than her job that her dad doesn’t really understand anyway. All in all, yes, her parents do love Nate, which made their break up that much harder.

Nate doesn’t respond; her words linger in the air like a bad perfume. There’s a kind of expectation to them, a dare to explore what that means and how it makes either of them feel. Thankfully, Nate pulls his truck off the road before they have to broach the subject. Just ahead of them, there’s a frozen pond, a couple of trash cans tipped over on either side to use as makeshift goals. It’s the same pond they’d played on as kids, hours spent skating and laughing together. It brings back a melancholic feeling, one that seems to sit in her chest when she follows Nate’s lead and climbs out of the car. He hands her her skates and a stick when they start walking, eyes focused on the snow beneath their feet.

She laces up her skates silently, glancing over at Nate every so often. He looks like he wants to say something, but just isn’t sure where to begin. She tries no to dwell on it, and instead let herself have a good time today. It’s been a long time since she’s had the chance to skate.

She uses the stick Nate handed her to help stand and steps out onto the ice, skates wobbling as she tries to get her bearings.

“Looking a little rusty there, Gretz,” Nate teases.

“Oh shut up,” she groans. It takes her a minute, but before long, she finds her comfort on skates again. It’s second nature, something she knows she will never forget how to do. “It’s just been a while.”

“Nowhere to skate in the sunshine state, eh?” He skates around her in a circle, turning around and skating backwards so he can face her. “What could possibly make you want to stay there?”

She gives a half shrug. “My life is there.”

Nate nods. “Right. Your job, your not boyfriend...” The smile on his face suggests he’s kidding, but she can see something behind his eyes.

“Nate...” there’s a warning in her voice.

He holds a hand up in defense. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just... what do you?”

“I’m a counselor,” she tells him. She chuckles when he purses his lips, clearly having no idea what that entails. “It’s supposed to be a mental health professional in the schools - someone to help students short term, refer out for bigger issues, teach social emotional skills. I’m just a glorified secretary at this point.”

He narrows his eyes, considering her. “I don’t believe that. You’re too good.”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, it’s true. Nothing I do actually helps anyone, and the one girl I did have a good relationship with, I was too busy to help this year. So she’ll never come back to talk to me now. I’m always a month behind and I don’t know-“ she lets her voice trail off, feeling her eyes sting as they fill with tears. It never hits her like this until she says it out loud, but it’s so alarming to lose your passion. She’s content, but she’s not happy, and it’s hard to feel like she didn’t make a huge mistake with her choices in life.

Nate stops suddenly, causing her to slam right into him. He reaches out and grabs her shoulders, keeping her upright. “Hey,” he coos, “I’m sure she’ll come back to talk to you. This year is unlike anything anyone has ever seen. I’m sure a lot of this is stress.”

This seems to open the flood gates, and against her better judgment, she feels hot tears start streaming down her cheeks. It only makes her cheeks more cold, and she curses under her breath. “I think I messed up, Nate. Florida, counseling, what if it was all a mistake?” She shakes her head, dropping it down to stare at their feet.

Nate reaches out, tilting her chin up with one finger. “Then you make a change. Find out how to be happy again, and go after it.” His hand slides up to cup her cheek, warm fingers wiping away her tears. “You’re incredible. If you made a mistake, that’s fine. Regroup, move past it.”

Her breath hitches, eyes locking with his. She can feel a smile tugging at her lips, her heart warming at his words. It’s an incredible feeling to be validated like this, to know her concerns aren’t ridiculous and she’s not an utter failure for rethinking every decision that’s brought her to this point. It’s tenfold now, standing so close to Nate, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Nate, I-“

“I believe in second chances,” he tells her. His voice is barely above a whisper now, the rasp sending a tingle up her spine. She can hear the unspoken words behind it, I believe in you, and I believe in us. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but with the way he’s looking at her right now, it’s hard to take it any other way. Maybe she could let herself do this - love again, put her faith in him.

There’s nothing she wants more than to be able to give in, melt into his arms and tell him it was all wrong, but they can fix it now. With his bright blue eyes shining the way they are, she even lets part of herself believe that.

It’s the other, realistic part of her that holds her back. The what ifs and rational thinking of distance and time zones and years past rearing their ugly head. The fear of getting hurt again, or hurting him. There’s just too much to consider, too many sacrifices to ask of any one person.

“I want to believe in them too,” she admits. “But-”

Her eyes tell him everything she’s too afraid to. He inhales sharply, nodding once. “I understand. I won’t push you.” His fingertips brush across her cheeks gently before he drops his hand to his side. A sad sigh falls past his lips, and before he can move to skate away, she’s grabbing his forearm and gripping it tightly.

“We’ll play for it,” she blurts, mostly in an attempt to keep him from walking away.

Nate’s eyes snap up. “What are you talking about?”

“We’ll play each other. Pond puck. And I’ll be yours for the weekend.”

“If who wins?”

“Either of us.” Her hesitance is clear as day on her face, the anxiety swirling in her stomach. Maybe she’s being ridiculous, childlike even, but this is the only way she can give her heart what it wants without giving up her entire life. Albeit how appealing that road looks at the moment.

Gaze narrowing, he purses his lips in consideration. “You’re saying no strings?”

She nods, “I’m saying I won’t ask you to wait for me, if you don’t ask me to stay.”

“So a one night stand?”

Her head shakes slowly, teeth worrying at her lower lip. “No. I want the weekend with you in our own little bubble. I want to ignore reality and just… be.”

“I think we need terms for this,” Nate says. “What’s off limits, what isn’t.”

“Of course,” she agrees. “What you’re comfortable with.”

“If you win, big if, I’m yours for the weekend. You can call the shots; anything you want to do. Fair?” When she agrees, he cracks a small smile. “Great. When I win, you’re mine for the weekend. I’ll call the shots.”

“Sounds reasonable-”

“One more thing,” he cuts in. “You can’t break my heart.”

His words hang heavy between them, shifting the atmosphere. This feels like a contingency meant for more than just the weekend. It makes her chest ache to think about it, but Nate’s speaking again before she can get a word in edgewise. “Alright,” he pulls a puck out of his back pocket, holding it out between them. “First to three, yeah?”

He’s courteous enough to wait for her to get her bearings, both hands on her stick, knees bent, before he drops the puck between them. He taps it a few times with his stick, moving in slow circles. He pauses when they’re face to face again, leaning forward. “I’ll let you have first go.”

“Don’t go easy on me, Dogg,” she teases. “I’m tough. I can take it.” She mirrors his stance, leaning over the puck with her hands spread wide on the stick.

“Game on, babe.” She sweeps her stick over his, cursing under breath when he swipes the puck away from her. He carries it on his stick across the ice, avoiding her attempted checks and steals as he goes. Eventually, she abandons that tactic, instead racing ahead of him and turning to defend the “goal”. She keeps her stick down, watching his eyes to try to read his play. He fakes left, moves right, stopping on a dime as he throws ice across her shins. She blinks and the puck is slamming around in the can, Nate throwing his arms in celebration.

“One down,” he gloats.

She rolls her eyes, flicking the puck out at him. It skids to a stop in front of his skates, and she heads back to center ice, knowing he won’t be far behind. By some miracle, she’s able to gain possession of the puck in the faceoff, doing her best to get a jump on him and head down the ice. In an instant, he’s right behind her, stick held out in front of her, attempting to poke check it away. When she shifts, Nate checks into her from the side, nearly sending her tumbling on the ice. “Okay Mr. Lady Byng,” she laughs.

Nate simply grins at her, taking off after the puck and keeping it a distance away from her ahead of him. Effortlessly, he sends the puck sailing into the trash can, turning around to face her with an even cockier grin. “Not looking too good for you.”

“You’re a cheater,” she mumbles, retrieving the puck and gliding over to center ice. She keeps it in her hand as Nate eyes her, his gaze dragging slowly from her skates to the top of her head. “What?”

He shakes his head, jutting his chin out. “I don’t cheat.” He hunches over his stick, waiting for her to crouch into the same position and drop the puck. The intensity that emanates from him is palpable, his bated breath, clenched teeth only adding to the stakes. When the puck falls from her hand, it’s like time slows down. There’s a frigid breeze across her cheeks, blowing her hair back over her shoulders - the puck clattering against the ice once, twice, before it’s flat and they’re both springing into action. Their sticks collide as they sweep them, neither making contact with the puck at first.

It’s Nate who comes up victorious from the faceoff, stickhandling it until he’s able to turn his back to her. She knows he’s far too advanced for her to out play - his skills are unmatched, so she opts for playing a little dirty, using her own skills to her advantage. When Nate fakes and moves left, she positions herself there, right in front of him. All the air whooshes out of her as they collide, his shoulder pressed against her chest. The startled expression on his face makes her crack a grin, and he’s distracted enough by the move to let her gain possession. Once it’s on her stick, she takes off down the ice in the other direction, keeping the puck out in front of her. She can feel Nate hot on her tail, attempting to swat the puck free, knock her off balance. Her eyes stay fixed to the trash can, and she doesn’t hesitate - just slaps the puck as hard as she can. The bang that rings out echoes through the quiet, and she glances over her shoulder, flashing Nate a triumphant smile.

“Two-one now,” she points out. It’s a ridiculous thing to try to boast about, but it very clearly pushes Nate’s buttons. She’s never known a single person to be more competitive, and it’s admittedly fun to draw that side out of him every now and again.

She can tell she’s struck the nerve when Nate gets huffy, his nostrils flaring as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “Just get ready for the faceoff.” He reaches down to scoop the puck out of the can, quickly following her back to center ice and watching her get situated. Seconds pass in silence until they’re both ready, and Nate drops the puck.

It’s a hard-fought battle from the moment the puck hits the ice. Nate jumps into action, immediately getting his blade down, trying to gain control. But she doesn’t concede to him as easily this time. She bends her knees a little further, using her body to shove against his side, trying to throw him off. When he chances a look at her, she swats at the puck, nearly situating it on her own stick. Nate chuckles, shifts his weight to his other foot, and steals the puck back. The movement throws her a little off balance, and she reaches out for him on instinct, hand gripping the fabric covering his shoulder tightly. She tugs at it to keep herself upright, ignoring his half hearted scoff when it knocks him away from the puck slightly. Within seconds he rights himself, tearing down the ice toward the goal. He’s impossibly fast, and she knows there’s no catching up to him, so the resounding “clang” of the puck hitting the metal comes as no surprise.

When she lifts her gaze, she immediately spots a grinning Nate skating over to her. The corners of his eyes crinkle in delight. “That’s game,” he breathes as he skids to a stop, throwing snow across her shins. Breath hitching as she draws her eyes up to his face, she notices Nate is so close. Closer than he’s been to her in years, and heart is pounding in her chest. With a clatter, he drops his stick to the ice, tossing his gloves down beside it. Now bare-handed, he reaches up, brushing her hair back off her shoulder. The cold air bites against the skin of her cheek for just a moment before his hand is there, big and warm and so soft. “I call the shots, right?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but her eyes are zeroed in on his lips. His tongue flicks out to wet them after a brief nod of her head, and something in her brain short circuits. Drawing in a shaky breath, she holds it as Nate leans in, lips brushing against hers gently, tentative. On their own accord, her hands are flying up to grip his shoulders, her legs suddenly weak.

The kiss is over almost as soon as it’s started, and it leaves her breathless, eyes blinking open slowly. All she can focus on is the small smile that appears on Nate’s lips, and the deep blue of his eyes.

“Do you have plans later?” Nate mutters.

“No.”

There’s that blinding grin again. “Good.” He leans in, pressing a soft little kiss to the side of her mouth, barely inches from her parted lips. “I’m picking you up at seven.”

___

“Where are we going Nate?” She asks, eyes narrowed. They’re sitting side by side in his truck, driving mostly in silence to their unknown destination. His earlier text was cryptic, merely telling her to dress warmly with a smiley emoji. It’s out of character for him, but mostly she’s surprised he seems to want to be spending time outside. In December. In Canada. Sure it’s been warmer than in past years, but when the sun drops, they’re lucky to be breaking twenty degrees Fahrenheit.

“It’s a surprise,” he says. A small smirk dances across his lips, eyes seeming to sparkle with mischief. He knows how much she hates not knowing, but she understands he’s trying to do something fun too. So she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, shifting her focus to the road in front of them. “You’ll like it,” he promises. There’s the tiniest hint of uncertainty there, a hesitation that tells her he’s just as nervous and confused about everything as she is. Do they know what the other likes anymore? How much has changed?

“I’m sure I will,” she insists.

They drive in comfortable silence, the low hum of Nate’s truck the only sound filling the air. When she chances a glance at him, she’s met with his calm expression, the familiar curve of his nose, his pursed lips. His concentration is clear as day, and she can’t quite place why it’s so endearing.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have much time to dwell on it. He drives about twenty feet more before he’s pulling off the main road. Immediately, they’re both bouncing on their seats, the uneven terrain jerking them back and forth. Just as she opens her mouth to ask him what’s happening, Nate puts the car in park and kills the engine. Wordlessly, he opens his door, stepping around the truck quickly to pull hers open for her. He holds a hand out to her to help her step down, and keeps a firm hold on it when she’s safely on the ground.

“Nate?” She says finally, head cocked in confusion. They’re parked in the middle of an open field, nothing but trees and the setting sun around them. It’ll be dark soon, and she’s not exactly sure what she should be expecting. “What-“

“Trust me,” he cuts in. He smiles at her when she nods, then leads her toward the back of his truck. He lowers the tailgate with his free hand, then reaches for a handle on the cover. His grip finally drops as he clicks the handle into place and walks the cover back toward the cab. Inside it, pillows and blankets cover the bed of the truck, a Yeti cooler stashed into the corner. When she catches his eye again, he’s sheepish, a bashful smile on his face. “I thought it’d be nice to just sit under the stars for a while.”

“Nathan…” it comes out in a sigh, and she’s thankful for the darkening sky that’s hiding her growing smile. She knows it’ll instantly give away how smitten she is, and that’s a conversation she’s not quite ready to have yet.

“Is it okay?” The hesitation in his voice has her jumping to reassure him.

“Yes, yes it’s perfect,” she rushes.

He dips his chin in a nod. “Let’s get you up then.” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, or really even process his comment before he steps over to her, lifting her easily around the waist and hoisting her up. As soon as her feet are planted in his truck, he gives her a little nudge forward, and climbs in after her. “Sit, make yourself comfortable,” he insists. He busies himself pulling out a flashlight, flicking it on and sitting it in the middle of the truck bed. Next, he’s grabbing food out of his cooler, placing them gingerly beside the flashlight. She merely watches in awe as item after item is taken out: plates, forks, glasses, crackers, cheese, wine, fruits. He’d thought of everything.

“It’s not a meal,” he reasons, “but I figured it’s better than nothing.” He produces a corkscrew from his pocket, then sets in on getting the wine bottle open.

“Nate, it’s wonderful,” she insists. She takes the stemless wine glass as he hands it to her, smiling softly. “Though I’m a little surprised to see you willingly eating carbs and drinking alcohol.” She cracks a grin when he rolls his eyes, making a show of bringing his glass up and taking a large gulp.

“Et tu?” Nate groans, dragging his free hand through his hair.

“I’m just messing with you.”

“You’ve read all the articles, then? Keeping tabs on me?” He lifts his eyebrows suggestively.

“Something like that.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nathan.” Her expression is hard, a no nonsense frown on her face. “You do not disappoint anyone.”

He sighs, and passes her a plate of various snacks, keeping his eyes on his hands. “I don’t know how true that is.”

“I do. You’re being hard on yourself.”

He considers for a moment, shrugging. “Maybe. But I need to be. It keeps me disciplined.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes before popping a cut piece of fruit into her mouth. “I don’t think you need help in that department.”

“I started seeing a sports psychologist,” he mumbles. It catches her off guard, his admission, but it fills her with pride all the same. The Nate she knew before never would’ve taken that step, and he certainly wouldn’t have told anyone about it. That’s growth.

“How’s that been?”

“I like it. Kinda helps me take a step back from things and visualize what I want and how to get there.” He hesitates, opening his mouth before closing it quickly.

“Sounds like there’s a but there?”

“But I don’t know that it's enough.”

“In what way? Like you need more help with your mental health?”

He scrunches his nose. “No, I guess with hockey and stuff. It just-“ he cuts himself off with a sigh. “It feels like I’ve put in the work, and have gotten no results.”

“Because you haven’t won shit?” She offers. She cracks a grin when Nate looks up at her, expression blank. This only serves to make her giggle, and as much as she wants to blame it on the wine, she knows it’s the way Nate shakes his head and cracks a grin right alongside her.

“I haven’t won shit,” he agrees.

“You will.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Because I am.”

“Why?”

She brings her glass up, polishing off the rest of her drink and then sets the glass down. Hesitantly, she scoots forward a bit more, until her knees bump against his. His eyes draw up to hers slowly, the icy blue stealing the breath from her lungs. “Because I know you, Nathan. And you were born to do this.”

“It’s really not feeling like it these days.” There’s so much defeat in his voice it makes her chest tighten. On a whim, she reaches over and takes his hand, rubbing her thumb over his wrist slowly. “Feels more like I can’t do anything right.”

She wants desperately to reassure him, tell him his mind is wrong and playing tricks on him but she knows that isn’t what he needs. He has to navigate this himself. She can offer him support, but this is something he has to figure out on his own.

“I went first overall, I should be doing more for the team. It’s just been first or second round exits year after year. I can’t get us out of this hole.”

“It isn’t only up to you,” she reminds him. “If you feel you’re not playing up to your standards that’s one thing, but you can’t play every position. It’s not fair to entirely blame yourself.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “Maybe I made a mistake with all of this.”

She frowns, eyes narrowing. “With hockey?”

He nods. “Hockey, life. I don’t know. What if I chose wrong?”

“Well, you’re preaching to the choir on that bud,” she says. She hesitates a moment, gathering herself. “For what it’s worth, I know you didn’t choose wrong. Things have been a bit bleak, sure, but you are far too talented to not share that gift with the world.”

Nate’s gaze catches hers, and she feels a shiver travel up her spine. When concern floods his features, she knows he’s felt it too. “You cold? C’mere.” He gives her no time to respond, just leans himself back against the pillows and reaches for a blanket. Once it’s situated over him, he pulls her in close against his side until her cheek is against his chest and his arm is around her back. The blanket gets tugged up to cover her too, and they lay together, cocooned in the blankets under the stars.

“Better?” Nate rasps, and truly, yes. This has made things better. Being so close to him, warm and safe - this is the first time she’s been able to take a deep breath in a long time. But she can’t admit that to him. So she gives a soft murmur in agreement and shuts her eyes to commit this moment to memory.

“I’m proud of you Nate,” she says eventually. “I know that doesn’t really help with all this, but I’m not the only one, ya know? We’re all rooting for you.” She tilts her head up, staring straight into his eyes. It makes her lose her breath, especially when he gives her a small smile.

“I appreciate how much you believe in me,” he whispers. “It does help.” He draws his fingers up slowly, tickling them against the exposed skin where her sweatshirt has ridden up. It forms goosebumps immediately, and she cuddles in even closer, out of instinct. “Being here has been like coming up for air.” He sighs, eyes softening even further. “And seeing you-“

“Nate-“

“Don’t,” he rushes. “We have an agreement, right? You’re mine for the weekend?” The hopeful expression on his face guts her, but she nods. She is. For the weekend.

“Yes,” she agrees. She tilts her chin up far enough for her nose to bump against his jaw, nuzzling it. “I don’t wanna think about after.”

“Then don’t.” He cranes his neck further, until their breath mixes. “Just be here with me.” Gently, so gently, he kisses her. It’s just a tentative brush at first, but it sets her body on fire. Within seconds, she’s hauling herself even closer to him, dropping her body over his as she deepens the kiss. She feels Nate’s big hands come up to grip her hips, keeping her close.

It’s not desperate and frenzied, but it still has her heart racing. The sweep of his tongue across the seam of her lips has her sighing, melting into him. It’s comfortable, warm and familiar, like coming home. She knows she can’t dwell on that thought, so she pours everything she can into Nate instead. Kisses him breathless, then comes back for more.

When Nate breaks away, he lets his head fall back to the pillows, a tiny grin on his face. “I’ve missed this, babe. Missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Nate.” She admits, to herself just as much as she does him. It feels monumental to do so, but she lets herself have this moment; snuggles closer into Nate’s arms and kisses his neck. They have the weekend, and she’s not going to ruin that.

Reality starts to feel a bit distorted after laying with Nate in his truck. In a way, it feels like they’re existing inside a bubble - one that gives them a taste of the road not taken. It’s addicting, with the potential to be heart wrenchingly painful if she’s not careful. But part of her knew she’d end up here. Her and Nate had been so strong before fear crept into her mind. The problem now is figuring out how, if at all, this influences her real life that she’ll be getting back to sooner rather than later.

And Nate, bless his heart, seemed to be doing everything in his power to make this as hard as possible for her. He’d taken the “I call the shots” agreement to heart, planning the entire next day for them to spend together. He arrives at her house thankfully much later in the morning than the day prior, with iced Timmy’s in tow. He leaves a dozen doughnuts and two extra coffees on the counter for her parents, flashing that heart melting smile when she insists he didn’t have to go to the trouble.

“It’s no trouble,” he insists as they’re climbing into his truck. He immediately reaches to crank the heat for her, tugging his seatbelt across his body.

“Well thank you,” she says. “What’s on the docket today?”

He eases the truck out onto the road, his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. Only when they’re settled into the lane does Nate glance over at her. “Thought we’d drive down to Peggy’s Cove. Walk around a little bit. See the lighthouse?”

Her face lights up at the mere mention. Peggy’s Cove is about an hour from Cole Harbour, and it’s always been one of her favorite day trips. There’s something so wonderfully calming about the shoreline, at any time of year. “Sounds good to me,” she says.

She’s pleased to find how at ease she feels beside Nate on the drive down. They happily flick through radio stations, singing along completely off key. Her cheeks start to hurt from the wide smile she can’t seem to wipe off her face, all thanks to Nate. And god, what a thought that is. She’d certainly never entertained the idea of meeting up with Nate at home, nor did she think she’d find herself riding around in his truck. It feels like an alternate reality and surprisingly, the thought doesn’t put a damper on her mood. It just makes her enjoy it all the more.

Before long, Nate is pulling into a deserted parking lot along the shore. He kills the engine then looks over at her, smiling softly. “Shall we?” When she nods, Nate climbs out of the truck and races around to grab her door for her.

It’s a stunningly beautiful day, but it's freezing, even bundled up against the cold. Despite her tightly wound scarf the wind nips her cheeks harshly as soon as she closes his door. In front of them, waves are crashing against the covered rocks, a soothing symphony filling the air. There's chunks of ice floating in the water, and she shakes her head at just how picture-esque it all is. A rare blue sky day in late December, the sun breaking through the small clouds, its rays reflecting off the snow on the rocks.

Nate turns to her, offering his hand and she takes it without hesitation. His gloved fingers wrap firmly around hers, and they start to slowly walk toward, squinting to see.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been down here,” she admits. “I don’t know how I forgot how beautiful it is.”

“I’ve always loved it here,” Nate says. She glances at him, sees his pink cheeks, his hair blowing in every direction. It makes something in her chest tighten, and she squeezes his hand a little tighter. They make their way closer to the lighthouse silently, simply taking it all in.

As they approach the darker rocks, Nate stops suddenly, tugging her into him. His arms go around her shoulders, keeping her close. “This okay?” He whispers.

“Yes,” she breathes. More than okay, she wants to say. It’s touching really, that he’d drive all this way just to stand there with her and stare at a lighthouse. It’s reminiscent of the early days in their relationship, before the drama and the uncertainty, when all they needed was to be together. “Thanks for bringing me Nate.”

He hums, his cheek pressing against the side of her head. “Thanks for wanting to be here.”

She can feel that his words have a much deeper meaning behind them, though she chooses to take them at face value. It's clear they’re going to continue to dance around the obvious, even if it’s rehashing something they’d already settled on. It’s just for the weekend; there’s no realistic way it could be more and they can’t put that kind of pressure on each other. But even though all of this is true, it doesn’t change the way being with him makes her feel. It doesn’t take the warmth out of his smile, or the fondness from his eyes. So maybe she is breaking her own heart here, but what other choice does she have?

***

She and Nate spend much of their day wandering through the small fishing village. They stroll down the boardwalk, through small boutiques and touristy souvenir shops. Nate happily walks through every single open door, stopping to sign an autograph or take a photo every now and then when they happen upon another person. He has no qualms about waiting for her to browse in the bookshop, instead spending his time posted up on a comfortable chair, petting the store cat with a smile on his face.

After a late lunch at the only restaurant in town, they get back on the road, headed for Cole Harbour. Conversation in the car is light and casual, both just catching the other up on life’s nuances they haven’t been privy to in years. It’s more than just work: it’s the song that made Nate cry because it reminded him of leaving for the US when he was just a child, it’s the countless seafood meals she’s turned down in her adult life because nothing can compare to the luxuries of home. The conversation never lulls, though it does veer significantly off course when they spot the ‘welcome to Cole Harbour’ sign approaching in the distance.

“Nate, pull over!” She insists. She’s digging through her bag, ignoring his request for an explanation. After a few seconds, she emerges victorious, holding up a black marker and a piece of paper. She smoothes it out as best she can on his dashboard, then unhooks her seatbelt. “Do you have any tape?”

“What do you need tape for?” Nate asks. He earns himself a pointed look, one that says ‘don’t ask questions’. He sighs, then flips open the center console. “I think I have some stick tape lying around…”

While he tracks that down, she gets to work writing, keeping her arm strategically placed so he can’t glance over her shoulder to sneak a peek. Just a few seconds later, he’s setting the tape down next to her hand and looking at her expectantly. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” she grins. She picks up her sign and the tape, opens the door to his truck and hops down onto the road. It's not very busy, thankfully, but Nate is immediately concerned all the same.

He calls out her name, quickly following after her as she walks. “You can’t just get out of the car on a main road and walk away,” he insists, but she’s not listening to him. She’s still making her way forward, toward the welcome sign and the townline. Once she’s standing in front of it, he watches as she pulls up the tape, ripping it with her teeth. The piece of paper is held against the welcome sign, then secured with tape, and she steps back with a satisfied smile on her face. The writing doesn’t become clear until Nate is standing beside her, and once it does, he bursts into laughter.

Attached to the bottom of the sign, where it reads ‘Home of Sidney Crosby’, she’d taped up her own: “and Nathan MacKinnnon”.

“I’ll have to get a proper one commissioned, but I thought this would do for now,” she grins. As she locks eyes with Nate, she feels her heart start racing. He seems happy, but she doesn’t want to assume he’s not just saving face and she’s made him uncomfortable.

Wordlessly, he closes the space between them, gathering her into his arms. “You’re just- you’re so wonderful.” He doesn’t give her the time to respond, just leans in and kisses her, hard and long. It sets her world on end, she gasps for air when he pulls away.

“Nate-“

“You wanna come to my place?” He asks against her lips, eyes hooded. A brief nod is all that’s needed to get him moving, guiding her back to his truck and opening the door for her.

___

Her hands are trembling when they pull up to Nate’s house. Nate grins at her, taking her hand over the shifter once he parks. He brings it to his lips and kisses it softly. There’s an unspoken understanding in the air, tension hanging between them. “Hey,” he whispers, trying to catch her eye. “You alright?”

Her voice is so soft when she speaks that Nate almost misses it. “I’m nervous,” she admits. “It’s been such a long time and I really want this to be good for you-“

Nate cuts in, brow furrowed. “Look at me.” He waits until she draws her eyes up to continue. “It’s okay to be nervous. I’m a little nervous, but please, don’t feel like you have to do this.”

“I don’t. I mean, I do want to,” she interjects. “I just- what if it’s not… good?”

He actually snorts when he hears this. He’s under no impression they’ve lost that spark over the years. It’s always been good, and he knows it will continue to be. But the hesitance on her face is suggesting she’s not thinking the same way he is. “It’s going to be incredible,” he insists. “Just like it always was.”

“We were kids, Nate. I’m worried it won’t be.” She takes in a deep breath, shaking her head. “I’m worried I won’t be any good.”

He drops her hand, turning in his seat until he’s able to cup both of her cheeks. Then he draws her head up until she’s looking at him again. “You are the most beautiful woman I know, and you’ve been driving me crazy since the day I saw you in the grocery store. I know you’re going to blow my mind.” She hesitates for a moment, but then she’s nodding as best she can with the way he’s holding her. “If you’re not ready, we can wait.”

“No,” she says adamantly. “I’m done waiting.”

This is all the confirmation that Nate needs. He keeps his hands firmly planted on her cheeks and leans in, kissing her hungrily. He slides his tongue into her mouth, groaning when he feels her fingers crawl up to grip his hair tightly. She leans even closer to him, pressing her chest against his, letting him feel every inch of her torso. His eyes are half lidded when he breaks away, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

Her eyes blink open, and Nate’s smiling softly at her. His eyes are soft, filled with longing, and her stomach is doing flips. It’s tenfold when he climbs out of the driver’s seat, coming around to take her hand and help her step down. He laces their fingers, leading her up the short pathway and in the front door. They shed their shoes and their cold weather gear there, tossing it unceremoniously toward the built in to the right. They’ll deal with the mess later.

“Do you need anything?” His voice is low, raspy, and she’s shaking her head immediately. She’s of a one track mind now, and it seems that Nate picks up on that. He takes the initiative to walk her up the stairs, straight to his bedroom.

“Can I touch you?” He whispers. He rests his hands on her waist, lingering at the hem of her soft t-shirt. When he sees her nod, it’s up and over her head in a hurry, exposing her smooth skin. Nate’s eyes greedily take in every inch of her chest, and she’s surprised she doesn’t feel the urge to cover herself.

She feels a surge of confidence shoot through her; the way Nate is looking at her fueling her ego. It makes her bold, and she pushes back on his shoulders until he’s stepping backwards, and eventually, falling onto the bed. Then, she climbs into his lap, her hair falling around them like a curtain when she leans down over him. “Are you just going to look?” She asks, and the challenge in her voice ignites something inside Nate.

Before she can blink, she finds herself on her back with Nate crawling over her. He reaches up and tugs off his shirt, smirking at her sharp intake of breath. He doesn’t take much time to gloat, choosing instead to draw her in for another kiss. His hands make quick work of her bra, tossing it across the room carelessly. His lips trail down her chest, mouthing at the supple flesh, and swirling his tongue around her nipples. He revels in the breathy sounds falling from her lips when he bares his teeth.

“Nathan, please touch me,” she whines. She wriggles underneath him, trying to draw him up, get his mouth back on hers.

“Patience, my girl,” he mumbles. He kisses the tip of her nose before he sits back, eyes taking in her form. Her hair is splayed out across the bed, cheeks flushed, and pupils blown wide. He slides his fingertips over the red marks he’d left on her breasts, dragging the rough pads down until they’re toying with the waistband of her pants. He glances up at her again, eyebrows lifted to check in, make sure this is still what she wants. He earns himself a frustrated groan and a “come on, Nate”, which he takes as the green light. He slides everything down in one move, leaving her completely bare to him. “God, look at you,” he breathes. He pushes her legs open wider to accommodate the bulk of his shoulders before he drops down onto his stomach. His eyes never leave hers as he leans in close, kissing up her thighs until he’s inches away from her throbbing center.

She tosses her head back, squeezing her eyes shut to try to regain control of herself. Her body is thrumming with anticipation, desperate for Nate to do anything. After a few seconds, she’s rewarded for her patience. Nate licks a long strip up from her entrance to her clit, chuckling against her when she gasps. Immediately, her hands fly to his hair, fingers gripping tightly. Nate flicks his tongue expertly against her before drawing her clit between his lips and sucking. She feels him ghosting his fingers over her lips, the soft tickle making her toes curl. She lets out a moan, and that’s all it takes to get Nate to dive in. He slips two fingers into her dripping entrance, scissoring against the tight suck of her walls.

“Nathan,” she pants, back arching. He’s nibbling on her clit as he seeks that spot inside of her, pumping his fingers in and out quickly. She cries out when he finds it, and Nate presses down hard, keeping his fingers firmly against it while she thrashes against the bed.

She’s sure her grip on his hair has to be painful at this point, but she’s too far gone to care. All she can focus on is the blinding pleasure Nate is giving her. She can feel that coil tightening inside of her, her body wound so tightly she’ll snap back at any given second. When he sucks on her again, she snaps, trapping his face between her legs as she comes, thighs tightening around his head.

Nate keeps his fingers working inside of her as she starts to come down, her breath slowing, though not entirely coming back to her. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he climbs up to his knees, grinning wickedly. “Such a good girl for me,” he coos.

She’s having a hard time replying to him. She can’t get a sentence out, moans tumbling past her lips whenever she opens her mouth. Nate is prolonging her orgasm, keeping her suspended up on cloud nine as he watches her, eyes hungry. “I’ve imagined this so many times,” he admits. “Over the years, when I’m on the road late at night. I love to picture you wrapped around me instead of my hand, squeezing me so tight. You feel so good around my fingers; I can’t even imagine how you’ll feel around my cock. Will you let me have you? Sink deep inside of you and fuck you open, my girl?”

She cries out again, nodding quickly. She grips his forearm tightly, eyes rolling back. “Please Nate,” she chokes out. “God, please, I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he swears. He leans down and kisses her again, stealing the air from her lungs. He tugs his sweatpants down as best he can with one hand, sighing against her lips when his cock springs free.

Slowly, she draws her eyes up from his cock, enjoying the sight of his clenched stomach muscles, and the strain of his bent forearm. Everything about Nate is absolutely gorgeous. He’s just so big; so wide and cut, and god, he’s going to be the death of her. She grips his shoulders tightly, mouth going dry at the muscles her fingers trace over. She’s trying to commit every moment to memory, the soft pants falling from Nate lips, the way his eyes are nearly black with desire. It’s so different than it had been before, but somehow the same. They’ve both matured so much- confidence emanating off of them now, but that giddiness is still there. That schoolyard crush that makes your heart beat faster and your hands shake. Her head is swimming, with desire, and the disbelief that this is truly happening. That they’d found a way to have this happen again.

She whines when he draws his fingers out of her, the loss leaving her feeling empty, and she clenches around the air. “I’ve got you,” Nate promises her. He reaches over her head to the bedside table and comes back with a condom, tearing it open with his teeth before sliding it down his throbbing cock. Her fingers are still gripping his shoulders tightly, and there’s no way her nails aren’t biting into his skin but Nate doesn’t say a word. He just runs a soothing hand down her torso and grips her hips, holding her still as he lines himself up with her entrance. His eyes are locked with hers as he presses forward, the blunt head of his cock drawing a gasp when he slips inside. He’s so wide; her walls are already straining to accommodate him, the burn of the stretch making her heart pound. Nate takes his time pressing into her, letting her accommodate for his size. As he pushes in, he’s whispering soft reassurances to her, telling her how beautiful she is, and how good she feels.

He grips her waist tightly when he’s fully sheathed, his big hands wrapping around her. “Okay?” He whispers. She can see the strain of holding back on his face, the need to make sure she’s alright before he can let himself go and enjoy this.

“Perfect,” she assures. “Please, Nate.”

He sucks in a deep breath and nods. Slowly, he draws his hips back before snapping himself forward, burying himself even deeper. She’s impossibly tight and wet around him, drawing him in and clinging to him. It doesn’t take long for him to build up a steady rhythm and when he does, he feels like a man possessed. He’s holding her down against the bed, watching as her breasts bounce and her mouth falls open in pleasure. He feels her drag her nails down his back and he groans, driving into her even harder. The force of his hips is pushing her up the bed, leaving her breathless and begging for him.

“I’m so close,” she pants. “Please Nate, touch me.” Her eyes are shining when she looks up at him. He obliges, sliding his right hand down to press his fingers to her clit. Within seconds, she’s coming around him, clamping down on him as she cries out his name. Nate fucks her straight through it, his hips slapping against her ass as he chases his own release.

He kisses her desperately when he feels his body tightening. When her tongue sweeps against his, he’s gone. He drives in and holds himself there as he comes, a grunt falling from his lips. When he’s able to come back into himself, he reaches down, holding onto the condom as he slowly pulls out. He kisses her cheek in apology when she winces, tying the condom off and tossing it into the trash just after. He runs a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing before he stands. He grabs the first hand towel he can find in the on suite bathroom, running it under the tap and bringing it back into her bedroom wordlessly.

She’s still spread out on the bed where he’d left her, her arm thrown up over her eyes as her chest heaves. He drags the towel between her legs, cleaning her up carefully, before the towel too gets tossed to the floor. “You doing okay?” He whispers. He drops down onto the bed beside her, manhandling her body until she’s lying on her side, facing him.

“Wonderful,” she says, and that’s the understatement of the century. “Was, was I okay?”

Nate’s eyes go wide, and he’s nodding immediately. “That was unbelievable. God, the way you feel-” He cuts himself off, dropping his head onto a pillow dramatically. “It’s amazing how good we still are together.” She peers up at him, sees his eyes closed and the small, happy smile on his face. It makes her heart twist in her chest, her throat tightening. Realization hits her like a bucket of ice water thrown over her head. None of this is real. He’s not her Nate anymore, and damn it, how is she going to walk away from this?

“I can hear the gears whizzing around in there,” he teases. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

She hesitates, debates deflecting- telling him it’s nothing and avoiding the discussion she knows they should have. They’re adults now, this is the kind of thing they need to discuss, but she’s scared. “Nate,” she sighs, feels tears brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just-“

“You told me you wouldn’t break my heart.” His voice is low. It isn’t accusatory, it’s just sad, like a punch straight to the stomach. She opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Hot tears leak out of the corners of her eyes, pooling on the pillow case.

“It’s feeling pretty broken right now.”

This has her swallowing hard, gathering her courage. “I don’t want to.” It’s barely a whisper. “But I don’t think there’s another choice.”

“Of course there is,” he assures her. “There’s always another choice.”

“Not when it leads right back where we broke in the first place.”

“Don’t think about that. Tell me what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter-“

“It does matter,” Nate insists. “What the hell are we doing in this life if we’re not trying to find happiness?” His eyes search her face, drinking in every feature. “What would make you happy?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “You. But-“

He shakes his head slowly. “Nope. No buts. I would make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Thank god,” he breathes. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

“It’s not that easy,” she says. “There’s too many variables, and it will lead us right back where we started.”

“It’ll be different this time.”

She sighs. “How can you know that?”

Nate reaches a tentative hand out, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Because we know better. We can make better choices together. I know you don’t want to be a WAG, and I’m not going to put that on you. If you want to stay in Florida, okay. If you want to move to Denver, okay. If you want to move back to Canada, that’s okay too. We’ll make whatever you decide work. I just want you.”

“You… you want that?”

“If it involves you, I want it.” He’s so adamant, speaking with such conviction she can’t entertain any other thought. She scoots closer to him on the bed, molding herself against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I really want this to work, Nate,” she says. “I really, really want that.”

He drops a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetheart, I told you, I’m not letting you go again. I mean it.”

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagine #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #nhl imagine #my writing #shutupptara writes #Nathan mackinnon X reader #tis the damn season #shut up tara

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simslegacy5083 · 4 months ago

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Not So Berry (Straud Descendants) Gen 9

Today's (9/2/2024) Episode: A Difference of Opinion

The guests had just begun trickling into Luigi and Noemi’s beachside wedding when the chefs finished preparing the fishy feast and refreshments.

Fresh from the bar, the groom-to-be smiled indulgently as his papa pulled him aside. He could spin into his formal wear after one last round of advice.

To his surprise, his father wasn’t congratulating him on his blushing bride but instead concerned with their little boy. “Skye is old enough now to learn about his special status.” Jack said “If you need help teaching him about The Watcher and legacy heirs just let me know. I’m happy to do my part”.

Luigi, unprepared, looked away. He had almost never disagreed with his papa, but he knew what he had to say on this topic wouldn’t go over well.

“Thanks for the offer” he finally began “but I’ve decided not to tell Skye about any of that. I think its better if he lives his life without those worries.”

Jack immediately blurted out “But son, you can’t keep who he really is from him! If this is about not wanting to give up the spotlight…”

“It’s not about the spotlight!” Luigi fired back “Yes, I can be a self absorbed plumhole, but that’s exactly why I won’t be telling my son about how “special” he is! I want him to have a chance at a normal life, without the idea that he’s somehow better than every other sim in the nation!”

Luigi had meant every word, but seeing the look on Jack’s face he immediately regretted his outburst. “I’m sorry papa” he said, hanging his head.

Jack reached out a hand in reassurance “Its OK, but if you have time, I think we need to talk. I promise not to try and pressure you into anything.”

Luigi nodded. He’d meant to broach this subject much more gently, but clearly, he had a lot of resentment built up around it that he hadn’t ever explored. He texted Noemi that he’d join her in a few minutes and waved his father’s shade over to the nearby banquet table.

He hoped he could help his father understand without driving a wedge between them.

Once they were seated Jack started things off “I never knew you struggled with the knowledge of your legacy heir status. You always seemed so proud of it. You never tired of hearing my stories about the Lacey’s.”

Luigi sighed. “I was a child who had very little contact with anyone outside our immediate family circle. You told me other sims here wouldn’t understand, but it wasn’t until I went to high school that I truly began to appreciate what that meant.”

“I had such a hard time fitting in, and it certainly didn’t help having this idea in my head that I was somehow better than everyone else. Even when I thought I was doing such a good job “hiding”; Beau saw right through me in University. I was so embarrassed, and that made me resent him more than I already did for being a better scuffle player then me. If I’m the heir, shouldn’t I be the best at anything I put my mind to!?”

“The first time I told Noemi the truth” he continued “it almost destroyed our relationship. I learned then that its one thing for you to feel Dada and I are the most special sims in the nation, but its something else entirely for me to think that about myself. That’s a problem, no matter if its true or not.”

“I don’t want Skye to have to deal with that, especially since as far as I can tell it won’t change anything. By your count I’m the ninth heir of this family but the first one to have been raised with the knowledge of it. It didn’t seem to make those other heirs any less special just because they didn’t know.”

By the end of Luigi’s passionate monologue Jack had deflated to a shadow of his already translucent self. He sat in silence for a while, clearly processing what his son had said and deciding what to say in return.

At last, Jack cleared his spectral throat “I hear you, and I won’t tell you how you raise your boy, but will you listen to why I chose to raise you the way I did? I promise, I’m not trying to change your mind. I just really want to know that you understand my decisions, now that you’re a father yourself.”

Luigi nodded for Jack to continue. In his experience his papa had always tried to do the right thing, and he was willing to listen and try to understand what had made him believe teaching Luigi this fact about his life, that had often only made it harder, had been the right thing to do.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims4 #sims 4 nsb #sims 4 not so berry #sims4nsbstraud #sims 4 let's play #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 lets play

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greyias · 1 year ago

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29. The smell of burning wood

Pairing: Gale x Tav (pre-relationship) Words: ~3600 Notes: Mostly self-indulgent fluff, takes place the first night of the game

The sun had started its descent in the sky by the time they’d found a suitable site for a camp and scrounged enough supplies and crockery among the carnage around the Nautiloid’s crash site. This close to the campfire, the sweet, earthy smoke that wafted her way managed to block out the acrid scent of the smoldering wreckage of the strange, alien ship that had brought them here, or even the lingering sulfurous stench of Avernus that seemed to cling to their clothes.

The crackling fire burned bright, the snaps and pops of the dried wood in the flames a steady percussion, as if measuring the progress of the setting sun. If Aravyn closed her eyes, breathed in deep, she might almost pretend this was any normal night on the road. But every time she did so, that damned tadpole would squirm anew and shatter the illusion before it even really began. Stupid bugger, not even a day in and she was already ready to evict it purely on the grounds for being such an ungrateful little guest. All impending threats of ceremorphosis aside.

After the quiet, terse, yet surprisingly delicious meal their resident wizard had pulled together from their random assortment of fish and dried rations, most of their ragtag group had retreated to their own corners of camp. Instead of withdrawing into momentary fantasy, she eyed the dirtied, abandoned makeshift bowls and plates they’d found amongst the carnage, and the retreating forms of her fellow adventurers with a small frown.

Everyone seemed more intent on setting up their own tents for however long they’d be here — wherever here was. They all had a lot on—and in—their minds at the moment. Much more than daily chores.

Well, not quite everyone. Over by the now emptied cook pot, Gale seemed lost in thought, brow furrowed as he piled discarded fish bones and herb stems on a ragged cloth. He’d spent most of their time in camp preparing their evening meal, and had yet to set up his own area. Mind made up, she set about gathering the dirtied crockery and utensils, making just enough noise to rouse him from that deep contemplation.

“Allow me.” She indicated the bundle he was currently tying up. “You already worked enough magic transforming these rations into a feast. The least I can do is the dishes.”

That summoned the semblance of a smile, his lips quirking up ever so slightly as the frown smoothed away to a friendlier expression. “Oh, trust me, my arcane prowess extends to more impressive feats than conjuring flavor from our meager scrounging. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said lightly. “That meal was a sight more flavorful than any jerky soup I’ve cooked over a campfire.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what, pray tell, is ‘jerky soup’?”

“Well, it’s when you get a pot of water boiling, then throw in a mess of jerky. You can tear it up into pieces if you’re feeling ambitious. Then let soak until soft enough to not break your teeth.”

Gale looked positively horrified at the culinary abomination described. “Do you drink the—I hesitate to call it broth?”

“Of course! Waste not, want not.”

“That sounds like quite the… unique concoction.”

“You can say bad, it’s all right. I think it would violate my oath to inflict that particular delicacy on others.”

He pressed his lips together, either to repress a smile or perhaps in relief that his intestinal fortitude wouldn’t be challenged anytime soon. “It sounds like for the foreseeable future of our journey that I should maintain control of the cook pot.”

“I would not wish to give you more duties,” she hedged, “but perhaps that is wise for now. We probably shouldn't add gastrointestinal distress to the list of things we’re dealing with.”

“Grand adventures do rarely involve epic tales of food poisoning.”

“I wouldn’t say it was that bad — but point taken. Cooking has never really been in my repertoire. That’s probably not going to change much.”

“Come now, there’s always the chance to learn,” Gale insisted, “and I have been known to instruct a wayward student once or twice in my day.”

“Have you now?”

“Granted, my apprentices, if you would call them such, needed tutelage of the more arcane nature, but! I am not a man to who would hoard knowledge from a willing pupil.”

“If you’re offering to teach me how to cook,” she threaded a note of teasing into her tone, “I am not sure I would be a talented student—”

“Please, I won’t have you downplaying your own aptitude. You had enough creativity to invent a new genre of soup, regardless of how…” he paused, as if searching his broad vocabulary for the most polite way to phrase it, “—uh, palatable it wound up being. I bet if you used more than two ingredients, perhaps a vegetable, mixed in the concept of spices, then the flavor would expand exponentially.”

“I knew I forgot something.” That elicited a quiet snort. “That’s the kind of feedback that would be helpful in the future.”

“All that and more.”

“Well, in that case, I wouldn’t mind learning from a master.” She gave him a smile. “Especially if it would help ease the burden of cooking.”

“Ah, but is it a burden to feed others?” Gale tapped the side of his nose as he gave her a wink. “Or just good manners?”

“Speaking of good manners,” she deftly grabbed the bundle before he could protest, “as you cooked the meal, it is only appropriate for someone else to clean up.”

“Yes, I guess that is true,” he conceded. “And in truth, I do appreciate the assistance. This has been… well, rather more excitement than I’d prefer for one day.”

“Hard to argue with that.” The clatter of her trying to stack their eclectic assortment of makeshift crockery with the cookware and pot nearly drowned out her murmur of agreement. “Not every day starts with ilithid abductions, crashing nautiloids, with a side trip into hell.”

The stack of cookware tilted dangerously as she tried to arrange it in one hand and reach for the dirtied cookpot with the other, and Gale rushed forward to steady it. “Please, let us not compound the day’s adventure with another crash.”

“I’ve got it,” she insisted with good nature. “Just trying to save on trips.”

“I have already added enough work for you this evening,” he grabbed the dishes that were moments from taking a tumble, “let me offset that by at least helping with transport.”

“Very well,” she dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to be accused of breaking Astarion’s new favorite plate.”

“Is it really, though? It’s not like he touched much of his meal earlier. Perhaps it wasn’t to his taste.” Gale added a few more dishes to his own stack for good measure, and gave a side eye to the way she easily hefted the heavy cooking pot to bear. “Are you sure you have that?”

“Oh, this? Yeah, it’s nothing. Really.”

“Are you sure? I nearly threw my back out when I was trying to adjust its position on the fire.”

“You just have to lift with your knees.”

“If you say so,” he murmured.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“My back?”

“No—I mean, it’s your back, you have every right to worry about that, don’t let me stop you—but I was talking about Astarion picking at his food. The meal was delicious. Maybe he just has a weak stomach. As you said, it has been a long and arduous day.”

“Hm, do I detect a hint of sarcasm there?”

“No,” Aravyn insisted, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Well, a lesser person might hold a little grudge for the way he pulled a knife on you.” There was a knowing look in the wizard’s eye that had her snorting out an annoyed breath, especially when he added, “You moved on from that with a surprising amount of grace.”

She tried not to wince at the memory of the knife pressed against her throat, its sharp edge slightly cooler than the one in Gale’s threat to incinerate the pale elf threatening her. “Well, he did eventually put the knife away.”

“Only after you nearly knocked out his teeth with that headbutt—a very nice move, by the way.” The smile she tried to dredge up at the intended compliment may have come out more of a grimace, but he forged on, voice dropping to more of a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s very strange, but I couldn’t help but notice how sharp his canines are. Do you think he files them down?”

“What? No—who would do that?”

“I don’t know… Bhaalists, cannibals, oh, maybe he’s part orc?”

“He doesn’t seem to have the physique for that particular bloodline.” Aravyn set the pot down as they reached the water’s edge, the babbling of the river’s current adding a serene soundtrack to their hushed conversation now they were further away from the hub of the camp. “And a Bhaalist would have just slit my throat.”

“So we’re agreed, then? Definitely a cannibal.”

She quickly turned to Gale, letting out a hushing noise as she grabbed for the set of plates he’d rescued from their ignoble end. “You’re horrible. Stop!”

The strength of her plea was weakened by her half-laugh and wide-eyed look she tossed back towards the subject of their conversation, who could barely be seen past the large outcropping of rocks lining the shore. Gale let out a quiet, almost satisfied chuckle as he delicately set the plates on her outstretched palms.

“And yet you indulge in my salacious speculation.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps it’s my charm.”

She shot him a wry, side-long glance as she knelt into the wet soil of the riverbank, spreading out the cookware and crockery to prepare for her task. “Might I remind you that you just accused one of our party of secretly wanting to eat us?”

Gale let out an affronted huff. “Are you impugning my character?”

“Maybe just a little.” She flashed a smile at him. “Although I should probably factor in that you were gentlemanly enough to help me haul my horde down here.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “This grading system of my character seems to have a lot of complexity to it. Is it a sliding scale?”

“Would you believe I invented it on the spot?”

“I might.”

“Well,” the brightness of her smile faded to something a little softer, “regardless, I think you have been gallant enough for the day. You’ve spent all your time in camp preparing us a fine meal and haven’t seen to your own tent. I’m sure you have plenty yet to unpack and arrange after the day’s chaos.”

Gale opened his mouth as if to continue a polite protest, then shut it again as he mulled over the statement. “I suppose you make a fair point. We need an area for research if we’re to be stranded here for any length of time, and my books! Well, what few I had on my person doesn’t hold a candle to my library back in Waterdeep, but still enough to fill a shelf or two. That I’ll need to construct somehow, come to think of it.”

“It seems like you have your hands full, then.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on, mine are busy with the dishes.”

As Gale turned to leave, an action she had very much been encouraging, there was just the smallest flicker of disappointment in her chest. Before he could take another step, or her mind could catch up with the compulsion, her hand shot out to catch his sleeve. She reeled the impulse back in just enough so that her fingers just brushed against the fabric, gaining a bit of a startled look back in her direction.

“Wait, I…” As he glanced down at her quizzically, she could feel her cheeks flushing and the tips of her ears burning, but she didn’t avert her gaze. “I just wanted to say. About earlier, when Astarion pulled the knife. You threatened to incinerate him.”

“Ah. Right. Not my finest moment.”

“No, no, what I mean to say is…” Gods, why was this so difficult? “Thank you. You hadn’t known me for even an hour, yet you still made an effort.”

“Well, it’s hardly the act of a gentleman to let some scallywag slit your throat, especially after you so valiantly rescued me from that malfunctioning portal.” The self-deprecating smile that twisted his lips now seemed more genuine than the practiced one that accompanied his more braggadocios statements. Like this was what came to him more naturally. “Not that my efforts amounted to much. You were obviously more than capable of handling the situation on your own.”

“That you tried means something.”

“I suppose that’s a refreshing change of pace,” he mused, almost to himself. At the quizzical tilt of her head, he seemed to remember himself and added. “Worry not. If things continue as they have, I’m sure there will be ample opportunity for me to be successful in returning the favor and save your life.” An awkward beat passed as he considered his words. “Not that I would wish more danger upon us, of course. But we do seem to attract… excitement.”

“Like moth to a flame,” she agreed quietly.

“Well,” Gale cleared his throat, clasping his arms behind his back, “I do have those books to organize. I suppose I shall leave you to it.”

At her nod, he quickly retreated towards the camp, and she let out a frustrated breath that threatened to become a sigh. Without even really thinking, she started to methodically work through the dishes and get them clean. Or as clean as they could get with the limited supplies they were working with. They needed some soap—and something rough enough to really scrub out this pot. For now, elbow grease would have to do. If she focused more on the rag in her hands, then there would be less of her mind to try to sort out her lingering disappointment.

She didn’t even know what she was disappointed about. If she thought about it at any length, bringing up the earlier incident was probably not very appropriate. She wasn’t even sure why'd done so, it was almost as if it had burst forth from her as if from its own accord. It had just made things awkward — and she hadn’t been trying to imply that Gale had failed in any way. She had just wanted… gods, she didn’t know that either.

The problem with losing oneself in a task was that each one had a finite end point. By the time she stacked the last dish inside the cook pot, the sun had shrunk behind the horizon, bleeding vivid hues across the sky in its wake. Absently she shook out the bundle of cooking scraps into the flowing water, watching them disappear into the deeper currents of the river.

They’d reached the end of the first day. Of seven if the more learned members of their ragtag group were to be believed. Seven days until the thing in their heads burst forth, ripping through their skin, burning up their souls and—

She shoved herself to her feet with an unnecessarily violent movement. No. No. She hadn’t finished with her task yet.

She carefully stacked the dishes inside of the large pot, taking time to inspect the structural integrity before hefting it to bear. She could count the steps back to the center of camp individually, rolling her feet so that the crockery didn’t clink too loudly on the trip, before setting it down in its appropriate spot near the campfire. Unfortunately, even if she dragged her feet, it only stretched out her distraction for another minute or so.

That was fine, everyone else was busy getting their own spaces prepared. She should do so as well. She'd already laid out her meager belongings in her little lean-to, but perhaps a little more organization wouldn’t hurt. The tenets of her oath had been placed carefully upon the bedroll that still needed to be unfurled for the night, and the slender neck of a lute peeked from behind where she’d stacked her armor, tabard, and shield for the evening.

The lute wasn’t hers. Not really. It had been years since her own had been sold off, and this one had been found it amongst the wreckage on the beach. An admittedly useless item for a pack of strangers focusing on survival. While a fairly light instrument, it was still unwise to haul around extra weight that served no real utility. And yet, she couldn’t just abandon it to rot in the sea air, its song forever silenced like the countless bodies littering the shore of the crash site.

She wasn’t actively aware that she had dropped to her knees until her fingers were tracing over the nicks and divots worn into the fretboard from countless years of fingertips pressing strings against it. A few lighter scratches showed newer use — perhaps a child taking lessons, inadvertently adding their own marks.

Or maybe that was just a bit of imagination, or perhaps projection, shining through, she told herself as she struggled to swallow past a sudden lump in her throat. Though in her mind’s eye it was all too easy to see small, chubby fingers being guided along the fretboard by larger, more experienced hands. Perhaps an older relative, or a tutor. Index finger and thumb working in tandem to pluck out familiar chords to a timeless tune.

Its bright notes would be the same, whether plucked out by a small child, or drifting out the open window of a tavern. Her teenage self would have never risked going into one. Even taking just a moment to pause and listen to the full length of a tune would cut into her overly filled schedule. And yet her fingers would keep their own time, drumming atop the large tomes of mathematics and elvish history she lugged between lessons across the Lower City.

Aravyn blinked, out of memory and half-imaginings, back into her dirty, bloody reality on the banks of the Chionthar. There were no tavern musicians or traveling bards with a merry tune to chase away the dark thoughts looming at the edges — just her and the lute that somehow was already cradled into a familiar position. The fading light of the sun seemed to glimmer along the strings, and her thumb was already in motion, plucking the first string, her index finger moving on muscle memory as it picked a corresponding note that sung a crisp, familiar note.

It was brief, but just encouragement enough that her fingertips continued to dance a familiar refrain, weaving a familiar song. She could hear the cheerful tune in her head, but as her fingers continued to work the strings, the notes didn’t match. Discordant and jarring, the thin threads of music tangled together, crashing into an unrecognizable and inharmonious cacophony.

“If that racket does not stop right now,” the voice of an angry githyanki hanging on to their last thread of patience cut through the camp, “I will end both it and whoever is responsible!”

Her fingers felt as heavy and uncoordinated as those sour sounds, and the lute was quickly lowered back to her lap. Of course, some random instrument found in the carnage of the nautiloid’s crash wouldn’t function properly. Only a silly fool would think not only that but also that it would somehow lighten the heavy mood in their camp.

A familiar paternal voice in the back of her mind chastised her for chasing her own comfort and wasting time on such frivolous things, especially when there were far more important matters to tend to. And their impending ceremorphosis certainly wouldn’t be cured even if she could coax a festive song from the lute’s untuned strings.

“It’s time to put away childish things, Aravyn,” that echo from the past reminded her, the reprimand carrying the weight of a lifetime of failed expectations. She exhaled sharply to shake off the familiar, stifling sensation. If there was no time to indulge in frivolities, then there was also no time to indulge in self-pity, either.

Even though her cheeks burned at the thought of the entire camp hearing that wretched sound, Aravyn couldn’t find it in herself to take her frustrations out on the lute. She instead forced herself to glance up. The fading sunlight cast a warm glow over her new companions, all of whom were engrossed in the rhythm of their own tasks. Even renowned musical critic Lae’zel had waited long enough to ensure the return of silence, before resuming the construction on a training dummy that was beginning to resemble a Mindflayer. Had she spent the entire afternoon attaching tentacles to the thing?

She shook her head. What did that matter?

Regardless, if Aravyn’s faux pas wasn’t enough to warrant anything more than a grumbled threat, perhaps she shouldn’t linger on it too long. With one last lingering glance at the lute, she carefully set it away, far, far to the back of her tent. Out of reach, and out of temptation’s range. Her focus right now needed to be on what tune tomorrow’s winds might carry. She gave a wry smile at the thought, hoping a new dawn might bring a little more harmony than today’s chaos.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #gale x tav #(pre-relationship)#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 tav #oc: aravyn #greyfic #in which ari and gale gossip like a bunch of real housewives #and i try to faithfully recreate her embarrassing musical debut #that the game has now patched out of existence :(#now kel #i know you didn't submit this prompt nearly two years ago #thiking you'd wind up with 3600 rambling words of bg3 fic #and yet... here we are

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★ 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄. + 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. Joel couldn't help it, he was infatuated with the way you looked, and he would think about you so vividly that it would keep him up to the point of tossing and turning in his bed at night.

─── ☆ notes. I have been stuck in a bit of a funk for awhile, which kind of stinks because a lot of my writing really doesn't reflect how I’ve been feeling lately. I hope this brainrot parts ways with me very soon, but in meantime here is a totally down bad ventfic. | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 2.9k (24 min read)

Because he had grown up as a single parent, Joel liked to think he had been built with a natural bullshit detector built in.

Having been thrown into the lifestyle of unexpected parenthood by raising the little mischievous girl that was his daughter Sarah for 12 years of his life, he learned the highs and lows that came with raising a child with little to no moral compass.

He had to learn that it was best to go through life being stressed about absolutely everything while also being prepared for everything; that was just his life motto.

It came from the years of hiding the very real emotions he had hidden under his true exterior, from the love of his life leaving him with a baby to somehow floating through his 20s.

Keeping his screws tight and pushing through without taking any handouts from the people that would peer at him with pity in their eyes.

Joel was the type of man to never talk about his troubles to bottle up all his emotions, nor had he ever talked about anything that bothered him outwardly.

Not even to his little brother Tommy, who had certainly made it his mission to lift Joel out of the funk he had always seemed to find himself in.

Joel knew that his lifestyle wasn't that hard, he felt blessed to even have the amount of support and family that he did have left. Sure, he had to live from check to check, but that was the same for most underpaid workers who lived to achieve the American dream.

So, like most, he just sucked it up and did his best to keep his mouth shut and to go about his day as drama-free as he possibly could.

Joel didn't think that he was living a miserable life. He felt it was better to be constantly on edge, knowing the trouble Sarah would get into every time he turned his back to the girl.

In fact, he had many things troubling him in his life, silently adding more and more to his plate as the days unfolded beneath him.

The newest addition was about how he was just on the brink of losing the second job that Tommy had helped him get too, and that just added to how he was supposed to keep a roof over Sarah’s head if he wasn't able to get paid enough to keep food in the fridge.

the last thing Joel wanted for Sarah was for her to feel forced to pick up some slack around the house, knowing her idea of help was using her bad sticky fingers habit.

Remembering how just last spring, when he had let it slip that they might have to cut back on leaving the lights on.

Joel had a rude awakening the next morning to a lengthy lecture over the phone from Sarah's principal about how the little girl had gotten caught scavenging through her classmate's backpacks.

Learning that his daughter was busy pawning anything that she could get her hands on after school wasn't something Joel expected to hear.

So as much as he wished he could give up at times, Joel had made it his mission to raise Sarah so she would not feel like she had to lift even a finger, teaching her that with a bit of hard work, even bigger awards would come.

Though the completely different side of his life, Joel would be busy swatting Tommy away like the pestering little brother that he made himself out to be.

"You just need to get back in the game.” Tommy would insist boldly on wild the suggestion, claiming how Joel wouldn't be so high-strung if he had an actual lady friend to keep him company the nights he had found so difficult to keep his bed warm.

It took a lot of convincing after some years for Joel to finally just bite the bullet, agreeing to go on a few double date nights with Tommy's guidance.

The younger sibling was personally assigned as his overly charismatic wingman, making it his task to saddle whichever poor woman he laid his eyes on across the bar to squeeze next to them for the night.

Many women have met the unfortunate fate, most coming up with an excuse to part ways after they failed to crack Joel from his awkward shell.

It was a constant cycle of nothingness, and the older man returned home at night alone just in time to tuck Sarah into bed. Date after date, Joel had just about given up on seeking out "the one", just in time for the universe to throw him another thing to add onto his plate: new annoying neighbors.

You weren't even allowed to introduce yourself before your dog had made himself at home and snuck into Joel's backyard through the hole in the gate he keeps putting off fixing.

Your little pooch kicking up dirt all over his patio and chewing up all the toys Sarah had left outside that he could get his little paws on, the little girl scared at the sight of her prized dolls all chewed up in pieces, screaming as if she had witnessed a murder happen right in front of her own eyes.

The last thing he had wanted to have to do right after getting off work was chewing out some insolent dog owner for not being to keep a watchful eye on their pet.

Just as he was about to beat down your dog and give you an earful, he halted once your front door had swung open and had been welcomed by the sight of you.

Stumbling a bit over his words, you had managed to piece together the issues, seeing Joel had your dog by its collar and Sarah's look of absolute heartbreak holding pieces of her toys still in hand.

An apology was the first thing you introduced yourself to your new neighbor as your dog was returned.

You explained how you just turned and made the mistake of thinking that the gate that separated your two homes would be enough to keep the puppy out of trouble. You were even kind enough to replace some of the toys Sarah had lost as a nice peace offering.

the two of you even getting closer, giving Sarah something to do over the long weekends, the little girl would slip out of the house to go next door to come to pester you to hang out for the day.

Joel hadn't complained much seeing Sarah become so close to you, though when it came to talking to you himself, his stiff personality would always get in the way of forming a proper conversation with you.

Just being around you made him so suddenly nervous, wanting to have at least some type of friendship with the woman that his daughter found such a delight to be around without turning into some stumbling and bumbling fool.

The situation had only seemed to become even more embarrassing the moment that Tommy had been added to the equation.

It was as if Tommy could read every little expression and problem that was happening in Joel's mind like it was some type of sibling telepathy spilling everything that was clouding his older brother's mind.

It only took one look at how Joel looked at you to finish the entire puzzle piece, and before you knew it, Tommy was setting Joel up to fix the leak in your sink.

Being the best wingman he could be, Tommy took Sarah out on one of their rare movie nights with a wink and a wave to Joel, leaving just the two of you alone for the moment in hopes of something unfolding without any intrusion.

Unfortunately, the rest of the evening alone wasn't as smooth sailing as he had thought it to be, with Joel thinking he was practically torturing you by wriggling into your life in a manner somewhat like an annoying tapeworm.

Joel liked to think of himself as a bit of a gentleman, giving you as much respect as he could while you two were alone in your home. Though he would never admit it, since his last relationship ended, he has grown to have an awkward relationship with any female that isn't his daughter.

His overbearing awakeness comes between holding an actual conversation with you and still learning how to utter the words "no thank you!" as if he were some nervous child.

Like how he couldn’t tell Sarah no every time she would ask to stay up just a few more minutes before her bedtime (those minutes usually leading up to hours) or how every time one of his old flings would come knocking on his front door just magically appearing mostly likely from Tommy's influence on his doorstep holding up some food dish he knew was filled with something vile enough to sit untouched in his fridge for the following week until he would secretly passing it to your dog.

There was another issue that had Joel dodging your eyes—a sudden wave of shame always seemed to follow at just the mere thought of bringing a woman home, knowing there would always be the possibility of you peering through your front curtains and seeing him kissing up against someone else at his doorstep.

Let alone having to explain to both you and Sarah the type of relationship that he had with said woman, it was more than enough anxiety to make him back out of hooking up as a whole.

Joel just couldn't do relationships.

And heaven knows it wasn’t anyone else's fault but his own. It all just makes Joel feel like such a shit person for constantly comparing all the women he has met to everything you do.

Feeling like he was leading all the poor women on, knowing that his heart was completely somewhere else and that no amount of people that he would talk to or hook up with would amount to the emotions and feelings he had for you.

He just couldn't do it.

Not with any of them at least.

Joel was convinced he was a bad person from the moment Tommy and Sarah had left, and he could not stop imagining the very adult things that you both could have been doing instead of fixing your plumbing.

There was just something about your presence that seemed to be so alluring, so intoxicating, to the point where Joel just had to get to work quickly, wanting to fix your sink as fast as he possibly could just to have something to do with his fidgeting, nervous hands.

Squatting down with a grunt to get a better look at the pipes, you had filled the silence with your own sense of conversation, full of that new adult stress that had you bouncing off the walls worrying about finding an ear within Joel, who would on occasion speak up with his own blunt sense of advice.

You were so similar to him, and Joel just loved that about you, and it was scary how he had found someone as troubled as he was.

Not only that, but you were also freaking pretty. It was strange because he had never felt the way he did in such a long time.

You were pretty in the weird way that would make him so nervous to be in the same room as you, how he would stumble his sentences, and how your conversations would always fall awkwardly silent.

Not knowing how to talk to you because he would be too busy trying not to stare or say the wrong thing.

Joel couldn't help it, he was just infatuated with the way you looked, from your glistening brown skin that always looked so soft to the touch to the curls and coils in your hair that looked like it would feel like small little clouds or sugary spun cotton candy in between his fingertips, he wanted so badly to just reach out and touch it—to touch you even.

It was all so wrong, the way he would think about you so vividly that it would keep him up to the point of tossing and turning in his bed at night.

Joel had let your one-sided conversation die down in the air, assuming that your attention had been pulled to something more interesting than watching him work. The last thing he had expected was for you to have noticed him struggling with the stray longer hairs that poked his face.

Making your way over to his side of the cabinets, he hadn't even noticed you leaning down next to him until he flinched at the tap of your fingers against his, trying to grab back his attention.

The position in which you had stood beside him was a heart-hammering sight. He was peering up at you with his mouth slightly gaping.

Joel swore that the way that the kitchen light had glewed through your curls made you seem like some kind of angel trying to bless the sinful thoughts he was having.

The moment wasn't short-lived, watching your hands hesitate before reaching to use one of the scrunchies you had around your wrist to pull his hair away from his face into a small ponytail.

After that exchange, Joel swore that the rest of the day just seemed to continue on with his body moving on autopilot all the way until he was back home resting in his bed.

Just the mere memory of the moment playing over and over in his mind on a loop, laying in his bed with an untouched erection as if he was some sort of pulsing like he was an out of control teenage boy that just discovered what jerking off felt like.

Joel was convinced that his dick was just sort of broken until now. Sure, he would get the occasional morning wood.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of pure arousal that had clouded his mind and left him feeling brick hard, and the worst part was that it was all your fault.

He couldn't believe that he had gotten so spun up about you, thinking about how your fingers had combed through his hair, how those same hands would feel if you just tangled them in his locks and tugged just a bit harder.

His thoughts trailed farther on their own, how your full lips would feel pressed against his own, how they would look all glossed up and wrapped about his dick.

How your voice would sound whimpering out his name under him, having you laid spread out naked in his bed within his own four walls.

It was all your fault for how you had smitten him so easily, with his mind being so fogged that he could barely think about anything but you as he touched himself.

How you had dared to be so much prettier than any of the other women he would meet on Tommy's double dates—which was such a fucked up thing to compare you to—you just had such a personality that made Joel feel so flustered to the point where he ached to have you in his embrace.

to have you close enough that all his senses were taken up by you—how badly he wanted to be held by you, to be smothered in your arms, to bury his face against your chest and melt into an embrace until he smelled like you.

Joel felt like he had to be sick, he had to have fallen ill over the course of meeting you.

It was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with about how just the mere thought of you would make him so hot and heavy.

It was almost agonizing how distracting you were to him at night, the wandering thoughts of you leaving his cock aching against his thigh.

Joel wouldn't even realize he was palming himself through his sweats, recalling how you had practically ruined the entirety of his trajectory. He was already tugging down his joggers, and his hand was crawling under his waistband.

The selfish and completely deprived thoughts would flood his mind at the moment he wrapped his hand around his length.

His hand jerked at his hilt as the other combed through the knotting hair at the base of his scalp, trying to ground himself from the tension that started to knot in his stomach.

The selfish act of pleasure would continue on with no end, all he could think about was how good you were making him feel without even being in the same room as him.

How badly he wanted to press trails of kisses up and down your body, leaving dark little greedy marks against your plush skin.

Joel imagined seeing all of you, all your naked curves and folds, how your plump thighs would look pressed against your chest, how big his hand would look pressing against your stomach pudge.

He was a fucking mess.

His fantasies of you playing out in his mind had him biting his knuckles to keep quiet as he couldn't remember if he had locked his bedroom door or not, and the last thing he needed was Sarah rushing in and killing the mood.

The thin walls don't keep him from unloading all over his hands and pants, bent up strings finally being released with a strained groan parting from his lips as his muscles twitch and his mind finally gets released from the horny rotting intrusion for just a moment he’s floating on a cloud of bliss.

God, how he hated the heart thumping feeling that followed, the minute everything would come back and click into place realizing what he had done and the troubled feelings he had for you.

Joel was convinced he was never going to be able to wrench his heart from your hands anytime soon.

🔖 @adison-smart27

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