#I finished chapter 11 it was really good | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gumii-bearr · 3 months ago

Text

❝ i'm already yours ❞

summary: megumi learns to be honest with you and tell you what he wants.

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, angst, fluff, some rude guy (ino slander im SORRY), mentions of alcohol, mentions of megumi's ex, fighting, megumi still being emotionally stunted but hes learning, ozawa x itadori mentions, maki x yuta mentions, nobara is a menace, megumi being such a cute lil baby, swearing, smutttt, fingering, mirror sex, missionary, p in v sex, loss of virginity, belly bulge, unprotected sex (dont do that!), pulling-out method, subspace a bit, squirting, aftercare!!

word count: 9.3k

author's note: oh BABY, this one GOOOOOD

chapter one

Megumi Fushiguro is starting to really like you.

Like, more than just ‘like-like’, as you so eloquently put it those few months ago while lying naked in his bed. Megumi’s heart races at the sight of you. Granted, that has always been the case but he’s starting to think about you all the time.

You still sleep in your separate rooms, though you’ll occasionally sneak into his room in the late hours of the night holding your pillow and softly chanting ‘sleepover’. And Megumi’s heart just swells, moving aside in his tiny single bed to make room for you to curl into his side, your leg thrown over his waist and your hand clutching his shirt.

You are his first thought every morning.

Whether you’re still sleeping beside him, cooking breakfast, doing your makeup in your room or already at work or college; you are all he thinks about. Most of the time he thinks about good things, but sometimes he thinks about the not-so-good things.

Like if you’re getting tired of him.

Or if you think he’s too possessive or too clingy or too needy or too much–

“I’m home!” you exclaim from the front door. You have your hands full holding take-out bags, your apron still tied around your waist (Megumi pictures you walking around in public still wearing the brown-coloured apron with the little bear on it and your name tag still pinned to your shirt because you always forget to take it off).

Megumi is quick to appear in the hallway, effortlessly lifting the bags from your hands as you attempt to kick your shoes off, hopping on one foot and cursing like a sailor when they don’t cooperate.

“Hi,” Megumi greets, voice soft and a little tired.

He always waits up for you, even when you have a midnight closing shift and he’s been awake since five in the morning. When he knows you’re finishing late, he makes sure to text you at exactly 12:16, a minute after your shift actually ends. He likes to make sure you’re okay, even if he won’t admit it.

“Hi, Gumi,” you beam, a wide smile on your face as you press up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. You giggle when his face flushes slightly and he averts his gaze to avoid you catching him blushing. But you think it’s so unbelievably cute.

“How ws’ work?” He asks, dropping the take-out bags on the counter in the kitchen.

“Boring,” you whine, dropping your car keys (Megumi’s car keys) in the bowl by the door and shrugging off your jacket. “Some guy had me re-make his coffee, like, five times at 11:55! How rude.” You mumble the last part with a scowl on your face.

“Mm, you should have just pretended to remake it,” Megumi mutters, unpacking the take-out from the plastic bags and grabbing some plates for the two of you.

“Oh, I did,” you reply with a cheeky grin, “after the fourth try, I just shook it and gave it back to him… It seemed to work ‘cus he said it was perfect.”

Megumi gives an amused smile, “that’s my girl.”

You smile sweetly at the nickname, padding over to Megumi and wiggling your hands through his arms to wrap your hands around his waist, pressing your front to his broad back.

“I missed you, Gumi,” you nuzzle into his warmth just between his shoulder blades.

“Missed you too,” Megumi says after a beat, lifting a hand to squeeze your arm still wrapped around his waist.

Megumi seems tired, though his voice is laced with something else a little sadder and you know when Megumi gets like that it’s because he’s thinking. And you’ve been so busy with work and the rapidly approaching final exams, that you haven’t been home as much as you want to.

“What’s wrong?” You ask quietly, twisting yourself around Megumi to peer up at his tired face.

“M’fine,” Megumi replies after a short pause.

You frown, “...what’re you thinking about then?”

Megumi hates how you know him. After the catastrophe that was his confession to you, you’ve been more sensitive to and observant of Megumi’s changes in behaviour. You can now so easily tell the difference between Megumi’s genuine exhaustion and when his thoughts start to spiral into insecurity and anxiousness.

“Just stuff.” Ah, Megumi Fushiguro, a man of many words.

“You wanna tell me about it?” You don’t ever push. Sometimes Megumi does want to talk about it, other times he just wants to curl up on the couch with you to distract himself. It worries you no matter what though.

Megumi knows he should talk about it with you. He’s been trying really hard to tell you about things that are bothering him since when he used to talk about it with his ex, she would rattle off insults about him being too clingy or too nervous or too paranoid.

But you’re different.

You pay attention to him, holding his hand so gently and letting him get the words out on his own, no matter how long it takes or how much he stumbles over his thoughts.

It took him about forty minutes to ask you if you’d be his girlfriend.

“And I… I think that–” Megumi cuts himself off, running a hand through his messy hair and avoiding eye contact with you by staring at the ceiling then the floor.

Your hand holding his is making him even more nervous. Your thumb strokes over his knuckles, your knee touching his as the two of you sit on the couch, the movie you were watching long forgotten.

“Do you… Is it okay with you if we, uh. Fuck… We’re dating, right?”

You chuckle softly, “yeah, we’re dating,” you ponder for a moment. “You’ve been taking me on dates, right?”

Megumi gives an amused huff, “that’s what they were intended as.”

“Okay, then I’m confident in saying that yes, we’re dating,” you giggle.

Megumi always over-thinks the plans he makes. Wondering if you will like the picnic he planned (with the help of Nobara and Yuko who were sending him far too many pinterest screenshots at 3am), wondering if you’d like the restaurant he picked (you’re determined to try almost everything on the menu and claim he’ll have to roll you home), and wondering if you still like him.

He knows it’s irrational. You are always so excited to see him at the end of every day, always so excited to tell him about your day and ask about his even if he spent the whole day at home.

“Will you… Would you want me to be your boyfriend?” Fuck. He asked it wrong. “Wait, I meant will you be my girlfriend?”

The smile that spills across your face is so happy and so bright and you crash tackle him onto the couch, squealing in delight and pressing kisses to his face as Megumi just chuckles (mostly with relief). “I would love to be your girlfriend!”

“Really?”

“Of course! …It was so worth the forty-five minutes of stammering–”

“Hey!”

“M’just thinking about you,” Megumi finally forces out, a nervous pit forming in his stomach as his eyes flicker around the room, unable to meet your gaze.

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, slipping your hands into Megumi’s and playing with his warm fingers. You know deep down he’s feeling anxious and worried about things regarding you and your relationship, you know none of it is malicious because that’s just the way Megumi is; always thinking.

Megumi shrugs, “js’ worried about me being… too paranoid and stuff.”

Your expression softens and you reach a hand up to cup Megumi’s jaw, gently forcing his head to tilt down and his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes flicker between his and you smile softly, “you’re not too paranoid, Megumi. You’re a good person and you worry about doing and saying the right thing.”

Megumi chews on the inside of his cheek, “...you sure?”

“Always,” you beam. “You never have to worry about me… ‘cus I like-like you,” you giggle quietly.

Megumi’s lips tug into a smile, “I like-like you too.”

You press up on your tiptoes, hands snaking around Megumi’s neck to toy with the shorter baby hairs at his nape. His eyes glance down to your lips, still tinted pinkish with the strawberry-flavoured lipgloss you love so much.

You smile before leaning up to press a slow peck to his lips, revelling in the way Megumi gently pulls you closer by your waist, hands so big yet so gentle as they hold you close to his body. You taste like strawberries, some of your lipgloss smearing onto Megumi’s lips.

You chuckle lightly, lifting your thumb to rub the gloss off his lips, “Ozawa asked if we wanted to hang out Saturday night too.”

Megumi moves some of your hair out of your face, “doing what?”

“Mm, bowling and arcade games? Maybe some drinks? I thought it would be nice to hang out with them since we haven’t in a while,” you shrug.

Megumi hums, “if you want to.”

You smile softly, “only if you want to.”

“I never want to.”

“Yeah, I know,” you chuckle. Megumi isn’t exactly social, he would prefer to stay cooped up in the apartment with you, both of you lounging around in your pyjamas and watching movies or playing video games (a.k.a. Megumi playing CoD while you play Animal Crossing).

Megumi watches your expression falter a little and his heart squeezes, “but I’ll go.”

Your face lights up, “really?”

“Mhm,” he hums, “I’ll win you a plushie in the claw machine.”

“A Hello Kitty one?”

“Sure.”

“Yay!”

—

You practically sprint toward Yuko when you see her. She’s sitting at a bar table next to Yuji, his hand resting on her thigh, but she promptly swats his hand away and leaps off the barstool to tackle you in a crushing hug.

“Eee! Y/N, I’ve missed you!” Yuko sways you from side to side, able to bear hug you with how much taller she is than you (and with her chunky heels on). “I haven’t seen you in, like, so long.”

“I saw you three days ago,” you giggle against her shoulder.

“Yeah, but that was work, it doesn’t count,” she tuts, pulling away from you and giving you a disapproving look.

“Right, of course,” you roll your eyes playfully.

Yuko peers behind you at your bored-looking boyfriend who stands a few feet away from you with his hands stuffed in his pockets and your adorable pink kitty bag slung over his shoulder, “hi, Fushiguro… cute purse.”

Megumi sticks his hand up in a half-assed wave, “m’trying something different,” he jokes with a bored expression. Anyone who didn’t know Megumi would think he was being dead serious with how his jokes tend to come across.

Yuko chuckles, “come on, we’ve been waiting for you guys forever.” Yuko tugs on your hand and you reach your own hand out for Megumi, who catches you easily with his long strides and laces his fingers with yours.

“Heeey!” Yuji drawls, “what took you dorks so long?”

“Traffic, you know,” you shrug.

That’s a lie; Megumi was too busy laying you down on the dining room table so he could stick his head under your skirt and eat you out because you looked so damn cute in your pretty outfit.

“Sure,” Yuji gives a Megumi a shit-eating grin, to which Megumi rolls his eyes and moves to pull a chair out for you at the table.

“You want a drink?” Megumi asks, peering down at you as he helps you into your chair.

“Mmm, surprise me,” you smile, pressing a kiss to Megumi’s cheek and inwardly beaming at how his cheeks dust a little pink at your affection, especially in front of his friends.

“Sure,” Megumi ruffles your hair, but not enough to ruin it because he knows you spent a lot of time making it look pretty in the bathroom mirror. Megumi promptly disappears into the huge crowd forming around the bar (given it’s a Saturday night, you’re not exactly surprised).

“You two are so cute,” Yuko nudges your shoulder playfully.

You smile, “he’s cute.”

Nobara makes gagging sounds from across the table, “boo, get a room.”

Maki elbows her, “you’re just jealous ‘cus you don’t have a boyfriend,” she says cooly, taking a sip of her martini.

“Rude,” Nobara retorts, dramatically rubbing her shoulder.

“S’okay, Nobara, we’ll fine you a boyfriend,” Yuko chuckles.

“Ew, no thanks,” Nobara scoffs, “men are gross.”

“That’s not very nice,” Yuji whines, his voice muffled from the mouthful of burger shoved in his face.

Nobara raises her brows and points at him, “see?”

Yuko chuckles and picks up a napkin, gently wiping the sauce and crumbs from Yuji’s cheek. He just sits there with a little smile on his face (if he was a dog his tail would be wagging happily, let’s be honest).

You chat with everyone for a while, finally meeting Maki’s boyfriend Yuta and his friend Inumaki (who doesn’t talk much from what you’ve gathered). But as soon as the boys leave to grab more drinks from the bar (they noticed Megumi was at the front of the line and decided to hijack his spot), Nobara and Yuko lean in toward you while Maki rolls her eyes.

“So…” Nobara drawls, scooting her chair closer to yours.

You look at your friends, the tips of your ears feeling hot from the sudden attention. “What?” You huff out a nervous laugh.

“You and Fushiguro done the ol’...” Nobara wiggles her brows childishly to emphasise her point.

You roll your eyes playfully, “that’s none of your business.”

“So that’s a no,” Maki chimes in matter-of-factly.

You’ve only met Maki a handful of times but you like her. She’s quiet and intimidating but she always offers sound advice as opposed to Nobara who lives for disrupting your peace.

But no, you and Megumi haven’t had sex yet. You’ve come close a few times but Megumi is quick to hold back, instead kissing down your tits and your tummy to eat you out or slipping his fingers into your panties to get you off.

It’s not that you don’t want to have sex. You absolutely do. You don’t want anyone other than Megumi to be the one to take your virginity.

But Megumi avoids it and he always seems to be battling some kind of inner turmoil when you hint at him having sex with you. Whether you ask if he’s got a condom or you reach for the waistband of his pants– he’s quick to redirect you and you want to ask him, you really do, but it makes you wonder if he’s unhappy with you or maybe he simply doesn’t want to have sex with you.

You try not to be insecure about it because Megumi loves being between your legs, he loves touching you behind closed doors and worshipping you with kisses and lovebites. And he loves it even more when you’re on your knees in front of him, his hands wrapped around your hair and pulling into a makeshift ponytail so you can take him into your mouth uninterrupted (you’re getting pretty good at it, you think).

But it still makes feel insecure.

“You should do it whenever you’re ready,” Yuko smiles warmly, her hand holding yours. You love your best friend to pieces, always the voice of reason in these situations.

But the thing is; you are ready. It’s Megumi who holds back.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh, squeezing Yuko’s hand gently.

“I got you this… thing,” Megumi suddenly appears behind you, placing down a fizzy sweet-looking pink drink topped with edible glitter and a little umbrella. “The bartender said it was popular.”

You smile in delight, “oh it’s so pretty! Thank you, Gumi,” You turn in your chair and plant a hard kiss to the underside of Megumi’s jaw.

“‘Welcome,” Megumi replies, nursing his own drink (which looks exceptionally normal compared to yours).

Megumi pulls a chair around to sit beside you, basically forcing Nobara to move over (who attempts to put up a fight but Megumi simply moves her himself). You rest your head on Megumi’s shoulder and he goes a little stiff at the simple form of affection.

Megumi isn’t big on PDA, he prefers to show you how much he cares for you in the privacy of your apartment or when he’s confident that the two of you are alone. But you like showing him off, holding his hand, peppering his face with kisses, hugging him from behind as you wait in line at the grocery store. You’re a little snuggle bug and Megumi is slowly, slowly, getting used to it.

“You gonna win me a Hello Kitty plushie, right?” you tease, wrapping your hands around Megumi’s muscular arm.

“Even if it takes me five tries,” he replies with an amused smile.

It takes him more than ten.

“This shit is a scam,” Megumi grunts, giving an annoyed kick to the neon purple machine filled with soft pastel plushies.

You stand beside him laughing into your hand, “s’okay, Gumi–”

“I’ve spent like forty dollars,” he huffs, “on one machine.”

“Come on, we should play something else,” you tug on his arm, “I already have about four of every sanrio plushie anyway,” you shrug.

Megumi’s jaw clenches and he sighs in frustration, eventually giving in to your protests and letting you tug him off the claw machine to play some other game. The arcade is huge, there are plenty of other games to spend forty dollars on instead of a goofy claw machine.

“We should play space invaders– oh! Or DDR!” you beam.

“I don’t have the coordination for DDR… or the energy,” Megumi grumbles.

You giggle, “right, let’s play space invaders.”

Megumi trails behind you the whole evening, playing games with you and absolutely refusing to let you pay for any of them. You always pull some coins out or your card and he promptly swats your hand away or wraps his strong arm around your middle, pinning your arms to your sides and lifting you away from the machine so he can pay.

You appreciate him doing this with you considering he doesn’t like being social all that much (all his friends think it’s crazy you managed to get him to come along tonight). But really, you know Megumi isn’t doing it because he wants to, he’s doing it because you want to and it makes your heart swell and your body want to melt into a puddle of happiness.

“Oh, boo, this is a scam,” you mutter to yourself as you attempt to win yourself a My Melody plushie in a new claw machine. Megumi was dragged off by Yuji to play some shooting game with Yuta and Inumaki and you snuck off to play another claw machine (and pay without him knowing). You saw that the plushie looked loose and you were sure you could win it if you nudged the claw just right.

You gave up after three tries and grabbed your bag to rejoin your boyfriend and his friends on the other side of the arcade. You spot your pretty boyfriend quickly, giggling as you hear him bickering with Yuji over not shooting straight.

“Uh, hey,” a voice appears beside you.

“Hm?” You peer to the side and notice a taller guy wearing a beanie looking at you, he’s holding a plushie out toward you.

“I saw you trying to win that pink bunny thing…” he holds out the My Melody plushie you were attempting to win.

“Oh,” you beam, “that’s really sweet!”

He laughs softly, “that’s okay… I’m Ino.”

“I’m Y/N–”

You suddenly feel a looming presence behind you. You peer up at Megumi, his eyes harsh and narrowed toward this guy talking to you.

“Uh, hi?” Ino forces out.

“Can I help you?” Megumi deadpans, his jaw slightly clenched in annoyance.

Ino barely offers him a glance, “I was just giving this pretty girl the plushie thing she was trying to win–”

“She doesn’t want it,” Megumi forces his lips into a condiscending smile.

Ino looks between the two of you before clearing his throat, “boyfriend, huh?”

“Mhm,” Megumi hums, his hand snaking around your waist and grabbing at your hip.

“Right,” Ino nods, “sorry, man.” He doesn’t seem sorry with how he mockingly laughs at Megumi’s protectiveness of you.

“Whatever,” Megumi huffs.

Ino promptly disappears, handing the plushie off to some other drunk girl on his way out. You chew on the inside of your lip before turning to Megumi, “Gumi–”

“What?” Megumi spits, a little harsher than he meant it.

You press your lips together, “nevermind,” you sigh, forcing his arm off you and leaving to join Yuji, Yuko and the others, Megumi trudging behind with his hands in his pockets and feeling his mood rapidly plummeting into a mix of annoyance and insecurity.

Megumi’s jaw is tight with tension and he feels like shit because he didn’t watch his tone when he talked to you. He gets protective of you and perhaps a little jealous. And he knows it’s stupid being annoyed and upset over not being able to win you a fucking plushie from a children’s arcade game, but he promised you and this guy managed to do it in one try and actively sought you out to give it to you.

“You two okay?” Yuko asks curiously, almost startling Megumi as he stands at yet another claw machine.

Yuko saw the way your mood immediately changed after your interaction with that guy, instantly becoming a little sad and not as bubbly and talkative as your little group moved around to play more games.

Sure Megumi wasn’t always super affectionate toward you in public, but he wasn’t even staying near you or holding your hand anymore.

“Fine,” Megumi retorts, eyes still glued to the pink plushie he’s trying to win you.

“...Did she upset you?”

“No.”

“Did you upset her?”

“I don’t know,” Megumi shrugs.

Yuko sighs, “maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Yuko lets out an amused laugh, “Fushiguro, she always wants to talk to you.”

Megumi feels a pang in his chest at that, feeling bad that he didn’t even attempt to drag you off to the bathroom or outside so he could talk to you. He’s still trying to get better at the talking, he was just fucking embarrassed.

The machine suddenly chimes, a little song playing as a plushie falls in behind the collection door.

“Hey, you won,” Yuko beams.

Megumi bends down, pulling the plushie out of the machine and scoffing; it wasn’t the My Melody plushie he as aiming for.

Yuko laughs, plucking the bored-looking penguin plushie from his hand and holding it up, “I see the resemblance.”

“Who even is this?” Megumi takes it back, squeezing the soft toy in his large hands,

“It’s Badtz Maru,” Yuko replies, “looks a bit like you.”

“Mm,” Megumi makes a noise of annoyance.

Yuko nudges his shoulder, “she might like it even more,” she sings softly.

Megumi walks around the arcade looking for you, peering around corners and looking through the claw machine section in search of you. He can’t find you. He spots Itadori, Inumaki, Yuta and Maki but can’t find you anywhere. He asks Yuko and Nobara and they shake their heads with a shrug.

How did no one know where you were?

“Where’d she go?” Nobara looks around for you.

“I’ll call her,” Yuko offers.

“S’okay, I’ll call her,” Megumi replies, pressing on your contact and holding his phone to his ear. The call rings before your voice message comes through. Megumi grunts in annoyance. He starts to worry as he texts you a few times, asking where you are. You don’t respond in the record speed you normally do and he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

He walks around the arcade a few more times, then he finally spots you.

He relaxes a little at the sight of you, but it’s short lived when he spots that fucking guy again. He’s leaning against the wall, basically trapping you in a corner as you attempt to curl away from him, your back flush against the wall.

“U-Uh, I should get back to my friends,” you laugh nervously, your hands wrapping tightly around the strap of your purse.

“Lemme walk you t’them then,” he offers.

You look around anxiously, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Uh, no thanks, I can go myself–” Ino suddenly puts a hand on your upper arm.

Megumi surges forward, slightly blinded by anger and annoyance as he pushes the guy away from you, forcing some space between you. Ino stumbles back, clearly intoxicated with how he struggles to catch himself, his hands flailing around to catch himself against the wall.

“She said back off,” Megumi spits, forcing himself in front of you protectively.

“I ws’ just talking to her,” Ino slurs back.

“And she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Megumi retorts, forcing him onto his feet and half-pushing him away. “So fuck off.”

Ino scoffs, “whatever, bro. Was just tryna be nice.” Megumi rolls his eyes at the shitty excuse, jaw clenched angrilly until the guy finally leaves, stumbling off back to the bar.

Megumi suddenly hears you sniffle and his expression instantly softens, shoulders relaxing as he spins around to look at you. You have your back pressed against the wall, your face a little flushed with embarrassment. Your hands are pressed to your face, hiding yourself from him.

“Baby?” Megumi coos, reaching a gentle hand out to pull your hands away from your pretty face.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, your bottom lip quivering as your eyes gloss over with tears.

Megumi’s heart sinks and he sighs, pulling you to his chest to crush you in a hug, a hand stroking the back of your hair. You press your face into his chest, staying there for a moment and melting into his warmth.

“M’sorry I was mean,” he says against your hair.

“You weren’t mean,” you mumble, “I was being dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Y/N. You thought he was doing a nice thing for you,” Megumi replies. He pauses for a moment before deciding to admit his thoughts to you, “...I was js’ jealous.”

You pull away from him, a bit of your makeup staining the fabric of his black shirt. “Why were you jealous?”

You never thought Megumi could be jealous. He always seems so laidback and bored that you assumed everything was water off a duck’s back to him. But you were obviously sorely mistaken.

“M’always jealous when it’s you,” Megumi shrugs, eyes glancing away as he admits it to you, his face dusted a light pink.

You grin cutely, “you like-like me,” you poke his chest.

“Shut up,” Megumi mumbles, earning a soft laugh from you. He suddenly remembers the Badtz Maru plushie in his other hand. He lifts it up toward you, “I won this for you.”

You pout, “really?”

“Mhm,” Megumi nods, handing it to you.

You squish the softness in your hands before giggling, “looks like you.”

“I don’t see it,” he grumbles.

“He could be your son!”

“It’s a plushie, Y/N.”

Megumi has a winning streak after the two of you make up, winning you a bag of sweets, a pair of earbuds in that impossible to win string-cutting game, and wins you a Hello Kitty plushie that is almost half the size of you.

You carry it around with a big smile plastered across your face and earning jealous glances from other people who have obviously been trying to win the massive toy. You walk around with it under your arm, your other hand in Megumi’s.

“You guys ready to go?” Yuji asks, “‘cus I am officially broke.”

Yuko giggles, “okay, lets go, baby.”

Yuji plants a kiss on Yuko’s nose, then another on her cheek, then another on her forehead before peppering kisses in a circle around her face, his hands resting on her hips as she giggles.

You smile softly at them, your hand unintentionally squeezing Megumi’s.

“Yuck, get a room!” Nobara gags.

Megumi watches you smile at your friends, resting your head against his shoulder. He feels his heart thumping in his chest, suddenly feeling the urge to show you the same affection. He doesn’t like PDA, he thinks its gross and people should just save it for the privacy of their home. But he can see how people like it, being able to show off their partner in public so people know they belong to them and no one else.

You feel Megumi’s eyes on you and you peer up at him, “you okay, Gumi?”

He suddenly presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You smile against his lips and he pulls away, planting another kiss to your cheek then your hair.

You grin at him when he pulls away from you, “what was that for?”

Megumi shrugs, “I just wanted to.”

You point your finger at him, “who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, “oh, ha-ha.”

—

You sigh with relief once you kick your heels off at the door, your shoes landing haphazardly in the corner as you lug your new plushies down the hall. Megumi follows you, dropping his keys in the bowl on the side table in the hallway.

You and Megumi have made up, but Megumi still has something on his mind. He knows exactly what it is but he feels weird bringing it up again since you’ve already worked it out.

But you can tell there’s something on his mind.

You drop your plushies in your room, putting your Badtz Marui plush on your bed so you can sleep next to it (it can be your Megumi stand-in when he’s busy or away). Megumi is sitting on the couch when you come out of your room, he’s scrolling on his phone absentmindedly, jaw tight with tension.

You pad over to him, gently pulling his head back to rest on the back of the couch. You peer over him, your hands gently resting on his shoulders.

“You okay, Gumi?” You ask, lifting your hands to stroke your thumbs across his jaw.

“M’fine,” he replies.

You frown, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Not tell me,” you sigh. “I can tell when you’re sad or you’re thinking about stuff, I want you to be able to talk to me.”

“I really am fine, Y/N,” he huffs, pullin away from your hands and getting up off the couch.

“I’m not your ex, Megumi,” you stare at the back of his head.

Megumi visibly stiffens, “...I know that.”

“Do you?” You ask without thinking, “because I really care about you n’ I’ve been trying to be patient and understanding but I–” you cut yourself off, sighing sadly.

Megumi turns to look at you, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek like he always does when he’s nervous. “I know you’re not her, Y/N. You’ve never made me feel the way she has.”

Your shoulders relax and you glance away. You still get insecure about Megumi having an ex, mostly because she’s got to see parts of him you haven’t yet, but in the same breath, she was awful to him and is part of the reason he’s wound so tight and struggles to talk.

You don’t even think when it falls from your mouth, “why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

Megumi’s eyes widen and he feels his heart in his throat. He stiffens, unable to form anything other than– “W-What?”

You sigh, “I know it’s stupid. I just… I wanna have sex… with you. And it just seems like you don’t want to… with me.”

Megumi’s heart aches painfully. Of course he wants to have sex with you. He wants to every day like some kind of maniac, but you’re too good for him (at least that’s what he thinks). And it’s important to him that your first time is perfect and special and Megumi can be a fucking wreck a lot of the time, unable to communicate simple things with you, unable to convey his feelings in a way that’s coherent and not total gibberish.

He can’t shake the fear of him being too needy and paranoid toward you. You’re so special to him and he fears losing you. Fears that one wrong move will send you packing or make you hate him.

“I…” Megumi squeezes his hands into fists, trying to release the tension inside his chest. “Y/N, I do want to.”

You peer up at him, eyes glossed over, “...I’ve beent trying to like… hint at it but you–”

“I’m scared,” Megumi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I mean… I’m not scared, m’just worried.”

Your brows furrow, “worried?”

“I want it to be special for you,” Megumi admits, “I’m just always thinking that I’m not special enough for you.”

Your heart cracks and you feel like crying and wrapping Megumi up and crushing him in a bear hug and covering him in kisses. Because how could he not think he’s special enough for you?

“Gumi,” you sigh out his nickname and he wipes his eyes. You pout, padding around the couch to press your body against him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a tight hug.

He hugs you back, chin resting on your head gently.

“You’re perfect for me, Gumi,” you murmur. “There’s no one else I trust more in the world than you.”

Megumi squeezes you a little tighter, “I’m not good at talking.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I know.”

“I want to be better at it, ‘cus you’re my priority now,” he says, heart beating rapidly in his chest at his confession. “And I’m worried that I’m too paranoid or needy… I don’t want to– I can’t lose you.” You pull away from him a fraction, a tear slipping down your cheek. Megumi catches it, “don’t cry. Please.”

You sniffle, “I don’t want to lose you either, Megumi.” You wrap your arms around his neck, his strong arms still wrapped around the small of your back. “But you need to talk to me, even if you think it’s stupid… Because I tell you stupid stuff all the time and you still listen.”

Megumi chuckles softly, “yeah, I know.”

You cup his cheek, beaming as he leans into your touch, “offer yourself a little kindness, Gumi. You’re too hard on yourself.”

He knows you’re right, you’re always right.

He nods, “I’m gonna try,” he sighs.

“You’re already doing good,” you praise, “I’m still going to be here no matter what.”

“Promise?”

You grin, “I promise.” You hook your pinky with his.

“Then I have something else I need to tell you,” he forces out.

You frown, “okay…”

“I didn’t like that that guy grabbed you,” Megumi huffs, “it made me really fucking mad.”

You chuckle softly, “you handled it, though.”

“But still,” Megumi’s jaw clenches. “Asshole.”

“You don’t like that some other guy touched me?”

“I wanted him dead right then and there,” Megumi’s arms squeeze around you a little tighter.

“Mm, that’s pretty hot,” you giggle.

“...Hot?” Megumi seems confused.

You shrug, “yeah… I like that my boyfriend wants me all to himself.”

Megumi pauses, any words that he could possibly think of getting caught in his throat. Your giggles die in your chest as Megumi’s steely eyes bore into you, an intensity settling in the air.

“Gumi?”

Megumi’s eyes flicker down to your lips, “m’gonna kiss you.”

You grin, “I’d never be opposed to that,” you whisper.

Megumi’s lips are on yours in an instant, his big hands resting on your hips and pulling you against him. One of his hands rests on the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. He forces a whine from your lips when his tongue swipes across your glossed lips. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, slowly backing you up against the wall and knocking some poor unsuspecting vase onto the floor.

It smashes on the ground and you yelp in surprise, “G-Gumi–”

“We’ll fucking clean it later,” he grunts, forcing your jaw to tilt upward so he can kiss you again. Your hands squeeze the fabric of his shirt, your tits pressing against his chest as he grinds his hard-on against your thigh.

The two of you awkwardly crash through your apartment before you finally get to your bedroom door, giggling at how eager Megumi is to get you onto your bed. Your bed is a little bigger than his and always makes it easier for cuddle sessions and Megumi always looks so cute with his dark hair and dark clothes in your pretty pink, white and pastel room.

Your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up his abdomen and chest. Megumi helps you, finally pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. His lips connect with yours again, forcing you back until the back of your thighs hit the mattress. Megumi lets go of you, letting you fall back.

You giggle, scooting yourself up your bed and eyeing your strikingly hot boyfriend with his pretty abs out and staring down at you like he wants to devour you. Megumi just stares at you, his eyes raking over your pretty spread thighs, peeking at your lacy pink panties under your skirt, almost salivating at how pretty your tits look almost spilling out of your top– his eyes meet yours, your pretty eyes wide with lust and just pure adoration.

You are his favourite person.

“I love you.”

You pause, lips parting slightly as Megumi’s words finally sink in. You press up on your elbows, eyes widening, “what did you say?”

Megumi presses his lips together, wondering if he should back track. But no, he needs to be honest with you and himself, he owes it to you and to himself. “I said I love you.”

“You love me?” you pause, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

Megumi crawls onto the bed, body hovering over yours and his hands pinned on other side of your head as he just looks at you, taking in every part of you. “You told me I should be honest.”

You beam, “Megumi–”

“Don’t say anything,” he says softly, “js’ let it stay out there for a minute.”

You close your mouth, a smile tugging at your lips. Megumi grins at you, the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen, before he leans his head down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s slow and so loving, he’s gentle with you as one hand comes up to cradle your face.

He pulls away after a minute and you smile, “I love you too.”

Megumi pauses before he lets out an amused laugh, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

“Say it again,” he teases.

“I love you,” you whisper, holding his face in your hands. Megumi leans down, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You tilt your head up to give him more access as his teeth gently nip at your skin.

“Again.”

“I love you, Gumi,” you whine out as he sucks on a particularly sensitive part of your neck, leaving a angry red mark on your skin.

Megumi’s hand slips under your top, pushing it up your tummy and over your tits. You help him pull your top over your head, leaving you in your skirt and your pretty pink lacy bra that makes your boobs sit like pretty soft pillows against your chest.

“S’beautiful,” Megumi mutters, trailing kisses down your neck and down between your tits, his hand snaking under your body to unclasp your bra.

No matter how many times Megumi sees you naked, you still get nervous under how intense yet adoring his gaze is. You feel your heart hammer in your chest as Megumi toys with your hardened nipples, his eyes occasionally flickering up to your face to catch your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whine.

Megumi chuckles, “like what? Like I love you?”

“Like you want to devour me,” you correct with an amused laugh.

“Mm, no promises,” he smiles, pressing a peck to your lips.

Megumi’s large veiny hand squeezes your soft breast, kneading the flesh in his hand while flicks his tongue over your hardened nipple, leaving hot wet kisses all over the pretty mound of skin. Your hand tangles in his hair, forcing his mouth down further. He gives a gentle bite to your skin, forcing a pretty whimper from your lips.

Megumi kisses down your tummy, one hand still squeezing your breast while the other trails up your thigh and underneath your skirt. You feel your skin prickle at the feeling of his gentle fingers trailing across your soft skin, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your body.

You tug on Megumi’s wrist, forcing him back up your body, “what is it, baby?” He asks breathlessly.

You press a peck to his lips, “I wan’ you to touch me,” you murmur against his slightly chapped lips.

“Oh yeah?” Megumi asks, his tone a little teasing.

“Mhm,” you nod quickly.

Megumi chuckles, trailing his hands up the inside of your thigh and pressing his fingers against the damp patch forming on your panties, “mm, someone’s excited,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you mutter, forcing his lips back onto yours.

Megumi rubs against your clothed clit, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers at the sounds you were making because of him. The smell of your arousal lingers in the air of your room as Megumi forces your legs to spread open a little more, finally slipping his hand down your panties to feel your slick pussy against his fingers.

“S’wet, princess,” he murmurs against your cheek.

“All f’you,” you whine as Megumi nudges your clit with the tip of his middle finger.

Megumi pulls his hand from your panties, forcing you to whimper at the loss of contact but he quickly slips his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling the soaked fabric down your legs and tossing them onto the floor.

Megumi manhandles you into his lap, laying his upper body against your headboard and forcing you to sit between his legs with your back to his chest.

“W-What are we doing?”

Megumi gently holds your jaw, forcing you to look at the mirror across the room in front of your bed, the same mirror you take your cute little outfit of the day photos in every day. You suddenly feel embarrassed seeing yourself so vulnerable. Your legs are spread, one knee hooked over Megumi’s muscular forearm while the other is propped up, forcing your soaked pussy lips open.

“Look how pretty you are,” Megumi mutters against your ear, his large hand squeezing at your tits.

“Gumi, this is embarrassing,” you whine.

Megumi presses a kiss to your cheek, “just watch.”

You press your mouth closed as Megumi trails his fingers down your tummy, dragging two of his fingers down your glistening slit. You throw your head against his shoulder as he nudges your neglected clit, fingertips circling the little bundle of nerves agonisingly slowly.

“F-Faster, Gumi, please,” you moan, your hands squeezing Megumi’s strong thighs.

“Shh,” Megumi coos, “be patient, baby.”

Megumi slips his fingers down your slit, pressing his middle finger against your sopping hole. Your thighs instinctively spread apart further and Megumi slowly slips his finger inside you, his long finger dragging against your gummy walls.

You whine, hand gripping his wrist as he starts to curl his finger inside you, pressing against that spongy spot inside you, “m-more.”

Megumi chuckles at your desperation, pressing a second finger into you. You whine at the burning stretch, subconsciously grinding your hips down on his fingers, your ass unknowingly grinding on his hard-on in his boxers.

“Look at you,” Megumi mutters against your ear.

Your eyes flicker up to your reflection. Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your baby hairs are stuck to your forehead and Megumi’s eyes are glued to your cunt, watching his thick fingers disappear inside you. You whine, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks them into you.

Megumi presses against the spongey spot inside you, the ball of his palm rubbing against your clit and making you fucking dizzy. You feel your tummy start to burn, your nails scraping against Megumi’s clothed thighs as your hips grind and roll against his hand.

“G-Gumi, m’gonna cum,” you whimper.

“S’okay, baby,” Megumi coos, “cum f’me.”

“N-No,” you force out, your hand wrapping around his strong wrist in an attempt to stop him from forcing an orgasm out of you.

“No?” Megumi slows his movements, the lewd squelching sounds in your room silencing as he gently pulls his fingers from your sopping pussy. “What’s wrong?”

You pant, whimpering as the burn in your tummy fades and you feel so fucking pent up. Megumi’s face is laced with concern as he turns you on your side in his lap. You give him a tired smile, “please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please,” you whine, “I need your cock, Gumi.”

Megumi grunts, “fuck, baby.”

“Please,” you beg, “please, I’ll be s’good.”

Megumi cups your face, pressing his lips hard against yours. Your swollen lips move against his, your hand tangling in his messy hair. Megumi pulls away from you slightly, pressing his arousal-soaked fingers against your tongue. You whine when you taste yourself on his fingers, your tummy jumping with excitement as you suck his fingers clean.

“Such a good girl,” Megumi praises, kissing your forehead.

Megumi forces you onto your back, your body bouncing against the soft mattress slightly. Megumi rests his thighs on either side of your hips, tugging your legs over his hips. You’ve never had your pussy this close to his cock and your mind is reeling with excitement.

Your shaky hands reach for the waistband of his pants but Megumi quickly forces your hands above your head, pinning your wrists together, “you said you’d behave.”

“Mm, you can’t blame me for being excited,” you whine pathetically.

Megumi only chuckles at how damn cute you are before he forces his pants down his hips, kicking them off across the room, leaving him in just his boxers. There’s a wet patch forming on his boxers and your mouth salivates at the idea of him finally fucking you with his big cock that you’ve had in your mouth many times before.

“S’big,” you compliment, wrists wriggling against his large hand still pinning them above your head.

“You sure about this?”

There’s a sudden intense seriousness in the air. You peer up at Megumi and he looks nervous, his teeth nipping at the inside of his bottom lip. He lets go of your wrists and you reach up to cup his face, forcing his steely eyes to meet yours, “Megumi Fushiguro,” you call softly.

“Mm?”

“I love you,” you sigh. “There’s no one I want more to take my virginity than you.”

Megumi lets out a shaky breath, “...you sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” you grin.

“Because I really want you to be mine.”

“I’m already yours, Megumi.”

Megumi lets out a huff of a laugh, leaning down to pepper kisses across your forehead and down your nose to your lips, forcing a soft giggle from your chest.

Megumi reaches down slowly, pulling his boxers down his hips until his cock springs free, the angry red tip leaking with precum. You peer down at his pretty cock, eyeing the vein you trace with your tongue every time you suck him off, noting how heavy it is as it struggles to hold itself up.

Megumi sighs, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and pumping a few times, his eyes never leaving yours. You cup his face, forcing him to kiss you one more time before he sits up, scooting his hips closer to yours.

He eyes you one more time, looking for any sign of regret or hesitation. You don’t offer any, eyes wide and almost sparkling with anticipation. Megumi holds his cock and lets it slap against your tummy, the tip almost reaching your belly button.

Your brows furrow and you wonder what he’s doing. Then it sort of dawns on you.

He’s sizing you up.

“M’gonna be right here,” Megumi presses the tip of his finger to the spot just below your belly button. His eyes meet yours and all you can do is meekly nod, your heart slamming against your chest. You knew Megumi was big but now that he’s fucking sizing you up and showing you where he’s gonna be inside you, you’re starting to get a little nervous.

But fuck you want him inside you.

You buck your hips up and Megumi chuckles, “s’eager.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you grumble playfully. Megumi smiles, scooting your hips up and leaning over to quickly kiss your forehead one more time.

“You tell me if it gets too much,” Megumi says seriously. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You smile, “you won’t hurt me.”

Megumi nods slowly before gently gripping the head of his cock, rubbing the precum-covered tip against your swollen clit. Your hands grip the sheets and you bite your lip to keep the whines at bay. Megumi breathes heavily as he dips his tip down to your soaked hole, your arousal slipping out of you and dripping down your ass.

“Look at me,” Megumi orders softly.

You open your eyes, not realising you’d pressed them closed.

“Please,” Megumi sighs, “I wanna watch your face when I put it in.”

God, this fucking guy is gonna be the death of you.

He presses the tip into your cunt, groaning softly at your tightness as your pussy swallows his tip eagerly. Your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate his size. He presses into you slowly, letting your tight cunt stretch around him to get used to his size.

“G-Gumi–” you whine out.

“Y-You okay, baby? What’s wrong?” Megumi stills his movements.

You pant slightly, chest heaving, “feels s’good.”

Megumi sighs a little in relief, hand coming up to cup your jaw as he presses his thick cock into you. He’s over halfway when you let out another whimper, your thighs shaking slightly with the stretch.

“Still okay?”

“Mhm, almost in?” you ask.

“Just over halfway.”

“Halfway?!” you force out.

Megumi chuckles before pressing his fingertip to the space between your pretty pussy lips and your belly button. “M’about here.”

“Holy fuck,” you pant. “So fucking big.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he chuckles. “It’ll go straight to my head,” he jokes.

“Mm, s’true.”

Megumi laces his fingers with yours on the sheets, his steely blue eyes staying glued to your face as he pushes the rest of the way in, your soaked pussy sucking him in. Once he finally bottoms out, you let out a shaky sigh at the fullness.

“F-Feel okay?” Megumi’s voice shakes, feeling like he’s gonna cum like a damn teenager with how tight you are around him.

“Mm,” you screw your eyes shut, “you can m-move.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh,” you nod slowly.

Megumi leans down, lifting your arms and forcing them to wrap around his neck. He plants a kiss to your lips before pulling out– you whine– then he pushes himself back in. Your arms wrap around his neck, forcing Megumi’s head to rest against your shoulder as he pulls almost alllll the way out before plunging back into your tight heat.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Megumi groans, his hips snapping against yours as you hook your ankles together behind him, your thighs squeezing his waist. “S’good, princess.”

You moan and whine against his neck, feeling like he’s rearranging your fucking guts with how big his cock is and how hard he’s fucking you. It almost seems like Megumi needed this more than you with how his hips snap hungrily against yours.

You tip your head back, mouth falling open as he forces moan after moan from your pretty swollen lips. Megumi reaches a hand down between your bodies, rubbing his thumb over your neglected clit, forcing you closer and closer to orgasm.

His cock drags against your gummy walls, slick pooling around the base of his cock and soaking the sheets below as your nails drag against Megumi’s strong back, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

Megumi hisses at the feeling, groaning into your hair as he snaps his hips into yours a little faster, thumb still rubbing your clit, your room is filled with lewd squelching sounds, your pussy so wet and tight around him.

You feel the white-hot pleasure of your orgasm approaching, your belly burning as you arch your back off the bed, letting go of Megumi’s shoulders to grip the sheets.

Megumi suddenly sits up on his knees, lifting your hips in his strong hands, creating a new angle that makes you scream out in pleasure. His tip fucks against your cervix, surely leaving a bruise. You feel him in your tummy, his sheer size forming a bulge in your tummy.

“F-Fuck, look at you,” Megumi groans, eyeing the bulge in your tummy.

You toss your head from side to side, your toes curling as Megumi reaches for your hand, forcing you to press down on the bulge in your tummy, his hand over yours.

Then you just cum. There’s no warning as you gush around him, your vision going stark white as you spray your orgasm across Megumi’s pelvis, his thighs, your own thighs and all over the sheets.

“Fuck, did you just squirt?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. You’re mumbling incoherent noises as Megumi fucks you through your high, his hips snapping harder and harder against yours as he chases his own orgasm. You’re both covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Megumi feels his orgasm fast approaching.

He pulls out of you with a quiet pop, quickly jerking himself off, your arousal making his cock slippery as he cums across your tummy. Hot ropes of cum paint your abdomen and tummy, Megumi panting as he squeezes the base of his cock.

“Mm, you’re fucking perfect, sweet girl,” Megumi praises, panting as he comes down from his high.

“Mm, Gumi,” you whine, voice quiet.

Megumi gently lowers you onto the bed, crawling up your body to cup your face, “are you okay? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “mm-mm, felt s’good.”

Megumi sighs with relief, “we gotta get you up, you have to pee and I gotta clean up–” he peers down at the utter mess you’ve made of the sheets, “–somehow.”

“Sleepover?” You beam.

Megumi chuckles, “sleepover.”

Megumi carries you to the bathroom, running you a warm bath. The two of you share a bath together, Megumi gently washing you hair for you while you make him a bubble crown. You’re obviously sore with how you limp down the hallway to Megumi’s room, clutching your pillow under your arm.

You rest your head against Megumi’s chest, his fingers gently smoothing over your wet hair and tracing down your bare arm.

“Any regrets?” He asks curiously.

“Mm, no,” you reply with a smile. “You made me squirt my first time having sex… I think you have to marry me,” you giggle.

Megumi chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “mm, maybe one day.”

You giggle, sitting up to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” Megumi pauses, “what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” Megumi points to the bored-looking penguin plush he got you. It’s pressed to your chest right between your boobs.

“Oh, you mean your son?”

“Y/N,” he groans. “Get that thing out.”

“I will not!”

“I’ll throw it out the window while you’re sleeping.”

You gasp, “don’t do that to your son!”

“It’s not my son!”

author's note: HEHEHEHEHEHEH

taglist: @starpachinko @2ukika @sukunabish @somethinglikero @wannabewolf @milliex01x @princessa143 @hrithi11 @katsukita69 @slayzzz @arcanefeelings @shirabu-k @izzzzzzig @zah2890 @evergumi @aerareads @flashilyquinn @raedollsstuff @happylildeath @anormieee @l1v1ngzomb1e @kimkimoruo @sunnyf4lls @saekolust @kalulakunundrum @xastoriaaurax @feliaeae @sleepyxzn @raya4643 @kaidostwin

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omgfangirlland · 3 months ago

Text

The Shadows That Nurture 11

Ch 12 is done and I'm kinda foaming at the mouth to give it to y'all- but I need to wait to finish ch 13-

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 11 >>next

Finding The Immortal was harder than expected but you weren’t surprised. Cecil worked The Guardians to the bone, you were sure. Nevertheless, you found him in the end, quickly flying next to him to greet him.

Surprised, the man looked at you before giving a small, weary smile while greeting you back. “This may sound crazy and like I’m digging into your life, and I understand if you don’t wish to speak about it, but I really need-“ You stopped as soon as he grabbed your shoulders, making you both stop midair and face each other. “It’s okay, take a breath.”

“See- that’s the thing! I don’t need to breathe, I don’t need to eat, I can’t die because I’m immortal like you due to magic and I need to talk to someone who gets it because this past week I feel everyone’s been acting crazy and it’s making me feel crazy- And- and I’ve lost you.” You looked at the shocked man. “You’re immortal?...”

“Yep.” You nod. “… Long story?” The Immortal asks slowly, getting the same response in return. His beeper goes off and without even looking at it he turns it off. “That may have been important.” You pointed it out, but he just chuckled and smiled. “This is important too. I’m sure the others can do well without me for a bit. Now, how about we talk over some food? I know this little family dinner in Las Vegas.” You relaxed, nodding at his suggestion.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“- and then he just tells me to be careful around certain magical weapons because they might hurt me- Like dude, you told me I’m immortal, taught me a bit of magic, and then dipped telling me to see him in a week at the same spot- he could have at least given me a way to contact him after telling me that something might kill me!” You sigh and take a bite of your burger and fries. “You were right, by the way, this is a great spot.”

Immortal chuckles at your complaint. “At least there is someone who is helping.” He furrowed his brows as he also ate bits of his steak. “Or is trying. I had a mental breakdown the first time I realized that I’m not aging and keep defying death.”

“Two days after I had a panic attack thinking about how everyone I love will eventually die, even Nolan and Mark- sure it’ll take a few centuries but that’s still nothing to immortality! The old bastard has been acting weird since I told them too, and Luthor keeps annoying me about his blasted party- which I’m like 90% sure is a front for my birthday- and today I’m supposed to meet the British bastard, but before I have to visit someone else-”

“Breathe, it’ll be fine, you’ll live.” The ancient man tried to reassure you with a small joke about the situation. “I can’t give much advice about this- your immortality seems very different from mine, and to be honest, I never actively think about it considering how sensible of a subject it is. Especially the ‘how many people will pass right by you’ topic. It’s…”

“Terrifying?” He sighs and nods at the completion. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone anymore, and that you thought I’d be the best person to talk about it with.” He plays with his food. “Therapists say that it’s good to talk about your feelings, right? I think it will be great for us both to talk openly about it- I don’t have a phone, but I do hang by the hero memorial stone every other Sunday- if, you know-“

“I’d love that, thank you Immortal…Abraham? Have you chosen a new name?” As your soft smile turned to a confused look the man only laughed, assuring you to call him whatever. Perhaps after that many years, names do lose their importance, or maybe it was the fact that he never had one when he was born in the Stone Age that could be translated to New World speech. “The honey pancakes are to die for, by the way.” His choice of words makes you snort with amusement.

“…You and Lex Luthor are friends?” He asks, a mix of confusion and surprise filling his tone. You just give a long sigh. “Friends is such a strong word…”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You waited patiently in front of the manor’s front entrance, smiling once the doors opened, immediately being greeted by the butler. “I’ll never hear you call me by my first name, will I Sanford?” You teased the older man as he led you through the halls. “I fear not, ma’am.” He smiled as he bowed, leaving you once you walked by him, getting closer to Samson.

You set the little box of treats on the accent table in between the two armchairs as you took your place across Samson while you both greeted each other. “How have you been? How’s that suit going?” Your soft-spoken questions are met with a defeated sigh and a shrug. “It’ll take two more days.”

“You know… You don’t need the suit or powers to do some good. Let me finish, please-” You quickly interrupted. These men were always so quick to jump the gun. “You’re rotting here. I’m not telling you to drop the suit but in these two days, you could go see the outside. It won’t kill you. There is this kid, Adam. He is staying at the hospital I volunteer at and he’s quite a big fan of Black Samson-“

“He’d be disappointed to see me-“ You swiftly but gently tapped his foot. “He’s one of the kids you saved when you lost your powers, Sam. He saw you lose your powers and still hold up kilograms of ruble just so he could have a chance at escape. That boy admires you now more than ever. You need to face things and it’ll be better for you if you do it before you feel like you’re worthy again just because you’ve got powers again.”

“That’s harsh, kid.” Samson almost pouted. “Learned from the best.” You shrug and he smiles. A moment of silence passes between you two before he finally asks where the hospital is.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

John was on his tenth cigarette, he was showing great restraint, really. He knew he made a mistake in asking Zatanna for help, but he seemed unable to do the opposite lately. They both had been arguing for an hour, Constantine knew that the girl would take to Zee like a cat to catnip, but this was making him regret letting Zatanna know more beyond a magical kid needs help. “I’m just saying- maybe Batman should know, she’s his kid-“

“The numpty has been locking her up in his mansion and ignoring her for years, her daft siblings too. The rogues had to raise and give her the attention Bruce wasn’t willing to.” He scratched at his chin before taking another puff.

“Maybe Bruce-“ John didn’t let her finish. “Don’t. Don’t you dare finish that, Zee. She’s just a kid- a kid who ran away because she thought Batman would kill her. Between the two of us, you should know better. You’re giving him too much grace.”

“Are you two mind reading or just mean mugging each other? Sorry for being late, by the way. Was finishing my project and lost track of time.” Your voice broke the two from their argument. Zatanna looked at John with a raised eyebrow. “She doesn’t look like the little kid you described.” John clears his throat, brushing off the comment on his manipulation before he introduces the two. “I thought it would be good to expose you to different kinds of magic-“

“You’re ditching me.” John choked on his words as you crossed your arms, quickly denying the accusation. “- It’s just- I- Zatanna is a great Elemental mage, I thought you’d like to learn more about Umbrakinesis-“ Zatanna, at John’s rambling and pleading look, stepped forward. “It’s nice to finally meet you, John spoke highly of you.”

You gave her a gentle smile as you came closer and landed in front of her. “I doubt that, though, it’s nice to meet you too. Love your shows.” Your eyes moved to Constantine. “So, you two are going to teach me how to manipulate shadows? Can I learn the other elements and the mind-reading thingy you both were doing?”

“Telepathy, love.” John sighs as you give him a blank stare and double down. “Mind-reading thingy.” Zatanna chuckles softly at the look of pure defeat on John’s face.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dinner was quiet. For the past week it’s been awkward, especially as Nolan kept missing dinners and breakfasts, and seemingly avoiding you and Mark specifically. “So… how has your day been?” Debbie asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“Amber and I got together, like- for real. And I mostly dealt with small stuff today. Robberies, Elephant Man, three times, the sort… Did dad text or- call, at least?” Mark mumbles, tired and slightly sore. Debbie shook her head. “No, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

You shrug once all eyes are on you. “Talked to Immortal about- you know. Also trained my magic some more and found out some elemental magic just hates me. Water tried to drown me…” You glared at the glass as you spoke, getting up with a groan after you finished half of the food. “My everything hurts. I’ll go sleep, thanks for the meal mama.”

“Aren’t you going to wait for dad?” Debbie asks softly, trying to hide her worry. You just shake your head and take your plate to trash the remains and put it in the sink. “Nah. He wants to act like the sperm donor, he’s going to get treated as such. Besides, gotta check up with my friends in Gotham. Good night.” You waved her off, not noticing Mark’s brows furrowing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

While Hal was gaging as he encased the mangled body of The Joker, calling for the Watchtower to notify Batman that Joker had been found, Red Hood and the Sirens were celebrating, well- Jason and Harley were.

“Batman is going to be angry.” Pamela sighs in her wine glass. “Batman? Angry? Why, he’d never.” Selina joked, laughing before sipping on her own wine glass. “He’ll bust a vein when he finds out it was our little hero who did it.” Selina’s eyes catch Jason’s figure as he tries to climb onto her coffee table. “Wait- No! It’s-“ She and Pam cringe as the table wrecks to the side, the man’s body making a loud thud as he kisses the ground.

“Broken.” Catwoman sighs. “You good kid?” Ivy asks, almost being drowned by Harley's hysterical laughing. “I’m amazing! Best day of my life!” He slurs, giving two thumbs up before dropping his hands and groaning. “B-man is going to be so mad.”

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere!mark grayson #yandere!nolan grayson #yandere!debbie grayson

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baji-side-sideblog · 23 days ago

Text

Clipped Bird Chapter 3

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚

Sighing, you walk outside with Tim to talk to him one on one, but you make sure to stand in front of the cafe window that Jenny was by. So she can watch you two in case he tries anything. All of this just feels so weird and unreal, and a part of you just wants to run away and hide. It feels like you’re being interrogated for a crime you didn’t commit.

“I’m sorry”

Those words shock you out of your stupor, your eyes focus on him. You didn’t know what to expect when he said he wanted to talk, but you definitely weren’t expecting him to say that.

“What?”

“I’m sorry little bird, we should have been with you more,” he rubs the back of his neck, “At the very least I should have been. We were adopted the same year. You were just as confused as I was, but I didn’t have much time for you. Well I mean I didn’t make as much time for you as I should have.”

“Tim I?”

“Let me finish please. I want to make up for lost time,” he takes a deep breath, “Come back home, or at least please visit us. We miss you and everyone wants to make up for what happened. And we’re worried about you little bird. We want you back, you're our family.”

The gentle words and tone you could feel in your heart disappear only to be replaced by anger. Something about his words just irks you, family…how can he just use it so nonchalantly. How dare he say it so loosely, he isn’t Alfred, he isn’t family, none of them are. He says he wants to make up for lost time, but it just reminds you of all the pain in the past. They weren’t there for you, for your achievements, for your birthdays, for none of it. They have no right to claim you as such, only Alfred did, hell Jenny has more of a right to be called family then any of them. And she’s only been in your life for a short amount of time. Your body feels on fire, you’ve never been so angry before, so flabbergasted, enraged.

You move before you can even think as your body shoves Tim away, “Did you really think you can come here and act like everything would be better if you just apologized?!”

Tim looks at you in shock he didn’t expect you to blow up much less shove him, he tries to speak but you cut him off. You take a step forward getting into his face. You've always been quiet, blending in to stay hidden from any of their chaos, getting ignored by them when you wanted to be with them. But this isn’t like every other time, this time he is looking at you, and he will hear you.

“No! No! NO! You don’t get to speak. You will listen to me for once in your life! You’re not my family, none of you are. Only Alfred and Jenny are. You don’t get to ignore me for years and expect me to welcome you into my life! Not after 11 years of nothing from all of you,” tears fall down your cheek, “It’s not fair! You don’t get to break me down and then come back into my life when I’m rebuilding all you destroyed! Apologies won’t fix what you guys did to me, they never will!”

Jenny rushes out of the cafe and you run straight into her arms. She embraces you tightly, staring daggers into Tim. Her hands gently stroke your head.

“I think it’s about time you leave,” her tone is harsh and cruel towards him.

He reaches out to you, but Jenny slaps his hand away hissing at him. She leads you away back to the dorms keeping a lookout to make sure Tim doesn’t follow you two.

“…I’m sorry breakfast didn’t turn out as planned.”

“Don’t apologize, no one knew this was going to happen. Plus I care way more about you than some cafe slop,” she looks at you, “Are you ok?”

“I don’t know, besides well being tired.”

“That’s fine, not to know how to feel I mean. Take all the time you need to sort out your feelings and to feel everything. Once we get to your dorm, how about I make us some pancakes!”

“That sounds good, thank you.”

“Of course you’re my bestie, my person, and just like a dog I’ll always be there for my person.”

“Hehe you’re so goofy, what kind of dog are you?”

“Only the best kind, all of them.”

You laugh so suddenly it sounds more like a snort, making Jenny smile.

“You must be super confused than with all those dog thoughts.”

“You have no idea, I just wanna run around but also be super lazy all day long.”

You hug her tightly nuzzling her, Jenny giggles nuzzling you back.

“What kind of dog would I be?”

Jenny pauses and thinks about it a bit, “Hmm, I think a retriever mixed with a husky. You’re fun to hold, cute, have a big personality which I adore, and I like it when you talk. Just like a husky, they're very fun to listen to.”

You blush and giggle at her compliments, still not used to them. But you’re happy she’s here, you don’t know what you would do without her.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚

Tim stands there a bit in shock still before getting his bearings, he sighs scratching the back of his head.

“Little bird, I wish this could have happened the easy way,” he pulls out his phone, “No worries, we'll be proper siblings like we’re supposed to be.”

Calling up Bruce to explain everything. Once he finishes explaining he only hears silence on the other side of the phone, the old man must be triple checking the backup plan. Which he is, this hasn’t gone at all as he hoped. But Bruce couldn’t be too surprised this was always a possibility he had thought of. That’s why backup plans are made. He wants you to be with them via your own free will, but you being safe is more important than anything. And he’ll prove just how much you need them still.

“Uh, Bruce? Are you still there?”

“Yes I am Tim, go ahead and come back so we can set things up for our backup plan. I’ll have Jason go and retrieve them instead. Make sure the ‘tip’ gets to the right people, we don’t need anyone truly dangerous hearing it.”

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚

As night starts to rise you tell Jenny goodnight, she asks if you wanted her to stay, but you say no. You honestly need a bit of time for yourself to process everything in peace with what happened today. As soon as she is gone you fall into your bed and stare at the ceiling, losing yourself in your thoughts. An hour or two passes by when bam! A huge crash shakes you from your mind, running to your window you can see a group of low level grunts causing chaos outside.

Seeing as this is Gotham you’re honestly not too surprised something like this would happen, but it still annoys and worries the life out of you.

“Oh fuck…if thugs are here that means one of the guys are going to be here!” you groan sliding down the wall.

The last thing you want nor need is for more of them to come, taking a deep breath you try to calm yourself. All you have to do is lay low and stay hidden and everything will be ok.

Crash!

Looking to your side you see a brick on the ground and your window broken.

“…of course..”

You quickly hide in the shadows, as the thugs climb into your room.

“Where’s that Wayne kid? They should be here? They’ll be worth a fortune when we get them.”

You stay absolutely silent watching them walk past you, like you aren’t even there at all. They start tossing and turning everything in your dorm looking for any money and you. As soon as they are far enough from the window you slowly start to walk to it, to escape when Red Hood climbs in alerting them. You back off quickly as the men fight each other, though their fighting is right in front of the window keeping you stuck inside.

You toss your hands up in frustration, this is the worst day ever. Every time you go to make a move to any door or window to escape, bodies keep blocking your way. You sigh and sit in the corner waiting for the fight to be over. After what feels like forever Red Hood or really Jason has them all knocked cold, and you can finally start leaving your dorm.

“Fuck, where are you? Come out you’re safe now,” Jason chimes up looking around worried.

You stand by the window considering if you should let him know, or not. You don’t like them at all, but hearing Jason looking for you anxiously it tugs at your heart. Your choice is made for you though when Jason walks right into you while you are thinking.

“Little bird!” he grabs your shoulders and looks you over, “Where were you? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Can you please let me go.”

”No, you’re coming home. It’s far too dangerous for you to be on your own,” he picks you up with ease, “You’re not strong like us.”

“Let me go Jason! You can’t force me to stay with y’all after one incident.”

“I can and will,” his grip tightens, “This is for your own good whether you like it or not, this is not up to you. More people can come and try to harm you. Don’t be stubborn and put yourself in danger, you’re a civilian after all.”

You try to struggle in his arms, but his grip gets tighter the more you struggle. You start shouting and screaming for help, making Jason groan and move you enough to reach over and knock you out. The last thing you hear is police sirens coming towards the college as the world fades to black.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ᗢ𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ‧₊˚

Tag list- @cherryblossomfox @feral-childs-word @mindscape123 @halfacupofcoffee @luckeclover @lovermaybabe @pieceartsworld @humanerror-24 @notso-redhairedwitch @purplecowboygarden @galaxypurplerose @pang-stuff @spiderofgotham @leftwonderlandpatrol @lakari01 @red-phantom-0 @ghost3029 @telila96114229-blog @red-phantom-0 @jellystar-star @thelovelymoonlightofthemidnight @yandereforme

#clipped bird fic #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x reader #baji rambles #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dc comics #dc universe #platonic yandere #yandere batfamily x reader #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look.

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit.

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself.

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned.

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her.

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith.

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out.

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t.

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward.

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut.

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed.

Dean didn’t know what was happening.

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror.

“What did Ruby say this was for?”

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him.

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light.

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat.

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror.

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out.

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal.

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway.

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown.

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted.

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him.

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife.

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster.

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him.

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep.

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat.

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed.

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months.

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months.

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.”

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could.

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him.

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong.

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room.

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years.

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head.

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest.

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her.

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable.

She could be scary.

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?”

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back.

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed.

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you.

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some.

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean.

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean.

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway.

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity.

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more.

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be.

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down.

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave.

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression.

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in.

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second.

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more.

Because this thing was powerful.

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains.

He’s branded into you.

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this.

And he still won’t really look at you.

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom.

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing.

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink.

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning.

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to.

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him.

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought.

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him.

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store.

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation.

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt.

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly.

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules.

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target.

But now you’re putting Dean in danger.

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap.

You’re going to break.

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air.

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready.

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that-

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang.

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down.

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived.

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank.

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest.

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade.

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his.

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave.

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find.

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have.

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep.

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep.

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed.

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.”

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers.

You hadn’t even felt it.

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo.

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched.

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him.

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him.

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together.

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone.

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now.

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face.

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats.

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours.

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful.

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight.

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up.

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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shanastoryteller · 3 months ago

Note

Congrats on finishing See Something Say Something!! I checked the notification of the first AO3 email sent out and you initially planned on five chapters.

Would you say that the ending changed considerably since you started in October? Or has that stayed the same?

thank you!

it stayed the same lol. while my fics getting wildly out of control and becoming way longer than i anticipated is pretty common, i'm pretty much never changing overarching plot when this happens. the story that i become interested in telling is typically the story then i end up telling

almost every story can be made shorter or longer. it's less about what happens and more about how that information is conveyed. things that really tend to affect writing length are perspective and breathing room

the shortest fic i have on ao3 that's not part of a series is You Were (Not) Meant For Me (posted 11 years ago, jesus T_T). the premise is that claudia was a witch who intended trained stiles to be a witch and she arranged his marriage to laura hale, the future hale alpha. this is a traditional pairing as talia's husband was also a witch married to talia in service of the pact. except claudia died before she could train stiles or tell him about the engagement. stiles starts learning magic after scott is turned. derek falls for stiles and feels like he's betraying his sister by loving him, betraying stiles by not being the alpha he deserves and not telling him about the arrangement claudia made, and hates himself the entire time, but not enough to stop himself

that's a 100k fic easy

it's 1,696 words

it's extremely limited perspective (derek's) and it's made up only of limited snapshots of moments with very little context. there's no seeing what's happening, only told, which i think would quickly grow boring if it was longer and if the real point of the story wasn't derek's self hatred and how he fails to deal with it. that's the part of the story that isn't told, really - derek does think explicitly that he hates himself, but we're also seeing it in the way he talks and thinks about himself and the people around him

by contrast we have survival is a talent, which is obviously my longest fic. we're over 500k and we've got quite a bit to go

perspective doesn't just refer to character pov, but audience pov - are you being told a story, or are you experiencing the story? this is also tied into breathing room. there's no wrong way, i've done both and will do both, but one certainly requires more words than the other in my experience

siat is told only through draco and harry's perspective, but it's all happening in real time. the audience is being taken along for this story. the thing is that that things in real life don't all come tumbling one after another, not all questions have immediate answers. when depicting character growth and a plot unfurling, i think it's really important to include breathing room to give the audience time to feel that growth and change. i'm stricter about this with siat than anything else i've written, probably sometimes to its detriment. i want you and the characters to have time to feel the effects of emotional revelations and plot hints. i want you to have the time to question and wonder about things the same way the characters do

one time a friend criticized the good place for including the portion where they were alive again on earth because it wasn't as interesting as being in hell, but i disagree. we needed that breathing room both to live with the effects of character growth of going through hell and to have time for the effects of their actions on the plot to settle before they moved forward again. i stopped watching agents of shield because we weren't given enough breathing room - there was never a chance to see the characters not in crisis, the world was always ending, ect. the alchemyst book series has the first like 3 books taking place over a day and a half. i got tired of it after that. there's no breathing room

a story where i gave up on the concept of breathing room was build your wings on the way down. i liked that fic, but i wanted it finished, and to do it with i think optimal pacing would have made it twice as long as it was. so i said screw it, avalanche time, everything is happening all at once right now. there's very little breathing room there, which i think doesn't work too terribly in part because everything is so urgent and everyone is stressed so not being able to catch you breath sort of fits

See Something Say Something did not need to be 215k, although i'm not at all complaining. i feel very happy with how i told this story. but the basic premise - sam getting his powers early, getting involved in the large hunter world secretly from his family, and dean feeling misplaced and worried about how much sam needs/wants him - could have been told a hundred different ways and all would have pulled it off, so to speak

i considered doing the the entire fic from dean's pov (as a sam girl i love his pov because all he thinks about is sam and he's so insane about it) which would have effectively cut out basically the first five chapters. i thought exploring the slow realization of what's going on purely from dean's pov, with the audience having not insight would have been really interesting, just like what I did in dumb luck or good ghost with dean slowly figuring out that sam didn't die in the crash. another thing is the inclusion of all the side characters which i did to make the world feel rich and real, but we didn't need all these outsider povs to get the basic point across. very rarely is something vital being conveyed by an outsider pov, but it reinforced and adds to the main characters. i also initially didn't have wincest, which obviously added a ton of words. i loved exploring dean's self hatred and fear and sam's obliviousness, but bringing them to a place of ignorance to acceptance to happiness is a lot longer of a journey than just dealing with dean's propriety love as an unhinged co-dependent older brother. again, i'm sticking by all these choices, i made them because i thought it was the best way to the tell the story i was most interesting in telling, but my point is that you didn't need them to tell this particular story

it was also how i told the story. we spend a lot of time wallowing in character's emotions, especially dean's and sam's, but the others as well. part of this fic is convincing you that these two brothers should fuck, actually, and doing that effectively is going to take some time, especially at this point in their lives when things are pretty normal. comparatively, fucking your brother after starting the apocalypse is pretty small potatoes. i wanted you to understand these people, to feel what they were feeling, to not feel that it was inconceivable that jess would be willing to share her boyfriend with his brother, to buy all their relationships with each other in a way that isn't purely based on convenience

part of the reason i wrote dumb luck or good ghost before see something say something was that i felt i needed a firmer grasp on who the characters are before getting into who they were and who they could be - especially john, who i feel is exceptionally difficult to write without over excusing his actions or over villainizing them. the reason john doesn't get a single pov in see something say something is that while he's a motivating and underlying factor in much of the story, the story isn't about him. it's about the effect he has on those around him, and i didn't want to sully the pureness of that effect by introducing his internal dialogue, regardless of how persecutionary or absolving it would be. it's just not about him. it's how he responds to others and how they respond to him in turn

anyway! this is another example of something ending up longer than expected, but yeah. the plot of see something say something didn't change much from posting of the first chapter and my stories rarely do - i have plot points in siat that have been there since i posted the first chapter that are still relevant and happening. "harry and draco just. cut dumbledore's fucking hand off" my beloved

#posting publicly because it got away from me and maybe other people are interested idk T_T #asks #crazygingerwitch

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briefinquiries · 2 months ago

Text

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 16

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 16

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Tommy waits by your bedside in the hospital, wracked with guilt, blaming himself for every bruise, every wound, haunted by the possibility that he almost lost you. When you finally wake, the damage is done, and though you're alive, the injuries you’ve suffered may not fade so easily.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetaphobia.

A/N: Thank you all for sticking with me this long. I'm actually going to be so sad when I finish up this story, this has been such a good escape for me lately. All your messages and replies have seriously been making my entire day, so it's all very much appreciated. Enjoy chapter 16 & all it's angst and fluff :)

(Also, a few people have asked to be added to a tag list, I don't really do a tag list when I post, but maybe that's something I can look to do at some point!)

The car skidded to a stop, the tires screeching against the wet pavement outside the hospital.

Tommy was out of the car before it had even fully stopped, his arms locked around you, unwilling to let go for even a second.

Your body was limp in his arms, your head lolling against his chest, skin burning with fever, clothes soaked with blood and filth. You had passed out on the way here, your body slumping against his chest, your breath shallow, uneven.

He’d said your name, shaken you gently, but you never stirred. Not when he spoke softly against your ear. Not when he tucked your face against his neck and told you he was getting you out of this. And now– now, you weren’t moving at all.

Arthur was already out of the car and shouting for help, his voice carrying over the storm of Tommy’s thoughts.

Within moments, nurses and orderlies rushed out, their expressions shifting from concern to alarm the second they saw you.

“She needs a doctor.” Tommy’s voice was low, sharp, commanding, but there was something wavering beneath it, something teetering on the edge of breaking.

A nurse stepped forward. “Sir,” she reached out carefully, gesturing towards the stretcher.

Tommy didn’t move. He didn’t loosen his grip– couldn’t. His heart pounded in his chest. They wanted him to let you go. To give you up. To trust them– when he had no trust left to give.

“Sir, please. Step back.” The voice was firm, urgent. But the words barely registered.

All Tommy could see was your face– drained of color, bruised, unconscious in his arms. And when the nurses moved in, hands reaching for you, he jerked his shoulder and knocked one away, his elbow nudging another aside as he twisted, keeping you tight against his chest.

The nurses stumbled back, startled. One of them raised their hands cautiously.

“Sir, if you want her to live, you have to let us do our jobs.”

Tommy grimaced. Because if he let go– if he let them take you, then he had nothing left but hope. And hope wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder, hard.

“Tom–” Arthur’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Let ‘em take her. They’re the only ones who can help her.”

Tommy’s breath hitched, his grip unwavering.

“I left her before– she needs me,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Arthur exhaled sharply, his hands digging into Tommy’s arms. “Right now, she needs a doctor, Tom. You’ll be waitin’ for her soon as they’re done. We all will.”

Tommy’s jaw locked, his chest rising and falling too fast.

“Christ sake– look at her,” Arthur pressed, his own voice cracking slightly. “You can’t fix this, Tom.”

The words cut deep. But they weren’t wrong. And Tommy knew it.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip. The second his arms unraveled from around you, the nurses took you, and the moment your body left his hands, it felt like something inside him ripped apart. The air vanished from his lungs. A sharp, visceral pain tore through him. Something he couldn’t name. Something he couldn’t stop. He staggered forward– instinct, refusal.

But Arthur was there in an instant, shoving him back. “Tommy, let her go. Let her go.” His brother’s voice was low, urgent.

Just then, another car pulled up. The familiar sound of tires skidded against the pavement. Tommy barely registered it, his mind still fixated on your disappearing form. The car door swung open, and John climbed out, his coat still damp from the rain. He took one look at Tommy, his shirt covered in dirt and blood. Then he looked at Arthur and the scene unfolding in front of them. “Jesus Christ.” His breath came sharp. “Is she– ?”

Arthur turned, exhaling hard through his nose. “They’ve got her. She’s inside.”

John’s jaw ticked, his eyes darkening.

And just like that, the waiting began.

…

Hours passed. Tommy wasn’t sure how many. Time felt irrelevant.

The hands of the clock on the hospital wall moved, but the world outside didn’t exist beyond the walls of the waiting room.

He sat unmoving, elbows on his knees, jaw ticked, staring at the floor. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, the smoke curling toward the ceiling, forgotten.

John and Arthur were still there, though their restless pacing had slowed. Polly had arrived not long after, her face like stone, her presence heavy with unspoken concern. Ada sat beside her, arms crossed, her leg bouncing restlessly.

Esme had shown up at some point, hovering near the back with John, arms folded tightly, expression unreadable. Conversations flickered between the others, low murmurs filling the space, though none of them spoke directly to Tommy.

“Doctors are taking too fucking long,” John muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Arthur exhaled sharply, restless, agitated. “Shoulda’ found our own doctor.”

“She was our bloody doctor,” Esme scoffed, arms still folded tightly, expression unreadable.

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. John’s jaw tightened, his shoulders tense. He didn’t look at Esme, but she wasn’t wrong.

Polly, sitting rigidly in her chair, pressed her fingers to her temple. “We wait. That’s all we can do.”

A beat of silence. Then Arthur let out a harsh exhale, pacing again, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck’s sake.”

Esme leaned forward. “Where was she?”

Arthur exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Old textile mill. Near the canal.” His voice was still raw, like saying it out loud made it real all over again.

Polly frowned, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s a fucking miracle we found her at all.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “Stuffed in a basement. No light. No heat. No way out.” He huffed.

Esme shook her head. “Jesus. And Campbell?”

Arthur shrugged. “Where we left him.”

“Six feet under.” John rolled his neck, exhaling. “I’m glad that fucker’s dead. I hope he suffered.”

Arthur scoffed. “It wasn’t nearly enough.”

Esme arched her brow. “Not enough? What more do you want?’”

Arthur shook his head, but his lips twitched. “You didn’t see her, Esme,” he muttered, voice tight. His pacing slowed, and for the first time since they arrived, his anger dimmed, just slightly, not gone, just simmering beneath the surface. “You didn’t see what that bastard did to her.”

Esme’s arms were still folded tightly, but something shifted in her expression. She had seen plenty of violence. Plenty of cruelty. But there was something in Arthur’s tone, in the way his jaw clenched like he was grinding his teeth to dust, that made her pause.

John exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Well, at least it’s done. Campbell’s gone.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Still gotta deal with Moss, though.”

Arthur grunted. “Fuckin’ right, we do.”

Esme’s brow lifted. “Moss?”

John nodded. “He was the one who tipped Tommy off.”

Esme scoffed. “And what does he want for that favor?”

John smirked, but there was no real amusement behind it. “Just a nice bag of cash and protection from Campbell’s ghost.”

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms. “Like we needed another bloody deal on our hands.”

Polly, who had been silent, finally spoke. “We’ll deal with it,” she said, her tone flat.

John leaned back slightly, rubbing his jaw. “Doesn’t change the fact we owe the bastard.” He exhaled sharply.

Arthur grunted. “Right. And what we really need right now is another fucking problem.”

“That’s not what’s important right now,” Polly replied.

The conversation continued, their voices flickering between grumbling and reluctant acceptance.

But Tommy still hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t even moved. His elbows were still braced against his knees, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

Ada noticed before the others. Quietly, she stood and moved to sit beside him– close, but not intrusive. His suit was stiff with dried blood, his hair unruly. His hands looked like they had been clenched into fists for hours.

Ada sighed softly. After a moment, her voice came soft, measured. “Tommy.”

He didn’t look at her– didn’t even acknowledge her.

Ada pressed her lips together, watching him carefully. “You need to eat,” she said quietly. “Change your clothes.”

Nothing.

Ada studied him for a long moment, her voice even softer now. “It’s been eight hours, Tommy.”

Still, he didn’t move. She swallowed, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled against his knees like he was holding himself together with sheer force of will.

“You need rest,” she murmured. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t react at all. But then, he inhaled sharply and held it. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to see it. She saw the way his jaw tensed harder, how the muscles in his throat tightened, and the smallest tremor rippled through his fingers.

And then, without a word, he put his head in his hands, not before Ada caught the faintest glisten in his eyes– gone before anyone else could notice. But she saw it. And she didn’t say anything. She just reached out, placed a gentle, steadying hand on his back, pretending she didn’t feel the way he silently trembled beneath her touch.

The hours stretched on, slow and suffocating.

Outside, the night bled into morning, the city stirring with the first signs of life, but inside the hospital, time felt frozen.

Tommy hadn’t moved. Ada stayed beside him.

Arthur and John had shifted between pacing and sitting, muttering under their breaths, then falling silent again. Polly had remained still as stone, unreadable, though her fingers occasionally twitched against her knee, betraying her tension. Esme had eventually left, tasked with checking in on Carl and Finn, who’d both been left with the maids.

The not knowing was unbearable.

Until finally, a nurse appeared in the doorway, her uniform crisp, her expression calm but focused. Every head in the room snapped up. Tommy was on his feet before she spoke.

“She’s stable.”

A breath, a collective exhale of tension, relief, fear still tangled within it.

“But,” the nurse continued, her gaze flicking between them, “her injuries are severe.”

Tommy’s jaw locked. “How bad?”

The nurse inhaled slowly, glancing at the clipboard in her hands.

“Several broken ribs, extensive bruising, and lacerations across her body.” She paused, looking up. “What we’re really worried about is the head injury. It’s significant, looks like blunt force trauma. There’s swelling. She regained consciousness briefly but was disoriented.”

Tommy’s fingers curled into fists.

“She’ll likely experience lots of confusion, dizziness, headaches, probably some nausea,” the nurse went on. “We’re monitoring her closely for any signs of further complications.”

John exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.

Arthur rubbed his knuckles together, muttering, “Fucking bastard.”

Polly nodded once, her voice even. “And what now?”

The nurse adjusted her clipboard. “She needs rest. No sudden movement. Limited stress. We’ll keep her under observation for the next twenty-four hours before making any further assessments. But as of right now, I’d say she needs to stay here for at least the next few days.”

Tommy swallowed. “Can we see her?”

The nurse hesitated. “One at a time.”

Ada exhaled through her nose, glancing at Tommy. “Go on, then.”

John nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ll wait.”

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice. Without another word, he moved, his strides purposeful, sharp, following the nurse down the corridor. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and old floors, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each step felt too slow– too far– too much distance between him and you.

Finally, the nurse stopped outside a door, her expression careful as she turned to him.

“She’s resting,” she said, lowering her voice. “She’s in and out, disoriented from the head trauma. But she’s stable.”

Tommy gave a curt nod, his jaw tight.

She held his gaze for a moment, as if considering whether to say something more. Then, finally, she stepped aside, pushing open the door.

And then, he saw you. Laid against white sheets, looking smaller than you should have been, bruised and broken but breathing.

The breath left his chest.

A heavy wrap covered the side of your head, darkened slightly from where the wound had bled through. The rise and fall of your chest was shallow but steady.

You were alive.

He barely registered the nurse slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with him.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring, as if trying to grasp the reality of how close it had been. How close you had been to never waking up.

And how, if that had happened, it would have been his fucking fault.

The thought slammed into him with the force of a bullet, knocking the breath from his lungs. Because this, all of this– The blood. The pain. The bruises staining your skin. Every last bit of it was on him. Because he had been the one to drag you into his world. To put you in Campbell’s line of fire. To make you a pawn in a game that should have never involved you.

And if you had died in that basement, if you had taken your last breath alone, in the dark– Tommy wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to live with it.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his whole body tensed, burning.

Then, slowly, carefully, he took a step forward. The chair beside your bed scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent room. He sat down heavily, his body tired but too wound up to feel it.

For a moment, he just watched you– took you in. He studied the way your face, usually so full of life, was still and sunken, marred by bruising along your cheekbone– deep and dark from where Campbell and his men had struck you.

Your lips were cracked, dried blood at the corner of your mouth. There was discoloration along your throat, faint but there– a reminder that someone had pressed their hands where they never fucking should have been.

His jaw tightened. Slowly, carefully, Tommy reached for your hand and gathered it in his. Your fingers were cold, your knuckles scraped raw, bruising curling along your wrists from the cuffs.

The weight in his chest pressed harder.

He had done this. He had let this happen.

And now, all he could do was sit there, watching you, waiting, praying to whatever cruel God had spared you that you’d wake up.

…

The world swam in and out of darkness.

Shadows bled into light. Light bled into pain.

There was a throbbing sensation, searing pain that split your skull in two. Your head pounded so violently it felt like the walls were closing in– like something inside you was breaking apart.

You tried to breathe, tried to move, but everything was too much. Your body was too heavy. Your skin was too cold. Your stomach lurched.

A strangled gasp tore from your throat as your fingers searched blindly, reaching for something– anything– but all you found was air.

Suddenly, your hand flew to your head, clutching at it, desperate, trying to hold it together. Because it felt like it was splitting open. Like something inside your skull was cracking apart, splitting down the middle, a fault line giving way beneath unbearable pressure.

It was blinding, searing, suffocating. A hammer pounding behind your eyes. A blade carving through the base of your skull, dragging fire down the back of your neck. Every pulse of blood felt wrong, like it was trying to push through shattered bone, through bruised, swollen tissue.

The pressure built with every ragged breath, the world around you spinning so violently it felt like you were being dragged under, drowning in your own body.

A strangled whimper escaped before you could stop it. You squeezed your fingers tighter against your scalp, as if somehow, somehow, you could stop the way it felt like it was caving in.

It just kept building, climbing, twisting into something unbearable. And then, a wave of nausea crashed into you.

Violent. Overpowering.

Your stomach lurched so suddenly you barely had time to turn before your body gave in. Before you could even try to take a breath, you heaved and vomited, your body convulsing with the force of it, the sharp motion sending a fresh surge of agony tearing through your skull.

A deep, radiating pain that made you gasp, made your chest seize, made the world tilt even more.

It felt like you were falling.

Until suddenly, you felt a pair of cool hands.

Soft, firm, grounding. They found your temples first, brushing along the edges of your face, soothing, steadying.

And then, a hand cradled the back of your head– like it was holding your skull together for you. The touch was firm but careful, supporting your weight as you felt a forehead press against yours.

The smell of whiskey and smoke, of earth and something distinct filled your senses.

“I’m right here, love.” A rough, warm murmur, pulling you back from the edge. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

Your breath hitched– your chest rising too fast, too sharp, but his grip stayed firm.

In the distance, other voices flickered in and out.

“She needs something for the pain.”

“Someone get the doctor–”

The words were just background noise, muffled and far away.

But the sound of his voice was close, it was here. And the warm weight of his presence, settled the worst of the panic clawing at your ribs.

The pain was still there, it was fucking unbearable, but the fear? The fear lessened.

His forehead still pressed against yours, his grip firm, anchoring you.

You whimpered, your fingers weakly gripping at his shirt. You could hear him, but you couldn’t see him.

“Breathe, love.” His voice was warm, grounding. “Just breathe. That’s it.”

Your body trembled violently beneath his touch, but his hold didn’t waver.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I know.” He pulled you closer, just slightly, just enough. “You’re safe, yeah? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His breath was warm against your cheek, his words soft but firm.

You latched onto it all– let his presence consume you. So when the darkness came again, pulling you under yet again–

All you could hear was Tommy.

All you could smell was Tommy.

All you could feel was Tommy.

And what a wonderful thing to know.

…

They kept you asleep for two days.

The doctors said the head injury was worse than they thought– that you had swelling in your brain. You’d woken up days before, screaming. Thrashing. Vomiting. Sobbing.

The moment your eyes had snapped open, panic had ripped through you, wild and uncontrollable.

All he could do was hold you down– cup your face, and murmur that everything would be alright. He had no idea if that was true, or if he was lying through his teeth just to comfort you. But he had never felt more helpless in his entire fucking life.

He couldn’t take away the pain, couldn’t erase what had been done, couldn’t change a fucking thing. And for a man like him– that was worse than anything.

So, he did the only thing he could do: he stayed.

Because if you woke up again– if you woke up screaming, or crying, or terrified– He’d be there.

After a while, the nurses allowed more than one visitor. Tommy thought it was more for his own sanity than anything else, but he didn’t question it.

Polly was the first to visit. She entered quietly, her movements soft, deliberate.

She moved to your bedside, her keen eyes scanning over you, taking in every bruise, every bandage, every sign of the suffering you had endured.

A deep, quiet sigh left her lips. “My poor girl.”

Then, she reached out and took your hand.

Tommy watched from his chair in the corner as Polly held it gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, slow and steady. She murmured something, soft words, barely audible. A quiet prayer, maybe. She stayed like that for a while, her other hand patting yours lightly, a mother’s touch, something firm and grounding, even as you remained unconscious.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she released your hand. And then, she turned and walked over to Tommy.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know you’ve been sitting in this room, stewing for the last twenty-four hours. I understand you’re angry, I know you’re hurting. But this was not your fault, Thomas."

Tommy’s jaw tensed immediately. His fingers curled into his palms, but he didn’t say anything.

Polly waited. She wasn’t asking for a response. She was just stating the truth as she saw it. When the silence stretched too long, she sighed.

“Sometimes I think you forget I raised you. I know how you think.” Her gaze flickered toward you. “And I know what’s going through your head without you having to say it.”

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head, but Polly wasn’t finished.

“This happened because of Campbell. Because he was a sick, twisted bastard, not because of you.”

Tommy’s stare was dark, glassy with something unreadable.

“You can sit here and blame yourself, waste away in this chair, punish yourself for something that was never in your hands, or you can move on and focus on how you’ll help her when she wakes up.”

His throat tightened.

“Because she’s going to need you, Thomas,” Polly said, her voice softer now.

A beat of silence. Then, Tommy finally spoke.

“I should’ve stopped it.” His voice was hoarse, heavy with exhaustion and something deeper.

Polly shook her head. “You did. You stopped him from killing her.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against his knees. “I shouldn’t have let her work for me in the first place. I should’ve kept her away.”

Polly sighed. “I hate that she ended up caught in the middle of this mess. I hate that she ended up hurt. But you and I both know you couldn’t have kept her away, even if you tried.”

She reached over, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

“She loves you. Just as much as you love her. And she was meant to come into your life, and you were meant for hers.”

Tommy didn’t move.

Polly tilted her head as she studied him carefully, watching the war raging behind his eyes.. “You need to sleep, Thomas.”

He let out a short breath through his nose. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she murmured. Polly stood, smoothing down her skirt. “But you can’t keep going forever.”

She let her gaze drift to you one last time before giving Tommy’s shoulder a firm pat.

“I’ll be outside,” she said. “If you need anything.”

And then, she left. The door clicked shut, the quiet settling in around him like a heavy weight.

Tommy inhaled, slow, deep. He dragged a hand down his face before leaning back into the chair, exhaling.

The hours blurred.

Tommy wasn’t sure how long he sat there, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, waiting for some sign that you were coming back to him.

At some point, John and Arthur had come in. Neither of them stayed long. John had hovered at the door at first, arms crossed over his chest, before stepping closer, muttering something like, “You’re tougher than all of us put together, love. You’ll pull through.”

Arthur had been quieter. He’d stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets, looking at you for a long moment. Then, with a sharp exhale, he muttered, “We’ll take care of everything, Tom. You just focus on her, yeah?”

Tommy barely responded.

A nod. Maybe. A grunt at best.

Then they left him to it.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Ada came in next. He only realized she was there when the chair beside him scraped against the floor as she sat down.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t need to. She was quiet at first, just like Polly had been. Then, finally, “Tommy.”

Nothing.

She sighed. “You know she wouldn’t want this.”

His fingers curled against his knees. “Want what?”

Ada arched her brow. “You, sitting here, wasting away, waiting for her to wake up like that’ll somehow change things. They’re keeping her asleep on purpose. You can afford to slip home for an evening.”

His jaw ticked. “She might not wake up.”

Ada’s gaze softened. “She will.”

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

“I know you, Tommy,” she continued. “And I know you’re blaming yourself.”

His throat felt tight.

“You think if you’d done something different, this wouldn’t have happened.”

He didn’t respond.

“But it did happen,” she said softly. “And you being here, tearing yourself apart over it, isn’t gonna change that.”

Tommy let his head dip, pressing his fingers to his temples, his exhaustion creeping into every inch of his body. Ada watched him carefully, her brows furrowed just slightly.

Then, she sighed. “Tommy, you need to go home.”

His fingers twitched, but he didn’t lift his head.

“Not forever, you stubborn bastard,” she continued. “Just long enough to change your clothes, maybe sleep for an hour– hell, take a fucking bath.”

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

Ada tilted hers. “You think she wants to wake up to you sitting here looking like a ghost? Smelling like a walking ashtray?”

Still, nothing.

She leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “Tom, if she wakes up and the first thing she smells is you right now, she’s gonna leave you.”

A small, tired huff of air left Tommy’s nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh. But it was close enough.

Ada caught it. Her lips twitched. “There it is. That’s the first reaction I’ve gotten out of you in two bloody days.”

Tommy finally lifted his head, rubbing his jaw, shaking his head.

At last, he sighed. “Fine.”

Ada looked surprised for half a second before she masked it with a smug grin.

“Me and Polly will stay with her the whole time.”

Tommy grumbled something under his breath as he pushed up from the chair.

“She’ll be fine, Tom. Go home.”

He hesitated, casting one last glance at you.

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

…

Consciousness came in slow waves.

It wasn’t violent like before, or a drowning, suffocating pull into agony.

Just… slow.

Your head still ached, a dull, steady throb behind your skull, but it wasn’t blinding, or even unbearable.

And when you blinked against the dim light of the room– you realized that you could see again.

A slow, shaky breath filled your lungs.

The blurry haze that had suffocated you before was gone.

Your vision wasn’t perfect– a little hazy at the edges, the room slightly too bright, but it was there. You exhaled softly, letting your gaze wander, taking in your surroundings.

You weren’t in the basement.

You were somewhere safe.

A hospital, maybe.

The sheets beneath your fingers were soft, clean. The air was cool, crisp, tinged faintly with antiseptic.

A sharp contrast to the damp, suffocating stench of blood and stone that had clung to you for days.

Your gaze shifted slightly. A figure sat in the chair beside your bed, her legs crossed, fingers idly fidgeting with a loose thread at the hem of her sleeve.

Ada’s dark hair was pulled into a loose, messy knot, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration as she twirled the thread between her fingers.

You swallowed, your throat dry, hoarse. The movement caught her attention.

Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. “Holy shit.”

She was on her feet in an instant, moving closer, eyes scanning your face.

Her voice softened. “You’re awake.”

You swallowed again, voice rough when you finally rasped out, “I think so.”

A small, shaky exhale left Ada’s lips. Then, her expression shifted, softer, but still firm. “How are you feeling?”

Ada’s voice was softer now, steady but careful, as if she was trying not to startle you. You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, grimacing slightly.

“Like I got hit by a train.”

Ada huffed out a short breath. “Yeah,” she muttered. “You look it, too.”

You gave a weak, tired smirk. Your body still felt heavy, weak, sore all over. Your ribs ached, deep bruises throbbing beneath the bandages. The dull throb in your head was still there, lingering behind your skull like an echo of something much worse.

Ada shifted beside you, reaching toward the bedside table.

“Here.” She grabbed a glass of water, guiding it toward you.

You tried to lift your arm, but the effort was exhausting. Your muscles trembled, too weak to hold the weight, and before you could drop it, Ada sighed and leaned in, pressing the glass lightly to your lips.

“Alright, alright. Just sip.”

Cool water touched your tongue, soothing the rawness in your throat. You sighed in relief. Ada pulled the glass away, setting it back on the table before looking at you again.

Her arms folded, her brow furrowed slightly. And then, her expression softened.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said quietly. “Everyone’s been so worried.”

Your chest tightened. There was something about hearing it– knowing that they had been waiting, that she had been waiting. That you had been missed.

You cleared your throat, voice quiet. “How long?”

She exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “Two days.”

Your stomach dropped as the weight of it settled in.

“Where’s Tommy?”

Ada scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Home, finally. Only because I convinced him that if you woke up to him smelling the way he did, you might leave him.”

Something small, warm flickered in your chest. For the first time in a long time, you managed a weak, tired smile.

Ada grinned. “He should be back soon. You alright if I go get Polly? She’s been waiting, too. Think she might kill me if I don’t go tell her you’re awake.”

You gave a small nod, but the movement made your head swim. Ada noticed immediately, her expression flickering with warning.

“Oi,” she leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Don’t go passing out on us again before I’m back, yeah?”

You huffed a breath, half amused, half exhausted. “I’ll do my best.”

Ada rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but there was relief in the gesture, in the teasing, in the fact that she could even joke with you at all.

She pushed up from the chair. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

You murmured something incoherent in response, exhaustion tugging at you again, but Ada was already moving toward the door.

As she slipped out, the room fell quiet again.

Your body still ached, your head still throbbed, but you hoped the worst of it had passed.

You were here.

You were safe.

And before you could dwell too much on any of it, the door opened again. And the second Polly’s eyes landed on you, her whole expression softened.

Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. “Oh, love.”

She hurried to your side, brushing your hair back, resting a hand against your cheek, checking you over like only Polly Gray could.

The second her fingers grazed against your cheek, something inside you uncoiled. Polly had that effect. She didn’t rush, didn’t overwhelm. Just watched you carefully, studying every inch of your face, her eyes sharp, assessing.

“You gave us all a fucking scare, love.”

You swallowed. “Sorry.”

Polly huffed, shaking her head. “Don’t be stupid.” She pulled the chair closer, settling into it like she’d done it a hundred times already.

And knowing Polly, she probably had.

Her fingers lingered against your temple, just barely ghosting over the bandages before she pulled away. “How’s your head?”

You shifted slightly, but the movement made your stomach churn. “It’s alright,” you lied.

Polly raised a suspicious and knowing brow.

You sighed. “Hurts like hell.”

Polly nodded like she’d already known the answer before she asked.

“They’re keeping a close eye on you,” she murmured. “You were out for a long time.”

You exhaled softly, closing your eyes for a moment.

“He wouldn’t leave,” she continued. “We had to force him to go home, just for a few hours.”

You swallowed hard. Something thick settled in your chest, pressing against your ribs. Polly must’ve seen it, because her expression softened.

“Won’t be long now,” she murmured. “He’ll be back soon.”

You nodded again, slower this time, realizing just how much you craved Tommy’s comfort.

Polly watched you carefully. She could see it, the way your shoulders tensed, the way you blinked a little too fast, the way your fingers curled weakly into the blanket.

She sighed, leaning forward slightly. “He just about tore the whole fucking town apart looking for you, love.”

Polly’s voice was soft, but there was weight behind it.

“Campbell was dead the second Tommy realized you were missing. He just didn’t know it yet.”

You swallowed, your throat tight.

Polly tilted her head, studying your face. “I know he doesn’t always show it,” she murmured. “Not the way you might want him to. But Thomas Shelby doesn’t tear the city apart for just anyone.”

Your fingers twitched. Polly reached over, patting your arm gently.

“He cares for you. More than you know.”

Your chest tightened as the guilt settled deep. Because for two days in that basement– you had let yourself wonder if Tommy had cared at all. You had let Campbell’s words sink their claws into you.

Before you could respond, the door was swinging open.

Polly glanced over her shoulder. Then, she turned back to you, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll give you two a minute.”

And with that, she stood, stepping aside for Tommy to step into the room.

Polly gave him a small nod as she passed.

Then, she was gone.

Your fingers curled into the blanket, grip weak but trembling. You wanted to say something. But before you could, Tommy moved.

Slow at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Then, all at once, like he couldn’t stop himself. He pulled the chair up right beside your bed. He sat down, leaned forward, his elbows bracing against his knees, and finally his eyes met yours.

And you saw everything: the rage. The exhaustion. The guilt. The relief.

Tommy’s eyes didn’t leave yours. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his hand absently rubbing at the edge of his jaw as he studied you.

Then, finally– his voice low, careful, steady. “How’s the pain?”

You swallowed, throat raw. “I’m fine.” Your voice came out hoarse, weak, unconvincing.

Tommy’s eyes didn’t move from yours. “Don’t lie.”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t sharp. It was quiet. Steady. A simple truth.

Your breath caught, fingers curling into the blanket. “It hurts.”

Tommy nodded once. “Where?”

You hesitated, your chest feeling like it was caving in. “Everywhere.”

A slow, sharp exhale pushed through his nose. His jaw ticked, just slightly, his fingers tapping against his knee. “Your head?”

You gave a weak nod, trying to fight the tears burning behind your eyes. Tommy’s gaze flickered up toward the wrap along your temple, his expression darkening. His hand twitched, like he wanted to touch, to check, to fix it. But he didn’t.

“Your ribs?”

Another nod.

“They’ll keep you here another night. Maybe longer.” His voice was still calm, but there was something tighter underneath it now. “You need to rest. Let the doctors–”

You never heard the rest of his sentence. Because somewhere, deep in your chest, something cracked. Your ribs ached with the effort to breathe through it, to stay in control, to keep from falling apart. But the walls were crumbling.

The pressure, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of everything you had endured– it all caved in at once. Your shoulders tensed, then slowly, slowly, they collapsed altogether. Your spine curled, your body folding in on itself, like you could somehow physically contain everything building inside you. But you couldn’t.

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, and then, the first tear spilled over. Once it started, you couldn’t stop it.

The dam broke.

A shudder wracked through you, and then another. You clenched your jaw, tried to hold back the sob, but it clawed its way free, raw and broken. Your hands shook violently, curling into the fabric of the blanket, clinging to something, anything.

Before you could even process it– before you could think, before you could be embarrassed, before you could try to pull yourself together– his hand was on your face. Warm, steady, thumb brushing away a tear as fast as it fell. His other hand wrapped gently around yours, his fingers curling tight, grounding you. You squeezed your eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the tears.

Every emotion you had buried, every moment of fear, every second spent in the dark, waiting for death– it all tore out of you at once.

You barely registered Tommy sliding onto the bed beside you, his shoes still on the ground, his arm slipping around your waist.

But when he pulled you close, when he tucked you against his chest, holding you tight, you moved without thinking. Your body curled into him, seeking warmth, seeking comfort, seeking the only thing that had ever made you feel safe.

His arms wrapped around you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, his fingers stroking slow, steady circles along your hip.

Tommy never moved– never loosened his grip. Not once.

He just held you.

And when the cries finally faded into weak, hiccuping breaths, when the exhaustion became heavier than the grief, you finally spoke.

Voice trembling, barely above a breath. “I was scared, Tommy.”

Tommy’s fingers froze. His grip on you tightened, just slightly. Then, he let out a quiet exhale. “I know, love. I know.”

You could still feel the ache in your ribs, the pulsing throb in your skull, the lingering, invisible grip of Campbell’s hands on your skin– But you also felt the warmth of Tommy’s body against yours. You felt the weight of his arms, solid, steady, unmoving and the soft, rhythmic push and pull of his breath against your temple.

You exhaled, slow and shaky, the last remnants of tension uncoiling from your muscles.

And finally, you let your eyes flutter shut.

…

Darkness.

Heavy, suffocating, endless.

You couldn’t move.

Couldn’t scream.

The weight of him was crushing, smothering, pinning you down.

Campbell’s breath was hot against your ear.

His voice– low, taunting, cruel. "I like it when you struggle."

You fought, thrashing, clawing, screaming–

You woke up screaming.

Your body jerked upright, ribs screaming in protest, lungs gasping for air. The room around you was dark. Too dark. Panic seized your chest.

No. No, no, no–

Blackness.

A sob ripped through you, shaking, broken.

Your breathing grew sharp, too quick, too shallow, and then, the pain hit.

White-hot, blinding.

Your head pounded, unbearable, relentless, splitting open like a hammer against bone.

You let out a strangled gasp, hands flying to your head, gripping, clutching, desperate to hold yourself together.

Everything spun.

Your stomach lurched violently.

You thought you might vomit, your chest heaving, body trembling, and then–

Hands.

Warm, firm hands gripping your wrists.

“Hey, hey, hey–” a familiar voice rang out. You kept your eyes shut, clenched tight.

“It’s not real,” you cried.

But his grip was steady, strong. It felt real.

He was pulling your hands away from your head, prying your fingers loose.

“Look at me.” His voice was low, urgent.

You shook your head, whimpering.

“Open your eyes, love.”

A firm hand cradled your face. Thumbs skimming over your cheeks, grounding you.

Your breath hitched.

“You’re safe. Open your eyes.”

Finally, you did–

And there he was. Tommy.

His stormy, blue eyes were edged with worry and rimmed with exhaustion.

You let out a weak, shuddering sob. Your body trembled. “Tommy–”

Your voice broke. More tears streamed down your face.

“It hurts–”

Your hands weakly grasped at his arms, grounding yourself in the solid weight of him. He nodded quickly, his hands never leaving your skin.

“I know.” His voice was softer now, urgent but gentle. “I know, love. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The room was spinning. The pounding in your head grew worse.

More voices– somewhere distant.

A nurse, maybe. “She needs more pain medication,” she said.

You barely registered the pinch of the needle above the pulsating sensation in your skull.

Suddenly, Tommy was climbing into the bed beside you. He pulled you against his chest again, the same way you’d been laying when you first fell asleep. You cradled your head against him.

His fingers threaded into your hair, slow, gentle, rubbing soothing circles at your temple.

“Shh,” he cooed. “The meds will kick in soon. Breathe.”

Your body melted into him, trembling, exhausted.

“Don’t leave,” you whispered weakly, voice barely above a whisper. “Please– stay.”

Tommy’s hand never stopped moving, never stopped grounding you. His grip on you tightened, firm and unshakable.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmured. “Not going anywhere. I got you.”

His voice was low, steady, certain. It wasn’t a promise, nor a reassurance.

It was a fact.

Your breath hitched, but the sobs had faded. The pounding in your head was still there, but his touch softened the edges of it, dulled it into something manageable.

The warmth of him, the unwavering, solid presence of him, was enough to pull you back from the edge. Your fingers curled weakly into his shirt, gripping it like an anchor.

His lips pressed against your hair, just briefly, just enough. And slowly, finally, the tension in your body began to ease.

You exhaled.

And when your body began to surrender to exhaustion, when your eyes fluttered shut again, there was no more doubt.

You weren’t in the basement anymore.

You weren’t alone.

You weren’t lost.

Tommy was holding you. And he wasn’t letting go.

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wbbpls · 1 month ago

Text

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 11

Word count: 4300 another day of them hopelessly falling in love and being dumb about it. Only 2 more days before the wedding day...will they figure it out?

After getting massages, Azzi met up with the wedding party to finish planning the party tomorrow night. Then, the girls spent the rest of the day by the pool. The wedding is in three days, so they’re enjoying the calm while they can before going back to school. Azzi was floating on an inflatable, quietly enjoying herself—almost too quietly. As soon as Azzi started considering why it was quiet and where Paige might be, she was suddenly flipped over into the water.

When she came back for air, she immediately recognized Paige’s laugh mixed with her brother's.

“What the hell?!”

“Sorry, baby, we just had to. You looked too peaceful.”

“It was Paige’s idea!” Jon and Jose say in unison.

“What?! Bro, it was deadass not my idea.”

“Really, Paige?” Azzi gave her a stern look, trying not to crack a smile.

“No, no, it was Tim’s idea! I swear on my knee.” Jose and Jon can’t stop laughing, and they can hear Tim cackling in the background.

“It doesn’t matter who’s idea it was. You still did it. Plus, you got me all wet.” Azzi crosses her arms.

As soon as Paige smirked, Azzi realized the words had left her mouth. “Oh yeah, did I?”

Azzi starts blushing profusely. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“You sure bout that, mama?” Paige puts her hands on Azzi’s waist, pulling her in.

“Ew, dude, that’s my sister.” Jose splashes water at Paige, getting Azzi even more wet.

“Okay, that’s it! I’m done here.”

“Ugh, see what you did?” Paige splashes him back.

“Nah, just go be your simp self, and she’ll be fine.” Paige rolled her eyes and went to the edge of the pool, watching Azzi walk and sit down on the lounge chair.

“P, stop staring.” Paige put her head down on the palm of her hands, smiling back at Azzi.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Azzi couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the flirting and attention she’d been receiving from Paige since their massage. “Alright, Paige, c’mon. Come join me.”

“Gladly, pretty girl.” Paige pushes off the side of the pull, showing off the muscles in her arm, then the tightening of her abs. Azzi couldn't look away even if she tried. As Paige stands up, she notices Azzi looking down her body and smirks.

“Enjoying the view?”

“W-what, no! Ugh you’re so cocky.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Paige grabs a towel, half-dries off, and sits next to Azzi.

“Paige, you’re getting me all wet again. And don’t be a smart ass.” Azzi throws another towel at her while Paige bends over laughing.

When she catches her breath, she shrugs and says, “Hey, I guess I just have that effect on you.”

“Not another word, Bueckers.”

“Alright, alright.”

Azzi picked up her book to continue reading. She got through one whole page before Paige started bothering her again.

“Hey, Azzzzziiiiiii.”

“Yes, Paige?”

“Wanna do somethin’ fun tonight?”

“Hm, like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s an arcade or somethin’ nearby. I have felt lost without competition these past few days. I could really use beating you at something.”

“Okat first, rude. But also, that sounds fun, so fine.”

“Aye, that’s wassup.” Paige excitedly stands to gather their stuff and, sadly for Azzi, puts her clothes back on.

“Yo, Jose and Jon! We goin’ to an arcade tonight. Wanna come so I can beat your asses?”

Azzi mutters under her breath, “Oh god, what did I just sign up for?”

“Nah, baby, it’s gonna be fun. Wanna invite some of the wedding party and make it a thing?”

“Sure, Paigey, I’ll text Jake, and he’ll probably get everything together,” Azzi replies softly, enjoying the term of endearment.

“Bet.”

====================================

The girls, Azzi’s brothers, Jake and his girlfriend, and a few other people from the wedding party joined them at a local arcade. This isn’t typically Azzi’s scene, but Paige turns into a happy little kid at arcades, and who is she to deprive her of that?

“Oh, shit they got laser tag!”

“I call dibs on shooting Paige and Azzi!”

“Damn Jon, you were a lil too ready to go there,” Paige says as she fills out her waiver.

They all start to put on the vests as they listen to the instructions. Paige leaned over to whisper in Azzi’s ear, “Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll protect you.”

It’s like Paige has been determined to get Azzi to blush this entire day, and each time Azzi gets flustered, it gives her more and more confidence. Might be time to humble her a little bit.

“Oh yeah? You gonna be my night in shining armour?”

“As long as you’re my princess.” Okay, yeah, Paige won that one.

The teams split up, starting on the respective sides of the room. Once the buzzer sounds, telling them to go, Paige screams at the top of her lungs “LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOOO!”

It's moments like these that Azzi finds herself falling for Paige. Moments like this tell her that Paige isn’t just a best friend. Paige is sprinting, jumping, and rolling as she dodges and shoots everyone. Azzi will never tell her, but she’s surprisingly good at this. Azzi got both of her brothers out twice, so now they were on the hunt for her. They started to sneak up on Azzi, and then suddenly Paige dove in front of her, shooting both of her brothers and getting shot herself. Azzi runs to kneel down next to Paige.

“Paige! Are you okay? I can’t believe you just dove like that to stop them from shooting me. You could have gotten hurt!”

“Anything for my princess.”

Their eyes are locked in as everything around them fades away. Paige’s eyes dropped down to Azzi’s lips. “Do I get that true love’s kiss for saving you?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Azzi closes the gap, softly kissing her. Paige moves her hand to go behind Azzi’s neck. Before either girl could deepen the kiss, their vests light up red, and they hear a loud beep. When they break apart, Jon and Jose are standing over them with evil smiles.

“That’s what you get for bein’ a simp!”

“That’s it. Y’all better run.” Paige books it towards them, and Azzi adds this moment to her list of reasons why it's so easy to be in love with Paige. Azzi froze, realizing the thought she had. She just admitted to herself that she’s in love with her best friend. And for the first time, that didn’t scare her.

The lights turn back on, signaling the end of their game. Their team won by a landslide, thanks to Paige, giving her an ego boost no one needed. They all split up, playing games until Jose comes up to them.

“Guys, there’s basketball! Bet I can beat you both.”

Azzi laughs, “That’s actually comical. Let’s go beat these idiots.” The girls high-five and make their way over.

Jose pushed Jon out of the way, “I call takin' down Paige. You can deal with Azzi.”

“Bro, you know that’s not even equal.”

“I’m literally right here.”

Azzi couldn't help but laugh at their banter and rub Paige’s back. Azzi grabs Paige’s chin, turning her head to kiss her. “You got this, baby.”

Now flustered, Paige scans her player card to start the game with a dopey smile on her face. She’s still smiling at Azzi and doesn’t even notice the timer started.

“Distracted over there, Bueckers?” Jon laughs at her.

“Oh shit.” Paige focuses in and starts draining shots, catching up to Jose. In the last second, Paige lost by one point.

“I BEAT PAIGE BUECKERS AT BASKETBALL!”

“What, no?! You cheated.”

“How did I cheat?”

“I was distracted when we started.”

“It’s not my fault you’re whipped for my sister.”

“Nah, rematch. Right now.”

“Whatever, fine. Azzi, maybe you should leave so she can actually shoot.”

“My girl ain’t no problem,” Paige winks as she wraps her arm around Azzi’s waist. “How about another kiss for good luck?”

Although caught off guard momentarily, Azzi got excited by the idea. “I don’t know...that last one wasn’t too helpful.”

“And?”

Fair point. Azzi leans in to close the gap. As Paige went to move, thinking it would just be a peck, she grabbed her face and pulled her in for a longer kiss.

“Now that’s lucky.”

“Can you guys stop making out so we can play, jeez.” Paige kisses Azzi’s temple and moves to scan her player card again. They both zone in, and without any distractions, Paige beats Jose by a landslide. When the buzzer goes off, Paige jumps up and down and then runs over to Azzi, picking her up and spinning her around. Giggles take over as Paige trash-talks Jose and leans against the table behind them after she puts Azzi down.

“Okay, okay, Azzi, you’re up. Get ready to lose.” Jon says as he trades places with Jose. Paige leans against the table behind them after she puts Azzi down.

“Real confident for someone who misses every other shot.” Azzi starts to walk over but then feels hands wrap around her wrist, pulling her in. She spun into Paige, settling between her legs.

“Kiss for good luck, mama?”

Azzi beams and kisses Paige again. If you could even call it that, considering she can’t stop smiling. She pulls back and kisses Paige on the tip of her nose. “Thanks, cutie.”

Paige couldn't take her eyes off Azzi, mesmerized by her smile and confidence. She didn’t miss a single shot, and each one was all net.

Standing next to Paige, Jose is smiling in disbelief. “Damn, that was—”

“Hot.” Something about hearing Paige so openly call her hot made her mouth go dry.

“Dude, that’s still my sister.”

Without taking her eyes off of Azzi, Paige responds, “The truth is the truth, Jose.”

“Okay, we can’t do this anymore. You guys are gross.”

After a few more games, the group makes their way back to the property. Most of Azzi’s family is chatting in the lobby and drinking wine. The girls each pour a glass and join in. Azzi sits next to Katie, and Paige joins Tim on the other side of the room.

“Hey, sweetie. How was the arcade?”

“Really good. We beat the hell out of Jon and Jose.”

“Real shocker there.”

“Hey, Mom, can I, uh, talk to you about something?”

“Sure, wanna go for a walk?”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

Kaite and Azzi stood with wine glasses while walking around the large lobby. On their way out, Paige caught Azzi’s eye, offering her a smile as if to say, “I’m here.”

“I really need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to, so now I’m just so confused.”

“Just say what you need to say, Azzi.”

“I’m in love with Paige.”

“Okay...? I’m sorry, but what’s the problem here?”

“Paige and I aren’t actually together.” Katie looked at Azzi as if she had two heads. Azzi started babbling off an explanation as fast as she could, “I know, I know, I can explain. I just was so tired of the whole family constantly hounding me about my dating life and everything thought we were dating anyway so I went along with it, and now we’ve been pretending to be together all week, and nothing about it feels fake, and I don’t know what to do.” Azzi lets out a deep breath once she finishes explaining everything.

“Wow, alright. That’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m really sorry for lying to you, Mom.”

“It’s okay, Az. Our family, especially your aunt, can be annoying, so I can’t even blame you. Look, I get all of this can be confusing, but honestly, I’ve been waiting years for you guys to finally get your act together and admit to being in love with each other.”

“Wait, really?”

Katie laughs at Azzi’s shock. “You guys have always just clicked. There’s something special there, so of course, once you guys cross that line, it opens up even more feelings.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way and I ruin everything?”

“Azzi, I love you, but if you really think that girl isn’t head over heels for you, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.”

“You never noticed that any girl Paige started to date got jealous of the two of you, and the second they weren’t nice to you, she dumped them?”

“Okay, well, they objectively sucked.”

“Fine, what about how many flowers and little gifts she buys you?”

“She’s a giver. She gives to everyone.”

“Where are my flowers then?”

“Ugh, if she really wanted this, she would have said so. She’s so much more experienced with this stuff than I am and always so confident. She would have made a move by now.”

“Azzi, you and I both know that’s not true. You’re just using it to validate insecurities.”

“Well, you don’t hold back, do you?”

“You’re everything to her, Azzi. What if she’s scared of ruining everything, too? You’re her constant. You’re what keeps her safe. You’re one of the only people she lets see her, really see her. Sure, Paige is all confidence, but how much of that is protection?”

“I guess I never thought of it that way. I know I’ve always seen her differently and Caroline has been on my ass about it since forever, but like, everyone saw this but us?”

“Dumb and in love, I guess.” Katie smiled at her daughter and pulled her in for a hug.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, kiddo. Let’s get back to that crazy blonde. She’s probably hit her limit on time away from you.”

When they returned to the main area, Tim and Paige sang loudly as they poured another glass.

“How long were we gone, and how many drinks have they had?”

“AZZIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Azzi giggles and walks up to Paige. “Hi, drunkie.”

“Hey, babygrl, I missed you.” Paige kissed the side of her head and pulled her onto her lap.

“We’ve been together all day, P.”

“Okay, and? You didn’t miss me?” She says with a pout. Azzi’s heart melts, and she brushes her hair out of Paige’s face.

“Yeah, I missed you.”

“I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Me too, P.” Azzi traces her fingers down Paige’s arm and plays with the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck. The feeling of Azzi all over her sends Paige deep into the clouds. Maybe it wouldn’t be like this next week, but she would take advantage of it while she could.

“Mm, that feels good, Az.” Seeing Paige’s eyes flutter closed as she relaxed into her made Azzi think about what her mom had said. They’ve always been each other’s safe space. Why should this be any different? Azzi leans in to kiss Paige. She very quickly kisses Azzi back. They’re still aware that Azzi’s whole family is around them, so they break apart and lean their foreheads on each other.

“You’re really good at that.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, P.”

“Yeah, but I think I’m gonna need some more practice.”

“Oh, yeah? That could be arranged.”

“It’s a date.”

“A date, huh?”

“How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“The dinner provided by my cousin?”

“Hey, it’s food.” Azzi rolled her eyes and went to stand up, teasing Paige, but she was quick to pull her back down.

“Wait, I promise to buy you a legit dinner, just us, after the wedding, okay?”

“After the wedding?”

“Yeah, Az, after.”

“I’d like that.” The girls smile at each other and then return to the conversations around them. Once Paige finished her fourth glass of wine, Azzi stood up, grabbed Paige’s wine glass, and pulled her by her hand. “Alright, I think that’s enough for you. Goodnight, everyone!”

“Hey, I was drinking that!”

Azzi ignored her and kept pulling her towards the elevator. Once she pressed the button, Paige wrapped around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “You coulda just said you wanted alone time, mama.”

The elevator doors opened, and Paige wouldn’t detach herself from the younger girl. Once the door closed, Paige started to give Azzi open-mouth kisses on her neck, causing Azzi's breath to hitch.

“You’re so fuckin pretty, Az”

“Mm, P.”

Azzi turned around, connecting their lips, taking her time kissing Paige. Paige pushed her forward, letting Azzi’s back hit the wall. Their kiss becomes deeper as their breaths become heavier. Paige bit Azzi’s bottom lip and sucked, causing a loud moan to come out. Azzi grabbed Paige’s hips and quickly changed their positions, pushing Paige up against the wall. She immediately attached her lips to Paige’s neck.

“Fuck, that feels so good.”

Azzi kisses under her ear and whispers, “You like that?”

“So fuckin’ much.” Paige moans out breathlessly.

“Mm, good to know,” Azzi says smugly. She goes back to kiss her neck, but then the elevator dings. The girls start laughing, and Paige grabs her hand. “Let’s go, beautiful.”

There’s a thick tension between them as they walk down the hallway. While Azzi unlocks the door, Paige’s phone starts going off. Suddenly, Paige’s entire demeanor changed.

Paige’s whole body tensed, seeing all the headlines about her. Will she be able to bring home a national championship? Does she really deserve to hold the #1 draft slot? The past month, the pressures of everything have been crashing down on her, crushing her underneath endless expectations. She’s been so good at pushing it all aside, but those glasses of wine certainly didn’t help. This past week, being with Azzi, she forgot about it all. She finally felt like a normal person again.

“You okay, Paigey?”

Paige snapped out of her thoughts, remembering how much she enjoyed Azzi.

“Y-yeah, for sure.”

Azzi looks at her phone, reading the same headlines Paige read.

“Paige, you know all that stuff is just outside noise, right?”

“I mean, is it? They have a point. How can I be #1 pick with no natty? Like, even saying that out loud sounds crazy.”

“Because you’re amazing, Paige. You’ve earned that spot, with or without the championship.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“No, not whatever, P. C’mon, talk to me.”

Paige knew she should just talk to Azzi about it all. But telling her how she’s felt makes it all too real. Azzi has been nothing but supportive to her; she doesn’t deserve to hear all of Paige’s ungrateful complaints. Paige starts to feel heavy in the silence between them, so she does the one thing that’s worked all week. She kisses Azzi.

Azzi was caught off guard, but then kissed her back. She could not resist Paige, but she could feel the frustration, anger, and sadness in Paige’s kiss. She pulls back, “Paigey, talk to me.”

Paige shakes her head no while focusing on Azzi’s lips with dilated dark blue eyes. She’s so tired of feeling like this, like she has no control over her life. She just wants to not feel like this for one minute. She pulled Azzi back in for a rough kiss, pouring any emotion she had left into the kiss.

“Pai—”

“Azzi, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Paige pushed back, grabbing at the back of Azzi’s neck to kiss her again. Azzi has no idea what to do. She’d never seen this side of Paige before. If she doesn’t want to talk, she takes it out on exercise and finds her way back to Azzi by the end of the day. Azzi kisses her back because it’s evident that’s what Paige needs right now. But the voice in the back of her head knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Azzi pulls back harder this time, sternly saying her name, “Paige.”

“Please, Azzi baby, I need you right now.” Something about the vulnerability takes over the logical voices in Azzi’s head, and she kisses Paige back. Paige smiled under Azzi’s initiative and pushed her against the wall, kissing down her neck. She stops right under Azzi’s ear, biting and soothing the sting over with her tongue.

“P-paige, fuck.” This just spurs Paige on, and she shoves her leg in between Azzi’s and starts grinding into her.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, mama.” Paige displayed her strength by picking Azzi up and walking her over to the bed. Azzi grips at her shoulders, taking in the feeling of Paige all over her. Their kisses turn sloppy as their tongues fight for dominance. This is all Azzi has wanted, but something feels wrong. When her back hits the bed, the voices warning her to stop this come front and center.

Azzi moves her lips off of Paige, which Paige takes as an opportunity to kiss her neck again. Paige is lost in her head, desperately trying to push back all her negative feelings. But any insecurity and doubt she’s ever had is fighting back full force. Azzi is the only thing she’s ever had that is good and pure. She needs all of Azzi. Paige starts to move her hand down to the top of Azzi’s jeans when Azzi’s brain finally catches up with her.

“Paige, stop.”

Paige freezes, her dark blue eyes now looking so lost. “You don’t want this, do you?”

“W-what no, Paige, hold on.”

“Fuck, I’m so stupid,” Paige says with tears ready to fall at any moment and removes herself from Azzi, to sit at the edge of the bed. Of course the one thing Paige thought would always be good in her life, she fucked up too.

“Paige, stop, that’s not it I jus—”

“Azzi, it’s fine. I messed up; no need for you to fix this, too. Just drop it.” Paige feels guilt more than anything now for putting Azzi in this position. She was so desperate to run from her feelings that now she was just hurting herself and her best friend in the process.

“P...”

Azzi isn’t even sure what the right thing to say right now is. She wants to admit her feelings for Paige. Let her know that she’s all she wants, but there’s obviously something going on that she can’t understand.

“I’m sorry for fucking this all up, Azzi,” Paige whispers and drops her head into her hands, resting on her knees.

“Paige, you didn’t fuck anyhting up. Please, just listen to me, baby.”

Paige’s tense shoulders relaxed at the term of endearment as Azzi rubbed her back. Maybe she didn’t totally push her away.

“Look at me, P.” Paige hesitates but finally turns to look at Azzi, feeling some sense of relief and fear at the look in Azzi’s eyes. She’s not sure she can handle any more rejection.

“Paige, please, just talk to me. You’ve been on and off reacting like this all month, overdoing workouts and spending all night in the gym. I want to be here for you, Paigey, but I can’t if you don’t let me in.

Paige lets that sit, really sit. She knows Azzi is right and feels like she's ripping at the seams and trying to hold it all in.

Azzi almost didn’t hear Paige respond with her tear-filled whisper, “I’m not good enough.”

“Oh, Paige, come here.” Azzi opened her arms, and her best friend fell into her, sobbing. “I wish you could see yourself like I do. You’re more than enough, P; you’re everything. People will always have something to say, and half the time, they’re not even right. You constantly have so much pressure on you, so please let me take it off you.”

Azzi lets the older girl sob in her arms. “Let it all out, baby, I’ve got you.”

“I-I’m s-so scared to f-fail.” Paige grips onto Azzi’s shirt like it's her lifeline, desperately trying to catch her breath between her tears.

“It’s okay to fail sometimes, Paige. It’s what makes you stronger. It’s what makes you the Paige we all fell in love with.” The Paige I fell in love with is on the tip of Azzi’s tongue.

“I’m so scared of letting everyone down.” Paige finally looks up at her, with her beautiful bright blue eyes filled with tears streaming down her face.

“I know, love, it’s a lot to hold onto by yourself. Let me hold onto it with you. If you let fear take over your life, you’ll find yourself at the bottom of a hole you dug yourself. We need to find your drive and passion again, and I promise you that the rest will come naturally. You’re never alone as long as I’m here.”

Paige lets her words settle, really taking them in before whispering, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Azzi says softly, cradling Paige’s face. Something about it felt like a promise.

“C’mon, P, let’s get you to bed.”

The girls get in their PJs and slip under the covers.

“Az?” Paige turned to face her best friend.

“Yeah?”

“Can you, uh, c-can you hold me?” This isn’t the confident Paige everyone is used to seeing. This is the Paige only Azzi has the privilege to see.

“Of course, P.” Azzi opened her arms, and Paige immediately shuffled her way into Azzi, grabbing her shirt again for comfort.

“I’m sorry, Az.”

“Don’t be. You’re always my best friend before anything. I’ll always be here for you.” Azzi squeezed her tighter, emphasizing her words.

“Yeah, best friends.” Paige shoved her head further into Azzi’s neck, holding back more tears. Azzi runs her fingers through Paige’s hair and kisses her temple.

“It’s gonna be okay, P.”

Azzi isn’t sure who she's trying to reassure more, Paige or herself.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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wbbfannnnnn13 · 1 month ago

Text

Almost, Always - Chapter 11

paige x azzi

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 -

A/N: Alright readers, I spent all night writing this because I just had to get my ideas on paper for how I want the story to progress... this chapter is turning the corner from angst to hope so for those of you who've been struggling with the last few chapters, here you go! I also wanted to have things go in a positive direction before March Madness starts! I won't be able to continue the series until next week so enjoy this for now :)

WC: 6.1k+

Chapter 11 – Beneath the Noise

Paige had told herself she was fine. Told herself to focus. To compartmentalize. To let the weight of that last call with Azzi slide off her shoulders and leave it on the bench like another piece of gear she didn’t need to carry into game day.

But she wasn’t fine. Not even close.

The words kept looping in her head — just a breather… pause… not from us, just everything else. She kept trying to replay the call in a way that made it feel lighter, like it hadn’t meant what it sounded like. But no matter how she spun it, something in her had shifted. And she couldn’t unfeel it.

She moved through practice like she was underwater — running drills and pushing through reps with practiced intensity — but her mind was always somewhere else. On that call. On Azzi’s voice. On all the things that hadn’t been said.

Her body was moving, but her focus was fractured. Her rhythm was off. She missed a defensive cue during a walkthrough, and Dijonai gave her a look from across the paint. A subtle shake of the head, not annoyed — just clocking it. Paige didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t notice.

She chalked it up to fatigue. Told herself it was the playoffs. Pressure, adrenaline, nerves; nothing new. But deep down, she knew better. This wasn’t just pre-game tension. This was that quiet unraveling she thought she’d gotten past. That ache in her chest had nothing to do with matchups or scouting reports and everything to do with the person she wasn’t sure she still had in her corner.

Later, after practice finished, Paige stood in the training room, ankle wrapped, shoulders tight, zoning out while a trainer walked her through basic stretches she’d done a hundred times. Her body moved on autopilot, but her head wasn’t anywhere in the room.

“You good?” Arike asked from the table beside her, tossing a rolled towel across the floor with her foot.

Paige snapped out of it. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Arike gave her a look that said she didn’t buy it, but didn’t push.

Dijonai chimed in from across the room. “You’ve been tired for three weeks straight. You might wanna switch up the lie.”

“Maybe I just like consistency,” Paige mumbled.

But it wasn’t just tiredness, and everyone knew it. The rumors and the media had worn on her. But it was the pause conversation that really hadn’t sat right with her, no matter how many times she replayed it in her head. She wanted to give Azzi the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to believe it really was just about the noise — the chaos, the timing, the press.

But something about it kept catching in her chest, like a thread snagged on a nail. The way Azzi had said it — Not us. Just everything else. It sounded simple, reasonable. But the more Paige turned it over in her head, the more it twisted. Because how do you hit pause on everything else without creating space between each other? How do you separate the noise from the relationship when the noise had already started bleeding into every part of it?

She tried to shake it off as she finished treatment and headed into film review, but right before she sat down, her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text. From Katie.

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t even thought about what Azzi’s parents must be feeling in the middle of all this. The silence, the tension, the headlines. It had all kept her so focused on Azzi’s absence, on the weight of her own guilt and confusion, that she’d completely overlooked the people who had welcomed her like one of their own. Katie and Tim had just given their blessing for Paige to ask Azzi to marry her. And now, all of that trust was caught in the crossfire. Paige couldn’t shake the thought that they might be questioning her too, wondering what kind of person would put their daughter through this. The idea of disappointing them twisted something deep in her chest.

She pulled her phone out under the table but was quickly interrupted. She didn’t open it. Couldn’t. Not yet. Coach was already talking through matchups, clips rolling on the screen. Paige shoved her phone face-down on her thigh and tried to focus, but the anxiety settled under her skin like static.

She barely registered half of what was said. Her mind was spinning too fast. All she could hear was the looping question: What if they’re disappointed in me too?

When the meeting finally ended, she stepped out into the hallway and opened the message.

KATIE: We’ve seen the headlines. Just wanted you to know we trust you. But we’d love to talk soon. Hope you’re holding up.

Her chest tightened. Trust. The word hit her like a gut punch. It didn’t feel like something she’d earned anymore, not after the way everything had unraveled so fast. Not with the headlines circling, not with Azzi’s silence still echoing in her ears. She wasn’t even sure if she still trusted herself—her instincts, her decisions, the version of love she thought she was offering. It all felt shaky now, like she’d misjudged what they could withstand. And yet, somehow, Katie and Tim still believed in her. Still offered grace. That made it hurt even more.

She stared at her phone, thumb hovering, pulse pounding in her ears. But this time, she didn’t hesitate. She owed them that much. She owed Azzi that much. Without giving herself another second to spiral, she stepped outside, thumb pressed the call button, and brought the phone to her ear.

Katie picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hey,” Paige said quietly, then paused. “Thanks for the message.”

“We just wanted you to know where we stand. We’ve talked to Azzi a lot, but we wanted to hear from you too.”

“I get it.” She paused, throat tightening. “Actually… I was going to tell you this before everything blew up. That woman I was seen with—the one in the photo outside the restaurant? She wasn’t some random girl. She’s an event planner. I was meeting with her to start planning a proposal. I already have the ring.”

The words sat heavy between them, even over the phone. Paige exhaled slowly, her voice softer now. “That was the whole reason I was there. I didn’t say anything because I wanted it to be a surprise. But then everything happened, and now it looks like something it wasn’t. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain things to her without ruining everything… I hate that she might’ve thought—” Her voice broke off before she could finish the sentence. “It just… it wasn’t what it looked like.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Katie’s voice came through, warm but steadier than before.

“Oh, honey.”

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t disappointment. Just understanding, layered with something maternal and unshakeably kind.

“You should’ve led with that,” Katie said gently. “Tim and I… we didn’t believe the rumors, not really. But we also knew Azzi would need time to sort through how it looked. You know how much she loves you. But this obviously clears a lot up.”

Paige swallowed hard, feeling the burn behind her eyes now. “I didn’t mean for it to fall apart like this.”

“It hasn’t,” Katie said. “You’re still in it. You’re still trying. And she sees that even if she hasn’t said it yet. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Paige sighed. “She asked to pause things. I don’t even know what that means, not really. But it’s been in my head ever since.”

“Did she say she wanted space from you?”

“No. But it felt like it.”

Katie paused. “Paige, I know it’s messy right now, but Azzi loves you. And you know her. You know how much she overthinks everything. She’s just scared.”

“I’m scared too.”

“I know,” Katie said gently. “But don’t let that fear rewrite everything you already know about each other. Just hold steady.”

Paige didn’t say anything, but her grip on the phone tightened. “Thanks for not thinking the worst of me.”

“We’ve seen how you love her. We’ve never questioned that.”

When the call ended, Paige stayed on the bench outside for a while, phone resting loosely in her hand. The ring lingered in her thoughts, heavier than before—not because she questioned it, but because she still believed in what it represented. Even if Azzi wasn’t ready yet, she was. And that belief, steady and unshaken, was its own kind of weight.

______________________________________________________________

Azzi’s phone rang later that night. Her mom’s name lit up the screen, and for a moment, she just stared at it. Not because she didn’t want to answer, but because she already knew what this call was going to be. There’d been a lot of these lately. Quiet check-ins, gentle nudges, and moments where Katie and Tim tried to be supportive without overstepping.

She’d talked to them more in the last few weeks than she had in months. Sometimes just for a few minutes between practices, sometimes for longer stretches at night when she couldn’t sleep and needed to hear a voice that felt like home. Katie always knew when to push and when to simply listen. Tim didn’t say much, but when he did, it stuck. They’d been her grounding force through all the noise.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. Just checking in.”

Azzi could hear the edge in her mother’s voice — careful, but purposeful, like she was threading each word through a filter. The kind of tone Katie used when she didn’t want to push too hard, but still had something to say. It wasn’t scolding, just… intentional. And that alone made Azzi’s stomach knot a little tighter.

She wondered how much Katie already knew. Not just from the internet — but from Paige. Her mom had been vague on their last few calls, asking how she was holding up, encouraging her to stay focused, but never outright bringing up the rumors or her relationship with Paige. But tonight, something in her voice felt different. Like she wasn’t just checking in — she was steering toward something.

Azzi could picture her mom sitting at the kitchen counter, phone in one hand, concern in her eyes. The way she always had that soft tension in her posture when she was holding back just enough to let Azzi come forward first. She’d done it all through high school, through college, through draft night. She never pried. But she always knew. Always had a way of seeing what Azzi was struggling to say before she even found the words herself.

And Azzi had a feeling she wasn’t going to get through this call without facing at least one of those things.

“I’m fine,” Azzi said, even though it wasn’t entirely true.

“Are you?”

Azzi sighed softly. “I don’t know.”

Katie let that hang for a moment, not rushing to fill the silence.

“I know things have been... intense,” she said carefully. “And I know you’re trying to keep your head down and focus, but I also know you. You carry things quietly, even when they’re heavy. I just don’t want you trying to carry this alone.”

Azzi’s fingers curled tighter around the phone.

“There’s a lot I’m still trying to sort out,” she said finally. “And I feel like every time I get a grip on one part of it, something else spins out.”

Katie’s voice softened. “That’s fair. But I hope you’re giving Paige a little grace in all of this too.”

Azzi stilled. “You talked to her.”

Katie didn’t answer right away. “We’ve been in touch here and there,” she said carefully, not confirming too much. “But more than that, we’ve just been thinking about you both. Watching all of this unfold from the sidelines hasn’t exactly been easy.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“I’m not here to tell you how to feel,” Katie said. “But I will remind you of one thing — you know her. Better than anyone. Better than the internet. Better than whatever headline people want to run with next. And I know you’ve had your doubts lately, but I also know what that girl has meant to you for a long time.”

Azzi closed her eyes. The weight of that truth settled hard.

Katie continued, gentler now. “You told us once that you’d never let fear be the thing that breaks you two apart. So don’t let it start now. And for the love of God, stop reading the comment sections. Focus on your game. Focus on your team. And, if I may suggest — beat her ass on the court. Nicely, of course.”

That pulled a quiet laugh out of Azzi, even as her throat tightened.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, baby.”

Azzi stayed on the line a few seconds longer after her mom hung up, listening to the silence, as if the weight of Katie’s words hadn’t fully settled yet. She finally set the phone on the nightstand, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands loosely clasped.

Her mom was right. She always had a way of cutting straight through the noise and saying the exact thing Azzi needed to hear, even when Azzi didn’t want to hear it.

But that didn’t mean it made everything easier.

Her mom had been the one to first ask the hard questions. What are you really afraid of? Is it Paige? Or is it everything around her?

And Azzi hadn’t known how to answer.

Because it wasn’t Paige. It had never really been Paige. It was everything else. The spotlight. The scrutiny. The exposure that seemed to stretch beyond what either of them had signed up for. She thought she could handle it — had told herself she could. But the past few weeks had made her wonder if she’d underestimated just how much pressure came with loving someone whose name was always in the headlines.

And worse, she hated that somewhere along the way, that pressure had started to reshape how she looked at Paige. She didn’t want to admit that, even to herself. But it had. Not because she stopped loving her — that hadn’t changed — but because the weight of what came with her had started to feel overwhelming.

Now, her mom’s voice echoed in her head again. You know her. Better than anyone. Better than the Internet.

Azzi exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. She did know her. That was the part that hurt the most. Because if she stripped away the noise, the fear, and the headlines — she still believed in who Paige was. Still believed in what they had. Still believed that, deep down, nothing about that had changed.

She just wasn’t sure if she’d waited too long to say that out loud.

______________________________________________________________

The cameras were already set up when Paige stepped into the media room. Rows of chairs, light panels, boom mics — the usual chaos disguised as routine. She’d done this so many times before, but today everything felt different. The air felt tighter. The noise a little louder. Like everyone was waiting for her to slip.

She adjusted her warmup jacket and took her seat at the podium alongside a couple of teammates. Her knee bounced under the table. She told herself to relax, to focus, to treat this like any other presser.

But it wasn’t any other presser. Not after the last few weeks. Not with her relationship suddenly turned into a headline, a thread for people to pull at.

She knew what was coming before it hit.

At first, the questions were light. Basketball stuff. Matchups, adjustments, scouting reports. She answered them easily, slipping into her polished media voice without much effort.

Then came the pivot.

“Paige, there's been a lot of outside attention lately — off the court. How are you balancing the media noise with the playoff pressure?”

Her stomach tightened. Not unexpected. Just unwelcome.

She leaned toward the mic. “I’m focused on our team and this series. That’s where my head is. That’s what matters right now.”

It was measured. Safe. But the follow-up came fast.

“Are you and Azzi still together?”

The question hung there, heavier than the others. For a split second, Paige thought about deflecting. Thought about the way Azzi had said pause, about the ache that had followed. But she caught herself.

She took a breath. “We’ve both agreed to keep our focus on basketball right now. That’s all I’m going to say.”

She didn’t let her voice crack. Didn’t let the weight of it show. But inside, it rattled. Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure what pause really meant. And it didn’t help that the world was trying to figure it out right alongside her.

The next few questions blurred together — more about rotations, shot selection, and playoff intensity. She answered them all, steady, professional. But she felt her focus splitting, pulled between the words she said and the thoughts clawing at the back of her mind.

When the presser wrapped, Paige was the first to stand. She muttered a quiet thanks to the media staff and stepped off the stage. Her phone buzzed the second she hit the tunnel.

One new message.

AZZI: Just saw some of the clips from your presser. You handled it well. Thanks for not feeding into it.

Paige stared at the screen for a second, thumb hovering.

Then she typed.

PAIGE: I meant what I said. I didn’t dodge those questions because I’m scared. I just didn’t want to make it worse for you. For us.

A moment passed.

Then another buzz.

AZZI: I know. I appreciate it. I really do.

Paige’s shoulders dropped a little. Not relief exactly, but something close. It didn’t fix everything. It didn’t answer all the questions still tangled between them.

But it was something.

She looked back toward the court. Walkthroughs were starting soon. Azzi would be arriving soon too. For the first time in weeks, they’d be in the same room again.

And she wasn’t sure if that thought steadied her — or unraveled her more.

______________________________________________________________

Walkthrough was already underway by the time Paige laced up and jogged back onto the court. Coaches were running through sets, players scattered across the floor, music humming low through the arena speakers. The energy felt different now—focused, sharp, like every player could feel the stakes rising just beneath the surface.

But Paige couldn’t get her head to settle.

She kept replaying Azzi’s message. The texts had been short, kind, supportive even. But there was something she couldn’t shake—like she was reading between lines that didn’t exist, searching for something more than what was actually there. It left her off balance. Like trying to catch her footing on a floor that kept tilting under her.

“Yo,” Arike said, falling into step beside her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, quick, too quick.

Arike raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because you’ve run the wrong play twice now and you just tried to screen NaLyssa by accident.”

Paige gave a half-laugh, scrubbing a hand down her face. “I’m locking in, don’t worry.”

Arike didn’t press, just clapped her shoulder and jogged ahead. But Paige could feel the glance that lingered.

She turned back toward the half-court line, just in time to see the other team walk into the gym.

The Mystics.

And Azzi.

Her breath caught for a second—just enough to make her chest tighten.

Azzi was wearing her warmups, hair pulled back, talking with one of her coaches. She looked relaxed. Composed. Like everything wasn’t tangled in knots behind the scenes. Like none of this was weighing on her at all.

Paige stood still, trying not to stare, but her eyes kept locking on Azzi anyway.

Azzi turned, just slightly, and their gazes met.

It was just a moment. Just one look across a crowded court.

But it felt like something.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Didn’t wave. But she offered a small smile. Soft. Careful.

Paige didn’t know what to do with it.

She smiled back—tentative, unsure—and raised a hand in a low wave. Azzi nodded once, then turned her attention back to her team.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Paige stood there a second longer, caught in the afterglow of it, then turned back to her own bench.

Her heart was still beating too fast.

She didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know if it meant anything at all. But it stirred something in her chest—a flicker of warmth, the smallest crack in all the weight she’d been carrying.

______________________________________________________________

Azzi felt Paige’s eyes before she even saw her.

She had walked into the arena with her teammates, nodding along to whatever Aaliyah was saying about defensive switches, but her body was buzzing with something else entirely—nerves, adrenaline, maybe both. She didn’t want to admit how much she’d been dreading this moment, or how much she’d rehearsed it in her head.

When she glanced across the court and found Paige standing near the half-court line, her heart stuttered.

There she was. Fully in it now. Paige’s shoulders squared, jersey half-tucked, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, every inch of her locked in. Except for her eyes. Those still softened when they met Azzi’s.

For a second, the rest of the gym faded.

Paige raised a hand in a quiet wave—tentative, cautious. Azzi offered a small smile in return. Not out of politeness. Out of instinct. She wasn’t even sure what it meant. It was just… there.

Then she turned away, pretending to re-focus on warmups.

But her pulse didn’t settle.

Back in the locker room, the pregame energy was humming. Shoes squeaked across the floor. Someone was blasting a hype playlist from the speaker in the corner. Coaches rotated through, giving reminders, and calling out rotations. It all felt familiar—ritualistic, grounding.

Azzi sat at her locker, tugging on her shooting sleeve, letting the noise wrap around her like armor.

So she laced her shoes tighter and kept moving.

As they stepped out of the tunnel, her heart was pounding hard enough to hear. The arena lights were blinding at first, the crowd already buzzing with anticipation. Azzi scanned the stands, then the court, then—inevitably—Paige.

She didn’t even have to look hard. Paige was always magnetic that way.

They lined up for warmups, separated only by a stretch of hardwood and tension. The distance between them felt small and enormous all at once.

Azzi went through her routine—corner threes, pull-ups, a few easy finishes at the rim—but her mind kept flicking sideways. Catching glimpses of Paige out of the corner of her eye. The way she moved, the way she carried herself—sharp, precise, controlled. But Azzi could still see the flicker of weight in her posture. Like Paige was trying to burn it off with every drill.

They didn’t speak. Not here. Not yet.

Then came tip-off.

Azzi took her position on the wing, bouncing on the balls of her feet, adrenaline prickling beneath her skin. Across from her, Paige settled into her stance. Their eyes met once more, just briefly. Something unreadable passed between them.

The whistle blew.

And everything snapped into motion.

Azzi ran hard. Cut sharper than usual. She wanted—no, needed—to lose herself in the rhythm of the game. But even as plays unfolded, she felt Paige like a shadow. Every possession carried more weight, every screen more impact. It wasn’t personal—not in the basketball sense—but it was personal in every other way.

At one point during a timeout, Azzi reached for her water bottle and happened to glance toward the opposing bench. Paige was already looking at her.

Neither of them looked away.

It was nothing. But it wasn’t.

Late in the third, they collided on a drive. Paige came around a screen, attacking the lane with force, and Azzi rotated over just in time to take the hit. Their bodies crashed in a tangle of movement—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip—before Azzi absorbed the blow, stumbled a step, and kept her balance. The contact wasn’t malicious, but it was hard. Sharp enough to rattle. Sharp enough to remind them both that this wasn’t just basketball, not really.

They didn’t say anything. Just a flick of eye contact—quick, searching, loaded. Not anger, not apology, just something unspoken hanging between them.

And then, as they passed each other in transition, Paige reached out, almost without thinking. Just a brush of her fingers against Azzi’s forearm—light, fleeting, but deliberate. A grounding gesture. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Azzi to feel it. Enough to say: I’m still here.

Azzi didn’t turn. Didn’t react. But her hand flexed at her side once, just slightly. As if holding onto something that wasn’t quite gone.

The game stayed tight until the final minutes, every possession tense, every rebound fought for like it meant something more than just points on the board. The crowd was loud, energy vibrating through the arena with each shift in momentum. Azzi had just knocked down a corner jumper to tie it, and for a moment, the noise felt like thunder.

But then Paige took over.

First, a step-back three from the wing — clean, high arc, net barely moving as it dropped through. A dagger. The kind of shot that made defenders sag just a little slower the next time down. The kind of shot that said: this game’s mine.

Then a steal. Anticipation, instinct, pure reflex — she jumped the passing lane and took off down the court before anyone else had reacted. She didn’t even glance at the defender trailing her. Just gathered, exploded toward the rim, and finished clean at the glass.

The next play, she didn’t shoot at all. She drew two defenders on a drive, then slung a no-look pass to the corner, right into her teammate’s hands. Catch, release, three. The crowd erupted. Her bench did too — leaping to their feet, arms thrown in the air as the scoreboard ticked forward.

Azzi pushed to close the gap, digging in on every possession, chasing shooters off screens, crashing the boards harder, sprinting the full length of the court like sheer effort could will her team back into it. She called for the ball more, drove harder into the lane, fought through contact that left bruises blooming under her jersey. But every time she got them within striking distance, Paige answered — another stop, another smart pass, another moment of composure that tilted the momentum back.

Azzi felt the seconds bleeding off the clock, too fast, too unforgiving. She barked instructions during timeouts, clenched her jaw tighter with each missed opportunity, tried to rally her team with defiance in her voice even when exhaustion pressed down on her legs like lead.

But it wasn’t enough.

The gap stayed just out of reach, widening slightly with each possession that didn’t go their way. And as the final minute ticked down, Azzi knew it. She could feel the weight of it settling into her chest — not from the loss alone, but from everything wrapped inside it.

When the final buzzer sounded, the Wings had taken Game 1.

Azzi walked toward the tunnel without lingering. She didn’t go looking for Paige, didn’t scan the court. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she wasn’t sure what she’d say if their eyes met again.

______________________________________________________________

Paige watched as Azzi walked off the court without a word. Just a quick postgame handshake—brief, automatic, the kind they’d given each other a hundred times before. No smile. No lingering glance. Just contact, then gone.

It hit harder than the final buzzer.

She stayed frozen near half-court for a few seconds longer than necessary, caught in the slow unraveling of something she couldn’t name. Her teammates were celebrating around her, high-fives and towels and laughter echoing in her ears, but Paige couldn’t hear any of it.

All she could hear was the silence Azzi left behind.

By the time she made it to the locker room, the headlines had already started flooding her phone. Push notifications stacking one after another.

“Paige and Azzi: Over?” “Mystery Girl Resurfaces After Game One.” “Is Paige Bueckers a Cheater?” “No Postgame Interaction Between Bueckers and Fudd.”

It was relentless.

Paige stared at the screen for a second, then tossed her phone onto the bench like it burned.

The worst part was that it didn’t even surprise her anymore. This was what the world did—took what was complicated and cracked it wide open, let strangers dissect every gesture, every silence, every clipped expression. Turned emotion into clickbait.

She showered in silence, barely listening to the music thumping in the background. Her teammates were in good spirits—celebrating the win, hyped about the series lead—but Paige felt detached, like her body was still moving through the motions while her mind stayed stuck in that moment on the court. The part where Azzi walked away like they were strangers.

When she got back to her apartment, the quiet was deafening. She didn’t turn on the TV. Didn’t even take off her jacket right away. She sat on the edge of her couch, elbows on her knees, head in her hands, trying not to let it all feel like a sign.

She thought of the ring again, still tucked away in that drawer. And she hated how distant that version of her now felt—the one who had picked it out with a steady heart and a sure mind. The one who believed they’d find their way through anything.

She thought she’d be that person forever. Now she wasn’t sure.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it at first, assuming it was more headlines or group chat chaos. But then it buzzed again. And again.

When she finally looked over, her breath caught.

Azzi. FaceTime Incoming.

Paige blinked, almost not believing it. For a second, she just stared at the screen, unsure whether to answer. Unsure what this meant.

But her fingers moved on instinct. She picked up.

Azzi’s face appeared, her hoodie pulled up, hair tied back messily. Behind her, the dim lighting of the hotel room cast everything in a warm, muted glow — the edge of a suitcase half-zipped on the bed, a pair of sneakers kicked off by the door, a TV playing quietly in the background, forgotten. She looked a little worn down, a little rumpled from the day, but still entirely herself — the kind of familiar that made something in Paige’s chest settle, even if just for a second.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

Paige’s chest tightened. “Hey.”

There was a pause. A beat too long. The kind of silence that used to be comfortable between them, now edged with uncertainty.

“I saw the headlines,” Azzi said, voice low. “I figured you probably did too.”

Paige let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Hard to miss.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I didn’t mean to walk off like that. I was frustrated—at the game, at myself, at everything. It wasn’t about you.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it off, even though her voice cracked a little. “Didn’t look that way.”

“I know,” Azzi said, softer now. “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passed between them.

Paige swallowed. “You FaceTimed.”

Azzi gave the faintest smile. “Yeah. I didn’t want that to be the last thing between us tonight.”

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just full. Full of everything they hadn’t said.

Azzi shifted, her voice quieter now. “I know I said let’s take a breather… but I didn’t mean from you. I meant everything else. The noise. The questions. The pressure.” She exhaled slowly. “I’m still in this with you, P. I never wasn’t. I love you. I just… I needed to come up for air. And I want us to talk through it all, just not while we’re in the middle of this series.”

Paige’s jaw tensed for a second, but then softened. She nodded slowly, eyes not leaving Azzi’s. “I get it. Even if it’s not what I wanted to hear. I do get it.”

“I hated how that call ended,” Azzi said. “It’s been messing with me. I should’ve said more, said it better. You didn’t deserve the confusion.”

“You didn’t deserve to feel like you had to carry everything alone,” Paige said. “I should’ve checked in with you differently too. I just… I’ve been so afraid of losing you, I didn’t want to push.”

“You’re not losing me,” Azzi said firmly. “You never were.”

Paige let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her smile came slow, small, a little worn around the edges. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Azzi winced, then gave a sheepish smile. “Okay… fair. I deserved that.”

“I mean, you ghost me,” Paige said, shifting slightly on her couch, her hand rubbing at the back of her neck. “You drop a vague ‘pause’ speech mid-FaceTime, then walk off the court like we’ve never shared a toothbrush.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, half amused. “We’ve never shared a toothbrush.”

Paige tilted her head, a smirk already forming. “As far as you know.”

Azzi recoiled, nose scrunching in mock horror. “Oh my god. That’s disgusting. Please tell me you’re joking.”

Paige just shrugged, expression unreadable. “Guess you’ll never know.”

Azzi groaned, shaking her head, but her laughter broke through anyway. “That’s actually vile. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“But you still love me,” Paige said, her voice dipping into a familiar, teasing lilt.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ll take it,” Paige said softly. This time, her smile wasn’t just playful. It was warm. Real. The kind of smile that crept up from somewhere deeper.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was full in a different way, layered with everything they hadn’t quite figured out how to say yet. Not resolution, not closure. But something.

“I’ll see you in D.C.,” Paige said after a moment, her voice quieter now, but still carrying that steady undercurrent of hope.

Azzi nodded. “You better bring your A-game.”

“Oh, I will,” Paige said, grin sharpening again. “Just try not to get too distracted out there.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “By what, your step-back jumper?”

Paige smirked. “Nah. More like these arms. I’ve been putting in serious time in the weight room.”

She turned her phone slightly, angling the camera to flex her bicep, putting on an exaggerated show. “Check it out — peak athleticism.”

Azzi burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Please. That’s barely a muscle.”

Paige grinned. “You weren’t saying that last summer.”

Azzi blinked, then laughed harder. “You’re delusional.”

“Mmhmm. Sure,” Paige said, letting the silence stretch just long enough to let the teasing land. “I’m just saying, don’t blame me when you start bricking shots because you’re distracted by these babies.”

Azzi shook her head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

Azzi sighed dramatically. “So inconvenient.”

Paige grinned. “Tell me about it,” she said, playful but softer now, eyes holding just a little more weight. “You keep loving me anyway.”

The words slipped out casual, easy—but there was something truer behind them. A quiet acknowledgment, a thread of understanding that ran deeper than the teasing. And for a split second, Azzi caught it—realized what she’d just admitted. What Paige had gently pointed back to. But instead of pulling away from it, she let it sit between them, unspoken but known.

And the moment rolled forward, lighter than it had been a minute ago, but heavier in meaning than either of them said out loud, neither one rushing to end the call. The tension between them hadn’t vanished completely, but something gentler had moved in—something that felt like a step back toward solid ground.

When the screen finally went dark, Paige sat there for a moment, staring at the reflection of herself in the blank screen. Her fingers still hovered near the phone, like she didn’t quite want to let go of the moment yet. The ache in her chest hadn’t disappeared, but something in her felt steadier now—like maybe she wasn’t the only one still trying.

For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like she was chasing something that was already slipping away. It felt like Azzi was still there, reaching back. Not all the way, not yet, but enough.

Paige leaned back against the couch, letting herself exhale fully for the first time all day. The rest of the short series would still be brutal. The media would still stir things up. And there were still conversations they hadn’t had yet…

But the way Azzi had smiled. The way she’d said You’re not losing me. The way she still knew how to tease her like nothing had changed, even when everything had.

It gave her something to hold onto.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #azzi fudd #paige bueckers

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vorfreudevortex · 19 days ago

Text

Fake It 'Til We Make It

-`♡´- Epilogue

-`♡´- a chaptered smau series featuring: editorial assistant!ino x copy editor!fem!reader

warnings // 3.1k words/11 min. read - cussing, mostly fluff, mentions of drinking alcohol and smoking...

kinda nsfw? idk how to tag this: he fingers you but it's not super graphic, and ends with a heavy suggestion that y'all are gonna bang, either way it's MDNI

author's notes // thanks for reading my lovelies <3 ilysm

11 // series masterlist // my masterlist

one year later...

“You almost done?” Takuma, wearing a goofy grin, stands in the doorway of the bathroom. Behind him on the floor are a few boxes, still half full from when you moved into his apartment 3 weeks ago. “I can’t tell if my tie is straight or not.”

You glance at him through the mirror, painted lips cracking into a wide smile as you see just how ridiculously crooked his tie is. You can’t help but giggle as you walk over to him, your long dress fluttering as you do.

“Now you’re not even trying to hide it,” You say, unraveling the messy tie. His hands immediately find your waist. Takuma looks almost proud as he smiles down at you, eyes on your lipstick rather than your nimble fingers.

“I never said I was, it’s not my fault you tie it better than I do,” He counters. His thumbs knead into the fat of your hips. “You look pretty. Like, really pretty.”

“Thank you, Kuma,” You blush, glancing up to his big brown eyes that are focused on nothing but you. You finish tying his silk tie, which stands out nicely from the rest of his suit. “You’re gonna be the most handsome guy at the party tonight.”

Takuma just hums. “Nanami would agree,” you add. “But maybe not after I tell him that you don’t know how to tie a tie yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” He feigns a dramatic gasp. You both laugh as you straighten his tie one last time. Takuma leans in, but pouts when you pull away.

“You’ll be covered in my lipstick,” You caution. He just scoffs.

“Like I’m afraid of some stupid lipstick on my face,” He answers, and presses a deep kiss to the center of your lips. And again. And again. “I love you, you know.”

The familiar words still never fail to make your head feel light and airy.

“I know, Kuma,” You smile. “I love you, too.”

+++++++++++++++

You couldn’t keep your eyes off your boyfriend the entire drive to the venue. He looked so handsome, in his new suit and fresh haircut. “I need to look my absolute best for Nanami’s retirement party,” He had insisted. The only thing he had talked about for the past 2 weeks was the party, without even one mention of his big promotion to replace Nanami’s position.

The perfectly tailored suit, $100 haircut, and $500 leather dress shoes had nothing to do with making a good impression on the executives and investors at the party either, but everything had to be to Nanami’s hypothetical standards. “Do you really think Nanami will like the black shoes?” He had doubted in the middle of the store. “But he always wears brown!”

“Ready?” Takuma grinned as he pulled the car before the valet.

“Not yet,” You muttered. You pulled him in and planted a deep kiss just below his ear, and weaseled a small gift into his hand that had been on your thigh. “Now I’m ready.”

“What is that?”

Takuma’s eyes nearly pop from his skull as he unfurls your gift. His face turns bright red as he stares at the fabric. “Y-Your panties—”

He’s cut off by a knock on the window. The valet smiles unknowingly and Takuma hurriedly shoves your underwear into his suit pocket. Your cheeks hurt with how wide you’re smiling at his reaction. He fumbles the door open and greets the valet.

“R-Right, sorry! Okay…” He stammers. “What? Oh! K-Keys. Of course, my car keys. Here! Ahem, sorry. Thanks so much.”

Takuma scampers over to your side and helps you from the car. He mutters something under his breath as he pulls you tightly into his side, a protective hand on the small of your back.

“Ready?” You innocently look up to him, but more specifically to the lipstick stain you left below his ear that Takuma has no clue about.

“How am I supposed to be able to focus on anything tonight knowing I have your underwear in my pocket?” He swallows hard, still refusing to meet your eyes as he leads you inside. “When did you even get them off?”

“What are you talking about?” You tease, smiling at the doormen as you pass by.

“They’re still warm,” Takuma says through gritted teeth.

“Oh, look!” You point towards Gojo, who stands beside his husband as he makes a few company executives laugh. “There’s Gojo and Geto. Let’s go say hi!”

“God, help me.”

+++++++++++++++

“It’s really nothing special,” Takuma persists, reluctantly handing over the small velvet box.

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up,” You add nervously.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Nanami smiles, carefully taking hold of the gift. He seems to be happier than ever at the party, even though it’s known how much he despises events like this. But, the party is for him, and he gets to have his wife by his side, who curiously peers over after flashing you and Takuma reassuring smiles.

“Oh.”

Nanami stares down at the box, which holds a glittering, expensive watch that you and Takuma had spent weeks saving up for. Don’t get it wrong, JJ&K paid you both well, but this watch was something neither you or your boyfriend imagined to ever have on a bank statement in your life. Actually, both of your banks had even called to ask if you had had your cards stolen right after the purchase, as if to rub it in more.

“Takuma…” Nanami trails off. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Takuma responds sheepishly. “We just wanted to thank you for everything. You were the best boss we could wish for, and we wanted to make sure to get you something nice to say goodbye.”

“Both of you?”

“Yup,” Takuma pulls you in close. You flash a blushing smile at Nanami. He falters for a moment, then stands and engulfs both you and Takuma in a rare, surprising hug.

“Thank you, both of you, so much,” He says, and your heart swells. You’re going to miss him so much. Nanami places a strong hand on Takuma’s shoulder and looks him directly in the eyes. “I have no doubt that you’ll make a wonderful Senior Editor. There is no better replacement.”

You can tell Takuma is exploding with gratitude and praise. You all continue to chat for a while before others from the company make their way up to Nanami to say their regards. You both promise to talk later and excuse yourselves away.

“He called me Takuma!” Your boyfriend excitedly whispers.

“Of course he did,” You giggle, pinching his arm through his suit jacket. “You know he loves you like a son.”

“I’m going to pass out, I think.”

+++++++++++++++

You sit at an elegant, linen-covered table with Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, who won’t stop complaining that Gojo obviously organized this as the “kid’s table.” You’re all full from the fancy catered dinner and bubbles from the never-ending champagne as you chat and laugh away.

The only concern on your mind is the fact that the seat next to you has been empty for quite a while now, with Takuma nowhere to be seen. That is, until Shoko slides into his chair, looking beautiful in her gown.

“So, where’s Ino?” She asks you. The others continue chatting away.

“I haven’t seen him in forever,” You playfully roll your eyes. “I was hoping you would know.”

“I wanted to talk to him more about his new role, but I guess it’ll have to wait.”

“I figured he was outside smoking a celebratory cigarette with you or something, but I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” You laugh.

“Maybe you’ll just have to replace him.”

“You’re going to have to get me much drunker before I accept another gross cigarette from you.”

Shoko hums, a sly look on her face before she leans in, voice low in your ear. “I hear that they’re creating a new team to help handle the company’s workload, which means a new list of potential Senior Editors is being made.”

You cock an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘hear’? You’re the head publisher, don’t you make all the decisions around here?”

Shoko ignores you. “I also heard your name is at the top of that list.”

You both just stare at each other, your eyes wide, and hers smug. Heartbeat racing, you can’t help but crack a wide smile. “I see…”

“So, you know,” she leans back in the chair, eyes glittering under the chandelier above the table. “I thought I would double-check that information with you before I signed off on the official offer letter on Monday.”

“How savvy of you,” You giggle. “Consider it double-checked.”

You see Takuma approaching the table out of the corner of your eye. Shoko does too. She stands and holds her champagne glass out. “See you Monday?” She winks.

“Bright and early!” And you cheers your glass against hers.

As soon as she leaves, Takuma is replacing her, almost knocking over your drink as he sits down. He’s flushed, breathless, and has a few strands of hair sticking out.

“Are you okay? Where have you been?”

“You have to take these back,” He pants, digging in his suit pocket. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“No! Don’t you dare take those out at the table,” You whisper. He grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest. He looks like he just ran a marathon, and his big brown eyes hold a sense of helplessness.

“Please, pretty,” He whines. “I’ve made, like, six trips to the bathroom tonight and I think people are starting to notice that I’m not even peeing when I’m in there.”

“What?” You ask. “What have you been doing in there?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing in there?”

You pause, taking in his disheveled appearance and fiery red cheeks. He’s like a begging dog beneath your feet at the dinner table. You try your hardest not to, but a goofy smile spreads on your cheeks.

“You’re awful.”

“It’s not my fault—”

“—You could’ve ignored them—”

“—How could I possibly—”

“—Don’t you dare go back to the bathrooms tonight—”

“—You would do the same—”

“—I haven’t even done anything to you—”

“—Don’t even start that with me—”

“—You need to fix your pants before someone sees—”

“—YOU fix it—”

“What are you two bickering about?”

You whip your head around to see Gojo and Geto standing before you, both of them looking sharp in their coordinated suits and fresh glasses of champagne in their hands.

“Oh! It’s so good to see you two!” You smile innocently.

“The lovebirds aren’t even going to stand up to greet their boss and his guest?” Gojo teases, the whites of his bright smile are infectious.

“Please don’t make me stand up right now,” Takuma mutters under his breath, the tips of his ears burning bright red as he avoids their eyes.

“What was that?”

“Oh! Takuma just got way too drunk and isn’t feeling very good,” You lie with a smile, wrestling your hand out of his grip, which was coincidentally helping to cover a very specific area on his lap. You stand hastily and engulf Gojo in a big hug, and his husband with a polite handshake and bow.

“Right…”

+++++++++++++++

The rest of the evening is full of tipsy chatter and delicious food in ridiculously small portions. Yuji and Takuma get roped into talking about vacation homes with Nanami and some other executives, a topic that’s quite out of their realm. Shoko gossips with Gojo and Nobara about which investor is actually broke and who is cheating with who. They had dragged you and Megumi into the conversation, which you immediately leaned into while Megumi sat bored and scowling.

There’s a point where you find Takuma’s warm hand crawling around your waist with the whispered words, “Come with me.”

You should’ve known better.

He leads you to a private bathroom, swiftly locking the door behind him before pushing you up against the wall. Takuma’s erratic hands grab at your dress and body while warm lips attack yours and down your neck.

“Kuma!” You exhale, surprised at the sudden endeavor.

“I missed you,” He pants between the suckles on your collarbone. Your hands grip the lapel of his suit jacket and the nape of his neck.

“I’ve been right here the whole time—” Takuma quickly shushes you before turning and lifting you onto the sink’s countertop. He pulls up and bunches the length of your skirt at your waist. You gasp when he grabs your hips and pulls them into his with a long, rough grind.

“Fuck, I just can’t get enough of you,” He breathes, reattaching his lips to yours, still trying to pull you impossibly closer. “Almost forgot you’re not wearing anything under there.”

“Won’t someone notice us gone?”

“Don’t care.”

A particular grind where the fly of his pants meets your core just right sends your inhibitions flying. “Kuma…”

He lets out a low groan before wrapping your legs up around his waist and leaning you back against the mirror. Your boyfriend’s buzzing lips are everywhere at once— your face, your jaw, your neck, chest and collarbone. You’re almost dizzy from his fluttering grabs and touches on your inner thigh before you feel a long swipe against your sensitive bud.

“Already?” He asks with a goofy grin when he feels your wetness.

“Don’t tease me!” You whine, cheeks flushed and hot. Takuma just laughs before putting his lips back on yours, adamant about making you fall apart on his fingers as he slides them in.

You’re so so close when you hear the muffled sound of a microphone announcing the beginning of the speeches. Of course, your secret rendezvous in the bathroom is cut short.

“Takuma,” you pant, weakly pushing him away. “T-They’re starting.”

“No no no, not yet,” He whines. “You’re so close, I can feel it.”

“They’re gonna catch us—”

“—I don’t care. Not one bit.”

“You have to go…” Your eyes screw shut with a gasp as you tightly grip the sleeve of his jacket, leaving it creased and wrinkled, but neither of you care.

“Just let go, pretty,” Takuma begs softly in your ear. “Please? Please? For me?”

That alone is enough for you to shatter. You’re a blushing, trembling, gasping mess as you’re tangled with Takuma on the counter, letting his little praises and long fingers guide you through it.

Both of you freeze when you hear his name announced over the speakers in the other room. Takuma is quick to pull your dress down and kiss you before stammering out apologies and darting out of the bathroom. You’re fast too, fixing yourself in the mirror before slipping out as discreetly as you can.

He looks so handsome on the small stage. The bright lights illuminate his wide eyes and smile, and the microphone helps boom out that voice you love so dearly. Nanami stands next to him with a small but proud smile, as well as a shy look as his protégé gushes about how wonderful his superior was throughout the years.

No one notices as you return to your chair, quietly sliding in next to Nobara as Yuji and Megumi look on at the stage. Takuma enchants the room with carefully chosen words about Nanami, it leaves your heart soaring for the both of them. You spot Nanami’s wife across the room, smiling brightly with delighted tears in her eyes.

When Takuma’s finished, the room fills with applause and Nanami engulfs him in a long, warm hug. He finds his way back to you after Gojo takes the microphone, ignoring Yuji and Megumi’s praises to plant a warm kiss on your lips.

“You’re amazing,” You murmur, taking note of the glittering mischief in his eyes from your time in the bathroom. “I love you.”

+++++++++++++++

Takuma’s quick to get you in the car as soon as the event is over and the goodbyes have been said. You’re chatting like normal as he tugs and loosens his tie, making your stomach tumble. You lean over, gently grab his jaw, and press a soft kiss to his cheek. It matches the lipstick stain you left earlier in the night.

“What’s that for?” He smiles.

“No reason. I just love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not true.”

“I’ll show you the moment we get place to our place.”

“Our place?”

Takuma looks at you with nothing but love in his eyes. “Of course, pretty. You live with me now. It’s not my place anymore, it’s ours.”

He keeps his word— the moment Takuma has the apartment door locked behind you, he’s snatching you up and leading you to his your bedroom. Both of your giggles fill the room as he lays you down on the soft sheets and crawls over you. The kisses you share are gentle, loving, and soft. Each one he places on your lips mean something, they communicate his love.

After a few moments, he suddenly sits up. You’re both softly panting, your clothes halfway off and askew from the pulling and tugging. Takuma hovers over you, shirt and pants unbuttoned to give you a view you’ll never get tired of. In the dark bedroom, the moonlight through the windows barely illuminate his brown eyes enough for you to see them searching over your face.

“What?” You ask. He’s quiet for a moment.

“…You know I’m going to marry you, right?”

Those words render you speechless. Your head spins. It’s the first time he’s mentioned this to you, but you’d be a liar to say you’ve never thought about it, too. You break into a smile.

“That’ll be fake too, won’t it?” You tease. Takuma laughs, a sweet sound that fills up your chest.

“If that’s what it takes.”

He kisses you again, slowly sliding more your dress up and kneading your thighs that wrap around his waist. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer. The soft fabric of his chest meets yours, your heart stutters when you feel his breath in your ear.

Takuma shift his hips to better meet yours, every so sweetly lining himself up to you. You press loving, honeyed kisses to his jaw and neck, in all his favorite places that you know so well by now. You can practically hear the smile on his face. You’ve never loved or felt love so genuinely than you do right here, right now, with Takuma.

“Someday real soon, I’ll propose to you,” He whispers. “And we’ll fake it for the rest of our lives together— If that’s what it takes.”

11 // series masterlist // my masterlist

taglist // @jayathelostdragon @vesserz @loveyislost @grierpilots @shokosbunny @darkstudentsaladbakery @rieamena @yourhornysister @emlient @shutuppeter @90s-belladonna @sttaejoon-blog @fuckisthatahotghost @aldebrana

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curiouspupsicle · 3 months ago

Text

Fan Fiction Recommendations - Pinned Post

Thought it might be helpful to save links to my weekly fan fic recommendations. Organized by theme, each post gives you the rating and enough information to give you an idea of whether it's a good choice for you to read. And you'll find more great suggestions in the comments and reblogs. Just one more option for a fan fic reference desk. Scroll down for links--oldest first. Recommended WIPs at the bottom.

2024

11/8/24 - Fics that Made Me LOL - These are the funniest fics; the ones that actually had me laughing out loud. I'll definitely need to revisit this theme. So many to add to the list.

11/15/24 - Current Best of the Best - Snapshot of my absolute favorite fics at this moment in time. Fics I loved and can't imagine ever forgetting.

11/22/24 - Human AUs - These are the fics that finally convinced me to read our ineffable pair depicted as humans. And I've never looked back.

11/28/24 - Banter - Who doesn't love saucy banter? Here are my fave stories with witty dialogue.

12/6/24 - Illustrated Stories - It's in the name. These include comics and traditional fics with illustrations.

12/13/24 - Smooth Criminals - Fics that involve criminal undertakings.

12/20/24 - Christmas - I limit myself to one, very special Christmas fic. Hard to imagine any story better than this one.

12/27/24 - Through the Ages - Do you really need an explanation? My fave fics that show our ineffable pair in different time periods.

2025

1/3/25 - The Bentley - Fics in which our favorite sentient car gets her due.

1/10/25 - "Mixed" AUs - Stories in which one of the ineffable pair is mortal and the other is supernatural.

1/17/25 - Animal Shenanigans, pt 1 - Fics in which animals play an important role.

1/24/25 - Animal Shenanigans, pt 2 - One week was not enough to contain so many charming, animal-centric fics.

1/31/25 - Resistance - My favorite fics centered around resistance against powerful forces and nasty people.

2/7/25 - Read the Footnotes, pt 1 - I highlight two writers who write particularly clever and fascinating footnotes for their fics, in the style of Terry Pratchett. More to come in a future post.

2/14/25 - Be My Valentine - Recommending 3 Valentine's Day fics and 3 more that are about wooing, but not necessarily in February.

2/21/25 - Read the Footnotes, pt 2 - I share more favorite fics with clever footnotes.

2/28/25 - Alt Season 3 Speculations - These are my favorite post-season 2 fics that aren't what you might expect.

3/7/25 - Timey-Wimey - Some of the best fics that deal with time being weird. The first on the list is a unique treat.

3/14/2025 - Magic in the Air - My favorite fics featuring Fell the Marvelous (and yes, Crowley too) as magicians.

3/21/2025 - Ineffable Reality TV - Our ineffable pair end up on reality tv. Amazingly, three of them are not human AUs. Does not include any dating/marriage shows.

3/28/2025 - Spies in Disguise - Fics in which spying is a major part of the story. Lots of fun.

4/4/25 - Epistolary - Stories in which hand written letters are the centerpiece. Does not include texts, diaries, or emails.

4/11/25 - Top-Rated One-Shots - These are the single chapter works that get my highest ratings. Some will make you laugh. Some will make you cry. But they're all terrific.

4/18/25 - Texting - These fics center on texts. They range from the silly to the spicy with a sweet, tender love story in between.

4/25/25 - Sexy (but not explicit) - Focusing on moments in fics that are sexy but not explicit. Note: some of the fics themselves are explicit, even if the moment I highlight is not.

❖❖❖

And finally, I've started recommending WIPs. Listing them here and marking them complete as they finish.

2/2/25 - Cayuga Blush (M) by asparkofgoodness/@thetunewillcome - Human AU with amazing link to canon in which Crowley and Aziraphale operate competing vineyards.

2/5/25 - Pages About You; Pages About Me (T) by D_Cocca/@dcocca - Aziraphale the bookstore owner and Crowley the comic shop owner become close while recommending reading material for each other.

2/19/25 - You Can Have It (E) by @voluptatiscausa - Aziraphale gets unwanted flowers from an ex. An empathetic delivery person helps him realize he's worth more than he's settled for in the past.

2/26/25 - Moonstruck (E) by @foolishlovers - Crowley is a single dad struggling with his responsibilities when the angelic bartender at his monthly stop shows him he deserves to take care of himself as well. COMPLETE

3/5/25 - Bonded (E) by AppleSeeds - Aziraphale travels to his grandfather's quarry to suggest how things can improve. He's entranced by the worker, Crowley, who has a mysterious secret. COMPLETE

3/12/25 - Chef's Kiss (E) by @joyandotherstories - Aziraphale is a positive, YouTube chef who appears on Crowley's food network show famous for nasty treatment of the guests. Human AU but well integrated into Good Omens canon.

3/19/25 - where the nodding violet grows (M) by @omens-for-ophelia- Crowley suspects there's a fairy living in his garden. But the fae creature only appears once Crowley offers a gift suitable for his standards. Lovely story and art.

3/26/25 - Dead Right (E) by @anatomic-girl. A cut above even the best fake marriage trope with loads of characters as charming as our ineffable pair (including two adorable cats).

4/2/25 - shoutout to @raxacoricofallapatoriusrulez, a prolific writer with several fics in progress.

4/9/25 - In Night Blooms by @gaiaseyes451, Aziraphale is drawn to a familiar but neglected garden where he picks some blooms to brew into a tea. Soon he starts having mysterious dreams.

4/16/25 - Wavelengths & Frequencies by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome/@maaikeatthefullmoon is a hilarious romp through the friends to enemies to friends to (?) journeys of DJs Crowley and Aziraphale. LOL funny!

4/23/25 - Parliamentary Procedure. A rare, themed WIP rec of Honourable Members (E) by @groovynightstrawberry and Crossing the Floor (M) by AlwaysTuesday.

If you're seeing this as a reblog, you can find the original (most-up-to-date) version here.

And if my tastes match yours, check out my AO3 bookmarks highlighting the top 10% of all fics I've read.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanart #fan fiction #fan fiction recommendations #go fan fic rec #go fan fic recs #go fan fiction recommendations #good omens fan fiction rec #to read #read later #to read later #reading list #rec list #reblog to keep track of

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rafesbuzzcutseason · 3 months ago

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chasing city lights

chapter 11 - flatline

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

after your day with rafe yesterday, the girls had so many questions and you told them everything, down to the song he wrote for you. what you didn't expect however, was that the song was going to be released in a few days time.

"i genuinely can't believe this," sarah started, "i mean him opening up to you? the commincation? the song? where is rafe and what have you done with him." she giggled.

"no y/n i don't think you understand the extent of this. like we've all been friends with rafe for a good 6 years, and i have never seen a girl have this affect on him before."

"guys stop you're making me think i'm some kind of miracle." you laughed with them.

"that's because you are a miracle." cleo joined in.

"so do you think you'll become official soon...?" sarah questioned.

"i don't know, the fans already think we are." you stated.

"the fans are fucking crazy. you'll get used to that i promise. when me and pope started dating everyone went bonkers over it." cleo reassured you.

"i guess so, it's okay i don't mind it, it's just getting used to seeing my face whenever i open twitter." you said. "whatever, we've got a flight to catch." you all finished your last minute packing and made your way into the car that was waiting for you outside the hotel.

part of you was sad to be leaving the state you had made so many memories in, but you knew heading back to new york all together was just the beginning for this new chapter for you and rafe.

once you made it to the airport, you found the rest of the boys who had left earlier as they all entered 'dad mode' and were getting stressed, john b to blame for that.

"finally you're here!" john b began as he saw you walk through the door.

"yeah thought we were gonna have to leave without you." pope said sarcastically.

"enough. we're here now aren't we?" cleo said rhetorically.

"yes ma'am" jj joined in, everyone was in agreement that cleo was the boss of the group.

you made your way to say hi to topper, who was slowly starting to become his usual self again, you assumed him and rafe had a conversation to try and clear the air.

but you eventually made it to rafe, who looked like his was patiently waiting his turn to get your attention, "hey you" he said.

"hey" you replied with a slight blush, "i didn't know you were actually going to release the song." you rushed out.

a look of concern took over him, "do you mind?" he asked worriedly.

"no! no i'm happy" you started, "but the fans are a little crazy."

"yeah i know they are and i should've warned you about that, but the best ones mean no harm and all you can try and do is ignore them." he replied.

"hard to ignore them when they're commenting on everything i post." you quietly said.

"i can say something if it really bothers you, okay?" he softly reached out to give your hand a squeeze.

"okay" you smiled at him, always putting you at ease.

"ok love birds pack it in," jj hollered "i don't think this plane is going to wait for us."

"whatever dude" rafe grinned, "ready?" he turned to you.

"ready."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys i made this chapter a lot more smau, just as i had the idea to do the thread (which took me ages LAWD) and also wanted to get the song mentioned ! 5 points to anyone who knows the actual song and band🙈

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @popou61

#outer banks #obxsmau #boyfriend rafe #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe obx #chasing city lights #smau

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imaginespazzi · 7 months ago

Text

Part 10: The Bridges Burned Around Us

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

Be good to me, and I'll be good to you (but please don't be too good to be true)

(In which an apologetic writer finally finishes a chapter that took much longer than necessary)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff and Angst

Words: 10.2K (seems fitting for chapter 10 lol)

TW: Swearing

A/N: Hello my lovelies :) I am so incredibly late with this I know but considering it's really the length of two chapters, I think I should be forgiven. Despite how long this took me, I don't really know how I feel about this chapter because it's both filler but also pretty important so honestly it does feel a little all over the place. But I hope y'all like it anyways. I do suggest quickly skimming over Part 2 before you read this just to jog your memory a little bit. I did edit as I always do but there's probably typos/mistakes, so feel free to point those out. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a wonderful weekend my loves <3

May 2033

“What the hell Bueckers?” Coach yells, glaring daggers at Paige who has the audacity to at least look a little embarrassed as she reaches a hand to help the rookie she’d just knocked over with far too much unnecessary force. Azzi narrows her eyes at the scene, confused at Paige’s atypical behavior. It wasn’t uncommon for the vets to rib the rookies a little bit, hell they had a whole ragging initiation ceremony planned for this weekend to welcome the newest members of their team, but Paige seemed to have a personal vendetta against Angie Davis.

When they’d watched the draft together, Azzi could’ve seen sworn she’d seen a flash of uncomfortableness flicker in Paige’s eyes as the commissioner announced that the Valkyries, with their third pick acquired via Atlanta, were picking Angie Davis from Stanford University. The blonde had stiffened but only for a split second and Azzi had chalked it up to nothing because really, what beef could Paige possibly have with a 22 year old? Except clearly something was bothering the Minnesota native because this is the fifth time today itself that Paige has fouled the girl so hard that her body had almost slightly bounced as it hit the floor.

The first time, everyone had found it amusing because who didn’t laugh at a rookie getting a taste of the league. The second time, Coach had rolled her eyes but the rest of the team had still found it pretty funny. And then as it continued, Azzi could tell her teammates were just as confused by Paige’s behavior as she was. They might not know the blonde as well as Azzi did, but in the last month or so they’d discover that the basketball superstar was really just a ball of golden retriever energy. Since they’d started training camp recently, they’d seen that Paige always practiced hard but she also had the time of her life doing it. They’d seen that she might practically bulldoze her teammates in her eagerness to be a good defender but she’d always be the first one to help pick them up with a teasing grin on her face right after. Except apparently not with Angie. With Angie, there was nothing but brute force and the first couple of times, before Coach’s clear irritation had started to seep onto her face, Paige hadn’t even bothered helping the rookie up. And although Azzi would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that a part of her found this aggressive display of strength just a tad bit attractive, she also knew it was completely unlike her Paige to be acting like this.

“So,” she says softly, lowering her voice purposefully as she sidles up to Paige in the locker room after practice, “are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” there’s a smirk on Paige’s face as she takes a step closer towards Azzi.

The brunette narrows her eyes, “you know what.”

“What I know,” Paige whispers as she ghosts her hands across Azzi’s hips, keeping her movement innocuous as to not alert their other teammates who are engrossed in conversation not too far away from them, “is that I’m pretty sure you’re just looking for a way to get close to me.”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” but she can’t stop the faint blush that’s creeping up her cheeks as Paige’s hot breath fans across her face and her gaze shifts to the blonde’s sweat sheened biceps that are on fully display under her flimsy tank top.

Paige notices it immediately as her smirk widens, “appreciating the view baby?”

“Shut up,” Azzi shoves her back lightly, “don’t try and distract me.”

“‘I’m not even trying. I just have that effect on you,” Paige shrugs coyly as she pushes herself back into Azzi’s space.

The brunette’s eyes dart over to her teammate for a brief second, making sure the rest of them are still occupied with their own conversations as she takes her own step towards the blue-eyed woman, the edges of her lips turning up into a smug grin when she hears Paige’s breath hitch, “and what about the effect I have on you?”

There’s something thrilling about hiding this from their team, something sexy about having to keep their hands to themselves when they’re constantly desperate to touch. It was torture in a way, having Paige so close and not being able to kiss her or hold her. But that only meant that when Azzi did finally get to do all of those things, it felt like finally coming up for air; like after being deprived of her oxygen for so long, she could finally breathe.

Last time around, they’d kept it a secret from the world but everyone who meant something to them had known. Their old teammates for one. This time, especially since they hadn’t quite defined what this was, they’d chosen to keep it even closer to their chests. It had been Paige’s idea this time and Azzi thinks maybe she’d proposed it just to beat the brunette to the punch-maybe she’d even been a little disappointed by it- but she thinks that they probably do need a little more time; a little more time to trust that this time they wouldn’t go up in flames, that they wouldn’t burn everyone else around them.

“You don’t- you don’t have any effect on me,” Paige stutters.

“Is that right?” Azzi asks coyly, taking her shirt off at a ridiculous slow pace, enjoying the way blonde’s eyes are immediately drawn towards her toned abs, “none at all?”

“N-no,” Paige gulps as she watches the brunette finally get rid of the offending t-shirt and she’s left in nothing but a sports bra that does little to hide the curves underneath.

“Appreciating the view baby?” Azzi smirks, repeating the older woman’s words from before she slyly runs her index finger across the purplish red hues of a hickey Paige had left on her collarbone from the night before.

“You’re so-”

“Bueckers,” a loud voice interrupts Paige’s groan as the two of them spring apart, everyone in the room turning to look at their Coach leaning against the doorframe, “in my office. Now.”

It feels a little bit like they’re college students being reprimanded again but there’s this nagging intuition in Azzi’s gut, as she watched Paige sheepishly follow Coach into her office, that she’s missing out on some important information. Something churns in her stomach at the thought of it. Things had been near perfect so far; they were climbing back up to what they had been, maybe climbing their way to something better but Azzi thinks that if another gust of circumstance tries to shove them down again, they might not be able to get back up this time. Because this time, they’re not climbing alone. This time, they have Stephie and at the end of the day, she’s all that matters.

“So is Paige’s car broken or something?” Tessa’s question catches Azzi off guard as she shakes herself out of head and looks at her teammate with confusion.

“Uh no why?”

“I mean it’s just every time she shows up somewhere, it seems she’s in your car, with you. So I just figured something must be up with her car, why else would y’all be carpooling literally every single day unless-” there’s a sparkle in Tessa’s eyes as she leans casually against her locks, “unless there’s another reason?”

“What other reason could there be?” Azzi’s voice is unusually high-pitched as she avoids Tessa’s perceptive eyes and instead glares daggers at a spluttering Jana, “her car’s in the shop. That’s it. That’s definitely it. That’s the only reason I’m driving her around.”

“Aw that sucks,” Laila says with an oblivious empathetic smile, “I mean we could help out if that’s the case? With carpooling.”

“I don’t think-”

“What a lovely idea Phelia,” Tessa smirks and Azzi knows just by how guileful it is, that the former Gamecock is absolutely onto them, “what do you think Azzi? Maybe we can make a little chart for who drives Paige to practice huh? Be welcoming to our teammate?”

Resisting the urge to flip off both Tessa and Jana whose shoulders are shaking with laughter, Azzi settles on a sugary sweet smile instead, “I don’t think that’s necessary-”

“Oh we’d be happy to help,” Tessa chirps happily and Azzi’s suddenly wistful for the moment back in her senior year when she’d dropped the South Carolina guard for an easy layup.

“And that’s very kind of y’all but,” she reaches over to squeeze the younger girl’s shoulder tightly, making her grunt in discomfort, “I think Paige is okay. It just works better if it’s one person. Less complications, you know?”

“Won’t somebody please think about the complications,” Jana snickers.

“I’m so confused,” Laila says, a frown on her face as she looks weirdly at her teammates.

“It’s nothing,” Azzi says shrilly as she slings both her and Paige’s bags on her shoulders, rolling her eyes when both Jana and Tessa giggle at the domesticity of the action, “don’t worry about it, Phelia.”

“Y’all are acting strange,” Laila shrugs as she starts to make her way out of the locker room and Azzi’s rounds on the other two women.

“Whatever you think you know Tess,” Azzi raises a finger in warning, “keep it to yourself.”

Tessa makes a point to make a zipping motion across her lips as her eyes glimmer with mischief.

“Thank god,” Jana gasps dramatically, “I was so tired of having to deal with these two all by myself. Do you know how hard it is Tess? I’ve been doing it for YEARS.”

“You poor soul,” Tessa coos, “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. They’re kind of disgusting.”

“You peeped that already? Damn Azzi, do you realize how sickening y’all must be for Tessa to have already figured it out?”

“No forreal,” Tessa teases, “if you don’t want people catching onto your shit, I suggest y’all stop eyefucking every other second.”

“Fuck all the way off. Both of you,” Azzi grunts as Jana practically howls with laughter.

“You kiss your daughter with that mouth Fudd?”

“I dunno about Stephie,” Tessa drops her voice so only Jana and Azzi can hear her, “but I bet she kisses Paige with that mouth huh Az?”

Azzi groans, hiding her bright red face in her hands as her teammates' jovial laughter echoes through the locker room.

***

Paige is eerily quiet as she climbs into the passenger seat and Azzi knows immediately by the way she doesn’t try to coax her way into driving, that whatever conversation she’d had with Coach, likely hadn’t been a pleasant one. There are a thousand and one questions taking birth in her mind but Azzi doesn’t voice any of them, knowing Paige isn’t ready to answer them. Instead, she laces her fingers through Paige’s, resting them on the other girl's lap as she rubs a soothing circle against the back of her hand, a promise of whenever you’re ready to share, i’ll be ready to listen.

They’ve fallen into a routine of sorts, one driven by that fact Paige has practically moved into Azzi’s house at this point. Their day started with them dropping Stephie off at school before the two of them would go to training or practice or whatever basketball activities they had planned. Then, they’d go to pick up Stephie from school and Azzi would drop her and Paige off at Curry camp while she ran various errands before circling back to pick them up. It’s domestic as hell and there’s a part of Azzi that’s still a little fearful; perhaps they’re trying to fit the puzzle pieces of their separate lives into each other a little too quickly. But she thinks that maybe those puzzle pieces had never really been disconnected, because sometimes she thinks their existence might just be an extension of each other’s.

“You know,” Azzi begins softly when it becomes abundantly clear Paige isn’t going to speak first, “I’m okay with the fact that you’ve probably fucked other people. I mean other than the woman you married as well that is.”

“What the fuck?” Paige’s head whips towards her so quick, it must hurt just a little bit, “where the fuck did that come from?”

Azzi shrugs, “I’m just saying-”

“Why are you just saying?” Paige's eyes widen in panic as she possessively tightens her grip on the brunette’s hand, “are you about to tell me about someone you hooked up with? Because I’mma be honest Azzi I’d rather jump out of this moving car then hear about some whore who had the audacity-”

“Audacity? You do realize I was-”

“Say you were single and I actually will jump out of the car,” Paige warns, “but no actually dude what the fuck?”

“Well you see,” Azzi says carefully, “I’m trying to figure out why you’re being such a bitch to our new rookie and after careful deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s gotta be a hookup gone wrong because why the fuck else would Paige Bueckers, who has a hard time killing a spider, be so unnecessarily mean to this poor girl?”

There’s silence in the car for a second as Paige opens and closes her mouth, unable to get a word out, until she doubles over laughing, the sound of it echoing all around them. Azzi can’t help the soft grin that flitters across her face, relieved at seeing the way the tension begins to dissipate from the blonde’s shoulders. And Azzi swears that when Paige laughs, it feels a little bit like the sun has come out again; like the flowers are blooming and birds are chirping and everything is right in the world again and she thinks the sun should probably be jealous of the warmth Paige exudes because at least against the silhouette of Azzi’s sky, Paige burns brighter than the sun ever will.

“You-you think I fucked Angie?” Paige finally manages to splutter out between peals of laughs, “baby she’s barely 22.”

“Hey,” Azzi pouts, “you always did go for younger women. Like me for example.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “you’re literally one year younger than me.”

“One year and a couple of days,” Azzi corrects.

Rolling her eyes Paige uses both hands to hold Azzi’s non-driving one, “Azzi I swear to you that I have never in my life hooked up with Angie fucking Davis.”

“I know,” Azzi confesses, eyes still focused on the road ahead of her, “so what exactly is your problem with her then Paige?”

“You couldn’t have just asked me that?”

Azzi shrugs, “felt like I needed to make you laugh first. So tell me Bueckers-” before she can continue, she feels lips being pressed to her cheeks and can’t help the crimson tinge it elicits on her face, “what- what was that for?”

“Because you’re a little bit of a sap and I’m glad you’re my sap,” Paige grins, “all mine.”

“You’re trying to change the topic.”

“I am not.”

“Paige.”

The blonde sighs, leaning her head back against the headrest, “can we talk about it tonight? I wanna tell you I promise- I just- I think we need to sit down so that I- I can explain it to you properly.”

“That feels ominous,” Azzi’s stomach clenches at the seriousness in Paige’s voice as she turns onto the street for Stephie’s school, “should I be worried?”

“No,” Paige says firmly, bringing their enclosed hands to her mouth so she can brush a kiss across Azzi’s knuckles, “it’s nothing we can’t get through.”

Azzi nods as she pulls into the school parking lot, mustering up a reassuring smile of her own as she squeezes Paige’s hand. But there’s still a speck of fear dancing around in her gut; it’s this constant fear of losing Paige again that she doesn’t think she’ll ever truly be able to sweep out of her system. They’ve been doing so good these last few weeks -like they’re collecting together the scattered pages of everything we used to be and binding them back together with strings of all that we can become- but sometimes Azzi finds herself afraid that it might all just disappear, that a gust of wind might blow everything out of her hands all over again.

“HI MAMA. HI MISS BUECKS,” she’s shaken from her thoughts by the backdoor opening as Stephie barrels into the car, the happiness in her voice contagious as she leans over the console to kiss Azzi and then Paige, before hanging between them and tapping at her own cheeks. The two adults laugh as they simultaneously press their lips to the little girl's cheeks, causing her dimples to deepen as she giggles between them.

“How was school Stephie-bean?” Paige asks, peering over her own shoulder to make sure Stephie buckles herself in correctly as Azzi backs the car out.

Stephie scrunches up her nose is distaste, “it’s school Miss Buecks. It was so boring. Except for lunch. Lunch was great. I love lunch.”

“You’re so real Steph,” Paige nods seriously, “lunch is the best and school is so bor-”

“Paige!”

“C’mon Az, I’m not gonna lie to the kid.”

“Exactly Mama,” Stephie chimes in loyally from the backseat, “lying is bad.”

Azzi rolls her eyes as Paige twists her hand to hold it out for Stephie to high-five it from the backseat, “the two of you are insufferable.”

“What does that mean?” Stephie asks, tilting her head in confusion.

“It means we’re her most favorite people in the world,” Paige winks at the little girl as Azzi shakes her head fondly, choosing to keep the you’re more than that, you two are the reason my world keeps turning that tastes sugary sweet on the tip of her tongue to herself as she continues to drive.

“What do y’all want for dinner?” she asks instead, ready to make a mental note of ingredients she might need to pick up from the grocery store while Paige and Stephie are at Curry Camp.

“Actually,” there’s a slight nervous lilt to Paige’s voice and when Azzi looks over, she finds the older woman fidgeting anxiously with her thumbs, “I was thinking that maybe um- maybe y’all could come over to mine tonight? Maybe I can cook?”

They haven’t stayed at Paige’s since that first disastrous night. It hadn’t been on purpose per say; it was simply just easier to stay at Azzi’s, especially with Stephie to consider but perhaps a part of it had been subconscious self-preservation on the younger girl's part. Something about sleeping over at Paige’s feels more purposeful; like she’s fully letting herself step back into the other’s girl world and this time with the promise to not run away in the morning. It’s scary but when Azzi sees the hopeful look on Paige’s face as the blonde bites her lips, she thinks it’s worth it to take the leap; she’s ready for it.

“I think that would be nice,” she says with a soft smile, “I’ll pick up some clothes for Stephie while y’all are at camp.”

Paige beams and Azzi can tell she’s itching to lean over to grab her hand or kiss her touch her in any way but there’s still the little fact they still haven’t quite told Stephie anything about them yet that stops her from doing any of the above.

“What do you think of that Stephie bean? You wanna have a sleepover at my place tonight?” she redirects her attention to the little girl instead.

“YES PLEASE,” Stephie squeals, practically bouncing on her car seat before a frown crosses her forehead, “but um-” she hesitates, “you um- you can’t cook Miss Buecks.”

Azzi bursts into a laughter as an offended look clouds Paige’s face, “excuse me? I absolutely can cook.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie says, her condescension-filled tone as adult as she can make it be, “you burned my eggs three times this week and then Mama had to make them all over again and we were almost late for school,” the little girl smirks through her ramble, “but that’s okay because I don’t mind being late for school because like I said school is really boring.”

“Okay but what about the one time I didn’t burn the eggs?” Paige haughtily crosses her arms over chest, “have we all just forgotten about that?”

“Pretty sure they were a little undercooked and saltless that one time-OW,” Azzi’s snicker is cut off by a pinch to her stomach, “do you want me to crash the car woman?”

Paige ignores her, turning back to look at Stephie with a betrayed expression, “you said you liked them?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feeling Miss Buecks,” the little girl wails and Azzi feels a mix of pride and love bloom in her heart at the kind soul she’s raised, “I’m sorry Miss Buecks but I just-” Stephie reaches as far as her seatbelt will allow to cup Paige’s hand in her tiny hands, “I really don’t think you should cook Miss Buecks.Please. I don’t wanna die yet. I’m too cute to die.”

“You know what Stephie bean,” Paige taps the little girl’s nose, “I think you might be even more of a drama queen than me-”

“Don’t sound so proud,” Azzi mutters under her breath.

“Shhh,” Paige chastises, never looking away from Stephie, “but alright sweetheart. I won’t cook. How about we order pizza?”

Stephie lets out a delighted cheer as Azzi grumbles, “more junk food? I swear to god Bueckers you’re completely ruining her diet.”

“On the contrary, I think I’m finally fixing it. You poor thing,” Paige coos at Stephie dramatically, “I bet your Mama was torturing you with nasty green things all day every day before me huh?”

“No no no Miss Buecks, veggies are good for you,” Stephie recites loyally and Azzi grins triumphantly at Paige.

“Oh dear Stephie you’ve been brainwashed-”

“Excuse me? Don’t try to corrupt my child out of her good habits.”

“I’m not corrupting her,” Paige defends as Azzi makes a left turn into the parking lot for Curry Camp, “I’m just teaching her the wonders of grease and oil and all the other fun things that adults lie are bad for you.”

“Paige you are an adult.”

“But a fun one,” Paige smirks, waggling her eyebrows at Stephie through the mirror as Azzi stops the car right outside the building, “right Stephie-bean?”

“The fun-est-est-est-est,” Stephie choruses back as she begins to unbuckle herself so she can latch onto her mother’s neck from behind. Paige takes the opportunity to climb out of the car so she can grab Stephie’s sports bag from where it’s kept in the trunk.

“You be good for Miss Buecks and Uncle Twin at camp today okay?” Azzi whispers to the little girl, “and I better hear that you made all your shots.”

Stephie scoffs, “you know I never miss Mama.”

“That’s my girl,” Azzi grins as she nuzzles her nose against the little girl’s before Paige opens the backdoor and Stephie unlatches herself from her mother, only so she can go barrelling into the older woman’s arms instead, “Stephie-bean you know you can walk.”

“But Mama,” Stephie whines, wrapping her hands tightly around Paige’s neck, “I’m too tired to walk-”

“Stephie,” Azzi sighs.

“You don’t mind carrying me, do you Miss Buecks?”

“Of course not,” Paige grins, “whatever you want sweetheart.”

Stephie looks pointedly at Azzi, “see Mama? Miss Buecks doesn’t mind.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Azzi shakes her head, “alright off you two go. I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

“Bye Mama,” Stephie waves, “hurry back okay? We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you guys too,” Azzi says warmly, blowing a kiss at both of them.

It’s uncanny how similar the two of them are, when both Stephie and Paige make a show of catching the kiss and bringing it to their heart before looking at each other and giggling over their own silliness. It makes Azzi’s heartache in the best way possible. And as she watches the two of them start walking up the stairs, Stephie rambling and Paige hanging onto every word, she thinks that as long as life gives her the two of them, she’ll never ask for anything else.

***

The first thing Azzi notices when she walks into the gym, arriving a little before camp finishes so she can say hi to her mentor, is Stephie sulking as she glares at Paige from the other side of the court. Confused, because it’s rare to see her daughter looking at the other woman with anything but pure adulation, Azzi follows the little girl’s line of sight to see what could possibly have upset her. A fond smile crosses her face as she sees Paige crowded by a bunch of children, all of them watching the superstar with wonder as she demonstrates her shooting technique. Paige swishes the ball into the basket and one would think she’d just scored the game-winning shot in the finals, by the way the gaggle of kids around her let out enthused cheers.

The blonde has always had this aura that draws people to her -Azzi would know; she’d been one of the first people to succumb to it (not that she’d put up much of a fight)- but there’s something different about the charisma Paige has with kids. Perhaps it’s because of her own childlike innocence that’s still intact despite her age, but it’s clear that the little ones adore her. Azzi watches as one of the little girls animatedly tries to mimic what Paige had just demonstrated, looking upset when the basketball barely touches the rim.

“I’m never gonna make a basket,” she hears the girl pout.

Paige ruffles the kid’s hair before lifting her up onto her lap, “of course you are. You just needed a little bit more height. Here try again,” she says as she urges the girl to shoot again now that she’s higher off the ground. This time the ball falls magnificently through the hoop and the child whoops.

“OH MY GOD COACH P I DID IT,” she squeals, hiding her face in Paige’s neck and while Azzi finds the whole thing quite adorable, when she looks over, she realizes that clearly Stephie is not nearly amused as she watches her daughter’s face transform into a scowl.

“Riley and Ryan used to make the same face any time I gave another little girl too much of my time,” Azzi grins as Steph appears by her side, the former Warriors guard bumping her shoulder as a sign of greeting, “I split the kids into groups, half with Paige and half with me. Kept Stephie with me cause you know I thought I was her favorite but she’s been glaring at all the kids with Paige this whole time.”

“She’s uh- she’s a little possessive,” Azzi chuckles, eyes still on her daughter who finally looks away from Paige, before angrily shooting the ball at the lowered basket in front of her.

“NICE SHOT TWIN NIECE,” Steph cheers as Stephie makes the shot, the little girl’s face unmoving as she gathers the ball back and gets ready to shoot again. Sometimes Azzi thinks, as she claps with pride, her daughter’s laser-focus attitude might rival her own. Maybe it’s a mother’s bias -she’d call it intuition- but she’s certain Stephie’s going to be a basketball phenomenon one day.

“That was so pretty Stephie-bean,” Paige is beaming as she approaches Stephie, the little girl from before holding her hand, “you think you can show Claudia here how you get that arc on it?”

“No thank you Coach Bueckers,” Stephie’s voice is perfectly polite as she makes a point to not look at the two people who’ve just entered her space, but Azzi catches the split second when her gaze shifts irritatedly to the way Claudia’s hanging off of Paige, “I’m a little busy right now. Maybe another time.”

“Oh she’s good,” Steph whistles lowly as Paige’s mouth falls open at not being referred to as Miss Buecks, “she’s gonna have Paige groveling after camp I bet. She’s gonna get whatever treat she wants.”

Azzi groans, “that is not a good thing. Do you know how much junk food she manipulates Paige into getting her?”

Steph laughs, “she spoils her huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Azzi mutters but there’s a wistful grin on her face, “It’s part of why Stephie adores her so much cause she knows Paige would give her the world if she could.”

“I don’t think it’s just Stephie who adores her,” Steph bumps his shoulder against her and Azzi blanches at the knowing tone in his voice.

“That’s not- I mean- I don’t- I don’t know what you mean,” she stutters out.

Steph rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, “oh come off it Az. It was obvious when y’all were kids and it’s still obvious now.”

“When we were- you knew?”

“Of course I knew,” Steph scoffs, “I’ve been married for more than 20 years to the same girl I fell in love with at 15 years old Az, I know a thing or two about what love looks like. Of course I knew.”

“I’m just getting clocked left right and center today what the hell,” she grumbles but there’s a part of her that’s slightly relieved about the people around them slowly figuring it out. She thinks she should maybe be a little more embarrassed about how obvious they apparently are -have supposedly always been- but honestly she kind of loves that their love is so bright, that it’s impossible to not see it.

Love. The word sends a shiver through Azzi. It’s not a foreign feeling to her at all, especially not when it comes to Paige. If she’s honest with herself, it’s a feeling that has never left. She’d tried as hard as she could; shoving it underneath a rock of you’re not allowed to feel this way that weighed heavily against her chest. But it had always been there and as soon as Paige had waltzed her way back into Azzi’s life, the blonde seemed to have found a way to shovel it right back out. And that four-letter-word isn’t buried anymore; it’s right there on the tip of her tongue and every time Paige smiles at her -eyes crinkling with only for you-, Azzi’s this close to let it slip through her lips. She’s just waiting for the right time.

“Hey Stephie-bean can I fix your form a little bit,” her attention is drawn back to her surroundings as she watches Paige try to get Stephie to look at her again but her daughter is nothing if not stubborn.

“That’s okay. It’s almost time to go home and I’m sure Uncle Twin can help me with my form Coach Bueckers,” the little girl says contemptuously to a gobsmacked Paige before gesturing at Claudia, “how about you just keep helping her instead.”

“Sheesh that’s one petty kid you’ve got there Fudd,” Steph remarks before stepping to the front of the court and blowing his whistle, “alright y’all it’s 5 o’clock. Great job today! I hope you guys had a lot of fun and learned some good stuff and I’ll see y’all back here tomorrow!”

The former player diligently high-fives all the kids before they disperse towards their awaiting parents. Azzi can tell Stephie’s still irritated when the little girl barely hugs Steph, shaking herself out of her Uncle’s arms much quicker than she normally would as she all but stomps her way to her mother.

“Woah there Stephie-bean,” Azzi says gently, falling to her knees in front of her daughter, “what’s wrong?”

Stephie pouts miserably, “I’m mad at Miss Buecks. She’s been helping other kids this whole time.”

Azzi has to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling, amused by the child’s dramatics, “baby you know that’s Miss Buecks’s job right? She’s here to coach all the kids.”

If possible, Stephie’s frown deepens as she kicks her feet stubbornly, “she can coach them,” she says matter-of-factly, “but why does she have to carry them and give them hugs. She should only do that with me.”

“Stephie-”

“And camp is over now and she’s still with stupid Claudia,” Stephie whines as she uses her hand to turn Azzi’s face towards Paige, “see?”

The we don’t call people stupid lesson that she was just about to give her daughter dies on Azzi’s lips as her eyes fixate on where a stupid pretty young woman who she knows to be Claudia’s mother is staring up at Paige with a stupid flirty smile. Azzi has no idea what the blonde is saying, but she’s sure it can’t be that funny to make the woman tilt her head back in laughter, left hand reaching out to flick Paige’s bicep and lingering far longer than necessary.

“You know what Stephie-bean I think it’s time to home,” and really she feels just a little guilty with how she’s about to use her clearly upset daughter, “how about you go call Miss Buecks over.”

That’s all it takes to get Stephie running towards her and Azzi follows cautiously behind, only getting further irritated at how Claudia’s mother seems determined to step closer and closer to Paige and the clueless blonde does absolutely nothing to stop it, continuing to smile politely at the other woman.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie comes to a halt in front of Paige, interrupting whatever conversation was going on as she practically forces herself in between the two women, “Mama says it’s time to go home.”

Despite the jealousy simmering her heart, Azzi can’t help that her heart skips a beat at the way Paige’s whole face brightens up at seeing Stephie; clearly relieved at the little girl using her nickname again.

“Give me one second sweetheart. I’m just a little busy talking to Claudia and her mother-”

“Mama,” Stephie says loudly, cutting Paige off as she turns to Azzi, “do you know if Aunty Chérie is in town?”

“Um- I- uh-” the brunette stutters, not having expected her little girl to bring that up as her gaze flickers towards a frozen Paige whose smile is completely gone, her body going rigid at the mention of Clémence.

“I was just thinking,” Stephie barrels on casually, “maybe we could go see her and she could give me cuddles and kisses since app-ently Miss Buecks is too busy to give them to me-”

The little girl cuts herself off with a squeal as she’s suddenly lifted off the ground and into Paige’s arms; the blonde peppering her lips against every inch of Stephie’s face.

“Never ever too busy for you and I’m especially never too busy to give you kisses Stephie-bean.”

“Promise,” Stephie holds out her pinky finger and Paige diligently intertwines her own through it, pressing a kiss to their now interlocked pinkies.

“Promise.”

Shaking her head fondly at her menace daughter’s antiques, Azzi fixes Claudia’s mother with a sweetly saccharine smile as she wraps a possessive hand around Paige’s bicep. She can feel the blonde’s eyes immediately drift towards her, clearly a little thrown off by her forwardness. It had been Azzi’s go-to-move in college whenever Paige’s fanclub would get a little too handsy. She’d sidle up into her girlfriend’s space, marking her territory as subtly as possible. Azzi knows this is a little different. It had been easier back then to play the action off as a protective best friend warding off boundary-less fans; really it was uncanny the things two girls could get away with under the guise of friendship. But it’s different now that they’re actual adults and she can see the clogs running Claudia’s mother’s head as she starts to piece everything together.

“Hi I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Stephie’s mom, Azzi, nice to meet you,” Azzi says finally, holding out her hand that isn’t still clasped firmly around Paige’s bicep, “I think it’s usually your husband who picks Claudia up from camp right?”

“I’m Stacie,” the woman says, primly returning the handshake, “yeah my husband’s usually the one who picks her up but I had a little time today-”

“Don’t lie Mommy. I heard you on the phone saying you wanted to come pick me up so you could meet Coach Bueckers-”

“Claudia,” Stacie hisses as Azzi narrows her eyes at the woman.

“You said it’s cause you think she’s really hot-” Claudia manages to get out before her mother furiously clamps her hand over her mouth.

“Azzi,” Paige whispers under her breath, wincing slightly as the shooting guard unconsciously tightens her grip, unable to keep the irritation of her face as she all but glares at Claudia’s mother.

“You know kids, they say anything,” Stacie tries to justify, cowering under the sintering heat of Azzi’s stare.

“Right,” the brunette nods with faux understanding, “well if you’ll excuse us, I think it’s time for us to go unless-” she turns her gaze onto Paige who looks innocently back at her as she hides a smile against Stephie’s stomach, “unless you’re still busy that is?”

Paige shakes her head affectionately as she tugs her arm out of Azzi’s grip, only so she can lock their pinkies together, the angle of it just out of Stephie’s line of sight, “never too busy for you,” she repeats, “let’s go.”

***

“Mama, will you tell Miss Buecks that I’m not speaking to her,” Stephie says as soon as the three of them get settled into the car.

“What,” Paige shrieks, twisting her head around to look at the little girl who decisively looks away, her tiny hands crossed over her chest.

“Stephie,” Azzi sighs exasperatedly, stretching her legs out in the passenger seat; Paige had insisted on driving this time and she hadn’t bothered fighting against it, “babes I thought you’d gotten over it? You were literally just talking to her.”

“That’s cause I forgot I was mad when Miss Buecks gave me my kisses but I rem-ber now,” Stephie explains.

“Remember what?” Paige asks frantically, “Stephie-bean what did I do?”

The little girl in question makes it a point to turn her nose up and look directly at Azzi as she answers, “Mama will you tell Miss Buecks that she knows what she did.”

“I really, really don’t. Stephie sweetheart please tell me so I can fix it,” Paige tries again, and Azzi lets herself marvel at how the normally jittery-woman seems to have endless patience for her little girl.

“YOU GAVE THE OTHER KIDS HIGH FIVES AND CUDDLES AND HUGS AND YOU EVEN LET CLAUDIA ONTO YOUR LAP,” Stephie bursts out emphatically, “you’re not supposed to do that with anyone but ME.”

“I-” Paige looks over helplessly at Azzi who holds her hands up in surrender, determined not to get in between the two of them and their dramatics.

“You didn’t even ask Uncle Twin to let me be on your team,” Stephie accuses and then like she’s suddenly remembered that she’d made a bold assertion a couple of minutes ago, “Mama could you please tell Miss Buecks that I said all of that.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “I have a feeling she might have heard you.”

“Did you like the other kid’s hugs more than you like mine?” the little girl prods, her eyes suddenly glimmering with tears.

“Oh sweetheart of course not,” Paige consoles immediately, “I could never like anyone’s hugs more than yours, you know that. Your hugs are the best things in the whole wide world. And Stephie-bean, I thought you wanted to be with Uncle Twin, you said you missed him.”

“Wanted to be with you more,” Stephie pouts stubbornly, “I don’t wanna share my Miss Buecks with the other kids. I don’t want you to hug them or carry them and you definitely can’t give them kisses.”

“I didn’t even give any of them kisses,” Paige protests.

“Stephie, Miss Buecks is a person, not an object. She’s allowed to hug or carry or kiss-” Azzi tries to explain but is almost immediately interrupted by Stephie who gives her an unamused look.

“Well is she allowed to hug and carry and kiss Claudia’s Mama then?”

Azzi’s mouth falls open as Paige barely holds in her chuckle at the little girl’s cheeky question, “she absolutely is not allowed to do that.”

“Exactly,” there’s a satisfied grin on Stephie's face as she takes in the still dumbfounded expression on her mother’s face.

“I just- I meant the kids. She’s allowed to hug or carry or kiss the kids-”

“NO SHE’S NOT.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Paige moves her hands up and down in a calming gesture before she reaches for Stephie hands, “how about this? From now on, I won’t carry any of the other kids and I definitely won’t give them any kisses. But can I at least give them one hug? Just one tiny little hug?”

Stephie ponders over the request for a second, “okay,” she agrees finally, “but only one hug and it can’t be longer than three seconds okay? And then you come and give me three of them right after?”

“Done. I’ll come give you five hugs right after,” Paige grins happily as the two of them shake on it before she turns back around to start driving them towards her house.

“Mama you can tell Miss Buecks that I’m speaking to her again,” Stephie smiles toothily at Azzi through the rearview mirror.

“Really?” Azzi responds sarcastically, “I couldn't have guessed.”

“You know,” Paige drops her voice so Stephie can’t hear them, “you’re being pretty sassy for someone who was just as irrationally jealous as a five year old a couple of minutes ago.”

“I was not jealous,” Azzi says indignantly, repeating herself when Paige’s smirk deepens, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Paige, I was absolutely not jealous.”

“Whatever you say baby,” Paige hums quietly as she turns the music up in the car, grinning at Stephie through the mirror when one of their new favorites comes on.

Azzi preemptively covers her ears as her soft “oh please don’t start singing-” is immediately drowned out by the two other people in the car beginning to sing at the top of their voices. They barely know the lyrics and they’re definitely not on key and really Azzi’s poor ears are bleeding, but as she’s coerced into reluctantly joining in, she thinks this could still be her favorite sound in the whole wide world.

They’re so enthralled in their cacophony -in each other- as they pull up to Paige’s house, that it takes them a far longer than it should to notice the figure on her porch. It isn’t until they’ve parked in the driveway, and Azzi’s gone around to grab her and Stephie’s overnight bag from the back while Paige lifts Stephie onto her shoulders, and they’re finally making their way up the three steps that lead to the deck, that they finally do.

All chatter comes to a halt as the boy -well that’s not quite right; not when he towers over Paige and Azzi as he stands up from where he’d been sitting on the lawn chair. It’s been almost four years since she’d last seen him in person and even then he’d been a fleeting face in the crowd. She’s seen plenty of his clips from the rookie year he’d just finished in the NBA but it isn’t the same as seeing him in the flesh now. So much has changed; the baby fat is gone from his face, he’s lankier and longer and there’s a discernible aura of confidence around him; as is expected from a 20 year old man. Yet, as Azzi lets her gaze wander over him, she sees what she’s always seen. She sees that same innocence, that same kindness, that same drive in his eyes that she’d always found reflected in his sister’s eyes too. She looks at him and she still sees a mini version of her Paige.

***

October 2022

“AZZI,” Drew screams as he runs across the arrival gate, his carry-on suitcase practically abandoned for the flight attendant with him to begrudgingly pick up.

“DREW,” Azzi’s smile widens as the little boy comes to a halt in front of her, his arms immediately wrapping around her waist, “oh my god you’ve gotten so much bigger little dude.”

Drew scrunches his nose up at her, “you literally saw me like a month ago.”

“And I think you might have doubled in size since,” she ruffles his hair before turning to the flight attendant who’s not so subtly checking her out, “thank you so much for getting him here safely.”

“Oh just doing my duty m’am, especially for a pretty lady like you,” the man says and Azzi winces at his dated flirting technique.

“This is Azzi,” Drew introduces, irritation seeping into his voice as he tightens his grip on Azzi’s waist, “you know how I told you I’m flying out for my sister’s birthday, this is my sister’s girlfriend and it was her idea to fly me out to surprise my sister. Because you know she’s her girlfriend.”

“Right,” the man grimaces and Azzi has to bite back the laugh threatening to escape as he hastily hands Drew’s suitcase over before barely managing a half-hearted grin, “I um- uh- well I should get back to the uh- plane or something. Tell your- tell your sister happy birthday.”

“Thanks again,” Azzi calls after the man as he all but runs away from them, shaking her head fondly down at Drew who’s giggling into her side.

“You think if I tell Paige he flirted with you, she’d get him fired?” he asks cheekily.

“There’s a nonzero chance that she’d at least try,” Azzi agrees as the two of them start making their way out of the airport and towards her car.

It’s a chilly fall morning and the sun has barely risen in the sky but Drew seems more awake than ever as he practically bounces into the passenger seat, clearly excited to see his sister who has no inkling that he’s coming. The idea had come to Azzi a week or so ago as she’d racked her head for ideas of what to do for Paige for her birthday. She’d done a good job putting up a front for the rest of their team -avidly cheering for them from the sidelines during practice- but Paige had been struggling these last couple of weeks. Azzi knows firsthand what it’s like to watch everyone else play the sport she loves while nursing her own injury and no matter how many i’m fine don’t worry about me spiels she got from her girlfriend, Azzi knew it was killing the point guard to not be out there with their team.

If she could, Azzi would have liked to have miraculously fixed Paige’s torn ACL as her birthday gift but that was wishful thinking. So instead she’d decided on cheering Paige up with the other thing she loved more than playing basketball: spending time with her baby brother. It didn't take that much convincing to get Bob Bueckers -who’d seen just how despondent his daughter had been those first couple of weeks in that gloomy hotel- to allow Drew to take the first half of this week off of school. From then on, the main difficulty had been keeping it a secret from Paige who seemed to have sixth sense for when something was going on behind her back. It didn’t help that Drew had come close to spilling the beans more than a handful of times. But they’d somehow managed it and this morning, Azzi had rolled out of her girlfriend’s arms much earlier than she would have liked to, ready to give Paige the day she deserved.

She glances at the clock. It’s almost 8 and Azzi knows that Paige is probably beginning to stir awake. She can almost picture the likely confusion on her girlfriend’s as she’d reach out for Azzi, only to find the spot next to her empty. As if on cue, the sound of a phone ringing vibrates around the car and Drew’s eyes light up at Paige’s name flashing on the media-board.

“Don’t say a word,” Azzi warns him as she picks up the call.

“WHAT THE HELL AZZI. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Paige’s irritated voice echoes throughout the car, “DO YOU KNOW HOW RUDE IT IS TO MAKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAKE UP ALONE IN THE MORNING? ON HER GODDAMN BIRTHDAY?”

Despite Azzi’s warning, Drew snickers loud enough for the speakers to pick it up and the brunette fights the urge to hit her head against the steering wheel when Paige lets out a dramatic gasp.

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU WITH ANOTHER GIRL. ON MY BIRTHDAY?”

“No Paige I am not with another girl-”

“Well it sounds like there’s a girl with you.”

Drew opens his mouth to protest, clearly agitated with his voice potentially being mistaken for a girl’s but Azzi’s quicker, immediately clamping a hand over his mouth.

“I am not with-”

“Wait. Why did that voice sound so familiar?” Paige asks and Azzi can picture her scrunching her nose through the phone, “it can’t be any of the girls. I think I saw all of them in their apartments while I was looking for you but it sounds so-”

“It’s no one,” Azzi says hurriedly, “I’m just picking up something for your birthday.”

“I don’t want anything for my birthday,” Paige grumbles, “just wanted to wake up to my beautiful gorgeous girlfriend but no, you couldn’t just let me have that.”

A soft blush, tinted with hues of you make my imperfection feel perfect, creeps up Azzi’s cheeks as Drew teasingly waggles his eyebrows at her, “I promise I have something even better for you.”

“What could possibly be better than morning se-”

“Celebratory cuddles. Right yes what could be better than morning celebratory cuddles,” Azzi babbles, ignoring the weird look Drew gives her as she tries to prevent them from falling in the ditch her girlfriend is unknowingly about throw them into, “oh my won’t you look at that, that sign has all the reasons I shouldn’t try to talk and drive.”

“Baby what? Are you having a stroke. That’s not a thing-

“Oh it totally is and I really have to hang up. Love you baby, see you soon!’

“Azzi-” a loud beep rings through Paige’s protests as Azzi rushes to cut the call, slumping back in her seat with a sigh.

“Morning celebratory cuddles?” if she wasn’t so embarrassed she would laugh at the side-eye Drew shoots her, “y’all are so weird.”

“Watch it. I will send you back to Minnesota.”

“No you won't,” it’s uncanny how Drew has Paige’s exact smile as he goofily grins at her, “you love Paigey way too much to do that to me.”

Azzi rolls her eyes fondly, “yeah maybe just a little bit.”

There’s peaceful silence in the car for a while as Drew leans back in his seat, looking thoughtfully out the window. Azzi feels excitement bubble in her stomach in anticipation for Paige’s reaction to seeing her little brother. For as long as she’s known her girlfriend, she’s always known just how special Drew is to her; he’d been more a child to her than a brother and although it hasn’t been that long since Paige has seen him, Azzi could still hear the wistfulness in her voice every night she’d said good-bye to him on the phone. She feels giddy just knowing that seeing Drew again will put that earnest, loving smile she loves so much on Paige’s face. That smile, Azzi thinks, might just be the reason her world keeps turning.

“Hey Azzi?” Drew says slowly, “can I ask you something?”

“Course you can kid. You can ask me whatever you want,” Azzi reaches out to squeeze the little boy’s hand as he fidgets in his seat.

“Do you-” he hesitates, sucking in a deep breath, “do you think two people can stay together forever?”

Azzi’s taken aback by the gravity of the question, not having expected to deal with heavy-hitting ones like this so early in the morning. And really the truth is Azzi doesn’t know how to answer this question. It’s the kind of question her own brain conjures up sometimes and she has to distract herself from the way it makes her heart constrict because what if two people can’t stay together forever?

“That’s a heavy question,” she says finally, “where’s this coming from?”

Drew shrugs and his tone teeters on the edge of defensiveness when he answers, “just some things I think about sometimes.”

“I don’t know,” she says carefully, “I’d like to think some people can. I mean my parents have been together for a really long time and I’d like to think they’ll stay together forever.”

“How about you and Paigey?” Drew prods.

There’s an answer of yes that tastes like asphalt on the top of Azzi’s tongue and so much of her wants to spit it out and have that be the answer she gives Drew. But there are these uneasy shackles of uncertainty, of what if’s, of who knows what the future could do to us, that stops her. And she doesn’t know why she’s so scared of saying yes. Because if she’s honest with herself Azzi can’t really fathom a forever without her girlfriend; not when sometimes it feels like instead of a heart, it’s Paige that beats rhythmically against her ribcage.

“I really, really hope so,” she whispers.

“Azzi,” Drew’s voice is coated in sincerity and the brunette hums in response, “you won’t ever hurt my Paigey will you?”

And there it is again, the unpredictability of what could happen next that’s beginning to feel a little suffocating. She wants to give Drew a resounding no because Azzi would rather drive a dagger through her skin before letting Paige get so much as a paper cut but life is so fickle and she’s scared of making a promise she can’t keep. So she makes one that she swears she can.

“I promise that I will try my absolute best not to hurt your Paigey.”

***

May 2033

“Well,” Drew Bueckers sneers, his tone filled with contempt as he takes in the way Paige, Azzi and Stephie are practically wrapped into each other, don’t you guys just look so fucking cozy.”

There’s a sinister tension-filled quiet as the three adults -god it’s weird to include Drew as an adult but Azzi supposes that that’s what he is now- look between each other.

“Umm you owe me a kiss,” Stephie cuts into the silence.

“What?” Drew scrunches his face at the little girl.

“You said a bad word,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “and Mama says whenever someone says a bad word around me, they have to give me a kiss. So Miss Buecks,” Drew's eyes narrow at the nickname as the little girl lightly taps Paige’s shoulder, “can you turn around and move closer so he can give me a kiss?”

“You don’t, you don’t have to do that-” Azzi tries to intervene.

“Yes he does Mama,” Stephie interupts her indignantly, “rules are rules right?’

“Stephie-”

“Rules are rules,” it’s Drew who cuts Azzi off this time, his previously stoic face morphing into something warmer as he takes a step closer to her daughter and presses his lips against her turned cheek, “there you go. Am I forgiven for saying a bad word now?”

Stephie grins up at him and Azzi feels a wave of this is how it always should have been pinching at her heart she watches the two of them.

“You’re forgiven but you have to promise not to do it again.”

“I don’t make promises like that kid,” there’s an unspoken accusation as Drew keeps up a smile towards Stephie but his eyes dart for the briefest second towards the two women around him, “but I promise I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Stephie accepts happily as she reaches over Paige’s shoulder to press her own lips against Drew’s cheek.

“What was that for?’ he asks a little dazedly.

Stephie shrugs, “because I think I’m gonna like you.”

“Drew,” Paige whispers finally, gently letting the little girl off of her shoulders, “what are you- what are you doing here?”

“What? A guy can’t just come visit his sister anymore?” there’s an unfamiliar hard edge to Drew’s voice -a stark contrast from how he’d been with Stephie- that makes Azzi flinch.

“Of course he can but I just- you didn’t- you didn’t tell me you were coming,” Paige presses.

“Well we've been talking about me coming down for a while but it just hasn’t happened and so I thought- I thought why not just come surprise you but-” Drew purses his lips as he gestures to the trio in front of him, “I think I might be the one who’s surprised.”

“Drew-”

“Actually you know what no,” he clenches his jaw, voice dripping with barely controlled anger, “I’m actually not surprised. Not surprised at all. Because really this- this is exactly what I should have expected from the two of you.”

“Maybe,” Azzi nibbles at her bottom, “maybe we should go-’

“NO,” both Stephie and Paige yell out in tandem as the little girl immediately clutches onto the blonde’s thighs.

“I don’t wanna go. Miss Buecks tell Mama I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re staying right here with me,” Paige reassures the little girl as she turns her gaze back to Azzi, “you’re not going anywhere okay?”

“Paige-”

“I asked you to stay tonight and you’re going to stay. End of discussion,” Paige says firmly and Azzi lets out a reluctant sight.

“You asked her to stay? As in stay the night? Oh my god,” Drew scoffs maliciously.

“Drew,” there’s a warning tone in Paige’s voice as she deattaches herself from Stephie, keeping her voice low, “not right now okay?”

Her brother rolls his eyes, grunting out a “whatever,” but listening to his older sister like he always had and suddenly Azzi feels nostalgic for the little boy she had once known.

“You’re so tall,” she blurts out, grimacing slightly when he turns to her with a frown.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean I knew that. I’ve seen some of your highlights and I knew I mean- I knew you were taller and that you’ve gotten bigger and that you’d look stronger and all of that but I just-” Azzi gulps between her babbling, “you just- you look different Drew.”

There’s a shine of warmth in Drew’s gaze for a second but it flickers away faster than it had appeared and his eyes are cold with flecks of betrayal as he looks at Azzi, “that’s what happens as people get older isn’t it? I wouldn’t look so different to you if you’d been around to see me grow up.”

There’s venom laced in every word and Paige immediately opens her mouth to argue with him, but Azzi wraps a hand around her wrist to stop her. Because even if the words seep into her skin and infect it with bruises of guilt and regret, Azzi thinks she probably deserves them. She’d been in Drew’s world for so long and then one day, she just hadn’t been. She thinks he probably could have spewed something even more poisonous and she just might have deserved that too.

“Are you sleeping over too, Uncle Drew?” Stephie asks softly, unaffected by the tenseness of the adults around her.

“Uncle Drew?” Drew asks slowly.

Stephie nods with a grin, “Miss Buecks called you Drew and that’s when I figured it out. Mama and Miss Buecks have told me stories about you and there’s some pictures of you from when you were littler at Nana and Pop's house,” she rambles and Drew’s eyes soften at the idea of Stephie knowing of his existence, “ and just in case you don’t know who I am even though you should,” she gives him a pointed look as if everyone should know who the little girl is, “I’m Stephie. And you’re my Miss Buecks’s brother so that means you’re my Uncle Drew.”

“Right that um-” Drew clears his throats, “that makes sense Stephie.”

“So Uncle Drew, are you sleeping over too?”

“Yeah, yeah I guess I am.”

“YAY!” Stephie squeals as she laces her fingers through Drew and begins to pull him towards the front door, “so Uncle Drew what’s your favorite pizza topping?”

Something wonderful flutters in Azzi’s chest as she watches the two of them interact -it’s a little bit like seeing the past and present harmonically blend into one- but despite that, despite the reassurance that Paige squeezes against her hand, there’s an uneasiness lingering in the back of her mind. That wretched but familiar fear of the future weaves itself through her heart. Between the frostiness from Drew and whatever secret Paige is keeping from her, Azzi can’t help but wonder if these last couple of weeks had simply been a mirage. She can’t help but wonder if this bubble of happiness that they’ve built is about to be burst by a needle of circumstance again.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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