#I SWEAR if i get any comments that are like

[imaginespazzi]

Part 15: Love You Always

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

I never made promises lightly (and there have been some that I've broken) but I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold

(In which a go with the flow writer may have changed a lot of things, but this was always meant to be the ending)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Mainly just fluff with a little bit of angst and hurt/comfort

Words: 22.7K (lowkey upset I was 1.3K words off of making a 24K gold joke but ah well)

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce, Concussions/Fainting,

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Welcome to the end! This fic is my baby and I cannot believe that we've made it to the last chapter. There's a fair amount of creative license taken in this chapter in regards to W logistics so just bear with me for the plot/drama. The editing in this is shoddy as hell so please be my editors and point out typos/grammar mistakes. I wanted to thank all of you so much for all the love you've given GH. You guys have made this fic worth writing and whether you left a live-react, a general ask, a comment, reblogged it, hearted it or just read this fic, know that all of you mean so much to me. I would love your final opinions on this final chapter if you choose to share them. And of course we still have Stephie's version. So as per always my loves, let me know what your liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see next!

July 2007 

It’s golden hour. The park is illuminated by a resplendent yellow shine; sparkling drops of gold shimmering against the clear water of the pond that Paige is currently dipping her toes into. The echoes of the music from the gazebo contrasting against the lull of guest chattering fill her ears, as she reaches down to lazily run her fingers through the water. Paige pulls her dress up slightly, careful not to get it wet as she sits down on the bank. It isn’t her preferred attire by any means, but at least she’d gotten out of wearing the frock with pompous frills and ruffles that her mother had first picked out for her flower girl outfit.

The warmth of the sun dances against her cheeks as Paige involuntarily lets her eyes close, breathing in the much-needed moments of peace. It’s not that she’s unhappy with this wedding -her mother deserves to be happy and her new husband seems like a perfectly decent man. But there’s this hollow feeling of things will never be the same again that’s made itself home against Paige’s ribcage. And it’s not an unfamiliar feeling per say, not when it’s been festering within her since her parents got divorce. But today makes it feel finite. Once upon a time, there used to be Bob and Amy and Paige and a little house in the suburbs that, before it was filled with screaming, had been filled with laughter. Now there’s Amy and her new husband and maybe soon there will be Bob and his new wife. And then there’s Paige, who’s stuck moving between two houses, neither of which seem to fill the void of the old one. 

Paige is only six years old and perhaps she doesn’t quite understand all the intricacies of adult relationships, but she thinks she understands this one concept. And It’s a rather startling realization for such a young child to have, but she’s almost certain it’s true. 

Things that are lost, stay lost; they don’t come back to you. 

“I like your dress,” Paige’s eyes fly open at the sound of a small voice, shyly complimenting her dress.

Confused, she follows the sound of it till her gaze lands on a little girl, probably close to her own age, giving her a dimpled grin. Paige looks the dark-curled stranger up and down for a moment, taking in her casual shorts and pink butterfly t-shirt and she suddenly feels a little self-conscious in her own far-too-formal-for-a-park appearance, despite the compliment. 

“Thanks,” she says meekly, playing with the blue ribbon tied around the middle, “it’s my flower girl outfit.”

The other girl’s eyes gleam with excitement, “you were in a wedding?” 

Paige nods, the beginnings of a smile starting to peek through her own lips, “yeah,” she points towards the gazebo in the distance, “the rec-petion is happening over there.”

“That’s so cool,” the brunette remarks as she plops down next to Paige, daintily sliding off her sandals so she can slip her feet into the pond, “why are you here then?”

Paige hesitates, “it’s very loud.”

The other girl nods in understanding, “my Mommy and Daddy’s wedding was really loud too.”

Paige turns sharply towards her at that, “you went to your Mommy’s wedding too?”

Explaining the divorce to her classmates had been complicated enough -she barely understood the concept herself- but then, when she’d broken the news that she’d be attending her Mommy’s wedding this weekend, she’d gotten a whole other round of confused glances. 

Children don’t go to their Mommies weddings, one of the girls had said matter-of-factly, looking at Paige like she’d made some incredulous exclamation. Mrs. Carter, her favorite teacher, had overheard and intervened, sympathetically explaining the entire situation -and the supposed normalcy of it- on her behalf. That had been the extent of it and it had been enough to disband the small crowd of kids that had gathered around her. But there was something about the slight glint of pity in Mrs Carter’s eye and the almost judgemental tone of that one girl, that had left Paige feeling queasy about the whole ordeal. And so she’s surprised by how casually the darker-skinned girl in front of her mentions her own mother’s wedding, like it really was as normal as Mrs. Carter had explained it to be.

“Yeah I did, when I was littler, ” the girl admits happily, “they got married on a bask-ball court and it was lots and lots and lots of fun and I ate so much cake that I had a tummy ache after,” she giggles conspiratorially at her own words and there’s something so contagious about the sound of it, that Paige can’t help but laugh along. 

“Did you wear a pretty dress too,” she asks curiously, secretly pleased when her question makes the other girl’s face light up. 

“I did. It was like yours but it was pink,” the little girl sighs contentedly, “when I have my own wedding, I’m gonna wear pink again.”

Paige scrunches her nose, “you can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Silly girl,” the blonde shakes her head, “my Mommy says you have to wear white when you get married. It’s tradition.”

The other girl frowns, “but I love pink.”

“Maybe you can have something else in pink like-,” Paige pauses, thinking really hard, “like pink flowers in your book-et.”

The brunette seems to contemplate it for a while before another bright grin breaks out on her face, “I like that. You’re so smart.”

“Thank you,” Paige beams, her face glowing almost as bright as the world around them and then a sudden thought strikes her, “oh my name is-”

“Shush,” the other girl cuts her off, hurriedly placing her tiny hand against Paige’s mouth and the blonde’s eyes widen. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice muffled. 

“You can’t tell me your name silly,” the brunette says firmly, “Mommy says we don’t tell strangers p-ivate info-mation ‘cause what if they-” she drops her voice to a whisper, “what if they wanna kid-nap us.”

Paige wrangles herself free, giving the girl an odd look, “I’m not going to kid-nap you. I’m just a little girl. Little girls can’t kid-nap people,” she says, affronted, “are you gonna kid-nap me?”

“Of course not! I’m too nice-”

“Are you saying I’m not nice?”

“No- that’s not,” the other girl blushes, looking rather flustered, “it’s just what my Mommy says and Daddy says Mommy’s always right and I have to listen to her.”

“Fine,” Paige concedes, a little amused by how pitiful the girl in front of her looks, “I’ll tell you my middle-name instead and then when we meet again and you’re not a st-anger anymore, I’ll tell you my real name.”

“Who says we’ll meet again?” the brunette asks softly. 

“I do. I say so. I just know we’re gonna meet again,” Paige smirks, an air of arrogance around it but she really does believe it and she doesn’t know how she knows -is perhaps too young to understand the concept of a gut-feeling- but she just does. There’s something about this girl, about her big brown doe eyes and her carefree smile and the way talking to her just feels so comfortable, that has Paige convinced they’re destined to meet again, destined to be in each other’s lives. 

The girl seems to mull over Paige’s words for a moment before she finally stretches her hand out, “okay. I’m Jazlyn.”

“Jazlyn,” the blonde tests it out slowly, as she shakes Jazlyn’s hand, “that’s a pretty name. I’m Madison.”

“It’s nice to meet you Madison,” Jazlyn says, her voice filled with sincerity as they release each other’s hand, fingertips lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

“You too,” Paige replies politely as the two of them kick their feet back and forth in the cool water, ‘you said your Mommy and Daddy got married on a bask-ball court? Do you play?”

Jazlyn nods enthusiastically and that warm feeling that comes with finding common ground with a new friend, flickers through Paige’s heart, “I love bask-ball.”

“Me too,” Paige grins, “it’s my favorit-est thing in the whole wide world.

And then there’s no stopping the conversation between them, the two of them speaking a mile per minute as they cover as many topics as their little minds can think of. Paige learns that Jazlyn’s mother used to play basketball and had passed her passion onto her daughter. The other girl might not have lived much life yet, but whatever she has lived, has been immersed in the sport. It’s so different to Paige’s own story with basketball that had started only a year or so ago when her parents had started her in little league to get her mind off of the divorce. But it’s clear that despite their different starts, their love for the sport is the same. And Paige has basketball friends but no one quite seems to understand the thrill of making an orange ball go through a hoop as much as Jazlyn. 

The world slowly morphs from a golden hue into something darker, the water beneath their feet turning cold as the rays of sun hitting it begin to disappear. Golden hour is over. But the two of them barely notice, too enthralled in a silly argument about who the best Spongebob character is. Paige says Patrick. Jazlyn says Gary. Paige thinks Jazlyn’s lost her mind because Jazzie come on he’s a snail to which Jazlyn immediately raises her eye-brow because and Patrick is starfish Maddie, what’s your point? 

“Oh no,” it’s Jazlyn who seems to notice the time first, her eyes widening as she haphazardly stands up, accidentally flicking Paige with water when she slides her feet out of the pond, “I should get back to my Mommy and Daddy.”

“Right,” Paige swallows, a hollow feeling in her chest as she realizes her new friend is about to leave, “you can’t stay a little bit longer?”

Jazlyn shakes her head apologetically, “sorry Maddie. ‘Member I told you, we’re going back to Virg-inia tomorrow so I have to help Mommy pack all our things.”

Virginia. 

That’s the other thing Paige had discovered about the girl; that she wasn’t from around here. Jazlyn had come to visit her grandparents, just as she tended to every summer. She’d spent the last part of her holidays in their lodge, which coincidentally bordered the park -with the fancy gazebo- that Paige’s mom had booked for the reception. Paige had learned that this was a part of Jazlyn’s routine apparently, to stroll to the pond right before sunset and it was close enough to where she was staying that her parents let her go by herself. She’d told the blonde that for the most part the walks had been rather boring, peaceful but uneventful. Until today, when she’d stumbled upon Paige, sitting at the exact place Jazlyn would normally sit.

And, tomorrow, the other girl will be gone.

Paige isn’t quite sure where exactly Virginia is -geography isn’t her strong suite- but she knows that it’s far away from Minnesota, far away from Paige. They’ve just met; it feels almost wrong for them to already be torn apart. 

“Are you gonna visit again?” Paige asks slowly, her voice tinged with hope.

“Prob-ly. Like I said, we visit every summer,” Jazlyn says, as she slips her sandals back on, “are you gonna be here next time?”

“I think so,” Paige grins as she stands up herself, noticing she’s just an inch or so taller than the other girl, “Mommy’s new house is pretty close to here.”

Jazlyn’s smile stretches her entire face as she juts out her pinky, “so we’ll see each other again?”

“Def-nitely,” Paige promises as she interlocks her own pink with her friend’s, “I’m gonna miss you Jazzie. Even if I just met you.”

Jazlyn’s eyes soften before she pulls the other kid into a hug, her head fitting just a little too perfectly into the crook of Paige’s neck, “I’m gonna miss you too Maddie.”

They part reluctantly, too young to understand the confusing magnetic pull between them, but still perceptive enough to understand that, despite having only just met, there’s something between them. 

“Bye Maddie,” Jazlyn says quietly, her lips trembling for a slight second as she waves at the blond, slowly backing away. 

“Bye Jazzie,” Paige calls out, watching as the other girl smiles at her one last time, before turning on her heel and starting to run back home. She watches her go until her silhouette disappears and a slight shiver -that isn’t just from the summer wind- runs up Paige’s skin. 

“I hope I see you soon,” she whispers into the wind, almost like she’s making a wish, before hugging her arms around herself and heading back towards the gazebo. 

But soon isn’t quite soon. Because not even six months later, Paige’s mom and her new husband move to Montana, the house by the park sold to the highest bidder. When August rolls around, with the promise to Jazlyn weighing heavily on her mind, she begs her father to take her up there but instead, bound by a custody agreement, he puts her on a flight to go visit her mother instead. It’s not his choice to make and really, Paige is too young to fight it, so instead that becomes a part of her summer routine. Every August, Paige goes to Montana and slowly but surely -as is natural with little kids- the memory of meeting the girl with the dark curls and big doe eyes and a bright smile, slowly fades away. 

That is, until she’s 15 and participating in a camp for USA basketball and she meets Azzi Jazlyn Fudd. 

And the memories don’t quite come rushing back -it’s been nine years and her recollection of things that happened when she was six isn’t particularly good- but there's a flicker of recognition that ignites in her stomach. That same feeling she’d felt all those years ago, comes rushing back into her veins as their eyes meet across the court and by the way Azzi’s face softens just a little bit, Paige can tell, she feels it too. 

The feeling that the two of them are destined to be in each other’s life, that they’re destined to always find each other over and over again. 

*** 

July 2033 

Wings 76     Valkyries 94

American Airlines center is filled with the sound of crowds of fans grumbling as they leave the arena, their home team having suffered an expected loss to the Valkyries. Paige has no ill-will to the Dallas fans -they’d treated her with nothing but love her time here- but she can’t help but smirk a little, the competitor in her, just always a little too cocky about winning and shutting the opposing team's supporters up. 

But there are still fans of her tenure at Dallas here and Paige can’t escape the horde of signs being shoved in her face, waiting for her autograph. The fans have been crazy since she was in college and as grateful as she is for the fame, sometimes, just the sheer amount of people that seem to avalanche her out of nowhere, overwhelms her just a little bit. Still, Paige poses for the pictures and signs the most ridiculous poster with a warm smile on her face but her mind is wandering far off, thinking about walking through the tunnel and finding her person standing there, waiting so they can go do media together. 

It’s that thought that has her rushing a little bit, her signature becoming messier and messier as she slowly reaches the last of the fans. Paige shoots the crowd one more charming grin, before she slips away -the for the people smile on her face morphing into something more intimate as she rushes towards the tunnel. It’s been almost three weeks since Paige had gotten her head out of her ass and finally gotten the girl, and every single second since has felt like magic. 

“Hey superstar,” Azzi calls out to her as she makes it about halfway into the tunnel and Paige feels her heart skip a beat as she finally catches sight of the brunette, leaning against the wall, watching her with a smirk of her own. She’s slipped on a Valkyrie’s shirt over her jersey, her hair slightly mussed from the pace of the game and Paige thinks she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. 

“Hey baby,” she whispers, as she saunters over to Azzi, tugging the younger woman into her arms as she brushes their lips together, “I missed you.”

The brunette rolls her eyes fondly, her hands locking behind Paige’s neck as her fingers play with wisps of baby hair, “we were just on the court together. It’s been maybe seven minutes since you last saw me.”

“Seven minutes too long,” Paige says airly as she steals another kiss from Azzi’s lips, “I miss you every second we’re apart.”

“You’re such a sap,” Azzi shakes her head as removes herself from Paige’s grasp, giggling when it elicits a small whine of protest from the blonde, before she intertwines their hands together as they start walking towards the media waiting room. 

They barely make it into the area before there’s a blur of limbs whizzing into their legs, causing both of them to laugh as they try to keep themselves from falling over at Stephie’s attack. The little girl grins up at them, a lavender #5 jersey -that makes Paige practically glow with pride- framing her little body. Stephie had taken to alternating between her customized #5 and #35 jerseys between games and even though technically today should’ve been Azzi’s turn, the little girl had insisted that she needed to wear #5 today. 

To show Dall-s that she’s only ours now, Stephie had said with a possessive scrunch in her face when Azzi had dramatically complained of the betrayal. The logic had been enough for the brunette who’d agreed in a heartbeat that of course, you’re right, everyone should know she’s ours as she’d winked at Paige. The blonde had only chuckled, but really it had sent a ember of warmth through her veins, filling her heart with the comfort that came from knowing the people she considered hers, considered her to be theirs. 

“Mama, Miss Buecks, you played so well today,” Stephie gushes, arms still fervently wrapped around both of their knees as she grins up at them, “and-and-and I cheered so loud for you guys. The loudest. So loud that even Pops had to tell me to be quieter. Can you believe it Pops had to tell me to be quiet,” the little girl giggles like it’s absurd that her grandfather -the most boisterous man she knew- could tell someone else to be quiet, “but I told him I’d only be quieter when you guys played less good-er and you guys never played less good-er so I never had to be quiet,” she finishes with a proud smirk. 

Paige laughs at her enthusiasm, winking at Tim who’s spluttering justifications, as she swings Stephie into her arms, before plopping onto the sofa with the little girl comfortably settled in her lap, “You were that loud huh? I knew I heard you.”

Stephie beams, “you heard me?”

“Of course I did. Why do you think all my shots kept going in? It’s cause I knew my Stephie-bean was cheering the loudest for me,” Paige says, as she pulls on the little girl’s nose. 

“The loud-est-est-est,” Stephie stretches her arms proudly before she wraps them around Paige’s neck, bringing the blonde closer to her so she can press a long sloppy kiss to her cheek. 

“Oh okay I see how it is,” Azzi pouts dramatically as she perches on the armrest next to them, “guess nobody was cheering for me then.”

“Silly Mama,” Stephie shakes her tiny little hands reaching up to cup her mother’s face across Paige’s body, “I said I was cheering for both of you.”

“But only Miss Buecks is getting kisses. Where’s Mama’s kiss?” Azzi asks cheekily as she expectantly juts out her face towards Stephie. 

But before the little girl can do the honors, Paige beats her to it, foolishly grinning like a teenager in love as she presses her own lips to Azzi’s cheek, “there you go baby, there’s your kiss.”

“Paige!” Azzi exclaims, eyes widening in surprise as a light blush creeps up her cheeks. 

Paige shrugs mischievously, “What? You wanted a kiss Az, I gave you a kiss.”

“I was- I was-,” Azzi splutters, “I was asking Stephie.”

“Oh, were you? My bad. Didn’t realize, lemme take it back,” Paige smirks as she places her lips back onto the brunette’s cheek, suctioning them inwards like she’s trying to reverse what she did previously, “there! I took my kiss back.”

“Paige!” Azzi squirms again, her face crimson now as she rubs at her cheek, glaring at Paige who looks far too pleased with herself. 

“You’re so red Mama,” Stephie giggles, all of her teeth showing. 

“Zip it Stephie,” Azzi says, attempting to sound strict but there’s no bite to her tone and instead Stephie and Paige look at each other for a second, before bursting into another round of laughter. 

Azzi groans, “I hate both of you.”

Stephie removes one arm from Paige’s neck, so she can loop it around her mother’s, bringing the brunette closer to the two of them, “no you don’t Mama, you love us the most-est-est-est in the world.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, but there’s no stopping the sappy smile that her daughter’s words elicit, “maybe just most-est-est,” she concedes as she nuzzles her head against Paige’s, her finger gently rubbing Stephie’s cheek. 

They stay like that, the three of them cocooned in their own little bubble as Stephie recites her favorite moments from the game and the two adults listen on intently, adding a comment or two here and there to humor the little girl. This is Paige’s happy place; she thinks if peace had a definition, it would most definitely just be a picture of this: her, Azzi and Stephie, just existing together. 

“Excuse me, Paige, Azzi, they’re ready for the two of you now,” a polite voice breaks in through the calm and Paige looks up to see their media manager looking pointedly at the two of them. 

“Alright Stephie girl,” Tim calls out, “let's you and me go get some ice cream, while your Mama and Miss Buecks go do press.”

Stephie frowns, her grip instinctively tightening around the two women, “can I come with you?”

“Stephie-” Azzi begins gently, slowly rising off of the armrest. 

“Please Mama,” Stephie implores, jutting out her bottom lip, “Ri-Ri says Uncle Twin used to let her do media with him sometimes. She showed me a video of it and everything. I’ll be good I promise,” she places a hand on her heart, “I just wanna be with you and Miss Buecks pretty please.”

Paige bites her lip, still a little scared to overstep boundaries since last time but she sends Azzi a pleading look, not wanting to let go of Stephie either. And really Paige has already fulfilled her saying no to Stephie quota for the week considering it was her, who’d said no to the little girl when she’d asked for extra whipped cream on her waffles this morning. 

“Fine,” Azzi relents with a sigh, “but you better be on your best behavior Miss Stephanie and you too Paige,” she says pointedly to the blonde who holds her hands up in mock surrender. 

 “I’m always on my best-est-est-est behavior Mama,” Stephie says proudly as she slides off of Paige’s lap to allow the older woman to get up. As soon as she does, the little girl reaches for her hand, intertwining one through Paige’s and the other through Azzi’s as she excitedly bounces in between, pulling them towards the conference room, “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

Murmurs ring out through the press cohort as the three of them enter together. Despite Azzi’s reassurance that she had no intent to hide their relationship this time around, neither of them were really the type to make a big public announcement acknowledging it either. But there had been a picture of Stephie and Azzi -both casually sticking their blue-tinted tongues out at each other while holding rainbow popsicles- that Paige had added to her life lately photo dump around a week ago, which had sent the rumours flying about what their potential relationship status might be.

As Paige and Azzi take their seats, Stephie looks thoughtful between them, clearly deliberating on where -or rather on who- she wants to sit. Eventually, she climbs onto Paige’s lap and the blonde smirks triumphantly as Azzi’s mouth falls open. 

“Guess I’m the favorite,” the older woman says cheekily into the mic in front of her, causing a few chuckles to echo throughout the press room as she drapes an arm around the little girl’s middle -right against the #5 of her jersey- allowing Stephie to get comfortable. 

Azzi shakes her head, the edges of lips turning upwards despite her attempt to look betrayed as she addresses the rest of the room, “y’all should know the ball isn’t the only thing she steals,” she says in reference to Paige’s three steals tonight, “she also apparently steals other people’s places as their child’s favorite person in the whole wide world.”

“That’s not true Mama,” Stephie quips defensively, “you guys are tied.”

“But me just a little bit more though right Stephie-bean?” Paige whispers conspiratorially, poking the little girl in the stomach and causing her to squeal.

“Miss Buecks stop,” Stephie says in between peals of laughter, “Mama said we have to be on our best-est-est-est behavior remember?”

“Oh right, right, right,” Paige nods vehemently, pretending to compose herself as the media personnel look on amused at the antics on display, “best behavior from now on I promise.”

The first couple of questions are directed to Azzi -mainly about her career high in blocks (4) and that she’d gone 7 for 10 from three- and Paige allows herself to dissociate a little bit. She hooks her chin against Stephie’s shoulder, bringing the box score closer to herself so she can look through it. The little girl leans in alongside her to look at the paper in front of them and Paige almost laughs at the concentration with which Stephie’s eyes trace the numbers. 

“Only three rebounds tonight Miss Buecks?” the little girl notes keeping her voice low so the mics won’t pick it up as she raises her eyebrow at Paige and attempts to tsk tsk tsk.

“Can’t do everything I guess,” the blonde replies playfully, pointing out that she’d more or less stuffed the stat-sheet beyond that. 

“But you still gotta rebound Miss Buecks” Stephie says gravely, with all the wisdom of a little girl who’s grown up around a lot of basketball, “don’t you always say to Mama that she has to rebound more? Cause rebounds win champ-ships right?”

“Not you using my own words against me. You’re too smart for your own good,” Paige mutters under her breath but there’s a gentle smile -one reserved solely for the little girl cuddled to her chest- playing on her lips, “but alright Coach Stephanie, I’ll get more rebounds next time.”

“Good. You should,” the little girl retorts happily, as she goes back to reading the box score, continuing to occasionally point out other things that peak her interest, to Paige. For her part, the blonde is so lost in this little bubble she’s in with Stephie -intently listening to the little girl’s analysis as they giggle over something they’d both found funny- that she doesn’t even register a question being sent her own way until Azzi loudly clears her throat. 

She raises her head at the sound and even though the whole room is looking at her, Paige’s eyes -as they often seem to do whenever the brunette is around- immediately turn towards Azzi. The younger woman’s gaze is focused on the two of them, something unmistakably soft hidden behind the amused quirk of her eyebrow, as she tilts her head slightly towards the reporters, trying to signal that it was the older woman’s turn to answer a question. 

“Sorry,” Paige clears her throat sheepishly, “what was the question?”

The reporter -a young man that she recognizes as working on one of the Dallas sports news channel- chuckles, “sorry to interrupt Paige; she’s a lot cuter than we are, I understand,” he teases good-naturedly and a series of amused laughs ring out through the room as Paige nuzzles Stephie closer to herself, “I was just asking -this is your first time playing in Dallas since you left, how does it feel to be back?”

“It feels great,” the blonde admits with a smile, and although it’s partly the politically correct answer, she really does mean it, “I’ve always loved playing here you know, the fans always- always showed out for this team when I was here and it’s great to see they did again today. It was a little weird being boo-ed by the same people who used to cheer for me when I was shooting free throws- but you know- that’s sports and you know they still clapped for me when I came out so I’mma take that as they still love me just a little bit cause I’m pretty easy to love,” Paige winks and can practically feel Azzi rolling her eyes at the gesture, as the reporters laugh at her feigned cockines, “but yeah you know- it was great to be here. You know this place used to be home once-”

“And now home is me and Mama,” Stephie announces, cutting Paige off mid sentence as she turns around in the older woman’s lap, her big brown eyes glittering as she looks up at her, “right Miss Buecks?”

It’s like everyone seems to hold their breaths at the little girl’s words; there’s no denying the meaning behind them. Paige opens and closes her mouth, trying to figure out the right way to respond. She glances towards Azzi, trying to figure out how the other woman wants them to play this. The brunette is already looking at her, her eyes slightly wide at what her daughter had just said but filled with the promise of we’ll always be your home as she gives Paige a slight nod, her lip curling upwards into a small grin. 

“Right Stephie-bean,” Paige says softly, addressing the little girl more than the media, “my home is you and Mama.”

“You’re our home too Miss Buecks,” Stephie grins toothily as she reaches up to press an open mouth kissed against the blonde woman’s cheeks before turning her little body back towards the press, unaware of the spark of emotion her innocent little declaration had birthed in Paige’s heart. She looks at Azzi again, finding her eyes moist with the same tears of pure happiness that she knows are reflected on her own, a testament to finally getting everything they’d dreamt of as two naive college students, curled into each other on a twin-sized bed. 

And then there’s a familiar cough resounding through the audience and Paige feels her entire body stiffen. She reluctantly drags her gaze away from Azzi and amidst the sea of smiling faces -all of whom had clearly found the scene rather sickeningly cute- she finds a distinctly known face scowling up at the podium. Olivia. 

"Miss Buecks," Stephie whispers, as she lifts herself a little off of Paige's lap so her lips are level with the blonde's ear, "why does that reporter look so mad?"

Paige swallows, her grip tightening protectively around the little girl on her lap,

 “It’s nothing honey,” she reassures but there’s little conviction in her voice. 

Paige can almost feel the tension radiating off of Azzi’s body, clearly recognizing who the reporter is and she has to fight the urge to reach out and grab the younger woman’s hand, to squeeze or trace light patterns against her skin. She doesn’t know how she’d spent so long not realizing her ex-wife was sitting second-row at the press conference. Paige had known Olivia was gonna be here, had been mentally preparing for her to be covering the Dallas game and yet, perhaps because she’d been so preoccupied with Stephie and Azzi while walking, she’d barely taken note of the woman. 

“This is a press conference, not your home,” Olivia remarks icily and all the other reporters twitch uncomfortably in their seats, clearly aware of the dynamics at play, “so if y’all are done, I think we’d all love to go finish this off and get back to our own homes as well.”

Azzi’s hands clench under the table and this time Paige doesn’t bother fighting it; she uses the hand not gripping Stephie, to grab for the younger woman's fists under the table, rubbing soothing circles against her knuckles to try and calm her down. It’s like there’s magic in her touch -the same that seems to exist in Azzi’s when she touches Paige- and slowly but surely it begins to calm the brunette down. 

Still keeping hold of Azzi’s hand underneath the podium, Paige musters up an apologetic smile for Olivia, “sorry- that was uh- that wasn’t very professional of us.”

“Well workplace relationships aren’t quite professional either,” Olivia remarks pointedly, an unsettlingly saccharine smile on her face, and it’s like a cold chill -most definitely not from the air conditioning- settles across the room, “but that’s never been an issue for you has it Paige?”

Paige stares at the journalist in shock, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to respond. Since the divorce, despite the amicable appearances, Olivia had always had a thinly-veiled passive-aggressive jab ready to integrate into her post-game media questions. But there was nothing thinly-veiled or remotely passive about this particular remark and Paige is completely caught off-guard, her body freezing at the sheer amount of vitriol in her ex-wife’s voice. 

As if sensing her unease, Stephie leans back into Paige, almost as if she’s trying to provide some semblance of comfort. Under the table, Azzi flips her hand over, unclenching her own fist so she can intertwine their hands together as she gently squeezes the blonde’s hand, a simple gesture of i’m here that makes Paige relax just a little bit. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi says, her voice a matching syrupy sweet as she focuses her attention on the reporter, “I was under the impression you wanted to continue the press conference but well-” she tilts her head almost mockingly, “you don’t seem to be asking any basketball questions so unless you have one of those, I suggest you let the others ask their questions because like you said, we’re all ready to go home.”

There’s a quick flash of anger in Olivia’s eyes but she’s quick to compose herself, putting on a tight-lipped smile as she addresses the two of them again, “I do have a basketball question thank you Azzi,” she spits the brunette’s name out bitterly and Paige tries to not show her irritation on her face, choosing instead to focus on the pressure of Azzi’s fingers playing with her own, “the two of you have been known since college for your chemistry- on the court that is of course- apparently Paige has a knack for finding your or something. But over the last two games, only two of your shots have been assisted by her? So I guess I’m just wondering, is the chemistry fading? Were you guys maybe just trying to force something that used to exist but isn’t meant to anymore?”

It’s a ridiculous question laced with farcical underlying meanings and Paige can tell it takes every little bit of restraint left in Azzi’s body to not curse Olivia out right then and there. 

“And what happened in the game before the last two?” the brunette asks calmly. 

Olivia shrugs, “does it matter? I’m asking about the last two games.”

“Did you watch that game?” Azzi presses. 

“There was a Wings game on at the same time. I had priorities,” Olivia answers airily. 

“Fair enough,” Azzi says, her voice deceptively casual as she narrows her eyes at the other woman, “I’ll tell you what happened then. The game before that, Paige assisted on six of my eight made shots. The game before that one, she assisted on four of them. The game before that, on five of them. I guess it’s gone down a little these last two games but as a journalist you should probably know that two games doesn't make a trend. So no, we’re not trying to force something that used to exist. We’re building off of something -off of a chemistry- that has always existed,” she glances briefly at Paige, her stoic expression softening, “and always will,” before turning back to Olivia with cold eyes, “does that answer your question?”

Olivia purses her lips as she nods reluctantly, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Azzi retorts.

There’s only two more questions after that, the atmosphere in the room having clearly shifted and all the rest of the reporters clearly eager to escape the still-lingering tension. Paige doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand, that and Stephie’s occasional fidgeting on her lap, the only thing keeping her fully grounded. 

As soon as the press conference officially concludes, Azzi’s out of her seat, marching out of the media room with vengeance and Paige knows exactly where she’s going. 

“Stephie sweetheart, you go hang out with Pops for a second okay,” she tells the little girl, pointing her in the direction of Tim who had been waiting on the sidelines, before rushing to catch up with her girlfriend. 

“Az-” Paige attempts to say as she falls into step next to the younger girl, trying to match her furious pace, “baby come on it’s not worth it.”

Azzi ignores her, continuing on her tirade towards Olivia, who is where she always is, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Azzi hisses, coming to a quick half in front of the reporter and Paige stops right behind her. 

Olivia quirks an eyebrow, “excuse me?”

“Oh don’t even try that bullshit with me. Look I get it okay- I get that you have issues with Paige and probably with me and that’s fine. You have every right to dislike us- maybe even hate us but pulling that stunt in front of all the media? You don’t get to do all that.”

“And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” Olivia asks, not even attempting to keep up a pretense of cordiality. 

“Do not test me,” Azzi warns, “you know damn well I can have your credentials to cover the Wings revoked with one word.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know me,” the brunette cuts off Olivia’s weak protest, “you don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do for the people I love.”

A flicker of hurt rushes across her ex-wife’s face and Paige suddenly feels a slight pang of guilt taking birth in her stomach. In front of her, Azzi lets out a shallow breath, clearly having noticed the same thing. 

“I know what it’s like you know,” the younger woman says slowly, her voice much softer now, “I know what it’s like to lose Paige. I know what it’s like to see her with someone else. I know how much it hurts,” Azzi swallows, shaking slightly like even the memory of it is hard to relieve before her voice hardens again, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll just let you take that hurt out on us like that. Next time we’re in Dallas, if you pull that shit again, know that I will absolutely get you fired.”

Olivia doesn’t say anything, pointedly looking away from Azzi as she crosses her arms around her body. Knowing the lack of response would only irritate the brunette further, Paige takes a step towards her, gently pressing her thumb against Azzi’s wrist to get her attention. 

“Hey Az, baby how about you go check on Stephie? Maybe get changed so we can head out,” she says softly, giving the younger woman one of her patented charming smiles, “I’ll come find you guys in a little bit.”

For a second it looks like Azzi’s going to protest but there must be something in the look that Paige gives her and instead she sighs, nodding as she lightly bumps her forehead against the blonde’s temple, before walking back towards the media waiting room. Paige can’t help but watch her go until her silhouette disappears, can’t help the just for Azzi smile that stays glued on her face till the brunette is out of her sight. 

“You used to tell me you didn’t do nicknames,” Olivia’s tone is tinged with resigned bitterness and Paige takes in a sharp breath before turning slightly to face her ex-wife. 

“What?”

“I told you- on our first date I think- that you could call me Livvy and you said- you said you don’t do nicknames. Or pet names. But clearly,” she gestures in the direction Azzi had gone, “you do.”

Paige pauses, letting the other woman’s words sink in as she pinches the bridge of her nose, “I’m sorry.”

Olivia chuckles unhumourously, “for not calling me by pet name or for all the stuff your girlfriend just said?”

“Neither, “Paige replies cautiously, “and Azzi didn’t say anything wr-”

“She threatened to get me fired-”

“Because what you did in there was really fucking unprofessional Olivia,” Paige defends immediately, matching the loudness in her ex-wife’s tone. 

Olivia narrows her eyes, “so then what exactly are you apologizing for Paige?”

“I’m apologizing for making you feel like you have to be unprofessional. You’re a really good journalist and I- I hate that I make you act differently. And I know that- I know it comes from a place of hurt and I know I’m the reason that hurt exists. And I don’t think- I don’t think I ever properly told you how sorry I am for it,” Paige nibbles nervously on her bottom lip, “so that’s- that’s what I’m apologizing for.”

Olivia’s quiet for a second and when she finally does speak, there’s  a fragility hanging onto her words, “I was right, wasn’t I? All those arguments- during all those fights about- about her when I said that you were still in love with her- you- you never denied it. You just- you would always change the topic- say that it wasn’t about her. But I was right, wasn’t I? You did still love her.”

Paige hesitates, “Olivia-”

“Give me this one last thing Paige, please,” Olivia pleads softly, “just- tell me I was right.”

“You were,” Paige admits finally and both of them seem to let out a breath they hadn’t known they were holding, “I’ve loved her since I was fifteen and there hasn’t been a moment since then that I haven’t been in love with her.”

Olivia flinches, screwing her eyes shut for a second, “I thought that would hurt more to hear but it-” her eyelids flutter open as for the first time in a long time, she gives Paige an almost genuine smile, “it almost feels good to hear. To know I wasn’t crazy.”

“You weren’t. I’m sorry,” Paige repeats again, “I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“I know. Me too. You’re right- you’re both right. I- I shouldn’t have done what I did at the press conference. I’m sorry- for that and for all the other ones too,” Olivia acknowledges slowly, “tell um- tell Azzi that too. That I’m sorry and I uh- I’d really appreciate it if she didn’t try and get me fired.”

They both giggle softly at that and it feels like a weight being lifted off of Paige’s shoulders, something almost like closure. 

“I’ll make sure she knows,” she promises. 

“Thanks,” Olivia nods, folding her press notes into her purse as she gets ready to leave, “bye Paige.”

Paige smiles, “bye Olivia.”

And then she turns around, and walks back towards Azzi, back to where she’s always belonged. 

***

Azzi’s sitting on the couch in the locker room -having changed back into regular clothes- by the time Paige returns from whatever conversation she’d been having with her ex-wife. She’s aware she’d probably been a little harsh on the other woman -knows that the not-so-kind feelings she has towards said woman is definitely unwarranted- but she’d had the audacity to target their relationship -to target Paige. And that had been enough for Azzi’s anger to cloud the more empathetic side of herself, who understood the hurt the other woman must have felt at having to watch the three of them -happy and giddy with love- on the podium together. 

“How did your conversation with your ex-wife go?” she asks as Paige enters the locker room, swinging her feet up to lounge them on the armrest. Azzi’s not normally a petty person but the mere existence of another woman having been married to her Paige, seems to evoke that side of her more often than not. 

The blonde shoots her a pointed look as she walks over to her stuff, “that was unnecessary and you know it.”

“It was. I’m sorry,” Azzi rubs her neck sheepishly, “but I really do wanna know what happened.”

“I apologized,” Paige says, slipping her jersey off and Azzi’s momentarily distracted by the sight of her girlfriend's abs, tongue instinctively darting out to lick her lips, that she doesn’t quite register what the older woman had just said. 

“What?” she frowns when the realization finally does hit, “why would you apologize?”

Paige sighs, slipping on the light blue oversized shirt -the one Azzi loves because it brings out the color of her eyes- before reaching for the darker cargo pants that had accompanied it, “because she only pulls shit like this because I hurt her. And I guess it worked cause, she apologized too.”

“You’re a good person, you know that?” Azzi says softly and she means it. Sometimes it amazes her just how amazing Paige is despite it all, just how humble and kind she's remained despite the fame that surrounded her. 

Paige grins, finally dressed as she plops on the couch next to Azzi, lifting the younger woman's legs up and rearranging them so they’re settled comfortably on her lap. 

“I know but I like hearing you say it,” she says as she lets her fingers run across the exposed skin of Azzi’s thighs. 

The younger woman raises her eyebrows as Paige’s hand moves higher up, a smirk on the blonde’s face, “what are you doing?”

“You’re hot when you get all protective and shit you know that,” Paige says slowly, pulling Azzi closer to herself, clearly pleased when she’s met with little resistance, “it’s really sexy when you get all defensive. Especially when it’s about me.”

“Oh it is, is it?” Azzi asks, eyes hooding over when Paige presses her lips against her neck, her movements gentle but purposefully as her hands continue to roam up and down the younger woman’s legs, “Paige- fuck-,” she groans when the blonde’s teeth graze against her skin, “baby we’re in the lockerroom. Anyone could walk in.”

“Let them,” Paige says, mouth moving down to work against her collarbone, and Azzi shivers, almost losing her restraint, “been wanting to do this all day. Since you came out in this skirt- fucking tease aren’t you baby? And then you were so hot on the court- so sexy when you’re confident.”

“Paige please,” Azzi reaches out a hand to still Paige’s movements, finger enclosing over the older woman’s hands, knowing she’s one moment away from caving in and letting Paige have what she wants, “we gotta go baby. Gotta get back to the hotel and I swear, once Stephie’s asleep in my parents’ suite, you can do whatever you want to me.”

Paige smirks against her skin, “whatever I want?”

“Whatever,” Azzi promises coyly, pulling the blonde’s face out of her neck so she can meld their lips together. 

“I like the sound of that,” Paige grins as she finally lets go of Azzi, standing up and pulling the brunette up with her so she can lace their hands together, “where is Stephie anyways?”

“With Ice and Jana. Something about aunty-niece bonding time,” Azzi answers with a slight fond shake of her head, only a little concerned about what mischief their friends might be up to with her daughter. 

And sure enough, when Paige and Azzi do finally find the little girl, she’s sitting in between their former college teammates on a picnic bench right outside the Dallas facilities,  her mouth stuffed with saltine crackers and her entire face decorated with crumbs.

“What on earth,” it’s Paige who recovers first, eyes darting back and forth between Ice and Jana, who both also have a mouth full of saltine crackers, and Stephie. 

A series of indiscernible noises ring out from the three people in question, the crackers in their respective mouths clearly prohibiting them from being coherent and Azzi isn’t sure whether to be concerned or to laugh. 

“They’re doing the crackers challenge,” a new voice explains helpfully, and Azzi follows the sound of it to find KK’s face -bright and goofy as always- grinning at her from Jana’s phone screen. Their former teammate waves excitedly, “HI MOM AND DAD.”

“Of course, you’re here too,” Paige chuckles as she lines up behind Stephie, rubbing the little girl’s back as she continues to scarf down crackers. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” KK asks, affronted and then glances at the timer, “chop chop ladies, y’all only have 20 more seconds left- anyways what are you tryna say P Boogers?”

Paige rolls her eyes as Azzi stifles a laugh, taking a seat as she keeps a watchful eye on her daughter just in case. 

“I am way too old for you to be calling me that nickname Kamorea.”

“You are too old,” KK admits thoughtfully and Paige immediately guffaws, “but not too old to be called P Boogers. Anyways, countdown time 10, 9, 8…”

Azzi shakes her head as Paige joins in with KK, banging her fists on the table for emphasis and for a second it almost feels like they’re back to being a bunch of twenty-something year olds just learning to navigate life together with a ball in their hands,  “4, 3, 2,1!!!”

“I WIN,” Stephie announces, spraying the table with crumbs as she jumps up from her seat to claim victory. 

“NO YOU DIDN’T,” Ice protests loudly, her voice still muffled by the remnant of crackers, as she points to her bowl, “I have two left and you have two and a half.”

“The half doesn’t count Aunty Icey,” Stephie says matter-of-factly. 

Ice splutters, “what do you mean it doesn’t count,” she looks at Jana, who’s clearly still having trouble swallowing as she coughs, “Jana help.”

The Egyptian shakes her head, struggling to breathe and Azzi -with a pitying look on her face- hands her a glass of water that she gratefully takes. The entire scene is chaotic and yet, it brings the brunette a sense of peace, like something she hadn’t let herself realize was broken, is healing. 

“KK,” Ice rounds on the shorter girl on the phone, once she realizes Jana’s not gonna help her, “KAMOREA TELL THIS- THIS- THIS CHILD THAT I WON.”

“No Aunty ‘Morea,” Stephie says sweetly and by the way KK’s face immediately softens at the nickname, Azzi already knows who the younger woman is about to declare as the winner, “tell Aunty Icey that I won because the half doesn’t count right? Cause I’m littler and my mouth is smaller than hers.”

“ARE YOU SAYING I HAVE A BIG MOUTH,” Ice explodes, her eyes widening when Stephie shrugs impishly and then proceeds to high-five a laughing Paige who almost has tears spilling out of her eyes. 

“She makes a good point Isuneh,” KK says finally, “you do have a big mouth-”

“Kamorea when I fu-”

“Ice!” Paige warns, coughing slightly as she recovers from her laughter. 

Ice glares at her, “when I fudging catch you.”

“I’m not scared of you Isuneh,” KK says ruefully, “anyways I hereby declare Stephanie Katarina Fudd, the winner of this saltine challenge.”

Paige and Stephie burst into cheers as Ice continues to shake her head, “y’all are some cheaters.”

Stephie sticks her tongue out at the older woman before bounding over to Azzi, swinging her arms around her neck as her mother lifts her onto her lap, “Mama, Mama, Mama, did you see I won?”

“I did,” Azzi chuckles, as she brushes the crumbs lining her daughter’s mouth. 

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna eat another car-ker again though,” the little girl makes a face, patting at her stomach, “I feel sick.”

“My poor baby,” Azzi coos, “eating a bunch of saltines after you’ve already had dinner will do that to you.”

Stephie pouts at the call-out, “but Mama I had to win the challenge. Miss Buecks says never say no to a challenge you know you can win and I knew Mama, I knew I could win and I did.”

Azzi looks over Stephie’s head at Paige, who grins sheepishly at her before coming over to sit right behind them on the bench, so her chest is pressed to Azzi’s back and she can wrap her long arms around both mother and daughter.

“I did teach her that,” Paige confesses, “and I mean,” she winks conspiratorially at Stephie, “she did win.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Azzi rolls her eyes, her body relaxing as she leans back into the warmth of Paige’s body, humming contently when the older woman presses a quick kiss against her temple. 

“It’s good to see y’all are disgustingly cute as ever,” KK’s voice interrupts the calm, but there’s no real bite to her teasing; in fact there might even be a little bit of relief, “ion know how Jana’s dealing with the two of you again.”

“It’s a hard life,” Jana says solemnly, having finally recovered from the whole cracker debacle by having downed a whole bottle of water. 

“I bet. Do they still do that thing they used to do? Where they just keep staring at each other with dopey smiles and not saying anything?” KK inquires, a mock disgusted expression on her face.

“Oh they might do it more than they used to actually,” Jana complains as both Paige and Azzi try to protest, “it’s sickening stuff. Free me forreal.”

“Y’all are so mean,” Paige grumbles into the crook of Azzi’s neck, smiling only when Stephie lightly pats her head in consolation. 

“Don’t be mean to my Mama and Miss Buecks,” Stephie says diligently, turning towards her Aunties with a small frown, “they’re a little gross-”

“HEY.”

“Sorry Miss Buecks. But you are sometimes. But it’s okay,” the little girl grins, “because you’re in love and it’s okay to be a little icky in love.”

Azzi smiles at her daughter's wise words; thinks the little girl and their former teammates are probably both right. They are a little gross and disgusting and sickeningly in love but it’s their love. It’s the only way they’ve known how to love since they were fifteen -nauseatingly but all-consumingly- and she wouldn’t change that for anything. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Ice defends finally. 

“See, this is why you were always my favorite child back in school,” Paige fistbumps Ice and and immediately both Jana and KK let out a chorus of protests. 

“I knew it,” Ice smirks triumphantly, “but no forreal. I’m really glad y’all found your way back to each other. I can’t lie, after that time you drunk-called Azzi and said all that stuff to her, I didn’t think y’all-” she stops abruptly, eyes widening in realization of what she’d just let slip out. 

“Ice,” Jana hisses, glaring at her former teammate before looking concernedly at her two current ones.

Azzi twists uncomfortably, “P-”

“When did I drunk-call Azzi?” Paige asks slowly, her voice dripping with confusion, “what are you talking about?”

“Did I say that?” Ice chuckles nervously, her tone unusually high-pitched, “oh you know me, always make up stuff for no reason. Why would you drunk-call Azzi? Why would I even let that happen, amirite?”

“Nice job Isuneh, real convincing,” Jana mutters under her breath as Paige continues to look unconvinced. 

“Mama,” Stephie cuts in, peering up at Azzi with big questioning eyes, “what’s drunk-calling?”

“It’s nothing sweetie,” Azzi reassures the little girl before looking pointedly at Ice, “you still driving us back to the hotel?”

Ice nods hesitantly, “I got a carseat and everything just for little miss Stephanie.”

“Good, it’s the least you could do,” Azzi bites out, referring to the secret the other woman had just accidentally let out -one they’d preserved for four years- and Ice at least has the decency to look a little bit ashamed, “how about you and Jana take Stephie and start heading towards the car, we’ll catch up in a second.”

“Trust me Az,” KK calls out, still on facetime, “I’ll make sure they don’t lose her.”

Despite the newfound tenseness around them, Azzi smiles at her fellow UConn alum, “I’mma hold you to that Kamorea.”

“What is Ice talking about? What drunk phone call? What did she mean by all that bullshit I said to you,” Paige says immediately as soon as the trio of Jana, Ice and Stephie have made it far enough out of earshot, moving herself so that she’s now facing the brunette, “what did I say?”

Azzi gulps, searching to see if there’s even a hint of recollection in the blonde’s face, “you really don’t remember it do you?”

Paige shakes her head helplessly. Sensing how much it’s stressing her out to not know, Azzi takes in a deep breath, intertwining their fingers together, trying to provide the older woman with some semblance of comfort -of what happened in the past, is in the past- to make her feel just a little more at ease. 

“Baby,” Paige pleads, “please tell me.”

“It was a couple of years ago. Probably- probably a month or so before your divorce or something and I guess- I guess you and your ex-wife, you guys had- you guys had a big fight or something and you were drunk- like really drunk,” Azzi begins. 

Paige nods along, “I think- I think I know what night you’re talking about. Olivia and I- it wasn’t just one fight. It was constant, almost every night and then it just got really bad one night and I- I dragged Ice to a bar and I- I definitely drank too much,” she cracks a smile, “clearly cause I- I don’t even remember calling you. I can’t believe Ice didn’t tell me before.”

“I told her not to,” Azzi admits and she thinks it’s rather ironic that Paige has no memory of a phone-call that had been the only thing occupying her mind for days after it happened. But then again, that’s how she’d wanted it. She hadn’t wanted Paige to remember that phone call -hadn’t wanted her to feel those same waves of wretched guilt -the ones the blonde’s words had drowned Azzi in- that came crashing into you with hurting the person you love the most in the world. 

“Az,” Paige presses softly, “what did I say?”

Azzi closes her eyes -and it’s almost like she can hear that call again, can hear the vitriol in the bullets Paige had aimed towards, “you- you were really upset Paige. Whatever fight you guys had, had- I guess- I guess it was about me and you- you were mad at me because of that. I think- I think you blamed me for it.”

“What? Shit baby, that was unfair of me,” Paige says immediately, squeezing the brunette’s hand “it wasn’t you. There was a lot wrong with me and Olivia and I- I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“Not you shouldn’t have. Not for that at least,” Azzi acquiesces and even with her eyes closed she can feel Paige frown. 

“What else did I say?” the blonde urges, attune to the fact that there’s more to the story that the younger woman hasn’t revealed yet. 

Azzi swallows, not wanting to tell her, “does it matter? It was a really long time ago.”

“But you remember it. I can tell- you remember it and that means- that means it must- it must not have been something good and I just- Azzi- baby I need to know,” Paige presses. 

“It was nothing- honestly- I mean you’ve said that stuff to me sober too. I already knew- I already knew how upset you were with me about saying no,” Azzi babbles, “I mean yeah it- it hurt to hear it all over again and you- you sounded so broken but it wasn’t- it was nothing-”

“It’s not nothing,” Paige cuts her off frustratedly, “Azzi please, what exactly did I say?”

“Paige-”

“Azzi.”

Azzi lets out a sharp breath as she finally opens her tear-filled eyes, her voice small when she finally does speak, “you said you hated me.”

Saying it out loud seems to make all the hurt of the moment, that she’s slowly buried away since, come rushing back into her body, like a thousand needles -all at the speed of lightning- being pricked against her skin. 

“I- I what?” Paige asks throatily, a myriad of emotions sprinkled all across her face as she processes the brunette's word. 

“It’s- it’s fine,” Azzi rushes out, partly because she doesn’t want to dwell on these memories and the way they haunt her and partly because she wants nothing more than to take away all the pain clearly visible on the older woman’s face, “really Paige- it’s fine. I knew- I knew you were drunk and that you didn’t mean it- that it was the alcohol speaking. It’s- it’s fine,” she repeats again, unconvincingly. 

“It’s not fine,” Paige whispers, “baby I- I’m so- I’m so sorry.”

“No- no Paige you don’t-”

“I do,” Paige says firmly, cupping Azzi’s face with two hands, “you can’t lie to me baby. I can tell- I can always tell with you- I can tell that I hurt you and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry Azzi.”

“It’s okay Paige. I promise it’s okay,” Azzi reassures, resting her own hands on top of the blonde’s, “it doesn’t matter anymore. That was- that was then and what matters is now. I know you love me.”

“And I always have,” Paige presses her forehead against Azzi’s, her fingers gently caressing the younger girl’s cheeks, “I need you to know that- that no matter what I said- I never- I never hated you baby. I couldn’t- not even if I wanted to because I'm pretty sure I’ve loved you since the second I set eyes on you. I love you even more now and I swear I've loved you every moment in between. I promise.”

“Me too. I love you. Always,” Azzi says softly before pulling the love of her life into a searing kiss. 

They’ve both thrown grenades at each other, shot well-aimed bullets at each other’s hearts in an attempt to avenge the pain the other had given them. For a long time, all that was left around them was a wreckage of empty casings and deep gash wounds that refused to heal. 

But those wounds are healing now. 

Because for all the ways Paige and Azzi had destroyed each other, they’ve always known that they’re still the only bandages to each other’s scars and slowly but surely, they’re starting to fix every piece of each other they’d broken, healing together. 

*** 

August 2033 

Tempo 54        Valkyries 57

It’s been a defensive slogfest of a game, neither team fully getting into rhythm offensively and the frustration is beginning to show. There’s a minute left in the game and the score is tight, the Toronto Tempo -a franchise still struggling to find its identity- is putting up hell of a fight against the current top team in the league. Paige can tell that players on the other team are desperate for this win- for the glory that would come with breaking the Valkyrie’s current 5 game win streak right as they’re about to head into all-star break. 

She’s at the top of the key -having just gotten the ball off of a perfect hand-off from Joyce- when it happens. Paige’s defender gets stuck on the screen and she lets the likely dagger three fly, a cocky grin on her face as the ball swishes through the net, just as the shot-clock runs out. 

And then

THUD 

Paige has almost run halfway back on defense when the loud sound of a body hitting the ground -far harder than it ever should- rings out through the arena. The sharp ring of the ref blowing the whistle echoes next and then, nothing. 

Silence. 

Concern ebbs through Paige’s veins as her eyes immediately search for Azzi. It’s habit really -has been since she was fifteen- a natural instinct to seek comfort in the brunette that had started front the moment they’d started playing together. Even when they’d been on opposing teams in the league -their first year as rivals who’s animosity ran much deeper than the court- Paige remembers when one of her former Wings had gone down with an injury during a game against the Valkyries, it had been Azzi she looked for first. 

And so it’s a given of course, that now -when they’re more each other’s than they’ve ever been- that Paige is looking for Azzi, looking for the comfort and reassurance and whatever happens as long as I have you it’ll be fine that the younger girl’s presence brings. She squints her eyes at the blurred combination of maroon and lavender jerseys rushing towards whatever had happened under the basket, her own feet moving in the same direction. At first, she’s confused why she can’t seem to find that familiar #35 and then-

Paige’s eyes snap towards the ground as she comes to an abrupt stop just a few meters away from the scene. 

Her breath catches in her throat. 

And Paige Bueckers has been scared a fair few times in her life; remembers the absolute panic of when a four year old Drew had been admitted to the hospital with a fever, can still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins the first time she watched Azzi tear her ACL, doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the absolute dread that had hit her when tearing her own, or that sinking familiar feeling as she watched her best friend endure her second one. Paige knows fear all too well. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing can compare to the way her stomach lurches at the sight of Azzi Fudd, her Azzi, lying -eyes closed, body unnaturally still- on the cold hard floor. 

It’s an image she thinks will haunt her forever and if she could, she thinks she’d bleach her eyes just to get rid of it. But no matter how many times Paige blinks, Azzi stays on the ground, completely unmoving. 

Paige watches for a second, still rooted to her spot, as her other teammates on the floor -Jana, Joyce and Tessa- crowd around the girl on the floor. She can almost see waves of tension rolling off of their bodies and it isn’t until Tessa turns around, beckoning for their team doctor -her eyes shining with distress-that Paige finally finds herself running towards Azzi. 

“Baby,” she whispers, falling onto the ground next to her girlfriend -comforted slightly by the fact that she can clearly hear her still breathing-, “c’mon Az, don’t scare me like this.”

Nothing. No response. 

“Paige,” Jana’s hand on her shoulder is meant to be something comforting but instead it feels heavy and Paige shrugs it off, ignoring the younger woman’s words. 

“Azzi,” she repeats again, reaching out but hesitating to touch the girl. 

“Paige you gotta move bro,” it’s Joyce this time, “you needa let the doctor see her.”

Paige ignores her too, pulling Azzi’s head onto her lap, “this isn’t funny baby. You know I don’t deal well with shit like this.”

In the distance, she can hear her teammates telling their team doctor what had happened. Something about Azzi colliding against a player, trying to move back and instead losing balance and hitting the floor hard.  The crowd has gone from silent to antsy, curious murmurs tinged with anxiety ripple throughout the stadium. In the distance, it almost sounds like someone’s crying. She hears the doctor trying to reassure her, something about how Azzi’d probably just got the wind knocked out of her or perhaps she’d hit her head first and that it was maybe a concussion. Nothing too bad. But Paige doesn’t care. 

Because she still can’t see Azzi’s pretty brown eyes. 

“Azzi,” Paige says more urgently, “c’mon baby please.”

She keeps repeating it like a mantra, decisively not listening to her teammates or the doctor’s pleas to let the latter please examine the girl on the ground. And logically, Paige knows that’s what she should do but she can’t find it in herself to move until she gets something -just an inkling- that makes her feel certain the brunette is going to be alright. 

“Baby please.”

Azzi’s face twitches. The slightest movement first and then something more clear, until her eyelids start fluttering. It takes her a couple of beats to get them fully open, like it’s a struggle to do the most basic thing. But she does. 

And Paige lets out a sigh of relief, body almost sagging as the weight of worry that had been holding her up eases just a little bit at the sigh of dark brown eyes -confused and slightly bleary- staring up at her. 

“Wh-what’s going on,” Azzi manages to slur together, her eyes blinking rapidly as she looks up at Paige. 

“It’s okay,” Paige reassures immediately, her thumbs caressing the younger woman’s cheeks, “you’re okay baby.”

“I- I don’t- what-,” Azzi continues to ask disorientedly as she looks from Paige to the doctor and teammates still hovering over her. She tries to sit up and almost immediately falls back as Paige’s arms reach out to steady her. 

“Careful baby,” the blonde mumbles as she wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, letting her lean on her for a second, before pulling the brunette’s arm around her shoulder. She gently lifts her up onto her feet and the crowd begins to clap, a collective sigh of relief resounding through the arena. 

“We’ve got her,” one of the assistant coaches says softly as she and the team doctor try to take Azzi off of Paige, “I know you wanna be there for her but we’ve got this.”

The older woman is about to protest, not wanting to let Azzi out of her sight when despite her confused state, the brunette shakes her head, moving herself out of Paige’s grasp so that her entire body weight rests on the doctor and the assistant coach instead. 

“Go win it,” Azzi whispers, mustering up a small but sincere smile. 

Paige hesitates for a second before nodding as she watches the love of her life being steadily walked off the court as she herself is pulled into a team huddle. There isn’t much time left and victory is practically imminent after Paige’s last three-point shot. But still, there’s a newfound determination amongst the players, the will to win it for Azzi. 

And win it they do. 

The rest of the game passes in almost a blur and all Paige really remembers of it is that the Valkyries are in full control of the last couple of possessions. But for as much as she’s present on the court, Paige’s entire mind is already off of it -her play driven by the need to just have this game end so she could go see Azzi. It feels like every crevice of skin is burning with a fire that can only be doused by holding the brunette in her arms again, touching and re-memorizing every part of her to give her the reassurance that she’s okay. 

When the buzzer does finally ring, Paige couldn’t possibly care less about the win and if she hadn’t been media-trained since practically the age of 15, she wouldn’t have even bothered with the formalities of going through the handshake line. But she knows the media is watching every move -that they’d spin some ridiculous controversy out of her not shaking hands with the player who had been the catalyst to Azzi’s injury. So she rushes through it, not so accidentally squeezing said player’s hand just a little too tight before she’s ignoring the entire world and running towards her girl. 

The crowd is rambunctious still but it’s all white noise to Paige as she weaves through the people -players and managers and all of that- trying to get off the maroon and white court. She’s almost there when the now more clear sound of familiar crying stops her in her tracks and she feels her heart plummet into her stomach as she comes to a quick freeze. Paige had been so consumed by her own emotions, by her own fear when she’d seen Azzi on the ground that she hadn’t considered that there was someone else in the crowd -someone else who’s world revolved around Azzi just as much as hers did- that had been witness to the scene as well. 

Paige turns around slowly, her eyes scanning the stands right behind the Valkyries bench. With everyone on the move as the crowd thins out, it takes a second before she finally finds who she’s looking for and as soon as she does, it feels like her feet have a mind of her own, speed walking and then almost running towards the sobbing little girl in the stands. Paige almost kicks herself for not having thought of Stephie first, for not having considered that whatever fear she was feeling -the innocent child was likely feeling twofold of that. 

As if sensing Paige beelining towards her, Stephie looks up from where she’d been crying into Katie’s neck just in time to spot the blonde. The puffy-faced girl’s eyes widen, her lips forming words that Paige can’t quite decipher -still too far to properly see them- but then Stephie’s wriggling out of her grandmother’s arms, trying to race down the stands towards the blonde. Paige feels a panic course through her veins, not wanting the little girl to get lost in a sea of people trying to leave the arena and she picks up her pace. For a brief second, she loses sight of Stephie and her already rapidly beating heart seems to somehow quicken even more, like it might just beat out of her chest. 

She swears she doesn’t breathe again until the little girl comes into view, pushing through the much larger people in front of her. There are still tears streaming down Stephie’s face but it’s clear the little girl is determined to get to Paige who can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief, almost having reached the steps leading up to the section Stephie had been in. But that relief quickly turns into anger as she watches her little girl being stopped in her tracks by a tall burly security guard, who grabs Stephie with far more force than necessary. The little girl’s eyes shine with fear as she tries to fight his grip and Paige feels a newfound fire -one that burns stronger than any other sense of protectiveness she’s ever felt before- simmer in her stomach as she finally reaches Stephie. 

“Mommy,” the little girl calls out as soon as she spots the older woman -her tone terrified- and Paige feels something snap. 

“Get your fucking hands off of my daughter,” she snarls, pulling Stephie out of the security guard’s grasp and into her own arms instead. 

“Mommy,” Stephie whimpers again, her voice uncharacteristically scared as she burrows her head into Paige’s neck, her tears wetting the collar of the blonde’s jersey.

“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you sweetheart,” Paige whispers quietly. 

“I- I’m sorry. I- I- I didn’t- know-,” the security guard- splutters but Paige ignores him, already turning away she rubs her hands up and down Stephie’s back. 

“It’s gonna be okay sweet girl,” she soothes gently, “I’ve got you.”

“Mommy, is Mama okay?” Stephie asks, her voice muffled against Paige’s skin, “can you take me to her? Please Mommy. Wanna see Mama. Please. I wanna see her”

“I know sweetheart. I know,” Paige tries to calm the shaking girl in her arms, her feet moving as fast as they can while holding her, “we’re going to her right now okay?”

“Wanna see Mama,” Stephie continues to repeat, her voice quivering.

And logically Paige knows Azzi’s okay; she’d seen her get back up with her own two eyes. But still, she doesn’t think that fear, the one that had consumed her the second she’d seen the other woman lying on the ground, that’s consuming both her and Stephie right now, will be quenched until they see Azzi, until they’re both securely wrapped in the safe arms of the woman who feels like their home. 

“Almost there baby,” Paige says softly as she turns the corner towards the medical room, her steps getting faster in anticipation of almost reaching her destination. 

“Mommy I was so scared,” Stephie confesses, her face still firmly tucked into the blonde’s neck, “so scared for Mama. She- she didn’t get up for so long. Made me so scared.”

“Me too sweetheart,” Paige admits as she comes to a stop right outside the door, “but she’s okay. Look sweetheart,” she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, as she slowly opens the door, crossing her fingers that she hadn’t just told a lie. 

Azzi’s leaning back against the bedrest, a cold compress pressed against her forehead with her eyes closed. But they flutter open at the sound of a door opening, going wide as she catches sight of Paige first and then the little girl in his arms, whose bottom lip trembles as soon as she sees her mother. It’s like the air rushes back into Paige’s lungs as she slowly walks towards the other woman’s bed, that fog of worry muddling her brain slowly starting to clear as she takes in the fact that her Azzi is okay. 

“Oh sweetheart come here,” the woman in question coos immediately, holding her arms out for Paige to place Stephie into them. 

“Are you okay Mama?” Stephie asks worriedly, tiny little hands cupping her mother’s face, “you’re really, really, really okay?”

“I am baby,” Azzi reassures softly, nuzzling the little girl’s nose as Paige perches on the bed next to the two of them, “just a little headache but I’m fine. I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You scared me a lot,” the little girl says slowly, her eyes brimming with fresh new tears as she burrows her head against the crevice between her mother’s neck and her head, “it was so scary Mama. You were on the ground for so long and you weren’t moving and even Mommy looked so scared and Mommy never looks scared cause she’s the bravest of them all right.”

Mommy. 

Paige freezes. She’d been so caught up in the stress and anxiety of it all that she hadn’t even registered the word that had been falling so naturally out of Stephie’s mouth. But now- now that she can process it all -can let that word seep into her veins and make itself home in her heart- it feels a little bit like a magical spell has been cast over her, shrouding her in an indescribable warmth that spreads throughout her entire body.

“And-and-and the secu-ty guard wouldn’t let me come see you,” Stephie continues to babble, still oblivious to the impact of her own words, “and he- he tried to stop me but Mommy didn’t let him. She told him to get his-” the little girl pauses, eyes widening when she remembers exactly what Paige had said to the security guard. 

“What did she say? What did Mommy say Steph?” Azzi’s eyes twinkle as she briefly glances at Paige over Stephie’s head, clearly having also noticed the little girl’s use of the new term. 

“She told him to get his” Stephie lowers her voice to a whisper, “bad word hands off of her daughter.”

“Her daughter huh?,” Azzi repeats, looking back at Paige who flushes slightly. 

It had slipped out in the heat of the moment but really, that’s how Paige has seen Stephie since the minute the little girl had crawled into her lap that first day at the Valkyries facilities. Or maybe even before that, when she’d met her at All-Star Weekend and the little girl had spoken to her for the first time.. Or maybe it was after the semi-finals when she’d first held her in her arms and Stephie had smiled at her for the first time. Or maybe it was even earlier than that. Maybe it was the day of her wedding, when she’d spoken to Azzi’s stomach -to Stephie- for the first time. Because the truth is that Paige has always subconsciously thought of Stephie as hers, as theirs. 

Tears -happy ones, fucking ecstatic ones- prickles against Paige’s waterline as the little girl slowly turns around in Azzi’s lap to face her. 

“Mommy you said a bad word so you owe me a ki-” Stephie stops as notice the little droplets of water dripping down the blonde’s cheeks, “why are you crying Mommy?” she asks concernedly, “are you still scared about Mama? She’s okay Mommy. See-” she points back towards Azzi, “Mama’s okay.”

“I know- I know she’s okay baby,” Paige wipes at her tears, trying and failing to keep the shakiness out of her voice. 

“Then- then what’s wrong Mommy? Why are you crying?” Stephie asks, scrunching her nose with a mixture of confusion and worry. 

“Because you-” Paige swallows, “you called me Mommy.”

“Oh,” Stephie says quietly, biting her lips as she looks up at Paige, suddenly looking even smaller than she really is, “is that- is that okay? Can I call you Mommy?”

“Is it okay? Oh sweetheart,” Paige holds Stephie’s face in between her hands, “it’s the best thing anyone’s ever called me.”

“Even better than Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks coyly. 

Paige lets out a watery laugh and she thinks she’ll miss that little nickname -it had become an innate part of her in a sense- but it can’t be compared to being called Mommy, to being called a name that makes Stephie completely and wholly hers. 

“Even better than Miss Buecks,” Paige confirms, causing Stephie to shriek as she launches herself onto the blonde, making the older woman laugh as she almost falls backwards, squeezing the little girl -who slots into her arms like the missing piece of a puzzle- as tight as she can. 

“And you called me your daughter,” Stephie remarks gleefully. 

“Did I? Hmmm I don’t remember that,” Paige teases, tapping her chin like she’s pretending to think deeply about it. 

“Don’t be silly Mommy,” and there’s that word again and the blonde feels her heart flutter against her ribcage as Stephie flicks her nose, “I heard you.”

“Oh you did, did you?” she asks, flicking the little girl’s nose right back. 

“I did,” Stephie grins triumphantly as she loops her arms around Paige’s neck, “because you’re my Mommy and I’m your daughter.”

She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, a universal truth that destiny itself had written for them and Paige feels her breath hitch at the sincerity in the little girl’s tone as she brushes a loose strand of hair out of Stephie’s face, before her eyes trail over the child on her lap to meet with Azzi’s over her head. The brunette’s gaze is fixated on the two of them, unshed tears dancing on her waterline as she takes in the scene, watching intensely -a contrastingly soft smile on her face- as if she’s trying to take a mental image of it to keep it safe in the treasure chest of her most precious memories forever. 

Paige looks back down at the little girl latched onto her body, “I like that,” she whispers as she nuzzles her face against Stephie’s, “I’m your Mommy and you’re my daughter.”

***

It hits Paige again that night when they’re back at the hotel suite. Stephie’s fast asleep in her bedroom, the sound of her soft breathing filtering in through the small crack in the door. Azzi’s curled against Paige’s chest, one arm thrown around the blonde’s waist, the other pressed against her own body. Despite the scary fall, the concussion symptoms didn’t seem to be anything too severe but had made her adequately exhausted and as soon as their little girl had been tucked into her bed, Azzi was pulling Paige down into theirs and wrapping herself tightly around the blonde’s body so they could go straight to sleep as well. 

Their little girl. 

God, Paige can’t help but goofily grin up at the ceiling as she replays Stephie calling her Mommy over and over again in her head. She’s won a lot of things in her life. The individual accolades, the championships and a game-night or two here and there but they all seem to pale in comparison to the high of this win. Because really Paige has considered the little girl her daughter for a long, long time and even though she’d always known that Stephie loved her back just as much as she did, she hadn’t been sure if the little girl saw their relationship through the same lens as Paige did. 

And now she knew she did. That Stephie considered her, her mother, just as much as Paige considered her, her daughter. The thought makes her giddy and Paige almost giggles out loud. 

“Baby, I can literally hear you thinking,” Azzi mumbles against her chest and Paige bites her lip, her arms tightening around the younger woman’s body. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just- I’m just so excited,” Paige whispers -still in awe of the whole thing- and she feels the woman on top of her sigh into her neck at the the way the blonde's entire body is buzzing, “Az did you hear what Stephie called me? She called me Mommy, Azzi. Can you believe it? I’m her Mommy.”

“Well she wasn’t gonna call you Miss Buecks forever,” Azzi concedes, her voice still heavy with sleep as she keeps her head comfortably buried against the warmth of Paige’s skin. 

“I know- it’s just- I just-” Paige swallows, the emotions suddenly just a little too heavy against her throat, “I’m just so fucking happy Azzi. I’ve just- I’ve wanted this for so long. You and her. It’s all I wanted. And- and there were so many times- so many fucking times I wasn’t sure I was ever gonna get it and now- now I have you and I have her. And it just- it means everything to me. The two of you- you guys mean everything to me.”

Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s neck, her hands tightening around her waist as she draws her impossibly closer to herself, “you mean everything to us too Paige.”

Paige places a featherlight kiss against the crown of Azzi’s head, letting their words hang soak in the air for a second before speaking. 

“I used to imagine it, you know,” she says slowly, “what it would be like to be with you two. I- I’d stare at the pictures you’d post -even if you posted barely any- but whatever you did post of the two of you, I’d stare at it for ages. And I’d- I’d imagine myself with the two of you. Wherever the two of you were- whatever you two were doing- I just- I imagined myself there too. I’d think about what it would be like- to be in whatever picture you posted. Holding you- holding Stephie. It’s all I wanted. To be with you guys.”

There’s another moment of silence and the only sound is that of the  two of them breathing -almost perfectly in sync- echoing throughout the room. Paige uses her thumb to trace circles around the younger woman’s waist as Azzi props herself up on her chest, her face -as beautiful as the first time Paige had seen it from all the way across the court- illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the curtains. 

“The first time Stephie smiled,” Azzi begins, her hands fidgeting with the collar of Paige’s nightshirt, “she was in her crib and I was standing over her. And as soon as she smiled, I turned to look next to me. But there was no one there. When she said her first word, I did the same thing. And when she started crawling- when she started walking. All of her little firsts- every time she did anything, I’d- I’d look next to me and there was never anyone there,” Azzi draws in a shaky breath as she looks back up at Paige, “and I- I imagined it too. What it would be like if I could turn next to me and see you there. What it would be like for you to be with us. I wanted you there with us so fucking much baby.”

“I wish I had been,” Paige says wistfully, bringing her hands up to cup Azzi’s face as her thumbs gently wipe at the younger woman’s tears.

“But you’re here now and that’s all that matters,” Azzi moves her body up so her face is hovering right over Paige’s and she’s smiling that smile that Paige loves, the one that’s filled with promise and reassurance and hope, “you’re here now and you’re ours and we’re yours.”

“All mine,” Paige whispers back as she tugs Azzi down onto herself, making sure every part of her skin is touching the brunette’s as she melds their lips together in a slow and lazy kiss. 

They can’t escape the regrets of the past, can’t escape the moments they’d missed out on but there’s still so much life left to live -so much left to do together- and Paige thinks she’ll never take any of it for granted. No matter how much time has passed in this journey to get here, to get her girls, to get her family and make them hers, she has them now and she intends to keep them like this until the end of time itself. 

***

December 2033 

Azzi doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of watching Paige and Stephie together. It’s a sight she sees every day now and yet, every time she sees the utter gentleness with which the blonde treats the little girl, every time she sees the complete adoration with which the little girl looks at the blonde, it almost feels like Azzi’s heart might just explode with how much she loves the two of them together. And every day she finds herself thanking her lucky stars that she gets to be the third piece of their mosaic, the three of them fitting together perfectly like they were always meant to be. 

There’s a fond smile on Azzi’s face as she watches the two of them now, Stephie propped up on Paige’s feet as the older woman sways the two of them around to the beat of the music blasting through the speakers. The two of them are in contrasting shades of green to match Tallulah’s chosen color scheme for the wedding. Paige is in a dark bottle green suit and Stephie flower girl dress is in the same pastel green shade as Azzi’s bridesmaid one. It had been the little girl’s idea, once Paige had picked out her suit, for the two of them to have matching bottle green bows around their waists that matched the blonde’s outfit. And as they’d all gotten ready together, when Azzi had glanced at the mirror, she couldn’t help but think they looked like the perfect little family she’d always dreamed of having for herself.

There’s a crowd of people on the dancefloor and while most other spectators are likely either not paying attention, or watching the lovely bride and groom, Azzi’s sole focus is on her daughter and her girlfriend. 

Girlfriend. 

It almost feels like too mild a term for what Paige is to her. Even when they’d been girlfriends the first time, Azzi had still thought the word did little to encapsulate just how much Paige meant to her. And now that they’ve been through so much more, the word feels even more inadequate for the brevity of their relationship than it had the last time around. Because really, Paige is the love of her life, she’s an innate part of Azzi’s being and the years without her had felt a little bit like trying to live with a part of her soul missing. She thinks the word girlfriend just doesn’t quite capture all of that. 

“Hey,” Azzi’s broken out of her reverie by a body sliding into the empty seat next to hers and she turns her head to find Drew sitting next to her. 

“Hi Drew,” she says softly, a little surprised at him having approached her. 

Since that dreadful night at Paige’s, Drew has made a handful of appearances in their lives. He’d been at a couple of their games and he’d definitely been there when they’d won the championship but he was a busy guy and with the WNBA season ending just as the NBA season began, time barely permitted him from staying for more than a night. And when he did, Stephie -enamored with the idea of having another uncle- had consumed most of his time and the two of them had bonded quickly with the little girl, as she did most people, having him wrapped around finger. It had taken a little bit but one or two awkward conversations at games they’d sat together in later, Drew had fit right back in with Jose and Jon (and Katie and Tim of course) too and it had been a no-brainer that he’d be invited to the wedding. 

But despite all of that, there’s still a lingering awkward tension between her and Drew’s relationship, which Azzi hates. They’re civil of course -Drew seemingly having less reservations about her Paige’s relationship now- and they’ve even been able to share a laugh here and there in group situations but she misses the little boy who’d once been her menace-mischief-making partner in crime. She misses the way they’d conspiratorially giggle non-stop over nothing, the way they’d tease their siblings in tandem, the way they’d always take each other’s side (much to everybody else’s chagrin) no matter what. And she misses being another person Drew could confide in, being another version of his older sister that he could come vent to about anything and everything. She misses him being like another little brother to her that had once looked up at her with so much adoration, instead of this guarded, hesitant expression he seems to wear around her all the time now. 

“Paige’s feet are gonna hurt like hell tonight,” Drew remarks, his eyes fixated on the same scene Azzi’s had been. 

The brunette chuckles, watching as Stephie continues to happily dance on Paige's feet, the blonde smiling down at her, showing no sign of the likely discomfort that would eventually hit her after a night of carrying the little girl’s weight on her toes. 

“I told her not to,” Azzi shakes her head fondly. 

“Of course you did,” Drew’s lips curl into a half-smile, “but Stephie’s enjoying herself and there’s nothing Paige wouldn’t do to make her happy. She really loves your little girl.”

“Our little girl,” Azzi corrects gently and Drew’s smile seems to deepen at that, “and Stephie loves her back just as much.”

“I know,” Drew says softly, “I knew from the first time I met her. It’s why I was so scared that night.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “Drew-”

“It wasn’t just about Paige,” Drew continues on, “I mean I was scared for her too of course but- I know what it’s like you know. To be really attached to someone when you’re little- to think of someone like family and then one day they just- they’re gone.”

Azzi swallows, her hands fisting on the table as guilt inches up her spine. 

Drew’s eyes are still trained ahead of him as she speaks, “and you’re so young -even if you’re not that young- that no one even really tells you what’s happening. All you get is vague answers and you have to figure it out yourself- figure out why someone you used to see all the fucking time just isn’t there anymore. It hurts and I-” his voice cracks, “I didn’t want that for Stephie.”

“Drew,” Azzi whispers again, her voice filled with raw emotion as she look at the young man -who for as much as he’s grown up, is still just as reminiscent of the little boy she’d once known. 

“Do you remember that one summer you guys had like a family reunion barbecue type thing? And of course Paige and I were invited cause we- we were family too,” Drew asks slowly. 

Despite being a little confused by the change in topic, Azzi nods her head, “summer of ‘23.”

“Yeah and there was music and everyone was dancing. Well I don’t know if you could call what Jon was doing dancing,” Drew winks and Azzi laughs at the memory of her youngest brother doing the most ridiculous moves on the dancefloor. 

“Thank God he’s gotten better since,” she grins, briefly glancing over to where Jon is dancing normally with his date. 

Drew chuckles, “yeah thank God indeed. And you and Paige were dancing, but I wanted to dance with you too, do you remember?”

“Yeah I do. I think you cut right between us and Paige was NOT happy about it,” Azzi smirks, remembering the way her girlfriend had pouted at the interruption. 

“No she wasn’t but you said yes to dancing with me anyways. You always said yes to me no matter what. And I wasn’t nearly as tall back then so you-” Drew finally looks at him, that neutral expression having finally given away to something far softer, “you let me stand on your feet just like Paige is letting Stephie do right now. And we danced for god knows how long and now that I think about it, I’m sure your feet really fucking hurt too. But it didn’t matter, you kept dancing with me anyways.”

“You were having so much fun,” Azzi chokes back a sob, “that’s all that mattered, “ the brunette pauses, “Drew I-” she hesitates for a split second before reaching for his hands, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Drew is silent for a moment, his head downcast as he plays with the edges of the table-covering, before finally looking back at Azzi with watery eyes, “I’ve really missed you Azzi.”

“I missed you too, pookie,” Azzi whispers, squeezing his hand tightly as they smile wistfully at each other.

They stay like that for a little while, basking in each other’s company as the hum of chatter and music drawls on around them. 

“Hey Az,” Drew says after a while as he stands up, a smirk on his face as he reaches his hand out towards her, “you wanna dance with me? No stepping on toes is necessary this time I promise.”

Azzi giggles, grinning ear to ear as she accepts his outstretched hand, “I’d love to dance with you Drewski.”

She lets Drew drag her out to the dancefloor, skillfully maneuvering them around the other guest until they’re right by Stephie and Paige. A surprised laugh rumbles from her throat as Drew twirls her around, the sound of it causing Paige to catch sight of them. The blonde’s lips part slowly as she takes in the sight of the two of them dancing, shock gradually morphing into something happier, like she’s been waiting for this moment. Azzi knows how important her and Drew’s relationship has always been to Paige, and even if the older woman hadn’t said anything about it, Azzi knew -Azzi always knew when it came to the blonde- that the distance between two of her favorite people in the world this time around, had been bothering her. 

Azzi’s not sure how long they dance for -she just knows she’s completely at peace right here in this moment- but it catches her off guard when Drew spins her again, making her stumble a little as she goes crashing into a solid body and familiar arms come to steady her waist. 

“My turn?” Paige asks softly, her blue eyes glittering with love and adoration as she smirks at Azzi. 

“Won’t your date mind?” Azzi teases, referring to Stephie -who after having been explained the concept of a plus-one- had been adamant that despite Paige having her own invitation to the wedding, that the blonde was going to be her date. Sorry Mama, you’re just gonna have to go alone, cause Mommy’s going with me, the little girl had said, her arms wrapped around a beaming Paige from behind, as she’d stuck out her tongue at Azzi, who had of course played along with a dramatic gasp. 

Paige laughs, her arms tightening their grip on the younger woman, who in turns fastens her own arms around her neck, “she’s abandoned me for my brother.”

“Oh I see, so I’m your second choice?” Azzi raises her eyebrows, trying to hide the smile on her face when she sees Stephie giggling as Drew lifts her and up and spins her around. 

“Baby, you are the only choice,” Paige whispers as she brushes their lips together. 

Azzi sighs contentedly, pulling the blonde in closer so she can deepen the kiss as their mouths move expertly against each other, and for a while it feels like that cliché feeling of when the world fades away and it’s just the two of them. 

“Can we go home yet?” Paige murmurs against her lips, her hands sliding dangerously low against the silk material of Azzi’s dress. 

“It’s my brother’s wedding. We can’t leave till the rest of the guests do,” Azzi pats the older woman’s cheeks, giggling softly to herself when Paige lets out a low disappointed groan, letting her head fall onto the brunette’s shoulder. 

“Have I told you how much I love that dress on you,” Paige breathes against Azzi’s collarbone, causing her to shiver at the sensation, “think you should keep it on tonight.”

Azzi’s eyes widen at the implication, heat pooling in between her thighs as Paige places a series of subtle kisses against her neck, “Paige, we’re in public.”

“I know. I don’t care,” Paige says and as if to prove her point, she lets her hands drift downwards to quickly squeeze Azzi’s ass. 

“Paige,” Azzi hisses immediately and she can feel the blonde’s cocky smile against her skin, clearly pleased with herself. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it Az,” Paige’s teeth lightly graze against her jaw and Azzi tries her best to swallow the whimper threatening to spill from her lips, “I know you baby. I know your body- know what you like.”

And it’s true. Paige knows Azzi’s body like it’s a treasure map and she’s a treasure hunter on the search for gold. She’s memorized every little detail of it -marked every crevice with her name- could navigate it with her eyes closed if she wanted to. Paige is nothing if not a diligent learner when it comes to Azzi and even the little things that have changed over the years, the blonde has already vigorously committed them to memory. 

“Paige stop,” Azzi says again, reluctant yet firm, as Paige bites just a little too hard in a way that’s likely to leave a tenuous but still spotable mark, “our daughter is right there.”

That seems to do the trick as Paige finally pulls away. Not completely of course, her hands are still gripping tightly onto Azzi’s waist but enough so the brunette can see her face. It blows Azzi away sometimes, the sheer amount of love reflected in Paige’s face; she can’t quite believe that she gets to be the recipient of it all, that Paige and her love are all Azzi’s. It makes her want to kiss the blonde all over again. 

“I like when you say that,” Paige softly, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s, “our daughter.”

Azzi grins, her fingertips playing with strands of blonde hair, “it’s what she is, isn’t it? Ours.”

“This isn’t fair Az,” Paige huffs and Azzi raises an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Why not?”

“Because now I wanna kiss you again and if I kiss you again-”

Azzi doesn’t let her finish because fuck it, she really wants to kiss Paige again too. So she does. Because she can. Because Paige is hers, hers to kiss, hers to hold and hers to love. Besides, they’re making up for eight long years of being apart, it’s only fair they get to indulge in a little bit of PDA. 

Clearly, Jana doesn’t agree because no sooner have they started getting lost in each other again, when there’s the sharp sound of a throat clearing behind them. They withdraw from each other breathlessly to find their younger teammate looking at them with an amused smile. The separation lasts for about two second as Paige turns Azzi around and pulls the younger woman’s back flush against her chest, hooking her chin over the brunette’s shoulder as she keeps her hands fastened around her waist. Jana rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh. 

“Something you need El-Alfy,” Paige asks pointedly. 

“I need the two of you to be less gross,” Jana supplies snarkily, “you’re gonna scar the children. And anyone who’s single,” she says the last part under her breath, eliciting laughter from both Paige and Azzi which only makes her scowl deepend, “it’s not funny. Some of us are sad and lonely and having to watch you to be in love is sickening.”

“Well why are you watching us?” Paige says cavalierly, “it’s wedding Jana. It’s literally hookup central. Go find someone hot to fuck.”

“There's not a single man over six feet here,” Jana bemoans miserably. 

“José’s got some 6’7 friends,” Azzi supplies helpfully, raising her hands in surrender when Jana glares at her. 

“Lemme correct myself, not a single attractive man over six feet,” the Egyptian amends. 

“I mean you could always hook up with a woman instead. Trust, women are much better and there’s plenty of pretty girls here,” Paige says casually and Azzi sideyes her. 

“Oh yeah? Which ones?” she asks slowly. 

“Oh um-,” Paige stutters nervously, “well I couldn’t tell you that of course. I mean like- I haven’t looked or anything cause you know you’re the only one I look at baby- only you I swear- but like you know girls in general are pretty so like- I’m sure she could find someone pretty. Just nobody as pretty and gorgeous and beautiful as you of course.”

Azzi laughs as she presses a quick kiss to her silly girlfriend’s cheeks, “you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“You think I’m cute?” Paige waggles her eyebrows at Azzi, clearly not satisfied with the chaste kiss on the cheek as she steals one from the brunette’s lips instead, “I think you’re cute too baby.”

“And I think you guys are nauseating,” Jana cuts in, pretending to barf, “but please I’m begging, when y’all get married, please invite me some attractive tall men.”

It’s only for a second but Azzi still feels the way Paige tenses against her teammate's words. The blonde recovers, the stiffness gone as fast as it had come but it sends a ripple of confusion and worry down Azzi’s spine. 

“We’ll try our best. Just for you J,” Azzi promises their younger teammate and even though Paige nods along, there’s something almost half-hearted about her agreement. 

“Thanks you guys. Knew I could always count on my mother’s to get me laid,” Jana winks as she pulls both of them in a quick hug before bounding over to the bar. 

Azzi turns herself around in Paige’s arms, her eyes scanning the blonde’s face as she tries to piece together what’s going through her mind. The older woman smiles but there’s something unspoken hidden behind it, like she wants to say it but isn’t sure how. 

“Hey,” Azzi whispers, hands reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “what are you thinking? Talk to me baby.”

“Nothing I just-” Paige takes in a deep breath, her thumbs rubbing circles against Azzi’s waist like she’s trying to ground herself in the brunette’s presence, “Jana said- she said when we get married. Like it’s a given or something and we- we haven’t really talked about it so I just- I don’t know Az- I guess I just- is it a given?”

And Azzi can see the carefully camouflaged insecurity in Paige’s eyes, that flash of you didn’t want to marry me that the older woman won’t say out loud but is still clearly running through her thoughts. They’ve worked through a lot of it, had countless conversations even after finally getting together so that they could overcome the past but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still some things lingering between them -some lesions that are still waiting to be healed. That familiar sting of guilt spurns in her stomach as Azzi presses herself even closer to Paige and there’s a thousand things she wants to say -and she’s sure she eventually will- but for now, she keeps it simple and hopes it’s enough to reassure the blonde who’s looking at her with hopeful eyes. 

“Yeah,” she says softly, tapping her forehead against Paige’s, “I think it’s a given.”

*** 

February 2034 

Paige had assumed that being home for the weekend would mean spending every second with her girls. Throughout the course of the last two months, it had been Stephie and Azzi who had visited her down in Miami to cheer her on for Unrivaled but it just so happened that the schedule had been set up perfectly for to take this weekend off and Paige was ecstatic about finally being home for a little bit. Her plan had been to do nothing but laze around, arms wrapped tightly around Azzi with Stephie cuddled right between them where she belonged as they talked or watched movies or played board games. Whatever they did, as long as they did it together, it would be perfect for Paige. 

After a very much perfect morning, where Azzi had woken her up with slow i missed you in our bed morning sex and then the two of them had taken Stephie out for brunch, Paige had been looking forward to a very perfect afternoon with her girls as well. Instead, it’s very much not perfect and somehow Paige finds herself driving back from a bakery all the way across town, alone. It had started with Stephie insisting that she just had to have her favorite chocolate cake from that one bakery that they’d gone to that one time that just happened to be an hour drive away from their house. Much to Paige’s surprise, Azzi had almost immediately agreed with the little girl but knowing the brunette’s sweet tooth, it wasn’t really that shocking. And if both her girls -with their identical dark brown doey eyes staring up at her expectantly- wanted something, who was Paige to refuse. 

So of course she’d happily agreed, telling the two of them to get ready so they could come here and that maybe they could even stop by the park right next to the bakery after. And that’s when it had happened, both mother and daughter up in arms in protests about how they absolutely could not go with Paige because Stephie was oh-so tired and Azzi had a killer headache, followed by but Mommy I swear the chocolate cake would wake me up and yeah baby I think some chocolate cake could really help with the pain. Paige had stared at them wearily, confused by their antics but still unable to say no.

And now Paige is driving back, grumbling under her breath about they’re lucky I love them with the chocolate cake securely fastened into the passenger seat that should be occupied by her girlfriend. She pulls into the driveway still grouching but it quickly morphs into an expression of confusion when she notices a big purple sticky note -that definitely wasn’t there when she’d left- taped on their door. Frowning, Paige slowly gets out of her car, going around it to grab the cake before slowly making her way up the porch steps until she’s right in front of the door and can fully make out the words -written carefully in Azzi’s handwriting- on the sticky note. 

Welcome back home baby <3 

Thanks for getting our favorite chocolate cake. Since that day when you showed up on our porch, you’ve gone above and beyond for us and we love you for it. Thank you for always doing everything we ask and for doing the things we don’t. But more importantly, thank you for always coming back. 

Love you always, 

Stephie and Azzi <3

A wobbly smile stretches across Paige’s face as she reads the letter, her heart fluttering at the sincerity behind the words Azzi had written. Suddenly desperate to have her girlfriend and her daughter in her arms, Paige rushes to open the door, ready to see the two of them waiting for her. 

But they’re not there. 

Instead there’s a beautiful path of rose petals winding down the floor and Paige’s mouth falls open at the sight.

“Azzi! Stephie. I’m home,” she calls out, her eyes searching for her two most favorite people in the world -and answer to what the hell is going on- but instead of them she finds another large sign, this time written in Stephie’s uneven handwriting.

Follow The Flowers Mommy!

Paige laughs at the smiley faced heart that Stephie had placed in the corner, can practically imagine the concentrated look on the little girl’s face when she’d been drawing. She has no idea what all of this is but she knows she’s excited to find out. 

“What are you two up to,” she mutters under her breath as she does as the sign had said and follows the path of flowers. 

It leads her into the kitchen first and Paige immediately notices a purple envelope on the counter. Gently putting down the chocolate cake she’d been cradling in her arms, she reaches for the letter. 

Hi again baby,

Paige Bueckers you are good at a lot of things. But cooking? Definitely not one of them. If I had a dime for everytime you burned something in this kitchen, I would probably have enough dimes to pay for one of your old college NIL deals (well maybe not that much cause damn baby you were expensive). But that’s okay my love, you’re still the only person we’d spend our mornings flipping pancakes with. 

(Stephie wants me to remind you that chocolate chips are definitely better than blueberries though!) 

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie <3

Paige’s lower lip trembles as she finishes this letter, holding it closer to her heart as she continues to follow the trail of roses into Stephie’s bedroom. There on the little girl’s bed is another purple envelope, almost camouflaged against her lavender bed sheets. Taking a deep breath after having slowly caught onto the fact that these letters are going to kill her in the best way possible, Paige reaches for the paper on her daughter’s bed. 

Hi Mommy! 

Mama’s still gonna write this for me because writing is so tiring but it’s me Stephie speaking (Azzi’s note: your daughter is just as lazy as you are Bueckers.) 

Paige lets out a watery laugh as she continues reading. 

Do you remember when you went back to Dallas before you moved here, and you used to facetime me and Mama every night and you’d stay on the phone while Mama read me my bedtime story until I fell asleep? Mama says that if you make a wish right before you fall asleep, there’s a really, really, big chance it might come true. She was right because Mama’s all right and guess what Mommy? My wish came true! I wished that instead of facetime, you���d be here with us in real life for my bedtime story. And now you are and you always will be. 

Love you always, 

Stephie and Azzi <3

Paige catches a brief glance of herself in Stephie’s vanity mirror as she finishes reading the letters. Her face is a little blotchy and red, big fat happy tears cascading down her cheeks as she tucks the paper back into the envelope. She remembers that first night on facetime like it had happened yesterday; remembers making the same wish that Stephie had time and time again. And she thinks her daughter is right -or really that Azzi’s right as per always- wishes do come true. 

  Hurriedly wiping away her tears, Paige rises back onto her feet, ready to continue on this journey that Stephie and Azzi had set out for her. She follows the roses into the guestroom -which could basically be rebranded as Jana’s room with the amount of times she’s started to stay over- and almost trips over her feet in her quest to get to the next letter. And next to it is an unclear package that confuses Paige but she figures the letter would tell her all about it. 

Back to me again baby, 

This is the room where it all began again. I know technically we started a little before and we officially didn’t start again until a little later but that night is when I knew. I knew that whatever I felt for you eight years ago, hadn’t gone away. Not at all. In fact, if anything, it had gotten even stronger, even deeper. Loving you comes as naturally to me as breathing. It always has. And I loved you before- of course I did- but it’s nothing compared to how much I fucking love you now. 

“I love you too,” Paige whispers into the room. She’s not sure if Azzi can hear her -still doesn’t quite know where exactly her girls are- but she’s certain that they’re connected enough that her girlfriend can feel her emotion no matter where she is. 

Anyways baby time to take your clothes off in this room again! 

Wait, wait, wait don’t get too excited Bueckers. I know you’ve got a one-track mind but baby first of all, Jana might never come over again if she finds out we’ve fucked in this room and second of all, we’ve got plenty of time to do that after. I promise. 

Stephie and I picked something out for you to wear tonight. It’s in the parcel next to you. Put it on and come find us. We really hope you like it!

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie (even though she has no idea what this letter says for obvious reasons) <3

Placing a quick kiss against where Azzi had kissed it herself in red lipstick, Paige puts the letter back in the envelope before grabbing for the package next to it. She tears it open gently, to find a light purple vest with matching pants. The outfit is familiar and Paige vaguely remembers lying next to Azzi, browsing through an online catalog when the fit had caught her eyes. 

“Can’t get nothing past you huh baby?” Paige remarks with a fond shake of her head. 

Once she’s put the vest and pants on -and shaken her hair out of her ponytail for good measure because Azzi loves when her hair is down- Paige embarks down the path of flowers once again. This time it leads her to their bedroom. Paige had basically moved in the day they’d gotten back together -a stream of her stuff slowly and steadily building up in what had then been Azzi’s room- but they’d never really had a proper conversation about and it had basically been an unspoken agreement till the day Paige had casually mentioned that the lease on the house she’d initially rented in the Bay Area had ended. So I guess I’m officially moving in with you guys, she’d joked to which Stephie had wisely pointed out that she did in fact already live here. And that was that. This was Paige’s house just as much as it was Stephie and Azzi’s. 

Her eyes scan the room, taking in all little bits of PaigeAndAzzi that are scattered throughout it, until she finally finds another purple envelope tucked into a book on the bedside table next to Azzi’s side of the bed. Paige’s left hand flies to her mouth when she gets close enough to see the cover of the novel, a strangled noise escaping her throat. Because the book isn’t the one Azzi’s currently reading. 

No, this is their book. The one that had been left unfinished years ago and Paige had been so convinced they would be left to the same fate, that they’d be left incomplete. 

With trembling hands, she picks up the book, leafing through it to open it to the pages that have the letter eased between them. But before Paige can take out the envelope, her eyes swim with tears when she notices the words that Azzi had circle -in purple highlighter of course- scratching out the character’s name for Paige’s own. 

I’m in love with you, Sutton Paige Terrifyingly, irreversibly, life-alteringly in love with you.

Paige brushes her thumb against the words, like she’s trying to let them sink into her skin and become a part of her bloodstream. They might be someone else’s words but she knows they convey everything Azzi feels for her. Taking another shuddering breath, Paige finally opens the envelope. 

Hi again baby, 

I’m sorry for how much I know I’ve made you cry (don’t even try hiding it Paige Bueckers I know you’re a sobbing mess right now) and I can’t wait to see you and wipe your tears away. You’re almost there P!

We never finished this book. Ironic that it’s called those who wait and baby I think we’ve waited enough. You know, I’ve come across this book many times in the years we’ve been apart and I’ve considered if I should buy it- if I should finish it by myself. But it never felt right. 

Not without you. 

Because baby you have been there for the beginning of almost every story in my life and I want you to be there for the ending of every single one. Mine. And Stephie’s. 

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie <3

Paige catches her teardrops in her palms before they hit the letter, not wanting the water to damage it. She intends to treasure every single one of them for the rest of her life; thinks it’ll be the perfect memorabilia when she’s eighty years old and her and Azzi go rummaging through their storage and find this bundle of purple envelopes and Paige gets to relieve this day -the one she’d been worried not too long ago wouldn’t be perfect- all over again. 

Antsy to finally see her girls, Paige finds herself almost running towards the next stop on the trail of roses, which happens to be their living room. There, hidden behind the newly customized cushions with their names -Paige, Azzi and Stephie- embroidered on them, is another purple letter that she immediately snatches up. 

This is our last letter to you baby. 

And I think it’s fitting that you should find it here, in our living room, where everything came back together for us. I can’t lie to you Paige, I was so fucking scared you’d make a different decision. I was so scared that you’d walk away from us- that our present and the possibility of our future together wouldn’t be enough to overcome our past. 

I don’t know if I would have survived that. I guess I would’ve had to learn to. For Stephie. And she would’ve learned too, for me. But there would have always been a little part of us missing. 

Because you complete us Paige. Stephie and I- we aren’t whole without you. You’ve always been our missing piece baby, and we’re so grateful that you came back to us, that you made us whole again. 

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie <3

Paige holds the final letter against her heart for a while, letting her head replay all of the beautiful words her girls had written for her. She doesn’t know when they’d planned this, can’t imagine how they’d somehow pulled it all together within the two hours it had taken her to get to the bakery and back but she knows she’ll cherish this day forever. 

“I’m the luckiest fucking woman on this planet,” she whispers to herself as she follows the final trail of roses that lead her out to the garden in the back. 

It’s golden hour outside and it feels like their backyard is shrouded in a golden hue that makes it feel like everything -the trees and the leaves and the flowers and the sky are shimmering in drops of gold. Paige is almost blinded by it for a second, blinking her eyes rapidly to adjust to the blazing sunlight as she finally catches sight of her girls. 

They’re standing in the middle of the garden -in the middle of a heart to be precise but Paige can’t quite tell what the shape’s been made out of- Stephie in a dress and Azzi in a pantsuit that’s the exact shade of lavender as the outfit they’d picked out for the blonde. The two of them wear matching exuberant smiles and Paige thinks if she could pick the last image to flash through her mind at the end of her life, she’d pick this one. 

“Hi Mommy,” Stephie waves excitedly with one hand, her other carrying a bunch of papers that pique Paige’s interest, “did you get our chocolate cake?”

Paige laughs as she starts to make her way down towards, “you know I did sweetheart.”

“Do you like our surprise?” the little girl asks, almost vibrating with enthusiasm as Paige gets closer and closer to them. 

“I loved it-” the blonde cuts herself off with a gasp when she finally realizes what the heart had been created out of.

Carefully curated photographs, some with all three of them and some of just Paige and Stephie or Paige and Azzi, have been perfectly set up around them. All their beautiful memories aligned in the shape of a heart with Stephie and Azzi right in the middle of it, just waiting for Paige to join them inside. 

“You guys. This is-” Paige chokes back a sob as she finally reaches the two of them, “this is perfect you guys. I can’t believe you guys did all of this.”

“Sorry we made you drive all the way across town,” Azzi says sheepishly, “we wouldn’t have had time to set this up otherwise”

“It’s perfect,” Paige repeats as gently brushes her hands through Stephie’s hair before placing a chaste kiss against Azzi’s lip, “it’s everything.”

“You’re everything,” Azzi counters and Paige notices her shuffling her feet nervously before she speaks, “and we- wanted to show you that.”

“You did so good, baby,” Paige reassures, reaching out to squeeze the brunette’s hand, “all of it. The letters, the outfit, the book. God baby, it’s all just- it’s all perfect.”

“That’s not all though Mommy,” Paige feels a tiny tug on her arm and she turns away from Azzi to look down at Stephie who’s staring shyly up at her.

“There’s more?” the blonde asks softly, as she kneels down in front of the little girl, hands rubbing up and down her shoulder. 

Stephie bites her lip as she nods, holding out the elusive papers that Paige had previously noticed in her hands, “these are for you.”

Paige takes them from her slowly, keeping one hand wrapped around he little girl’s bicep as she takes in the words -printed in big bold jet black letters- on the document. Her eyes widen in shock as she swivels her head around to look at Azzi. 

“These- there are-” Paige swallows roughly, “these are adoption papers.”

“Yeah they are,” Azzi confirms quietly, “I um- I tracked down Stephie’s-” she pauses, clearly unsure of what term to use for the man that had abandoned the two of them -the man Paige thinks is the dumbest person in the world for having abandoned the most wonderful two people in the entire universe-, “I tracked down Stephie’s donor and I uh- I had him sign away any and all parental rights.”

“Az,” Paige whispers in awe, knowing just how much strength it would’ve taken Azzi to have even considered reaching out to that man. They haven’t spoken much about it beyond when Azzi had told her the full story but Paige had realized quickly that there was a lot of resentment there and it fills her with warmth to know that Azzi had overcome all of that, just to do this for Paige. 

“Mommy,” Stephie calls out softly, tiny hands gently cupping Paige’s face to bring her attention back to her, “you’re already my Mommy. You do everything a Mommy’s supposed to do. You pick me up from school and you get me ice cream and you give me cuddles when I’m sad and you give me tickles to make me happy. You watch movies with me and teach me how to play bask-ball and you dress me up in your clothes and you tease Mama with me and you give me goodnight kisses. And you love me, just like Mama does,” the little girl sniffles and Paige’s own eyes are watering as she brushes away Stephie’s tears, “but Anya says that you���re not my Mommy of-shaly because- because we’re not related. I think that’s really stupid and I told Mama that too and she said she agreed but that- that you could become my Mommy of-shaly too if you- if you adopt me. So Mommy-” Stephie takes a deep breath and Paige feels herself shiver with anticipation, “will you adopt me?”

“Yes,” Paige says as soon as the little girl finishes her sentence and then she’s pulling Stephie into her arms, kissing all over her daughter’s face as she keeps repeating herself, “yes, yes, yes. Of course I’ll adopt you sweetheart. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Stephie giggles in Paige’s arms, wriggling slightly as the blonde continues to pepper sloppy kisses all over her skin, “you have to sign the papers first Mommy.”

“Right, right of course. I need- I need a pen,” Paige manages to blabber out as she looks around as if willing for a pen to appear magically out of thin air. 

“Here,” Azzi's voice breaks in through the excitement, holding out a ballpoint for the blonde to use and as Paige reaches for it, she can see every emotion of her mirrored in the brunette’s eyes. 

Her gaze locks back with Stephie’s as she signs the papers, watching the little girl’s smile deepen with every flick of her wrist. 

“Done,” Paige exclaims as finishes off her signature, setting the document aside as she swings Stephie into her arms, standing up and twirling the girl -her daughter almost officially- around in circle as the two of them whoop with delight. 

She’s so caught up in the moment -in the peals of Stephie’s vibrant laughter- that she almost misses when it happens. Everything around her seems to freeze as Paige stops abruptly, her eyes fixated on Azzi- Azzi who’s kneeling in front of her, Azzi who’s holding open a velvet box with a diamond ring. 

“Baby,” Paige breathes out as she slowly lowers Stephie back onto the ground. 

“I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you,” Azzi begins slowly, her voice trembling as she repeats the familiar words, “so you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too. Because I just- I just couldn’t find the right words- the right phrases to tell you everything that you mean to me. And then I realized that I- I don’t need to think that hard because you- you already found the perfect words and I-” she gulps emotionally, “I was an idiot for saying no to them.”

“No- no I was an idiot for not understanding why you did,” Paige says with a shake of her head as she falls to the ground to be level with Azzi. 

“We were both idiots,” Azzi concedes and next to them Stephie giggles a little at the repeated use of the “bad” word, “but that- that doesn’t matter anymore. And I- I don’t need a speech. I don’t need to say a hundred words. Because you already know them- you already know me. You know my heart and I hope you know that it beats for you- the two of you. Because I love you. I love you so bleeping much Paige Bueckers and I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

“I love you more,” Paige says, unable to wait to say it as she cups Azzi’s face, “ask me Azzi. Don’t make me wait anymore baby. Please.”

“Paige Madison Bueckers, the love of my life, the mother of my child,” Azzi’s voice breaks and Paige isn’t faring much better as the tears freefall down her cheeks, “will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes I will,” Paige nods through her sobs as she holds out her hand for Azzi to slide the ring -a simple cushion cut enshrined against a diamond encrusted infinity band- onto her fingers. 

And it’s unclear who moves first, but they surge towards each other, lips meeting a kiss that holds the weight of all the emotions they’re feeling right now. They’re a tangle of limbs as they lick into each other’s mouth, giggling as they fall back into the grass, still holding onto each other. This is a long time coming, the forever they’ve been searching for since they were just little girls who barely even understood what forever was. And it hasn’t been easy but every second spent apart has led them back to this, back to each other- and forever feels like it’s finally here. 

“MAMA AND MOMMY ARE GETTING MARRIED,” Stephie shrieks as she throws herself onto Paige and Azzi, the two adults laughing at her excitement as they open their arms for her to fit in perfectly in between them. 

In the sky, the sun is beginning to set as golden hour comes to an end. But it doesn’t matter. Because the love between Paige, Azzi and Stephie -as long as they get to be just like this, safe and content in each other’s arms- shines brighter than gold itself and that incandescence will glow forever. 

[syrenqinche]

I don't know, You tell me ~ Sylus

synopsis: Sylus is usually a very patient man but when you overstep your boundaries and make him reel with jealousy, you are in for the angst of your life, soothed over by some mind-blowing lovemaking.

content and warnings: smut, mdni! jealousy, miscommunication, possessive Sylus, angsty themes, silent treatment, teasing, provoking, p in v, org*sm denial, makeup s*x, dacryphilia, size kink, swearing

"My baby dragon." you type into your phone as a smile curves onto your lips. "Breakfast is ready, wanna come eat?"

*sent*

On alternate Sundays, the two of you take turns to make each other your favorite breakfast dishes. It was your turn today, and you had prepared a hearty meal for your boyfriend, the famed leader of Onichynus for the good people of the N109 Zone, but an adorable plushie for you, your beloved Sylus.

You wait for him to reply to your text or his heavy footsteps to descend the spiral staircase of his lavish condo, but none of it happens. You lean against the counter, watching the steam emanate from your freshly cooked dishes.

"Y/N?" you hear the sound of your name, but it isn't a deep, velvety voice saying it. It's Kieran.

"Oh, hey" you give Kieran a nervous smile. "Where's the bossman?"

"Oh, he-" Kieran's face is obstructed by his crow mask but you could tell he is panicking. "He left for work a while ago. Um, he won't be back until after lunch."

You furrow your brows at the boy. "What? He didn't tell me before going though. And what work on Sunday?" to which Kieran simply shrugs.

You turn your attention back to your phone and send him another text.

"Is everything alright, baby. Where are you??"

You see a *read* pop-up beside your message, but no reply following it.

You try to ignore the knot forming in your stomach. Normally, Sylus would respond right away—whether it was with a quick "I love you" or a silly comment about the breakfast you made for him. The fact that he hasn’t bothered to even text you back feels… wrong. It’s not like him. From the corner of your eye, you notice Kieran has started to fidget.

"You know something, don't you?" you narrow your eyes at the perplexed boy but he simply raises his hands. "I don't! Anyway, gotta run an errand. See ya, Y/N!" he blurts out, fleeing from the scene and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your appetite is gone now from anxiety pulling up in your abdomen, and you leave the spread you've made untouched and decide to unwind in the shower. You can't stop thinking about it and keep checking your phone every 5 minutes like a maniac to see if there are any updates from him. Heck, you even check the local news to see if anything is really up.

Time goes by like a snail on a journey and by the time the clock strikes 3 PM, you're exhausted from worrying.

You're laying on the bed, hopeless and shaky when the door to your room creaks open. You jump up and sit on your bed as Sylus enters the room, removing his leather jacket and placing his motorcycle helmet on one of the dressers.

"Where have you been?" you demand, slightly irritated. "And why haven't you been replying?"

Sylus uncuffs his sleeves and runs a hand through his light hair, heading towards the bath.

"I'm asking you something!" you raise your voice slightly, in case he somehow managed to miss what you said.

"Just busy." he replies shortly, voice devoid of much emotion.

Before he can shut himself in the bathroom, though, you get off the bed and run up to him frantically.

"Sylus, what's wrong, baby? Did I do something? You need to use your words." you say, holding on to his large arm with both of your shaky ones. He looks at you apprehensively and opens his mouth to say something.

Your phone cuts through the heavy air with three loud dings. You turn to look at it, and it starts ringing.

"I don't know, you tell me, Y/N." Sylus gives you a pained smirk as he removes his arm from your grasp and locks the bathroom door on your face.

He used my name. Not kitten, not sweetie, not honey! you think to yourself. It rarely happens that Sylus would resort to using your name. He adores you so much that he would come up with the cutest nicknames to call you.

You are stunned for a second and bite the inside of your cheek fervently on your way back to check your phone.

It's your hopeless, idiotic childhood friend spamming you again.

"Heyyy you uggo."

"Y'all reached home alright yesterday? you were pretty drunk, thank god your boyfriend came along to pick you up."

"Also what's with him, he's even bigger than me?? Also he looked like he wanted to strangle me?? WTF!!"

You sigh after reading the texts and start tapping away on your phone.

"Don't talk shit about him or I'll block you, Caleb. He's the most adorable person when you get to know him better."

you smile to yourself when you remember how your opinion of Sylus had transitioned when you got to know him better. You can't really blame Caleb here.

"Also, I reached home fine. Thanks for calling me, our class reunion went great. I wasn't hungover this morning, though, so was I even really that drunk?"

Caleb sent you a few thinking emojis.

"You were drunk enough to confess to me."

You almost dropped your phone when you read that. You didn't want to waste time texting, so you hit call. The phone rings twice before Caleb picks up.

"Hello?"

"Care to explain?" you hiss at him. "The fuckk are you talking about?"

"Oh calm down." Caleb dismissed you. "You were showing us a picture of your boyfriend, and the girls started swooning over him with endless praise to give."

"And?" you prod

"And well one of them asked what you'd do if the guy ever left you or broke up."

"He'd never-"

"Yes, let me finish." Caleb hissed back. "You told them you'd never do that and then perhaps as a joke, you mentioned that if he did, you'd hook up with and marry me, who had asked you out when we were little kids."

"You're right." you admit. "I certainly must have been drunk because what the hell, Caleb?"

"I know right!" Caleb feigned disgut but his voice sounded a little offended. "And that's when Mr. brooding handsome walked in. I think he just heard the last part. He looked taken aback, I'm not sure anyone else noticed because they were too busy gushing over how hot he was."

"Wait, Sylus heard what I rambled about?" you ask just to make sure. "He heard that I'd leave him and hook up with you?"

"Perhaps, that's my guess." Caleb acknowledges.

You feel as if someone had poured cold water on your head. It made sense now!

"Well thanks, mate. I needed this information. Talk to you later."

"But will you really marry me-"

you cut the call before he could finish.

Right on cue, Sylus exits the bath, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and another one being used to dry his dripping hair. He doesn't make eye contact with you as he heads to the closet to look for a set of clothes to change into.

You approach him and run a finger down his wet back, making him curve it slightly at the stimulus.

"My baby..." you coo at him, hugging him from behind.

"You'll get yourself wet." he states, not turning around.

"Since when have you been afraid of getting me wet." you smirk, digging your face into his wide back.

"Let go," he mutters, his voice flat, as he attempts to pull away from your arms. But this time, you refuse to let go.

"Sylus, I'm sorry," you whisper, burying your nose into the warmth of his back. "I know what happened... it was a misunderstanding. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

At your words, he finally turns to face you. His crimson eyes burn with a mix of disappointment and hurt, and the sight nearly shatters you. It’s all you can do not to break down in front of him.

"You wouldn't be saying such things if you hadn't been thinking about them. Alcohol brings out people's true nature, sweetheart."

"I wasn’t thinking about it!" you protest desperately, the words tumbling out in a rush. "The girls were teasing me, and I just wanted to show them that you’d never leave me. The thought of it is so absurd that I could joke about marrying Caleb—because it wouldn’t happen!"

His gaze hardens, and his next words land like a heavy blow. "You know how I feel about being abandoned, don’t you, Y/N?"

Your heart skips a beat. "That wasn’t my intention! Please, just—"

"Forget it." he cuts you off. "I don’t want to hear it. Humans are vile creatures. They’ll shower you with love, only to rip it away in an instant, leaving you broken and bleeding." His words are heavy with old scars as he turns away, his figure retreating from you.

"Sylus, wait—" You try reaching out, but he doesn’t look back. He won’t listen.

"I need time alone. Sorry," he says without pause, his voice distant as he walks out, leaving you standing in the quiet emptiness of your ornate bedroom.

You cling on to the hope that maybe Sylus will come back. You did apologize after all. He'll surely come back by night. He will forgive you. Surely, right?

You lay on the cold sheets, eyes wide open, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling of your beautiful bedroom, completely devoid of sleep. His huge bed seems to have tripled in size when he's not there, entangled with you, pressing fluttering kisses to your stomach.

When you wake up the next morning, groggy from absolute lack of sleep, and head downstairs, you find the house deserted.

You feel a chill run up your spine but remind yourself that it is Monday and you need to head to the Hunter's Association Office for the day's work.

On the way there, you text him.

"Have a good day, Sy. How are you feeling now? See you in the evening?"

*read*

The day goes by, and you return to a cold, dark house.

Caleb calls to check on you, but you're too restless to answer. Your nerves are frayed, and the phone just sits in your hand, silent. Another sleepless night drags on.

"Sylus, I'm scared," you text him again, your fingers trembling as you type. The thought of him not replying makes your chest tighten. You stare at the screen, willing him to respond. Ten minutes feel like hours before your phone finally chimes.

"The house is secured. No harm will come to you."

Another long night passes. Then another endless day, filled with battles against wanderers and endless paperwork, all while you’re haunted by the emptiness in the space where he should be.

This time when you pass through the door to the house, you slump to the ground, shaking and your chest heaving. You hear a crow's caw in the distance as you will yourself to get up and drag yourself to the bedroom. You're already looking chalkier than before thanks to barely eating or sleeping these past three days.

You hug your knees close as you check your phone again. This time you don't text him and hit the call button.

He picks up in three rings.

"I miss you." you tell him only to be met by silence.

"Please, I miss you. I can't do this, Sylus." you hear his footsteps, going somewhere but no reply.

"Do you really hate me that much now?" you ask with a quivering voice.

"Can I enter?" he speaks finally and you hear a soft knock on your door. You gasp as the phone drops out of your hand and the door swings open, revealing an uncharacteristically disheveled Sylus, who rushes over to you, removing his coat.

Your stomach turns as he wraps his arms around you.

"I can never hate you and you know that." His soft tone is back as his lips move over the shell of your ear. You grab onto his shirt so hard, fisting balls of fabric as if he will disappear again if you let go.

"Mephisto has been monitoring you for days and reporting back to me. I never once left you unattended."

"I-I'm s-sorry. I'm really sorry. I never meant to make you feel abandoned. You know-" tears pool up in your eyes.

"Shhh, sweetie." he presses a long finger to your fluttering lips.

"I'm sorry, I went too far." he says, pressing his forehead to yours. "If you're able to forgive me, let me make it up to you."

Something sparks inside your brain and you stop crying instantly.

"You-" you pull at his hair. "You stupid, gullible, annoying little-"

"Ah, ah, ah! my hair." Sylus lets out a mock scream, holding your wrists.

"I hate you, Sylus." you climb on top of his crotch and pin him flat to the bed.

"Do you really think that low of me?" you ask, roughly grabbing his chin with three of your fingers. He looks at you with his red eyes widening with excitement and astonishment. "Do you think I'd ever able to fall in love with another man after meeting you?" you demand, twisting his chin.

"Do you think I can ever sleep with someone else after getting a taste of you, you demonic little dragon!"

"I know, I know, kitten." he starts but you cut him off by pinching his lips shut and sinking down on him, your lips a mere inch from his. Sylus parts them in anticipation but the kiss he so fervently desires never comes. He bucks himself up to smooch you but you retract your body, making him slump down in defeat and irritation.

"Please?" He asks, his deep voice getting deeper with lust.

You don't reply.

"Please, Y/N? I need you so bad. It's been four days now." he begs, narrowing his eyes. You had just made love the night before that incident and unbeknownst to you, both of you were yearning for each others touch in merely a couple of days.

"I don't know. I heard you but I'm not going to answer!" you tease him, crossing your hands across your chest. "Really?" He raises a brow as he grabs you by the wrist and brings you down over him yet again, the wet trail of tears on your cheek transferring to his face now.

He kisses you like a starved animal, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He cages your head with his hands and doesn't let you resurface for air until your lust gets the best of you and you begin to roll your hips over his crotch in languid circles.

"F-fuck." he gasps, breaking the kiss and looking down to where your body meets his. You kiss him deeper to take his attention away from your lower bodies and simulatenously, you unzip his pants, feeling his bulge grow and threaten to burst from under his briefs. You massage it gratefully and tenderly as it squirms in your hands.

"Excited now, are we?" you purr at him, separating your lips from his while a link of saliva keeps the two of you connected. You kiss his nose.

"It's getting so big, why does it feel like it's bigger than my hand." You take one look underneath you and his angry pink tip is poking out his briefs at this point, pointing at you with desperation in its color.

"Oh, Sylus~"

"Enough now." Sylus snaps, suddenly rising from his position and gripping your hips to flip your positions. He greedily pulls down your panties and holds each of your legs in his robust hands to pin them close to your ears, letting your knees fall on his shoulders for some support with your dress riding up and bunching underneath your sore breasts.

He licks his lips as he eyes your leaking pussy.

"What is this?" He purrs back at you. "And you said I'm excited?" he plunges a finger into you as it makes a loud squelching noise, making your hands race to you hold his one hand in both of yours.

"W-wait."

"If you don't want this, I'll stop." He states darkly.

You blush and pout at him.

"I wanted the cock..."

Something clicks in Sylus' head as his eyes start gleaming with a rush of excitement.

"Getting greedy, aren't we?" He says, freeing his grown manhood from the confines of his boxers. He strokes it a few times to prep it for its grand entrance.

"Nghh.. hurry!" you squeal, trying to grab at his cock from your vulnerable position but he catches your hands mid-journey.

"Calm down." He grins at you, rubbing your slimy clit with his bulbous tip.

"I've waited enough." you tear up. "I've waited for days! For you to even look at me again."

"You really want it that bad kitten?" he asks, his expression twisting into one of pride as he towers over you.

"I want it, I want it so much. I want all of it!" you moan out as he pushes the tip inside your wet hole and brings it out, earning a whine from you.

"Hmm...?" he cocks his head to the side, continue to glide his tip over your clit as you fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You wouldn't be able to, when Sylus is holding your thighs next to your head and your hands in his tight one-handed grasp.

He uses the thumb of his other hand to rub circles on your clit while he swipes his tip up and down your nether lips, humming to himself. It feels so good, you feel a bubble grow inside your stomach.

"Oh god, I-" you gasp. But right before the bubble could burst, Sylus retracts himself completely and you widen your eyes at him.

"What did you just-"

"I don't know, kitten. Couldn't give you your high for free when you plan to marry someone else, now, can I?" he smirks at you as you tear up even more.

"N-no! Put it back!"

Sylus leans over and presses his tongue to your clit before your high can completely fade away.

"Yes! Yeah, like that!" you scream as flicks your sensitive nub and continues to hum, sending explosive pulsations throughout your nerves.

"Oh, oh! Sy-"

And then he retracts again.

This time, you fight against his grasp to grab his neck. But he's too big. Too strong.

He merely chuckles at your weak attempts to free yourself.

"Seriously, fuck you!" you screech at him. "Fuck you, Sylus."

"Ahaha, look at my angry little kitten. I love to tame you like this." He smiles at you with love but you just want him to fuck the brains out of you right now. You wriggle enough of your hand out of his grasp to start rubbing yourself but he is quick to notice.

"There, there." he pushes your hand back into his iron hold.

"Fine kitten, let me make sure you forget someone by the name of 'Caleb' even exists."

With that he finally puts his cock into your weeping hole, halfway. I-it won't fit just yet, earning an explosive gasp from you. Sylus cocks an eyebrow at you.

"T-too big." you manage to say.

"Oh, do I-"

"No!" you protest. "More. I want all of it. Put it all in. It's mine. Only mine."

"Look at you, sweetie. Sure you can take all of it? have my doubts." he teases but you are determined.

"I'm leaking all over the bed, now's the chance, Sy." you reassure him and with a smooth motion, he puts in his entire length into making you see the stars. It takes you a few seconds to come back to Earth when he finally starts moving. He's fully folded you into a mating press now, his sweat dripping onto your chest as he grunts and groans, his tip hitting your cervix at this point.

"More! I want more!" you say as if it was even possible to take in more but it just motivates Sylus to increase his pace and intensity. His wet hair now sticking to yours as he doubles down.

You feel your orgasm building up again with each powerful thrust of his.

"Remind me, who do you belong to?" he rasps, nearing his own high.

"That stupid fuckface. I'll bury him alive if I see hiim again."

"Sy-Sylus!" you scream, your insides tingling and your walls pulsating around his girth. "You! I only belong to you! I'm all yours!"

"That's right kitten." he growls. "You're only mine." with this he picks you up and place you onto his lap, pounding up into you hopelessly. With a near feral moan, you come undone on him and he follows after soon, shooting copious amounts of his seed right into you. The both of you rasp and gasp as you come down from your respective highs, pressing your foreheads together.

He doesn't pull out even when his cock goes soft and you smile sheepishly as you kiss his eyelids.

"My dragon. Only mine..."

You place a final kiss on his lips, chaste yet loving. Sylus looks at you like you're his entire world.

"If you pull this shit again baby." you warn him, keeping steady eye contact. "No sex for you for the next six months."

He gives you his signature smirk. "I'll just marry Caleb then." he says making you roll your eyes at him and punch his shoulder as the two of you giggle and pull the blanket over your heads.

[harrysespresso]

next adventure | ls2 smau

♡ summary: logan dropped out of ELMs and has been radio silent for weeks and fans are dying to know the reason behind the news.

♡ pairing: logan sargeant x reader

♡ warnings: use of yn, some swearing, hate comment, established relationship, pregnancy

♡ faceclaim: various blondes from pinterest

♡ a/n: i got this idea while listening to Paris by Taylor Swift and honestly still mourning Logan in ELMs. this is my first SMAU and it’ll be shortish so enjoy :)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

𝜗𝜚

february 18, 2025

elms_official

Liked by idecsportracing and 33,850 others

elms_official idecsportracing has announced that logansargeant has decided to withdraw and will not be apart of the No. 18 Oreca 07 lineup for the 2025 ELMs season.

We fully respect the decision of the American driver and wish him the best of luck in his next adventure. See you soon, Logan.

View all comments

user225 CAPTAIN AMERICA??? WHATS GOING ON???

hater381 dropped before the season even started 😂

user13 he chose to withdraw in what world is that the same as being dropped??

idecsportracing 🤍🤍🤍

user785 WHAT IS GOING ON??

user109 NOO LOGAN WHYYY

user772 in logan we trust (i’m having a meltdown)

—— twitter

replies—

user551 no seriously this was our chance to show how williams screwed him over 😭

user87 exactly 🤧🤧

user129 manifesting he gets an indycar seat (i’m in literal tears)

~~~

user223 we should all go to group therapy together

user778 we can send logan our bill 😭

user123 nah send it williams it’s their fault we’re like this 🤧

user1644 it’s hard out here for us

~~~

user77 no cause you’re asking the important question!!!

user773 LIKE i get i don’t know him but he wouldn’t withdraw without a reason 😭

user908 ITS SO ODD??

user651 like there’s gotta be reason maybe he has a seat lined up somewhere else??? (i’m delulu)

—— messages between logan & alex

—— YN’s close friends story

february 20, 2025

yourusername

(caption 1: unemployed boy out here building legos. men used to hunt 😒) (caption 2: 🧸🍼)(caption 3: florida man.)

replies—

lilymhe now they go around in deformed circles

➥ yourusername how embarrassing for them 🙂‍↔️

➥ lilymhe honestly 😔

logansargeant HEY YOU PUT THE CAR ON THE FIREPLACE

➥ yourusername because i love and support you on all your endeavors ☺️

➥ logansargeant you hate the legos.

➥ yourusername i love you :)

~~~

lilyzneimer LOOK AT YOU CUTIE

➥ yourusername ILYSM 🥹

lilymhe BABY SARGEANT

➥ yourusername 🤭

logansargeant beautiful 😍

➥ yourusername i love youuuuu

➥ logansargeant i love you 🤍

~~~

alex_albon why yes a man in his natural habitat

➥ yourusername he looked way too floridian doing this shit 😭

➥ alex_albon WTF is a kilometer 🦅

oscarpiastri get that man back in a car 😭

➥ yourusername i swear the longer he isn’t in a car he turns more into a retiree in Boca 💀

➥ oscarpiastri acting like a 65 year old at 24

—— twitter

replies—

user541 no cause YN is normally super active so it’s so weird she hasn’t posted at all in weeks??

user176 seriously! like not even an instagram post! i’m seriously worried about them!

user867 i’m starting to think he had a personal reason for withdrawing?

user176 elaborate

user867 user176 well like it’s not normal to withdraw so close to season and any professional wouldn’t do it unless there was a serious reason so makes me wonder if there’s a personal reason?

user029 user867 damn.

user894 no cause i’m honestly worried about them?? what if somethings wrong??

user700 no cause you guys have me freaked out 😭

~~~

replies—

oscarpiasstri cause you both disappeared off the face of the earth in their minds 😂

ynpriv oops 😭

wtfisakilometer we’re literally just watching hereditary and they’re acting like we’re dead 😭

ynpriv odd behavior from them

albono it’s funny to watch from afar 😂

ynpriv honestly 💀

lilyzzneimer it’s so funny 😭😭

ynpriv 😭😭😭

alexcantfight they’re spiraling like you need to give them a sign of life 😭

ynpriv A SIGN OF LIFE 😭

albono alexcantfight wait when did you change your username

alexcantfight albono …

—— instagram

february 25, 2025

yourusername

Liked by alexandrasaintmleux and 76,812 others

yourusername long awaited proof of life :) oh and baby sargeant coming soon 🩷

tagged: logansargeant

View all comments

user884 HOLY SHIT-

lilymhe congrats again my love!! you’re glowing ❤️

thank you beautiful 🥹🤍

user922 STOPPP OMG

user127 BABY SARGEANT 🥹

alexandrasaintmleux Congrats beautiful!

yourusername thank you gorgeous 🩷

flavy.barla félicitations

yourusername thank youuu!

user980 THE WAGS IN THE COMMENTS 😭😫

francisca.cgomes SO HAPPY FOR YOU ❤️

yourusername thank you beautiful!

user172 THIS WASNT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING-

logansargeant i can’t wait for our new adventure 🩷

yourusername me neither 🩷 i love you so much

~~~

logansargeant

Liked by oscarpiastri and 192,802 others

logansargeant our next adventure 🩷 baby sargeant coming soon.

tagged: yourusername

View all comments

oscarpiastri Congrats again mate! can’t wait to meet my goddaughter!

alex_albon that’s funny! i think you mean my goddaughter??

logansargeant boys boys let’s keep it civil

user219 IM CRYING STOP 😭🥹

user912 OMG CONGRATS 😭

user887 WAIT so he withdrew from ELMs for the baby 😭

logansargeant it was a decision made for my family! the priority to be present and surrounded by family during this time! but don’t worry i’m not done racing yet!

user883 i think something in me has been healed??

alex_albon Congrats to you and YN! love you both!

logansargeant thanks man!

f1 congratulations Logan and YN!

user987 hahaha that’s great now give him a seat.

user012 STOP THIS IS LIKE SO CUTE-

kevinmagnussen Congrats Man!

logansargeant thanks!!

indycar Congratulations to you both!

user723 fancy seeing you here 🤨 now give him a seat he’s got mouths to feed

user126 PROJECT SARGEANT!! 🦅🏎️

user809 THE F1 DRIVERS IN THE COMMENTS 🤧

idecsportracing Congratulations Logan and YN! We’re wishing you both so much health and happiness in this new chapter!

logansargeant 🤍🤍🤍

lance_stroll CONGRATS!

logansargeant thanks man!

jensonbutton Congratulations again! expecting many more calls for advice 😂

logansargeant oh for sure! 😂

yourusername i’m so excited for this new adventure with you 🩷 love doing life with you

logansargeant the only person i wanna do life with 🩷

[niyafics]

: •̩̩͙ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 ⋆｡°  •̩̩͙ ໋:🦁

chap1 : sweet talk frat!rich!paige bueckers x reader AU

˳ ⋅ ⊹ wc: 5k (*cries*)

˚ ⋅ ⊹ cw: alcohol (barley), swearing, LOWKEY EMO/LONER READER(i love opposites srry), estranged relationship with parents, golden retriever x black cat dynamic, an au things r diff obviously, the frat is made up lolol and not an established relationship either , lotsa building. angst(?), daddy issues(?). only proofread by me lolllll

˳ ⋅ ⊹ abt: after a long night of serving snobs you try to get a drink and a cute, hyper, frat girl home from college bails you out. now she won’t leave you alone.

˚ ⋅ ⊹(a/n): ty if u waited to read this, n srry if it sucks as always lolol. feel free to still use this idea btw!

ANOTHER exhausting night catering to posh assholes, and their colleagues. Some were easier to service. They screwed their face when you walked up, like you’d been interrupting a conversation, before bluntly repeating their orders, barley slow enough for you to hurriedly jot down.

They don’t thank you when you bring the food, they seldom look at you, like eye contact or a smile costs, and leave a fat tip that was probably change in their pocket.

Other times, it’s almost exactly the same. But, in place of the silence that showed they’re ‘better’, men the age of your parents, slipped a disgusting comment about your figure or an aggressively sexual invitation.

This long in the food industry, you were used to it. A forced laugh usually wards them off, and yet, it makes the evening drag. The 10 hours feels like 20. Your social battery is completely fried by the time you make it to your studio. Usually.

Certain nights, the tips stack so good, you have to reward yourself. This night in particular, you made the rest of your rent, and had fifty dollars extra to spend. Why not get a drink? It had been so long since you had alcohol warming your insides and cheeks. Since you had someone decent looking flirt with you face to face.

Your feet are throbbing after your shift, the money in your pocket keeps you motivated to get at least buzzed.

The bar you choose seems new, at least that’s what it’s listed as, nearby your place. Still cheap, but with a pathetic effort at millennial decorating. You wouldn’t see any of the richies you had to deal with at your job here, sucking their teeth at your chipped nail polish and beaten Vans. Throwing your apron in the backseat, you spray perfume to fight the smell of kitchen on you, and shake your hair free of its tie.

A chimes goes off, as you step inside, the place is almost empty. A middle aged couple play pool in a dim corner, and a few other groups or people spread out, leaving plenty room. Outdated music plays that clashes with the theme, so you get a feeling the decoration is just an effort to keep up with the times. You plop down in a stool at the bar with a grunt, sighing in relief, looking at the menu above, even though you were going to order the last drink you remember.

The bartender is a cute ginger, with freckles dotted on her face and down her arms. She glances over a few times with an apologetic smile, while an inebriated old man talks her ear off. You lift your hand to let her know to take her time, fiddling with a jar of toothpicks in front of you.

The bell echos at the front from behind you, and a rush of obnoxious conversation follows.

It was a warm summer night, and the suburban kids of the wealthy were home from school, but they usually drove through, to the overpriced clubs that suited them. You huffed an annoyed breath, taking a glance behind you. Everyone else’s head swiveled with yours. The children of the wound up business men you’d spent hours tolerating.

“This place stinks, like, actually..” One girl whispered. Two guys beside her laugh like hyenas.

“Yeah, good pick, Bueckers..” Another seethed sarcastically in disgust, with a string of chuckles following.

“Not too bad..” A tall blonde with her hair in a neat low bun pushed through and interjected. That must’ve been Bueckers. She turns to the group and gestures towards the pool table the couple had been playing at. You stared her down in her khaki shorts and pressed, short sleeve polo. Her friends dressed in similar preppy fashion. “Pool table’s cool.”

The couple of boys in outfits similar to hers groaned, moving towards it. The older couple was long gone, seemingly taking the group as a cue to leave. You were taking it as the same, still, you lingered. Your fingers dug into the leather of the back of the chair, looking at the lanky, yet toned, woman established as leader. A shorter girl, with brown hair, in an almost blinding white tennis skirt and jacket set, trailed behind, hooking her arm with Bueckers, as they walked over.

You identified her as the one that commented on the smell, she was right, but you still didn’t like her. A feeling bit at you that you pushed off as irritation, swiveling back around with a closed mouth scowl. The fiery haired bartenders’ kind green eyes met you, raising a brow.

“See someone you know?” She asked while drying a shot glass and setting it back on the rack behind the bar.

“No, thank god,” You joked, another whip of air pushing from your lips, relieving tension. “I’ll take a vodka and sprite, please.” She tilts her head knowingly, and begins to concoct it, while you reach into your pocket to pull out a twenty. Her hair whips back around with the drink and you’ve forgotten about the group. As she sets it down, a frown comes on her face at the sight of the bill. You’re raising your brow now.

“I forgot to tell you, card only, sorry…” The bartender bites her lip nervously, pointing to a sign behind her to back her up. Your shoulders slump, already knowing what your bank account looks like. A pang of disappointment stings your chest but you swallow it, and reach for your card anyways. You don’t know why. You already know it’ll decline. The sprite and vodka bubbles infront of you tauntingly.

“Put it on my tab.” A warm voice speaks up, and you feel a figure take the seat beside you, her long legs not fitting under the bar. They bump your thigh ever so slightly, as she swivels in boredom, facing you. Bueckers from earlier had came up to buy the first round. She shoots you a rosy lipped smirk, her blue eyes searching to meet yours for approval. You look down, putting the money back in your pocket instead, not feeding in. Her bottom lip purses out, brows stitching together so slightly, she probably thought you didn’t see it out the corner of your eye.

She slips a luxury brand wallet out her shorts, still looking at you when her slim fingers drag the thick black AmEx card across the granite bar, thick and shiny. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Bueckers, (Paige Bueckers, as the AmEx said) was trying to show off. Her icy orbs don’t leave you. You sip from the stirring straw as the bartender takes the card away. “Thank you.” You finally say after she leaves.

“No problem, doll face,” Her confident smirk is back as she scans over your work clothes. You’re not insecure, you fear that she’s sizing you up. That she can see the coffee stain at the bottom of your department store t-shirt, and feels oh-so sorry for you. You take a secretly angry sip. “What are you doing here all alone?”

You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out, finally lifting to meet her stare with a reserved expression. It doesn’t deter Paige, it makes her chuckle instead, and for a second you can hear a hint of nervousness.

“Okay, stupid question, sorry..” Her head turns back to the bar with a blush spreading into her round cheeks. For a second, you smile too, feeling something you can’t place, for a stranger making a corny move at you. Probably from the cocktail. You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of it.

“It’s fine, I’m just getting a drink after work..” You answer, although you usually wouldn’t. Something about the way she drank you in, her eyes pleading for approval with her metal rectangle of riches. It wasn’t hungry or cold, it was more like ‘please like me’. You exchange names, even though you already knew hers.

The server is back over, looking at Paige expectantly for her order. She gets a round of beers, turning back to you.

“Well, if you’re not too tired, you should come play me in pool,” Paige plucks up her card, and each Corona set infront of her. Two in each hand, between her fingers, then carefully swiveling around and standing. “I’ll buy you another.” She winks.

You hold her gaze and your breath until she walks away. Tipsy from the sips due to low tolerance, you slump back into the seat.

You had gone back to the pool table, even though her friends made your stomach twist. Their judgmental looks phased into the background as you and Paige played, the 3 watching, talking amongst one another. She had a talent of making it seem like you were alone.

Paige ordered another drink for you as promised, but you both barely drank again after your first, focused on the generic pool table. On the interesting stranger in-front of you.

Paige had politely demonstrated. Guiding your arms with her own, both lurched over the table, her hunched over you. She has to explain something an extra time, when her hips bump into you, and you space out. Once you get the hang of it, you’re ahead by two, determined to get the 8ball first.

Paige threw her head back once she misses a hole again for the same ball. You can’t help but explode in giggles, covering half your face with your palm. Catching you anyway, she grins at you, a twinkle in her eye as she squints.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, gorgeous.”

Her group watches you both banter, the short brunette coiling her face at you in the same way she did when the sticky stench of the bar hit her nose. You shoot an apologetic smile, awkwardly, even though you hadn’t done anything to her.

Paige ends up winning, with your head start, that you start to suspect was on purpose. Halfway expecting her to try to take you home, something heavy sets over you near the end of the night, asking if you wanted to leave with her. She was beautiful, seemed kind, and generous. Why not?

To your disappointment, and mostly curiosity, she gives the back of your hand a firm kiss instead, swapping numbers, wishing you a good night. You find yourselves turning to steal one more glance, walking to your cars, hers sleek and black with an engine the yelled as she veered away with her companions.

It started off with a simple ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. You had full intentions of brushing her off after the bar. The two of you had shared a moment, that’s all, nothing would come from someone like that and someone like you.

Paige was persistent. She woke up around 2 when you’re enjoying your last hour of freedom before work, with offers to interrupt her precious rest and take you, pick you up, bring you lunch.

“I have to come in early.”

“I have to stay late.”

“I don’t have a lunch.”

You shot her down, only because you knew she wouldn’t be moved. Secretly, you didn’t want her to know where you worked. The mystery, and push of you was better than the reality, you figured. That you were taking an involuntary gap year from your dream school, you were paying out of pocket for. Refusing to take on too much debt, you saved to return. Friends suggested asking your parents, they weren’t offering, so why ask?

Paige was restless to meet again, you could tell from her invitations sprinkled in every conversation, the past few days. Never could you figure she’d show up to your job though.

You’d been thrilled to leave your shift. It wasn’t bad, it was slow, which is somewhat worse. The dark sports car from a few days ago would have been the farthest thing from your mind, if you didn’t see one so similar to it. Parked right next to your old Honda, in the nearly empty lot.

Your steps slowed and you stared, dumbfounded. The windows were tinted an illegal amount. It’s low rumbling is flicked off and exactly who you figure pops out from inside.

“My dad loves this restaurant.” Paige smiles, like you’re casually meeting here. You nod knowingly.

“Why do you know where I work?” A groan escapes you, trying to speak sternly, your small grin betraying you. The blondes smile stays put, tucking a few of loose curls behind her ear. She waits for you to step closer, to the open car door she’s leaning on with her elbows.

“Yeah, well, my friend said he’d seen you, when he was out to eat not too long ago,” She throws a shrug like the next part is the normal thing that anyone does. “You go to work at 3…they close at 11…I just kind of….” As she spoke it out loud, the pink from a few nights ago returned to her face, heavier now.

“That’s super creepy, you know?” You tease her. If she was anyone else. Heat spreads in your cheeks, shifting the weight on your feet, to distract from it. Still, her ego isn’t bruised.

“You don’t think that,” Said with a chuckle, like she knows it for certain. You’re about to shoot a rebuttal about how she’s basically a stalker. She doesn’t stop speaking. “On your next day off. Let me take you out.” Not said in the form of a question.

“Hm…” You hum, putting your finger to your chin. “I am off tomorrow, but I’m sure you knew that too.” Teasing her again.

“Maybe I do.” She throws her shoulder up with a sly expression. You raise a brow at her that she ignores. “We could go play tennis at the club, or I know a few restaurants. Way stricter dress codes than here, though…Do you have tennis skirts? How about heels? You don’t seem like you’d wear either of those. That’s fine, we can go shopping before we go..” Paige is rambling. Your arms slump in disbelief at how fast she’s talking, having a conversation with herself, almost.

“Or even better, we could make a whole day of the shopping. Then we go to dinner. Forget it, let’s just wait and I’ll get us floor seats to th-“

“Okay, wait!” You stop her before she makes up her mind to fly you out of the state. “This is super overwhelming. I will only go on one condition.”

Paige clings to your every word, finally quiet, her face flushed slightly with embarrassment for over talking.

“It has to be something normal. Something even I can afford.” Paige makes a face at you, like what she named off were tame settings for getting to know someone. You rub your tired face, and walk over to your car, the door creaks when you open it.

“Okay, okay!” She rushes over to you, closing it back, “Something normal. I’ll pick you up, and we can do that.” You tilt your head up at her, both of you soaking each other in for a moment.

“Unless, you’re only capable of lovebombing..” You narrow your eyes at her with a smirk. Paige bursts out laughing.

“It’s not lovebombing, if it doesn’t stop, though.” grinning so hard all her teeth are showing, you don’t realize you are too.

“Right.”

You find yourself dreading Paige seeing your unkept apartment building. At around the time she usually is just waking up, she’s parked outside. Paige doesn’t see you walking up, being too busy with texting you she’s outside for the third time in five minutes.

She has no witty line prepared when you slide into the passenger seat, finally not in your work clothes, or makeup hours old. Her mouth is just gaped open like an idiot, she shuts it, when you give her a weird look.

You smelled like a bakery, in shorts and a crop top to accommodate the weather, with no clue where you were going, only that it’s across town, presumably near where she grew up.

“You look really pretty,” the corner of her lip curls up. It feels awkward, you’re still flustered hearing it. Picking at your nails nervously, while your eyes wandered up her to meet her own pair. She was in denim shorts this time, with a plain T-shirt, white and blue Jordan’s. It looked different from how she dressed at the bar with her friends, you felt less underdressed than you thought you would. “Finally get to see you outside of work.” Paige head turns to you every so often, one hand on the wheel, her elbow leaning against the armrest.

“Thank you, you look good too..” You bite your lip, gazing out the window, as she breaks at a red light. Good was just putting it lightly. Two pieces of her hair braided in the front, the rest straightened past her shoulders. Mascara coated her long lashes, and silver jewelry accented her whole body.

It was real silver and diamonds, you guessed, from the way it glimmered against the light. You stare down her arm taking up most of the rest between you. It reaches down, grabbing your hand, locking fingers automatically. Her thumb rubs the back of your palm.

It’s a park that she pulls into the lot of. A ice cream truck is a few spaces down, with families and small children waiting in line. Paige holds her finger up to you, signaling you to wait there. You don’t question it, unbuckling your seatbelt, agreeing to stay put.

You watch her jog up to the back of the line through the rear view, in front of you the vast greenery, sprinkled with jungle gyms, walking trails, and benches. The park near your apartment had grass high up to your knees, this grass looked like it was trimmed daily.

You’re suddenly anxious to get out the car. Paige comes back, this time holding a coned ice cream and some in a Styrofoam cup with a spoon. She opens your door for you, then hands you the cone.

“Thanks.” You lick a side that was melting, and Paige sticks a spoonful in her mouth beaming, with a nod.

Both of you decide to sit down, and enjoy your frozen dairy in silence for a few minutes. Then you smile and speak.

“Not a fan of cones?” You ask her, taking a long lick. She watches your mouth for a second then gently comes back to reality.

“Too messy.” Paige replies, shaking her head like she’s trying to push a thought away.

“Of course, too messy.” A smile is etched into your face the whole time, barley faltering. Paige gets a feeling you’re teasing her.

“Yeah,” She turns towards you, leaning her elbow on the back of the bench. Another scoop is shoved into her mouth before she dramatically adds. “I only get cones when my butler is here to wipe my mouth, duh.” You shove her shoulder gently, both of you erupting into tiny chuckles.

Small talk drives you crazy, but as you do it with Paige, it warms you up. You even find yourself asking questions. She talks about playing basketball as a kid, all the way to high school. Paige mentions how her dad is essentially a business mogul for a marketing company, and expects her to follow suit. She had been doing well so far, amazing grades, joining the same fraternity, like he wanted her to. Omicron Tau Sigma.

Her apprenticeship at the company her father ran with his fraternity brothers started a week ago, and she didn’t seem worried. As she put it, their less than welcoming children that she was forced to acquaint with and host, was work enough. You figured those were the friends at the bar.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re cool, and I have my moments where I’m worse.”

“Oh I’m sure..” You mumble between laps.

“Watch it.”

Before you know it, it’s your turn. You skip out on a lot of details, telling her a bit of your childhood, that you’re taking a gap year, and aren’t close to your parents. You didn’t have a pre planned multimillion dollar future, that didn’t have to be said.

“I don’t get you.” It’s so sudden, you don’t know how to respond., and you were used to being caught off guard.

“What’s there to get?” Paige nods, like she figured something out. You stare blankly until she further explains.

“You hate people. Or maybe you just seem that way. Either way, you’re closed off,” more vanilla into her mouth, as you’re starting to bite into the waffle cone. “You live alone, no mention of friends—“

“You’re very observant.” You nod thoughtfully.

“You’re very impossible.” Paige mumbles, finishing off her cup, and tossing it in the trash beside the seat.

“I just like being alone, what’s so special about it?” You look off at someone playing with their dog. “It’s the safest place to be. Depending on yourself, the only person who is reliable.” You cringe. It sounded edgy, yet, it was the truth, and you learned it the hard way.

Paige gives her full attention. Her hand crosses on-top of yours. For the first time, she looks sad for you.

“Safe doesn’t mean lonely. And all people aren’t the same.” A quick curl of her lip, lifts and falls from her face. You think about giving her a tough time. Shutting her down. Pushing those thoughts away, you quietly think about what she said, instead. She starts to talk again.

“You can, like…come over. Only if you want…. My place is right on the water.” Paige avoids your eyes, bracing your answer, a coolness to her voice that she seemingly flipped at will.

“Perfect place to throw my remains.” You roll your eyes at her, she wraps a arm around you suddenly, pulling you in.

“Good point.” She huffs, sarcastically, with a stupid grin, resting her chin on the top of your head. You jab her playfully.

You knew exactly the neighborhood she was talking about. With all the mini mansions, and huge pillars near the front doors, turned away from a private lakeshore. You passed it a few times. Your heart thumped thinking about being inside one. One where surely someone from her family would be.

Her rounded puppy eyes, and the look of willingness to follow you everywhere, had you agreeing before you truly scaled out the situation.

The driveway is so long you figured it burns gas just to drive up it. Big to match the massive house sitting beside it. Even her house stood out amongst others, there wasn’t anything traditional or welcoming about it. It was modern and cold, like a display home you didn’t want to mess up.

Paige snaps you out of your daze with the opening of your side. She takes your hand and guides you to the solid white doors. There’s a pin-pad above the silver knob that her fingers type so fast, you’re not sure exactly which number she’s pressing.

You’re staring wide eyed all around, anxiety making your heart drum in your ears. She hasn’t noticed the clamminess in your palm yet, thoughts of pulling it away before you faced whoever was inside stormed your mind. Walking in as friends already raises questions, you could only imagine the drilling questions reserved for Paiges’ partners.

Before you can make up your mind, she’s practically dragging you inside. Paige tosses her socks and shoes, you follow after her. The dark wood is warm under your feet. Heated floors. The interior design is just as minimalist as the outside. A few family portraits, and pictures of Paige at all ages, are blown up larger than you thought they could be, nestled on walls.

One wall, of the living room you get pulled through, to get outside, holds shelves of memorabilia. Framed jackets, paddles, shirts, brooches, several pictures of people in the same colors, trophies all consistent with a theme of gold and navy blue. A golden lion, with luscious mane, in the middle of every piece. You want to slow down and look, maybe even ask questions. You decide to ask when the time is right, considering how annoyed she’d been with explaining it earlier on the bench.

The glass slides open with a whoosh of air. Of course the backyard has been tended to, with lush grass, and intricate stone arrangements around the base of trees. Vibrant flowers are planted in rows around the balcony, between two trees, near the wooden stairs leading to the pier, there’s a hammock, chairs sprawled out nearby.

Walking briskly down the steps, Paige clasps your fingers with her own, guiding you down. She sits with a soft exhale making small waves with her feet in the water. You’re still mesmerized at seeing a lake so clear. You’d never leave this pier if you were her, you tell Paige. She responds with a dry, closed mouth laugh.

“You can have it. And everything that comes with it..” She looks down into the water, or her reflection, you can’t tell. Your eyes don’t leave her, when you sit down on the worn wood. Half your foot is in, and it’s warm, so you drop the other. Her thigh is flush with yours.

“Not having fun in the castle, princess?” You kick the water lightly, sucking in the fresh air deeply. She rests her head on your shoulder, suddenly, making you perk.

“Not really.”

A snarky remark is at the tip of your tongue, so you bite it. How could having everything handed to you, make you sulk in private? You thought, looking at a few fish swimming just below your toes.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t.” You reply quickly, thinking about something else instead just in case.

“Yeah, I do,” Her head lifts up to look at you. There’s a slight hurt behind it.

“Shut up,” You sigh, gently pulling the weight of her head back onto you. “It must be…hard to keep up with.” That’s the only way you can put it, to try and soothe her.

“No, it’s not,” She admits, the sun beating down on the both of you through the leaves of trees overhead. “It’s not like working 40 hours a week, and still barely making it, I know.” Your arm wraps around her.

“Your dad graduated from my dream school,” It blurts out of you like vomit. It was drumming in your mind when you saw a diploma with the signature seal to it, framed alongside the other accomplishments. The words don’t stop. “I’m struggling because, yes the pay sucks, and because I’m saving to go back.” You’re almost gritting your teeth at the confessions. Paige pulls away and you let her.

“Damn. Dream school?….Really?” A silence sets over, you not replying. Paige gets up, standing beside you, wet feet dragging water next to you. She holds her hand out, you look up at her for a moment, her hair reflecting to look gold and white. You finally take it, her pulling you to your feet, and slowly up the steps this time around.

Once you reach the grassy yard, Paige stops dead in her tracks, like a deer, barley breathing out. Your feet start to dry in the blades of grass, by the time Paige speaks. Well, whispers.

“Shit, they’re here..” She’s mumbles under her breath. You’re about to ask who but the hearty laugh of a group of older men comes from the living room. “I forgot that was tonight..” Paige pulls the both of you to the side of the house, by the drive way, your legs barely keep up without a jog. Her fingers tap the pin to a room that’s used for coats, shoes, bags, all amounting to the cost of a small house. Theres three steps up to a black door that Paige opens so slowly, it looks like it pains her. You squeeze her wrist, stopping her.

“What?” She whispers.

“Who are we running from?” You whisper back.

Paige doesn’t respond, letting you hear the chatter of now voices young and old. Then she raises a brow at you, her only answer, twisting back towards the entrance.

“Because of me?” Your voice cracks as you ask. Paige turns around sharply, taking your face in her hands, brows furrowed in seriousness, foreheads nearly pressed together.

“Never. Because. Of you.” Her hushed, stern, tone makes a feeling you don’t recognize in your stomach, flip the desert inside it. “Okay?” This part is soft, and so is her expression. You nod slowly, as if in a trance, not wanting her mouth to move away from yours.

Having to fight back the urge to clash lips, Paige quietly steers you into the kitchen, the door closing behind you with a click.

Her slim shoulders drop, like you’re finally safe, bare sets of damp feet padding to the refrigerator. It’s roomy, and untouched, with the same dark flooring from the living room, where deep voices still laugh and discuss amongst each other loudly. The marble island sits in the middle, between the stove and fridge. A TV is installed outside of the door she digs two seltzers out of.

She gestures for you to follow her. You’re frozen still. Eyes bulging out your skull, social anxiety causing a tremble through you, at the sight of the small group crowding in. It was the other three, one guy shorter, with a mullet, the other taller, skinner than Paige, and of course, the brunette. An evil smirk stretches across her lip fillers, letting you know nothing good will come from this interaction.

It wasn’t them you’d been worried about though, it was the man towering behind Paige, his arms crossed, features scrunched in a frown, similar to Paige’s own. Mr. Bueckers, it has to be.

The way she jumps, when she swivels away from you, makes you think she’s going to drop the cans, instead, she squeezes them until they dent on the sides.

“So nice of you to join us, Paige. With company too?” He lets out a low, unimpressed, whistle.

[stevebabey]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[cheriecelestial]

Fitoor Pt.I

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yandere! Batboys x fem! Desi!reader

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ swearing. fluff. crack. yandere themes (if you squint real hard).

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ cuz my desi girls need a bit of love too (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟThis story is just self indulgence at its finest. And like always Comment, Reblog and Like (☆≧▽^) Also credit to my co-writer/beta reader @swamiiyasssss ilysm🤍🤍

╰ ┈➤ ·:*:·゜Chapter list Pt.II Pt.III

The alarm blared at an ungodly hour, and Y/N groaned, slapping her phone with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. Her tiny Gotham dorm room was still cloaked in the grayish gloom of dawn, but her sister’s FaceTime call lit up the room like a spotlight.

“Subah ho gayi, mamu, chal uth!” Vanshita’s voice was obnoxiously lively for 7 a.m., her face dominating the screen. It’s morning, dude, get up!—a reference to Munna Bhai M.B.B.S. (2003)“Also, did you finally figure out how to use that fancy coffee machine, or are you still running on chai and pure delusion?”

Y/N squinted at the screen, her hair a wild mess that could only be described as “bedhead chic.” “First of all, it’s not a ‘fancy coffee machine,’ it’s a French press, and second, I’ll have you know I’ve mostly mastered it. Except for that one minor explosion, but we don’t talk about that, Vani.”

Vani snorted. “Explosion? Y/N, I still don’t get how you haven’t been fired from your part-time job for an entire year. Like, how?”

“Luck, charm, the fact that Gotham’s rogues haven’t noticed me yet and most of all Bhagwan ji ki kripa se,” Y/N shot back, hurling a pillow at her phone as if it could magically hit her sister back in Mumbai. By the mercy of God. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to look semi-professional for my internship interview. Apparently, ‘I survived moving to Gotham’ isn’t a valid aesthetic.”

Vani grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just remember, if you run into any brooding vigilantes, call me immediately. I need details.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N muttered, grabbing her towel. “But if I see Batman, I’m totally getting an autograph for you. Now let me go before I’m late and my interviewer thinks I got kidnapped by the Joker or something.”

“I prefer Superman, tho—” Y/N didn’t wait for Vani to finish before hanging up. Gotham was chaotic, gritty, and smelled vaguely of bad decisions, but it was hers now.

A big part of Y/N’s family had been apprehensive about her moving abroad for her master’s—and to a place like Gotham, of all cities, given its stellar reputation for safety. But as Vani had said, “You survived Delhi; you can survive anything.” The Gotham School of Architecture was one of the best in the world, and it made practical sense, considering how often supervillains reduced buildings to rubble. Architects were always in demand here.

Today was the first day of her first semester of her second year and her shot at securing a position at one of the city’s most prestigious architecture firms. Y/N glanced at the clock, her stomach dropping as she realized it was almost time for her bus. She grabbed her bag, muttered a quick prayer to the universe, and bolted out the door. Gotham waited for no one—especially not a sleep-deprived grad student with big dreams and a caffeine addiction.

Y/N dashed out of her dorm, her bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder and a travel mug of hastily brewed chai in hand. But halfway out the door, she froze. “Wait, I forgot something!” she muttered, darting back inside. She yanked open the fridge and spotted the small bowl of curd and sugar she’d prepared the night before. Her mom’s voice echoed in her head: “Beta, never leave for something important without having a spoonful. It brings good luck.”

Y/N grabbed a spoon, took a big scoop, and swallowed it quickly. “For good luck,” she whispered to herself, as if her mom could hear her from halfway across the world. With that done, she was off again, racing down the stairs.

The Gotham morning was as grim as ever, the sky a patchwork of gray clouds that seemed to mirror the city’s mood. She weaved through the crowded sidewalks, dodging commuters and the occasional street vendor hawking “I Survived My Trip to Gotham” merchandise.

The bus stop was just a block away, but of course, today of all days, her bus was already pulling up. Y/N broke into a sprint, her boots slapping against the pavement as she waved frantically at the driver. “Wait! Please, wait!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the morning chaos. Miraculously, the bus screeched to a halt, and she hopped on, flashing a grateful smile at the driver.

“Cutting it close, huh?” the driver grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Story of my life,” Y/N panted, swiping her card and collapsing into the nearest seat. She took a sip of her chai, wincing as it burned her tongue. Note to self: let it cool next time.

The ride to Gotham University was a blur of towering skyscrapers and the occasional glimpse of the harbor. Y/N’s mind raced as she mentally rehearsed her interview answers. Why do you want to work at Wayne Enterprises’ architecture division? Easy. It was one of the most prestigious firms in the city, and their projects were groundbreaking—literally, considering how often they had to rebuild after supervillain attacks. What makes you stand out as a candidate? Well, she’d survived moving to Gotham, hadn’t she? That had to count for something.

By the time the bus rolled up to her stop, Y/N’s nerves were buzzing. She stepped off, smoothing out her blazer and adjusting her bag. The Gotham School of Architecture loomed ahead, its sleek, modern design a stark contrast to the gothic aesthetic of the rest of the city. Students milled about, some clutching coffee cups, others buried in blueprints and books. Y/N took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched inside.

The interview was scheduled in one of the smaller conference rooms on the third floor. Y/N checked her reflection in the elevator mirror—hair mostly tamed, blazer wrinkle-free, and a determined glint in her eye. She could do this.

The receptionist at the door gave her a polite smile. “Miss Y/N? They’re ready for you.”

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding as she stepped into the room. The panel of interviewers sat at a long table, their expressions a mix of curiosity and professionalism. At the head of the table was none other than her dean and next to him was a man in his twenties. She immediately recognized him, Lucas Fox, the son of the acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a business partner for the architecture and R&D division. Y/N’s stomach did a somersault. Stay calm. You’ve got this.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

Lucas smiled warmly. “Good morning, Y/N. You're one of the very few second years that matched our criterias. We’ve heard great things about your work. Let’s dive in, shall we?”

The next half an hour flew by in a whirl of questions about her portfolio, her design philosophy, and her thoughts on sustainable architecture in a city like Gotham. Y/N found her rhythm, her passion for the subject shining through as she talked about her vision for blending functionality with artistry.

Just as the interview was wrapping up, Lucas leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “One last question,” he said. “Gotham is… unique. It’s a city that’s constantly rebuilding, constantly evolving. How do you see yourself contributing to that?”

Y/N paused, then smiled. “Gotham is resilient. It’s a city that refuses to stay down, no matter how many times it’s knocked over. I want to be part of that resilience—to design spaces that not only withstand the chaos but inspire hope. Because at the end of the day, architecture isn’t just about buildings. It’s about the people who live in them.”

Lucas nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Well said. Thank you, Y/N. We’ll be in touch.”

As she stepped out of the room, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She’d done her best, and that was all she could ask for. Now, all that was left was to wait.

After her interview, Y/N headed straight to her part-time job at Sip and Savour, a cozy coffee shop tucked between a pawnshop and a dubious-looking alley. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills and kept her caffeinated. She tied her apron, fixed her name tag, and braced herself for the afternoon rush. The first hour was relatively calm—just the usual crowd of students, office workers, and the occasional Gothamite who looked like they’d seen too much. But then he walked in.

Y/N’s least favorite customer walked in, and she immediately felt her patience start to evaporate.

He was a few inches taller than her, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and an annoyingly handsome face that always seemed to be with a smirk that made her want to throw a latte at him. Today, he was wearing a red hoodie over a collared shirt, looking way too casual for someone who ordered drinks so complicated it sounded like a science experiment. And today was no different. 

“Hey,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ll have a grande oat milk latte, extra hot, with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of caramel, a dash of cinnamon, light foam, and—wait, no. Actually, make that almond milk. And can you stir it clockwise exactly seven times? Thanks.”

Y/N stared at him, her pen hovering over the cup. “Clockwise. Seven times. Got it.”

“Great,” he said, flashing her a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “Oh, and make sure the cup isn’t too full. I don’t like it when it spills.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Y/N muttered under her breath as she turned to make his drink. She meticulously followed his instructions, stirring the drink clockwise exactly seven times and yes, she counted, and handed it to him with a forced smile.

He took a sip, frowned, and set it back on the counter. “This is wrong.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“It’s wrong,” he repeated, as if she were the one being difficult. “This is almond milk, not oat milk.”

“You literally changed it to almond milk halfway through your order,” Y/N said, her patience fraying. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure I said oat milk the whole time. Maybe you just misheard me.”

Y/N clenched her fists under the counter. “I didn’t mishear you. You changed it.” He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Well, I guess we’ll never know. Just make it again, please. And this time, pay attention.”

She wanted to argue, but the line behind him was growing, and her manager was giving her the look. So she took a deep breath, tossed the first drink, and started over.

When she handed him the new drink, he took a sip, nodded, and said, “Much better. See? Attention to detail matters. Though you spelled my name wrong. It's Tim not Jim” Y/N forced a smile completely ignoring what he said. “Glad you like it. Have a great day.”

Thankfully he decided to let it go. As he was paying, she muttered under her breath while furiously billing his order at the cash register, “Saala madarchod, harami, apna order khud bana le agli baar se. Kahi jake sad ja.” Annoying motherfucker, jerk, make your own order next time. Go and rot somewhere.

And just when she thought she was done with him, he turned around. “Oh, by the way,” he said, holding up his screen to show her a recording of her muttering. “Customers ko aisi cheeze khena acchi baat nahi hoti. Hurts business reputation you know.” You shouldn't say such things to customers.

Y/N’s jaw dropped with her clearly flabbergasted. “H-Hein?” What ?

He grinned, clearly enjoying her shock. “I'm a bit out of practice but I manage. Anyway, I’ll keep this recording safe. You know, just in case I need to… remind you about my order next time. Kal phir milte hai.” I'll see you tomorrow.

And with that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, equal parts horrified and furious. Her coworker, Harper, leaned over, eyebrows raised. “What just happened?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I think I just met my worst nightmare.”

“Can you please stop laughing at me?” Y/N groaned, glaring at her sister through the screen.

“I can’t—it’s just too good. I’m sorry!” Vani didn’t even try to hide her laughter, let alone show any sympathy. It wasn’t just a chuckle—no, it was a full-on, tears-streaming-down-her-face, can’t-breathe kind of laugh.

“Oh my god,” Vani wheezed, clutching her stomach. “He actually recorded you calling him madarchod and understood it. This is gold.”

Y/N’s glare deepened. “This isn’t funny, Vani. He’s my customer. And now he has a recording of me calling him that. Do you know how bad it’ll look if that video gets out? My professional credibility will be ruined!”

That only made Vani laugh harder. “I mean, he is a madarchod, though. Who orders a drink with seven clockwise stirs? What even is that?” 

“I don’t know!” Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillow. “But he’s insufferable. And he said he’ll see me tomorrow. Tomorrow, Vani. What if he complains to my manager? What if he gets me fired?”

Vani finally managed to catch her breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “Relax, drama queen. If he wanted to get you fired, he would’ve done it already. Honestly, it sounds like he’s just messing with you. Which, by the way, is hilarious.”

“You’re the worst,” Y/N muttered, throwing a pillow at the screen.

“And you’re an idiot,” Vani shot back, grinning. “But hey, look on the bright side. At least he’s cute, right?”

Y/N froze. “What? No ! Mujhe kyu pasand aayega wo mendhak ki aaulad ?” Why would I like that son of a frog ?

Vani’s grin widened. “Oh my god, you totally think he’s cute! This is even better than I thought.”

“I hate you,” Y/N said, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Lekin dekh, zyada se zyada kya karlega?” Vani said, her tone shifting to mock seriousness. But see, what's the worse he can do? “You’ll get fired, that’s all. And even then, Gotham uski baap ki jaydad toh hai nahi. Once you get the internship at Wayne Enterprises, you won’t need that shitty part-time job anyway. And you’ll never see that dude again. So, sweet-talk him into deleting it and end of story.” And even then, Gotham isn't his dad's property. 

“And what if he doesn’t delete it?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with dread.

“Then go near the sink, ek chulu bhar pani le aur doob mar kyuki tuh toh beta chud gayi,” Vani explained in a voice so serious and methodical that Y/n would've even believed her for moment. Take a fist full of water and drown in it because you're fucked kiddo.

“Didi!” She whined and fake sobbed into her pillow. 

“Love you too, sis,” Vani replied, still chuckling. “Now go to sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow—your mendhak is waiting!” frog

The next morning, Y/N woke up with a sense of dread hanging over her like a storm cloud. She dragged herself out of bed, muttering curses under her breath as she stumbled to the kitchen to brew her morning chai. The events of the previous day replayed in her mind like a bad movie, so much so that the image of him—smirking, recording her, and replying in his gora pakora accented Hindi—had even haunted her dreams.

“Kal phir milte hai,” she mimicked under her breath, stirring her chai aggressively. After a quick breakfast and another spoonful of curd and sugar, hoping it would help her luck a little, Y/N grabbed her bag and headed out the door. The Gotham morning was as gloomy as ever, the sky a dull gray that matched her mood. Thankfully, the bus arrived on time, and Y/N managed to snag a seat. She spent the ride mentally preparing herself for the day ahead—classes, assignments, and, of course, the inevitable encounter with him.

“Is… someone here?”

Y/N snapped out of her reverie at the sound of a voice, so soft it was almost inaudible. She looked up and saw a petite girl with prominent Asian features and short dark hair standing awkwardly beside her. “No, no, of course not. You can sit here,” Y/N said quickly, scooting over to make room. It was a good thing the girl had shown up; otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t have noticed she’d been spacing out and missing what was being taught in class.

“So, you’re an architecture major?” Y/N asked the girl, trying to make conversation since she hadn’t seen her in her other classes. The girl looked at her, confused, and shook her head. Y/N frowned, feeling her response was odd. Then she glanced at the girl’s notebooks and froze. Criminology and Criminal Justice. Her eyes darted to the front of the classroom, where the professor was discussing something about forensic psychology.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She had been so absent-minded that she’d walked into the wrong classroom.

“You have to be kidding me,” Y/N muttered, burying her head in her hands. She lightly thudded her forehead against the desk, cursing herself under her breath.

“Are… you… okay?” the girl asked, her words slow and deliberate, as if she were struggling to form them. Y/N didn’t mind. A cousin of hers had a speech impediment, and she’d never been one to judge. She lifted her head and sighed. “No. I’m royally screwed.”

The girl gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “Wrong… class?”

“Wrong class. wrong choice. wrong life. Everything is wrong,” Y/N confirmed, groaning. “And I’ve already missed half the lecture. Great. Just great.” The girl hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook. “You can…ask the teaching assistant or... the librarian... for notes later.” Y/N blinked, surprised by the suggestion. “I suppose I can. Thanks.”

The girl nodded shyly, her cheeks tinged with pink. “No problem. I’m… Cass, by the way.”

“Y/N,” she replied, smiling for the first time that day. “Nice to meet you, Cass. And thanks for saving me from total disaster.” Sitting next to Cass, she couldn’t help but feel a little better. Maybe the day wasn’t a total loss after all. But as she glanced at the clock, she realized her next class was starting soon—and with it, the possibility of running into him again soon approaching. 

“One disaster at a time,” she muttered to herself, packing up her things. “One disaster at a time.”

By the time Y/N arrived at Sip and Savour, her nerves were on edge. She tied her apron, fixed her name tag, and took a deep breath. “Okay, Y/N,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve got this. What would your ancestors think if you let a white man bully you like this? Get it together.”

The evening rush kept her busy, and for a while, she almost forgot about him. Almost. But then, right on cue, he walked in. Today, he was dressed more refined—a crisp white shirt, dark trousers, and his hair neatly combed. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a business magazine. He spotted her almost immediately and walked over with that wide, infuriating smile.

“Hey,” he said, his tone way too cheerful for Y/N’s liking. “I’ll have a grande oat milk latte, extra hot, with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of caramel, a dash of cinnamon, light foam, and—” Y/N cut him off, her patience already wearing thin. “Let me guess. Stirred clockwise exactly seven times?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying her frustration. “You remembered. Impressive.”

Y/N smiled without her eyes. “How could I forget?”

As she turned to make his drink, she could feel his eyes on her, and it took every ounce of self-control not to turn around and glare at him. She followed his instructions to the letter, stirring the drink clockwise exactly seven times and yes, she counted again, and handed it to him with a smile that was more gritted teeth than genuine.

He took a sip, nodded, and set it back on the counter with a hum of approval. “Perfect. Just like yesterday.” Y/N’s eye twitched. “How lovely. Anything else, or would you like to pay?”

“No, but I feel like you have something to ask of me,” he said, leaning closer. Y/N’s stomach dropped, but she kept her face neutral. “Harper, I’ll be right back in a sec,” she called to her coworker. Wordlessly, she stepped out from behind the counter and looked at him. “You. Come with me.”

“No,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Who knows what you might do to me if I follow you into a random alley?”

“I’m just asking you to step outside,” she stated blankly, her temper rising. Y/N was a sweet girl, the kind all her aunties loved. For years, she’d maintained the facade of being soft-spoken and well-behaved, but something about this man made her want to slam his head onto the counter. Maybe it was Vani's charm that had rubbed off on her.

“Hmm, I’ll consider it if you ask nicely. After all, the customer is king, right?” He smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing to her. Y/N almost felt a laugh bubble in the back of her throat. Who the hell does he think he is? But she held it in. “Sir, if you could please step outside for a moment.”

“See? You just had to ask,” he said, walking past her with that infuriating smirk. She followed him out, mentally running through all the ways she could end him without getting caught. Once they were in the alley next to the shop, Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. She had rehearsed this moment in her head all day.  

“So, about the recording—” she began.  

“Oh, the one where you called me madarchod and harami?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with amusement.  

Y/N cringed, her anger dissolving into sheer embarrassment. “Yeah, that.”  

“What about it?” he smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort.  

“I was wondering if you’d like to make a deal,” she said, forcing herself to stay calm. “What is it that you want?”  

He eyed her up and down, his gaze sharp and calculating, barely masking the smug grin plastered across his face. Y/N shifted her weight to her left leg, the alley suddenly feeling stiflingly hot. She felt even hotter, her skin prickling under his scrutiny. This was pure agony. 

“What do I want?” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, as if savoring every word.  

Does this guy really expect me to repeat myself? Y/N thought, but she bit her tongue and gave him a stiff nod instead.  

In a flash, he closed the distance between them, his eyes now level with hers. She swore his gaze was electric, sharp and piercing, like he could see right through her. The rough, uneven surface of the brick wall pressed into her back, the stench of discarded cigarettes, alleyway garbage, and damp concrete overwhelming her senses. That, combined with his faint, coffee-laden scent, left her feeling dizzy and nauseous.  

He had her up against the wall, his presence towering and inescapable.  

“I’ve yet to figure that out, miss,” he said slowly, his voice a low drawl that sent a shiver down her spine.  

Y/N’s heart pounded as she tried to steady her breathing. “Well, figure it out fast because I don’t have all day.”  

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Feisty. I like that.”  

But before she could retort, he stepped back, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned on his heel. “I’ll let you know when I do,” he called over his shoulder, walking away without another word.  

Y/N stood there, frozen for a moment, her mind racing. What just happened? She blinked, shaking her head as if to clear the fog he’d left behind. The alley felt emptier without him, but the tension still lingered in the air.  “Ugh, that guy,” she muttered under her breath, pushing off the wall and brushing herself off. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the encounter, and headed back into the café. Her coworker Harper glanced up as she walked in, raising an eyebrow. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “Just dealing with a… difficult customer.”  

Harper nodded sympathetically. “Ah, Tim ? Yeah, he’s a piece of work. I don’t know why he’s so fixated on you but anyway good luck with that.”  

Y/N sighed, glancing out the window as she tied her apron back on. “Yeah. Luck.”  

Y/N sat in the quiet corner of the Gotham University library, her textbooks and notes spread out in front of her. But her mind wasn’t on architecture or her upcoming assignments. Instead, it kept drifting back to him—his smirk, his words, the way he’d left her standing in that alley, confused and frustrated.  

“I’ve yet to figure that out, miss,” his voice echoed in her head, and she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh, why is he so impossible?”  

Just as she was about to spiral into another round of overthinking, she spotted Cass across the library. The petite girl was sitting at a table, her nose buried in a criminology textbook, her short dark hair falling into her face as she scribbled notes.  

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gathered her things and walked over. “Hey, Cass. Mind if I join you?” 

Cass looked up, her expression softening into a small smile. “Of course. Sit.”  

Y/N slid into the chair across from her, setting her books down with a sigh. “Thanks. I needed a distraction.” 

Cass tilted her head, her dark eyes curious. “Everything okay?”  

“Yeah, just… dealing with a weird situation,” Y/N said, choosing her words carefully. She didn’t want to dump all her frustrations on Cass, especially since they’d only just met. “You know how some people just… get under your skin?”  

Cass nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “Yes. People can be… complicated.” 

“Tell me about it,” Y/N muttered, flipping open her notebook. “But you know that trick you told me worked. I got the notes. Anyway, what are you working on?” Cass held up her textbook, showing Y/N the chapter on criminal profiling. “Studying. It’s… interesting.”  

Y/N leaned forward, genuinely curious. “That does sound interesting. What made you want to study criminology?”  

Cass hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “I like… understanding people. Why they do things. It’s… important.”  

Y/N smiled. “That’s really cool. I can barely understand why I do things half the time, let alone other people.”  

Cass gave a small laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s… not easy. But it’s worth it.”  

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, each focusing on their work. For the first time in days, Y/N felt her mind clear. Cass’s calm presence was exactly what she needed—no drama, no smirking customers, just quiet companionship.  

But as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts kept drifting back to him. What did he want? Why was he so determined to mess with her? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?  

“Y/N,” Cass said softly, pulling her out of her thoughts.  

“Yeah?”  

Cass pointed to Y/N’s notebook, where she’d been absentmindedly doodling instead of taking notes. “You’re still… distracted.”  

Y/N looked down and groaned. “Ugh, you’re right. Sorry. I’ll try to focus.” Cass gave her a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Sometimes… it helps to talk.”  Y/N hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. Just… a guy being annoying. I’ll get over it.”  

Cass nodded, not pushing further. “Okay. But if you need… to talk, I’m here.”  “Thanks, Cass,” Y/N said, genuinely grateful. “You’re a good friend.”  

Y/N’s words hung in the air for a moment, and Cass froze, her pen hovering above her notebook. Her dark eyes widened slightly, and she looked up at Y/N, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.  

“Friend?” Cass repeated softly, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue.  

Y/N blinked, realizing the weight of what she’d just said. “Yeah, I mean… if that’s okay with you. You’ve been really nice, and I feel like I can talk to you. I hope that’s not weird or anything.”  

Cass stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile spread across her face—a genuine one, not the shy, hesitant smiles Y/N had seen before. “No. It’s not weird. I… like it.”  

Y/N grinned, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”  

Cass’s smile grew, and she ducked her head slightly, as if trying to hide it. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “For what?”  

Cass hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. “For… calling me a friend. I don’t… have many.”  

Y/N’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Cass’s voice. “Well, you’ve got one now,” she said firmly. “And if anyone gives you a hard time, just let me know. I’ve got a mean glare and a sharp tongue—trust me, I’ve been practicing on this annoying customer at work.”  

Cass chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. “I’ll remember that.”  

The two of them fell back into their work, but the atmosphere felt different now—lighter, more comfortable. Y/N found herself actually focusing, her earlier frustrations fading into the background. Every now and then, she’d glance up and catch Cass smiling to herself as she wrote, and it made Y/N feel like she’d done something right. As the hours passed, Y/N realized how much she’d needed this—not just the distraction, but the connection. Cass’s quiet presence and kindness were a balm to her frazzled nerves, and for the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe. When they finally packed up their things to leave, Cass turned to Y/N, her expression soft but serious. “Thank you… for today.”  

Y/N smiled. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver, Cass. Seriously.”  

Cass nodded, her smile lingering as they walked out of the library together. As they parted ways, Y/N felt a renewed sense of determination. Whatever he had planned next, she’d handle it. And now, she had a friend to help her through it.  

Y/N found herself glancing at the door every time the bell chimed, her nerves on edge. But he didn’t show up. Not that day, or the day after, or the day after that. His absence should’ve been a relief—after all, he was the source of her endless frustration—but instead, it only made her more anxious.

What if he hadn’t kept his promise? What if he’d already uploaded the audio somewhere? The thought gnawed at her, making it hard to focus on anything else. She found herself replaying their conversation in the alley, analyzing every word, every smirk, every glance. Had she missed something? Had he been bluffing all along?

By the third day, her frustration had reached its peak. She was snapping at Harper for no reason, messing up orders, and even burning a batch of pastries. Her coworkers were starting to notice, but no one dared to ask what was wrong.

“Y/N, you okay?” Harper finally asked during a lull in the afternoon rush. “You’ve been… off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Harper raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Look if it's about that guy let me know, I might be able to deal with it.” Y/N nodded, but her mind was already elsewhere. She kept glancing at the door, half-expecting him to walk in with that infuriating smirk and another ridiculously complicated order. But he didn’t. And the more he didn’t show up, the more her anxiety grew. On her way to class one afternoon, Y/N spotted someone who looked like him from behind—tall, dark hair, wearing a hoodie with a collared shirt. Her heart leapt into her throat, and before she could think, she was weaving through the crowd, her bag bouncing against her side as she hurried to catch up.

“Hey!” she called, tapping the guy on the shoulder. He turned around, and her stomach dropped. It wasn’t him. Just some random guy who vaguely resembled him from behind.

“Uh, can I help you?” he asked, looking confused.

“No, sorry,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Wrong person.”

She walked away quickly, her frustration boiling over. Why am I even doing this? she thought, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk. He’s probably just messing with me. I shouldn’t even care.

But she did care. And that was the problem.

That evening, Y/N called Vani, her frustration spilling out as soon as her sister picked up. “He hasn’t shown up in days, Vani. What if he’s already posted the audio? What if it’s too late?”

Vani listened patiently, her voice calm and soothing. “Relax, Y/N. If he was going to do something, he probably would’ve done it by now. That little shit is probably just playing mind games with you.”

“But what if he’s not?” Y/N groaned, flopping onto her bed. “What if he’s waiting for the worst possible moment to ruin my life?”

Vani chuckled. “You’re overthinking this. He’s just some guy who likes to annoy you. Trust me, if he wanted to ruin your life, he wouldn’t have walked away in that alley. He’d have done something already.”

Y/N sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I guess you’re right. But why hasn’t he shown up? It’s been days.”

“Maybe he’s busy,” Vani suggested. “Or maybe he’s just giving you space to freak out. Either way, stop letting him live rent-free in your head. You’ve got bigger things to worry about, like your classes and that internship.”

Y/N groaned again. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I have a presentation next week, and I haven’t even started.”

“See? Focus on that,” Vani said. “And if he shows up again, deal with it then. But don’t let him ruin your week, okay?”

“Okay,” Y/N said, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Vani. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Vani replied, her tone teasing. “Now go do your homework. And stop stalking random guys on the street.”

Y/N laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t stalking him. I just… thought it was him.”

“Kya din aagaye hai. Bacche abh mendhako ko stalk karte phirte hai. But then if it brings you happiness what can I say ?,” Vani signed dramatically. What have times come to? Kids now go around stalking frogs.

“I’m just gonna go,” Y/N said, hanging up.

As she lay there, staring at the ceiling. Vani was right—she was overthinking this. If he wanted to cause trouble, he would’ve done it by now. For now, she’d focus on her classes and her internship. And if he showed up again, she’d deal with it then.

The next morning, Y/N woke up feeling a little lighter. Vani’s words had stuck with her, and she was determined not to let him—or the anxiety he’d caused—ruin her day. She got ready for class, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door, the crisp Gotham air helping to clear her mind.  

When she arrived on campus, she spotted Cass sitting on a bench near the library, her nose buried in a criminology textbook as usual. Y/N walked over, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, Cass,” she said, plopping down beside her. “What’s up?”  

Cass looked up, her expression softening into a small smile. “Hi, Y/N. I was just… studying.”  

“Of course you were,” Y/N said with a laugh. “You’re always studying. Don’t you ever take a break?”  

Cass shrugged, her smile widening slightly. “Sometimes. But… there’s a lot to learn.”  

Y/N nodded, her gaze drifting to the notice board nearby, where a small crowd had gathered. “What’s going on over there?”  

Cass followed her gaze. “Oh. The list of students accepted for internships… it’s up.”  

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, really? Already?”  

Cass nodded. “Yes. I thought… you’d want to know.”  

Y/N was on her feet in an instant, her bag slung over her shoulder. “Thanks, Cass! I’ll be right back!”  

She hurried over to the notice board, squeezing through the crowd of students who were eagerly scanning the list. Her heart pounded as she searched for her name, her eyes darting over the names of her classmates. The list was short—Wayne Enterprises had extremely high standards, and only a handful of students had been accepted.  

Her stomach churned as she scanned the names, her anxiety growing with each passing second. What if she hadn’t made it? What if all her hard work had been for nothing?  

And then she saw it.  

At the bottom of the list, in neat, bold letters, was her name.  

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she just stood there, staring at the notice board in disbelief. She’d done it. She’d actually been accepted. A wide grin spread across her face, and she turned around, practically bouncing with excitement. She spotted Cass still sitting on the bench and ran over, her bag bouncing against her side.  

“Cass! I got it! I got the internship!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her friend in a tight hug, almost lifting her from the ground. Cass stiffened for a moment, clearly surprised by the sudden display of affection, but then she relaxed, patting Y/N’s back awkwardly. “That’s… great. Congratulations.”  

Y/N pulled back, still grinning. “Thank you! I can’t believe it! This is huge!”  

She did a little celebratory dance right there on the sidewalk, earning a few curious glances from passing students. Cass watched her, a small smile on her face, though she still looked a little unsure of how to react.  

“I’m so happy for you,” Cass said softly, her voice genuine.  

Y/N beamed, her excitement bubbling over. “Thanks, Cass. Seriously, this means so much to me. And honestly I’m so glad I have someone to celebrate it with.”  

Her cheeks were tinged pink. “You… deserve it. You worked hard.”  

“You’re the best, Cass. I’m so glad we’re friends. And after class, let’s go and eat someplace. My treat!” Y/N’s heart swelled with gratitude.

Cass smiled, her expression warm. “Of course.”

As they walked to class together, Y/N felt a renewed sense of purpose. This internship was her chance to prove herself, to show that she belonged in Gotham, no matter how chaotic or overwhelming it could be. For the first time in days, she didn’t think about him or the recording or the anxiety he’d caused. Today was about celebrating her achievement and looking forward to the future.  

After class, Y/N and Cass headed to a cozy little café near campus. The place was quiet, with soft music playing in the background and the smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. They found a table by the window, and Y/N immediately launched into a detailed account of her internship acceptance.

“I still can’t believe it,” Y/N said, stirring her coffee absently. “Wayne Enterprises, Cass! Do you know how competitive that is? I mean, their standards are insane. I didn’t think I had a chance, but I guess all those late nights paid off.”

Cass listened quietly, her dark eyes focused on Y/N as she spoke. When Y/N mentioned Wayne Enterprises, Cass’s expression flickered for a moment—a brief, almost imperceptible shift. But she didn’t say anything.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Y/N asked, grinning. “I just got the internship of my dreams!”

Cass smiled softly. “I’m… happy for you. You deserve it.”

Y/N beamed, leaning back in her chair. “Thanks, Cass. Seriously, this means so much to me. I can’t wait to start. I mean, it’s Wayne Enterprises. Who wouldn’t be excited, right?”

Cass nodded, her gaze dropping to her cup of tea. She stirred it slowly, her mind racing. She wanted to tell Y/N the truth—that Wayne Enterprises wasn’t just some prestigious company to her. It was her father’s company. But the words stuck in her throat.

What if Y/N treated her differently once she found out? What if she started acting like everyone else—awkward, distant, or worse, overly interested in her family’s wealth and status? Cass couldn’t risk that. Not when she’d finally found someone who treated her like a person, not just Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

But as Cass watched Y/N’s animated expression, a quiet, possessive part of her stirred, sending a flicker of satisfaction through her chest. If Y/N was working at Wayne Enterprises, it would be easier to keep her close. Cass wouldn’t have to worry about losing her to someone else or watching her drift away. The thought brought an odd warmth, one she quickly pushed aside, forcing herself to focus on Y/N’s excited chatter instead.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, snapping Cass out of her thoughts, “enough about me. How’s your criminology stuff going? Still solving crimes in your head?”

Cass smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. “It’s… interesting. I like it.”

“Good,” Y/N said, reaching across the table to give Cass’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad. And hey, maybe one day you’ll be solving real cases. Like, actual Gotham crimes. You’d be amazing at that. You could even be the next Batman.”

Cass’s smile widened, her heart swelling at Y/N’s words. “Maybe,” she said softly, though the mention of Batman made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

As they continued talking, Cass felt a rare sense of contentment settle over her. Y/N was here, with her, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t need to tell her the truth—not yet, at least. For now, she could simply enjoy this moment, this friendship.

But deep down, that small, possessive part of her whispered something darker. She’d do whatever it took to keep Y/N close. After all, good friends were hard to come by in Gotham. And Cass wasn’t about to let this one slip away.

The morning of her first day at Wayne Enterprises, Y/N woke up early—or rather, she hadn’t slept much at all. Her nerves had been buzzing all night, a chaotic mix of excitement and anxiety keeping her awake. The first thing she did was call her mom, who launched into a long, heartfelt pep talk filled with blessings, reminders to pray before leaving, and, of course, the non-negotiable curd and sugar for good luck. Vani followed up soon after with her usual blend of teasing and encouragement.

“Your first internship, huh? I remember mine like it was yesterday,” Vani said, her tone dripping with nostalgia.

“Well, to be fair, it was only about two years ago,” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes as she double-checked her bag. Stationery? Check. Laptop? Check. Charger? Check. Notepad. Check. More station—

“Are you even listening to me?” Vani’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“I am listening, Vani di. First internship. Everyone loved you. You were the pride and joy of your company. I know,” Y/N recited, her tone half-amused, half-exasperated. 

Vani scoffed. “Hey, I’m actually trying to give you valuable advice here!”

“I know, di. You’ve repeated it hundreds of times already. It’s getting annoying,” Y/N sighed. She loved Vani with all her heart, but sometimes—just sometimes—the constant nagging got to her. Her older sister had a way of hovering, even from thousands of miles away.

“The audacity,” Vani shot back. “You know what’s actually annoying? Working hard for years just to get into a college near the only person in this godforsaken family you actually care about, only for that person to move halfway across the globe for her bachelor’s. It's not that I’m blaming you, but—ugh, just drop it.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She always knew Vani never got along well with the rest of the family. Vani was the outspoken, rowdy one who didn’t hesitate to flip off nosy or mean relatives. Growing up, she had been Y/N’s shield, protecting her from the endless taunts about her height, weight, or anything else the relatives could nitpick. Even though she was a cousin, Vani was the closest thing Y/N had to a real older sister. She was always there, but her fierce protectiveness came at a cost—being singled out and ostracized by the rest of the family. Vani never complained, but Y/N knew it weighed on her.

And even when her own parents had threatened to disown her for choosing IIT Mumbai over CalTech, Vani had stood her ground. No one could argue much, though, since IIT was one of the most prestigious colleges in India. But Y/N knew the truth: Vani had wanted to escape the family, and CalTech would have given her that. Yet, she’d stayed—for Y/N.

Y/N didn’t have the heart to say anything more, but she managed a soft, “I’m so sorry, Didi. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, baccha. Leave it,” Vani said, her tone softening. kid “And it doesn’t matter. I’m almost at the end of my fourth year. Companies will be coming to campus soon. I was aiming for LexCorp since Wayne Enterprises isn’t hiring this year.” 

“LexCorp?” Y/N asked, surprised. “But they only have two branches in India—one in Mumbai and the other in Bangalore. I thought you wanted to go to Silicon Valley?”

“I did,” Vani admitted, “but honestly, the package is crazy, and even then, I’m aiming for Metropolis.” Her voice was laced with pride, and Y/N could practically hear the smirk on her face.

“No way. That’s crazy!”

“Is it now? I have the CGPA for it and multiple projects to vouch for my skills,” Vani said confidently. Y/N paused, realizing what Vani was doing. Metropolis was just two towns over from Gotham.

“I mean, I know it’s great and all, but Lex Luthor just gives me bad vibes,” Y/N muttered.

“Look, Y/N, it’s capitalism. All billionaires are bad people. And trust me, I’d work for the devil if it meant I could say ta-ta to this family and be close to you. That package is just a bonus. Eat the rich baby. That’s the only way to go.” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, though her chest felt tight with emotion. Vani had always been her rock, her protector, and now she was making career choices just to be near her.

“You’re impossible, Vani di,” Y/N said, her voice fond.

“And you’re stuck with me,” Vani replied, her tone light but laced with unspoken affection. “Now go crush your first day. And don’t forget the curd and sugar.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little lighter. “I won’t. Love you, di.”

“Love you too. Acche se rehna.” Stay well

After hanging up, Y/N took a moment to center herself. She walked over to the small Ganesha idol her mom had insisted she take with her to Gotham. Her mom’s voice echoed in her head: “Beta, always start something important with a prayer. Ganesha will remove all obstacles.” Y/N clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and whispered a quick prayer, asking for strength, focus, and a little bit of luck.

Next came the ritual her mom had drilled into her since childhood—curd and sugar. She scooped a generous spoonful from the bowl she’d prepared the night before, the creamy sweetness melting on her tongue. “Beta, never start something important without it,” her mom’s voice chimed in again, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile. It was a small tradition, but it made her feel grounded.

With her nerves slightly steadied, she turned her attention to her outfit. She’d laid everything out the night before: a crisp white shirt, a sleek black pencil skirt, and black pumps that clicked confidently against the floor. It was professional, polished, and exactly the kind of first impression she wanted to make.

Her gaze drifted to the side table, where a pair of dainty oxidized silver jhumkas sat in a small velvet box. Vani had gifted them to her from her first internship stipend, and they were one of Y/N’s most treasured possessions. She picked them up, her fingers brushing over the intricate designs. They were delicate yet striking, and though they didn’t stand out too much against her outfit, wearing them felt like carrying a piece of home with her.

She fastened the earrings, adjusting them in the mirror until they sat just right. The jhumkas caught the light as she turned her head, and she felt a surge of confidence. She was ready. A buzz from her phone snapped her out of her thoughts.

Cass: All the best for your first day.

Y/N smiled, quickly typing back a grateful reply and checked the time—still on schedule. She gave her hair one final comb-through, ensuring every strand was in place, spritzed on a light mist of perfume, and dabbed on a touch of lip gloss.

Unlike her usual routine, she decided to splurge on a cab today. The thought of her meticulously styled hair getting ruined in the chaos of public transport was enough to convince her. Besides, today was all about first impressions, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

As the cab pulled up to Wayne Enterprises, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The building was a masterpiece of modern architecture—towering glass walls reflecting the Gotham skyline, sleek lines that seemed to defy gravity, and an energy that buzzed with purpose and innovation. She stepped out of the cab, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

The lobby was just as impressive, with its high ceilings, polished floors, and the faint hum of activity as people moved about with purpose. Y/N felt a thrill of excitement as she made her way to the architecture wing, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She couldn’t help but marvel at the atmosphere. Everyone here seemed to move with a sense of direction, their confidence and expertise palpable. It was intimidating, but also exhilarating. This was where she belonged—where she would prove herself.

In the center of the grand lobby, Y/N’s eyes landed on the reception desk. She walked up to it with her back straight, chin held high, and a determined glint in her eye. Today was her day, and she was ready to seize it. As she approached, she noticed the receptionist was the same woman who had guided her during her interview a few weeks ago. Y/N couldn’t help feeling a little more comfortable; at least there was one familiar face.

“Good morning,” Y/N greeted the receptionist with a warm smile. The woman, who Y/N now noticed had a name tag that read Mrs. Saberton, returned the smile, clearly recognizing her. “I’m here for the Architectural Internship for second years,” Y/N explained, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “I recently received my acceptance letter, and today’s my first day.” She handed over a folder containing all the necessary documents—her resident ID, student ID, and other paperwork.

Mrs. Saberton took the folder and began typing away on her computer, her fingers moving swiftly as she verified the details. While she worked, Y/N’s eyes wandered to the small bowl of candies on the desk. She couldn’t resist picking one up, unwrapping it quickly and popping it into her mouth. The sweet taste helped calm her nerves, even if just a little.

After a few minutes of thorough checking, Mrs. Saberton looked up with a warm smile. “Welcome to Wayne Enterprises, and congratulations!” She gestured to the left side of the lobby. “If you could just make your way down that hallway, you’ll find someone from HR waiting to assist you.”

Y/N thanked her with a grateful smile, feeling a small surge of confidence. She followed the direction Mrs. Saberton had pointed, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she made her way to the HR office.

The HR representative was a professional yet approachable woman, her demeanor immediately putting Y/N at ease. She greeted her with a bright smile that felt genuine and welcoming. “You must be Y/N. Welcome! We’re so excited to have you on board. As you know, you were one of the brightest candidates, and we’ve decided to place you directly under the head of the Architecture and R&D department. It’s a huge opportunity.”

Y/N’s heart leapt. Working directly under the head of the department? This was beyond anything she’d imagined. She thought back to Luke Fox, who had conducted her interview. He’d been so kind and encouraging, and she’d admired his work for years. She had read countless interviews and articles about both him and his father, Lucius Fox—two men Y/N held in the highest regard. Their accomplishments in their respective fields were nothing short of extraordinary, and the thought of working under someone of their caliber filled her with both excitement and a touch of awe.

“Thank you so much,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

The HR representative smiled warmly. “Of course. Your boss is in his office now. You can head right in.”

Y/N nodded, her excitement building as she walked down the hall. She paused outside the office door, taking a deep breath and whispering another quick prayer. This was it—her big moment. The culmination of years of hard work, late nights, and unwavering determination.

She thought back to the Wayne Scholarship program, the very reason she’d been able to pursue her dreams without the crushing weight of student loans. The program, funded by billionaire Bruce Wayne, had been a lifeline for students like her, both within Gotham and beyond. It was designed to give aspiring scholars the chance to study at top institutions without financial barriers, and Y/N had been one of the lucky yet deserving recipients. From the moment she’d been awarded the scholarship, she’d dreamed of this day��the day she’d step into Wayne Enterprises as one of their own.

Now, standing outside the office of the head of the Architecture and R&D department, she felt a surge of pride. This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she deserved to be here.

With one last deep breath, she knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open. The office was spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Gotham’s skyline. The chair behind the desk was turned away, facing the window, and the person sitting in it didn’t respond immediately.

“Good morning, sir,” Y/N said, her voice bright and professional, though her heart was pounding in her chest. She stood tall, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, trying to project confidence even as her nerves threatened to get the better of her. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just wanted to say how grateful I am for this opportunity. I’m really looking forward to working with you and contributing to the team.”

The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Her words hung in the air, unanswered. Y/N’s smile faltered slightly as the seconds ticked by. Her mind raced. Did he not hear me? Did I say something wrong? Did I somehow offend him already? The silence was deafening, and her heart strummed with nervousness, each beat louder than the last.

And then, the chair swiveled slowly.

Y/N’s heart dropped to her feet.

It was him.

Tim sat there, his familiar smirk plastered across his face, looking far too pleased with himself. Her eyes darted to the nameplate on the desk, and her stomach churned as she read the words: Timothy Drake-Wayne. She knew that name.

Bruce Wayne’s prodigy son. The one who had taken over a significant part of Wayne Enterprises at just 17. The one whose name was synonymous with brilliance, ambition, and, apparently, an infuriating knack for getting under her skin.

Of course.

Y/N stood frozen, her mind racing as the pieces fell into place. The complicated coffee orders, the smug attitude, the way he’d always seemed to be one step ahead of her—it all made sense now. The coffee shop, the recording, the way he’d toyed with her—it wasn’t just some random guy being annoying. It was him. Timothy Drake-Wayne, heir to one of the most powerful families in Gotham. Y/N wanted to crawl into her own skin. She felt exposed, like he’d been playing some elaborate game she hadn’t even realized she was a part of. 

Tim leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. “Grateful, huh?”

╰ ┈➤ A/n: Comment to be added to the taglist

╰ ┈➤ Masterlist

╰ ┈➤ Tags: @hana-no-seiiki @sophiethewitch1 @swamiiyasssss @lilyalone @cxcilla @one-pea-in-a-pod @cooki3dough @misaki-kira8 @br0ke-b1tch @sukaretto-n @ferchu0406 @iamabeaner @lu-zo-san @darkflowerrebelhorse @103you @isabellamorettosworld @fictionalwhor3

© cheriecelestial - arabelle | 2025

[navybrat817]

Hello, Navy! Hope you're doing well. I'm here back again because i have a mighty need to tell you this:

just bucky saying "sit and take what you need, honey" and encouraging her to ride him with all her want/need... and not even 5 minutes in he's pleading "jesus, honey, wait you're gonna make me cum too soon" but his hands still encouraging her to keep going hard.

— 🍯anon

Oh, my beautiful nonnie.

Ride It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky encourages you to take what you want.

Word Count: Over 760

Warnings: Established relationship, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), light choking, dirty talk, possessive behavior, slight feels if you squint, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Work was a big ball of suck today, but I hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Sit and take what you need, honey.”

That was what Bucky told you almost five minutes ago, and now he's forcing himself not to move as you brace your hands on his thighs and roll your hips. He watches, completely entranced, letting you bounce on his cock and take what belongs to you. Your nipples still have a bit of shine from him sucking on them and he can’t help but slide a hand to your throat and gently squeeze.

You giggle, a breathy sound, before you say, “Harder.”

He obliges and feels you tighten around him. His strength doesn’t scare you. You crave it. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs when you moan. “Bounce on my cock. Take me.”

Just like he has his days when he simply fucking needs you, which is quite often, you have those days, too. So, when you went into the living room, naked, tugged on his sweatpants, and straddled him without a word, he was more than happy to let you take control. It makes him feel good that you need him. Though it was taking everything in him to not thrust up into you or flip you over and pound into your pretty pussy until you cried.

As long as you get off, you can fuck however you please.

But he feels his head start to spin, his eyes half lidded when he feels the dam close to breaking. “Fuck, honey, wait,” he begs when you move faster, dropping his hand to your hip. He doesn’t keep you still. His touch only encourages you. “Gonna fill you up too quickly if you don’t stop.”

And he has to get you off.

His words only encourage you more. “Yeah, big boy?”

“I’m serious. Gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warns. Only you can make him lose control.

“You can. It’s okay,” you smile, a heart stopping smile, when he bites his lip. “I want you to.”

“Honey…” he growls, another warning. He isn’t sure if it’s for you or himself.

“My pussy’s that good, isn’t it?” you asked, circling your hips. “You wanna fill me up, don’t you? Make my pussy yours.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, his head falling back. He loves when you talk dirty. Loves fucking each of your holes. Bucky just loves you.

“I am. I’m fucking this thick… huge… cock,” you moan, your back arching and your hand moving between your legs to play with your clit. It’s such an erotic, filthy display and he swears he’s going to blow his load in a few more seconds. “Making it mine.”

His breath hitches when you lean in, your lips touching the corner of his mouth. “Fuck, yeah. It’s yours,” he promises, his breath ragged as you grind yourself down on his cock. Your cunt feels too good, squeezing him like you own him, the same way he owns you. He just doesn’t want to let go without you. “Want me to come? Wanna milk my cock for all it’s worth?” he asks, smacking your ass and smirking when you shriek.

“Yes!” you cry.

“Then keep riding me. Use me. Own me.” The wet squelch from your bodies meeting is almost obscene and he loves it. Loves every sound, every movement. He still can’t believe some days that he has you. That he gets to fuck you, love you, keep you. You’re his, and he’s yours. “‘Atta girl.”

“‘m close, Bucky,” you moan. He can feel it. You’re practically dripping. Such a pretty fucking mess. He wants to clean it up with his tongue. “So, give it to me. Come with me. I need it.”

Bucky will never deny what you need.

His fingers dig in as he starts to quiver. Bucky wasn’t a man who quivered until you and your perfect cunt showed up in his life. And your greedy cunt milks him just like you want, and he wonders if his release is what triggers yours. The moans you let out don’t stop him from claiming your mouth and swallowing down the last sounds from your orgasm. And he can’t stop himself from finally lifting his hips, drawing one last moan from you.

“Fuck…” he pants, smiling and framing your face. “I love you.”

“I love your cock,” you sigh, and giggle when he nibbles on your bottom lip. “And you.”

That makes his heart soar. “Get what you need?”

“Almost.” There’s a spark in your blissed out expression, and his cock stays hard inside your clenching walls. “Think I need one more.”

He gives you three, and you thank him for it.

Nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[delight-angelsbliss]

Can I get sonic, knuckles, or shadow trying to help reader dealing with an ed like annawrecksya or bullymia. Fan of either romantic or platonic <3

Precis: knuckles, sonic and shadow with a reader who has an ed (seperate) can be read as both platonic or romantic

Warnings: ED, anorexia, mentions of puking, hurt/comfort, Sonic feeling so guilty he starts to take mental hits, lowkey that happens with most of them but I won't spoiler

Notes: in the psychiatric hospital my roommate taught me unhealthy ways to lose weight like making yourself puke with a toothbrush or even puking up meds to not gain weight since usually in the hospital everyone gained weight and became a victim of this. Guys I swear I can write angst trust 🙏 also might of yapped a bit too much sry for the delay to the other requesters heh cuz I usually go from first to last request until the first one is finished!! Also yapped a bit too much with sonic heh I decided to only go with anorexia because that's what I know better but maybe I'll make one with bulimia if y'all want

Sonic (anorexia part)

Sonic is already pretty skinny (as everyone can see) , he's gotten many compliments and weird comments about it before. It never bothered him. He likes himself and how fit his body is, he doesn't see a reason why people would hate their body. That all changed when he met you, the moment he looked at you, he could tell something was off. You rarely ate and would always immediately go to the bathroom after, only coming back with somewhat shaking legs, your breath smelled like puke, and your eyes looked lifeless. It made him so sad knowing that's how you valued your health, purely based on how your body looks.

Sonic made sure to check that you've eaten your food, and stayed with you for the next few hours so you didn't have any way to puke it put, even if that didn't work most of the time. Sonic knew you could excessively exercise after, or even starve yourself for days if you so please. He knew there we're ways to prevent it, but damage was already done, Sonic tried talking to you, getting you to a hospital, therapy, ANYTHING to help you. Yet for some reason he never truly saw the happy image of you he used to have. You'd drink water and put on more layers when getting your weight taken, openly reassuring him everything is fine and twisting his words to make it seem like he's overreacting. He knew this was a hard thing to avoid, he couldn't just avoid his precious loved ones treating themself so bad! It felt like he was hearing the world on his shoulders. His world; you.

Sonic slowly started withdrawing himself from his friends and other events, he started hanging out more with you to make sure you were eating properly. Sonic would sometimes withdraw or act off when going on a mission and this is basically like a mission to rescue you! That was always his excuse when he spent countless nights thinking of you and going back to friends, he felt so guilty leaving you all alone to fend anorexia alone. He wasn't going to let you live like this, that's a promise. Sonic felt tired after weeks and weeks of getting his concerns dismissed; "she gained 2 kg when we checked last week! She might need to cut, haha" "didn't you see how bloated she was? That's because she's eating more food" he knew those were lies, water can easily pass and help weight loss while making most bloated from lots of water, he knew you could put on socks and extra layers to 'gain more' when getting weighed. Sonic started hiding your pills like fat Blocker to help you gain more weight, instead he replaces them with iron pills

He started seeing real differences, so did you. You knew you would blow your cover if you said anything, sonic knew that too, he backed you into a corner (with kabedon 👅) so there wasn't anywhere to run, you wouldn't be able to outrun him anyway. He will always find a way to help you. He was determined, he won't give up! No matter what pills he has to replace, what methods he has to use to talk to you, he will help you!

Knuckles

With the mountain of version of knuckles it's hard to find common ground but I tried to go in the middle of them all

When knuckles first met you, he saw you as a happy and healthy person, but slowly. Something shifted, he noticed your weird behavior when going out to eat, how everything always in your home looked full; food expiring/never running out. He thought it was odd that foods, especially snacks, were always there. It worried him beyond comprehension. Knuckles is already pretty muscular and happy with his body so why can't you be? It worries him that you have to deal with these kind of thoughts

Knuckles trying to talk with you, wanting to get you to eat more. It had some lasting effects for a week... Or maybe not-? He would hear you making yourself puke each time after eating, it made him sick, sad, betrayed. It all felt like a roller coaster of emotions that he couldn't escape, he tried distancing yourself. It's better for me! Is what he thought to himself, but he realized; he's hurting you more if he just leaves you to deal with it all, the guilt ate him. So he started subtly pushing back into your life.

When he did push back inside, he noticed how broken you seen. You haven't been taking care of yourself, you've dropped many kilos, your body looked so broken and he could tell you felt the exact same way. Knuckles knew this was not healthy, he felt every bone in his body go limp, he couldn't break down now and he knew it! He had to help you! It was just a time race at this point to get you to be healthy again, a healthy weight, healthy diet, and knuckles wasn't going to give up

Shadow

We all know Shadow is a loner, he hasn't met many people in general so seeing an anorexic one was surprising and concerning to him. Under the presumption you two already built a relationship (platonic or Romantic doesn't matter) Shadow knew what he was signing up for when being friends with you, he knew you could starve yourself to death any second, the thought made shivers run down his spine every single time. He didn't want to lose another. He won't let you die. In my head, I'd see Shadow be extremely difficult, protective, overbearing, and much more! He won't let you have privacy because he wants to ensure your safety, no matter how much you communicate with him, it won't help his thoughts ease up

Shadow isn't gonna get crushed that easy, he isn't a communicator and he certainly won't try in this scenario... Until he realizes just how uncomfortable you are, you won't shower, dress, eat or anything really when he's near, he slowly realizes just how uncomfortable he makes you. That's when he truly eases up, going to sonic and the gang for help to find ways to correctly help his loved one! That's when he gives you more privacy, trying to communicate (surprisingly) making sure you have a nice filling meal prepared and more stuff that should help promote eating

I know this is probably annoying, but he bans you watching movies or series that have even a glimpse of an ED. He doesn't want you seeing it on TV or anywhere else, no insecurities, no movies that make fun of insecure people! He might loosen up sometimes when he sees you watching it without any problems, but otherwise. You're always going to be in good care with him

[ripinejschu]

Chained Cheater, Chastised - KY10

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader

synopsis: the day before the Turkiye's quarterfinal match in the Euros, Kenan gets involved in a cheating scandal he swears never happened, but reader doesn't want to hear him out and causes Kenan to lose focus. But is he really telling the truth? Pictures don't lie...

wc: 4.2k

cw: tears, cheating allegations, silent treatment

an: first fic on this account!! it feels like it's been forever since I last posted on here; this was written in july btw!! i love writing for kenan

Kenan’s hands shake as he sees the horrifying images on his phone. Weston had sent him a few posts and links about an alleged cheating scandal regarding Kenan, but he had firmly denied it.

Until Weston sent the doctored photos of him all cozied up with some blonde chick, face smirking at the prize he’d gotten for that night. The ones he looks at now, damning and all too natural looking.

Shit, shit, shit–shit runs through his mind.

Who could have done this? Some jealous bitch of course, bitter over his relationship with his beloved girlfriend, who would no doubt see this and feel her heart break.

Somehow, the German media had found out and already written a couple of articles, with the pictures and gossip accounts credited. Not very viable, but once this spreads no one would care beyond what seems so obvious. The photos are right there, picture perfect, but Kenan’s words will never make the public believe the truth, not with these.

He feels trapped. Should he call Weston, plead his case? It would be practice for others, but he knows it’s a futile attempt. Should he call his girlfriend, let her know the rumours and photos aren’t true? By now, they are circulating even on TikTok as he looks at the links, afraid to open them up and see the comment sections.

He’s already going through enough because of everyone’s harsh criticisms of his performances in the Euros lately; he doesn’t need to see what else people are saying.

Career-ruining. That’s what this is. Kenan is already aware of the Italian influence of cheaters, especially with the rumours whispered in the Juventus locker rooms about the Italian beauty Calafiori being a serial cheater  –which Fede had wanted no part of– and now…now it gave the Turkish critics new material to hate on his foreign influence. Already too German, accent thick in his broken Turkish, and now living a lifestyle like the Italians? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Except, the alternative is even worse. What would you say? Sweet and fierce, you’d stood by him when he struggled in games, when he cried in your arms because he never seemed Turkish enough, constantly stumbling over his words and syllables.

But now…shit. He needs to call you immediately and try to clear the air with you before you can see any part of this brewing storm of lies. His hands shake as he finds your contact in his Favourites folder, hesitating before he presses down on your name. Your smiling face lights up his screen, a photo of you hugging Ramos, whose tongue lolled happily.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, before it goes to voicemail. No worries, right? Maybe you’re in the bathroom or you have your phone on silent. He waits a minute, staring at the screen before trying again.

It immediately goes to voicemail. Oh no.

Kenan knows you know, but you need to hear his defense straight from him. He texts you, mumbling a prayer that the text will go through and you’ll answer before you decide to block him.

He types, and erases the words. Types again, and erases the words again. Nothing seems good enough; it all sounds like a pathetic plea of a man caught red-handed, but you need to hear it.

He settles on the following: “Y/N listen to me please. There are a couple of photos on the internet of me and a blonde girl cuddling, but I promise wallahi it’s not real. I’ve never looked at any other girl with desire during our whole relationship I swear. This is fake, please believe me. Call me when you can, so we can figure this out together. Please.”

It’s not the best but still, it will do. His hands begin to shake again as he presses send, waiting, waiting…

Delivered. You hadn’t blocked him. You’re not even on Do Not Disturb, so you did get the notification. Kenan puts his phone on Personal to block every notification but yours and waits for you to respond, but as the minutes tick by and he begins to pace, phone silent in his pocket, he doesn't hear the sound of a text come through.

Until now. He whips out his phone only to see a barrage of texts in Personal, with Arda’s pushed through, hence the text sound. Dusan, Weston, Timothy. But not you.

He reads through the messages, confusion and anger mixing together. Arda is asking what is going on, Dusan is demanding if it’s true and why he would do such a thing, his texts growing angrier at Kenan’s stupidity, Timothy’s calling him a “fucking idiot” and Weston is wondering why Kenan isn’t responding to his texts and can he please let him know what’s going on.

Hakan’s text comes in at the top: “Call me IMMEDIATELY” is written on the notification, and Kenan gulps. Part of him wants to ignore him, partially in case you call him, but with his career on the line at such a young age, he knows he needs to talk to his captain, especially with tomorrow’s quarterfinal match looming over him.

He again goes to the phone app, looking longingly at yours that still has no response, and calls Hakan.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kenan, what the fuck is going on? Please tell you you’re not so stupid as to get involved in a  scandal? And now, with our reputation on the line, yours especially?” Kenan winces, but Hakan continues. “You know there’s a game tomorrow, right? We have to focus on the wondrous Holland, not this relationship drama, a whole scandal, Kenan. What were you thinking?”

Kenan gulps again as he feels tears begin to sting his eyes. He needs Hakan to believe him, but he struggles to get his words out.

“Hakan, I promise it’s not what you think. They’re n-not real, I would n-never do that. P-please, you have to believe me!”

Kenan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hakan’s tone softens, comforting the young man. “Kenanım, it’s okay, we’ll get through this. You’re a young man, we can easily work this out. Don’t cry. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Kenan lets out a loud sob, unable to keep quiet anymore. He should feel humiliated, crying on the phone with his mature, older captain, but he can’t keep it in anymore.

You ignoring his calls and messages, the anger from his teammates, his career threatening to fall apart, it’s too much for the teen. He collapses on the floor of his hotel room sobbing, phone falling from his hand as he cries his eyes out.

At some point, he feels two warm bodies encapsulate him from both sides, arms wrapping around his crumpled form, and he cries into someone’s chest with their heart beating steadily.

“Sh-she’s not answering me. I t-tried telling her i-it’s not real b-but she won’t a-answer m-me,” he cries between sobs, unsure of what language he’s speaking because either way, it comes out broken.

He feels an arm rubbing his back, a voice soothingly shushing him, and an embrace holding him as his tears finally subside enough not to blind him. He cautiously lifts his head to look up into Hakan’s eyes.

His captain rocks him slightly as he looks down at the boy’s tear-stricken face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kenan’s ear. He lets out another sob, remembering how you would do the same, amusement sparking up your eyes as he would giggle like a princess.

“I’ve got you, Kenan. I told you it’ll be okay and we’ll work this out, I mean it.” Kenan takes a moment to catch his breath, before trying to sit up a little more, back against the wall.

He startles when he sees Kerem sitting on the floor in front of him and Bariş sitting on the bed, and when he turns his head he sees Arda hugging him from behind.

He carefully reaches up and holds his hand, and Arda squeezes it in response. Kenan takes a deep breath, looking back at Hakan. “Weston told me a-about this. He sent those photos of me and that girl but it’s not real I swear. I don't even go to clubs or drink or anything, I’m Muslim for god sake!”

He feels Arda rest his head on his upper back and continues. “I tried telling y/n they aren’t real, th-that someone must’ve faked them but she isn’t answering me. I tried c-calling her but she didn't pick up my calls. I don't know what else to do.”

Arda glances at the men across the room before looking pointedly at Kerem’s phone, who nods in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to help, okay Kenan? Try to focus on tomorrow’s match in training tonight, we need you and you’ll also feel better.”

Arda wishes Kenan’s best friend Can Uzun is here to comfort Kenan and figure out what to do,  but he decides to try and take action as Kenan’s elder. They all know this is going to mess with Kenan’s head so bad it could cost them the match tomorrow, where he would be looking for you in the stands instead of at the ball.

Hakan takes Kenan early to training to let himself get more comfortable without so many eyes on him at once. Kenan is grateful for this as he doesn’t want to face everyone who must think he’s some disgusting playboy or some saboteur against the team.

He keeps his head down when the others join in, immersing himself in field drills and partnerwork with Arda, who he’s incredibly grateful for. The older boy doesn’t judge, and his quietness is a slight comfort in the raging mess of his head.

Arda and a few other teammates had tried reaching out to you on Kenan’s behalf, but their efforts were in vain. Kenan tries to be grateful for this, but it only breaks his heart more despite the small sense of family in the team he still struggles to fit in to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You look at the dozen or so texts from Kenan’s teammates, trying to persuade you to just call Kenan and sort everything out. It takes everything in you not to hurl your phone at the wall and scream curses upon Kenan’s name.

How dare he do this to you, go out to some dirty club and get cozy with some homewrecking blonde bitch? The look on her face, oh, she knew what she was doing with this taken man, and the taken man, Kenan, oh!

Oh, the things you wanted to scream at him, to hurl at his stupid face with that infuriating smirk he always wore, including the damned photos.

Lord, may he be damned forever. Curse his hands and more importantly, his feet.

The second you had seen those photos, sent by your friend in the form of a post on one of those football gossip accounts, your phone had fallen out of your hand, too shocked to react. Thankfully, the hotel carpet had saved it from cracking, which might have been the final nail in this terrible day.

You had not known what to do for a few minutes, only staring down at the photo looking up at you before your emotions kicked in and you screamed, sinking onto the floor as tears streamed down your face.

Kenan, who is supposed to be your Kenan, isn’t truly in love with you. Sure, he whispers promises and kisses and everything to make you fall for him so blisteringly, but it seemed like all those kisses had now left painful blisters everywhere, and you needed to escape your own skin.

You weren’t sure how long you’d stayed there until then your phone rang, snapping you out of your bubble of tears. You’d seen Kenan’s bright smile flashing across the screen, and had let it ring to voicemail. His name had flashed again and this time you’d immediately declined the call.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe as finally, a text came through, pleading his innocence and begging for you to call him. You’d ignored it.

Instead, you had called your friend who was also staying in Germany for the Euros, albeit to support Spain, and prayed she would pick up. She did, immediately asking you what was going on, and later she’d told you you’d simply screamed into the phone before breaking down in sobs, and she’d understood immediately.

She had picked you up from your hotel, knocking incessantly at your door trying to prove it wasn’t Kenan until you’d opened it, and she had immediately got to work. She’d dried your tears, helped you wash your face before applying some moisturizer and light eyeliner to look somewhat put-together, and brewed you some tea, not Turkish of course.

Then she’d taken you out to a cafe nearby, making you leave your phone behind at the hotel to give yourself some space between you and the vicious Internet. She’d bought matcha lattes and pastries for the two of you, telling you not to worry about paying her back.

After a walk in the warm, fresh air of the late afternoon, sipping on matcha and her trash-talking Kenan, you’d both returned to the hotel, spirits lifted just a little, now sitting on the bed looking at the several missed calls and texts from Kenan’s teammates.

They’re full of pleading, telling you the photos aren't real and someone incredibly jealous of your relationship must have photoshopped them and spread them around, and that Kenan needs you. Kerem, however, made the mistake of saying that Kenan’s distractions would be a liability in tomorrow’s vital game, but you cannot have cared less.

Arda’s texts, however, are very sweet, and honestly almost convince you to reach out to Kenan. Arda knows how much you and Kenan mean to each other, and that you two should try talking to each other, even it nothing good comes out fo it because how much worse can it get? A change made would mean reconciling…or breaking up with him.

Your friend scoffs, however. “It’s their job to defend their teammate, do you really think they’re being genuine? I’m all for talking it out with Kenan but hello, pictures don’t lie.”

She’s right, you’d scrutinized every part of the photo and it looked so, so real. There were no weird edges or miscolouration, and the expressions…

You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels. Most are in German, except for some boat show in Italian.

You settle on a German version of HGTV, watching the people struggle to find a home within their budget, and take a cold slice of pizza.

A few episodes in, you turn to your friend. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I don’t care how much it ‘affects Kenan’s mind’”–you put this in air quotes–“but he should’ve thought about affecting my own mind before he did that.”

The snarl surprised the both of you, but you don't regret the viciousness of your implication.

You don’t care if Kenan will have a bad game or if that meant Türkiye would lose tomorrow, he should’ve cared about you as much as you cared about him.

Your friend bites her lip, looking a little cautious. “I…I think you should talk to him and see what he has to say. Clearly, that text didn’t say everything. There’s a reason you love him–”

“Loved him,” you interrupt. “Stop it, I already told you I’m not interested. If he wants to be a playboy, fine, I’m not going to stop him.”

Your friend nods quietly, turning back to the TV and finishing the pizza before you both call it a night and she heads out.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You wake up early for the hotel breakfast, not wanting to miss out on a free meal due to your depression.

After a quick German breakfast of fresh fruits, a salmon and cream cheese bagel, bread rolls and a boiled egg, you head back to your room to figure out what to do for the day.

Of course, your initial plan was to attend the Türkiye football match, but that was not happening anymore.

After deciding on an enticing art museum, you get ready, picking out a cute outfit and applying your makeup with some matching eyeshadow.

Then you realize, you didn’t check your notifications after being on DND all night. You open it up to see dozens more texts and missed calls from Kenan, his teammates, your friends and even your own parents, all asking where you are and what is going on and can you please just talk to Kenan? His texts are the worst, growing even more desperate and begging for just one chance at a conversation.

You ignore everyone, assuming they’ll understand why you’re blowing them off. You focus back at the main task at hand, preparing for the day.

You pick up your purse, not having used it for the past couple of days and rummage through it to find a certain lip oil.

That is, until the sound of metal clinks loudly, louder than it should. You think it’s the bag chain but it shouldn’t have been that loud, so you dump your purse onto your bed and–

–what is that…another chain? You pick up the silver chain and realize whose it is. You had practically torn it off Kenan in a heated make-out session a few days ago and had forgotten to return it to him afterwards.

The sweet memory and physical item fills you with a sudden rage and you almost hurl it at the window until–wait a second.

Wait. A. Second.

You're hit with a strange sensation as if there’s something important you need to figure out. The chain…Kenan didn’t bring another chain to Berlin, just the one he usually wears. You were there when he’d packed his things, and he’d wanted to keep it minimal so he wouldn’t lose things, not when his mind was completely elsewhere.

But the chain…you have his only chain. And something about it doesn’t make sense.

Pushing your fear aside, you quickly find the damned photos. It’s like the picture is playing a game with you. You zoom in to Kenan’s chest–any other time you’d blush and hope he wasn’t in the room watching you blush– when you see it. A little sparkle of light reflected off a silver chain.

Just enough of the chain is exposed through his unbuttoned shirt to compare it. You hold the one in your hand up to the phone, really looking and…yes! They are the same!

There is one more thing, however, the timeline. Could this photo have been taken before you ripped Kenan’s chain off?

It isn’t hard to establish it. The girl’s phone screen was lit up to 12:13 am, and above it, you could barely make the words out: Thursday, July 4.

This was “taken” after your make-out session. Unless Kenan magically grew an identical chain, the Kenan in the photo could not have been him.

The relief hits you like a crowd surging towards the fields after a Juventus win, almost drowning you of air and senses and yet you stay on your feet, breathing hard.

Oh god. Kenan really was trying to tell you the truth, that he hadn’t cheated on you at all. You look at the clock on the bedside table; you have enough time.

You change into your Türkiye jersey, making sure the “YILDIZ” is visible on the back, before changing your eyeshadow and heading out.

With the chain of course.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

An utter horror. You still hadn’t uttered a word of response to Kenan, who is freaking out still. He’d slept horrifically, only catching a few hours when Hakan came at Arda’s insistence to force-feed him some melatonin pills, and the lack of sleep is now quite visible on Kenan’s face.

Eyebags dark, cheekbones bare, Kenan looks like a complete mess. Hakan had tried calming him down, along with Arda and a few others, but nothing was getting through to Kenan.

Even now, Arda tries to get his attention on the field in the pre-match training by throwing a football at Kenan’s head, but it just bounces off him with no reaction.

Shit.

Before long, kickoff is about to start and everyone’s heart beat nervously. Would they be able to hold off the Netherlands?

Would Kenan be able to focus?

Kenan keeps glancing at the stands, trying to find you in the crowds, but he can’t.

The little hope he had left fizzles out, and suddenly he feels so very dead inside. Too much to focus on the ball, which flies past him when he should’ve intercepted it.

The game begins great for Türkiye, with the leading goal giving them hope, but Kenan’s performance sticks out like a sore thumb. He winces when they go inside and gets a few glares from his teammates, but Arda sticks with him as he tries to make himself look small in the corner as Montella gives them an update on their game plan.

When he heads back out, embracing a few teammates, something catches his eye. It’s a flash of pink, standing out from the crowd of red.

There is no way.

You’re in the stands, a few rows from the front, wearing his jersey over a pink blouse. He stops in his tracks in shock as he sees you after such a long bout of silence.

Kenan thought you hated him, yet here you are in full support of him and his country. Arda comes up next to him in confusion until he catches the bright pink sticking out.

“I don’t think she’s here for anyone else. You want to make it up to her by playing well?” Kenan looks at him in amusement, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Kenan’s performance improves almost immediately. He’s more active on the ball, creating better chances, intercepting passes, and overall impacting the Turkish side for the better.

It isn’t enough though, when his shot is easily saved by the Dutch goalkeeper and the game ends in a 1-2 loss.

Tired, sweaty, and heartbroken, the Turkish dream of success comes crashing down around them. The Red Sea of fans watch in silent disappointment, as the players droop down, disappointed in their performance, knowing they could’ve done better.

Yet, the pride of going this far, behind their fans a shared sense of culture and joy prevails, which will soon be evident after the immediate post-match depression.

And for Kenan, well, he turns towards the shining source of hope he’d been praying would show up.

You look at him as he gazes up at you from the bench area, exhausted, disappointed and yet, relieved. Relieved that you came to his match, despite the silent treatment.

And you’re there for him when he comes out of the locker rooms and immediately wraps his arms around you. He hesitates at the very last moment but you surge forward, squeezing him tight and he squeezes even harder, afraid to let you go.

After what seems like forever, you tilt your head up to make eye contact with Kenan. “I wasn’t going to come, you know. I was so mad at you. I thought after all this time, you’d decided to just throw it all away.”

Kenan looks at you with worry, but you continue. “But there’s a reason I came. I decided to go out today and obviously, I wanted to dress up. You know I love putting on my lip oils.”

You reach into your purse and pull out Kenan’s chain, and he startles. “I found this in my purse. That’s when I kind of realized something, but I had to double-check. Kenan, you were wearing this in those photos. But that’s impossible because I have it. Baby, I know they’re fake and I know it’s not your fault.”

Kenan doesn’t mean to cry. He stares at you first, trying to comprehend your words, until he feels you wipe away the tears that started falling. He pulls you close and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sobs, and you hold him, rubbing his back steadily.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to happen, you d-didn’t deserve this,” he manages between sobs, and you shush him quietly. “I know baby, I know. I believe you, I should’ve talked to you sooner. I should’ve believed you. I can still trust you, right?” You feel him nod, “Yeah, please.”

You two stand there a little longer before Kenan lifts his head and smiles, relief flooding every crevice of his face at having you and your trust back. You return it before he takes your hand and leads you out into the setting sun, the rays of daylight washing over you like a golden love.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[floweredsturn]

Make it to the morning

-Smut, kissing, swearing/Nicknames(whore, baby, ma), rough sex, panhandling, hair pulling kink

-Word count: 619

“Fuck chris!” She said as he threw her onto the bed, “What the hell” she said laughing as he claimed over her tracing his long fingers over her lower torso. “Need you s’bad” he said tracing small circles on her hip just above where she needed those fingers most.

“Please,” she whined as he practically ripped her shorts off in a swift motion. “Fuck you little whore, no panties” he said sliding his fingers through her sopping wet folds. “Ugh please chris no teasing,” she cried bucking her hips as his slender fingers found her throbbing clit.

“Listen you little slut, imma do what the fuck i want, now take it like the little bitch you are” he spat, his fingers plunging deep into her begging pussy.

“Oh my gosh, chris, fuck!” she moaned her head falling back into the pillow as she bit her lip to silence her cries of joy. “Let me hear ya baby!” he said tracing his fingers down her neck before grabbing it as she moaned.

“Shit” She moaned as he applied force making her vision fall blurry, his fingers were still continuing the passionate movement inside of her soaked heat.

“Fuck need to be inside you s’bad ma” he said pulling his fingers out and licking them clean. “taste so sweet baby” he said coming down to kiss her rosy lips. “Need you so bad chris” she whined as he unbuttoned his jeans, “i know baby i know”

he said soothingly as he lined his swollen red tip to her puffy entrance. “Fuck your so tight ma” he said as he slid in with ease. “Holy shit, s’big!” she moaned as his thrusted his hips with every thrust going faster and faster until eventually his pistoling pace sent her into the mattress, she was a cock drunk mess.

“Oh my god, so close!” she moaned her tits bouncing with every rough thrust he delivered into her overwhelmed pussy. “Yeah that’s right baby, come all over my fucking dick” he said burying his face into the side of her neck, his pace magically getting faster, her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

The orgasm tore through her, her legs shaking, her nails dug into the back of his arms as she used him for stability.

“Fuck chris t’much” she whined the overstimulated pleas doing nothing to stop his slamming hips, his orgasm far from close as she fell into a post orgasmic bliss, her mind going numb. the only registered thoughts being those of his hips snapping and the feeling of his thick cock hitting her cervix.

“Shit shit shit” she moaned, cumming directly onto his length the mess dripping down her thigh. “Fuck yeah baby, your perfect, fuck, so fuckin perfect ma” he said looking down at her ruined makeup her mascara running down her cheeks, her now matted hair, her lip gloss now non existent. She was so perfect, but yet so messy.

And something about that made chris want to fuck her even faster. He rammed himself into her making her scream, her nails pulling at the soft brown strands on his sweat slick forehead.

“Holy hell” he whined putting his head into her neck again. “Shit ma, keep doin that” He whined his orgasm approaching. His thrusts grew sloppy. Her moans only grew. The feeling of the third of many orgasms to come, blowing through her mind like a tumble weed.

“Fuck, oh my shit” He moaned his head falling in between the sweaty body’s that were now molded together, “You can go another baby?” He said petting her sweat slick forehead.

“C’mon let’s make it to the morning baby” He smirked thrusting his hips into her again.

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[poisonf0rest]

I saw the prof raf brainrot and now I have Thoughts about the others also being professors so uh I hope the shitty hc dump is ok

zayne is ostensibly a bio professor but I imagine he’d also be a good chem professor. like objectively the best one, takes everything seriously and pushes his students but doesn’t drop piles of work on them when midterm week rolls around, makes interesting labs, etc. everybody wants to work in his lab but like 4 people a term actually make it in

xavier is hard to think of but I feel like either astronomy (we all know why) or quantum physics (he can teleport) is his field. I hate to say he’s the worst prof but I just feel like he’s so much more into his research than teaching. notoriously hard courses but also very veeery interesting ones. I mean why pay tuition if you can’t get your brain melted by your phys prof

caleb is a mech eng prof, easy. curves grades and is very smiley, but leaves slightly sarcastic comments when grading your tests. and the tests themselves are probably pretty rigorous: not so difficult that everyone starts crying, but def very thorough. it’s fine tho cause you walk out of it with like a 94, a very very strong appreciation for the wonderful world of physics, and probably a godawful crush for the rest of the year

sylus is hard for me. I want to say literature. like his courses would hyperfixate on, idk, 18th century gothic lit. you’d go in with three pages worth of analysis on some obscure poem and then he’d systematically rip everybody apart, then you’d walk out a fundamentally changed person. But! For the purposes of humour, sylus is a CS prof (canonical programmer), which instantly drops any hotness factor he had by like 234322.

sorry sylus rip. sadly programming is the act of swearing at your screen at 2am while scouring the same 12 lines of code over and over for any kind of bug (you will find the actual source of the bug 100 lines down). not even he can make that cool

MHMMM ANON YOU'RE COOKING!!

Zayne is definitely an orgo professor-- everyone wants to hate him since they're failing his class and lab, but honestly he's just strict with the material and has little tolerance for error because error in the real world costs human lives. But should you come to his office hours with the intention to learn then you'll find he's actually a very patient, receptive, and likeable professor with an amusingly dry humor. Everybody definitely wants to work in his lab.

Absolutely agree with Xavier lol, his students hate him since he does NOT want to be there.

Caleb would be the type to answer stupid questions with a little more bite and subtle snark that makes any students who are actually paying attention snicker and hope not to get on his bad side. Would be the campus professor crush, no doubt.

HOW DARE YOU TALK DOWN ON CS PROFESSOR SYLUS- HEY, CS PEOPLE CAN BE HOT :( He absolutely would teach either machine learning or maybe game theory if not then a high level C++ class be so fr. He absolutely can make coding cool, if anything than for the fact that he has a stacked resume and single-handedly proving that you CAN be a CS major and still end up running your own company, marrying the love of your life right after college, and raising a happy family while still being a nerd. and taking more than regular showers

[wreckless-tempestry]

“It made me think of you.”

Year of the OTP 2025 — February Prompt

Characters: Finn x Shrimpo (Dandy’s World)

AN: Thank you for all the positive feedback on my last post! Reading your comments is truly my source of dopamine. I’ve decided to write these two pretty ambiguously since I want to be accommodating for any peeps who think these two are just a rad non-romantic pairing. I didn’t fully proofread this as i was in a bit of a hurry to finish, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! Word count is around 6.3k.

I SWEAR GOOB ISN’T THE STEREOTYPICAL ONE-DIMENSIONAL CLUELESS AND INNOCENT CHARACTER… I plan to give him some more screen time (wordtime?) in the future. Gigi also uses they/them pronouns because i said so.

Part 1

A little over a month had passed since the fateful night of the New Year’s dance, and already some new streamers were beginning to adorn the hallways of Gardenview – the shimmering whites of January being replaced with the ominously familiar shades of crimson and pink. And the hearts… oh Lord, the hearts, they were everywhere. On the walls, the ceiling, you name it. Hell, there were even those cliche heart boxes with all the shitty chocolates in them that seemed to always end up in the possession of at least a couple Toons. I love you this, I love you that, on and on and on.

This might be Shrimpo’s most hated holiday for real.

It surprised no one that Shrimpo wasn't particularly festive, but if he had to choose just one holiday to wipe off the face of the Earth, he's almost certain that he wouldn't hesitate to choose Valentine’s Day. It was so… weird. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to make an entire day about love? He already had to suffer through a truckload of other people’s feelings every day he spent in this hell; twenty-four hours reserved for the mushiest of all emotions felt like his own special-made nightmare. 

From his spot slouched against his bedframe, Shrimpo glared at the calendar on the wall across from him, on which he had already scratched a rather aggressive line in red pen on the box with the number 13. He had a couple more hours to brace himself before the dreaded day arrived, before he’d be subjected to all the heart eyes and sentiments and — Uurgh. 

In an attempt to keep the looming dread at bay, Shrimpo’s gaze flicked upward a little, focusing on the picture displayed on the calendar’s upper page. Two koi fish looked back at him, red and white scales contrasting greatly with the vibrant blue waters that served as the background. Kōhaku, he thought, the word popping into his head with little provocation. His clenched fist loosened a tad.

He remembered when Finn had run up to him a couple days after the New Year’s party, waving that calendar above his head. 

“Hey hey hey, Shrimpo! I got something for ya!” 

Shrimpo had turned around, blinked once at the rapidly approaching fishbowl, and barked out an “Eh? What?!”

”Look, it’s a calendar!” Finn slowed to a stop in front of him, holding out the calendar in question. “Brightney let me have some, said she’s already got too many of ‘em. We could be matching!” 

‘Finn wants to… give me something.’ Shrimpo gave the cover a critical once-over. It depicted a shoal of some fish he could not identify, with the words ‘Aquatic Life’ printed boldly near the top. ‘Figures.’

“…Lemme see.” He extended one hand, and Finn gladly let him take hold of it. He briskly flipped backwards through the pages within, getting glimpses of various fish whose names were foreign to him. A flash of red and white caught his eye, and his thumb stilled momentarily on top of the U in ‘February’.

Noticing the page he had paused on, Finn chirruped, “Those’re koi! Pretty, aren’t they? They’re REEL popular in Japan especially.”

Shrimpo shot Finn a stink-eye at the pun, but did not retort with an insult right away, which Finn chose to interpret as a sign to continue. “This particular type here is called kōhaku koi, because of their red and white markings. They’re one of the three most well-known varieties of koi, actually! The other two are called the Sanke and Showa varieties; both have black scales as well as red and white, but the Showa is primarily black with white and red markings, while the Sanke is like the Kōhaku but with some black marki—”

”I’ll take it.” Shrimpo could sense a full-blown yap-fest on the horizon, and there were only so many hours he wanted to spend standing in the hallway. His evasion tactic seemed to be successful, as Finn’s expression brightened and he bounced jubilantly on the soles of his feet a couple times. 

“Oh, yippee! You’ll love it, I swear! They even put in a couple facts about the fish in there too, haha!”

‘Which you already know by heart, I’m sure.’ Shrimpo watched as Finn raced off down the hallway once more, almost bumping into Poppy with a rushed “sorry!” and then he was gone. The calendar remained clutched in his hand, open to the page with the damn koi.

Slowly, he turned and began shuffling in the opposite direction, towards the dorms. He held the gift tight against his chest, glancing down occasionally to ensure it didn’t ruffle or tear.

Kōhaku, huh…

He wondered if he had any thumbtacks stored away somewhere.

About a month had passed since that encounter, and Shrimpo still did not know where they stood with each other. In the interactions they had since the dance, Finn had remained just as friendly and pun-prone as ever – but what sort of friendly was it? Was it just regular friendly, or ‘I'm trying not to cringe at the sight of you so I'm doing my best to act normal’ friendly, or… or… or what!? There might as well be a thousand types of friendly that a Toon could be, how the hell was Shrimpo supposed to know!

This would all be so much easier if Finn just let himself be hated like everyone else.

Groaning in agitation, Shrimpo rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. His brain was not being cooperative today. Why did every train of thought have to become weird and confusing? “I hate brains,” he declared into the smothering fabric.

A knock on the door called for his salvation (or doom, depending on the circumstance). “Who’s it?” he yelled, lifting his head up to speak. 

A familiar voice answered him. Shrimpo decided he would have been better off pretending he wasn’t home. He reluctantly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed the doorknob, hesitated, then flung the door open.

“Heya, bud! How goes it?” Finn seemed to have an extra bounce in his step today, almost exaggeratedly so. Some snippets of red paper had gotten into his head somehow, and were now drifting placidly near the bottom of the bowl.

Shrimpo quirked one dubious brow. “What’s up with you?” he replied instead.

“Hm? Nothin’, nothin’, I’m just… Excited! Yeah, excited for tomorrow.”

So Finn was one of those people, huh… Figures. He looked like the type who’d be all for a day of getting all emotional and tenderhearted. Shrimpo’s expression did not change. “And you’re here because…?”

“Um… just cause! I felt like visiting you, keheheh.”

“Try again,” he deadpanned, doing his best to ignore the peculiar swelling feeling in his chest if he dared entertain Finn’s words – which were not true at all, obviously. Surely.

A brief pause, before Finn accepted defeat and loosened his shoulders, his expression turning sheepish. “Um… can you help me get the, ah, the paper? Out of my head? I was doing, uh… something… with Scraps and Goob, and it got in there one way or another. I can’t reach that far in.”

“All this red shit? Why the hell are you asking me?” 

“Well, Scraps couldn’t, cause, uh, she’s made of paper… and I’m pretty sure Goob just ended up getting more of it in there. Plus, his hands aren’t necessarily the best for more, ah… delicate jobs. You’re the first person I thought of.”

The aforementioned details Shrimpo could not deny; Goob could probably crack Finn’s head in half without even trying. For whatever reason, the thought of such a thing brought with it an odd sense of discomfort.

‘The first person he thought of…’

“...Fine, fine,” Shrimpo sighed irritatedly, grabbing Finn by the arm and yanking him forward. “Just hurry up and get in here.” 

Finn stumbled into Shrimpo’s room, glancing around with curiosity – though not much had changed since his last visit on the evening of the dance. ‘Why the hell does the damn dance keep coming up?’ The fishbowl’s gaze landed at last on the calendar, and his grin rebounded with double the energy. 

“Hey, you did put it up! I knew you’d like it!” His eyes shone like the sun.

“Mm,” Shrimpo replied curtly, grabbing the stool next to his closet and dragging it over next to Finn. He stepped up onto the platform and proceeded to grab the rim of Finn’s head with one hand, to the surprised yelp of the boy in question. “Hold still,” he ordered before plunging his other hand into the water, keeping his eye on the sides of the bowl to pinpoint the location of the paper fragments.  

“Ack – careful, Barnaby Wilikers is in there!” 

“You’re aware that ‘Barnaby’ isn’t a live fish, right?” Shrimpo snorted.

“He’s my emotional support animal, leave him alone,” Finn retorted with a mock pout, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” 

The water in Finn’s head was surprisingly warm, Shrimpo mused as he managed to catch a couple pieces of paper in his palm. He wondered where he got it from. A sink, perhaps? Did his head magically procure water? Shrimpo considered asking, and decided against it for fear of seeming ignorant.

“Um, so…” It was Finn who broke the silence, while Shrimpo stubbornly chased after the last stray paper piece. “You doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” His voice gained a faint lilt to it. “Heh, got a special someone you’re getting something for?” 

The water felt a tad warmer now. Peculiar.

“Are you kidding? Please. I hate everyone in this dump.” Shrimpo paused his paper-fishing for a moment and laughed dryly. “You couldn’t pay me to get chocolates or some shit for anybody. I don’t even eat that crap.” If ever he took a chocolate bar when on one of the expeditions down below, it was solely to keep it from everyone else.

“Oh. Alright. Guess that’s… pretty on-brand for you. Hah.” 

Shrimpo couldn’t see Finn’s face all that well from his current angle, but he sounded… well, not as sunshiny as before, somehow. Before Shrimpo could wonder why, he at last captured the final snippet of paper, and he triumphantly raised his closed fist out of the tank.

“SHRIMPO WINS!” he shouted, whilst some water splashed outward to land on the floor from the sudden movement. Shrimpo pretended to pay it no mind, hopping down from the stool and putting his fists on his hips. “You can thank me later.”

Finn gave Shrimpo a somewhat tight smile, taking a step towards the door. “Thanks, Shrimpo,” he replied, eyes fixated on a spot behind Shrimpo’s shoulder. “You’re…” he paused, then shook his head. 

“Nevermind. Bad joke.” 

He turned away, and out into the hallway he went.

Shrimpo stared at the empty space where Finn had stood a moment ago. Bad joke? Bad joke? Not once had Finn been so self-aware as to recognize his puns were horrendous; something truly problematic must have happened. Had Shrimpo said something wrong? Had he messed up Finn’s brain by accident? Did Finn even have a brain?? 

Shrimpo racked his own for any idea as to what might have caused Finn’s change of heart, and rapidly came to the conclusion that he hadn’t a clue. He loathed to admit any weakness, but it was most undeniably true that Shrimpo was not well versed in social cues. Could you blame him? – he never would have thought in a million years that he’d have to know any. He prided himself on dancing to the beat of his own drum no matter how problematic this deemed him, but it would seem that this was one of the few occasions where doing so would not benefit him. 

Why was that? Why could he not push Finn’s feelings aside the way he did everyone else’s?

Okay. Revisit the facts. Finn had asked him if he had plans for tomorrow, then if he had somebody he was getting a gift for (ew). Shrimpo had denied this, obviously. And then… had Finn gotten mad? Disappointed? Why? There was literally no reason for him to get upset that Shrimpo didn’t have someone he was going to spend the day with… unless he was some major empath or something and felt bad. Shrimpo couldn’t relate, but even if it were true Finn’s reaction still seemed a bit unusual.

He was getting nowhere fast, and what little patience he had was wearing thin. He had to know the answer to his query as soon as he was able; it was already eating away at his chest and making his brain prickle uncomfortably. 

Despite his contempt towards the mere idea of it, he might have to rely on… other sources, more socially adept ones. He could not believe that one stupid fishbowl was getting him so out of sorts, making him resort to such desperate measures. 

Stupid Finn. Stupid social cues and stupid paper strips. 

Emitting another agitated groan, Shrimpo aggressively shook his hands in front of him for a moment in frustration as he began stomping towards his door. His room was doing that dumb thing again where it started feeling too small, signaling his cue to head out. 

He paused briefly as he stood parallel to his punching bag, before whirling to face it and throwing a singular wild punch. His fist landed a bit off-center, but it was enough to make the bag bump against the back wall. Unsatisfied, he grabbed the frame and heaved it to the side with a grunt, making it topple over onto the floor with a loud clatter. Only then did he cross the threshold into the hall.

Like some specter of doom, Shrimpo stood still in the empty hallway, fists at his side and an ireful gaze fixed firmly on the wall in front of him. Where should he go? He hadn’t actually formed much of a plan about which ‘outside sources’ he planned to use. 

Other Toons were out of the question, forget Finn himself. He refused to ask for assistance from anyone; he’d already spent too much of his time purposely antagonizing them, no way was he going to wreck all his hard effort now. So then what else was there?

The library – yes, of course, the library. He’d never paid it a visit once during his entire stay, but allegedly libraries had books about pretty much everything, so surely he would be able to find something that could help him out some. Didn’t they have computers in there sometimes? That could also work. He still had his reservations about relying on anything other than himself – and God forbid he ran into Brightney’s book club –  but modern problems required modern solutions or whatever. He’d just have to be extra careful not to run into anybody.

Now to actually find where it was. He swiveled on his heel to face the hallway to his left, fully prepared to spend a good amount of his evening traversing through Gardenview. ‘Alright, I’ll try upstairs first, and then–’

“Whoa, look who it is!”

A cheery voice behind him shattered his hopes of remaining undetected. For half a second he wondered if Finn had come back, but a glimpse behind him confirmed something much worse.

“Don’t see you out and about much!” A couple yards away, Goob waved one absurdly large hand at him from his doorway, sporting that moronic smile that Shrimpo had come to despise. “Where ya off to?”

“None of your business!” Shrimpo snapped. Geez, could this guy take a hint? Shrimpo had lost count of how many times he had vowed his eternal hatred towards Goob, and the number of times those vows had been all but forgotten an hour later. In a sense he was almost the same as Finn, except a whole lot dumber. Finn at least acknowledged Shrimpo’s spiteful claims and simply chose to pay them little mind; Goob just straight up didn't seem to remember.

“Uh, okay! Anyway, I have something for ya, so come over here real quick!” Goob’s multicolored hands were already outstretched and making their way towards Shrimpo at an alarmingly high speed. Oh no. Surely he wasn’t going to—

Shrimpo was not proud of the high-pitched screech that left his mouth as he was grabbed by his sides.  All of a sudden he was being half-dragged across the floor towards the ginger shitbrain that seemed to have absolutely no concept of personal space. In mere moments he found himself on his ass in front of Goob, whose smile had not changed since the beginning of their encounter.

“Wh— LET GO OF ME!” Shrimpo scrambled away from the offending hands, which let go of him without complaint. Already could feel the skin where he had been grabbed tingling, a sensation not unlike that of an ant colony crawling about. Jaw clenched, he clutched his sides tightly with his arms and glared wrathfully up at his attacker, who looked down at him with an expression that now displayed blank confusion. 

“Goob?” A feminine voice called from inside the boy’s room. “Who’s out there?” Light footsteps could be heard getting closer, and within the next couple of seconds Scraps poked her head outside; her ears lowered slightly when her curious gaze landed on Shrimpo. “Oh.” 

Goob turned to look at his sister, his smile widening once more. “I was gonna give him his valentine! I know it’s a little early, but he was right there. It was the perfect opportunity, right?” 

‘What the hell is this guy talking about? A valentine? He’s gotta be joking.’ Realizing he was still sitting on the floor in front of witnesses, Shrimpo swiftly got to his feet and brushed himself off, ignoring the remnants of the tingling feeling. Goob had just earned himself the #1 spot on Shrimpo’s hit list for that move. 

Scraps sighed, crossing her arms as she eyed Shrimpo warily. “Whatever you think is best, Goob.” As the Toon retreated back into the room, presumably to grab whatever it was he had prepared, Scraps raised one brow at Shrimpo and queried, “So… what happened here?”

Shrimpo considered just booking it out of there and heading to the library like he’d been planning to do in the first place — nothing was keeping him here, after all — but that could be taken as a sign of weakness or incapability. No way was he fleeing with his tail between his legs from some paper cat lady and her dumbass brother. 

Besides… he might as well see what Goob had pulled together for him while he was here. To critique it, of course.

“The idiot grabbed me and yanked me over here,” he replied with a scowl, gesturing with one hand in Goob’s general direction. “I hardly even said a word to him. Doesn’t he have any common sense?”

Scraps’ ears flattened fully against her head, her tail lashing about behind her. “First of all, my brother is not an idiot, thank you,” she hissed at him, pupils slit and eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry he touched you without permission, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult him, you hear? He’s been nothing but nice to you all this time, and you treat him like this.”

Shrimpo would have gladly started a full-on argument with her (at least there was one other Toon here who had some backbone), when none other than Goob himself popped up out of nowhere and thrust something into Shrimpo’s hands. Scraps, begrudgingly, took a step back.

“Here! I made it for you yesterday!” Turning his scrutinizing eyes downward, Shrimpo was met with a piece of red paper cut out to resemble a heart – or perhaps a lopsided piece of mutton, it was a bit difficult to tell. The words “HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!” were displayed boldly, albeit somewhat off-center, in black marker. Taped near the bottom was a single gumball. ‘How charming.’

“What is this,” Shrimpo deadpanned, looking up towards Goob. “We are not… a thing. You should not be giving this to me.”

“What do you mean?” Goob blinked in mild surprise. “You don't need to be dating to give someone a valentine!”

“Goob’s right,” Scraps added, shooting Shrimpo a look as if to say ‘Don’t be an ass’. “Valentine's Day is about spending time with people you care about, not just romantically. It could be a family member or a friend. Love takes on more than one form.”

Shrimpo refrained from commenting for a moment, absorbing this latest knowledge. He had assumed that love was reserved for, y'know, people who were in love, but apparently this was not the case. Though he didn't have any relatives whom he cared about, and as far as he was aware he didn't have any true friends here (right?), so Valentine's Day still didn't apply to him. Hah. Take that.

And yet…

He felt this info was important somehow, to his own puzzlement. He looked down at the vaguely heart-shaped paper in his hands again. It looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. 

‘More than one form…’

Wait.

He almost tripped over himself as he stumbled backwards slightly from the suddenness of his revelation. The craft siblings observed this with varied looks of concern. 

“I gotta go. I will… I will accept this,” Shrimpo said hurriedly, almost rushing the words to leave his mouth. “Bye.” And he turned on his heel and ran off down the hall like a man possessed. 

“Um… okay! Bye bye!” Goob waved at Shrimpo's retreating form. The farewell was left unheard.

The elevator doors couldn't open fast enough. Shrimpo slipped inside the moment they began to and slammed his fist on the button to the next floor up. Only when the doors closed on themselves did he let out a breath and lean against the back wall. He clutched Goob’s valentine against his chest.

He couldn't believe it. He simply could not believe that this was his answer.

If it were true…

‘Does Finn want me to do something for him tomorrow?’

It would explain his earlier reaction, at least. From that perspective, getting told that Shrimpo hated everyone in Gardenview could be cause for some resentment.

However.

The other connotations that went with the theory were… a big pill to swallow.

The elevator doors slid open again, and Shrimpo stiffly marched out. His original plan to go to the library no longer seemed as necessary now (though he could be entirely wrong and the library would provide him with the correct, easier answer). Despite this, he felt there was something that could be done here. He had an inkling of an idea of what it might be.

He looked both ways down the hall, to double check he was alone, before allowing himself to half-fall into a sitting position on the floor. He loosely wrapped his arms around his knees, setting his valentine next to him, and stared off into space with a furrowed brow.

If Finn truly did want something for Valentine's Day… the possibility that he was thinking of something for Shrimpo didn't seem too far-fetched, right? Maybe it was, he didn't know. He didn't seem to know a whole bunch of things nowadays. He was never taught, and to learn seemed an impossible task. 

‘Never mind, just assume he's getting something.’ So, theoretically, if Finn was getting Shrimpo a… a gift… 

Valentine's Day is about spending time with people you care about.

Would that mean Finn cared about him?

While yes, he already sported a pretty friendly disposition, it could also be that he was just choosing to tolerate Shrimpo out of politeness; this was the explanation that the latter had subconsciously chosen to believe, ignoring any signs that might say otherwise. It was plausible and relatively easy to understand, no room for subtext or misunderstanding. 

You did not get a Valentine’s gift for people you merely tolerated – this much Shrimpo knew. You did not become disappointed if they said they had no intentions of doing the same. 

Not for the first time that day, Shrimpo thought back to the dance, that fated 1st of January. He had dismissed the entire thing the morning after, blaming anything he might have felt about it beforehand on exhaustion, and left it at that as best as he was able.

But he could claim whatever he wanted – it didn’t mean it was true. It did not erase the memory, the way Finn had looked at him then. Even now he would not be able to describe that look or what it meant, but he knew that was not the sort of look meant for any random Toon. 

May I have this dance? 

God, life could be so much easier if he had stayed in his room that night. 

Shrimpo ran a hand over his face, nails dragging slightly over the skin. He got the sensation he was hurtling towards a line in the sand that could not be uncrossed. Giving Finn a gift in return now seemed on par to giving an admission he wasn’t sure he was prepared to give. 

‘Or maybe you’re being a sissy and overthinking it,’ a different part of his brain snapped at him, breaking his spiral into an early midlife crisis. ‘Man up and get something for the fishbowl, goddamn. It’s literally not even that serious.’

…On rare occasions, Shrimpo could appreciate his brain a little. He blinked, inhaled, then took hold of Goob’s valentine and rose to his feet again. 

He was thinking about it all wrong, he decided as he began walking down the corridor. This was just a… a chance to prove his capability. Yes. Like the thing with Scraps earlier; he could have left, but he didn’t, because he wasn’t a pathetic weakling. 

This had to be like it, right? This whole conundrum was a test to see if he could hold his own. If his resolve would crumble under the pressure. Finn had looked disappointed because he’d expected Shrimpo to rise to the challenge. Damn, he must think Shrimpo was pathetic.

He refused to let that idea stand, no matter how… unique this test was. 

Yeah. This was definitely what was going on. He was just tweaking out earlier and overanalyzing it. Totally hadn’t been having a revelation. Absolutely wasn’t half-assing another explanation to save himself from figuring out the original.

Yep. 

So… a gift, huh. Where might one be found? The image of a multicolored flower popped into his head, and Shrimpo instantly brushed it off. He hated Dandy. He hated everyone here, of course, but Dandy was #2 on his hit list. (Previously #1, but a certain Goob had claimed that spot a couple minutes ago.) Shrimpo just… didn’t trust him. He’d smile at you in passing, but Shrimpo had learned long ago not to count on outward appearances.

Although… he could think of another Toon with lots of items to offer. One that may be susceptible to threatening bargaining.

He jogged a little ways down the hall before stopping in front of a door. Glancing at the designation code painted on the wall to confirm it was the one he was looking for, he inhaled, squared his shoulders — and promptly began banging on the door with his fists.

“GIGI!!” He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty hall. “OPEN UP!!” Through his peripheral vision he could see a head peering out to see what the cause of the ruckus was, then quickly shutting the door again before he could see who it was. Whatever.

Mercifully for Gigi, it did not take long for them to answer the call of their visitor. “Holy shit, quiet down,” they chastised, glaring at him. “It’s late. The hell do you want?”

“I WANT TO BUY SOME SHIT OFF OF YOU,” he replied, maintaining his original volume to quickly assert dominance over the situation. “LET ME LOOK.”

“Wh— dude, my collections ain’t for sale,” Gigi answered as Shrimpo stomped his way into the room. “Why do you need anything from me, anyway? I don’t have no boxing equipment, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“IT’S… NOT FOR ME.” Shrimpo had some reservations about revealing his true intentions, but he recalled seeing Gigi hanging around Finn a couple of times, listening to his fish facts — of all the things! Who would willingly sit through a monologue about anglerfish mating customs? (Shrimpo had once endured such a thing, albeit against his will; he could only get so far away in a closed elevator.) Perhaps adding in this detail would help sway the tides in his favor. “IT’S FOR FINN.”

“For… Finn?” Some of Gigi’s aggravation faded, to be replaced with surprise — and then, to Shrimpo’s horror, a sly grin. “Well, well, well,” they drawled, crossing their arms as they leaned against the wall. “Never thought I’d see the day when you finally softened up. Someone catch your eye at last, eh?” 

“WHAT— NO!!” Of all the horrid assumptions. Shrimpo clenched his jaw. “I AM PROVING MY SUPERIORITY. I WILL NOT BE BESTED BY A BOY WITH A PLASTIC FISH FOR A COMPANION.”

”Mhm.“ Gigi did not seem impressed by his explanation — but at last they loosened. “All right. I’ll let you take up to two things, and I expect to be paid real nicely. I recommend looking over on the third cabinet, with the tackles n’ everythin’: Finn would probably like that sorta stuff.” 

“Whatever.” With the hard part out of the way, Shrimpo felt free to lower his volume, at least a little. Sauntering over to the shelf in question, he rapidly noticed that this might take a little longer than he thought. Gigi was known for being a hoarder, but hell, they could probably give Dandy a run for his money with how much crap they owned. This cabinet alone was only a couple items away from maximum capacity, as was every other. 

“Where’d you get all this junk?” he muttered as he began sifting through the collection. It wasn't meant to warrant a reply, but Gigi answered with a vague “Oh, here and there.”

Most of the stuff he was looking at had something to do with fish, with a tackle box here, a painting there, and so on and so forth. There was some jewelry, though, and Shrimpo’s fingers happened to catch upon something whilst rummaging in that general area. 

It was two beaded bracelets, one crimson and the other cerulean, bots with the same charm of what appeared to be an octopus. Shrimpo considered them in his palm; he had no idea why one would need two matching bracelets, but whatever. It would do — he’d rather not stick around for longer than he had to. He whipped around and thrust them forward in a silent query.

Gigi glanced at them, a faint smirk reammerging on their face (though Shrimpo did not see why). “60 tapes,” they hummed at last. At Shrimpo’s withering glare, they relented and added, “Okay, fine, 40.”

Shrimpo fished around in his pockets, for once thankful that he snatched up so many of them during runs. “Here,” he snapped, shoving the currency into Gigi’s hands. In the next second he was gone.

“A thank you would've been nice,” Gigi scoffed to themselves, reaching out to close the door. 

“FINN!” The rest of the prior evening had come and gone, and the dreaded 14th of February had descended upon them. Although Shrimpo was no less spiteful of the current date then he had been before, he had business to attend to. Namely, a certain gap-toothed buffoon.

Sitting at one of the dining room chairs, the boy himself turned his head with a brow raised, only to devolve into a grin Shrimpo knew all too well. “Shrimpo!! I’ve been meaning’ to look for ya, actually,” he chuckled, scooting his chair over a little and pulling out the one next to him. “Come and sit!” 

Plopping down unceremoniously on the offered chair, Shrimpo opened his mouth to rush out the words he needed to say, and was promptly beaten to the punch. 

“So, uh… I made something for you. Here.” Reaching into a small cross-body bag he had slung over his shoulder, Finn pulled out an ominously familiar-looking piece of paper and extended it to Shrimpo, who snatched it in one hand after a beat of silence. The words “Happy Valentine’s Day!” were written in a large, round font in the center. The shape of this one was a much more distinguishable heart. Some stickers of starfish and coral were scattered about on the sides.

Of course he had assumed that there was a good chance Finn had something for it, but to see material proof was an entirely different matter. He held the paper on flat palms, as if he believed his touch would rip it in two, and thought ‘This was made for me.’

“…This looks like what Goob made me,” Shrimpo commented after a moment, with striking bluntness, “but less sloppy.” 

That was certainly one way to deliver a comment.

“Oh-!” Finn emitted a sheepish hah. “I guess that makes sense; I did make it with him, after all. He offered to work on some handcrafted valentines with me yesterday, and it seemed like a fun thing to do.”

“S’that where the paper in your head came from?” The dots connected quite suddenly, but when they did it the whole ordeal made a lot more sense. 

“Yep. Sorry about that, by the way.” Finn shifted in his seat a little, gaze drifting downward to the floor. “Uh, I know you… weren’t planning to do anything, but it’s alright, it’s not mandatory or anything. I jus’ wanted to—“

“OH RIGHT,” Shrimpo interrupted loudly, remembering what he had come here to do in the first place. “I forgot. Here.” He placed the fist he had kept tightly closed the entire conversation on the tabletop in front of him, opened his fingers, and let the items he’d held loose before quickly retracting his hand again. The bracelets sat quietly for the whole world to see, the octopus charms catching the yellow glare of the linoleum lighting above.

Finn stared at them. The silence was deafening. Shrimpo’s mouth opened again to shatter it. “Um.” What was it that people always said in those sappy romcoms again? 

“They made me… think of you.”

Hang on, since when did I use fucking romcoms as a reference for social interactions? Stop that. That show was years ago anyway.’

Finn’s hand at least reached to inspect the bracelets, eyes wide and pondering. The tentacles of the two octopi caught together for a moment as they were picked up before releasing each other. 

“Are these.. for us?” Finn asked at last, looking back up at Shrimpo. 

Shrimpo frowned. “Eh? No, they’re for you.”

At this, Finn couldn’t help but break out in a brief giggle. “Not just for me, silly. They’re friendship bracelets. Each person gets one.” 

Shrimpo thought back to how sly Gigi had looked when he'd picked out his gift. He silently resolved to exchange a couple choice words with them later. 

“Uh…” He watched as Finn extended one to him, the cerulean one — an offering. For whatever reason, such a simple gesture felt loaded with meaning he wasn’t sure he was fully able to grasp. 

It felt almost like a commitment. A confession.

‘Again with this hyper-analyzation thing…’ There was his favorite voice of reason again. ‘Seriously, brother, you’re spazzing out. It’s Finn’s gift, he decides what he wants to do with it. If he wants you to take the bracelet, take the bracelet. Simple as that.’

He felt this brain-voice of his had a habit of omitting certain details, but he decided to let it slide for the time being. He’d already been sitting there like a dumbass staring at Finn’s hand for a second too long.

“…Fine, whatever.” Shrimpo reached out and plucked the thing up with two fingers, lifting his other wrist to slide it on. It felt eerily akin to putting on his own shackles. 

Shackles… to what?

‘Dude, for real! Snap out of it!’

Okay, okay! Keeping his fingers straight, he let the jewelry piece fall down to rest on his arm. He pulled on the cords to tighten it, although just a little, and looked up at Finn to gauge his reaction. The fishbowl’s smile was brighter than ever, holding out his own wrist adorned with the crimson beads. 

“This is a great gift, Shrimpo.” How warm his eyes were. The flecks of yellow seemed even more prominent, now. “You’re a real great friend.”

Friend.

“Okay,” he answered, for lack of a better word.

The boy seemed almost to glow. 

That night, Shrimpo lay silently on his mattress, looking up at his ceiling. Not much had changed since January; it remained as unremarkable as it had been the day he arrived, free of any holes left behind from outbursts. Maybe someday. 

He looked down at the calendar. The 14th had been triumphantly crossed off, and tomorrow so would the 15th. And eventually so would the 16th and 17th and all the other days, and then he’d have to get a new calendar so he could check off all the boxes all over again. 

He now looked to the calendar’s left. The words Happy Valentine’s Day! looked back at him, written in two different types of handwriting. The room was dark, but he could still see them faintly, unchanging. Even when he slept, he knew they would be there, for whenever he needed to look at them. 

Love takes on more than one form.

So do gumball flavors, he mused, chewing on his Valentine’s present. 

[biblical-chronicles]

Locked out

____________________________________________

where you lock yourself out of your hotel room and end up in Noel's.

[18+ !!!] [enemies to lovers]

____________________________________________

The job had its perks. Traveling the world, working with some of the biggest gigs, free booze—Oasis had money to burn, after all. But there was one massive, massive downside.

Noel fucking Gallagher.

It wasn’t just that he was a sarcastic, self-important, grumpy bastard (which he absolutely was). It wasn’t even that he always had some smart-arse comment locked and loaded, ready to wind you up. It was the fact that he seemed to enjoy it, like taking the piss out of you was a personal hobby.

The lads had clocked it ages ago.

"How old are you two, seriously?" Guigs had said just the other night, shaking his head as you and Noel argued over god knows what. "You’re worse than me Nan and Grandad, swear down."

"Yeah, the sexual tension’s killin’ me," Bonehead had added, smirking as he took a drag from his cigarette.

Noel had scoffed, shaking his head. "Fucking hell, mate. I’d sooner shag the local nitty than deal with this one."

You flipped him off, unfazed. "Oh, yeah? I bet the nitty would be the one having to get tested after that, dickhead."

It was constant, this back-and-forth, from the moment you woke up to the second you clocked out. Noel loved to threaten to fire you at least once a day, always with the same lazy reasoning.

"Should’ve sacked you ages ago," he’d mutter, watching you tune his guitar before a gig. "Only reason you’re still ‘ere is ‘cause I can’t be arsed teachin’ some other muppet how I like it."

"Yeah, yeah," you’d reply, never looking up. "Don’t do me any favors, Gallagher."

And so it went.

Now, though, none of that mattered. Not the bickering, not the jabs. Because right now? You were stood in the dimly lit hotel lobby, staring at a handwritten sign that might as well have been a death sentence.

"LOBBY CLOSED. OPERATING HOURS: 6 AM - 12 PM."

"Fucking great," you muttered, running a hand down your face.

It had been a long day, and all you wanted was a shower, a bed, and maybe a few hours of peace before having to deal with Noel’s bullshit all over again tomorrow. But no, instead, you had to stand here like a mug because somehow, in your exhaustion, you’d managed to lock yourself out of your room.

Just as you were debating whether you could break into your own room with sheer willpower alone, the sound of footsteps echoed through the lobby.

And just like fucking clockwork—

"Eh?"

You knew that voice.

"Did you get lost, or what?"

You shut your eyes for a brief moment, praying for strength, then turned to see Noel strolling in through the revolving door.

He was still dressed from wherever the fuck he’d been; jeans, adidas trainers, a zip-up jacket with the collar popped just enough to make him look like he was about to sell you dodgy gear in a car park.

You gritted your teeth. "Fuck off, Noel."

His smirk widened, slow and knowing. "Ohh, someone’s touchy."

You turned back to the desk, hoping he’d get bored and leave. No such luck. He sauntered up beside you, eyes flicking to the sign before back to you.

Realization dawned, and then he just laughed.

"No." He pointed at you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck. "No fuckin’ way. You locked yourself out, didn’t you?"

You glared at him, crossing your arms. "No."

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

You exhaled sharply. "Okay, maybe, and no one is even here! How is a lobby not 24/7?"

"And you didn’t take your key, and you didn’t check the sign first," he said, as if reading from a list of your stupid decisions. "Jesus Christ, love. That’s incredible."

You scowled. "Piss off."

Noel, clearly enjoying himself, leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling with pure delight. "Me? Oh, nah. I think I’ll stick around, actually. This is too fuckin’ good."

You groaned. "Go to bed, Noel."

"Bed?" He feigned a yawn, stretching his arms dramatically. "Oh, yeah. That’s right. I can go to bed. Because I have access to me own fuckin’ room."

You clenched your fists. "I have a backstage pass. I’ll just sleep in the tour bus."

Noel snorted. "Yeah? Or on one of them couches over there?" He gestured vaguely to the dimly lit lobby seating area. "Might be comfy, if no one nicks your shite first."

You stilled.

He grinned. "Ohh, right. Didn’t think about that, did ya?"

You huffed. "Fuck."

Noel pressed a hand to his chest in mock sympathy. "Tragic, really." Then, after a beat, "... Guess you’re stuck here then."

You gave him a flat look. "Guess so."

He smirked, clearly waiting for you to crack.

Which is why it pained you—physically—when you exhaled and muttered, "Or… I could stay in yours. Just ‘til the desk opens."

Noel blinked. "Oh?"

You clenched your jaw. "So no one nicks me shite."

His smirk returned, slow and victorious. "Yeah, yeah. ‘Course. Wouldn’t want anyone robbin’ your precious little pass, would we?"

You resisted the urge to deck him.

"Alright then," he said, turning toward the lifts, his voice filled with pure satisfaction. "C’mon, roomie."

You glared at his back as you followed him down the corridors.

Noel shut the door behind him and turned to face you, arms crossed, an insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

"Well, well," he said, leaning back against the door. "Never thought I’d see the day you begged to stay in me room."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you dropped your bag by the chair. "Begged? Fuck off, Noel. I suggested it ‘cause I had no choice."

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Ahh, see, that’s where you’re wrong, love. You had a choice." He gestured vaguely toward the lobby. "Could’ve stayed down there, kept them couches company."

"And let some knobhead nick me pass? Yeah, right." You crossed your arms. "This is just survival, mate. Has nothing to do with you."

His smirk widened. "Yeah? Then why’re you lookin’ at me like that?"

You blinked. "Like what?"

Noel tilted his head, eyes sweeping over you, unreadable. "Like you wanna throttle me."

You huffed, exasperated. "That’s just me natural state when you’re around, Gallagher."

"Ahh." He grinned. "See, I knew you liked me."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Like you? Jesus, Noel, I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire."

His grin didn’t falter. In fact, it only grew.

"Yeah? Funny," he mused, stepping closer, voice low, lazy. "‘Cause you’re still ‘ere, ain’t ya?"

You swallowed but held your ground. "I don’t have a room, Noel."

He hummed, nodding slowly. "Right, yeah. That’s why you’re ‘ere. Not ‘cause you wanna get me alone, see what all the fuss is about."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You are so full of yourself."

He gave you a slow once-over, something dark and knowing flickering in his gaze. "Yeah?"

You inhaled sharply, blood running hot. "Fuck you."

Noel’s smirk twitched—almost like he’d been waiting for you to say that.

"Ohh, wouldn’t you like that?"

The air shifted.

You were on him before you could think, hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him down, crashing your mouth against his.

Noel barely had a second to react before he was pushing back, hands gripping your waist, shoving you up against the nearest wall. The impact sent a lamp wobbling on the bedside table, the dull thud of your back against the wall swallowed by the sound of both your ragged breaths.

His lips were warm, rough, demanding. His fingers dug into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself.

You bit his bottom lip, hard, just to be a dickhead.

Noel groaned against your mouth, grip tightening. "Oh, you wanna play it like that, do ya?"

Before you could smirk, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the wall, pressing in, chest flush against yours.

You yanked a hand free, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just to make him groan—and when he did, when his breath stuttered, you felt it everywhere.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked. "What’s wrong, Gallagher?" you breathed, voice teasing, drunk on the power shift. "Thought you could handle me?"

Noel laughed. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, "I could ruin you."

Your stomach dropped.

You clenched your jaw. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your grip tightened in his hair again, yanking his head back just enough to make him hiss. His smirk didn’t falter, though—if anything, it widened, smug and infuriating.

"You arrogant twat," you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck. "Think you’re some fuckin’ god, don’t ya?"

Noel chuckled—dark, low. "Please, love," he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. "You’ve been gaggin’ for this since the day we met. Don’t pretend otherwise."

Your teeth gritted. "You’re deluded."

"Yeah?" He stepped closer, the heat of him pressing against you, trapping you between his body and the wall. "Then why ain’t you pushin’ me away?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you even realized it, and that was all it took.

One second, you were glaring up at him, seething, and the next—you were airborne.

A breathless gasp tore from your throat as he threw you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath the sudden force of your body. Before you could even scramble upright, he was on you—knees bracketing your hips, hands gripping your wrists, pressing them into the sheets.

"You bastard—"

A sharp smack landed on your thigh, jolting you, heat blooming where his palm connected.

You froze.

Noel grinned. "What was that, sweetheart?"

Your breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him. You hated the way your body betrayed you—the way your back arched, the way your thighs instinctively clenched together at the sting of his hand.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His smirk deepened. "Ohhh, that’s what you like, is it?" Another sharp slap—same spot, same deliberate pressure, just enough to make you jolt. "That why you’ve been windin’ me up all this time? Hopin’ I’d do this?"

You bit back a gasp as his teeth grazed your jaw, lips teasing over the heated skin just below your ear, fingers tightening where he held you down.

"You gonna let me go, or you just gonna sit here runnin’ your gob all night?" you shot back, arching up slightly beneath him, trying to gain some kind of control back.

Noel laughed, a little breathless. "Oh, you love this, don’t ya?" His hands shifted, releasing your wrists just to drag down your arms, over your waist, gripping your hips hard. "All that fight, all that fuckin’ attitude—"

"You love it," you shot back, daring.

Something snapped behind his eyes.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed against yours again.

It was all teeth, all tension, years of resentment and frustration and something else entirely spilling out between you.

You clawed at him in return, nails dragging up his back, yanking at his hair, swallowing the groan that tore from his throat.

"Still wanna tell me to fuck off, love?" Noel rasped against your lips, breath uneven.

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him back down. "Shut up." you muttered, crashing your mouth against his again.

He barely hesitated before paying you back, fisting a hand into your hair and pulling your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. His mouth was on you in an instant, hot and open, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, voice thick with something triumphant. "Knew you’d be like this—mouthy little thing until you’re under me."

"And yet again, shut it." you snapped, even as your back arched, chasing the feel of him.

He laughed, breathless and sharp, his free hand sliding down to your thigh, gripping hard. Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, pressing you down against the mattress with the weight of him. You let out a sound somewhere between frustration and something else entirely, but any protest died in your throat when his hand slapped against your arse, the sting shooting straight through you.

"That shut you up quick, didn’t it?" he murmured, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You tried to glare at him over your shoulder, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath hitched when he did it again, the sharp slap sending heat curling low in your stomach.

"Say it," he taunted, his grip tightening on your hip. "Say you want me."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

But Noel was nothing if not persistent. His hand slid lower, teasing, just enough to make you squirm beneath him. His teeth grazed your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. "C’mon, sweetheart. We both know you do."

Your pride was a stubborn thing, but your body was a traitor.

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark with something heady and reckless. "Go on, then," you breathed. "Do your worst."

His fingers dug into your hips as he dragged you back against him, his grip bruising, possessive. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before his teeth found your shoulder again, biting down just enough to make you jolt beneath him. He groaned at the way you twitched, how your body betrayed that last shred of resistance you were so desperately clinging to.

"That’s more like it," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with amusement. "Knew you just needed someone to put you in your place."

You scoffed, even as your breath came quicker. "You think that’s you?"

He laughed. "Oh, love," he murmured, dragging his mouth up the side of your neck, "I know it is."

His hands slid lower, mapping the shape of you, fingers pressing into every curve like he wanted to commit it to memory. He moved with a slow, deliberate kind of cruelty, reveling in every shudder, every little sound you didn’t mean to make. You clenched your jaw, still stubborn, but it only made him smirk against your skin.

"Still holding out on me?" he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Let’s see how long that lasts."

Then his hands gripped tighter, and he moved—a slow, devastating roll of his hips that had you sucking in a sharp breath. You felt the shape of him pressed firmly against you, the sheer heat of him burning through the layers between you both.

And then, just to be cruel, he stilled.

You let out an involuntary sound of frustration, which only made his grin widen. "Oh, what’s that?" he teased, rolling his hips just slightly, barely giving you anything. "Getting impatient, are we?"

You gritted your teeth, refusing to play into it.

His breath ghosted over your ear, smug and infuriating. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?" His hand slid down, teasing at the edge of your waistband, making heat curl low in your stomach. "Or am I gonna have to make you say it?"

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body alive, burning with the heat of him. Your pride screamed at you to hold out just a little longer, to refuse him one last time.

But then he rocked against you again, the friction sending sparks up your spine, and every ounce of stubbornness melted right out of you.

"Fuck," you muttered, barely more than a breath. "Please."

Noel chuckled, dragging his lips over your shoulder. "There she is."

The moment that single word fell from your lips, his control snapped. His fingers curled into the waistband of your clothes, yanking them down with a rough impatience that sent a shiver racing through you. His trousers quickly followed, ending up in a pile on the floor.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pressed against you again, now with nothing between you. The heat of him, how hard he already was, it made your stomach twist in anticipation. But instead of giving you what you were desperate for, he dragged the moment out, hands roaming over your bare skin, taking his time.

"You feel that?" he murmured, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel the full length of him pressing against you, the slow friction making your breath catch. "That’s what you’ve been fighting, sweetheart. Tell me—was it worth it?"

You barely had time to shudder before he reached back, guiding himself against you, teasing, just barely pressing in before retreating again.

You shifted, pushing back against him, but his grip tightened immediately, holding you in place. "Ah, ah," he taunted, fingers still digging into your hips. "You finally beg for it, and now you think you’re in charge?"

You opened your mouth to snap something back—maybe something sharp, maybe something desperate, you weren’t even sure—but before you could, he thrust inside you in one smooth, deep motion.

The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken gasp.

"There you go." he muttered, his voice a little rougher now.

He barely gave you a moment to adjust before he set a brutal pace, dragging out only to slam back in, the force of it driving you further into the mattress. The sounds of skin against skin, breathless, ragged gasps, and the creak of the bed quickly were the only things filling the space between you.

You fisted the sheets, struggling to hold onto even a shred of composure, but Noel was relentless. His fingers curled around your jaw, tilting your head back slightly. "Listen to yourself" he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Tried so hard to act like you didn’t want this. And now you’re dripping for me."

The humiliation only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

As if sensing it, Noel let out a low chuckle. "You like that, don’t you?" He drove into you harder, just to hear the little choked noise that escaped your throat. "Fuck, you’re taking me so well."

His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive spot between your legs. The second he touched you, you clenched harder around him, and Noel groaned, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

"Shit," Noel rasped, his pace stuttering for half a second before he caught himself. "Filthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you?"

His grip on your hips was bruising, each snap of his hips knocking you further into the mattress, dragging another broken sound from your throat. You couldn’t even think, couldn’t do anything but take it, your body molded to his will, wrecked under the sheer force of him.

And he knew it.

"Where’s all that attitude now, huh?" His voice was tinged with mockery, as his hand smoothed up the curve of your spine, just for a moment, just long enough to make you think he might show some mercy.

Then he fisted his hand into your hair and yanked.

A sharp gasp ripped from your lips as your head was wrenched back, the burn at your scalp sending a jolt straight through you. Your back arched instinctively, pressing you closer against him, the new angle making you whimper.

"That’s more like it," Noel murmured, his grip in your hair tightening as he used it to pull you back against him, making you feel every inch of him sinking even deeper.

His other hand slid up your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse hammer under his touch.

"You like when I handle you like this, don’t you?" he muttered, voice a low rasp against your ear.

He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to speak, but your words failed you. All you could do was let out a broken, pleading sound.

Noel groaned, his fingers flexing around your throat like he felt the way you clenched around him. "Fuck, you’re gonna make me come just with these sweet desperate moans love."

He wrenched your head back a bit further, forcing your spine into a deeper arch, forcing you to take him exactly how he wanted. Every thrust was rough, deliberate, his hips slamming against you hard enough to bruise. Your body had no choice but to follow, every nerve ending alight, a coil of unbearable tension winding tighter and tighter in your core.

"No more remarks? No more telling me to fuck off?" he taunted, breath hot against your cheek.

Your fingers scrambled for purchase against the sheets, your mind a haze of pleasure and frustration. You wanted to say something, wanted to bite back just to spite him, but he was wrecking you, and you could barely form a single coherent thought.

So instead, you just whimpered his name.

"Fuck, that’s it," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart? You gonna fall apart just like this, with my cock buried inside you?"

His fingers dipped lower again, rubbing against your clit in tight, unrelenting circles, the pace of his thrusts turning ragged, desperate. The coil inside you twisted tighter, pleasure crashing over you in waves until you could barely breathe.

"You close?" he taunted, yanking your head back again, making sure you felt every single inch of him. "I can feel it, sweetheart, feel you gripping me so fuckin’ tight. Just let go. Come for me."

Your body locked up, pleasure blinding, white-hot and overwhelming as it crashed over you in wave after wave. You were dimly aware of your own broken cries, of the way your walls clenched around him like a vice, but nothing existed beyond the pure bliss of it.

Noel groaned, voice strangled, as he fucked you through it, dragging out every last shudder, his pace turning frantic. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips slamming against yours one last time before he buried himself deep with a low, wrecked curse.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sharp, uneven rhythm of your breathing.

Noel was still draped over you, his weight grounding, his skin hot where it pressed against yours. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. It was like neither of you wanted to be the first to break whatever fragile thing had settled between you.

Eventually, he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound, before rolling onto his side, taking you with him. His arm hooked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his chest rising and falling against your back.

"Well," he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing, but softer than before. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You huffed a breath, still too dazed to formulate a proper response. He felt the way you relaxed against him, how you didn’t immediately shove him away.

A quiet beat passed before he spoke again, voice low but sincere.

"Didn’t think you’d actually let me touch you like that."

You hesitated, your fingers idly tracing over his forearm where it rested against your stomach. "Didn’t think I’d want you to," you admitted.

He made a sound—half amusement, half something thoughtful. "And now?"

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the question.

There was no point in denying it, not now.

"I do want you to now, but you’re still a mug." you muttered.

Noel chuckled, low and lazy, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your shoulder.

You turned slightly in his hold, just enough to meet his gaze. He was already watching you, eyes half-lidded.

"Maybe we should stop pretending we hate each other," you said, voice softer now, more thoughtful.

Noel’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh, love," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering at your cheek. "I never hated you."

Your heart stumbled.

He let the words settle, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw, before he smirked. "Just really, really wanted to shut you up."

You rolled your eyes, but the bite was gone, replaced by something warm. "And what do you want now?"

His expression turned serious—just for a second. Then, he tugged you closer, pressing his mouth against yours, slow and lingering.

"You," he murmured against your lips. "Think I always have."

____________________________________________

oh who doesn't love some slight enemies to lovers, thanks to whoever suggested this xx

[lux-aurea-lunae]

Prompt 28 - Moving

“I’m moving, so you’ll have to find some other hero to bother soon,” Hero announced. It was only polite to give Villain a warning in advance, instead of randomly disappearing on them.

“You’re moving? Why?” Villain asked, sounding a little shocked. Maybe they thought that the two of them would keep their fights going longer than this, like Hero had.

“More heroes are needed in another city a couple hours away, and the hero agency wants me to go.” The agency thought that Hero’s power and skills would be the most effective. 

“When will you be back?” Hero thought it was kind of odd that that was Villain’s first question.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone yet.” A few months, at least. Maybe a year. Maybe permanently.

Villain must’ve picked up something in their expression or tone, because they asked, “Are you going because you want to, or because you feel like you have to?”

It’s true that the agency hadn’t really given them an opportunity to object, but they wouldn’t turn them down either way. The agency already found them a new place to stay, and offered to help them with moving expenses. It’s not like the other city was a terrible place to live, or anything, even if it wasn’t their home. “…Both.”

Villain scoffed. “Like you know what you would want, if you were ever given a choice.” Hero ignored them.

The next few fights, Villain seemed angrier than usual. Their insults were getting more personal, more targeted, and some of them made Hero feel strangely guilty, even though they had no idea what they did to make Villain upset with them. Villain’s crimes were more destructive than they ever were before, and they seemed to make property damage their primary goal whenever Hero arrived to stop them. After a week of putting up with it, Hero confronted them.

“What is wrong with you? You’ve been more frustrating than normal. I didn’t know that was possible!” Hero joked, trying to cover up how nervous they really were.

Villain scowled. “You want to know what’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me is that a certain hero thinks they can just up and leave the city they’ve sworn to protect. What happened to this place being your home?” they demanded.

“I thought you didn’t care about the city,” Hero said, trying to figure out what Villain was getting at.

“I don’t. This is about you abandoning everything you once stood for, and for what? Because some selfish parasite told you to? I swear, they get paid to leech off heroes’ success.” They muttered the last sentence, but Hero still heard them. Once again, Villain’s comments about Hero’s workplace were ignored.

“You’re so dramatic. I’m not doing anything like that. I’ll just be working in a different city for a while. And it really is a good offer! It’s more than I’m making now, at least.” Hero knew any attempt to placate Villain would be in vain, but they had to say something.

“So it’s all about money now? What happened to improving the city?” Villain asked coldly.

“That’s still important to me. I’ll just be improving a different city for a while.”

Villain seemed as frustrated as Hero was. “Does our rivalry mean nothing to you?!” they shouted.

Hero froze. They weren’t expecting that to be Villain’s real problem. “...You’re mad I’m leaving?”

Villain sighed exasperatedly. “Yes! Did you not listen to a single thing I just said?”

That put all of Villain’s actions for the past week in a new light. “Was all that destruction you trying to make enough problems to justify me staying?” Hero asked, only half teasing.

“N-no, it was because I was angry.”

Hero laughed. “Right.”

[sweetprfct]

Please Please Please

Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected coffee accident turned your life upside down into a world full of glamour and flashing cameras everywhere you turned. You thought with Aaron by your side, it was going to be easy to navigate, but it turns out life in front of the flashing cameras isn't so effortless after all.

Author's Note: I've been looking at my notes and it seems like this plot needed more chapters, so I added some more. Here's chapter 2. Comments and likes are always welcome :) Let me know if you'd like to get tagged!

Wordcount: 4K

Disclaimer: 18+

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight - chapter nine - chapter ten - chapter eleven - chapter twelve - epilogue

You watched the temperature of the reaction you were making reach at 25 degree celsius before sitting back on your desk chair. You sighed and recorded your steps on your report. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if you would have been happier if you had decided to do academia instead of working in an industry. Though, the thought of having to find financial support for your research seemed like a stressful thing to do also. 

Besides some of the toxic coworkers that you have, you didn’t hate your job.

But there was always that what if.

Your eyes glanced at your phone that was sitting on your desk and saw Sara’s name appeared on the screen. 

Sara: So, do you think my boss will notice if I decide to leave early for today? 👹

You chuckled softly at your phone and started typing a response. 

You: LMAO! Probably since they can’t seem to work well without you there.

Sara: I’m so bored 😩 I finished most of my work. Just waiting on some approvals but everyone is busy with meetings. 

You: Come save me too. I’m currently doing a reaction, and they need this rush apparently 🥲

Sara: Ew. 🥴 Oh, btw, Luca texted me asking if we’re down for dinner tonight. 

You looked up from your phone and couldn’t find Luca anywhere. Luca was one of your best friends from CalTech and now, he worked with you and Asher too. Ivy, who was also part of your friend group, worked with Sara in NASA. It was weird how life still threw all of you together. Either way, you were just glad that they were still in your life. 

Even though you were debating about Asher’s presence lately.

You: Yes, he asked me this morning. I’m down if you are. 

Sara: Yeah, sounds good. No promises I won’t say shit to Asher though

You: LMAO I wanna see that! 🤭

Sara: I haven’t seen Ivy all day. Not sure if she’s part of the meetings. She’s the only one who actually entertains me here.

You: Told you to get out of Pasadena 😂

Sara: Yeah, okay. I’ll get right on that! 👍

You glanced up from your phone when you heard the lab doors opened and saw Luca pushing a cart full of succinates. His thick salt and pepper curly hair that ends just right past the nape of his neck was covering his forehead and the top of his goggles. He paused in front of your desk and sighed, pushing a strand of hair away from his face.

“Never. Again.” He said, out of breath. 

“What happened?” You got up from your chair, walked around your desk and studied the succinates that were sitting on the cart. 

“These bitches were so far up the rack.” Luca explained. “I’m tall but not that tall. I swear to god, Max is getting on my nerves. He could have grabbed these himself.”

He was right. Luca was tall. 

He was a lanky, tall guy but those racks they stored the chemicals in were very high up. Sometimes some of those chemicals were in heavy gallons of plastic jars. You wondered if that was even safe for the team. Max had been too lazy to get it himself even though he was a lot stronger than any of you in the team.

You shook your head and said, “You know how he is. Do you need help? I can help. I’m done starting my reaction. I don’t have to take care of it after four hours.”

“No, I’m good.” Luca set a hand on his hip, still trying to catch his breath. “I just need to weigh these.”

“Okay, let me know if you do.” You said. “Oh, and I talked to Sara. We’re down for dinner tonight.”

“Ugh, good!” Luca set his hand on his stomach. “Just thinking about it makes me hungry already. I already told Asher about it too.”

You walked back around your desk and saw your screen light up again with a new text message. 

“Mhm. I’m sure he was quick to say yes.” You murmured, your eyes focusing on the message. 

“With you coming along? Of course.” Luca teased as he pushed the cart next to his desk. 

Your attention wasn’t with him anymore though as you saw Hannah’s name on your notifications. You were afraid to open the message. Last month, she had dragged you to that after party where you embarrassed yourself in front of Jen, and you knew Hannah only texted you when she needed something. 

It wasn’t as if you disliked her. Hannah just went into her own path after high school. You and Hannah were neighbors back in San Francisco since you were kids, but she had her own dreams. 

Bigger dreams than yours. 

Ever since you were children, she always wanted to be on TV. Now, she had booked multiple acting roles and had connections with Hollywood. She tends to drag you around after parties and movie premieres. You didn’t seem to mind it often, but you felt like you didn’t fit in with her crowd. It went the same with her. She didn’t fit in with your new group of friends. 

Luca and Ivy didn’t like her much. They said she was “too stuck up” even though sometimes, Luca wanted to get invited to these events. Sara didn’t mind much, but you knew Hannah could get on her nerves too. Besides you, Asher was the only one who got along well with her. It was because Asher wanted to be part of her glamorous world even if he tried to put a facade on it. 

Hannah: Hey! You got plans for tomorrow night?

You: Not sure. Why?

Hannah: There’s this after party for this movie I was on. Please please please come with me!

You: Um… Idk.

Hannah: Please? 🙏 I really need someone there, and I know you support me a lot.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. You have the urge to bite your nails at the moment, but you stopped yourself from having your nails between your teeth. Not only have you been handling chemicals, but you have told yourself to stop this bad habit. Instead, your leg shook anxiously underneath your desk. 

You: I don’t know, Hannah. 

Hannah: I swear, I won’t leave your side. Please?

Fuck. 

You knew if you didn’t say yes, she was going to keep bothering you. You wondered why you were the one she wanted to come to this event. Last time you checked, she had a boyfriend now. 

An actor too. 

You: Fine. 

Hannah: Ah! Thank you! You’re a lifesaver! ❤️

Great. 

Now, you have to go shopping for a new dress. 

When you found yourself in your car at the end of your work day, you contemplated whether to go park on the street near the restaurant and wait for an hour for your friends to get there, or you could go do a pit stop at The Insomniacs. 

As always, the latter won. 

A few minutes later, you found yourself waiting in line to buy your favorite blended coffee. Sometimes you wonder if this was just your body craving it at this point, or if you actually needed the caffeine because it seemed like you could sleep perfectly fine with it. 

Scrolling through Instagram, you took a step forward in the line. The shop was a little busy today, but you had time to kill, so you didn’t mind waiting. 

“Is this going to be our meeting place?” The British accent was so thick through the man’s familiar voice, your phone almost slipped out from your hands.

You looked up from your phone, your eyes following where the voice came from. You thought he was standing in front of you, and you just didn’t notice it when you had joined the line, but he was nowhere to be found. 

You froze for a moment, your eyes studying the shop before landing on him. He was standing at the end of the counter, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He was wearing that smolder look on his face, his mouth tugged into a small smile. You swallowed your emotions that were surfacing as you slipped your phone on your back pocket. 

He wasn’t wearing his costume this time. He was in his casual clothes. Black shirt, black trousers, and gray coat. His long curly hair was messy. It was still pushed back, but it looked mussed. 

You wondered if what he was wearing was actually his casual clothes or another movie costume. You wondered what kind of role he was playing in the movie, and why was he in this coffee shop for two days in a row now?

“Are you stalking me?” You asked but immediately regretted the words that slipped out of your lips. 

That came out a little rude too. 

See, this is why Hannah shouldn’t be dragging you to an after party tomorrow night. You act so stupid in front of celebrities. 

Aaron chuckled at your comment, tilting his head at you like he was challenged by what you just said. 

“How do I know you’re not stalking me, darling?” His voice was calm and gentle.

But that nickname. 

It sent shivers down your spine. 

You looked around the shop and wondered how everyone was acting so normal that a celebrity was in here. They were probably used to seeing famous people in this shop. It was across Warner Brothers Studios after all.

Your turn in line came, and you ordered your usual. Even if Aaron was standing at the end of the counter, you could feel his eyes burning your side. 

Walking towards him after paying for your drink, you said, “Because I’ve come to this place several times the last couple years and I don’t remember you being here much.” 

Immediately, you saw a proud grin tugged on his lips as he said, “Touché, love.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at him. Your eyes studied the current situation of his look. He looked like he just finished a long day of filming. There were dark circles under his eyes, but it still made him look so attractive.

“Is mocha blended coffee your usual?” Aaron asked, interrupting your thoughts. 

He must have noticed you were checking him out because he was smirking at you. Your cheeks turned into a shade of pink as you quickly looked away and focused your attention towards the counter.

“Look who’s the stalker.” You teased him. “Are you listening to my order?”

He laughed softly, which sent shivers down your spine again. 

“This place isn’t that big, love. I can hear that man’s order right now.” He nodded his head towards the man that was ordering his drink at the register.

That new nickname. 

Where’s a hole on the floor for you to fall in when you need one?

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip and glanced up at him. He was so tall, and he took up a lot of space. You have to literally crane your neck just to look at his face. 

“Since you love to eavesdrop so much, then yes it is.” You answered. “Is cappuccino your usual order too?”

Aaron’s lips tugged into a big grin as he lowered his lips close to your ear and whispered, “And you accused me of eavesdropping?”

You could hear your heart drumming in your ears as you bit your lower lip harder. You could almost taste metal in your mouth. 

Where the fuck was that comet, Sara? Because it might as well just disintegrate this Earth right now. 

Or maybe it could just hit you. Just you. 

You could feel his warm breath and warm presence on your side, making your legs feel like jelly. He was so close to you, and it felt like an eternity before he straightened his body back and smirked at you. Again. 

Before you could retort something back to him, you heard the barista both call your names and set both of your coffees on the counter.

Thank fucking god.

“Well, it’s nice to see you again, stalker.” You said before grabbing your cup and walking out of the doors immediately. 

Were you in some kind of a movie or something? There were so many questions lingering in your mind as you sipped your coffee, letting the cold liquid cool your body down. You kept questioning why he kept making conversations with you and from all people, he kept trying to get your attention and teasing you? 

You shook your head to clear out all these delusions that were lingering in your mind. 

You were being stupid. 

You drove towards West Hollywood, driving around to find yourself a parking spot. In this city, you could barely find one, especially on the side streets. Opting out for the street parking, you decided to park in the public parking garage and walked your way towards the restaurant where Sara and Ivy were waiting outside. 

“Hey.” You smiled, pulling Ivy into a hug. “How are you, Ivy?”

“Good. How are you?”

Ivy’s brown curls were up in a ponytail, her brown eyes glinting brightly at you. She looked tanner from the summer days that she spent at the beach all the time. Freckles were dusted on top of her nose and cheeks, and she looked a lot happier and more relaxed than the last time you saw her. You barely saw Ivy because she was always busy taking care of her family. Sara was the only one who saw her often because they worked together. 

“I’m good. How’s your parents?” You asked, knowing she has been struggling with them lately.

Ivy shrugged, “They’re good. They’re moving to Boston, so I’ve been helping them pack up the house.”

Now, it makes more sense why she seemed more relaxed.

“Oh, nice. I’m guessing you found a place of your own then?”

Ivy nodded excitedly, her ponytail swaying behind her. “Yeah, I found one in Glendale, so I’ll be closer to you guys.”

“Thank god! I get to see you more!” 

“Hey guys!” Luca greeted, running a hand through his curls. 

Next to him was Asher who also greeted all of you. He was a bit quieter than usual, and you wondered if it was because he felt guilty for his behavior from yesterday. You gave him a small wave and followed your friends inside the restaurant. Settling in your seat as soon as the hostess led you to your table, you focused your attention on the menu in front of you. 

Sara and Ivy were murmuring to each other about the menu, while Luca and Asher were arguing about the meat choices that were better for Luca’s taco. You settled for three tacos and a margarita as soon as the server came and took your orders. 

“Oh!” Sara called everyone’s attention once the server walked away. She nudged you with her elbow and said, “Ask her who she bumped into yesterday.”

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Not Sara too! 

“Oh my god.” You mumbled under your breath, shaking your head. 

The server came by with your drinks and you immediately took a sip of your margarita, letting the alcohol burn your throat. 

“I swear to god if you bumped into Paul Mescal, I’m going to lose my shit.” Luca commented, taking a sip of his cocktail.

You laughed with Sara and Ivy. Luca’s celebrity crush was Paul Mescal, and he has been waiting to bump into him one of these days. You would support it, but you doubt he lived in LA since he was Irish, and he probably preferred to live in Europe. That didn’t stop Luca from hoping though. 

“No, Luca.” You chuckled. “It was ATJ.”

Luca and Ivy choked on their drinks, both of them gasped loudly and looked at you with wide eyes. Asher was rolling his eyes in the corner, while Sara was giggling softly next to you. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Luca exclaimed. “That’s even worse!”

“Aaron fucking Taylor-Johnson?!” Ivy whisper-yelled, her eyes looking like they were about to fall out of her sockets.

“Fuck Paul Mescal.” Luca shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll take ATJ.”

“Yeah, well, I saw him again today.” You mumbled through the edge of your glass before sipping your drink again.

You watched as your friends, including Sara this time, dropped their jaws to the floor and widened their eyes even more. Asher on the corner was shaking his head as if he hated this subject that you all were talking about.

That was such a lie.

You knew Asher would literally throw a party if he ever got accepted into that world.

“Wait, what?!” Sara exclaimed.

“Woah, woah. Wait!” Ivy held up her hands to pause the conversation. “Are you sure this second meeting is a coincidence?”

A line appeared between your brows as you stared at your friend like her theory was the most absurd thing on Earth. You understood that they were all in shock, but that idea in her head for a moment was not… reality. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ivy. I’m literally no one.” You argued. “Besides, the coffee shop is across from Warner Brothers. He’s probably filming a movie or something.” 

Luca held up his hands this time, swaying it in front of him to shut everyone up. “Wait! What happened yesterday?”

Sara laughed at the memory as you side-eyed her. She was the one who opened up this conversation. Now, look at the position you were put into.. 

You explained to your friends the whole incident, and Luca’s mouth was hanging open the whole time. It wasn’t long until Ivy joined him the moment she heard the words “I wiped his clothes with a bunch of napkins” left your mouth. 

“Ugh!” Luca stomped his foot under the table. “You’re so lucky! You got to touch him!” 

Asher threw his head back and groaned softly. The table immediately went silent, and you all turned your heads towards him. 

“Are we just going to talk about celebrities all night?” Asher complained. 

You hated the subject of this conversation, but your patience with Asher was hanging by a thread. Luca leaned back against his chair, crossing his legs underneath the table and crossing his arms on his chest. He lifted his brow at Asher, and an annoyed look was plastered on his face.

“Okay, Mr. KillJoy, what’s going on with your life?” Luca asked sarcastically. 

You rolled your eyes as soon as Asher started complaining about the extra production that Keith was planning for the team. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t believe he still wasn’t over this, but it was Asher. He was never going to be over this, especially the way Keith had embarrassed him in front of you in that meeting. 

“I mean come on! More production and less people?” Asher whined.

“Actually, Keith’s hiring more people, so I don’t know why you’re complaining about this.” You argued. “Did you not hear that sentence coming out of his mouth from that meeting?”

Asher didn’t say anything as Sara leaned forward, her elbows resting at the edge of the table. Fire sparked behind her eyes as she looked at Asher. You didn’t even need to be a mind reader for what Sara was about to say in the next ten seconds. She already warned you this morning. 

You weren’t going to lie. You sort of wanted to hear this.

“Oh, and didn’t you lose your shit?” Sara asked, her voice sharp.

There it was. 

You turned to Sara, nudging her gently on her side. You gave her a look to make sure she wasn’t going to push it too much on Asher. However, you didn’t have to worry about Sara because you saw Ivy and Luca exchanging looks and immediately, Luca leaned forward against the table also with a curious expression.

“What did you do now, Asher?” Luca asked. 

Asher’s eyes darted between his friends. You could tell that he was even more embarrassed because now, he has to explain to his friends the behavior that he projected onto you yesterday. You rolled your teeth over your lower lip and leaned back against your chair, playing with the glass in your hand. There was no saving him from this. As much as he was your friend, you were also irritated with the way he reacted yesterday. 

No, you weren’t just irritated.

You were furious about his accusation. 

“In my defense…” Asher muttered, and you could hear Sara’s low scowl next to you. “I… I admitted I was wrong, okay? And I apologized for it.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Ivy asked, ignoring his stupid introduction.

Asher stuttered for a moment. His panicked eyes were shifting back and forth towards everyone. He let out a long breath and slumped down on his chair. 

“I accused her of having a crush on Keith.” He murmured under his breath. 

Even just hearing those words, it made you want to throw up the tacos you just ate. Luca’s eyes immediately sparked with anger, while Ivy shook her head in disappointment.

“Seriously, Asher. You need a fucking therapist.” Luca barked. “Seriously? Keith? That man is older, married, and has kids! Why the fuck would you accuse her of that? Or is it because he always gives you a cold shoulder?”

“Or because a man was being nice to her.” Ivy mumbled through the edge of her glass before sipping her drink. 

Ivy was right. 

Asher always acted out whenever a random man was being nice to you. It could be a stranger smiling at you, and he would immediately roll his eyes. He would make up some excuse that he only acted that way because he was being protective towards you, but everyone in this table knew the real reason why. 

“I said I was sorry!” Asher said. “It was a mistake, and I wasn’t thinking right.”

Your friends continued to call out Asher’s behavior, but you were done with this conversation. You didn’t even want to think about it. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you slipped it out to check who was texting you. 

Hannah: Got you a dress for tomorrow night! No need to worry!

You sighed and slipped your phone back in your pocket, drinking the rest of your margarita. Luca’s eyes shifted towards you when he saw your distressed expression.

“Who was that? ATJ bothering you?” He teased, making Ivy chuckle.

“No,” You rolled your eyes. “Hannah invited me to this after party, and she was letting me know that she has an extra dress for me to wear.”

“Ugh,” Luca said dramatically, tucking a hair behind his ear. “I swear, Hannah needs to invite me to one of these parties.”

You laughed softly, “I thought you didn’t like Hannah? You said she was too stuck up.”

“She can be.” Luca said, rolling his eyes. “But I have needs.”

“Like Paul Mescal?” Ivy teased him.

Luca ripped a piece of his tortilla and threw it at her, making you and Sara laugh. Ivy stuck her tongue out to him as Luca rolled his eyes again. Out of all of you, Luca was the most dramatic and sometimes, he was more girlier than the girls. Though, you always tell others to never underestimate Luca because he could put you in your place in an instant, and he never liked anyone who was whiny and toxic.

You were surprised Luca hasn’t ripped a hair out of Asher’s perfect golden hair. 

Maybe he was close to doing it. You knew you were. 

As Sara asked for the paycheck, the five of you split the bill and left the restaurant after paying. You and Sara said your goodbyes to your friends and told each other that you would see each other at home. 

Driving back to your apartment building that night, your mind resurfaced the events of the coffee shop again. Ivy’s voice echoing in your mind.

Are you sure this second meeting is a coincidence? 

You quickly dismissed it because the more you think about it, the more comical it sounded.

You were just tired. It had been a long day. 

That was all. 

__________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@acourtofpenandpaper, @metal-redcherries, @n0rdicmaiden, @galadoesart, @dare-writes

[ordinaryschmuck]

Full Family AU: The Final Part...For Now

The last two months have been exactly as Camila predicted: Complicated and exhausting.

She, Manny, and Eda have been working as hard as they can to delicately break the law. This involved a lot of document forging, rehearsing and re-rehearsing what they were going to say to the court officials, writing up and editing entire backstories involving who Vee was, and a lot of stress of working out this lie made for the foreseeable future.

Camila especially sent prayers of gratitude for Eda being there for most of it. It felt weird thanking God for giving a criminal to help break the law, but she was grateful for it nonetheless as her levelheadedness helped pulled Camila through a lot of her exhausting stress. Eda was certainly a professional, coming up with plans, backup plans, even backups for the backup plans necessary to pull this off. And all with a positive attitude in doing it.

"The chance to screw with another world's government would be a personal pleasure," she said with a wicked grin one day. Camila decided to let that comment slide for the time being as they got closer to their goal.

Fortunately, not all of it was stressful. In between the moments of planning and forging, the Nocedas did their part to make sure Vee was welcomed to the family, being there for a lot of huge moments. Vee's first time going to a restaurant with a family, her first Noceda Movie Night, her first time trying Camila's world famous brownies, and, of course, when all the craziness was over, her first day of school.

"Are you sure I'm ready?" Vee asked as they started pulling up to the school. "What if I mess up?"

"Don't worry, querida," Manny said from the driver's seat, giving Vee a hopeful look in the mirror. "Luz will be there to assure that you'll be fine."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled like a hawk!" Luz proclaimed as she used her fingers and thumb to keep her eyes open.

"Hawks don't do that," Vee said. "And their eyesight isn't that impressive. It's just three times sharper than a normal human's--"

"Camila's really got you hooked on those animal documentaries, huh?" Manny interrupted with a grin. All while earning a gentle slap from Camila.

"Excuse me for wanting to bond with my daughter," she chided him, not really having any bite to her words. And it felt so good to Camila to use the word daughter. At first, it was an adjustment to get used to, but Camila accepted that if she wanted Vee to be a part of their weird family, then they needed to treat her like one. Meaning Camila and Manny had to get used to calling Vee their daughter, while Vee had to get used to calling them--

"Mom, Dad," Vee said, "I'm...still worried."

"Being worried is fine, it makes you alive," Camila told her. "But being brave means you have to continue to act, no matter how worried you get. And if anything does go wrong--Which it WON'T--I swear to you that we'll all work through it together. As a family."

"Yeah..." Vee smiled a little at that word. "Family..."

"And we are here!" Manny announced as he parked the car in front of the school. "You kids ready for another day of school?"

"How many days until the weekend?" Luz asked.

"Currently, four."

"Aw, Eda said she'd show me more magic on the weekend..."

"It'll go faster than you'd think, mija," Manny told her. "Trust me."

Him and Camila then got out of the car and helped their daughters out of the car and into quick goodbye hugs.

"Have a good day you two," Camila said, giving both her girls a little kiss on the head. "We'll be here to pick you up by three."

"And want a full report about how well your day went," Manny added. "So be ready for that."

And he thought it'd be the end of that, only for Vee to look right up at him with a shine to her eyes.

"Thank you," She said. "For finding me...And helping me...And letting me be here. With you. And Mom."

"Oh...Vee..." Manny knelt down to stay on level with her eyesight. "There's no need to thank me. Helping you was a pleasure in of itself. And keeping you happy is its own reward. And it always will be."

"You mean it...?"

"I do."

"We both do," Camila added in, kneeling down with Manny. "You're a blessing this family didn't know it needed. Never forget that."

Vee smiled again, launching into another hug with Camila and Manny, with Luz quickly joining in to turn it into a group hug.

"Family hug!" She yelled before taking Vee's hand and smiling at her. "Now, come on! I'll show you my class, my favorite chair, and all the toys the teacher lets us use for being good!"

"Oh, okay." Vee waved to Camila and Manny. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, Mami and Papi!" Luz waved as well, pulling Vee towards the school.

"Goodbye you two!" Camila yelled back as she and Manny waved.

"How you feeling?" Manny asked.

"Happy...But also nervous. Excited, but also like I'm going to throw up. Ooh, boy..."

"Come on, mi amor," Manny said, pressing a kiss to Camila's cheek. "We've got the day off today. Let's head home and enjoy it..."

"I could really use that..." Camila confessed, giving Manny a kiss as well. And as he went to the driver's seat, Camila gave one last look to the school, smiling at the sight of Luz and Vee laughing and getting along.

Whatever happened in the future, she felt she could handle it. Because a sight like that helped make it worth it in the end.