#I did this new thing (new for me) this week where I hand drafted some replies and it actually ??? helped a lot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uncuredturkeybacon · 4 days ago

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𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it was time for paige to share her life to the world

The Dallas heat clung to everything—your skin, your clothes, your breath. It had been one of those dry, hazy spring days where the city buzzed with anticipation, and today that energy had a name: Paige Bueckers.

Drafted to the Wings only a week ago, your wife had already been pulled in a hundred different directions—interviews, photoshoots, press conferences, sponsor obligations. And tonight, a team dinner to cap it all off.

You knew she was exhausted. You’d seen it in the slump of her shoulders when she got dressed earlier, the tired smile she gave you as she kissed your cheek goodbye. Still, she went. Paige always did the hard thing with grace.

You stayed home with your daughter.

The dinner had started off light—wings, tacos, laughter echoing around the table at some local spot her new teammates loved. Everyone was still riding high from the buzz around the team, and Paige, though quiet at first, settled in after a couple rounds of teasing and margaritas (which she didn’t even sip, but they still joked like she was three drinks in).

“So Paige,” Arike Ogunbowale said from across the table, grinning, “you and Azzi… what’s the deal?”

It was casual, playful—just a nudge in the middle of the chaos—but the whole table paused. Even the waitress setting down guacamole looked like she froze mid-motion.

Paige blinked once, then laughed. It was genuine, warm, and more amused than anything. “Me and Azzi? Nah. We’re just close. Like… family.”

Arike nodded, her mouth full of tortilla chip. “Okay, okay. Just checking. Social media’s obsessed.”

One of the rookies chimed in, “Yeah, I mean, you’re always together.”

Paige shrugged, still smiling. “That’s what happens when you’ve known someone since you were fifteen. She’s my best friend, that’s all.”

There was a flicker of something protective in her voice. Not sharp, but final.

The questions faded, and the conversation shifted toward next week’s training schedule. Paige let herself relax again, but a weight settled in her chest. They didn’t mean any harm. But part of her still hated that people couldn’t imagine her love life without assuming it had to be another basketball player.

No one had guessed the truth.

It was late when she got home. The house was quiet, soft golden light from the kitchen spilling into the hallway. Her sneakers came off with a sigh, and she padded softly down the hall.

First stop: the nursery.

The door was slightly cracked. Inside, a small figure lay sprawled on her belly, wild curly hair fanned out against the sheets. Her favorite stuffed puppy was clutched in one hand, the other hand thrown dramatically over her head like a tiny diva.

Paige stepped inside slowly, carefully. Her heart melted instantly.

She bent down, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “I love you, bug,” she whispered, so low it was barely sound. “So much.”

She lingered there for a second—watching, listening to the even rhythm of her baby girl’s breathing—then gently closed the door behind her.

You were propped up in bed when Paige came in, your face glowing in the light from the TV. A rerun of Chopped was on low volume, the judges arguing about undercooked scallops. You looked over as she entered, your expression instantly softening.

“There’s my superstar,” you teased.

Paige’s face cracked into a tired grin. She kicked off her hoodie and jeans and climbed into bed beside you, settling against the pillows with a heavy sigh. “I’m so tired I think my bones are asleep.”

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “You handled that media circuit like a champ. I saw the clips.”

She groaned, turning her face into your neck. “So many questions. And they all ask the same thing. ‘What are you most excited about? How does it feel to be in Dallas? Do you think you and Azzi are soulmates?’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what?”

Paige leaned back and looked at you, laughing. “I’m not kidding. One of my teammates asked if Azzi and I are a thing. The whole table went quiet like it was the tea of the night.”

You couldn’t help your smirk. “And what did you say?”

“That she’s like my sister,” Paige said, deadpan. “But I guess people don’t expect me to be married to someone who isn’t also a Nike-sponsored hooper.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, they can keep wondering.”

Paige reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours. She toyed with your wedding ring. “I don’t really care what they think. I just hate not being able to say it out loud.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But here, with us… you don’t have to hide.”

A beat passed.

Then Paige looked toward the ceiling, her eyes fluttering shut. “Sometimes I just wanna scream it. ‘I’m married to the love of my life and we have the most amazing little girl and I’m not dating my best friend!’”

You laughed quietly, running your fingers through her hair. “You’re tired.”

She nodded into your chest. “I am. But happy tired.”

For a few minutes, you lay in silence, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. Her breathing slowed. Her hand still clutched yours.

Then she whispered, “She was asleep when I checked in on her.”

“Was she curled up like a little croissant again?”

“No,” Paige said, grinning against your skin. “Starfish mode tonight. She’s dramatic, just like you.”

You chuckled, closing your eyes as Paige snuggled in closer, her voice barely a breath now. “Thanks for holding it down at home.”

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Now sleep. You’ve got a city to conquer tomorrow.”

And with your arms wrapped around her, the soft hum of the TV, and your daughter safe down the hall, Paige finally let go—of the noise, the questions, the pressure—and drifted off in the quiet comfort of home.

Saturdays had a different feel now.

In Connecticut, it used to mean quiet coffee runs and long naps between workouts. But now, in Dallas, Saturdays were noisy. Messy. Beautiful. They started with sticky pancake fingers, early cartoons, and your daughter toddling around the kitchen with one sock on, yelling that she was a “big girl” and didn’t need a bib.

You and Paige had decided early on that today was just for the three of you. No media. No workouts. No press. Just a family day under the sun.

And so you found yourselves at a park, right in the middle of downtown Dallas. It was a bright, cloudless day. Families filled the green spaces, music echoed from a nearby jazz trio, and the food trucks lined up like a mini festival.

Your daughter, Emma—two and a half years old and already a firecracker—clung to Paige’s hand like she was leading a grand expedition across the grass.

“Where are we going, baby?” Paige asked, her sunglasses perched on her head, her other hand holding your iced lemonade.

“To da dogs!” Emma shouted, pointing at the off-leash area where a dozen bouncing golden retrievers played in a chaotic fur ball.

Paige gasped dramatically. “THE DOGS? Why didn’t you say so sooner?!”

She scooped Em into her arms, spinning her in a wide circle that sent squeals of laughter into the breeze.

You followed behind, grinning like a lovestruck idiot, because no matter how many times you saw Paige with your daughter, it never got old.

After the dogs (which Em referred to as “her friends”), you found a shaded bench by the splash pad. Shoes were off. Chubby toddler legs were kicking water in all directions. Paige sat cross-legged on the concrete beside her, letting the spray hit her jeans, not caring one bit.

“Okay, okay,” Paige said, pointing at a tiny spout, “if I put my hand here, will it spray me in the face?”

Your daughter nodded, wild-eyed. “Yes! Do it! Do it!”

Paige pretended to consider. “I dunno… seems risky.”

“Do it, Mama! Be brave!”

You watched from the bench, barely holding back a laugh as Paige gave in with theatrical flair. She slapped her palm on the stream and—true to your daughter’s prediction—it shot directly into her face.

Both of them screamed.

Your daughter collapsed into giggles, falling back into your lap as Paige wiped her face and feigned betrayal.

“I trusted you!” she cried.

“I sorry,” your daughter said through giggles, not sorry at all.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a tiny little prankster, that’s what you are.”

She pounced, grabbing your daughter from your arms and tickling her belly until the poor girl was a breathless, wriggling mess.

Later, after lunch from a taco truck and ice cream melting faster than you could eat it, the three of you laid on a picnic blanket near the edge of the park. Paige was on her back, your daughter curled up on her chest, slowly blinking up at the blue sky. She was coming down from her sugar high, hair damp from the water, eyelids fluttering.

You leaned over, resting your head on Paige’s shoulder.

“Tired?” you asked.

“Like, I’d-rather-get-run-over-by-a-scooter-than-move tired,” Paige whispered back. “But this is the happiest I’ve been in… I don’t even know how long.”

You looked down at your daughter’s little hand resting on Paige’s shirt, her tiny thumb unconsciously stroking Paige’s collarbone. Paige didn’t even seem to notice—she was so used to the closeness now.

“She loves you so much,” you said, your voice quiet.

Paige turned her head to look at you. “I’d give her the moon if she asked.”

You smiled, and she kissed you softly, the kind of kiss that didn’t need fireworks or urgency—just comfort and presence. Just love.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the buildings. You started packing up while Paige stayed sprawled out on the blanket, your daughter now fully asleep, mouth slightly open, cheek pressed to Paige’s chest.

As you folded up the corner of the blanket, Paige looked up at you, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think they’ll ever get used to this?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The world. The media. Everyone who thinks I should be with Azzi or still single. Everyone who can’t imagine I’d choose this—quiet Saturdays and sippy cups over spotlight interviews.”

You met her gaze and smiled softly. “They don’t have to understand it. You just have to live it.”

Paige looked down at the little bundle on her chest, then back at you. “I’m living it. And it’s perfect.”

By the time you made it back to the car, your daughter was groggy and muttering something about needing her stuffed puppy. Paige kissed her forehead, promised they’d find it when they got home, then strapped her gently into the car seat.

As she closed the door, you caught her hand.

“Hey,” you murmured, tugging her in.

She stepped into you easily, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Thank you,” you whispered against her temple.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being this. For loving us like this.”

Paige tilted her head, brushing her lips across your jaw. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

And with your daughter softly snoring in the backseat, the air still warm with sun and laughter, you believed her with your whole heart.

Sundays in Dallas were slower, warmer in every way. The city was quieter. Even the breeze felt lazy, like it didn’t have anywhere to be. Today, you and Paige had taken your daughter to the Dallas Farmers Market — your favorite spot for fresh fruit, wandering stalls, and letting your toddler explore the world in her little denim overalls and butterfly sneakers.

She held Paige’s hand as she toddled toward a booth selling homemade soaps, squealing about the ones shaped like ducks. Paige, with her signature cap pulled low and sunglasses on, nodded along like this was a very important duck decision.

You were laughing, sipping your coffee, when it happened.

“Wait… hold up.”

You turned toward the voice just as Paige froze.

Two figures stood by a booth across the path. Tall, athletic, and unmistakable even out of uniform. Dijonai Carrington and NaLyssa Smith.

“PAIGE?” Dijonai called, her eyebrows practically hitting her hairline. “Is that you?”

Paige straightened slowly, adjusting her hat like it might help her hide in plain sight. “Heyyyy... guys.”

NaLyssa squinted. “Are you holding hands with a baby?”

You tried not to laugh, especially as Paige’s eyes flicked to you with a silent help me.

“She’s a toddler, actually,” you said, stepping up and offering a warm smile. “And yes. That’s our daughter.”

Dijonai’s jaw dropped so fast you swore you heard it.

“OUR?!”

Your daughter looked up at the sound and instantly broke into a grin. “Mama!” she shouted, lifting both arms toward Paige. Paige scooped her up with practiced ease.

NaLyssa blinked. “Mama?!”

“Okay, okay,” Paige laughed, already blushing. “Let me explain.”

After the initial shock wore off—and after your daughter insisted on showing them her duck soap and a sticker she got from a face painting booth—you all decided to hang out the rest of the day.

The five of you ended up grabbing Thai food from a food stand and sprawling out at a nearby park on the grass. The energy was light, Emma chasing butterflies and occasionally tripping into Paige’s lap, then laughing like it was the best thing ever.

NaLyssa took to her like an auntie in five seconds flat, giving her piggyback rides while Dijonai tried (and failed) to braid her curly hair.

By the time the sun started dipping low, you looked at Paige and smiled. “We should invite them over.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. They’re not gonna let this go without the full story anyway.”

That evening, with your daughter finally asleep upstairs—curled in her bed with her stuffed puppy tucked under one arm—you all lounged in your cozy living room. The lights were dimmed, music soft in the background, a couple candles flickering on the coffee table.

You poured glasses of wine, passing them around before curling up next to Paige on the couch. She stretched her arm around you, fingers gently tracing your shoulder as you sipped.

“Alright,” Dijonai said, settling into the beanbag like she owned it. “Spill. We need the entire story. Like… Paige Bueckers has a family. Who would’ve guessed?”

Paige smiled, leaning into you a little. “It’s not as dramatic as you think.”

You nudged her playfully. “Kinda is.”

NaLyssa raised her glass. “Let’s hear it.”

You glanced at Paige, who gave you the go-ahead. So you started.

“Well… we met at UConn. I wasn’t a player—I was studying sports medicine and doing photography for the women’s basketball program.”

“She had a camera in her hand every time I looked up from the court,” Paige added with a soft laugh.

“I got pregnant right around the start of my second year, basketball season was just beginning,” you said, tone quieting a little. “It was… unplanned. The baby daddy didn’t stick around.”

Dijonai’s smile dropped. “Damn. That sucks.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It was rough. But Paige… she just showed up. Not all at once. Just… little things. Bringing me food. Walking me back to my dorm when my ankles were too swollen. Sitting with me during appointments when I couldn’t reach my mom.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Paige said. “But I knew I wanted to help her. I wanted to be around.”

“And then one day, she showed up with a crib she built herself,” you continued, laughing softly. “Badly built, by the way.”

“Hey!” Paige protested. “That thing held perfectly until month six.”

NaLyssa giggled. “So when did it… become more than friendship?”

You looked at Paige, your eyes softening.

“It was slow,” you said. “But honest. I think I loved her before I realized I did. Before I even knew I was allowed to.”

“I fell first,” Paige admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I waited until she was ready. I wasn’t going to push it.”

You looked down at your wine, smiling. “And by the time our daughter was born, it was just… obvious. She was already her mama. Her name deserved to be on the birth certificate. We got married shortly after Emma was born. No doubts whatsoever.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Dijonai let out a long whistle. “So I guess the ‘Pazzi’ rumors are just rumors, huh?”

Paige burst out laughing. “Yeah. Definitely. Azzi’s actually Emma’s godmother.”

NaLyssa choked on her wine. “What?! Y’all are out here playing chess while the whole internet’s writing fanfics!”

“Yeah,” Paige smirked. “And I read some of them. Wild stuff.”

You gasped. “Paige!”

“What?” she grinned. “Some of ‘em are kinda flattering.”

Dijonai shook her head, laughing. “I love this. I can’t wait to see the look on people’s faces when they find out.”

You looked at Paige, her cheeks flushed with wine and happiness, and smiled. “We’re not rushing that. But it’s nice to finally share it with someone.”

She leaned over and kissed you softly, letting her hand drift over your thigh. “Yeah. Feels good.”

NaLyssa raised her glass again. “To chosen family. And duck soap. And a little girl with the coolest moms in Texas.”

You all clinked glasses.

And in that living room—warm with love, filled with quiet laughter and soft confessions—you realized just how full your life had become.

Not just because of what you had with Paige.

But because of everything you’d built together.

The morning started with pancakes and cartoons, as it usually did. Paige had an early shoot around, but it was her first open-practice session with the team since the season officially kicked off — and she insisted on making it a family affair.

“You sure they won’t mind?” you asked as you buttoned your daughter’s little Wings jersey, the one with Bueckers on the back and “#5” in glitter iron-on patches.

Paige gave you a look like you’d just asked if basketballs were round. “They’ll love it. Trust me — they’re already obsessed with her and they haven’t even met her yet.”

You raised a brow. “They’re gonna be obsessed with me too, right?”

Paige leaned in, kissed you softly, and murmured against your lips, “I already am.”

The College Park Center buzzed with energy when you arrived. The team was mid-practice, music bumping through the speakers, sneakers squeaking across the court. Trainers and staff bustled around, but when Paige jogged in with you and your daughter in tow, heads turned.

A few players paused their drills, doing double takes.

“Is that…?”

“Oh my god, she’s here!”

NaLyssa was the first to run over, already beaming. “Hey! My favorite tiny human!” she called, bending down with arms open.

Your daughter squealed and took off across the hardwood — all bouncing curls and flashing sneakers — throwing herself into NaLyssa’s arms.

“You see that?” Paige said proudly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Star player in the making.”

“You mean star recruiter,” you teased. “She’s already got the team wrapped around her finger.”

Practice paused for a bit — not because it was scheduled to, but because your daughter had singlehandedly hijacked the gym.

Maddy Siegrist taught her how to spin a ball on her finger (badly), and Teaira McCowan gave her piggyback rides down the sideline. Arike pretended to “lose” to her in a 1-on-1 dribble showdown, flopping dramatically every time your daughter drove the ball (slowly pushed it across the court while making car sounds).

Paige, watching from the bench with you tucked under her arm, just smiled like her whole world was right there on that hardwood.

When Coach Chris Koclanes walked over, hands on his hips, you tensed — but the coach just looked at Paige’s daughter, then at you, and broke into a warm grin.

“So,” he said, “this is the little MVP we’ve been hearing about?”

“She’s the real star of the family,” you replied.

Coach nodded sagely. “Well, we’ve got open tryouts in 2042.”

Later, after a water break and some light drills, the team settled into a shooting competition, and Paige brought your daughter onto the court with her.

“Alright, baby girl,” Paige said, handing her a mini basketball, “show ‘em how we do it at home.”

Your daughter squinted at the toddler-sized hoop they’d rolled out, took three steps back, and chucked the ball with everything she had.

It bounced off the rim, hit the floor, and rolled to NaLyssa’s feet.

And everyone still cheered like she just hit a buzzer-beater in the Finals.

“She’s got that dog in her!” NaLyssa yelled.

“Sign her now!” Dijonai called from the baseline.

Emma spun around, arms high in the air, and shouted, “I WIN!”

The team exploded in laughter and applause, and Paige scooped her up and spun her around.

“You always win,” she whispered, kissing her cheek. “Always.”

Practice wrapped up with team stretches, and your daughter sat in Paige’s lap, mimicking every move with a dramatic flair that had half the players in tears from laughing.

You took a few pictures — one of Paige mid-stretch with her daughter copying her pose, both of them giggling, sweat-slick and sunlit under the gym lights. Another of the whole team posing around your daughter like she was their mascot.

By the time you were heading out, your daughter’s head rested sleepily on Paige’s shoulder, a little snack in one hand and her other thumb tucked in her mouth.

“She did great,” you whispered.

“So did I,” Paige murmured back with a grin. “I was so nervous.”

You looked up at her. “About what?”

“Bringing my world together,” she said. “You, her… them. I just didn’t want it to feel weird. Or too much.”

You kissed her gently on the temple. “You didn’t bring your world together, Paige. You built one. And we’re all lucky to be part of it.”

Paige glanced down at your daughter, kissed the side of her head, then looked at you like she couldn’t believe she’d gotten this lucky.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered. “I’ve got my whole team right here.”

The next morning, you were still in pajamas, your daughter sitting in her high chair absolutely covered in oatmeal, when Paige’s phone started blowing up.

She frowned at it, brushing oatmeal off her hoodie as she picked it up. “Uh… babe?”

You looked up from your coffee. “Hmm?”

“I think… I think we just went viral.”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

Dallas Wings – Instagram (@/dallaswings) [“Golden” – Harry Styles] “The Bueckers Era has officially begun 💙💚”

The video opened with Paige walking into the practice facility holding your daughter’s hand — her tiny legs moving double-time to keep up, her jersey bouncing as she walked.

Cut to:

Paige tying her daughter’s shoes on the bench

A shot of you sitting court side with your camera in hand, smiling at them

Your daughter making a shot in the toddler hoop and doing a victory dance as the team erupts

Paige picking her up and spinning her in the air, both of them laughing

Finally, a close-up of your daughter asleep on Paige’s chest during cool-down, Paige’s hand protectively over her back

And then…

Overlay text at the end: “Family.”

The comments? Unhinged.

@/wnbastan69: wait... PAIGE IS A MOM???

@/wingsnation: WHO IS THAT WOMAN ON THE BENCH. SHE'S GORGEOUS. IS THAT HER WIFE???

@/bucketsqueen: this is not a drill. paige bueckers is a MILF. i repeat—

@/azzistan: I KNEW she wasn’t with Azzi. THE BABY IS CALLING HER MAMA.

@/uconnfan1 ok. hear me out. that woman has a tattoo of Paige’s number on her arm. go back to the February UConn Gala photos. it's her. they've been together.

The TikTok version? Hit 1.2 million views in three hours.

And your DMs? Albeit being private. Piling up with everything from “CONGRATS OMG” to “how did you pull her???” to “tell us your love story pls pls pls.”

You just turned your phone over and looked at Paige, who was feeding your daughter a blueberry while trying not to panic.

“Well,” you said, sipping your coffee. “Hard launch.”

That night, the Wings media team reached out about doing a feature for their upcoming mini docuseries, “Inside the Paint.” Paige hesitated, but you looked at her and said:

“If we’re gonna tell it… let’s tell it right.”

You, Paige, and your daughter sat side-by-side on the couch in your home, camera crew set up across from you.

“She’s my whole heart,” Paige said, glancing at Emma who was now climbing into her lap with a granola bar. “She’s not technically mine. But she is.”

You nodded. “We met at UConn. I was pregnant — alone. Paige was just… Paige. Gentle. Always there.”

The camera caught Paige’s hand finding yours.

“She helped raise her. Changed diapers. Did midnight feeds. Built cribs badly,” you teased.

“She was the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t alone in it,” you continued. “And somewhere along the way, we just… fell in love.”

“My name’s on the birth certificate,” Paige added softly. “And my last name’s on both of theirs now.”

“Mama was all she knew Paige to be.”

The crew filmed the bookshelf with framed family photos. Paige carrying your daughter on her shoulders at the beach. You three asleep on the couch in a tangle of limbs. A picture of Azzi Fudd holding your daughter at her baptism with tears in her eyes.

“She’s the godmother,” Paige confirmed, grinning. “Azzi. The real MVP.”

The episode dropped on YouTube and Instagram the following weekend. And in under 24 hours, it was the top trending topic on WNBA Twitter and TikTok.

The reactions? A mix of sobbing emojis, fan art of your little family, and people just melting over how soft Paige was the whole time.

@/bballdreams: I thought I couldn’t love Paige Bueckers more. And then she became a wife and a mom. I’m DONE.

@/fanbrushfire: [art of Paige in uniform holding your daughter’s hand, with you in the background cheering them on] “Mama Bueckers”

@/sidelineheart: Paige Bueckers being a quiet, private wife and mother and then casually dropping the most beautiful love story I’ve ever heard?? How is this real??

That night, curled up with Paige on the couch, your daughter asleep upstairs, you scrolled through the chaos while Paige played with your fingers.

“You okay with it?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “I’m glad it’s out there. You deserved to be known like this.”

She kissed your temple. “We deserved to be known.”

The Wings had just pulled off a thrilling win against the Mercury. Paige had dropped 19 with 8 assists, but the real surprise came postgame.

As the buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted, the arena lights dimmed for the usual fan-appreciation wrap-up — but then the Jumbotron lit up with something unexpected.

“Special Presentation” — the screen read, flashing between highlights of the game and a video montage.

Your daughter appeared on-screen, wearing an oversized Wings hoodie, shyly grinning.

“Hi Mama,” her tiny voice said, echoing across the arena. “I proud of you. You my favorite player ever and ever. Can I give hug now?”

The arena melted.

Paige turned, stunned, and saw you at the tunnel — holding your daughter, her eyes bright and excited.

The crowd parted like the sea as the two of you walked onto the court. Your daughter wriggled out of your arms and ran straight to Paige, who dropped to her knees to catch her.

The ovation was deafening.

Tears welled in Paige’s eyes as she kissed her daughter’s cheek, holding her tightly, forehead resting against her tiny one.

The announcer laughed through the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen… the real MVP of the night.”

@/espnW: Paige Bueckers just got surprised on court by her wife and daughter after the Wings win. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. 🥹💙

@/wnbatalk: “Can I give hug now?” I’m SOBBING. Who raised that little angel?!

@/courtsidechronicles: Paige crying while hugging her daughter, then looking at her wife like she hung the moon? Love is so real.

@/fanartfridays: [Art of the three of you walking off the court hand-in-hand, with the Wings logo glowing behind you.] “The Heart of Dallas.”

You tucked your daughter into bed, her plush Wings blanket pulled up to her chin. Paige leaned down and whispered, “You were so brave today, baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mama,” she mumbled, already drifting.

You walked back downstairs together, hand in hand.

On the couch, Paige wrapped her arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder.

“I think they really know us now,” she murmured.

You tilted your head toward her. “They do.”

“And they love her,” she added, a proud smile blooming across her face.

“She’s impossible not to love,” you whispered. “Just like her mom.”

Paige kissed your cheek and pulled you closer, the glow of the moment still radiating through every room of your home.

“Thank you,” she said. “For letting me have this life.”

You turned in her arms, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

“We built this life together. And the best part? We’re just getting started.”

The WNBA season had hit its brief midseason break, and for the first time in months, the house was quiet. You were curled up on the couch flipping through a book while Paige lay on the floor with Em lying across her chest, both completely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of Paige’s breathing.

Then Paige’s phone buzzed from the coffee table.

She carefully reached for it, glancing at the screen without disturbing the sleepy toddler snuggled into her.

Azzi: I swear to God if I don’t see my goddaughter in person soon I will riot

Paige smiled and nudged you with her foot. “Guess who’s demanding visitation rights.”

You looked up, already grinning. “Azzi?”

She showed you the screen and you snorted. “She’s obsessed. But, fair. You know we’ve been meaning to visit.”

Paige’s voice dropped to a softer tone as she looked down at the little girl sleeping peacefully on her chest. “I think it’s time we go back. Just for a few days.”

“Back to where it all started?” you asked.

Paige met your eyes, voice thick with nostalgia. “Back home.”

#paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #lesbian #wlw #paige buckets #paige x reader #wuh luh wuh #wnba x reader #dallas wings

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tiktaalic · 5 months ago

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pa said the well's run dry he said the bank came out yesterday and said we're gonna have to sell the blog and get work in the city like the rest of folks less we can come up with something real quick. he was all ready to sign the papers today but i begged him to wait to give me time to find something anything and he sighed and said he could give me a week and not a minute more. and i nodded and i cried because he was right when he said there was next to nothing i could do and even if i did find a miracle. all our neighbors shuffled off weeks months years ago because the posts dried up and the bank came knocking. i break open my piggy bank hoping there's enough drafts in there to tide us over. i sit there. and i have to decide if it's worth spending everything i have just to buy us an extra day. and i know this extra day will consist of walking around mute and shellshocked. and i decide. it's worth it. i give pa all my drafts and he looks at me and shakes his head and his voice cracks when he says i better keep hold of those for getting settled in the city. i could fight him. i don't. i leave all my drafts on the table and storm out the back door. there must be something. they must have just missed it. pa says he knows this blog better than anyone. but i grew up here, same as him. and as much as he loves it, i love it more. when i was seven years old he tore the place apart looking for me after i wandered off. but i wasn't lost. i'd found a tag to play in, happy as could be. he never found me, or the tag, i just wandered back out when i got hungry. it's pa's blog, but it's my home. i know where the creeks and streams and ponds are. i know if i look hard enough, i can find a new posting well.

day one, i strike out. i wake up before dawn. i come in after dusk with no posts to show for it. pa's boxing up our plates when i walk in. he doesn't say anything. i don't either.

day two, i wander a further. yesterday, i was following a map with areas of interest marked in order of likelihood of success. today, i pick a direction and walk. i have more to show for it, if only barely. i get home with one bucket of posts. pa tells me i should keep them.

day three i wake up because pa's dragging furniture into the yard for a yard sale. when i ask him what he's doing he says he'd rather be paid flop drafts by our neighbors than flop drafts by the bank. i walk back inside. get my map. i get home after midnight with empty hands.

day four. when i wasn't looking, the cold single minded determination turned into fear. i'm realizing i'm running out of time. i'm realizing the reason pa didn't put up a fight is because he knew there was nothing out here. i could kill him. what kind of farmer depends on one well? my heart isn't in it today. i head out after noon. i'm back before dusk. there's been a stack of empty boxes sitting outside my room since pa told me the news. i haven't touched them. tonight, i take one and put away some of my things.

day five. there's more ground to cover. it's more out of a sense of completion than anything. so that when we're in the city, i can say, i did everything i could. i looked everywhere. this was the only option. i stop midday for a rest. the ground i put my palms on is curiously softer than the rest. i dig. it comes away easily. it turns into mud. heart thudding in my ears, i keep digging. the mud gives way to a trickle of posts. ears roaring. i keep digging. hands covered in mud. the trickle turns into a stream. i start yelling for pa. i'm too far from the house for him to hear me, but i'm not thinking about that right now. i'm thinking about the posts in front of me, clear and fresh. text posts. gifs. amvs. there's enough to live another twenty years on this blog. i splash my face. i laugh. i fill my bucket. i'll have to bring more. we'll have to get the pump set up. because there are enough new supernatural posts here for me and my children to build a life.

#etxt

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readychilledwine · 14 days ago

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New Beginnings

Summary - Having two mates was never easy, especially when you all had different homes.

Warnings - Readers boyfriends definitely are not boyfriends, references to smut, swearing, drinking

A/N - you all thought I wouldn't try to get my poop in a group for my beloved @polysjmweek? Wrong. I had drafts. I'm forcing myself to post them. @acourtofladydeath, forgive my lateness. And my dropping of many things late. Closed Vs are something we had talked a lot about, and I wanted to make sure to feature one this year! A closed v is a challenging dynamic that requires 3 very secure people, and it felt so right to start my late posting with this.

This fic was written for day 1 - who's court is it anyways?

SJM Poly+ Week 2025 Masterlist

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

“Mother, save me,” you murmured as Azriel and Eris started arguing again. Life would have been easier if Azriel and Eris were also mates, but the Cauldron decided this was much more entertaining. You sighed and got between them. They’d been arguing for several hours about which court you three would be settling into as a permanent home. Eris wanted to stay in Autumn, and rightfully so, with his chances of being High Lord so high. Azriel believed the Night Court was the best option and that he owed Rhysand his life, possibly even his first born with how loyal he was.

Your home had been immediately denied. “Why would we move to the coldest place in Prythian,” Eris had asked. Azriel immediately had agreed, stating his wings would freeze in the bitter winds of the Winter Court.

“Rhysand needs me,” Azriel growled at Eris. “My court needs me!”

“So does mine,” Eris shot back. “I will be High Lord some day, and I have to be in Autumn to heal Autumn!”

You sighed softly, hands on two strong chests as they glared. “Does anyone care what I think?” Both males seemed to relax at the sound of your voice. “Because I think this is ridiculous, and maybe we all aren’t actually ready to move into one home.” The silence that met that statement was deafening. You had spent the last 7 years having to bounce between Autumn and Night. a week with Ers. A week with Azriel. A week at home, the Mountain House, a quiet comfort. Dating two males, being mated to two males, especially two males who were not interested in each other, was not for the faint of heart. You took a deep breath, eyes closing as you did. “I think we have a great thing,” you continued. “Our relationship and the dynamic we have is special to me, but I worry it isn’t special to you two. I worry that us moving in together will not be with you not-” You paused. “With you two.. Unable to cooperate and get along.”

Eris and Azriel looked at you, eyes so different. Eris was inquisitive, Azriel was stunned. You had never shown any signs of thinking there were issues within the relationship the 3 of you shared, at least, not issues you had acknowledged to them. You were such a relaxed fae and would go where the wind took you. Eris sat down, knowing this was a serious conversation time, not a fun one. He pointed to the chair across from the couch he was on, his rings sparkling on his long finger as you moved and sat. Azriel sat by Eris, leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “How long have you felt this way,” Eris was fighting to keep his voice soft. “And why are the two of us just finding out?”

Azriel then added, “And how can we fix it?”

They had similarities, and this process was one of them. They allowed the comfortable silence to fall over the room as you thought and then took a deep breath. “I think I first started feeling this way at our first Starfall all together. I felt pulled and like spending too much time with Azriel disrespected you,” you said to Eris. “But too much time with Eris, and I was hurting you,” you directed at Azriel. “I felt.. Spread so thin.”

Eris nodded in clear thought. He was thinking over everything you had told them first before nodding, wanting you to continue. “I have tried to bring it up to both of you one on one since us in one place rarely happens, but my time with Azriel is spent-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” the Illyrian blushed.

“And my time with Eris is spent acting like the perfect future Lady of Autumn,” you smiled and held in a laugh to Azriel’s sudden shyness.

Eris chuckled, a laugh deep and full like his whiskey, “A shame, really. Sounds like your time with Azriel is much more productive than your time with me. Does she curl her -"

Azriel blushed harder, the faint pinkish-red hiding under his tan skin. “Shut up, Eris. She still has to tell us how to fix it.” They both turned back to you, “Keep talking, salvation.”

It was your turn to blush, the precious nickname Azriel had given you always enough to make your heart flutter and the bond grow warm. “I just would like you two to be friends. For you two to learn to be civil enough that we could spend time as the three of us. I don’t need you two to ever want to have sex, but knowing I could leave you two alone for 2 or 3 hours to head to market without one of you being dead when I came back would be nice.” Both males nodded.

Another deep breath relaxed the feeling of your heart beating in your chest. The two of them were studying each other. “It starts with addressing the elephant in the room, Eris,” You said as gently as you could.

He leaned forward more, taking a moment to center, and he began. He told Azriel everything about his relationship with Mor, the illyrian nodding as Eris explained his choices to Azriel and explained everything he had done was to protect Mor, you, and himself. Azriel then had to explain himself as well, admitting the Night Court had a plan for killing Eris as soon as Morrigan said yes, but they had told Morrigan it would not happen now that Azriel was tied to Eris in a roundabout way. It was several hours of your mates talking, voices low and unhurried. They’d never gotten along this well and for this long.

The conversation switched at some point, the males going from discussing their issues to the things you had known for a while they shared in common. Dancing being the biggest one. From there it became showing their dagger collection. Discussions on the hounds. Hunting. You.

Beautiful, brilliant you.

You were the first to retire for the evening, standing in the hall between the guest room and Eris’s. Whenever the 3 of you were together, you had to make a choice on who you slept with each night, bouncing between beds sometimes like it should have been a profession. Soft hands led you by your hips, pushing you into Eris’s room. The warm scent of baked apple and fire was like a pull, drawing you in more and more. Your own hands found the ones holding you, scarred flesh, greeting them. “I think his bed is large enough for all three of us,” a voice like deep night whispered to you. “Think we can make that work? We know how happy it would make you, and it is time for us to try.” If Eris had a scent that pulled like a magnet, Azriel’s was the lock shutting you in. The two mixed, that chilled air and cedar in weaving into fire, felt like the safest combination you had ever wrapped yourself into.

“I think we’d all fit,” the softness of your voice had him smiling.

“Then lay down. We’ll come in once we finish our drinks.”

And that night, the three of you tucked into one bed together. It felt like something new was beginning. A new chapter. One you had been hoping to welcome for far too long now.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

#elizabeths.updates #send asks #send anons #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #eris vanserra #azriel x reader #eris x reader #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader x Azriel #poly+sjmweek2025

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emeraldserenade · 1 month ago

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The Better Cousin ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you agreed to be your friend's date to his cousin's birthday, it got complicated when he started flirting with a girl. You end up confiding in Joaquín when he approaches you.

tw: fem!reader, limited use of y/n, cabnw spoliers, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

This did not turn out the way I wanted it but it's whatever.

I'm just finishing up some things I have in my drafts so that way I will less guilty when I have to stop posting while I'm dealing with my family thing.

➽──────────────❥

It was as simple, accepting to be your friend's date. He was tired of his family asking when he was going to get a girlfriend. You loved him, sure, but you weren't in love with him. There was no feelings which is why you were so comfortable with it. Sure, you had to go on a roadtrip with your work friend all the way to Arizona.

It was going well, you met his family and had a good time. That's when him and some of his cousin's decided to go to a bar after the party. Which is where you found yourself, sitting alone and staring at him as he flirted and made out with a blonde.

"Hey, y/n, right?" Joaquín, one of the cousin's you had yet to talk to, asked when he sat down. "I'm Joaquín," he offered his hand and you shook it.

"Hi," you awkwardly told him, not knowing what else to say.

"Where's Richie?" Joaquín looked around and you saw the moment he spotted Richie. "Is he?"

"Making out with a blonde? Yeah," you shrugged, knowing that after this he would tell his family that you two broke up.

"You don't sound upset," Joaquín looked back at you.

"Richie and I aren't actually dating, we're friends. Coworkers mostly, he just didn't want to be hounded by your family about being single," you grabbed your drink, just a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, the jingle of your bracelets causing Joaquín to look at them.

"Really?"

"Yeah, we had a plan. I was going to show up with him and then in like a week or so he was going to say we either broke up or come clean. Whichever he chose, I was willing to be the bad guy," you shrugged, not really caring.

"What's the plan now that he's making out with her?" Joaquín sounded genuinely curious.

"Here comes the rest of your family, so I guess I'm coming clean," you told Joaquín as his family came up with sympathy. There was a lot of comforting words from them, it made you smile knowing that even though they've only know you for a day they were willing to comfort you.

"I'll go fight his ass," Felix told you before moving to walk away.

"Wait," you called out, gently grasping his wrist. "It's ok, and I'm not just saying that. Richie and I are coworkers, friends. He just didn't want you guys to ask about a girlfriend so I said I would pretend. Truly, it's my fault, I suggested it. Well, not that I would be his fake girlfriend but that he could just lie about having one, he asked me if I would pretend. And I'm going to stop talking now," you realized you were rambling. Everyone around you just nodded and you realized how they weren't in the least bit shocked.

"Oh, thank goodness," one of the female cousins, Angeline, laughed. "No offense, but you could do so much better than Richie. Trust me," he smiled at you and you smiled back. Everyone dispersed from around you, minus Joaquín.

"They weren't shocked," you stated in slight disbelief.

"Every time he was asked something about you or talked about you, he sounded so disinterested. Everyone thought this was once sided and didn't want to hurt your feelings," Joaquín told you and you raised your eyebrows.

"Oh, I guess I never thought about how bad he was at acting," you mumbled.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Joaquín had been talking for hours, both of you hadn't been drinking. You were approached a few minutes ago by various cousins saying they were headed home. You two were only still there waiting on Richie to either go home with the blonde or come over staying he was ready to go.

"So you're the new Falcon?" You were leaning close to Joaquín, the music in the bar had been turned down a little but it was still relatively loud.

"I am, I just have to finish healing before Sam will let me do anything," Joaquín told you. He had told you about what happened at Celestial Island.

"That's cool," you're eyes tracked Richie as he walked over.

"Are you two ok with me going with Ginny?" He pointed his thumb over to the blonde he's been talking to all night.

"That's fine with me," you looked over at Joaquín who nodded.

"Well, see you two," Richie ran over to Ginny and you looked back at Joaquín.

"Ready to go home?" Joaquín stood and offered you his hand, which you accepted.

"I hope you mean back to your family home because I live all the way out in DC," you joked.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín and you carefully walked back into the house, most of the lights were off which is why you both slightly jumped when you ran into his mother in the living room. You stepped closer to him while he wrapped his arm around your shoulders in fear.

"Oh, Quino, y/n, you two are home," she gave you a smile. "The others told the rest of us all about the plan you and Richie had, my dear," her smile shifted into a knowing one.

"I'm sorry about lying to all of you," you hung your head slightly.

"It's ok," you missed the way her eyes went between you and Joaquín. His arm still around your shoulders and you stepping even closer. "I understand wanting to help a friend, plus maybe there's come good in this after all. We did get to meet you," she smiled and you looked back up at her with one of your own. "Oh, I hope you don't mind but we moved some people into the room you were supposed to stay in. I hope you don't mind having to share a room with Quino."

"Oh," you are Joaquín shared a look. "I don't mind if you don't," you told Joaquín.

"I don't," he told you.

"Good, we moved you things in there. Now run along to bed you two," Joaquín's mom told you, both of you wishing her a good night before going upstairs to bed.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"You two know," Richie started talking, it had been a few years since you first went with him to his cousin's birthday. You and Joaquín had been dating for 2 of those. "You two wouldn't be together if it weren't for me," Richie gloated, you were sitting on Joaquín's lap laughing. You felt his arms tighten around your waist.

"Hm, and you wouldn't be single if you just listened to me and asked Ginny out. Yet here you are, single and moping because you're a coward," you gave Richie a bitchy smile.

"You win, this time," he told you.

"I win every time, how else do you think I got the better cousin?" You leaned back into Joaquín as everyone laughed.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #mcu #cabnw #cabnw spoilers #marvel mcu

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annicht · 10 months ago

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teamwork

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader | very suggestive fluff

word count: 1.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your eyes always dart to him, flashing a playful smile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you looked at him tilting your head puzzled

“Where did you get that?”

“At the bar across the street”

you tilted your head even more

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

“Exactly”

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

“Why?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Damn, you’re good—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that’s exactly what you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckk… eagerrr, are we?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me Tetsurou”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? So we are fucking then?”

you narrow your eyes, he got you now.

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

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

“Not here, Tetsuro—”

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

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

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

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro smut #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsurō #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #post time skip haikyuu #JVA

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rhiannonsknife · 3 months ago

Note

Do you think Lottie's parents would let her poor best friend (cough cough, her girlfriend) visit her in Switzerland?

Like imagine it, we're together before the crash, she disappears and we lose her, she comes back and she's 'different' and silent. It's sickening upsetting to see happen to the person you love.

Trying to help as best as possible but just as there's improvement, she's shipped off. After a while she is finally allowed visitors and we're greeted with 'our Lottie' (the Lottie we saw with the bob cut, acting somewhat normal when she calmed her roommate down ?)

- 🌿

— YOU’RE AS FAR FROM ME AS MEMORY

— warnings: hurt/comfort. angst. established relationship. post-crash lottie & gn!reader.

— a/n: after receiving some lottie requests, i finally sat down to edit this old draft. i’m so sorry it took over a month to finish 🌿 anon! i hope you like it <3

before the crash, back when you and lottie were inseparable, practically two halves of the same whole, you were hers, and she was yours.

you weren’t the same, far from it, but where she was softer, quieter, you had no trouble filling the gaps. the differences never mattered. not to her. not to you.

you were her safe place, her person. it didn’t matter what anyone thought, not the other girls on her team, not even her mother, with her sharp eyes and even sharper comments.

the disapproving glances, the subtle digs about how you spent too much time at their house, how you were ‘a distraction’, none of it ever phased lottie. she would just roll her eyes, brushing it off like it was nothing. ‘ignore her,’ she’d say, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door.

and for a long time, nothing could get between the two of you. what did change that, in the end, was the crash.

when the plane goes down, you lose her in the worst way imaginable: not to death, but to the agonizing unknown. there’s no closure like this, no way of saying goodbye, just the silence that follows the chaos and a stretch of empty days that bleed into weeks, into months. 19 torturous months. you cycle through grief, hope, and despair as the world gives up on the girls one by one.

you never do.

you hold on to her in the only way you know how, clinging to every memory to keep whatever remains of her alive: the sound of her laugh. the way lottie would say your name when no one else was listening, soft and unguarded.

even as the days go on endlessly and everyone around you insists it’s time to let go, you refuse to believe she’s really gone. you don’t care that the world seems to move on without her, without any of them. you don’t.

because in your heart, in your stubborn, aching heart that refuses to let go, you know lottie is out there. somewhere.

and then, against all odds and after almost 2 years, she comes home.

she’s thinner than you ever could have imagined, gaunt and hollowed out as she steps off the plane. the shadows beneath her eyes seem to belong to someone else, someone you’ve never known and her face bears the mark of whatever things she’s been through out there.

a new scar cuts across her face, a jagged line of red against her pale skin and her eyes don’t look at you. they don’t meet yours as she steps forward, as if the world around her is something she can’t quite make sense of anymore. lottie’s alive. she’s standing right in front of you, but somehow it feels like she’s still a thousand miles away.

she doesn’t speak at first. not to you or anyone else.

the girl you remember is gone. in her place is someone entirely different. someone guarded. quiet.

lottie flinches at any loud sounds, her body tensing, an instinctive reaction that feels so foreign. her hands are twitching at her sides when she’s anxious, restless, unable to stay still even when she’s trying.

at night, it’s even worse.

the first time you hear lottie screaming in her sleep, it chills you to the bone. it’s not words, nothing coherent, just these sharp, guttural sounds that tear from her throat, like lottie is fighting something in her dreams, something that’s trying to get her, that won’t let go.

you rush to her side immediately, gripping her hand, whispering her name until she wakes up, gasping and drenched in sweat. still, lottie doesn’t say anything at all. you can see it in the way she trembles, in the way her body curls into itself, that she’s seeking comfort in a world that feels too big, too loud, too overwhelming.

physically, lottie has come back, but it feels like a part of her has stayed behind in the woods where they’ve been found.

you visit her every day, bringing her little things; flowers, books, her favorite snacks. you tell her stories about school, about what she missed.

you know she’s listening. you feel it in the way lottie sometimes glances at you, the way her eyes flicker over your face, as though she’s trying to remember something. but she doesn’t speak. not yet.

one day, you bring a photo of the two of you from before the crash: you, wearing her soccer uniform. lottie, with her arm slung around your shoulder. both of you grinning for the camera.

you place it gently in front of her, your fingers brushing hers as you do. for a moment, there’s a shift. you don’t know if it’s the picture, or just the sheer act of bringing a piece of her past into her present, but something stirs in lottie then.

her fingers hover over it, trembling slightly as though she’s unsure of how to react, but it’s enough to make your heart race. lottie’s lips part, and her breath catches, but instead of saying anything, she simply shifts. slowly, she drapes her arm around you, just like she did in the picture.

it’s not a verbal response, not the reunion you’ve imagined a thousand times, but it’s more than you could have asked for.

you feel the familiar weight of her arm around you, the warmth of her body leaning close. for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels like your lottie again.

slowly, she starts to come back to you.

a nod here, a faint smile there: small but significant changes, each one another glimmer of the girl she used to be.

the first time she speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper: you’re sitting in her room, reading aloud from a book you brought, when she suddenly says, “that’s dumb.”

you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “what?”

lottie looks at you, her brow furrowed like she’s trying to piece together how to have a conversation again. “the book,” she says, her voice hoarse. “it’s dumb.”

tears spring to your eyes as you laugh, relief flooding through you. “it kind of is, isn’t it?” you agree, setting it aside. “you want to pick something better next time?”

she doesn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth twitches, and she nods.

and just when you start to feel like everything is falling back into place, just when things begin to feel like they’re normal again, it happens.

her parents announce they’re sending lottie away.

it happens suddenly, without warning or time to prepare. one moment, everything is tentative and fragile but steady, and the next, it all shatters.

her mother pulls you aside, her face determined. she explains, almost rehearsed, that it’s for lottie’s own good, that she needs ‘specialized care’ they can’t provide at home.

the next time you see her, her suitcase is already packed.

lottie doesn’t say anything about leaving. when you ask her how she feels about it, she just shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter, as though she has no say in it at all. there’s no fight left in her, not like before.

but when you hug her goodbye, your arms wrapped tightly around her fragile body, you feel it: lottie’s hands clutch the back of your jacket a little too tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric, her breath shaky against your shoulder. you know that she doesn’t want to go.

“i’ll write to you,” you promise with a stolen kiss to her temple. “every day. i mean it.”

lottie doesn’t respond, just nods faintly. and then she’s gone.

the months that follow are almost as unbearable as her time away had been, only this time you know that she’s alive. somewhere out there, across an ocean, in some place that you can’t even imagine, with no real way of knowing what’s happening to her.

theres nothing to find about the facility her mother had told you about, where her parents have placed her in the hopes of fixing what can’t be fixed.

you write to lottie constantly and tell her everything: how much you miss her, how you’re counting down the days until you can see her again, how impossibly quiet it feels without her even though she barely spoke at all in the time before she left. you write her about the little things, too: what the weather is wiskayok is like, updates on your favorite tv shows, silly memories that make you think of her. anything to make her feel like you’re still there with her.

for the longest time there’s no response to your letters.

you try to tell yourself it’s because she’s busy, that maybe the clinic has rules about correspondence, or maybe the letters are just getting lost in transit.

deep down, you’re terrified, scared that lottie is slipping away even more than before.

then, finally, you get one back.

lottie’s handwriting is messier than you remember, shaky and uneven, but it’s unmistakably hers.

she doesn’t say much, just that she’s okay, that she’s adjusting, that she misses you too. there’s one part you cling to, one line that you reread a hundred times: ‘i promise I’m going to be okay’.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears blur the ink on the page. it’s not much, but it’s enough. for now, it’s enough.

over time, the letters start coming more frequently.

at first, they’re short, simple updates on how her therapy sessions are going, what the clinic is like, little details about the group activities they have her doing.

as the weeks go on, they start to feel more like her. she tells you about her roommate, shares stories about the other patients. lottie even slips in a joke now and then, and when she does, you can’t help but smile.

and then, after what feels like an eternity of letters, her parents finally agree to let you visit.

the building is tucked away in the swiss mountains, its clinical white buildings surrounded by green hills and snow-capped peaks in the distance. it’s beautiful, serene, even, but the moment you step through the doors, the atmosphere shifts: inside, things feels too still, the walls too white, too sterile. the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the quiet murmur of staff members moving through the halls only add to your unease.

you’re directed to the common area, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap as you wait.

you instantly drop them when lottie walks in.

the moment you see her, you freeze. you barely recognize her: lottie’s hair is shorter than you’ve ever seen it, barely brushing past her jawline, but she looks less hollow, less outside of her own body than she did when she stepped off that plane.

then her eyes meet yours, and her entire face lights up. for this one moment, it’s like nothing’s changed. that smile, the one you’ve missed so desperately, breaks through.

“hey,” lottie says, her voice steadier than you expected.

“hey,” you echo.

neither of you moves.

you’re not sure if you should hug her, if that’s too much, if she’s even comfortable with something like that. before you can overthink it, lottie closes the distance between you. she steps forward and wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly.

instinctively, you bury your face in her shoulder, your breath catching as you fight back tears.

“i missed you,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“i missed you too,” you whisper back.

you don’t let each other go for what feels like forever, and even when you do, lottie’s hand lingers on your arm, like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go entirely.

the staff gives you a few hours to spend together, and you’re determined make the most of it.

lottie walks you through the clinic’s garden, catching up on everything she’s missed. she listens, really listens, and for the first time in so long, you feel like you’re finally connecting again.

when she starts to open up, she tells you about her therapy sessions, how hard it was at first to trust anyone there, but that it’s getting easier.

“i’m not…fixed or anything,” she says at one point, glancing at you hesitantly. “but it’s better. i feel…calmer”

“you don’t have to be fixed,” you say firmly, giving her hand a squeeze. “you’ve always been enough, just as you are”

lottie looks at you for a long moment, her eyes softening. “thanks,” she says quietly.

the two of you keep walking, but her hand stays in yours.

as the visit winds down, you find yourselves sitting together on a wooden bench near the edge of the garden, where the mountains stretch out in the distance.

lottie rests her head on your shoulder, her short hair brushing against your neck. her fingers graze against yours absentmindedly, tracing patterns on your skin.

her touch is light, moving as if guided by instinct. you smile as lottie traces a small circle, then angles downward into a triangle, her movements branching out with sharp lines. the pattern shifts, ending in a soft curve in the palm of your hand.

“do you think they’ll let you visit again?” she asks, knowing your time is running out.

you turn your head slightly, resting your cheek against her hair. “i’ll make sure of it,” you mumble. “they’re not keeping me away from you.”

lottie tilts her head slightly, just enough to glance up at you. “you’re always so sure of everything,” she smiles.

“not everything,” you admit, chuckling. “but this? you and me? i’m sure about that!”

when the staff approaches, lottie lifts her head, and you feel the loss of her weight against you immediately. she stands slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

“you’ll write me?” she asks.

“every day,” you assure, standing up to face her. “and i’ll be back as soon as they let me!”

before you can fully process it, lottie steps forward and wraps her arms around you. the hug is different from the one when you first arrived: this one feels like a goodbye, like she’s holding onto you with everything she has left.

“i don’t want to let go,” she whispers, so quiet the staff won’t hear.

“i’ll come back for you,” you say as you clutch her tighter.

she pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands still clutching your jacket like it’s the only thing anchoring her. “you’re sure about that?”

“always,” you tell lottie firmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

finally, the staff clears their throat, and you know it’s time. she hesitates before letting her hands drop. “i’ll see you soon,”

“soon,” you echo, watching as she turns and walks back toward the clinic.

you hold onto the hope that next time will be different. that with each visit, she’ll feel a little less like a stranger, and someday, when she finally gets to leave this place, she’ll feel like your lottie again, the one you’ve been waiting for all this time.

the one you will wait for, no matter how long it’ll take.

— c.ai

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #🌿 anon #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x fem!reader #lottie matthews x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #yellowjackets x you

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mountsmase · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: hi 🫶🏻 this fic was inspired by this concept which was sent in by an anon a couple of weeks ago, for some reason this fic ended up being quite challenging for me to write and I ended up scraping one draft and starting again completely, but I’m so happy with how it’s turned out and it’s definitely a fic that I’m now proud of 🥺 I really hope you enjoy and feedback as always is appreciated 🩷

word count: 5k

genre: smut

———————

A Helping Hand - MM7

It’s the scratch of Masons beard against your skin that wakes you. His breath tickling over your skin as he scatters kisses along the expanse of your shoulder.

“Morning” he speaks once he notices you stirring, his gruff morning voice causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Your eyes flutter open, taking a few moments to adjust to the morning light and when they do, you find his already focussed on you.

There’s a lazy smile on his lips, his hair a little messy and you can’t help but reach up, brushing your fingers through the soft strands to push it back from where they’ve fallen onto his forehead.

“Good morning” your voice is sleepy as hold your arms open for him, seeking his warmth under the duvet and he doesn’t hesitate to snuggle up to you, his head finding it’s home in the crook of your neck whilst your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Sleep well?” He murmurs, voice slightly muffled by your skin.

“Yeah, did you?”

He doesn’t respond but you can feel him nodding into your neck, a sigh slipping past his lips when your hand finds the back of his head, fingers scratching over his scalp the way he loves.

You know that you should get up and start your day, the sunlight that’s streaming through the gaps in the curtains an indicator that you’ve probably slept in a little longer than you wanted, but leaving the warmth of the bed is the last thing you want to be doing.

Plus, a little bit of alone time with Mason is exactly what you want right now.

His family are currently visiting from Portsmouth, and as much as you love hosting them, having so many people in the house can definitely get a little bit crazy. Since you moved up to Manchester, their visits have become less frequent, but longer, and they’ve already been staying with you for a couple of days now, planning to stay a few more nights before heading back home.

Family time is so important to you, and you know it is for Mason as well, but quality time is a huge love language of yours, and even though it’s only been a few days, you’ve missed these little moments where it’s just the two of you.

You let out a content sigh, relaxing under him when his hand finds its way under your PJ top, and he doesn’t miss the way you shiver when he presses his lips to your neck.

His fingertips dance over your waist whilst his lips pepper kisses to your skin and you tilt your head back to allow him better access.

The kisses start off as innocent, just presses of his lips to your skin whilst his fingertips trace random patterns over your hip. But they soon turn to more, his lips lingering longer and you hold back a moan when he suctions them over your most sensitive spot, his teeth grazing your skin before soothing the slight sting with his tongue.

Your hands tug on his hair, pulling his head out of your neck and guiding his lips to yours instead. He kisses you back instantly, keeping it soft to start as his lips work over yours, hand moving from your hip to cradle your jaw.

He coaxes your lips open, slipping his tongue inside and you moan into his mouth when it glides against your own, the kiss gradually becoming more heated as he moves further on top of you.

He presses one of his knees between your legs, and you slip them open for him without hesitation, bucking your hips when the new position has his thigh pressing against your clothed centre.

“Mase, we can’t” you whisper, unable to stop your hips from rolling into his and when you feel his hard length pressing into your thigh through his boxers, you want to forget you ever said anything and carry on.

You nearly give into him, sinking into the mattress when he brushes his fingertips along the waist band of your shorts, but the sound of little footsteps running past your bedroom door has you snapping back to reality.

Under other circumstances, you would jump at the opportunity to spend the morning in bed with him, but it’s the thought of getting caught that has you reluctantly rolling away.

You hear a muffled groan behind you when you move away from him and climb out of bed, slipping one of his hoodies on before turning to find him with his face buried in his pillow. You regret leaving him immediately, wanting nothing more than to climb back under those covers, but the rational part of your brain stops you.

“You know we can’t Mase” you huff, walking around to his side of the bed and sitting next to him on the edge of the mattress.

You trail your fingers over his bare shoulders, lightly scratching over his skin in an attempt to get him to look at you.

When he lifts his head from the pillow and gazes up at you with wide eyes and pouted lips, you can’t help but lean down and give him a brief kiss, your lips barely brushing over his before you’re pulling back, way too quick for his liking.

“Do you want any breakfast?” You ask him before standing back up, and he has to stop him self from making a comment about wanting you.

He lets you know that he’ll get something a bit later on, sitting himself up in bed to give you one last kiss before you leave the room. He watches as the door clicks closed behind you, tipping his head back in frustration now that he’s been left alone.

He understands why you don’t want to risk doing anything with other people in the house, because honestly, the thought of getting caught scares the shit out of him too. But, after almost a week of not being able to touch you or love on you how he pleases, he wants nothing more than to go after you and pull you back to bed with him.

His mind is flooded with thoughts as he lays in bed for a while longer, unable to get you out of his head when he climbs out from under the covers and disappears into the en-suite bathroom.

You’re welcomed by a series of ‘good morning’s as you enter the combined living/kitchen space, finding everyone already awake and ready for the day when you walk in wearing one of Mason’s hoodies and a pair of PJ bottoms.

“Morning” you greet them all with a smile, heading into the kitchen to make yourself a drink, and you’re just switching the kettle on when Lewis comes up beside you.

“We were thinking of heading out for a walk in a little bit, you and Mase are obviously welcome to join us if you want to” he tells you, and you lean back against the counter beside him to get a better look out of the window.

You ponder over his question for a moment, noticing that it’s an abnormally sunny day for the middle of winter, and as much as a walk would be nice, some alone time with Mason sounds way more appealing.

You politely decline his offer, letting him know that you’ll stay home before asking if anyone else wants a drink and busying yourself with making them.

Your mind begins swirling with thoughts of what you and Mason could get up to if they’re out for even just an hour, and you scold yourself for thinking those things in front of his family, but you can’t help growing impatient as you wait for them to leave.

You follow them to the door when they’re ready, waving them off before closing it and watching from the window, you make sure they’re past the end of the driveway before you’re heading back upstairs.

You enter your bedroom, expecting to find Mason still in bed where you left him not even ten minuets ago, but you soon notice the sound of running water coming from the en-suite.

Assuming he’s just having a quick shower, you make your way to the bed, quite happy just waiting for him to be finished, but a noise that sounds strangely like a moan catches your attention. You stop in your tracks, waiting for a moment to see if it’s followed by another.

There’s silence for a few seconds, and you’re convinced that you’re just hearing things until another, louder and more clear moan comes from the bathroom.

Its still muffled, barely audible over the sound of the water, but it has heat rushing straight towards your core, mind swirling with thoughts about what exactly he’s doing behind that door.

Your curiosity carries you across the room, hand reaching to push the en-suite door open slightly and you peak your head around the side to find him stood with his back to you in the shower.

Your view is a little obstructed with all of the steam covering the glass, but you can just make out that he has one hand steadying himself against the wall, the other in front of him with the stream of water hitting his chest.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out what he’s doing, his posture tense and the muscles in his arm flexing with every movement of his hand as he pleasures himself, completely unaware of your presence.

You feel yourself flush from head to toe, cheeks blazing as you move yourself further into the steamy bathroom, careful not to catch his attention as you click the door closed behind you.

You’re debating what to do, not knowing whether to leave him be or join him, but your mind is made up when he lets out a groan, followed by a moan of your name which has your tummy doing somersaults.

You rid yourself of your PJs, throwing them in the rough direction of the laundry basket before sliding the shower door open and stepping inside, Mason still unaware of your presence.

Now that you’re in the shower with him, his moans and little whimpers seem louder, clearer and echoing off the tiled walls and they have your legs feeling like jelly as you move towards him.

You approach him slowly, trying your best not to startle him but he still jumps at your touch, halting his movements when he realises he’s be caught.

He slowly starts to relax again when you step closer to him. You run your hands over his back and shoulders, lips following them and drawing a path between his freckles and moles, before landing on the tattoo that sits at the base of his neck.

“You okay?” You finally speak, voice muffled by his skin.

“I, yeah, fuck- I” He stumbles over his words and you watch as he drops his head forward, just about catching his flaming cheeks before he turns his face to hide them from you.

“I’ve got you” you murmur, sliding one of your hands down from his shoulder.

Your fingers brush over his skin, tracing the lines of his Champions League tattoo on their way to his front. You tease your touch over his tummy, smiling to your self when the muscles of his abs flutter under your fingers, before moving to where he needs you most.

His hand is still wrapped around the base of his cock, unmoving since you joined him in the shower a few moments ago, and you gently pull at his wrist, moving his hand away and replacing it with your own.

He feels thick and heavy in your palm when you wrap your fingers around his base, the softest yet most sinful whimper slipping past his lips when you twist your hand over his length.

“Fuck,” he curses when you brush your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre cum that’s collected there.

“Feel good, bubba?” You hum against his skin, lips continuing to scatter kisses over the expanse of his back.

“So good, Angel, fuck”

You bring your free hand around to his front, a whimper leaving his lips when you lightly scratch your nails over his tummy.

Needing to hold onto you in some way, he brings his own hand up, lacing his fingers through yours and he squeezes gently.

You continue to work him with your hand, tightening your grip slightly whenever you get closer to his tip, and the whine he lets out when you tease your thumb over his slit has your knees turning weak.

“Please, baby” He whimpers, head tilting to try and catch a glimpse of you over his shoulder.

You nuzzle your nose into his back, hand continuing to torture him with slow strokes.

“What do you need, Mase?” You whisper against his skin, thumb brushing another teasing stroke over his tip and he can only groan in response, “Need you to tell me what you want or I can’t help you, bubs”

You halt your movements when he still doesn’t respond, his hips hips jerking forward in an attempt to get you to move your fist again, but a frustrated sigh slips past his lips when you make no effort to continue.

“You know what I want” His words come out as more of a mumble, but you could hear the attitude laced in them from a mile away and he whines when you squeeze your fist a little tighter around him.

“I need to hear you say it, Mase” you pry,

“Need you, your mouth - fuck - anything, please” He finally manages to get out, hips bucking into your hand when you give one last stroke over his length.

“Not in here”

You lean up, pressing a barely there kiss to his cheek and he whimpers when your touch leaves him, watching in confusion as you reach around his body to turn the shower off before stepping away from him and out of it completely.

Your words take a few moments to sink in, but he quickly follows when he sees you grabbing two towels from the rail, holding one out for him as you rush to dry yourself off.

“W-wait, what about -“

“They’ve gone out” you tell him briefly, cutting him off mid sentence.

There’s still a few droplets of water cascading down his chest when you grow impatient and take the towel from him, discarding it, along with yours, to the side before pulling him through to the bedroom.

“Sit,” you say, gently pushing on his shoulders and he falls onto edge of the mattress, legs spreading apart when you move to settle on the floor between them.

He sighs contentedly, eyes fluttering closed as you run your hands up the insides of his thighs, his muscles jumping under your touch.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me” you tut, and he sighs, eyes popping opening and locking onto yours.

“Good boy” you mumble, and the praise goes straight to his cock, length twitching when the words leave your lips.

Sliding your hands higher up his thighs, you shuffle forward a little, getting more comfortable between his them and he hisses when your hand wraps around the base of his cock.

“Ready?” You ask him, gazing up at him through your lashes and when he nods, you give him one last stroke before leaning towards him.

You run your tongue along the underside of his length before wrapping your lips around the head, and his deep brown eyes become fixated on yours, his lips parting when you flick your tongue over his tip. The taste of his pre cum coats your tastebuds and you hum around him, watching as he fights to keep his gaze on you.

You continue to tease him, revelling in the whimpers that pour from his lips every time you swipe your tongue over his slit before giving him what he wants.

Relaxing your jaw, you move your mouth further down his length, taking as much of him as you possibly can and he hisses at the sensation of his tip hitting the back if your throat.

“Oh my- fuck, Y/N” the moan of your name has butterflies erupting in your tummy, only spurring you on when you begin to bob your head, hand continuing to work what you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Feel good, Masey?” You coo, and he can only nod his head in response, unable to form a coherent sentence when you swirl your tongue around his tip.

The sinful sounds that leave his lips have you rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction when his hand finds the back of your head. His fingers tangle into your hair, massaging over your scalp and you let him guide you, hollowing your cheeks around him when he lowers your mouth down his length.

You let it slide when his head drops back, his eyes squeezing closed when you take him all the way again. The sight of you on your knees and the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock becoming too much for him as he quickly heads towards his release.

“Gonna make me come already, Angel, oh my god” he pants, and he knows he’s done for when your other hand slides up the inside of his thigh, finding his balls.

“Come for me, Mase. I’ve got you” you coo, and with one final flick of your tongue over his tip, he’s cuming into your mouth.

You swallow every last drop, working him through his high until his hips start bucking out of sensitivity. Leaving one last kiss to his tip, you pull away from him, sitting back on your feet and resting your head against his thigh, eyes fluttering closed as you both take a moment to catch your breaths.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the hand that’s still in your hair gently massages over your scalp and you flutter your eyes open, finding him looking down at you with a soft smile.

His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb swiping at an escaped drop of his cum before pressing it to your lips and you part them for him, cleaning the drop off his finger when he pushes it into your mouth.

“Come here” he whispers, motioning to his lap.

His hands finds your waist when you stand on wobbly legs, your knees aching from being knelt down for too long, but you can’t bring yourself to care as he helps you lower into his lap, knees either side of him as you straddle his thighs.

“You okay?” He asks, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear and your heart flutters at the simple question.

You nod, leaning into his touch when he cups his hand over your jaw, thumb brushing across the apple of your cheek.

“I’ve missed you” His words are soft, eyes locked on yours.

“I’ve been here the whole time” you whisper, nuzzling further into his touch.

“I know, but I’ve still missed you.” He leans closer towards you as he speaks, “Missed getting to spend time alone with you, missed having you like this” He tells you, close enough now that you can feel his breath fanning over your cheek, his lips brushing yours with every word.

“I’ve missed you too” You rest your forehead against his, hands coming up to hold the back of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

The word is barely past your lips when he presses his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss, taking you by surprise for a moment before you regain your composure, melting against him and kissing him back with just as much vigour.

His lips work in perfect sync against yours, his arms wrapping securely around your waist to pull you further into his lap and he hums into the kiss when you roll your hips over his.

Your hands find his shoulders, holding hard enough that you’re sure you’ll find little crescent shaped marks there later, but that’s the least of your concerns when his hand gravitates up your front. His warm palm cups over your boob, thumb stroking over your nipple and the feel of him toying with the hardened nub has you gasping into his mouth.

He takes the opportunity to coax his tongue between your lips, slipping it into your mouth and brushing it against yours in slow, unhurried strokes. One of your hands moves to the back of his head, tangling your fingers into his hair and scratching your nails over his scalp and the way he groans into your mouth has heat heading south to your already dripping core.

You reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, whimpering when his teeth tug on your bottom lip.

“Fuck, Mase, I need you”

“You’ve got me, Angel” he mutters, drawing kisses over your jaw before dropping his head into your neck.

You sigh on top of him when he trails kisses from your shoulder to below your ear, grazing his teeth over your delicate skin and the scratch of his beard has your back arching, grip tightening in his hair when he pays attention to your most sensitive spot. He nips at the skin, lips suctioning over it and you have to remind yourself to stop him, tugging on his hair and moving his lips away to prevent a bruise forming there later.

Your lips find his again, this time a lot softer as he slides his hand down between your bodies. His warm palm cups over your centre, a faint moan leaving your lips and a groan rumbles in his throat when he feels your wetness coating his fingers.

“Fuck, angel, you’re dripping for me” he speaks against your lips and you buck into his hand, whimpering when he nudges a single finger between your folds.

“Need to feel you, Mase”

“Yeah?” He coos, and you hum in confirmation, growing more impatient by the second.

His lips come back to your neck and you take the brief moment where he’s distracted to reach down, taking his length in your hand to find him hard again as you give him a single pump. You wiggle around a little, rising on your knees to try and find a comfortable position.

It takes him a second to process what you’re doing, but he stops you with a hand on your hip before you get a chance to line him up with your entrance.

“What about y-“ he speaks, but you cut him off with another peck to his lips, shuffling in his lap and he whimpers when his length brushes against the inside of your thigh.

“Later” you reassure him, and you smile softly at the pout that forms on his lips.

You know that he probably wants nothing more than to have his head buried between your thighs right now, always so eager to make you feel good, and you’d no doubt love that too, but you know that you’re working with limited time and you’re aching to feel him inside of you.

“Promise?” He holds his hand up between your bodies, pinky sticking out towards you.

You stifle a giggle, shaking your head at him in disbelief, but you quickly link your pinky with his none the less and he leans forward to peck your lips once more.

“Are you ready?” He asks you, lips trailing over your cheek.

“Yeah”

You line him up with your entrance, bracing your hands on his shoulders and you both moan in unison when you lower yourself onto him, his tip nudging past your folds.

His hand finds your hip, thumb rubbing over your skin in soothing circles as you sink down on him, head falling into his neck and eyes fluttering closed when you take him all the way.

“Take your time, love” he hums and you give yourself a moment to adjust to him, brushing your lips over his skin until he’s cupping your cheek and pulling your head back from his neck.

You meet his eyes, the dark brown orbs staring right back at you and you swear you can see his pupils dilate, with your flushed cheeks and messy hair, lips parted and swollen, the sight of you on top of him is one he wants to remember forever.

“You okay?” He asks, thumb brushing over your lips and you nod, sending him a warm smile before slowly lifting yourself until only his tip is left inside of you.

You sink back down, moaning at the feeling of him nestled inside of you, able to feel every inch of him as you repeat the action.

“Fuck, taking me so well Angel” he drawls, and your whole body lights up at the praise.

You pick up your pace slightly, bouncing on top of him and his hands never leave your hips as he helps guide you, letting you take it at your own pace until you’re reluctantly slowing down, legs starting to feel tired.

“M-Mase” you whimper into his neck, falling limp on top of him and opting to roll your hips over his.

“I’ve got you, Angel” he whispers, lips finding your temple before he’s pulling you off of him slowly.

He takes a hold of your hips gently, lowering you to the mattress and he watches as you relax back into the sheets, head falling to the pillows as your hair spreads around you like a halo.

He parts your thighs before crawling in between them and settling his body on top of yours.

Resting his body weight on one arm, he reaches down with the other and you feel his warm palm slide up the back if your thigh, giving your bum a playful slap before hooking your leg over his waist.

“Sorry” you speak, voice quiet and small and he hates the pout that forms on your lips.

“Don’t be silly bubba, it’s okay” he whispers, lips brushing over yours.

You send him a soft smile, eyes locking onto his when he lines himself back up with your entrance. The new angle has him hitting deeper, your back arching off the mattress when he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and your moans mingle between you when he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in.

He keeps his pace slow, resting his forehead against yours as he thrusts inside of you and his tip brushes that spot that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Mase. Feels so good” you breath, one hand finding the back of his neck and when he notices the other clutching at the sheets, he takes it in his own, lacing his fingers with yours and holding them up beside your head.

He hooks his other arm around your waist, holding you closer to him and he hits that special spot inside of you with every thrust of his hips.

“I love you so fucking much” he growls against your lips, punctuating each word with a kiss and when you meet his eyes, they’re already gazing back at you, shining with adoration and a range of similar emotions.

“I love you too, holy shit” your voice is breathless and you send him a soft smile, sliding your hand up from his neck to the back of his head, pulling him down to place a series of pecks to his lips.

Your heart thuds at the way his eyes lock on yours. The chocolatey orbs shining with so much love as he pounds into you, able to feel every inch of him as he rolls his hips.

“Are you close?” He looks down to where your bodies meet, the way you’re clenching around him a tell tale sign that your orgasm is nearing, “Taking me so well, baby”

“Y-yes! Mase, fuck, gonna cum” you sob, eyes fluttering closed when he buries himself to the hilt inside of you.

“F-fuck” he stutters, thrusts faltering when your walls flutter around him, his own orgasm fast approaching.

“I’m there with you, angel. Let go for me” he rasps, and it only has one last push of his hips to have you toppling over the edge with a cry of his name.

Your high is overwhelming, pleasure overcoming your senses as your back arches off the mattress, pressing impossibly closer to him.

He isn’t far behind you, a moan of your name muffled into your neck when his own orgasm hits him, the feeling of your walls fluttering around him sending him toppling over the edge and he slumps on top of you, thrusts becoming sloppy as he works you both through your highs. His fingers still brushing over your clit until your bucking your hips from the sensitivity.

Your hand finds the back of his head when his thrusts slow, scratching your nails over his scalp when his body goes limp on top of yours, well and truly spent from his orgasm.

He keeps himself buried inside of you, laying in a comfortable silence with his head pressed into your neck whilst you catch your breaths and steady your heartbeats.

After a while, he moves to pull out of you slowly, littering kisses over your forehead when he notices you wincing from the sensitivity, before flopping down on to the bed beside you.

Getting himself comfy on his back, he opens his arms for you, letting you crawl into them and settle against his chest and his arms wrap around you securely, caging you to his body.

You stay laying like that for a while, enjoying the comfort and warmth of his body wrapped around yours. He has one hand on your thigh, massaging the sore muscles and the other tracing patterns over your shoulder until he’s shuffling around slightly to look down at you.

“How about another shower?” There’s a cheeky smile on his lips when you tilt your head to look up at him, “I still owe you an orgasm”

———————

I hope you enjoyed 🤭

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount smut #mason mount fluff #mason mount concepts #mason concepts #mason mount x reader #mason mount x you #mason mount fic

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strawberrychampagneglass · 8 months ago

Text

Roses - pt. 1

Paige x Azzi

CW: cursing, implications of domestic violence (ONLY AT THE END), angst, maybe some fluff?, pining

9.3k words DAMN

A/N: holy shit guys I did not think I could pull this off and to think that this is gonna be a series is wild to me. Jokes aside, this took me about 2.5 weeks so expect (somewhat) infrequent updates due to school work and all that. Ik y'all have been waiting so I'll drop the first chapter. Something to be mindful of: initially this thing was in GSV then I changed it to LA last minute and then I changed Nika to Cam and Gabby to Dearica because Gabby and Nika didn't make sense to me at all so yea enjoy AND PLEASE DO GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! I appreciate it a lot I WILL ADD A MASTERLIST WHEN MY HEART COMPELS ME TO

October 15th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

“Azzi,” her urgent voice calls out to the dark. She nearly trips over the entrance mat as she enters her apartment in the early morning hours. She drunkenly yells for her again as she stumbles towards her bedroom.

The only response she gets is an echo of her voice.

She lands in her bed with a soft thud, her hand searching for the familiar warmth of another body. When she feels the cold bed sheet under her hand instead, the only thing she can hear is the hammering inside of her head while her heart throbs, threatening to pry itself out of its cage. Tears well in her eyes as she falls asleep.

When she wakes up and checks her phone, she has one notification: a text message from Curt Miller. While it makes her heart palpitate as she remembers the happy memories, alarms blare in her head, reminding her of the bad that outweighed the good.

Her excitement quickly turns to bitterness. Paige doesn’t want to play on the same team as Azzi. Not after the incident in her redshirt senior year. Not after their catastrophic argument at the 2025 WNBA draft. Not after she saw a new person with her Azzi. Not after she saw the diamond-studded ring on her fourth finger.

Most of all, not after she built a stronghold with the most formidable defenses around her heart.

July 29th, 2018

Minsk, Belarus

The Belarusian crowd roars during the FIBA U17 Women’s Basketball World Cup final, drowning out the melody created by a screeching flute and deep, dulcet drum. With a very comfortable 32 point lead against the French in the middle of the fourth quarter, Paige is subbed out. She accepts the high-fives from her teammates before taking a seat at the end of the bench. Cheers flood the bench while they watch the clock wind down intently, waiting to relish in the intoxicating adrenaline following the victory.

The blonde raps her foot against the floor anxiously; her jaw propped up by her clenched fists. From the point of view of her teammates, she is engaged in the game. However, inside of her mind, a storm brews. She thinks of her best friend, the brunette girl with the number 6 on her back who is sat two seats to her left. Paige indulges in the memory of her fingers lingering on Azzi’s for that extra second after a high-five, their intertwined hands during the national anthem, and even when their shoulders brushed together in the team huddles and neither of them moved.

Her mind continues to wander until the bench unexpectedly explodes with chants of “USA” as the clock winds down into the last minute of the game. Paige springs from her seat on the bench, hollering as the adrenaline pumps through every vein in her body. When the final buzzer sounds, she shakes hands with the opposing team before hurling herself into the sea of navy jerseys.

The rest goes by in a blur, her adrenaline depletes rapidly. The energetic girl is uncharacteristically quiet during their team dinner and even on the bus ride home where she opts to sit alone in the back, leaning her head against the cool window that soothed her aching head.

As the bus pulls up to the hotel, Paige and Azzi lock eyes from opposing ends of the bus. The fatigue she once felt is quickly replaced with delight when Azzi gives her a tired smile with softened eyes, making her heart beat erratically. It’s still early in the evening, but the team agrees to celebrate in Cameron Brink’s room, without the coaches’ knowledge. While the team shuffles off the bus in a single-file line, Paige pushes through the never-ending hoard of her teammates until her eyes rest on a familiar brunette. She puts her hand on the brunette’s cold shoulder, catching her attention as she leaned into the warmth of Paige’s hand. Azzi chooses to ignore the pink that rose to the older girl’s cheeks and smiles at her.

“Are you going to Cam’s?” Paige asks sheepishly, trying to hide her smile. Azzi chuckles before responding with a nod.

“She is my roommate, so I guess I’m obligated to go.” Paige grins from ear-to-ear as they chat until they reach their respective hotel rooms. She changes into sweatpants and opts for a Hopkins Basketball hoodie. Although it's the middle of summer, the temperatures in Minsk are frigid compared to the Minnesota heat.

Furtively leaving her hotel room, she spots her teammate, Zia Cooke, attempting to sneak several bottles of cheap vodka into Cam’s room, her shoulders are tense and eyes rove across the empty hallway. Paige giggles before walking over to the shorter girl to offer a hand. When her teammate’s eyes land on her friendly face, the muscles in her shoulders loosen.

“Paige, thank god,” she breathes, relieved. “I was so scared that Carla or Stephen would jump out of their rooms.” Paige laughs at the image of Coach Berube catching Zia while looking like a deer in headlights, juggling 5 bottles of vodka. Feeling bad for her teammate, she takes three bottles from her arms and opens the door to Cam’s room. The two girls are met with 10 pairs of curious eyes who cheer at the sight of the vodka bottles.

***

An hour later, the potent odor of vodka floods the room. Most of her teammates gossip about their crushes back home; others watch the late-night shows on the Belarusian TV channels, a few are even snoring obnoxiously on Azzi’s bed. Paige, who is completely sober, feels irritated from her spot on the floor as she watches the dramatic show that is being projected on the TV. She isn’t sure if it was the lack of alcohol, or if it was the sight of her best friend who presses her body against Hailey Van Lith while an arm that wasn’t hers is strung around the brunette’s waist and resting on her toned abdominal muscles.

When Azzi notices the blonde’s glare at Hailey, she walks off the bed and carefully treads towards the table of alcohol, pouring a full glass of vodka. Her eyes flick to Paige, who stares at the glass of vodka in her hand. Unamused and frustrated, Paige returns her attention to the show on the TV until she feels a warm hand tilt her chin back. Azzi looks at her, emotionless, as she stands behind her. They stare at each other wordlessly before the older head lands on a soft, toned leg. Her lower lip meets the cool rim of the glass that Azzi filled with vodka.

The brunette moves her face closer before she tips the glass upward while noticing a light streak of red across Paige’s cheeks. “Drink,” she whispers, and Paige complies. She feels the alcohol burn her esophagus as she swallows the oily and bitter liquid. Their faces linger in the close proximity as they breathe in synchronization. It takes every ounce of self control in Paige’s body to not close the distance between their lips.

“You look pretty,” Paige smiles, hoping for a laugh and a friendly slap across the shoulder from her friend. Instead, Azzi returns a frown with furrowed eyebrows, moving her head away.

“Paige, I can’t enjoy my evening when you’re glaring at everyone I’m sitting with,” Azzi huffs with an edge to her voice. “Go get drunk and leave me alone.” Paige scowls; she knows that Azzi isn’t exclusive to her, but she wants some exclusivity. At the end of the day, they’re just best friends, nothing more. Nevertheless, the thought of another girl’s body pressing her body flush against Azzi infuriates her. From her spot on the floor, she feels the warmth of her friend’s body disappear as she walks back to her spot next to Hailey.

She grabs her wallet and phone and leaves the room.

***

When she returns to her hotel room hours later, she slams the newly-bought bottle of vodka on her nightstand, shaking the entire room. It isn’t a big bottle; it’s around the size of a Gatorade bottle. The cashier at the convenience store didn’t bother checking the 16-year-old’s ID, assuming she was of legal drinking age. She popped the cap off the bottle and brought it to her mouth. Her lips begin to form a suction around the opening as she tilts her head back, swallowing the searing liquid. She throws the rest of the liquid down her throat when the thought of Azzi’s words cross her mind. She tightens her grip on the bottle and her tongue scours for the last few drops of the liquid, hungry for the feeling of the alcohol. She sits on her bed in silence, staring at her feet until she feels the effects of the alcohol course through her veins. Her vision begins to blur and the entire room begins to swirl. Through her blurred vision, she still manages to identify the lamp that sits perfectly still on the nightstand. Her free hand reaches for the dangling chain that serves as a lever for the light. Giving it a slight tug, the light flickers briefly before illuminating the entire room. To her shock, a familiar brunette girl with bronze skin sits across from her.

“Are you done being an alcoholic so we can talk?”

“Azzi, what the fuck?” the blonde stammers, frustrated. She sets the bottle down and stares at her friend in disbelief. When Paige gets no response from her, she stands up and starts stumbling towards the door, nearly tripping over herself.

“Paige, wait,” Azzi catches the blonde, observing the older girl’s cloudy eyes. Even while drunk, her blue eyes remind her of her lake house; her second home. The thought makes her heart flutter despite the agonized look painted across her best friend’s entire face. “I’m sorry, we can talk about this if you want. I know I hurt you, and I take full accountability for it.”

Paige knows she is in damage control mode, but she has a soft spot for the girl; a part that is willing to forgive her and move on.

She chooses to ignore it and let her irritation control her words. “You didn’t want to talk before, so you don’t get to talk now,” she hisses. Azzi flinches, unaccustomed to her hostility. “You told me to leave you alone, and now you’re in my room, begging for forgiveness. I don’t understand you.” Her arms fly erratically before reaching the collar of her hoodie, tugging it down to ease her tense muscles.“For god’s sake, we’re best friends. Sure, best friends tell each other everything, but my best friend doesn’t get to tell me to leave her alone and show up in my hotel room 2 fucking hours later.”

“I’m not yours, Paige. You don’t have any right to control my actions.” The retort makes Paige wince. “If I want to be with Hailey, you have to respect that. I have a right to be frustrated because I don’t belong to you.”

“Okay, how about a heads up next time instead of you getting cozy with someone else in front of your best fucking friend. I thought we agreed that we would ‘see each other later’”

“She was drunk and she came up to me, and we did see each other. There was nothing binding about that agreement. I can be friends with other people and you can too, unless I’m your only friend.” Azzi’s anger rises as well as she picks at her cuticles.

“You’re an asshole.” Paige breathes, releasing the hoodie. “You tried to get me drunk while trying to seduce me.” The other girl’s mouth opens before getting cut off. “Then, you went back over and cuddled up to her. I don’t have a problem with you seeing people, but even a short-term notice would’ve been nice. It’s fucking awkward when I’m sitting there–surrounded by drunk people who are all passed out on the damn floor–and my best friend is cuddling up to a person we barely even know.”

“You know what? You sound really fucking insecure right now. Maybe you should go book a flight back to fucking Minnesota and we’ll never have to see each other again. You’ll never get jealous over me when I go on dates with other people.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wishes that she can take them back and shove them down her throat. Paige stares at her, emotionless. After a few minutes, Azzi’s voice cuts through the thick air. “Say something, please. You’re freaking me out.”

“I wish I was yours, Azzi,” Paige whispers softly, so softly that Azzi thinks she mishears. She scowls, but her heart flutters from the confession.

“I need you to tell me that when you’re completely sober. I can’t trust you when you’re drunk.” she sighs, looking at the blonde who has tears brimming in her eyes. However, she can’t shake the warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart from her words. She can’t describe the feelings, and the thought of treading into unexplored emotional territory makes her queasy.

“I wish I was yours,” Paige urges, with genuine sincerity in her tone despite the alcohol.

“Paige–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Paige grabs her wrist and pulls the younger girl into her. The blonde drags her along a premeditated route, stumbling several times. Biting the nails on her free hand, Azzi’s mind swarms with endless possibilities of danger; they could be kidnapped by random Belarusians, the coaches could catch them while getting a midnight snack, or they could get lost and never see their families again. But Paige was Paige, guiding her to their destination. The warmth radiating from the other girl’s body hypnotized her. It felt safe. Too safe.

Paige leads her through the maze of the city until they reach the edge of a river. Even under the late-night sky, airplanes weave between silhouettes of clouds; their green and red lights blink, bringing life to the sky. The city is calm and serene at this hour, with the occasional passer-byer that ignores the two girls. The solitude is disrupted by cars gliding across the bustling road across the river bank with horns that blare occasionally. Street lights hug the river bank; streaks of yellow and orange rippled back and forth on the water. The breeze is soft, like a baby’s blanket. It carries the occasional, faint scent of cigarette smoke which is unexpectedly comforting.

The two sit in mutual silence, away from each other. They both avoided the topic of the prior conversation. Paige hums softly, her body warm from the alcohol. “I didn’t know they had fireworks this late at night.” Her speech is slurred, yet Azzi still laughs in response. The sound of her laugh is like a piece of music written by Beethoven to her; a sound that can be played over and over without getting old.

“They’re not fireworks, they’re street lights reflecting off the water.” The blonde squints, squatting on the large cement block that she had been sitting on. As she cranes her head closer, nearly falling off the block, Azzi scrambles to catch the blonde as she reflexively yanks her waist backwards. They laugh before Paige puts her hand on hers.

“You’re acting really sober,” Paige declares while studying Azzi’s facial features.

“I am sober, so I think it’s a good thing that I’m acting sober.” The younger girl chuckles, punching her friend’s arm lightly with her free hand. Flustered, Paige averts her gaze to the shimmering undulations on the surface of the water. Unsure of whether it was the alcohol that was twisting her mind, or if it was the dim, golden lighting that lights up the left side of Azzi’s face, all she can think about is that her best friend is beautiful. It drives Paige insane; her bronze skin gleams and her umber eyes light up and become a light, almost golden shade of brown.

“Sometimes I wish that you could be in Minnesota with me all the time.”

“Well, you could come to Virginia and stay with me…” Azzi proposes before smiling at Paige, but she doesn't meet her eyes. The blonde is scrunching her face with her attention on Azzi’s arms, and not her face. “What’s wrong? Paige?”

“You’re cold,” Paige whispers, shifting her weight so she and Azzi sit facing each other. Trailing her hand up the other girl’s arm, her fingertips dance along the mountain ranges of goosebumps on her tender skin. Paige’s warm touch makes her feel something. Their eyes clash, uncertainty swarming in both pairs. “I meant what I said earlier,” Paige glances at her lips, breaking the eye contact. “I wish I was yours.” Her hand reaches for Azzi’s cheek, cupping it lightly, and the brunette melts into her touch.

Panic rises as a lump in her throat. They’re young–too young. Azzi’s feelings are new and confusing. She doesn’t know what love feels like and it scares her. As a kid, she was told that “love” was when two people cared for each other a lot. It was obvious that they care for each other a lot. They talk for hours, each word flowing effortlessly while they howl in laughter about something that the other said. Every touch they share is electric: sparks fly erratically through every vein of their bodies. After every argument, Paige is the first to apologize because she knows that Azzi overthinks.

She moves her face closer and drapes her hands on the blonde’s nape. Paige takes the bait.

Her slightly-parted lips meet Azzi’s warm and soft lips. She closes her eyes, pulling the younger girl’s face in before pulling away after several seconds. The kiss is short, but sweet. Azzi looks at her hands, not wanting to meet the blue eyes knowing that she made a mistake, and the kiss shouldn’t have happened. The once well-established boundaries of their friendship are permanently breached. Yet her cheeks flush and she misses the warmth provided by the close proximity of Paige’s body.

“Raise your arms,” Paige mutters shyly as Azzi is enveloped in the warmth of a thick hoodie. Paige’s hoodie. The scent of Paige’s rosy perfume encases her and a contented sigh escapes her lips.

“Are you cold?” Azzi observed her best friend’s exposed arms.

“Nah, I’m alright. You can keep that by the way,” she motions to the hoodie that hugged Azzi’s torso. “It can be a souvenir from Belarus from me. Something that can remind you of tonight forever.” The brunette smiles and wraps her arms around the blonde; she is the clay that Paige can shape into anything she wants. They just fit together.

The girls dance through the city and totter unsteadily to the hotel, where they collapse in the comfort of Paige’s bed, satisfied laughs slipping out of their mouths after sneaking past the rooms of their teammates.

“Would you like me to walk you back to your room, Madame Fudd?” Paige teases before a pillow slams into her face. “Hey! Azzi!” She shrieks, scrambling to grab another pillow before falling flat on her face. Azzi laughs hysterically for a few moments until the room stills into an unsettling quiet.

“You’re so chivalrous, Bueckers.” Azzi looks around her room, fidgeting with her fingers. “But, uh, since there’s a few drunk bodies on my bed,” The blonde cocks her head at her and smirks; the simple motion makes her heart lurch. “And also because you also don’t have a roommate and I thought that you might be a little lonely tonight, especially because you’ll be hungover in the morning, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight.” Paige breaks out into an ear-to-ear grin and tackles her in a bear hug, shoving them to the bed where their bodies melded into each other.

Amongst the clamor, there is an uneasy feeling in Paige’s gut that she can’t shake, but she chooses to ignore the feeling as she lets her body intertwine with the younger girl’s.

October 19th, 2028

New York City, New York

Azzi is selfish.

Anything she gets her hands on, she wants to keep for herself. She is a hoarder who wants to keep everything that she loves forever.

Unfortunately, when you fall in love with everything, you can’t have it all.

She paces back and forth at the gate, biting her nails and avoiding the gaze of her fiancé. Tugging the collar of her hoodie from her high school days over her head, she allows a satisfied sigh to escape her mouth as she is cloaked with a comforting rose scent. It was nostalgic; it held so many memories that felt so important and so irrelevant at the same time. But the scent made her feel hopeful of something she couldn’t place.

“Is everything okay, babe?” startled, she drops the hoodie to smile weakly at her fiancé.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little tired. The thought of everything scares me a little.” Azzi chuckles. Instead of a friendly smile from her fiancé, she notices his scowl at the text on her hoodie. Her heart drops into her stomach, knowing that this would prompt an argument from him over a certain college teammate.

“I’m so happy you finally chose to leave the cesspool of New York,” her fiancé sneers, “and, I’m so excited to soak up the LA sun.” Azzi doesn’t react to his comments, avoiding an argument at all costs. He came to all her games and cheered her on, but he always hated New York City. It was either too cold or too hot, too rainy or too sunny and never the perfect balance between the two.

As long as he’s happy, I am too.

Los Angeles, California

Paige is protective.

She loves her possessions and hates it when people take them. She wants to shield everything she loves from hurt and pain.

Orange and pink rays of sunlight stream through the tall glass panes by Paige’s bedside, bathing her bedroom in a warm glow. She stirs awake, her sore body begging for 15 extra minutes of sleep. Her throat feels raw and her eyelids are weighted. Instead of fighting against the weight, Paige lets her eyes close while thinking about the consequences of not showing up to Azzi’s welcome party. When she first caught wind of the news, she called Cameron Brink to come to her apartment. She complained to her for hours while blackout drunk before inevitably passing out. When she woke up the next morning to dozens of angry texts from Cam, she apologized profusely, showing up to her apartment with the shoes that her friend had been eyeing for months and bags of Sour Patch Kids.

It was safe to say that Paige wasn’t allowed anywhere near alcohol tonight if she chose to go. At least, not under Cam’s watch.

The Sparks had an extremely successful campaign last year and capped off the season with a championship title along with Paige’s first league MVP and finals MVP awards. The feeling is still surreal, and the thought of it pumps more adrenaline through her body. Even though the season was extremely successful, the threat of injuries plagued the guards last year. Also, the Sparks were in desperate need of a guard with the ability to knock down shots and step into the role of a strong playmaker.

Was she expecting Azzi to join the Sparks? Eventually, yes. She is desperate for a championship run.

Did she want to celebrate a piece of her past she let go before her birthday? No.

Is she happy about it? Absolutely not.

Her phone began to vibrate violently under her pillow, prying her from her thoughts. She rolls over to scrutinize the contact name with a groan. Her blood runs cold and she taps the green phone icon on the 4th ring.

“Paige! Thank god I got in contact with you.” Katie Fudd exhales. Paige feels the weight of her panic that reciprocates her own through the phone. “I know we haven’t really talked in about, um, three years,” she pauses, unsure of how to continue when she hears Paige’s sharp inhale, “but, have you heard from Azzi recently? She’s supposed to be arriving in LA today, at least that’s what the media says.”

“No, I…I haven’t heard anything, Katie,” she rasps, her throat ablaze. Her lips run dry. The media?

Paige makes small talk with Katie, catching up on major events in their life while both of them try to avoid the topic of Azzi. It was brought up once and Paige could barely perceive the muffled, yet pained sobs on the other end of the phone.

“I know you have your Unrivaled league coming up in the new year, but it would be great if you could come visit us during Thanksgiving or even Christmas,” Katie proposes as they near the end of their conversation.

“I’ll take a look at my schedule and try to pull some strings, but no promises. I have plans to visit my dad and Drew over the Thanksgiving weekend in Maryland, so we’ll see what happens.” Paige replies, acknowledging the piece of her that wants to let the past go. The part where she was too close to Azzi and her family. She knows that visiting them means treading into foreign territory.

“We miss you, Paige. Jon and Jose miss their ‘son’ too,” Katie laughs, relieving Paige of a heavy, bone-crushing weight on her heart. “Happy early birthday too, we could never forget. We love you, you’re still family to us.”

Paige smiles, a genuine ear-to-ear grin. “Love you too, Kaite. Tell the brothers and Tim I say hi as well.” She says before hanging up.

“You’re still family to us.” The words rang in her head, warming her frozen heart. It wasn’t enough to thaw it, but it was enough to invoke thoughts of hope. She was torn from her reverie by a knock at her door. Humming to herself as she sauntered out of her bedroom, she opened the door to her apartment.

“Woah, I never thought I’d see you smiling like you’re on Disney Channel,” the blonde at the door laughs, surprised. Paige scowls at her words which prompts Cam to laugh harder. “I did bring breakfast though, knowing your current mental state. You look like shit, Paige.” She sets two paper bags on Paige’s kitchen island. They sit across each other on the spinning bar stools Cam loves.

The two chat buoyantly; Cam tells her stories about her boyfriend, Ben, and his new obsession with cars or whatever. Paige doesn’t really pay attention to her rambling because of a painful ache in her heart. Even though it had been a year since Cam moved to Los Angeles, the two still learn new details about Over the past year, Cam used the fact that the shorter woman struggled to maintain a relationship for more than a few weeks as the butt of all her jokes. Despite being annoyed at first, Paige was quite amused with herself.

“Azzi’s mom called me earlier,” Paige abruptly says, interrupting Cam in her spiel about her brother’s recent breakup.

“...is that why you were smiling earlier? Paige, not even 5 days ago you made me-”

“From what I’ve…figured out, they haven’t been able to get in contact with Azzi. Katie seemed distraught when she accidentally brought her up.”

“Are you implying that she got kidnapped?” Cam laughs uncomfortably, trying to avoid the weight of the situation.

“It’s a possibility.” Paige mutters. Cam stops laughing and an uneasy silence drapes the room like a heavy curtain.

“I guess we’ll find out later, but don’t stress about it. You could be overthinking the entire situation. Don’t make that face, I know that you don’t want to go, but out of respect for your future teammate, you need to.” Cam sighs while rubbing circles on her temples. “I’m going to pick her and her supposed fiancé up at the airport. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Cam. Drive safe,” she calls out as the door to her apartment shuts. And suddenly, her mind is thrown back 5 years to the keychain that Azzi bought them in their early 20s as a gift. Drive safe, I need you here with me. I love you.

***

“Azzi Fudd! This is Kendra Andrews with ESPN. What are your thoughts on the Sparks franchise?”

“What prompted the move from New York to LA?”

“How do you plan to integrate yourself into the team?”

“What excites you the most about the LA Sparks franchise?”

Dozens of reporters and journalists surround her. They fight amongst each other to thrust microphones into her face. Sweat beads down the back of Azzi’s neck as she tries to answer as many questions as she can while being mindful of her fiancé’s limited patience. He had gone on his phone, ignoring Azzi as she drowns in a sea of cheap cologne and felt-tipped microphones. She quickly interrupts the reporters after 10 minutes and bid a polite farewell. Her heart stings with a bit of remorse when some of the reporters in the crowd express their frustration through whisper-shouts to their colleagues because they got a different answer than what they would’ve hoped. As she makes her way to her fiancé, her head hanging low, she mentally prepares herself for the incoming argument.

“You’re a piece of shit,” her fiancé hisses, “you took ten fucking minutes to talk to some fans.”

“Please, not here. Not while the reporters are still around,” Azzi whispers, frantically scouting for reporters.

“Save your bullshit for later. Call an Uber and get me out of here.” While leading her fiancé towards the airport exit, Azzi picks at her cuticles. “Oh, and next time,” her fiancé continues, “don’t be a pussy-sucking people pleaser and just give them an autograph. I don’t have the time for this, there are better things I should be doing that does not include waiting for you.” Tears begin to well but she blinks them back, trying to put up a facade for the public as she smiles half-heartedly for selfies. The lump in her throat threatens to roll out of her mouth. The thought of a night in the hotel sends a cold bead of sweat down her back. She doesn’t want to be left alone with her fiancé. She doesn’t trust him.

A firm hand grabs Azzi’s wrist, pulling her back into the present. She rips her hand away reflexively before processing the familiar face that belonged to her temporary roommate in Belarus. For the first time since she left New York, Azzi breaks out in a full-faced smile and throws herself into Cam’s open arms.

Her mind wanders to the other future WNBA teammate, who she had not seen since the 2025 WNBA draft. The thought of her quickened her heart, but the feeling sours when she becomes aware of her fiancé by her side.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, oh my god,” Cam laughs, punching Azzi’s arm lightly, a gesture from her USA basketball days when Coach Berube made an off-handed comment. She flinches in response, which Cam chooses to ignore. “Oh, and you must be Azzi’s fiancé. I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Cam,” the blonde chirps, turning her attention to Azzi’s fiancé, offering a friendly smile and a hand. “I don’t think I ever got your name.” Her fiancé remains silent, but his jaw muscles tighten and his cold, green eyes look at her with animosity and spite. Not wanting to raise suspicion, Cam plasters a smile and leads them to her car.

Cam makes a mental note to tell Paige about their interaction with an emphasis on the flinch.

“...This is the Uber you ordered?” her fiancé snarls when the other woman is out of earshot.

“You need to calm down. She’s my teammate, and this is a thoughtful gesture,” Azzi retorts before covering her mouth. Her breathing becomes shallow and her face pales as her fiancé inches his face closer to her ear until his hot, rancid breath drowns out her awareness of everything around her. The hustling environment of the airport disappears and her world is engulfed in silence until four words snap her out of her trance.

“Drop this shit, now.”

***

The ride to the hotel where the two would be temporarily staying was brisk, although Azzi wished it would have lasted longer. The brunettes reminisced on their college days while laughing hysterically.

“Have you talked to Geno after he finally retired?” Cam asks playfully, making eye contact with Azzi through the rear-view mirror. Instead of Azzi’s warm brown eyes, she meets her fiancé’s swampy green eyes. The blonde feels a chill run down her spine, unable to detect any emotion on the fiancé’s face.

“Nope, not at all.” Cam raises her eyebrows, clearly amused.

“Wow, it’s been two years since he retired. He even went to the draft to support you and, um, nevermind.” The blonde shakes her head, cursing to herself. Azzi laughs awkwardly, trying to lift the guilt off her friend’s shoulders, but her fiancé is unamused. “About time though, I thought that he nearly got a heart attack during the March Madness championship in 2025.” The two erupt in laughter, tears falling from their eyes. Her fiancé glares at Cam through the mirror, prompting her to awkwardly change the topic to the Sparks and their team culture. Azzi ignores the glare and continues her conversation with her friend.

Her fiancé isn’t completely out of the loop despite his apathy towards Azzi’s WNBA career. He knows who Paige Bueckers is, the national championship they won in 2025, but he only vaguely knows about the relationship that she and Azzi shared during their collegiate campaigns. If their relationship was an iceberg, her fiancé only sees the tip of the iceberg, the visible part that the media shared, the two in a million SLAM cover, their rise to stardom in USA U16 basketball, and most importantly, their adversities through injury together. What she doesn’t know is the true depth and complexity of their relationship, veiled beneath a thick layer of dark, murky water that neither she nor Paige are ready to uncover. As their lives began to diverge, so did the currents in the water; they pushed and pushed on their relationship until it came crumbling down, splitting the iceberg into two parts that are now just Azzi and just Paige.

Thanking Cam as they slip out of the car, Azzi checks into the hotel room where she and her fiancé sit on opposite sides of the king-sized bed. Her head hangs and she looks at her hands before her fiancé breaks the silence first.

“Hey,” he sighs, walking over to Azzi. When she lifts her head to meet her fiancé’s eyes, branches of tears stream from her eyes and down her cheeks, splitting into multitudes of different directions.

“Am I not good enough for you? One moment you hate me, and the next you’re suddenly in love with me again.” Azzi sobs, pulling her hair in frustration. “I’m trying my hardest, and it hurts when you don’t reciprocate the feelings.” She wipes her eyes while her fiancé stares at her in disbelief, masking his anger. He paces to the door before walking back to Azzi, feigning an empathetic look.

“No, baby, you’re perfect.” Her fiancé mutters , pulling the brunette’s head to his chest as he kisses her forehead softly while wiping her tears. “I love you so much. I appreciate everything you do.” Azzi could feel that his words felt wrong and uncomfortable coming out of his mouth.

“Love you too”

***

Paige walks in circles around her room while Cam summarizes the airport pickup, sprawled out on the blonde’s bed. “You didn’t even get his name. Damn.” Paige’s voice is laced with worry.

“All you need to know is that her fiancé is fucking weird. He was like ‘I’m so sick of this bullshit’ the whole time without speaking a single word. I introduced myself to him like a normal fucking person and he stood there and stared me down, as if I was competition or something.” Cam breathes, putting her face in her hands. Paige feels the same, unable to piece together the puzzling situation. “This whole situation is crazy. I was talking about Geno’s retirement and she hasn’t talked to him in years. Isn’t that weird? I feel like he’s also the jealous type. She wore your Hopkins hoodie and her fiancé kept eyeing it the whole time.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat at her words. Her Hopkins hoodie. The one from the night in Belarus: even though it had been over 10 years, Paige remembers it clearly. It was the first time she was in love. “That’s weird. You picked them up from the airport, and he was glaring at you the entire time in the car. Then, you- like, jokingly punched her. How hard was this punch?”

“KK-punching-Ice-after-losing-a-bet-about-your-life hard.”

“Okay, so not that hard.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard her fiancé call her a stuck-up pussy eater while they argued about the reporters before I picked them up.” Paige raises an eyebrow at the statement before coughing awkwardly, mumbling under her breath.

“Just– be careful Paige. She isn’t yours anymore. I know you’re still not over her,” She winces at her friend’s words, “and it’s the harsh truth, but I seriously think that you need to find someone else to distract you.”

“We both know that finding someone else hasn’t worked for me either. I’m worried about her. She’s my best friend, my ride or die.”

“She betrayed you. You need to move on. Best friends don’t betray each other like… that.”

***

Flanked by her fiancé, Azzi walks through the large, wooden doors of the restaurant next to her hotel. It was a short walk, but she took in the salty smell of the city. The breeze was sharp and it nipped her exposed arms. She was shivering and rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“You must be Ms. Fudd,” the waitress waiting for her arrival smiles at her, “your table is over here, please follow me.” The short walk through the labyrinth of tables set with velvety red cloths that had a golden trim on its edges was interrupted by a crimson-colored curtain. The chatter behind the curtains feels daunting, and she wants to turn around and run back to Arlington. The waitress pulls the curtain to the side to reveal a table full with people, her teammates, laughing and talking boisterously amongst themselves. The first person to stand up is Cam, who embraces her in a loose hug. Seconds later, nearly all of her new teammates have thrown themselves into her arms.

The last person to stand up is the blonde. Her wavy, blonde hair, lighter from the Californian sun, is tucked behind her ears and falls down her back like a loose shawl. Her skin glows gold against the yellow lighting of the dining room. She wears a freshly ironed button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose her toned forearms. Only the right side of her shirt was tucked into her brown trousers that hang loosely from her hip, ghosting her ankles. A beige bomber jacket that matches her pants is slung around her shoulders and a watercolor-patterned scarf is draped around her neck. The gold studs and helix ring on her left ear reflect the light of the chandelier that hangs from chains above the dining table. When their eyes meet, Azzi searches her eyes for a sense of comfort in her familiar blue eyes that her dark mascara emphasizes. Instead, she finds nothing in her cold and emotionless eyes. Paige embraces her new teammate in a stiff and loose hug, her muscles tense when Azzi’s hands roam her back. Immediately, she is engulfed in her rosy perfume, the same scent that she finds solace and comfort in. Her stomach churns, yet there is a certain warmth that flickers in her heart. Everything about the blonde screamed Paige, and Paige is beautiful.

“Welcome to LA,” she says while pulling out of the hug. Refusing to look at her, she turns to the man looming in the corner while offering a hand. At the table, Cam sucks a sharp breath in, casting a warning glance at Paige which is ignored. Azzi stiffens and her heart hammers. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Paige, and you are?”

“I’m Charles,” he murmurs, accepting the handshake and offering a small, sly smile. Azzi’s eyes widen. Her fiancé is rarely friendly, especially not to Paige. They glare at each other for a brief moment before she takes a seat next to Cam.

Her fiancé and her sit side-by-side at the table, across from Paige and Cam. Charles slides his hand into Azzi’s under the table, squeezing it softly. The small gesture makes Azzi smile as she leans into her fiancé, enjoying his comforting presence. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to take her mind off of the blonde sitting directly across from her, laughing with her WNBA teammates. It annoys her.

Azzi is selfish.

***

The entire table has some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands or in their stomachs. Paige sits awkwardly, sipping a Shirley Temple whose sugary and overly sweet grenadine has become bitter on her tongue. Nausea seeps into the edges of her head and begins to spread like wildfire and she finds herself rubbing circles on her forehead. She can’t stand the sound of Azzi’s bubbly laughter across the table. The sound that threatened to burn a hole through her heart.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Dijonai Carrington cocks an eyebrow at the couple while swirling her cocktail in her cup.

A brief panicked look flashes across Azzi’s face before Charles cuts in. “We met in college.” His answer is curt and dry, yet polite. Several of her teammates cooed at his response, gushing over the couple. The two women jump into a conversation about their college lovers.

That should’ve been me.

“What a fucking people pleaser.” Paige snickers to Cam while blinking back the unwelcome moisture that began to form under her eyes. She throws back the rest of her drink before dropping her head into her arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want any alcohol? Like, a thousand percent positive?” Dearica Hamby, the star forward of the Valkyries asks Paige while rubbing the taller woman’s back. Through the seemingly innocent image of the question, she notices genuine concern painted in the woman’s softened eyes.

“She’s alright without it,” Cam answers before she could open her mouth. “We made an agreement that she would have no alcohol tonight because I had to clean up after her last time.” The entire table howls in laughter, and Paige joins them with a half-hearted smile while heart fractures.

If her smile didn’t split into a frown at the corners of her mouth or her chin didn’t wrinkle, Azzi’s heart wouldn’t have stopped and she would’ve been laughing with her teammates.

“Yeah, I had to show up to her apartment with shoes and a shit load of candy because I felt so guilty.” She sneaks a glance at the brunette sitting across from her. Instead of laughing with the team, she was engaged in a conversation with her fiancé, prompting her to avert her gaze. It takes every piece of her dignity not to stare at the brunette. Her dark, curly hair is braided and hangs just above her shoulders; the same hairstyle that she jokingly called a bob back in their college days. She wears a baby blue knitted tank that reveals her muscular arms and white, flowy linen pants that hug her hips.

However, when Paige’s eyes pass by the soon-to-be married couple, searching for something, they follow the pattern of their intertwined arms and hands hidden under the table. Looking at Cam, she whispers, “I need to get out of here.” the taller woman waves a hand at her, signaling for her to go ahead. She files through her wallet and grabs a few hundred-dollar bills and hands them to Cam, which she graciously accepts. Dearica flashes her a sympathetic look before returning to her drinking game.

“I got a call from my mom and I gotta take it. I’ll be right back.” Announcing to the table, she grabs her phone and stands up, stepping over her drunk and overly rowdy teammates. When she finally slips behind the thick velvet curtain, she finally feels as if she can breathe. The curtain has become a barrier between her and a certain pair of brown eyes that burns holes through the back of her head. She knows that man. The blur of dark curls and olive and brown skin became too vivid. She needs to get out. It hurts her.

Paige is protective.

***

The neat blonde bun disappears behind the curtain with a soft, almost inaudible swoosh. She tries to talk with her teammates, laughing at their jokes, but everything feels forced. The image of Paige's stiff posture and the death grip she had on her phone haunts her. All of a sudden, her fiancé’s once soft hand feels heavy and scratchy against her skin.

“I need some air. I’ll be right back,” She announces as she gets up, dropping her fiancé’s hand. Cam and Dearica pause their argument over their stupid drinking game and stare at her with their mouths agape. There is undeniable panic swirling in both pairs of wide-open eyes, but Cam gives a hesitant nod.

“Is everything alright babe?” Charles’s voice is soft but urgent. “I can come with you.” Azzi looks at him with a warm smile before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

As she exits the restaurant, she is met with an intricate spectacle of orange, pink, and blue. The light of the day quickly disappears, but she discerns a hunched silhouette on the beach that glows under the golden light. Her attention shifts to the orange circle that barely peeks out through the edge of the horizon as it slowly sinks underneath the water, leaving a trail of orange and pink light rippling across the surface of the water. Waves crash loudly against the shore before they are drawn back to the ocean while laughter and joyful screams from children join the peaceful ambience.

“Are you just gonna stand there or do you wanna sit?” A tired voice rips her out of her thoughts as she tears her gaze from the astonishing scene in front of her. She glances at the woman sitting next to her who has her knees up to her chest and her head resting on her forearms. Azzi decides to sit a few feet away from her. For a split second, it feels like their fragmented friendship could be salvaged again.

She slips her sandals off and lets her feet absorb the texture of the flaky sand while shivering when a gust of wind hits her skin. Instead of ignoring the mechanical sound of teeth chattering, Paige shakes the jacket off her shoulders and hands it to her which Azzi graciously accepts. When she wraps it around her shoulders, she is engulfed in the aroma of roses again.

“I thought you had a call to take,” Azzi remarks, her voice soft. Veins snake down the woman’s arms and hands until they disappear behind her knuckles. Her pale skin had become golden and her biceps protrude from the rest of her arm. The neat braids in her hair are now ruffled and frizzy, and small wisps of hair dance with the breeze. On her wrist is a beaded bracelet that reads “RESILIENCE.” The bracelet from her camp before their explosive argument. The sight of it makes her heart flutter, but when she reaches her face, a cold wave of dread washes over her as she notices the smeared mascara and faint patches of salty skin on her cheeks.

“Yeah, I did.” Paige answers bluntly, her voice cracking slightly. An uncomfortable silence falls upon them; the air heavy from their unspoken words. Azzi’s heart throbs at her cold tone. “What brings you out here?” she asks after a few moments.

“I felt nauseous.” Paige scoffs at her response, shaking her head.

“Bullshit.”

“Paige, why are you so fucking blunt?” Azzi exasperates, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender. “You hugged me earlier and that whole time, you were stiff as a rock. It’s been 3 fucking years, it’s time to grow the fuck up.” When Paige says nothing in response, Azzi continues. “I’m trying to be the bigger person here and you’re being unfair. I told you that we can stay friends and then you fucking gho-”

“Your fiancé,” the blonde sneers, tearing Azzi out of her rant. Her voice is shaky and dangerously close to breaking. Through the golden light, she can see the tears brimming behind her smudged eyelashes. “He’s the one that you met at Ted’s, right?” Azzi stays silent, giving Paige the confirmation she needed. “You’re not being the bigger person, not at all. You’re only talking to me because you want something out of me. Azzi, you’re being selfish.” The last word hits Azzi like a cold bucket of water.

“You’re being unfair,” Azzi says shakily, refusing to meet the blonde’s eyes.

Paige lets out a strangled sputter before opening her mouth. “I’m being unfair? Me being mad over you getting cozy with another man after our natty suddenly means that I’m being unfair?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re being unfair because you’re hurting him with your comments. Do you think I can’t hear the derogatory names you’ve called him tonight?” Azzi scrunches her face and turns to the blonde, whose attention is on the sand that snakes between her toes.

“Are you happy?” the older woman finally asks after a period of silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Her blue eyes dart towards hers.

“P.” Paige freezes at the use of her nickname, “I miss you. My offer still stands. We can go back to our friendship.” The last words are quiet, almost as if they aren’t supposed to be spoken. Memories of what they were rush through both of their minds. The women have something unreadable in both of their eyes as they stare at each other.

“No, we.. we can’t.” Paige finally speaks, tearing her gaze away from her, letting out a shaky breath and gets up to leave, but before she can take a step forward, she feels a forceful hand clasp around her wrist that prompts a wave of panic to flood through her. “Azzi, let me go. You can’t do this. You’re getting married soon for god’s sake.”

“Our last night in Belarus, I know you remember it. You wear the same perfume, you even gave me your hoodie. Shit, Paige, that was the time I knew that I fell in love with you. Every little thing you did for me felt like you were giving me your entire world. You fell in love with me too. Every argument we had, we made up, and we can make up from this too. I’m asking you to believe in us again. I won’t leave you.” For a split second, Paige’s eyes soften and she lets her walls down. She desperately wants to let go of her "tough guy" facade and let herself taste Azzi's lips again.

“No. You don’t get to say that now. Not when you have a fiancé waiting for you in the restaurant.” The vulnerability that Paige showed is once again blocked by the ramparts of her castle. The remembrance of Charles’s presence hits Azzi like an 18-wheeler. “It’s evident that you can’t own up to any of the mistakes that you made.”

“You’re not taking any accountability for it either! Do you think I haven’t tried?” Paige flinches, backing away from Azzi who is now screaming. “You had to address it at the fucking draft. For fuck’s sake, let me explain my side of the story.”

“I tried to give you space because clearly, you wanted to fuck around with him. You don’t get to explain your side of the story. It was the night of the March Madness championship and you ch-”

“Oh, shit.” A new voice joins their argument. Paige whips her head around and sees Dearica and Cameron looking at them with wide eyes. “Azzi, I don’t think you should-”

“No it’s okay,” Paige feigns a smile before pulling out of Azzi’s grip. “Welcome to the City of Dreams, Azzi. I’m sorry for having to leave so abruptly.”

And she’s gone. Packed away in the backseat of an Uber. It hurts Azzi more than it should. The doors to Paige’s heart that used to be held open for Azzi are now barricaded off, isolating her.

“What the fuck happened?” The blonde turns to Azzi with an edge of hostility in her tone. Dearica glares at her, and Azzi’s heart free-falls into her stomach.

“Azzi?!” Charles’s deep voice calls out, and Azzi is grateful to be saved from the awkward confrontation. When his eyes land on her, they soften and he wraps her into a tight embrace. Every piece of contact between them feels scratchy and uncomfortable, especially in Paige’s jacket. “Don’t fucking leave me again.” He snarls into her ear before glaring at her jacket.

The other women turn to leave before exchanging an uncomfortable look with each other.

***

An empty bottle of tequila is the only company Paige has on her bar table. Right as she lets the effects of the alcohol take her consciousness, her front door flies open. Every muscle in her body tenses and she buries her head into her arms in hopes that she will disappear.

“P?” It’s Cam. Her body relaxes.

A second pair of heavy footsteps make their way to the table. She stiffens again.

“It’s me, don’t worry. You’re alright” The other voice belongs to Dearica. She exhales and looks up. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the empty bottle of tequila and a heavy breath falls out of her mouth.

“Again? Seriously, Paige?” When Paige puts her head back down into her arms, Cam’s hands rub her back.

“Yeah. Again.” Sobs begin to wreck the blonde’s body and she shakes violently. Dearica and Cam exchange a panicked look before embracing their teammate.

“I’m sorry, Paige. What she did is fucked up” Dearica’s voice is soft and reassuring. “We tried to talk to her but, her, um, we were interrupted.” She and Cam are walking on thin ice; one bad step and their teammate will plunge in the freezing cold water.

“Let’s get you to bed. You have a big day tomorrow, so let’s make the most out of it.” Cam and Dearica carry their teammate, whose body is shaking violently while sobbing to bed.

For the 5th night in a row, she cries herself to sleep.

I need you.

***

“Charles, why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you baby, and I want to spend every second of my life with you. With us.”

“...Okay.”

“I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’ll be the one to protect you forever.”

“Azzi Fudd. What the fuck was that?” Charles sneers. His emerald eyes are alive, burning with acrimony. She doesn’t look up from her phone screen where her fingers shakily hover over the call button under Paige’s name.

“I’m sorry? I told you I was getting some air and I ran into Paige.” Her tone is surprisingly even and steady despite her trembling body. When a dark look falls across his face, she shudders. Suddenly, her phone is ripped from her hands and shattered against the wall with a loud smash that rings in her ears.

“Don’t fucking talk back to me. You saw what happened to your phone, and I know that you don’t want to be next.” He slams the door of their hotel room and stomps down the hall. When she doesn't hear the obnoxiously loud footsteps anymore, she allows her body to collapse and cries into her pillow while she thinks about the promises that they made on their engagement night.

I need you.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #angst #pazzi fics #Spotify

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hd-junglebook · 1 year ago

Text

Its Always Been You

Part 4 / Word Count 5816

Masterlist

Summary: And so, the trip to Michigan begins with a little surprise guest.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, Jack's world felt like it was crumbling around him. The shadows danced across the walls, mirroring the chaos within his mind. Jack's hands trembled as he held the phone to his ear, his breathing uneven and his heart racing.

"Luke, I don't know what to do with myself," Jack's voice trembled, a mix of anguish and vulnerability. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and his free hand clenched into a tight fist.

"I've acted like a complete fool all week. Y/n hates me. I'm feeling… I'm feeling things I never felt before for y/n, and I think I've finally lost my mind."

Luke's harsh tone cut through the silence, his confusion evident. "Jack, what the hell are you talking about?" There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line, as if Luke was sitting up in bed, suddenly alert.

Jack's pacing resumed, his frustration palpable. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, his footsteps heavy against the carpeted floor.

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on him as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"I told y/n I knew how she felt about me, and then I broke her heart. She left me all alone for three days. Jesus, I just saw her locking lips with some loser in the hallway. It's taking everything in me not to go out there and drag him outside."

"Jack…" Luke barely got out before he was interrupted again.

Before Luke could respond, Jack's voice rose again, defiant and emotional. "I'm not done." He halted his pacing, standing in front of his dresser where a picture of y/n and him sat.

It was from the night of his draft party, a snapshot of happier times. Jack's fingers traced the edges of the frame, his eyes fixated on y/n's smiling face. The photograph seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of what he had thrown away.

He thought back to that night, his emotions, how he begged her to leave her life behind and move to New Jersey. The memory was vivid, the excitement and hope he felt then now replaced by a crushing sense of regret.

The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sparkle in her eyes—it all came flooding back, intensifying the ache in his chest.

Rustling came through the speaker of Jack's phone. "I ruined us, Luke. I've ruined the best thing I've ever had." Jack's voice cracked, a single tear escaping and rolling down his cheek.

"Dude, it's almost 12am, and you're babbling about something everyone and their mom knew already. How long did you think you could fight your feelings?" Luke's tone softened, a mix of exasperation and concern.

"I don't know, Luke." Jack stayed still for a moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The door of their apartment closed, and he hung up on Luke when he heard footsteps approaching.

Jack perked up, holding his breath as he listened to them get closer. His heart raced, a glimmer of hope sparking in his chest.

Another door closed, leading Jack to swing open his door. Y/n had already closed her door, the click of her lock reverberating through the silent apartment.

Jack's hand hovered over her doorknob, his fingers trembling. He wanted to knock, to apologize, to pour his heart out, but fear and uncertainty held him back.

…

The sound of her alarm woke her from her restless sleep, the shrill beeping cutting through the stillness of the early morning. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the darkness around her.

The room was bathed in a deep, melancholic blue, the shadows clinging to the corners and casting an air of despair. The curtains, a soft, sheer fabric, billowed gently in the breeze from the slightly open window, allowing a sliver of pale moonlight to penetrate the gloom.

"Here we go again," she mumbled groggily, her voice heavy with exhaustion and resignation. The words felt thick on her tongue.

She sat up in her bed, allowing the blanket to fall in a heap on her waist. The sheets, once a comforting embrace, now felt suffocating, tangled around her legs like the thoughts that consumed her mind.

y/n looked around the room with despair, her gaze lingering on the familiar objects that held countless memories—the framed photographs on the dresser, the stack of well-worn books on the nightstand, the discarded clothing strewn across the floor.

Y/n sighed again, the sound echoing in the emptiness of the room. She pushed the blanket off of herself fully, the cool air of the apartment sending a shiver down her spine.

Her steps were light as she dressed herself, opting for comfort over style for the plane ride back to Michigan. She pulled on a soft, oversized sweater, the fabric enveloping her like a comforting hug, and a pair of well-worn leggings that had seen better days.

As she moved about the room, gathering her belongings, the floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the sound amplified by the silence that hung heavy in the air. The scent of stale coffee and the lingering aroma of chocolate chip cookies wafted through the apartment.

Jack's door opened across from her room, his yawning loud against the stark silence of the world outside their little apartment. The sound made her flinch, her body tensing as she braced herself for the inevitable encounter.

She could hear his footsteps, the shuffling of his feet against the hardwood floor, and the rustling of his clothing as he moved about his room.

Y/n rolled her eyes, not ready to interact with Jack just yet. The thought of facing him, of seeing the guilt and regret in his eyes, made her stomach churn. She focused on the task at hand, pulling her suitcase up to the door, the wheels squeaking against the floor.

Her eyes landed on the corkboard that hung on the wall beside the door, the pictures of their innocent smiles and young faces causing her heart to break even more.

In one picture, they were grinning broadly, their arms wrapped around each other's waists as they posed in front of a sunset on the beach. In another, they were dressed in formal attire, attending a friend's wedding, their eyes sparkling with happiness and love.

Y/n's fingers traced the edges of the photographs, the glossy paper cool beneath her touch. A lump formed in her throat as she studied each image. She could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, the emotions she had been trying so hard to suppress threatening to spill over.

She pulled the door open, rushing past the open bathroom where Jack stood in the mirror, his toothbrush dangling from his mouth and a look of surprise etched on his face.

Y/n moved with the speed of a cheetah, her feet pounding against the floor as she made a beeline for the safety of the kitchen.

Just as she thought she had escaped the awkwardness, the front door jingled, keys rattling against the metal knob like a mischievous poltergeist trying to gain entry.

Y/N stood frozen in place, her body rigid with shock as the door to the apartment swung open. The sudden intrusion had caught her completely off guard, and she felt as if she had been turned to stone, unable to move or speak.

As she watched, a tuft of blonde hair bounced into view, the golden locks reminding her of the fairy tale character Goldilocks. But this was no innocent child stumbling upon a bear's cottage; this was a full-grown woman barging into her home uninvited.

"Daphne? What the hell are you doing here?" Y/N managed to choke out, her voice rising in pitch with each word until it reached a near-shriek. The disbelief and anger dripped from her tongue like bitter honey, leaving a foul taste in her mouth.

Jack's girlfriend fully entered the apartment, dragging a garishly pink suitcase behind her. It was as if she had packed her entire life into that one piece of luggage, ready to move in and stake her claim.

The suitcase was so bright it hurt Y/N's eyes, a beacon of chaos signaling the impending doom that was about to unfold.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Jack emerge from the bathroom, toothbrush still dangling from his mouth. White foam dripped down his chin, making him look like a rabid dog caught in the act.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him, darting back and forth between the two women as if trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation he had found himself in.

Daphne's gaze flicked between Jack and Y/N, her initial smile slowly fading as realization dawned on her face. "We planned this months ago, silly," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Non-refundable ticket. We talked about this, Jack. It's only been three months; you can't get rid of me that easily."

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a witch's cackle, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief and something darker, more possessive. It was clear that she had no intention of leaving, no matter how unwelcome her presence might be.

Y/N felt her heart sink into her stomach, a wave of nausea washing over her as the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Daphne was here, in their home, and it seemed that Jack had been keeping even more secrets than she had realized.

The air in the apartment suddenly felt thick and suffocating, the tension so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Y/N's mind raced with a million questions, a million accusations, but she couldn't seem to form the words.

All she could do was stand there, frozen in place, as the world she had built with Jack came crashing down around her like a house of cards.

Jack let out a heavy sigh, his hand rubbing the front of his scalp as if trying to erase the memory of ever agreeing to this disastrous plan. His face scrunched up like he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon, the bitterness of the situation leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

He glanced sheepishly at Y/N, his eyes darting between the two women like a puppy who had been caught chewing on his owner's favorite pair of shoes.

"Can you give us a sec? Please?" he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid that speaking any louder would cause the fragile peace to shatter.

Y/N scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest as she fixed Jack with a withering stare. "No, we have to leave soon, and if I don't have my coffee, I just might jump off the plane dealing with you both," she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline, the thought of being trapped on a plane with these two making her seriously consider grabbing a parachute and taking her chances with gravity.

Jack's face reddened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "We need privacy though!" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

He threw his hands up in the air, as if he were trying to physically push away the awkwardness that had settled over the room like a thick fog. "Could you give us some time?"

Y/N let out a humorless laugh, the sound harsh and grating in the tense silence of the apartment. "Oh, you need privacy? That's rich, coming from the guy who couldn't even bother to tell his best friend that his girlfriend was coming to visit."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she fixed Jack with a look that could have melted steel. "You know what? Fine. You two lovebirds enjoy your little reunion. I'll be in my room, packing my bags and booking a one-way ticket to anywhere but here."

With that, she spun on her heel and stalked off towards her bedroom, her footsteps echoing like gunshots in the stillness of the apartment. She could feel Daphne's eyes boring into her back, could sense the smug satisfaction radiating off the other woman in waves.

But Y/N refused to let it get to her, refused to let the hurt and betrayal show on her face. She had always prided herself on being strong, on being able to handle whatever life threw her way. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let Jack or his girlfriend see her crumble.

As she reached her bedroom door, Y/N paused, her hand resting on the knob. For a moment, she was tempted to turn back, to march right up to Jack and demand an explanation.

But she knew that it would be pointless, knew that whatever he had to say would only make the pain worse.

So instead, she took a deep breath and stepped inside, slamming the door behind her with a resounding thud. And as she sank down onto her bed, her head in her hands and her heart in pieces, Y/N couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so wrong, so fast.

…

Y/N walked back out into the living room, Daphne turned to her with an expression of exaggerated surprise. Her eyes were wide, and a cute smile was plastered on her face, the kind of smile that made you want to pinch her cheeks but also question the sincerity behind it.

"This is your best friend, right? She's a lot shorter than I remember," Daphne said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. It was clear that she was trying to get under Y/N's skin, to establish her dominance in the situation.

Y/N couldn't help but scoff, her eyes rolling so far back in her head that she nearly caught a glimpse of her own brain. "And you're the EX-girlfriend, right?" she retorted, putting extra emphasis on the "ex" part. Two could play at this game, and Y/N wasn't about to let Daphne win.

Jack let out a groan, his head falling back in frustration. "God, just my luck," he grumbled, his eyes rolling so hard they nearly got stuck in the back of his head.

He knew that he was in for a long and uncomfortable conversation with Daphne, and the thought of it made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Y/N took a deep breath grabbing her coffee, the warm liquid providing a momentary comfort before made her way back out to the kitchen. Y/N grasped the cold metal handle, the chill sending a shiver down her spine.

"Let's go before I change my mind," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn't want to give Jack or Daphne the satisfaction of seeing how much this situation was affecting her, didn't want to let them see the cracks in her carefully constructed façade.

…

The journey to the airport had been a tense affair, with Y/N pointedly ignoring Jack's attempts at conversation and Daphne chattering away obliviously in the background.

Y/N could feel Jack's eyes on her, his gaze heavy with unspoken apologies and explanations, but she refused to meet his eye, focusing instead on the passing scenery outside the car window.

they made their way through the bustling terminal, Jack tried once more to pull Y/N aside, his hand gently grasping her elbow. "Y/N, please, can we just talk about this?" he pleaded, his voice low and urgent.

Y/N yanked her arm away, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. "There's nothing to talk about, Jack," she hissed, her voice sharp as a knife. "You made your choice, and now we all have to live with the consequences."

Jack's face fell, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's not like that, Y/N. If you would just let me explain..."

But Y/N cut him off with a bitter laugh, her head shaking in disbelief. "Explain what, Jack? How you don’t like me? How you play this stupid hot and cold game with me? No, I think I've heard enough explanations to last a lifetime."

She turned to walk away, but Jack's hand shot out once more, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Please, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe that."

For a moment, Y/N wavered, her resolve crumbling in the face of Jack's obvious distress. But then she caught sight of Daphne waiting impatiently by the gate, her foot tapping, and her arms crossed, and the anger came rushing back in full force.

"I don't have to believe anything, Jack," she said, her voice cold and distant. "You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. I just want to forget about all of this and move on with my life. So please, just leave me alone."

With that, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and strode towards the gate, her head held high and her heart shattered into a million pieces.

The seating arrangement on the plane felt like a cruel joke, a twisted game of fate that had placed Y/N in the middle of the very chaos she had been trying to escape.

She found herself sandwiched between Jack and Daphne, her body pressed against the cool glass of the window as if she could somehow merge with the clouds and drift away from the awkwardness that permeated the air.

Jack sat rigidly in the middle seat, his body a tense barrier between Y/N and Daphne. Y/N could feel the heat of his skin, could smell the familiar scent of his cologne, and it made her heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite suppress.

On Jack's other side, Daphne slept peacefully, her head lolling against his shoulder and her soft snores filling the space between them. She seemed blissfully unaware of the silent war raging within Y/N's mind, the turmoil that threatened to consume her from the inside out.

Y/N's foot tapped incessantly against the floor, a nervous habit that betrayed the inner chaos she was desperately trying to conceal. Each tap was like a metronome, counting down the seconds until she could escape the confines of the plane and the suffocating proximity to Jack.

She could feel his eyes on her once more, could sense the weight of his gaze boring into the side of her head. But she refused to look at him. Instead, she focused on the clouds outside the window, on the endless expanse of blue sky that stretched out before her.

Y/N was lost in thought, her mind a whirlwind of emotions and memories, when Jack's hand suddenly shot out, startling her back to reality. Before she could react, he had shoved a headphone into her ear, ignoring the sputtered questions and the look of indignation that flashed across her face.

His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. It was a reminder of the connection they once shared, the easy intimacy that had defined their friendship for so many years. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as she tried to process the unexpected gesture.

As the familiar opening credits of her favorite episode of Game of Thrones filled her ear, Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Jack, searching his face for an explanation, but he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen in front of him, as if the answers to all of life's questions could be found in the flickering images.

Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Jack, her eyes tracing the contours of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

Each glance was a silent question, a plea for him to acknowledge the unspoken words that hung between them. But Jack remained stoic, his attention unwavering, as if he had erected an impenetrable wall around himself.

Even as she tried to immerse herself in the show, Y/N couldn't shake the awareness of Jack's presence beside her. The warmth of his body seemed to seep into her skin, igniting a longing that she had tried so hard to suppress.

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, could hear the soft whisper of his breath, and it made her heart ache with a bittersweet mixture of love and loss.

Beside her, Jack remained a silent presence, his body so close and yet so far away. Y/N couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

…

Y/N stepped out of the airport, the crisp Michigan air filling her lungs and invigorating her senses. She took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of pine and freshly cut grass that always seemed to linger in the air.

The sun peeked through the scattered clouds, casting a warm glow on her surroundings and making the world seem a little brighter, a little more hopeful.

She scanned the crowd of people waiting outside the terminal, her eyes searching for a familiar face. And then, like a beacon in the chaos, she spotted him.

There, leaning against a sleek black car, was Luke. A grin spread across his face as he caught sight of her, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that had always made her heart skip a beat. "Y/N!" he called out, pushing himself off the car and striding towards her with open arms.

Without hesitation, Y/N dropped her bags and ran to meet him halfway. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling the solid warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground in a spirited hug. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, and all that mattered was the comfort and familiarity of Luke's embrace.

"I missed you so much," Y/N mumbled into his shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. She breathed in the scent of him, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely Luke, and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her.

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her own. "I missed you too, shorty. It's good to have you back."

He set her back down on the ground, but kept his arms around her, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. Y/N couldn't help but smile up at him, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Behind them, the sound of footsteps on the pavement broke the spell. Y/N turned to see Jack and Daphne approaching, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and something else, something harder to define. Jack's eyes met hers for a brief moment, a flash of emotion passing between them before he looked away, his jaw clenching.

Luke's arms tightened around Y/N, a silent show of support and protection. "Hey Jack, Daphne," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Glad you could make it."

Daphne smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Thanks for picking us up, Luke. It's been a long flight."

Y/N could feel the tension crackling in the air, the unspoken words and unresolved issues hanging between them like a thick fog. But for now, she pushed them aside, focusing instead on the feeling of Luke's arms around her and the promise of a few days away from the chaos of her life in New Jersey.

Jack moved forward, his arms open wide and a grin plastered on his face, Y/N felt a flicker of hesitation. There was something about his expression that seemed forced, as if he was trying too hard to appear casual and unaffected by the tension that hung thick in the air.

But before Jack could reach them, Luke's hand shot out, smacking the side of his head with a resounding thwack. The sound echoed through the parking lot, drawing the attention of a few curious onlookers. Jack stumbled back, a bewildered look on his face as he rubbed the spot where Luke's hand had made contact.

"Ow, what was that for?" Jack asked, his voice a mix of surprise and mock indignation. His brows furrowed as he looked at Luke, trying to decipher the reason behind the sudden attack. Y/N could see the gears turning in his head, the confusion and hurt flickering behind his eyes.

Luke lowered his voice, his tone stern yet laced with underlying concern. He leaned in closer to Jack, his eyes locked on his brother's, as if he was trying to convey a message that went beyond words.

"For being an idiot and for bringing her here. Did you forget about what you said on the phone?"

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, her mind racing with the implications of Luke's words. What had Jack said on the phone? What secrets had he been keeping from her, even as he tried to bridge the gap between them?

Jack's face flushed with guilt, the color rising in his cheeks like a crimson tide. His eyes darted to Y/N, then back to Luke, a silent plea for understanding.

For a moment, no one spoke. Y/N could feel Daphne's eyes on her, could sense the other woman's curiosity and suspicion. But she refused to meet her gaze.

Finally, Luke broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Come on," Luke said, releasing Y/N and grabbing her bags. "Mom's waiting at home with lunch. She's been cooking up a storm all morning."

Y/N grinned, the thought of Luke's mother's cooking making her mouth water. "Lead the way," she said, falling into step beside him as they made their way to the car.

As they walked, Y/N could feel Jack's eyes on her back, could sense the weight of his gaze boring into her. But she refused to look back, refused to acknowledge the part of her that still longed for his touch, his presence, his love.

Instead, she focused on the warmth of Luke's hand in hers, on the promise of a few days of respite and healing. And as they drove away from the airport, the skyline of Detroit rising up in the distance, Y/N couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope igniting in her chest.

Maybe, just maybe, this trip would be the start of something new, a chance to leave behind the pain and heartache of the past and find a way forward, one step at a time. And with Luke by her side, and the love of her family to guide her, Y/N knew that anything was possible.

…

Lukes’s car pulled up to the familiar two-story house, Y/N felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The red brick facade, the white wooden porch, the sprawling oak tree in the front yard - every detail was exactly as she remembered.

She stepped out of the car, the warm breeze caressing her face and tousling her hair. The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, a sweet perfume that brought back memories of lazy afternoons spent lounging in the sun and late-night conversations under the stars.

Y/N took a deep breath, letting the peace and tranquility of the moment settle over her like a comforting blanket. For the first time in days, she felt the knots of tension in her shoulders begin to loosen, the weight of her worries and fears slowly melting away.

Beside her, Jack and Daphne were unloading their bags from the trunk, their voices a low murmur against the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves. Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on Jack's face, taking in the lines of stress and fatigue that creased his brow.

In that moment, she made a decision. She was tired of being angry, tired of holding onto the hurt and betrayal that had consumed her for so long. Life was too short to waste on grudges and resentment, too precious to let slip away in a haze of bitterness and regret.

With a determined set to her jaw, Y/N strode over to Jack, her steps purposeful and sure. He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and a flicker of hope.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I know things have been tough lately, but I don't want to keep dwelling on the past. You're my best friend, Jack, and that's never going to change."

Jack's face softened, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and gratitude. "Y/N, I..." he started, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry too. For everything. I never meant to hurt you, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, the sincerity in Jack's words tugging at her heartstrings. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I know," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "let's just focus on enjoying this trip and being there for each other, okay?"

Jack nodded, his own smile breaking through the clouds of tension that had hung over them for so long. "Okay," he said, his voice filled with a tentative hope. "That sounds perfect."

Together, they made their way up the porch steps, their hands still intertwined. Y/N could feel the warmth of Jack's skin against her own.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," Ellen said, her voice warm and rich like honey. "We've missed you so much."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I've missed you too," she said, her voice muffled against the older woman's shoulder. "It's so good to be home."

…

Luke led Daphne and Y/N up the stairs, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood, Jack seized the opportunity to pull his mother aside. His heart raced, palms sweaty as he glanced nervously between her and the staircase, his body practically vibrating with anxiety.

Ellen's brows furrowed, her maternal instincts kicking into high gear as she sensed her son's distress. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch a silent invitation to share his troubles.

"Jack, honey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jack swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. But there was none to be found, and he knew that he owed his mother the truth.

With a heavy sigh, he guided her to the couch, his movements stiff and awkward. They sat down, the worn cushions sinking beneath their weight, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Jack broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mom, I... I messed up. Y/N and I, we had a fight. A big one. And I don't know how to fix it."

Ellen's eyes widened, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. But she remained silent, allowing her son to continue.

"I didn't tell her about Daphne, and she found out in the worst way possible. And now... now she can barely look at me. I don't know what to do, Mom. I can't lose her."

Jack's voice cracked, the tears he had been holding back for so long finally spilling over. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.

Ellen's heart ached for her son, for the pain and regret that radiated off him in waves. She reached out and pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping around him like a protective cocoon.

"Oh, Jack," she murmured, her voice filled with a mix of sympathy and gentle chastisement. "I know it's hard, but you have to be honest with the people you love. Secrets have a way of coming out, and they always hurt more in the end."

Jack nodded, his face still buried in his mother's shoulder. "I know," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

"I just... I didn't want to hurt her. But I ended up doing exactly that." Ellen pulled back, her hands coming up to cup Jack's face. She looked him in the eye, her gaze filled with a wisdom born of years of love and experience.

"Do you remember the time that boy was bothering Y/N in school?" she asked, her voice soft and reminiscent. "You came home with a black eye and a split lip, but you were so proud of yourself for defending her."

Jack's lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through the tears. "Yeah, I remember. She was so upset, but I just wanted to make her feel safe."

Ellen nodded, her own smile mirroring her son's. "You brought her back here, to this very house. And you let her lay her head on your lap, and you caressed her hair until she fell asleep. Do you remember what I told you then?"

Jack's brow furrowed, his mind stretching back to that distant memory. "You said... you said that love is the most pure thing you can feel."

Ellen nodded, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And I see it in you, Jack. When you look at her. You love her, don't you?"

Jack took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening his heart skipping a beat at his mother's words. He had always known, deep down, that his feelings for Y/N went beyond friendship. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have his deepest secret laid bare... it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I... I don't know what to say, Mom," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and longing. "Y/N and I, we're just friends. And besides, Daphne...” He trailed off, his eyes flickering towards the staircase where his ex-girlfriend had disappeared just moments before.

Ellen sighed "Jack, honey, the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be. Sooner or later, you're going to decide whether you want to be with her in that way or let her go and find love in someone else.”

Jack stood up, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He hugged his mother one last time, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. "You're right, Mom. I need to be honest with myself, and with Y/N. But... but I can't do it now. Not with Daphne here. It wouldn't be fair to anyone."

"Ellen patted his cheek, her touch a silent benediction. "I understand, sweetheart. But don't wait too long, okay?

…

Tag List <3

@favsrachz @jacktoria4ever @bunbunbl0gs @ivy-34 @rebelatbay @bxtchopolis

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starrseeker · 3 months ago

Text

Still Call You Mine

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!reader

Content warnings: Heartbreak, angst, alcohol use, a snippet of unwanted touch, fluff at the end?

A/N: So I won't lie, this probably isn't good. I typically only write for my own pleasure and enjoyment. My hubby was the one who finally convinced me to post something of mine. (I have like 20 different stories saved in my drafts lol.) It's also been a very long time since I've written fan fiction so be easy on me. No idea where I was actually going with this but hope you enjoy it anyways.

You had been heartbroken for weeks. The ache within never went away, a constant reminder that a piece of you was no more. You didn't know where to start. Where to pick up the pieces that had broken apart.

One crisp afternoon you sat within your new apartment. It was too painful to stay at the House of Wind anymore. Constant reminders of what once was. Memories that had been made. It was too much.

The fresh air blew through the open windows, giving you a slight reprieve of the throbbing in your chest. Taking a deep breath of the summer air before sipping the tea you cradled in your hands. How you managed to muster up the energy to brew it was a curious question.

Maybe this is when healing began. The small moments within life that slowly, oh so slowly, brought some life back to you. The ones that give you the feeling that everything will be okay.

A knock at the door stole you from your thoughts. Mindlessly you stood, crossing the space to open the door. Mor wasted no time entering. Almost knocking into you as she began her rant. Emerie walked behind her. Giving you a small smile that seemed almost apologetic.

"Okay. I can't take it anymore Y/N. Everyone has let you mope around for weeks. You've all but shut us out. It's time to get past this part." Mor's hands flailed around as If to prove her point. An argument was on your tongue but she sent you a withering glare.

"Don't even. We are going out tonight, whether you want to or not. You have been locked up in this apartment since you moved out. It's time to get out and remember the bad bitch that you are." She placed a hand on her hip, her expression daring you to get out of it.

Emerie placed a gentle had on your shoulder, sending her mate a look. "What she means to say Y/N, is that sitting here in pity isn't going to help you. We miss you, and we want to help ease this pain." Her tone was soft as she looked at me. It almost brought tears to your eyes.

You pondered for a moment as both females stared at you. Waiting. You turned the idea in your mind. You did miss your friends. You missed the normalcy from before. You let out a reluctant sigh, nodding your head.

"Alright." You said hesitantly. "I'll go out." Emerie sent you an encouraging smile. Mor had a mischievous grin growing on her lips. That was never good.

"Great! We're going to the House. I have something you can wear." You sent Mor a cautious look. Anxiety filling your chest at the thought of going back there.

"Is...Is he going to be there?" you questioned. You weren't ready to face him. Not yet.

It was Emerie who spoke up. "No. Rhysand sent him on an assignment first thing this morning." You let out a breath you'd been holding. That tightness in your chest eased up.

"Alright. Let's go then." You wondered if this was the right decision.

*********************************************************************

You kept tugging at the short dress that adorned your body. The black fabric had a V neckline that left little to the imagination. The sheer sleeves ended at your wrists, giving you a classy look. Paired with the diamond necklace that Mor let you borrow.

"Stop tugging at it. You look wonderful." Feyre spoke as you kept looking in the mirror. Feyre had decided to join the group tonight which made you feel at ease. You and Feyre were the closest besides Mor. Though you didn't see much of her since she and Rhys built their new estate.

"I just feel so...exposed." You muttered. This dress wasn't something you would normally opt for but Mor wasn't taking to your disapproval. You took yourself in again. Hair curled in loose waves that cascaded down your back. Silver shimmery eyes paired with red lipstick. For the first time in a while you felt pretty for once.

"Well you look hot, so get over it." Nesta commented as she fixed her hair. You rolled your eyes playfully. Nesta never was one to bite her tongue.

Everyone was essentially ready for your night out. Nerves shot up your spine as it hit you this is the first time you'll be going out without him. The thought made your mood dampen slightly. Mor noticed the change.

"Hey. None of that. We're going out to have fun. I refuse to let you sulk tonight." She came over, looping her arm through yours. "Now, cheer up cause we're getting drunk tonight." Her grin was contagious as the others began to hoot and holler.

With your arms still interlocked, she led you out of her room. Feyre, Nesta and Emerie following suit. You'd gone halfway down the stairs when it hit you. "Shit. Hold on, I forgot my purse. I'll be right back."

You turned as Feyre said they'd wait for you by the door. Running back up the stairs to Mor's room. You'd found your black bag on the vanity, quickly grabbing it. The heels you wore were already beginning to make your feet throb.

Closing the door behind you before walking quickly down the corridor. Feeling bad to keep everyone waiting. You rounded the corner when you ran into the wall. The force of it knocking you backwards, right on your ass before two arms snaked around your midsection. Catching you before you made a complete fool of yourself.

"Gods, i'm so sor-" Your words were lost as you saw who it was that caught you. Your body tensing so hard you were sure you'd be sore tomorrow.

Hues of golden amber stared down at you. His gaze raking over you, the dress you wore, your makeup. A slight frown tugged at his usual neutral expression.

"Azriel I- I didn't think you were here." You stepped back from him as if he'd set you on fire. His gaze still lingered on your outfit.

"Finished early." He huffed, not elaborating further. His gaze meeting yours as he spoke. Flickers of irritation and something else you couldn't decipher within those eyes. "Where are you going?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling too exposed in front of him. "Mor wanted to take me out tonight. A group of us are going to Rita's." You muttered, wanting to just winnow away at this point.

He said nothing as he just stared at you. Your gaze fell to the floor unable to handle the intensity of those eyes. You saw his hand twitch slightly before he curled it into a fist. The shadows that swarmed him were frantic, as if they were agitated.

The silence stretched on, tension building with each second. So much had been left unsaid. Azriel seemed to consider something for a moment. His mouth opening to speak before you cut him off.

"Well I gotta go. They're waiting for me." You rushed the words out before stepping around him. Hurriedly stepping down the stairwell, doing your best not to trip in your heels. The girls all gave you a weird look when you rushed to the door.

"Did something happen?" Emerie questioned as you marched out the door. You didn't answer the question.

"Let's just go." You said as you began the walk to Rita's

***********************************************************************

The bass reverberated through your chest. Drink after drink flowing through your veins. For the first time in weeks you felt free. You didn't care about anything as you danced with Mor. A thin sheet of sweat covering your body with each movement.

Laughter filled the air between you two. The others danced nearby, you didn't catch the joyful looks they gave you. They were so happy to see you as yourself after everything that had conspired.

You needed another drink with all the dancing. Leaning into Mor's ear telling her that you were heading to the bar for a refill. You walked over to the crystal surface, the bartender immediately taking your cup. You'd been here so often, they knew what you preferred. As you waited a handsome male approached you. Brown hair, green eyes that mimicked the forest after a thunderstorm. He was cute, but he wasn't who you wanted.

"I've been mustering up the courage to talk to you all night." He had a pretty smile as his eyes raked down your body. It felt wrong. "Can I buy you a drink?"

The bartender set your glass back down, sending a courteous smile. You held the glass up. "Sorry. Maybe next time?" You offered even though you knew there wouldn't be a next time.

"Well at least allow me a dance then?" He pursued, grabbing your wrist gently. Unease bloomed in your gut from the action.

"I'm sorry. My friends are waiting on me. I should go." His hand tightened on your wrist when you tried walking away. A drip of fear trickled down your spine.

"Just one dance, that's all I'm asking for sweetness." You cringed at the pet name. You took a step back again only for his grip to tighten again. It was beginning to be painful.

"Please, let me go." You struggled for a moment before a deep velvety voice broke through your fight or flight mindset.

"The lady said no. Now, do yourself a favor and let her go." You felt his presence behind you. Felt the anger rolling off him in waves as he stared down the male in front of you. The fae scoffed before releasing your wrist. At least he knew he wouldn't win against the spymaster.

You cradled your wrist to your chest, red marks from the males grip were beginning to show.

"Are you alright?" You closed your eyes for a moment. You had hoped he'd leave after this. He was standing in front of you when your eyes opened.

"I'm fine." Your response was short, clipped. Irritation at the whole situation settling in. You rubbed the red angry skin before turning to go back to the girls.

A gentle hand on your arm stopped you. "Talk to me." He spoke to you. All of the emotions you'd locked away threatened to release right then and there. You swallowed them down, instead letting out a scoff.

"Did you follow us?" You accused him. His eyes turned dark. His body language went stiff.

"What does it matter?" He countered. That stupid mask of cool calm overtaking his face. You felt the urge to slap it off.

"What does-" Anger swirled in your chest at his deflection "You have no right to be following us."

"If I hadn't, that fae would've had his grimy hands all over you." You were taken aback by his angry tone.

"That's not your concern anymore." You seethed. Suddenly, a scarred hand grabbed your upper arm. His grip was firm as he dragged you out of the club. Walking into the alleyway but you yanked your arm away from him.

"How dare you. You have no right to be doing this." Your voice was full of rage. Azriel's eyes darkened at your words. He stepped forward, closing the space between you.

He backed you against the wall, his arms caging you in on either side of your head. "No right? What do you think would've happened had I not shown up? You think he would've taken you home and whispered pretty words to you all night? Do you believe he'd treat you like a lady?"

His voice was low, a hint of the predator that he was shown through. His night chilled air and cedar scent surrounded you as he leaned down to your ear. "No one will ever be able to give you what you want, princess. No matter where you go, what you do, who you see, you are still mine." He growled.

Your knees felt like they'd give out. The closeness of him clouding your senses before you pulled it together.

"You left me. You were the one who decided to walk away from us. I don't belong to you." Absolute certainty laced in your words. Though your thoughts were the complete opposite. You wanted to give in to him but that wasn't right. Wasn't fair.

He grabbed your chin between his index finger and thumb. Your head tilted back to look at him. Heat roared in his eyes at your challenge. His thumb gently traced your bottom lip, his gaze narrowing in on your soft lips.

"I walked away because you deserve better. Not because I wanted to." He corrected.

"How am I supposed to know that? You don't talk to me Azriel. You never have. All you did was shut me out when something happened. You push me away thinking it's for the best but it's not." You argued with him. "I don't want better. I don't want easier. I don't want simple. I want you, you selfish illyri-" His lips crashing against yours cut you off.

His kiss was heated, desperate, full of passion. His tongue finding yours as teeth clashed. Both of you had felt the weight and hardship of being separated that it only made your reunion more needy. His hand that held your chin slipped to the back of your hand. His fingers tangling within the soft curls, angling your head just right to nip your bottom lip that elicited a soft groan from you.

He smirked against your lips at the sound. Claiming your lips with yours for what felt like forever before he pulled away. Both yours and his chest were falling rapidly as you tried catching your breath. He leaned his forehead against yours.

"There's no words I can use to explain how sorry I am. I shouldn't have shut you out. I shouldn't have walked away from you." He panted. "I love you Y/N. Nothing is ever going to change that."

Your eyes searched his for any sign of hesitation. That this was some kind of trick. Maybe even a dream. When he looked at you for some type of response, desperation in his gaze, you knew it wasn't.

"You have a lot to make up for." Your breathing was even now, and you were still partially reluctant. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll make everything up to you, even if I have to spend eternity doing so." His words were sincere. His hands reached down to the back of your thighs, picking you up with ease. A small shriek leaving you from the action, your hands clasping behind his neck instantly.

His wings flared out behind him. "And I'll start by taking you home. Where you belong."

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #angst #feyre archeron #mor acotar #nesta acotar #reconciliation #fanfiction

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liillyliilly · 10 months ago

Text

Detective Business

kenji sato x reader words; 7009 synopsis; enemies to friends to lovers- she's a private investigator and he's just ultraman (but she doesn't know that). she also has to deal with that annoying pro baseball player who just won't leave her alone.

Trying to find the identity of Ultraman is no easy job for the Tokyo Investigative Department, but for her? It’s more than finding Ultraman, it's about also finally arresting Kenji Sato for his reckless driving on the highway.

Unfortunately, she’s also a reckless driver. Which is why Kenji Sato was folding his arms and frowning while she pulled out a pad of ticket paper from under her motorcycle’s seat. The rain was dripping on her helmet and Mr. Sato’s white shirt was getting soaked through.

“I just think I shouldn’t be getting a ticket, Officer.”

“I’m not an officer, I’m a private investigator under contract with the department. Don’t lump me with them.” She bites the pen cap off and starts writing a ticket for him clocking in at around 170 kilometers per hour.

“You don’t even have a radar detector, so the only way you know I was speeding is because you were too.” Kenji kicks off from the wall of the divider on the highway. He inspects her motorbike slowly, dragging fingers over the dashboard and the mirrors. The key in her ignition is black, with a small baseball keychain, he notes this and keeps it in mind.

She grins, “As I said, I’m not a policeman.” She lowers her voice a little, “My bike isn’t factory tuned like theirs are.”

He groans, upset at her for giving him the ticket. But also because she intrigued him more than most people did. MINA spoke into his helmet, reminding him about the Kaiju raging in Sendai. He shushes MINA’s comments.

She scoffs, assuming that the shush was for her. She shoves the ticket into his chest, accidentally soaking up some water that was drenching his t-shirt.

“If you want to fight the ticket, go to Courthouse 5 in Tokyo at 9 am on Wednesday. A representative from the department will have all my notes from this. And Mr. Sato, please drive safely, it’s raining. Hydroplaning is no joke.”

“I’ll drive safely if you drive safely, Officer.” He laced the title with some grittiness, the kind of tone that grinds her gears.

“I’m not an officer. I’m-”

“A private investigator, yes I know, you’ve told me three times before. Since you’re the only one who can actually clock me going above the speed limit.” He rolls his eyes, “Same time next week Officer?”

She sighs, putting the visor of her helmet down. When she gets onto her bike, kicking up the stand and revving her engine, Kenji teases her and blows an overdramatic kiss in her direction where she can clearly see it in her mirrors. She brings her hand up to throw him a middle finger, he earnestly returns the gesture.

The road is empty now, and she’s far enough away to not recognize Kenji using his willpower to morph into Ultraman, needing to get to Sendai soon according to MINA’s instructions.

MINA speaks into his audio system, “You really should listen to her. She’s smart. Safe driving is critical in the rain Ken.”

“MINA, I love you, but please shut up.”

She never liked arrogant people. Maybe because she was arrogant herself? But the real reason for arrogance is that it masks the reality behind the person, it’s a cover for something more futile and undeniably human. Arrogance acts like a shield holding back a person from revealing too much. For her, arrogance defended against her ideals. The world could be changed to be better. Peace is well within a grasp. That ideal, that dream of what the world could be is hidden and buried deep within her. To cover for it, arrogance does a great job biting into people she meets.

It’s a good thing her best friend was always there for her. Ito Yuuta, rookie of the year and a new addition to the Yomiuri Giants baseball team. He was one of the first round draft picks, immediately getting sweeped into the team. So there she sat with Yuuta, while he threw pitches in the baseball cage, her talking about his teammate with disdain.

Yuuta clocked in some high speeds, and was extremely sweaty. His shoulder was killing him, but practicing as often as possible was a new priority if he wanted to be utilized and get off the bench for this season.

“I don’t understand how you can play on a team with a guy like that.” She chews a piece of licorice, a guilty pleasure snack that she was addicted to. Yuuta steals a piece and sits next to her.

She’d met Kenji before, in circumstances where she wasn’t giving him a fine for speeding down highways. When her friend got scouted, she met the members of his team at a mixer. Kenji Sato just didn’t seem to play nicely with his teammates. When Yuuta had initially introduced himself, Kenji had given him a signed baseball card, saying something about how selling it would be worth something.

After hearing that story, which Yuuta laughed at and gladly embraced as a characteristic of Kenji’s behavioral traits, she just furrowed her eyebrows and puckered her face. It rubbed her the wrong way for someone to act like that. But she couldn’t control the roster of the Giants’ team.

“He’s a great player. You’re just too tied up in your whole ‘I’m a harbinger of justice and righteousness’ to see that there are people out there with the exact same personality as you.” Yuuta drinks some water and throws a sweaty towel on her, which she tosses back to him in disgust, “Come to a game, watch him play, maybe then you’ll join a fanclub other than mine.”

She clicks her tongue to her teeth, bouncing her knee in consideration. Yuuta let the whole Kenji Sato thing go, and instead just invited her to come watch him play in the most upcoming game.

He had her try to throw a ball, how to raise her leg just enough, bringing her arm and hand back just enough. While he was adjusting the length of her arm and the angling just so, none other than Kenji Sato walked into the baseball gym. He slinks over to the pitching cage and watches for a moment, the rookie member of his team sliding his hands over Kenji’s pretty private investigator. He just had to make a comment, right?

“You should move her hips a little to the left while you’re at it, Ito.” She jumps a little at his voice, dropping the ball. It rolled over to Kenji’s foot through the wire fencing around the cage, he reached down and picked it up from under the cage. Throwing the ball up a little, analyzing it. Ito accepts the help, and uses his hands to twist her hips just a smidge.

She couldn’t help it that she was ticklish. A brief laugh escapes her, and she chokes when she sees Kenji stare right at her. Except it wasn’t at her face, rather where Ito’s hands began to slide up to her waist to tickle her a little more. Kenji presses his lips into a line, tossing the ball over the cage.

Ito yells out a quick thanks and Kenji waves his hand while walking to the locker room.

She throws the ball that Kenji had returned to her. It clocked in at around 128 KPH. Yuuta lets out an approving hum in reaction to the speed of her fastball. She does a little spin and flexes her arms to show off her natural talent. It’s a good thing the locker room had TVs that showed camera footage from all the baseball cages. Kenji laughed at her silliness while he was watching on the screen, tightening his shoes.

A few days later, at the Tokyo Police Station, she’s getting briefed on the newest details of the Ultraman case. It’s all things she’s heard before, and they were no where closer to uncovering the true identity of Japan’s biggest hero. Biggest hero, her ass, more like the biggest vigilante who runs around fighting Kaiju and also destroying the structural integrity of Japan’s cities.

All the secretaries and computer techs loved Ultraman, all the mugs in the kitchen area were Ultraman themed to prove it.

She spins around in her chair, listening to the Head of the Detective Department drone on in his monotone voice.

“Which is why I’ve decided to reach out to the KDF in helping us.”

Now, that was something she did not like. The KDF were brutalistic, inhumane, and quasi-militaristic. It was like their organization ran on the idea of killing out the entire Kaiju race with no concern for the theories and realities that Kaiju could actually help the world. If only people actually did their research and showed patience with the dedicated scientists who worked tirelessly to find out more about Kaiju.

She would prefer Ultraman to the KDF anyday. Ultraman at least gave the Kaiju respect, and he always seemed to guide them in certain directions once he got them to the ocean. Almost as if he was releasing the beasts to their homeland.

“No way. The KDF are horrendous. They treat Kaiju like pests that need to be destroyed. Any sort of information they have on Ultraman’s identity is sure to be unethically obtained.” She raised her concerns, looking to her fellow coworkers for support in backing her statement. They just lowered their heads when faced with her stare.

“Miss. You’re just a private investigator, all you need to do for us is follow instructions and see where our leads take us. And, you’re one to talk about ethically obtaining evidence, we all know your little tricks.”

She bites her tongue, leaning back into her chair. She had three more months of working for the police and then she could go back to discovering cheating husbands and trailing drug cartels for the other government departments. At least when she was doing that she wasn’t at risk for getting crushed underfoot by a superhero or getting lasered by KDF robots and fighter pilots.

Her boss puts a hand on her shoulder, picking away a piece of lint before going back to the head of the table.

“You’ll meet with a KDF representative, take detailed notes, follow the trails you find, and then report back to me. Do you understand?”

She mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

That night, she had to put on dressy clothes for the dinner with her KDF intelligence personnel. On the phone with Yuuta, she’d gotten appraised when she slid on a tight black number, “Damn! I thought you only had jeans and black shirts in your closet. Maybe I’ll have to ask you on a real date and not just the baseball banquet in two months.”

She held her head in her hands, while her elbows rested on her desk, phone sat up against her water bottle. Yuuta put the back of his hand against his forehead, giving a playfully deep sigh as he got a view of her cleavage. She rolled her eyes at Yuuta’s behavior, but still felt slightly proud at her ability to clean up nicely.

“Bye Yuuta, I’ll text you later.”

He waves to the camera, holding up a peace sign before finally ending the call.

The restaurant is dimly lit, live jazz music ebbs and flows throughout the building. Tables have white and black cloth laid out, and there’s an overabundance of marble decor. The KDF employee couldn’t have been younger than forty, but the salt and pepper hair did add an appeal she didn’t expect.

He pulled out her chair for her, and had the waiter take her order first. She sipped some water, not wanting to feel buzzed at all from alcohol. He was nice enough, just making some small talk before they got into the real meat of why they were there.

“We have intel that the ‘Hero’ is likely a sporting figure. We’re leaning towards baseball, due to the popularity of the sport. Also, based on audio recordings, he spent time abroad, using a mixture of slang and an American accent to color his lived experiences.” He downs his beer when he finishes the bulk of his information.

She jots the main points down on her notepad. In between sips of water, and bites of her pasta dish, she finds herself quickly making trails and thinking of all the roads she could go down to find Ultraman. When all the information is expressed, she leans back in her chair, waiting for the waiter to come back so she could pay for her meal.

When twenty minutes elapse, she says she’ll go looking for their server so they can leave. He nods, finishing off his fish and chips.

Turning the corner, she bumps into a solid wall. Except, the solid wall lets out a short ouch. It’s Kenji. Despite trying to clearly cover something up, his suit only goes so high on his neck. There’s black and blue bruises canvassing his face and neck, she glances and sees that there’s marks on his hands as well.

“What happened to you?” She reaches out instinctively to touch his cheek where there’s a dark purple bloom from the peak of his cheekbone to right above his jawline. He whines when she makes contact, but eases up when her warm hands soothe the flow of blood beneath his skin.

“You should see the other guy.” He remarks. In response she just scoffs a little, dropping her hand even though he wishes she would’ve just kept it there.

Soon, the salt and pepper KDF member finds her, “Hey, you need to come back.” He waves his card in the air for a moment, letting her know she needed to pay. He motions for her to hurry and come, and Kenji feels appalled. She nods, but Kenji furrows his eyebrows.

“What kind of man makes his date pay?” His voice is scratchy, and only she can hear him.

She puts a hand on his chest, “It's not a date, it’s business.”

Kenji nods, letting his hand graze hers as it slides down his chest. What once was, no longer is.

When the much older man puts a hand on the small of her back, his jaw clenches reflexively. He twitches in pain when he realizes he pulls the muscles where he’d taken a massive hit from the most recent Kaiju attack. At least he’d managed to make the fight only last around thirty minutes. The quickest fight of the year.

His legs were crossed, bouncing his foot that rested on his knee. He used his chopsticks and prodded at his noodles. His private table was hidden in a nook, with a bamboo room divider separating him and the world. Appetite crushed and meal soggy, Kenji pursed his lips slightly. Contemplation could only last for so long.

Pushing his plate away from him, he leaves a stack of bills on the counter. Stalking away to steal one last glance of her. He saw her hair, the curve of her spine, and heard the click of her shoes as the entrance to the restaurant came to a close.

What kind of business did she have, and more importantly who was he to think about what she was doing? The whole internal monologue was getting tired quick, especially when his thoughts had become plagued with her. Everytime he dished his attitude out for her, she served it right back and with her own additions and special spices.

He’d need some sort of counseling. And soon. But did he really?

She was committed to following the outline of details that the KDF personnel had given her. But she just kept running into Kenji Sato and didn’t get anywhere far with her approach.

At first she had tried to study all the baseball teams that had the quickest reaction times to a Kaiju attack. Each time she attended another game, with her hoodie pulled over her head and hands in her pockets, she just saw people running all around trying to escape the stadiums. Not optimal when a person is trying to go towards the danger instead.

A man had narrowly clipped her shoulder, she kept pressing forwards to get to the field. The Kaiju was on the outskirts of the stadium. If Ultraman really was a baseball player he would’ve appeared in the field from where the players had been. Her line of reasoning was that going down to the field and having her camera ready was the optimal discovery technique.

“What are you doing? You need to get away from the Kaiju, not run toward it?” Kenji, still in his Giants uniform, grabbed her by the arm pulling her further away from the baseball diamond. The Kaiju began to stomp away from the stadium. She groaned, ripping her arm away from Kenji.

“Leave me be.” She tried to go toward the center of the field again.

“You have a death wish and I will not be granting it.” He thwarts her plans and gives her the keys to his motorbike when they get to the parking lot, the Kaiju’s roar rumbles lowly from a distance in the eastward direction. “Get on the bike. I swear to the gods, get on the bike.”

She turns the key, and starts the engine. Kenji goes back to the stadium, leaving her to try and track down all the players from the game today who had already left the stadium, maybe following one of them would lead to the Ultraman reveal. An hour later, the Kaiju was back in the water leaving Japan behind. Ultraman’s face and video footage rang through the screens in the streets. She tossed her camera in the air, annoyance clear on her face.

That was the third time that month that Kenji had done something like that, found her trying to go towards the danger instead of avoiding it, and each time he pushed her away and told her to leave.

It was starting to annoy her more and more intensely that she still couldn’t catch a baseball player turning into Ultraman. Why did there have to be so many baseball games, and why were there so many players on every team?

Yuuta had invited her to a practice match between the Giants and a team from Singapore that had flown in for the friendly. She obliged him, thinking that she could narrow down her list of baseball players better if a foreign team was playing as well. It was around mid-game, and she didn’t expect another Kaiju attack so soon after the last one. Alarms blared and the ground rumbled.

This Kaiju was dark green, scaly, and looked a lot like a water monitor, with fangs like a rattlesnake. The size of it was smaller than most, and it slithered around instead of standing. It lunged at one of the lights in the stadium, and she was shaking against her intentions to remain resolved.

She supposed now was as good a time as ever to see an Ultraman transformation. Except maybe, getting too close to the creature was a bad idea. Yuuta had screamed at her for getting to the field, but he couldn’t stand in and do anything when the tail of the Kaiju knocked her off her feet and she landed on her arm roughly.

Kicking off with her feet, she kept trying to backtrack, elbows bloody and pain shooting through her shoulder. Now she was worried for her life, especially when the Kaiju slinked around the dirt and grass, getting a little too close to the catcher’s area, where she sat. Dirt coated her clothes, and she felt iced into her position.

She closed her eyes for a second, preparing for the worst.

Ultraman always saves the day in the end. The snake-like monster was curling itself around the arm of Ultraman, he shook his arm but the lizard stayed firmly in place. He flung his arm, and to her shock, the snake flew away, Kaiju genetics and formation letting it slither in the air. The Kaiju made its way to the coastline, and the harm was successfully resolved.

The audio muffling voice was just human enough to remind her to come back to her senses. The voice and of course, a huge presence kneeling in front of her would bring anyone back.

His hand was the size of her whole body, maybe even bigger.

“Do you need medical attention?” Ultraman stuck out a finger and she pulled herself off the ground by leveraging her weight and the arm that she hadn’t landed on.

“No, probably just some regular first aid.” She lifts her head up to try and make eye contact, that could be another clue.

When there’s no movement from either of them for a moment, he stutters something out yet none of the words make any sense. Fainting when she sees the Kaiju come back might have been her stupidest biological instinct.

Yuuta sits by her bedside table, snoring. Rubbing her head, she turns on the TV to see what happened after she lost total consciousness.

Ultraman had picked her up and set her somewhere safe while fighting the beast, headlines declaring another day safe because of his intervention. As much as she wants, she can’t roll her eyes.

Maybe there’s more to a superhero than meets the eye.

“Well folks we have it here, the championship game. We have the Giants pitching first and the Pumas at bat. Pitching for the Giants is an upstarter by the name of Ito Yuuta, or as the new fans like to say, the Michelangelo of pitching. And I can’t say I disagree with them, I mean his form is so natural and smooth.” The other announcer elbows his companion in the stomach, “And for the Pumas we have American Clint Wilks ready to bat.”

She sits in her seat, the same one Yuuta had reserved for her so many times before. She has her camera filming her friend, his first pitch he wanted filmed in slow motion, and then the rest he wanted normal speed. Something about wanting tons of content for the promotional manager to work with at various angles. Her phone camera wasn’t the best, but she made it work. And Yuuta had always been satisfied with the videos she sent to him.

When the batter manages to skim the edge of Yuuta’s first pitch she groans a little. The ball was recovered quickly, but Yuuta wasn’t shaken up at all. His next two pitches were seamless, going straight to the catcher in the blink of an eye. She cheers.

Disconnecting from the game for a moment, she scrolls on her phone, she may have enjoyed baseball, but it was Yuuta she only really came for. Yuuta and Kenji that is. Her other camera, her private investigation camera laid safely in her backpack. Should another Kaiju attack happen today she might need an early retirement, especially considering how the last run in had altered her.

It had been a while since she had caught Kenji Sato late at night, ignoring the speed limits with an overwhelming sense of confidence and ability. Maybe the lesson had finally set in, the fifth ticket may have been overkill.

When she hears the announcers say that Ken Sato is out of commission for this championship game due to injury, her ears burn. Now this was a quick mystery that needed to be solved. She had seen him in the pit, yelling with his teammates and jeering at the opposing team. But he hadn’t been quite all there, like his brain was in another body and a robot had filled in for him. When the announcement had been made that Kenji wasn’t going to play, he excused himself and left his team. She noticed that he had been rubbing his arm with a grimace.

The locker room would hold all the answers to her questions she supposes. Yuuta wasn’t going to pitch again for the rest of the game, already knocking out so many strikes in one game. She remembered how Yuuta had told her to get to the additional secret door to the locker room.

Getting into the locker room was easy, seeing Kenji Sato in his current state of undress was the hard part.

She couldn’t say much but let out a small squeak to disclose her presence in the room. Kenji finished pulling up his grey sweatpants, and coughed into his elbow to diffuse any sort of discomfort.

“Uh, sorry. My bad.” She tapped her forearm, keeping her arms locked into a folded position.

“It’s, um, it’s all good. Ito’s still at the diamond, I’m the only one here right now…” He trailed off.

Seeing the full expanse of his injuries across his torso and chest, she feels her heart sink. He’d come up closer to her, shutting his locker and almost circling her to study her. Initially, upon her walking in, she had seen him scrutinize the various marks across his body. His entire length of his arm was purple, almost like it had been wrapped in a rope that had been tightened too many times.

“Is your current partner an abuser?” She bluntly asks.

Kenji’s eyes open wide, “No, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

It was her turn for her eyes to go wide, in addition to extreme heat tingeing her skin and sweat starting to build up. Her assumption was that of a hired sort of company making those marks then. Surveying her reaction, Kenji knows what her best guess may have come down to.

“I also don’t make a habit of hiring escorts. Or any sort of paid companionship.” He swallows thickly. All his attempts to mitigate the tension in the room had absolutely failed. He tries another angle, “I’m glad that you care enough to ask though.”

She laughs at that.

“I guess I do care at least a little. It’d be a shame if you died by hooker, especially since I’ve spent so many hours giving you tickets in an attempt to save your life.”

They settled into their dynamic. Friends, but not quite friendly. Kenji wouldn’t call them enemies either, not when he held her too close to his heart. But her barely concealed occasional animosity did harbor some sort of anger or hate toward him that he’d just have to brush that aside while he categorized their relationship.

Their dynamic was hued by an innate sense of connection, but layers of social conditioning and abrasiveness between the two had deemed their magnetism a fluke.

Maybe that’s why he asks her to come to the baseball banquet with him despite being half naked in the middle of the locker room.

“I’ve already told Yuuta I’d go with him.” She shifts her weight between her feet, trying to remain balanced in spite of the extreme uneasiness that ran through her.

“I got him a replacement date.”

Her eyebrow raised at his slight supplication, he continued, “Ito told me he’d tell you soon. Guess I beat him to the remark.”

The awkward chuckle he lets escape makes him wish that he was anywhere but here. He’d take a monstrous Kaiju wanting to bite his head off then be faced with a rejection like this. Would it even be considered a rejection? He just asked if she wanted to be his date to the championship banquet. He chews the inside of his mouth, it would definitely be a direct rejection if she said no.

The crowd roars and tells the both of them that the banquet will in fact be for the Giants winning and not a solemn affair telling everyone to prepare for the next season.

“Okay. I had already cleared my weekend for the banquet anyway.” She wrings her hands out, twisting and playing with each of her fingers.

“Sounds great. It should be fun, you know, since we just won.”

She turns to leave the locker room, before turning on her heel.

He finishes putting his relaxed Giants jersey on, slightly stunned to see her still in the locker room.

“I’ll need your number, so you can tell me what to wear.” She pauses, unsure of what else he’d need to inform her of.

“And so I can let you know when I’ll pick you up, and where to pick you up.” He starts listing off items, using his fingers to keep track.

“Yeah, all that stuff.”

He gets her number, sending a short ‘hi it’s ken’ text. She feels the pull to exit again. But has to let one last thing off her chest.

“I’m not calling you Ken. You’ll always be Kenji to me.” He pushes down a smile, but she continues her word salad that climbs out of her mouth without much censorship. “Too many tickets written out in your full first name for me to call you anything else.”

“We’ll go with that then, Officer.”

She sticks her tongue out at him before finally trekking out of the baseball changing room.

To- Officer Cutie 💎🌟 : i’m sending you a dress, this is your size right?

ATTACHMENT: 1 Image

To- KENJI SATO 🚨🏍️: How did you know my size? Also you know I can buy my own clothes for a banquet right?

To- Officer Cutie 💎🌟: lemme do my own thing

To- KENJI SATO 🚨🏍️: fine then mr. bossy pants

To be fair, the dress really was gorgeous. Silver with red detailing, although the slit wasn’t quite an expected feature of the dress, coming up to above her mid thigh. The straps of the dress had an almost pearl beading which contrasted nicely with the deep blood shade of the red throughout the dress.

“You know, if my date saw you she’d wonder why I was going with her and not you.” Yuuta teases, because he does genuinely feel excitement for who he was going with, a reporter by the name of Ami Wakita. She does a spin for Yuuta in her phone camera.

“I don’t know all the way though, the colors remind me of something I can’t quite put a finger on.”

She can see Yuuta grabbing his phone and searching on Google due to the angle of his forehead that she was now enduring. When Yuuta laughs, she knows she might be in for some sort of practical joke from Kenji.

Yuuta sends her a photo of Ultraman.

“Damn him to hell. We’re going with an Ultraman theme.” She drags her hand down her face in irritation.

The black Mercedes-Benz he drove to pick her up in was definitely an appreciated touch. He was wearing a silver suit with a red button up underneath. At least they matched really well.

The banquet looked expensive. It smelt expensive. It sounded expensive. With draping fabrics hanging off of tall columns in the cream and gold shades of the Giants logo and uniforms. The bouquets of dense floral scents carried throughout the event center, and the fresh scent of pastries and cooked steaks also added to the aromas floating around the air. Clinking glasses, clicks of heels, laughs that sounded like they were dripping in a blend of nepotism and celebrity status.

Kenji and her are at a table with some of the older members of the Giants team. Kenji isn’t amused with the questions they pester the pair of them with. She wittily responds to each glaring comment that had intended to poke deeper and deeper.

The speeches awarding the team and celebrating the momentous win aren’t bad, just bland. Each time a server comes around with glasses of wine, or champagne, or shots, she grabs one and starts sipping. Kenji sticks to just water and some glasses of juice. He mentions that he’s the one driving so he’d rather not get black out drunk. She chuckles sarcastically.

While they don’t talk to each other too much, he does keep a hand on her thigh or knee for most of the night. Which in turn may have been the cause for her to keep getting drinks.

Eventually, as to be expected, the banquet shifts from an event of elegance into a slight rager. Music transitions from classical to club style hip hop and R&B. She keeps nodding off, much to Kenji’s amusement. He couldn’t imagine accidentally falling asleep when the noises around the building were booming and thunderous.

They sit at the table, the only ones left not on the dance floor. Kenji doesn’t mind, especially with how she keeps nodding off and blinking her eyes to try and stay awake regardless of how the alcohol weighs her cognizance down.

“Hey, pretty girl, you keep falling asleep.” Kenji rubs her back, his fingers touching the bare skin exposed from the back of her dress. His hands aren’t cold, they’re far from it, a warmth blossoms from them, springing forth a desire to feel the heat wherever she has exposed skin.

Mumbling, she says something about his observational skills, a ‘Captain Obvious’ is thrown in there somewhere along a line of insults. She keeps trying to rub the sleep away with the back of her hand.

“Ready to go?” She shakes her head yes and lets him guide her out to his car.

It really was the only solution. She was already asleep in his car, and he didn’t know which key was the one that opened her apartment door.

“MINA, can you please change the temperature of my room to 68 degrees? Keep the pillows cold, but make the blankets warmer.”

MINA adjusts the requested temperatures. Kenji lets her take his bed, opting to sleep in one of the guest rooms in the Ultrabase. He sets out a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless sleep shirt. He puts a hand on her leg, moving it so she’d wake up a little.

“Pajamas are here, I’ll be down the hall if you need anything. I got water and some pain relievers on your side table.” She murmurs in response, her face in the pillows. He puts a lid on the water cup, and turns off the light as he shuts his bedroom door.

She hardly recalls that she changed into the comfiest pajamas she’s ever worn, but she did remember drinking the whole glass of water and swallowing the pain pills. Waking up was surprisingly pleasant though, a perfect mixture of cold and warm coated her senses. She freezes for a moment, remembering how last night had unfurled. With her embarrassing herself by drinking way too much and getting sleepy probably much earlier than Kenji had expected.

A good private investigator would study and analyze each item in a person’s bedroom. An even better private investigator would do all that and make fun of what she could. That’s why she’s considered the best in the business.

The room is relatively bland, but pictures of a pink Kaiju stand out to her. It looks like a dragon, but it’s so adorable she had to stop herself from using her phone to take a picture of the Kaiju. There’s a family photo, and oh, his dad is Professor Sato? The Kaiju whisperer? That’s intriguing to her but she keeps lurking around.

Once she examines his room enough, she leaves the room and goes out to discover further.

The smell of fresh fruit and possibly waffles draws her out further and further from the hallway of bedrooms and bathrooms.

Kenji talks to MINA, asking for help in making the waffles actually edible and not burnt. MINA offers to cook them for him, but he says he can do it and wants to make them himself. MINA rereads the instructions for the waffle maker. He’s wearing plaid bottoms and a black tank top. She admires his arms for a moment before shaking herself out of the slight daze.

She keeps looking around. Until she finds something particularly interesting, she checks that she’s still out of his line of sight and she touches a few of the buttons on what looks like a computer keyboard. Except the buttons vary in shape and size instead of being uniform and sequential.

Falling back a little from the bright holograms she gasps. Kenji whips his head around and drops a spoon that had batter all over it onto the floor.

The holograms display various scenes of Ultraman, and Kenji. Of Kenji turning into Ultraman, of Ultraman transitioning back into Kenji. Of Kenji with the pink Kaiju, of Ultraman with the pink Kaiju. Of Kenji and his dad studying the Kaiju. Of Ultraman playing baseball with a huge bat. Of Kenji messing around with various Ultraman maneuvers and martial arts styles.

She turns her head to Kenji, now exposed from her perching site away from his view. He glances his eyes in all directions. He hiccups and laughs forcefully. He can’t even say a simple, let me explain. It’s just all too clear.

“Whoops?” She offers.

He pushed a bowl of fruit in her direction, she was sitting across from him at the dining table.

“No one can know.”

She keeps blinking and eating another piece of fruit as she processes the whole thing. Almost like a fish, she keeps opening her mouth but then closing it without ever saying a word. She downs a glass of orange juice that he gives her.

“So, you’re Ultraman.”

He shrugs.

“All those times I saw you bruised and injured? Ultraman?” She rubs her temple, trying to make sense of it all.

“For most of the time, yes. I did fall off my bike once.”

“I’m going to have to quit my job.” She deadpans. “If they knew that I knew, but didn’t tell them, I’d be hunted and killed.”

Kenji drops his fork that has a slice of mango on it.

“Not literally, but I’d definitely be tortured for what I know.” Finishing off her fruit, she lets out a deep exhale, and makes eye contact with Kenji. He taps on the table for a moment before exchanging her thoughts for his own.

“I hate to admit this, but that would literally be my worst nightmare because I unfortunately like you a lot.”

She suspends all sense of reality for a moment, also ignoring his confession to her, “Kaiju Island is real?” He nods. “I want to go and see it. I want to see the Kaiju.”

So they go and see the Kaiju.

When Kenji introduces her to Emi, a toddler Kaiju, she stands stunned but amazed at the mystical energy of it all. She considers dropping her career as a private investigator and instead studying a course in Kaiju Sciences. She sees a wide variety of other Kaiju, Kenji making sure she stays a safe distance away from anything that could potentially be too dangerous.

The whole day is spent asking and answering questions. From Ultraman to Kaiju, from KDF to Tokyo Metropolitan Police. He’s aware of what the KDF knows about him now, and he’s grateful to know where to start burying tracks for them.

The beach is pretty in the evening. The way pink and orange dance along the glimmering ocean waves. The way the sun hits Kenji’s eyes just right and makes them look like a vibrant purple. His black earrings almost turn into inky ebony gems.

“This is actually amazing.” She exhales the words she’s been holding in during the entire exposure to this alternate universe that coexists with hers.

He speaks without thinking, something he believes he really should start working on, “You’re amazing.”

“Even with all my sharpness?”

“That’s your whole appeal.” He leans in, giving just enough space for her to back out.

She doesn’t lean away. He dives in.

He doesn’t bother with any brushes of their lips, going straight for an open mouth exchange. She’s the one who grazes her tongue in his mouth first though, leaving him wanting more, needing more, an appetite needing to be satiated with her touch.

He’s leaving a path of heavy kisses over her face to her neck, sucking on the skin as he licks under her jaw. The way her skin tastes should be studied he muses, using his hands to pin her to the sandy bank by her waist. Her hands were too busy fiddling with his earrings and hair to let him pin her by the hands.

The hums he has in his throat make her want to hear what other sounds he can make. Maybe biting his bottom lip was her best option after all because as soon as her teeth came into contact with the puffy skin he shudders and it’s like music to her ears.

He has to lift himself up and off her, out of breath and panting heavily. He pulls her up with him once he’s sitting back down.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time you cussed me out for almost swerving into you when I was speeding.”

She pauses, letting him intertwine his fingers with hers, he sets the joined hands on his thigh, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in order to brush some sand off of her.

“That was a while ago.”

“Yeah, so now you know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

She pushes his shoulder that was right up against hers. He recoils, and she thinks that he might be sore from fighting a Kaiju. So she goes to apologize when he stops her before she can get any words out.

“I think I deserve an apology kiss.”

“What a faker.”

She rolls her eyes but gives him another kiss.

The headlines the following weeks put the world into a tizzy.

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR QUITS TOKYO POLICE IN A FURY

EX-TOKYO POLICE INVESTIGATOR EXPOSES KDF BRIBING GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS

KAIJU AREN’T ALL BAD: THE KDF GENOCIDE SCANDAL

KENJI SATO, WHO’S YOUR GIRL?

ITO YUUTA NAMED GIANTS VICE CAPTAIN UNDER KENJI SATO’S CAPTAINSHIP

NEW KAIJU RESEARCH AND SCIENCE RELEASED BY PROFESSOR SATO

EXCLUSIVE ULTRAMAN INTERVIEW: HE’S OBSESSED WITH KENJI SATO’S GIRLFRIEND

#ultraman rising #ultraman x reader #ultraman #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato #ken sato x reader #private investigator #identity reveal #ito yuuta multiverse #lilly's red string of fate

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