#That was the loose story i was going with anyway

[basketball-lesbians]

Freefall

summary: The thing about Paige and Azzi is they were never any good at staying away from each other. Even when they really should.

OR

The fwb pazzi fic that quite literally nobody asked for but I’m providing anyway.

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff occasionally if you squint, fwb, cheating

disclaimer:

As the story progresses, some of this will be out of character for Paige, especially with Azzi (she's lowkey an asshole at times in this storyline). There is cheating in this fic (NOT between Paige and Azzi), I don't condone it, but I did write it. I literally just wrote this because I could not get the prompt out of my head and bc I think it’s hot, lol. None of this has been beta’d, please do not repost/distribute anywhere else. Hope you enjoy these silly gay bitches being obsessed w each other :)

—

It was something they’d fought about a thousand times: the impending end of their time together at UCONN, whether Azzi would declare, how they would manage being thrust into being a long distance relationship again- if the cards fell that way.

Each time they’d fought about it, they would inevitably come to a resolution that it wasn’t worth stressing about before they had to- that they should treasure the moments they had left and live in the moment while it lasted. No matter how much that conclusion equally made Azzi’s stomach turn, ever the over-thinker, Paige would soothe her with that sweet, gentle voice she reserved for only her, and brush her loose curls behind her ear as she pressed sweet kisses to her face, and Azzi would let it go.

This time though, they hadn’t had such luck. They’d been arguing ahead of the season starting for an hour- loud enough that it echoed off the walls of the shared apartment, leading Ice and the other girls to take it as a sign and leave to give them privacy.

“No Paige, you’re not listening to me!” Azzi shouts, tears welling in her eyes as she flings her hands in a gesture of frustration that shows her desperation.

“How the fuck am I not listening to you?” Paige bites back defensively, her tone hot with anger. At that, Azzi scoffs, turning around to wipe the tears from her eyes harshly. The site of her back turned as she sniffles and wipes her face clearly melts away at Paige’s resolve, and it’s quiet for a ten count before her voice softens. “Baby, we’ve been at this for an hour.” She says, clearly exasperated.

“No. For months.” Azzi corrects pointedly, turning on her heel to meet Paige’s gaze. Her voice is unsteady, but the words are sharp and sure. There’s sincerity behind it, and they both know the implications of what she’s saying as it settles into the room.

It hangs heavy in the air between them, but neither of them manages to address it, just staring at each other. “And we’re no closer to resolving it.” It slips from her lips before she really thinks about it, and even though she means it, she feels bad as soon as she says it. She knows it was a low blow, speaking something aloud that so evidently assigned blame to Paige’s career.

Paige’s frame suddenly seems small in the low lighting of the room. She stares at the ground midway between them, not quite bold enough to look Azzi right in the face. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Azzi.” She mutters, defeated.

Azzi nods, wetting her lips. She would never ask Paige to choose her over her career, in any capacity. As teenagers, they’d conspired dreams about how they’d play together in college, spend every day together in practice and win championships before declaring for the draft and entering the league together. Azzi had finished college in 3 years just so they could stay in the same class.

But life hadn’t quite worked out that way. Yes, they’d both gotten to UCONN. They’d even gotten as close to a championship as the final four, more than once. But in three years, they’d only played 17 games together, injuries always getting in the way.

Now, almost a year after her second ACL tear, Azzi was close to coming back- this time, hopefully more permanently. But Paige was expected to declare after the end of her fifth year of playing at UCONN, her eligibility to stay in college gone, and nobody- including herself- was sure if the time was right for Azzi to declare, having missed so much play time throughout her collegiate career.

She knew the importance that getting to the league held to Paige. To both of them. She would never want to put herself before that. She did wish, though, that just for once, Paige would at least admit that the tensions that declaring brought with it were causing issues between them.

Really what she wishes is that she would hold her and apologize for the stress it caused, and promise that she would still be her priority, no matter where the draft took her. But Paige, ever so stubborn and never one to take blame if she didn’t have to, had yet to do so.

“You know what? Nevermind. I don’t know why I even brought it up.” Azzi grumbles, reaching for her sweatshirt that was slung over the back of Paige’s desk chair.

“Hey,” Paige says in protest, stepping toward her to grab her hand. “Paige, please.” Azzi sighs, glancing at their hands together before meeting the blonde’s eyes, glossy with tears. They share a pained look, but neither of them says anything. Paige drops her hand as Azzi reaches for her bedroom door. “I’ll see you at practice.” She says, closing the door behind her.

—

To make matters worse, when her alarm goes off the next morning, Azzi discovers that in her overly tired and emotional state after coming back from Paige’s, she’d set her alarm for 45 minutes after what she normally would to get ready for practice. She groans as she wakes up, rolling over to pick up her phone, turning off the alarm.

When she sees the time, she throws the blankets off, scrambling to her feet. She pulls her bonnet off and tosses it to her bedside table, grabbing a hair-tie left behind by Paige and pulling her curls back as fast as she can. Nearly falling over as she pulls on a pair of sweats and a hoodie she's pretty sure is her girlfriends', she rushes into the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, splashing cold water on her face in a desperate effort to wake herself up, not bothering to look at her reflection in the mirror.

Of course this would happen to her the day of the first official practice back.

She grabs her practice set and court shoes and tosses them into her duffel along with another change of clothes, quickly grabbing a few hair care products and hygiene items to get ready with after practice before zipping it closed and slinking out the door. She gets down one out of three flights before realizing her keys aren’t in her hand. She groans in frustration, hanging her head in exasperation for a moment before turning around and running back up the flight of stairs she’d just come down, swiping her card to get back into her apartment to grab her keys.

Once she finds them, she rushes back down the stairs a second time, jogging across the walkway into the lot to her jeep as she checks her watch for the time. Shit. There was no way she was making it on time. She tosses her bag into the backseat before climbing into the drivers seat, and when she does, she’s instantly met with the realization that Paige was the last person to drive her car- she’d taken it for an oil change over the weekend because Azzi had studying she’d needed to do.

It’s evident in the way that her seat is slightly further back to account for Paige’s long legs, the smell of her cologne still barely in the air, and finally, when the engine turns over, the way that the speakers are turned to full volume once her phone resyncs to the audio system.

She flinches, partially at how bad she feels for picking a fight with Paige last night and partially at how loud the music comes through the speakers. She cranks the dial down after nearly jumping out of her skin, reversing out of her parking spot and out of the lot, probably a little bit faster than she should.

—

She pulls into the practice facility and manages a parking job she’s sure she’ll hear about in the team group chat later before speed walking inside, her bag hitting her knee awkwardly every other step. She swipes herself into the facility and immediately rushes to the team room and then to the changing rooms, throwing on her practice set and pulling out her shoes to walk to the courts. She tries to slink into the gym without being noticed, but the girls are already running drills across the court, so there’s nothing to distract CD from clocking her as soon as she rounds the corner.

Azzi offers an apologetic smile, and for a second she actually thinks that the pathetic look on her face might have spared her from a lecture when CD’s expression softens as she looks at her, but then she hears it. Geno’s loud voice booms across the gym- calling her out in front of the entire team and staff.

“Azzi Fudd! How nice of you to make an appearance.” He chides, hands wide as he makes a big gesture at her in disbelief, walking towards her. She nods, dropping her court shoes to the floor, slipping her slides off to change into them. “I know- I’m so sorry,” She acknowledges, not bothering to provide an excuse, because she knows by now how their coaching staff feels about them.

“Mmm. Just decided since you aren’t fully cleared you don’t need to be here?” He asks sharply, and even though she knows he doesn’t actually think that about her, and that he’s just annoyed and trying to prove a point, it still stings. “No, I-“

She stops herself, knowing she’s getting emotional and about to launch into a defensive explanation for no reason. It was a shitty feeling right now, but he’ll forget about it before the week’s out. “No excuse, Coach. It won’t happen again.”

Even though he’s barely taller than her, she feels small as he looks at her intently. “Better not. Get your mind right, kid.” She nods, kneeling down to tie her shoe. He turns away from her, spurring the girls on the court into switching to another drill.

CD takes his place next to her, leaning over slightly so she can hear her without her having to raise her voice. “Brush it off. Lynn’s waiting for you in the team room,” She says, patting Azzi on the back as she stands up.

She nods, smoothing a hand over her hair as she offers a small smile in response. Subconsciously, her eyes scan the group of girls on the court for Paige as she walks back out of the gym, although she hears her before her eyes actually find her.

“Box out, box out! You can’t leave him open like that!” She yells to the underclassmen as she runs under the basket to rebound a shot thrown up by one of the practice players, dribbling it back outside the key and retaking the possession. Azzi smiles to herself slightly at that, walking under the banner that hangs over the doors on her way out.

Paige’s gaze finds Azzi’s figure walking out as she resets, closing in on the three point line. She pump fakes the practice player thats guarding her and pivots hard to the left, losing him fully, before coming up for a wide open jumpshot three.

Azzi’s already turned the corner and walked out of the gym by the time the ball leaves her shooting hand, but her eyes still come back to the doorway to look for her. When she doesn’t find her there, her gaze snaps back to the hoop. The shot bounces off the shooting square of the backboard, rolling around the lip of the rim tantalizingly before tipping out of the basket. Miss.

—

Paige wrings her hair out with her towel, the material of the dri-fit shirt she’d pulled on sticking to her back with her movements. The chatter from the other girls that would usually fill the locker room is non-existent this morning, Paige having stayed significantly late after practice to get extra shots up and talk to Geno.

The stress of this season was already weighing on her, but she was determined to rise to the occasion and use this season, her last, to get the Huskies to championship number 12. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder, but this year, with all the media speculation and attention, she was committed to showing up and showing out- to do what she came here to do.

No matter what the cost was. It was something she needed to prove to herself.

She sighs, hanging up the towel into her locker, and drops her hygiene bag into the open drawer of her locker, nudging it shut with her hip.

She barely hears when Azzi enters the locker room from the team room, shower kit in hand to head to where Paige had just emerged from.

“Hey,” Azzi says, a quiet start to a conversation they both know is going to feel like ripping off a bandaid. Paige nods at her, lifting a hand under her shirt to apply deodorant. Azzi’s eyes briefly skim the exposed section of taut midriff that flashes before her shirt falls back to cover it again. “Hey. Didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, um. Stayed back for some cupping.” She shifts her clothes and shower kit between her hands awkwardly, lingering in place solely to talk to the other girl, who’s nodding along as she combs through her drawer, evidently looking for something specific.

“Talked with Lynn a little bit about the conversations I’ve been having with Carl,” She says, a touch of hopefulness in her voice evident at the mention of her recovery timeline.

Paige offers a slight smile at that, running lotion over her hands and face. “That’s good,” She says, pulling a hoodie on over her t-shirt. “You wanna get breakfast after you shower, talk about last night?” She asks, finally turning to look at Azzi fully.

Azzi doesn’t miss the way her tone is just a little short, her expression tense, like she’s holding back from her. She hates when she gets like this after they fight- understands it, but hates it, nonetheless.

“I have class after this,” She reminds her gently- a byproduct of the fact that Azzi had chosen in person classes while Paige had adamantly tried to keep the both of their schedules as fully online as possible.

Paige purses her lips slightly and nods, reaching for her bag. “Right. Okay,” She says, putting her shoes in the top of her locker and tidying up her space. “Well, I guess lemme know when you have time to talk, then.”

“Paige, hey.” Paige looks up, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. “What’s up?” She asks, her voice almost impatient, like she's waiting for Azzi to finish her thought so she can leave.

“I-“ Her voice falters, not sure of what to say. After not interacting at all since their fight last night, Azzi wasn’t sure what to say.

She thought they’d both soften by the time they talked about it, and maybe they had- but an immediate rejection the second that Paige offered to talk definitely hadn’t helped. Now she was doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out a way to walk that back before Paige walked out of the room.

“I finish with classes at 4. Do you wanna meet at my apartment?” Paige frowns. “We were gonna go to the women’s soccer game tonight, we talked about it in practice.” She says flatly.

Azzi nods, pretending it didn’t sting that the season had literally barely started and she’d already been left out of team conversations due to being benched. “Okay. After that?”

Paige sighs, pulling her phone out of her pocket when it starts ringing. “Shit. It’s Brittany, I gotta take this.”

Azzi draws her bottom lip between her teeth and raises her eyebrows, nodding. “Okay.” She says as Paige walks past her and towards the door.

She turns to acknowledge Azzi as she passes at least, which softens the blow.

“Sorry for not telling you about the soccer thing, it was an impromptu idea that got brought up this morning. You’re obviously invited,” She says, before drawing her thumb across the screen and pulling her phone to her ear.

“Yeah. I’ll text you,” Azzi calls after her, and Paige throws a pointer finger up in acknowledgment as she walks out.

So much for talking about it.

—

She gets ready quickly after her shower, not liking how quiet the facility was when the whole team wasn’t there, filling it with buzzing energy and a love for the game.

She pulls her hair back and makes faces at herself in the mirror for a minute before heading to her locker and putting away the gear she kept at the facility, packing up the rest in her duffel.

She pulls her phone and keys out of her bag, looking at her phone for the first time since she’d gotten to the facility. Really, for the first time since she’d been awake, what with the way she’d woken up.

She unlocks her phone and navigates to messages, where she sees 5 unread messages from Paige. Furrowing her brows, she opens their pinned conversation.

Paige Madison 💗:

12:07am: Hey, I’m sorry about tonight. Can I come up?

12:22am: I love you, Az

1:12am: U still tryna ride w me to practice?

4:45am: Should I wait for you or nah?

5:20am: Yo, you good? Getting worried now.

Azzi sighs, running her free hand over her face, frustrated. No wonder she was short with her this morning.

She probably thought she had ignored her all night, and as soon as she’d asked her to go with her to get breakfast and talk this morning, Azzi had turned her down. If Azzi knew anything about Paige from the last 7 years, it was that she hated feeling rejected.

Feeling guilty, she types out a response.

9:11am: I’m so sorry, I just saw this. I went straight to sleep and then overslept this morning

9:11am: I’m okay. I’m sorry if I worried you

Then, after a beat:

9:13am: I love you too

—

Collegiate soccer games are 90 minutes, divided into two 45 minute halves. Azzi knows this because she googled it. Twice.

The soccer game had started at 5:30, and Azzi had too much homework to go, which she’d texted to the team chat. Ice had tried to drag her with her on her way out the door, but Azzi held her ground, knowing she needed to stay on top of her coursework as the season ramped up, or she’d regret it later.

The girls complained in the groupchat at her absence, which made her feel a little less bad, but Paige had largely not acknowledged her since their tense conversation in the locker room- aside from a response to the messages Azzi had sent when she finally looked at her phone this morning.

Paige Madison 💗

9:43am: All g. Lmk if you still wanna talk after the game

So she’d texted back after her class-

11:12am: Ofc. I just have some hw I’ll be working on but I’ll be at home after my class ends at 4

And although Paige had heart reacted to it, Azzi was still feeling a bit uneasy about the whole thing.

Now it was 8:24, and Azzi’s done the math- even accounting for timeouts, substitutions, and a break at half, and even if they went into overtime, it’s getting late.

There’s nothing in the chat about the game going long or traffic being bad or something coming up- so even though she tries to assure herself it’s nothing, she’s slowly becoming convinced that it’s definitely something.

—

When the group finally comes barreling through the door, Azzi’s moved to her bed to be more comfortable, giving up on trying to stay up. She isn’t sure what time it is, but she knows it’s late enough for her to be justified in being bothered.

She goes to check her phone. 1:41am, and still no texts from Paige. Nice.

The girls erupt in laughter in the living room, and she hears Paige’s voice amongst them. “Yo, yo. Shut up, f’real. You’re acting dumb as fu-“ Her words are cut off by very obviously running her shin into something- Azzi would assume the ottoman she left sticking out.

For a second, she almost feels bad. Almost.

“Ohhhh, fuck me.” Paige groans out loudly, and then there's what sounds like her jumping on one foot to hold her leg.

The other girls cackle at her obnoxiously, and Azzi huffs, resolving to get out of bed so all the girls make it to theirs safely. She switches on the light in her room, pulling her robe on, and the way she can hear the girls scatter at the sound makes her feel like she’s somebody’s mother.

She pulls her door open, and Ice is laying on the floor clutching at her stomach in laughter while she watches Paige nurse her leg leaning against the wall. She hears Morgan giggling somewhere on the couch, and the smell of liquor coming off of the trio does not impress her at all.

She stands with her hands on her hips just outside the living room, staring at Ice. Ice giggles anxiously when she sees her, scooting across the floor and away from her.

“Isuneh,” Azzi warns, walking toward her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” She laughs out, clearly picking up on Azzi’s agitation, despite being inebriated to the extent that she is.

“We should have texted- the girls won, like totally kicked Boston’s ass, and they wanted to go to Ted’s with us, so…” She trails off, and Azzi sighs, turning to find the other two in the dimly lit room.

Morgan, to her credit, seems the least drunk out of the three of them, but she’s entirely too bubbly considering that it’s nearly midnight on a monday.

Azzi gestures towards Morgan, not acknowledging Paige yet. The tension it adds to the room is palpable. “Do you need help getting to bed?” Azzi asks, a gentle lilt in her voice despite being annoyed.

She wasn’t trying to ruin the freshman’s fun just because she was having a bad day. Morgan shakes her head, standing slightly unsteadily.

Azzi sighs, leaning down to grab Ice’s hands and pull her up and lean her against the couch. “Get some sleep,” She says to Morgan. “Pain meds are in the cabinet above the coffee maker, I’ll make sure there’s food in the morning.”

Morgan smiles nervously at her, her posture small. “Thanks, Az,” She whispers, and Azzi nods at her, offering a small smile back.

Ice slumps into Azzi’s shoulder, giggling again. Azzi hits her shoulder, only slightly playfully. “You should know better, Isuneh,”

She scolds, pushing her back against the couch again so she can swing an arm beneath hers and get her to her bedroom.

“It’s a frikin' Monday night.” She says incredulously, mostly to herself.

Ice laughs at that before groaning, reaching for her stomach. “No, no, no,” She rushes to get out. Azzi cranes her neck to look at her.

“What?” She asks, and Ice gags. Azzi winces, saying a silent prayer that nothing comes up, and that if it does, it somehow manages to avoid her.

Ice drops her weight back towards the couch and out of Azzi’s reach. “Don’t move me, just let me die here.” She says dramatically, and Azzi makes a face, staring at her for a moment, calculating.

She sighs, picking up her feet and putting her fully on the couch. She walks to the closet just outside the living room and pulls out a blanket, fanning it out over Ice so she can at least hopefully get comfortable and sleep this off.

She feels Paige’s gaze on her, but she makes no effort to acknowledge it. She walks to the kitchen and gets a glass of water, bringing it back to the drunken girl sprawled out on the couch. “Here,” She says, holding out the glass in one hand and two aspirin in the other.

“You’re gonna wanna get ahead of this before the morning,” She says when Ice stares at her blankly. “I don’t know if I can even swallow that,” Ice slurs, trying to sit up and missing when she tries to plant her arm, nearly dropping off the side of the couch and into Azzi’s leg.

She grimaces, leaning out of the contact, and resettles Ice onto the cushions. “Come on. Take this and I’ll let you sleep.” Ice sighs loudly, reaching for the pills and taking them from Azzi’s hand.

The glass, however, she simply presses her lips to, rather than taking it from Azzi’s hand.

“Oh my god,” Azzi mutters, tilting the glass slowly so the water flows into Ice’s mouth. She swallows loudly, opening her mouth wide after the fact to show off that the pills were gone.

Azzi chuckles to herself. “Very nice,” She credits, pulling the blanket over the taller girl once she settles back on the couch.

Ice sighs, bringing the blanket to her chin. “Thanks, crazy Azzi. Don’t have too much fun with Paigey-Waigey. I’ll be able to hear it from here.” She giggles, wagging her finger at Azzi suggestively. Azzi rolls her eyes, taking the glass back to the kitchen. As if.

She walks back through the living room and Paige is already looking at her, her hand still over her shin. Azzi sighs. “Are you okay?” She asks, gesturing loosely at her leg.

Paige nods, her eyes obviously tired, and moves to try and stand, using the wall for aid. Azzi comes slightly closer, so if she falls she’d be able to catch her, and watches her carefully. “‘M fine, Az. I’m not even that drunk.” She defends, and Azzi rolls her eyes yet again.

“Right.” She says. Paige clears her throat, awkward, using the opportunity of being braced against the wall to catch her breath. “Do you need the couch or can you make it downstairs?” Azzi asks, and Paige furrows her eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh,” She pauses, looking around. Azzi swallows. She’d obviously planned to stay with her tonight.

The assumption that she would stay with Azzi would be sweet if she hadn’t left her hanging for hours, not texted, and then shown up drunk at midnight on a weeknight- if she hadn’t said they could talk tonight, and then completely stood her up. But she did.

“Come on. You probably wouldn’t make it down those stairs in once piece anyway.” She grumbles, grabbing Paige’s arm and guiding her to her bedroom. Paige starts to protest, but quickly drops it.

The younger girl makes sure Paige gets to the bed, and then turns to close the bedroom door. She pulls her robe off and drapes it back over her desk chair, Paige’s eyes tracking her movements intently.

“You look good, mama,” Paige draws, and Azzi scoffs. “Absolutely not, Paige Madison.” She clears, walking towards the bed, deliberate in staying out of Paige’s reach.

Paige’s eyebrows draw up in surprise, and Azzi stares at her incredulously, her clueless reaction making frustration flash in her chest.

“What? Did you drink so much you forgot we were supposed to talk?” Azzi asks, unable to help herself, and as soon as she says it, she regrets it.

She knows better than that, she should have waited until tomorrow to do this. It’s only going to cost them both sleep, and Paige probably won’t even remember it in a few hours.

Paige breathes heavily, leaning forward so her forearms are braced against her quads as she leans over, feet square on the ground. “Fuck, Az. ‘M sorry,”

Azzi bites at the inside of her cheek, weighing whether or not to engage further. “Seriously, Paige? What, you just spaced it?” Paige winces when she raises her voice. “No, I-“ She stops, holding her head.

She looks up at Azzi, squinting, even just from the normal lighting in her room. “We went out for dinner and a couple of drinks. I meant to text you, honest. We got caught up and…” She trails off, and Azzi’s mouth goes dry.

“And what, Paige?” She asks. The blonde groans next to her. “I’on even know,” She complains, hanging her head, and in any other situation, Azzi would sympathize more and pull her under the blankets, play with her hair and let her fall asleep on her chest.

But right now, tears are brimming her eyes and she can’t even bring herself to touch her hand. “You couldn’t even muster the presence of mind to have somebody else text? Or, god forbid, you couldn’t have just made it a priority to get back to me so we could have this stupid conversation?”

Paige's eyebrows furrow, looking up at her. “Wh’d’you mean, stupid conversation? If it’s about us and it’s important, how is it stupid?”

Azzi purses her lips, beyond frustrated that she can pick a fight over minced words but won’t actually address the problem that’s been hanging over them for months. “You tell me, Paige. You’re the one who couldn’t make it a priority.”

“I’m sorry, Az. You gotta understand, dude, I got a lot going on, and I was already upset-" Azzi laughs at that, throwing her hands up.

“You were upset? Paige, you barely even talked to me today. And then you stood me up when we were finally supposed to actually talk.”

“Whoa, you started the “barely talking” thing. You didn’t even answer my texts til practice was over the next morning.” Paige says, scooting back in the bed to lean against the wall and get further from Azzi. “Yeah, because I fell asleep. I told you that.” Azzi argues.

“Okay, well I tried to talk with you earlier, and you were too busy.” Paige stabs back. “No, Paige, I wasn’t “too busy”. I had classes. Classes I am trying to stay on top of so that you and I can have time together outside of the season and actually enjoy the last year we have together before who fucking knows what happens!”

Paige laughs. “Dude, you think I don’t understand that? That’s why I tried to get as many online classes as possible. You’re making me out to be this villain who like, doesn’t wanna be around you or something, and that’s not fuckin’ true. I’m trying so hard to be on top of classes and be a good leader for the team and keep myself in a good position to get to the league-“ Azzi cuts her off cold.

“Exactly, Paige! It’s always about the league. Your priority is always the league. And I get that that’s your dream- it’s my dream too. But fuck, Paige. It’s gonna fucking happen either way. You’ve been projected as first pick for over a year. We could bomb all season long and it wouldn’t matter- you’re getting to the W. I wish you could admit that it’s such a fucking given and focus on literally anything else for one goddamn minute.”

Paige scoffs, standing up, her blue eyes wide in disbelief. "Yes, Azzi, the league is my priority." She stares at the other girl dubiously, like she's trying to figure out why the hell that's coming as a shock. "If you don't understand that, maybe we're not doing what I thought we were doing here," She rushes out, gesturing loosely between them.

Her words send Azzi's head spinning, so much that she barely hears the next words out of her mouth.

"Going pro is everything we ever talked about. Getting drafted is foundational to the fucking life we always planned on. You being injured and not knowing when you’re declaring is fucking complicated and it weighs on you, I know. I’m sorry if you feel like I don’t focus on that enough." Anger rises in Azzi's throat at that, but Paige is quick to resume her point, not giving her a chance to verbalize it.

"It's not that I don’t care- but that only adds to the importance of me getting my foot in the door to ensure we have a good fucking life set up.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Azzi mutters, looking at the blonde in disbelief. "What, you think because I’m too fucking fragile you need to get into the league so we can ensure a paycheck?"

Her eyes sting as tears begin to well, threatening to fall. "You think I’m that incapable? That weak?" She asks, looking up at Paige from where she sits on the bed, her voice breaking.

Paige sighs, working her jaw, resolve clearly fractured by Azzi’s reaction. “No, Azzi, that’s not what I-“

“You have that little faith in my future?” Azzi asks, drawing into herself as she leans against her headboard, her arms crossing over her chest. Tears run over and fall down her face now, bottom lip quivering in a way that makes Paige’s stomach churn.

Paige moves to get closer to her, her movements still a little bit sluggish, despite how much the argument had sobered her up. “No, baby, hey-“ She reaches for her hand, and Azzi quickly pulls away, shoving at her to put distance between them.

Paige is taken aback, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Whoa, hey,” She says, trying to soothe the other girl, but Azzi is inconsolable. She hasn’t felt this betrayed, this misconstrued since she was a child. She had definitely not ever felt this way by Paige’s hand, and she didn’t think she ever would.

The self doubt and concern about coming back from this injury was something that weighed on her constantly- and she’d gotten good at hiding it, sure. Sometimes she was so good she even almost fooled herself.

But it was there. It lived deep in her chest, a voice that spoke to her every time she missed a shot in the gym she knew she should have made.

It kept her awake at night, even with Paige’s body pressed against hers, sound asleep. It was the reason she spent so much time wondering if she was even good enough to make it to the league at all- if she’d even deserved to come to UCONN, if she’d pulled her weight since being there.

Although the comment the other girl had made about their relationship maybe “not doing what she’d thought” had hurt, the mere thought of Paige questioning her abilities made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Azzi, that is not what I was trying to say,” Paige promises, leaning closer to try and get Azzi to focus on her rather than whatever thoughts she was quite evidently spinning in her head.

“Hey, look at me, Az,” Paige tries again, reaching to touch her face. Azzi flinches away from the contact, wiping at her face furiously. “Just go.” She says, sniffling as she leans away from the blonde.

Paige watches her with her mouth just barely open, unable to come up with a response. “Wh- don’t you think we need to talk about this?” She tries, but the other girls’ mind is made up, withdrawn from the conversation.

“I don’t wanna argue with you anymore, Paige. Just go, I’m serious.” She says, her voice small. Paige sighs, running her hands over her face.

She can’t just leave when Azzi looks so sad like this. "Come on, Az." She pleads. “That’s not what I meant, can we just-“

“Paige, I want to be left alone. Can we please just not?” Azzi croaks, pulling a pillow over her chest and furthering the barriers between the two girls. The blonde wets her lips, starting to reply and then stopping, not sure where to pivot from here.

“It’s not like it matters, anyway.” Azzi mutters, wiping at her nose. Paige’s expression drops, eyebrows knitting together as she looks at the other girl.

“Doesn’t matter? To who? What is that even supposed to mean?” She asks, hurt rising in her chest.

Azzi looks up at her, her eyes puffy from crying, her expression exhausted. “Come on, Paige. We’ve been arguing over this for months, we’re not going to magically stumble upon a solution tonight.” She says, her voice scratchy- and Paige can’t tell if its from being tired or from crying. “You’re not even sober.”

Paige stares at her, indignant at the suggestion that she wasn’t sober enough to defend her career and fight for their relationship. If Azzi was going to take dirty hits, she wasn’t going to let what she’d said go.

“Who does it not matter to, Azzi?” She repeats. Azzi narrows her eyes, scoffing at the blonde in disbelief. “I’m not doing this with you right now.” She states, getting off the bed and walking across the room to put distance between them.

Paige follows suit, getting to her feet and standing behind her, refusing to let her walk away. "I asked you a question.” She states, insistent, and Azzi turns around, adamant brown eyes meeting stubborn blue.

“No, Paige.” She says firmly. Her inflexible tone only ramps the blonde up further. “What do you mean, “no”? We’re having a conversation.”

“Not anymore, we’re not." She shuts her down simply. "Azzi." Paige prompts.

"You know I don’t like when you get like this.” Azzi says, staring daggers at her before pushing past to get around her. “Azzi.”

Paige turns her body with the movement and grabs for her wrist. Azzi pulls away hard, like her flesh is burning in the blonde’s grip. “No, Paige. I’m done. Go home.”

Frustrated tears fall silently down her pale cheeks, and she wipes at them with the back of her hand, only irritated further by their presence.

“You’re ‘done’?” She asks, incredulous, a scoff ripping its way up from the back of her throat. Loose strands of blonde hair that came undone from her bun throughout the drunken activities of the night frame the desperate look on her face.

Azzi crosses her arms, keeping distance between them. “I’m serious, Paige. Go.” She repeats, and Paige wants to scream. Her mind is moving too fast and too slow at the same time- she doesn’t know if she should storm out, raise her voice, or drop to her knees and beg Azzi to let her stay and try and make up.

As soon as that mental image crosses her mind, anger flashes in her chest at the fact she’d thought it in the first place. She hadn’t even done anything wrong aside from getting drunk when she shouldn't have. Why was she being crucified for trying to make a life for them?

Was she the only one who’d meant it all the times they’d talked about getting to the league, building a family, and living on the coast?

The anger in her chest bubbles over, and she can’t even see straight. “You know what, Azzi? Fine. Maybe its better off that way, anyway. We both could stand to lock in this year, without any distractions.” She spits.

Before Azzi can get her mouth to open, she's closing the door behind herself- and then she's gone.

Hey y’all! Here's a little something I've been working on. This is part 1 of multiple, idk how many yet. This chapter is really just to set up the rest of the story- the rest from here on out will be a lot more fun, I promise. This was not beta’d at all, so be warned! Any comments/shares/love is sooo appreciated. Thank you and I really hope you guys enjoy!

[bullet-prooflove]

Three Shots: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @ladychaos1525

Companion piece to:

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

Such A Good Girl - Ryan makes a realisation about your undercover op.

It’s the gun shots that change everything.

There’s three of them, each one a loud retort that echoes through the clear night air as Ryan sits behind the wheel of his truck, that casefile on his lap. He’s out of the vehicle in an instant, heart hammering in his chest as he races towards the house with his Glock in his hand.

This shit right here, this is his nightmare.

The door is unlocked when he reaches it, it’s the way of people who buy second homes in remote areas like this. They don’t think to lock the doors because whose around to open them anyway.

The stench of cordite hits him the moment he steps into the hall way, he can taste it on his tongue as he searches the house for you with a franticness he feels in the very depths of his soul. It’s in the study he finds you and the scene… it’s nothing like he expected.

You’re sitting in a leather chesterfield with Myer’s dead body at your feet and your gun in your hand, resting lightly on the arm of the chair. Blood blossoms across the expensive cream sweater the other man is wearing, saturating the fabric as crimson spreads underneath him. It’s the expression on his features that gets Ryan, the look of absolute surprise that his life had ended this way.

“Katalina.” Ryan says softly trying to understand what happened and you look up at him without so much as a hair out of place.

“I found that.” You tell him as you gesture to the laptop on the coffee table. “And I just couldn’t let him get away with it.”

Ryan folds his sleeve over his hand, careful not to leave a fingerprint as he presses the space bar. A video starts to play and it’s the worst fucking thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“There’s one for each of them.” You tell him, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “One for each of the girls he raped and then dumped on the reservation.”

It’s then that it dawns on Ryan, what happened here tonight. Myers hadn’t attacked you at all. You’d executed him.

Three to the chest, just like they taught you at the academy.

“You need to make the call.” You tell him, your eyes meeting his with a clarity he finds harrowing. “Tell them what you found when you walked into this room.”

“I’m not letting you go to prison for putting down a fucking animal.” Ryan tells you and he can tell your surprised by the expression on your features. “He doesn’t get to take you down with him.”

Already his mind is working damage control, the same way it does with every single mess he’s ever had to clean up for the Duttons.

“You found the video and he attacked you.” Ryan informs you as he starts to stage the scene in his head. “When you shot him, you were in fear for your life.”

“Ryan.” You say gently as you stand up and step towards him. “Nobody’s going to believe that, there’s not a mark on me.”

“Well baby.” He sighs as grasps your arms and rolls up your sleeves. “We’re gonna have to change that.”

The next couple of minutes are a true testament of love and Ryan hates every fucking second of it. He grips your arms so tightly, he leaves finger marks embedded in the flesh. He tears your shirt, sending the buttons careening in different directions. He fucks up your hair, yanking it out of that neat braid so it’s mused up and loose. When it comes to the crunch, to actually inflicting violence on you, he just can’t force himself to do it so he steps back, surveying the mess he’s made of you.

It’s not enough, he realises, his heart sinking and that’s when you take the intuitive.

“There’s a rolling pin in the kitchen.” You tell him, your voice resolute. “I need you to get it for me.”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[foreverromanticising]

something, somehow, someday

1.9k words of idiots in love

lando norris x f!reader

(this is kind of rllly bad bc i need to get back into fanfic writing - im a veteran but its been a while! requests open pls send whatever!)

Friday nights always followed the same routine for Lando, he was playing chaueffer. Well, the Friday nights he had off from being Lando Norris Formula 1 Driver. More often than not, he found himself driving around Monaco, playing pick up from different bars with his girl and her friends. 

Calling her ‘his girl’ was loosely strung, she wasn’t his girlfriend by any means, but simply calling her a friend seemed unjust. It didn’t pay any justice to their connection; best friends also seemed far too juvenile for they never knew each other in their childhood years, when the term best friend perhaps would’ve suited them. 

No, they met much later in their lives, Lando’s second or third season in Formula 1, and she just happened to know a friend of a friend, which ended in the two at the same party at the same time. Typical and cliche, they knew it, but they both preferred having an organic story to tell of their meeting rather than having to admit their connection was found on some online algorithm. 

However, it wasn’t that many people asked for their meeting story as they were just friends, plain and simple - asking two friends how they met didn’t hold the same importance as it did for asking a couple. 

Yes, they were friends, if their relationship had to be labelled but in a sweet and sticky sense of friendship. They weren’t friends in the way Max and Lando were friends; a relationship consisting of streaming, gaming, and very platonic activities that would be expected of two friends. Their friendship was abnormal to outsiders but it made perfect sense for them, and why should they listen to anyone else’s opinions?

Lando never found himself waking up with any of his other friends head’s on his bare chest, but with his girl it made perfect sense. The Monaco sun peering through the windows, illuminating highlights within her hair against his tan chest, his arm tightly wound around her waist, and both of their bodies pressed into one side of the bed, despite its huge size. 

This was their normal; they had drawn an invisible line between their friendship and something more, they never dared to cross it but the line definitely grew to become blurrier as time went on.

Hence why, Lando continually found himself in a parked car outside of whatever bar or club she chose to spend her Friday night. He claims he would do this for any friend that would ask him to, he cared about how his friends would make it home, but she had never once asked to be picked up, rather he always offered.

On the outside, Lando made it clear he cared about her making it home safely, there was no reason for her to pay for a taxi when he was happy and available to take her home - a firm believer his driving was far safer than any taxi driver. But, there was a miniscule part inside his beating heart that knew it was more than just her safety. He liked picking her up because it meant she would go home with him.

Him and no one else.

“You’re sure your friends don’t need a lift too?” Lando waited to pull away from the bar until he had a definite answer; just because he was picking up his girl didn’t mean he was going to leave her friends stranded - his offers always extended to whoever she was out with. “You know I’d rather take them than a taxi.”

“I know, Lan, but Alex’s boyfriend’s on his way anyway,” Your lifted your head off of his car window to look over at Lando, sincerity laced within your words. “They’re all gonna stay at her place, it’s just easier.”

“Do you want me to drop you at Alex’s?” He hadn’t known the night out was extending into a girls night, feeling almost guilty for wanting you in his bed, his arms, rather than with your own friends. “You wanna spend the night there?”

“No,’ You let the word drag out, trying to bite back the grin that was threatening to spill over your lips. Unbeknownst to Lando, you wanted to end the night in his arms just as much as he did. “I’m tired and I think I’m done socialising for tonight.”

“Oh, okay. Just back to yours, then?” He had to actively keep his face from allowing a frown to take over after hearing your wish to no longer socialise, he had only assumed this Friday night would be the same as all the others but it appeared you had other plans.

“I mean, it’s kinda out of the way now, isn’t it?” You looked at the street whipping by you, trying to feign nonchalance over the thought of heading back to Lando’s. “Your place is probably easier.”

“Thought you didn’t want to socialise with anyone else tonight.” Lando was also trying to act nonchalant, like he didn’t care, like he hadn’t thought about this Friday night tradition ever since you had woken up in his arms last Saturday morning.

“Yeah but you don’t count.” A smile tugged at your lips as your social battery for others may have been used up, you didn’t think it could ever run out when it came to Lando. You didn’t have to play pretend, or use up much energy around him, if anything he rechargred your batteries. A night with him was exactly what you needed.

He knew exactly what you meant. You two didn’t have to even speak when you were around each other. Comfortable silence was enough to maintain your friendship.

Once Lando had parked his car, you made your way to his apartment, in that comfortable silence you had been craving. This silence followed both of you in the elevator, as he unlocked his front door, as you made your way to your respective drawer in his bedroom to find something to wear to bed, until he found you brushing your teeth and chose to join you. 

It was an image of domesticity; an old quadrant shirt of his draped over your body paired alongside a pair of his basketball shorts, your skincare lining his bathroom counter, your bodies pressed against one another - shoulder to shoulder, just as your pink and blue toothbrushes stood in their holder beside the sink. 

“What’s your plans for tomorrow?” Lando spoke through a mouthful of toothpaste, as thought his question couldn’t wait the two minutes. You poked your elbow into his ribs to shut him up until you had finished brushing your teeth.

“Not sure yet, the girls wanna go for brunch but nothing’s set in stone yet,” You looked at him through his bathroom mirror. “Why? What’re you scheming?”

“Just wondering,” He shrugged his shoulders then turned on his heel, making his way to his bedroom - prompting you to follow him. “Wondering if you wanna come play padel with me and Max tomorrow morning.” 

You watched as he peeled back the covers on his bed, placing an extra pillow onto your unassigned side of the bed because he knew you liked more pillows tha he did. “I think I’ll pass, that sounds sort of hellish to me.” Athletics had never been your thing, never one to actively participate in games, and whilst you loved Max you thought it was best to leave him and Lando their own time without you imposing - though, Lando would insist you could never impose.

“Yeah, that’s alright. Probably good to see him before the double header kicks in,” Lando climbed into his bed, arms open for you to crawl into as he was wasted no time in wanting to hold you close. “You’re still coming to Belguim, yeah?” Hints of uncertainty could be found within his voice, though he tried to hide it, he couldn’t help it. He wanted you there, cheering him on from the sidelines, because he wasn’t sure he could get through the next few races without that light at the end of the tunnel.

“Yeah ‘course.” You didn’t have to give it a second thought; you had already decided after a phone call with his mother, but it must’ve slipped your mind to tell Lando himself. You were more focused on making yourself comfortable against his body, your head taking its him on his chest as his fingertips danced along the sliver of skin that was shown from the way your legs tangled with his under the covers.

Night soond turned into morning, Lando’s alarm blaring through his phone, making him regret any decision to play padel as he felt your body intertwined with his. He had to fight every urge to cancel his plans for the day and instead keep you in his bed, wrapped up in his clothes and his arms and his bedsheets. Would it be too much to ask you to spend another night within seconds of his eyes opening? Perhaps, but he couldn’t bear the thought of spending his nights alone for the next two weeks. 

He had two separate hotel rooms booked for Belgium but he knew that, inevitably, either one of you would cave and pad your away across the hotel to the other hotel room, desperate for the comfort of laying beside one another.

Instead of dwelling on such thoughts, he forced himself to get up for the day, leaving you to rest in his bed whilst he headed out to padel. Not before sending you a quick text to wake up to:

Lan<3

Hey, just headed to padel with Max

I’ll be two hours at most and 

I’ll come home with breakfast

Stay put pretty girl

“Who are you texting?” Max asked as Lando climbed into his car, trying to peer over to see his phone screen but remaining unsuccessful as it was pulled out of his vision.

“No one, you nosey bastard.” Lando turned his phone off, begrudgingly so, and put it into his pocket.

“I know it’s her, don’t play daft,” Max knew everything about Lando and his girl, even if they were too blind to see it. “I know she’s in your bed right now, and I know you’re late ‘cause of it.”

Max knew they were meant to be, even if they didn’t, he knew it - they were taking their time in getting there, in realising that was even a possibility for the two of them. Something pulled them together, somehow they would realise it, and someday they would end up together.

Even if Lando claimed his career was too much for her to handle, only allowing himself short flings with girls that didn’t matter to him, instead of a fulfilling relationship - Max knew she would be able to handle the ins and outs of Lando’s world; she knew how to ground him after a win when his ego allowed him to feel like he was on top of the world, but she also knew how to calm him down when he came to her door upset after a race.

Max didn’t buy into her claims that Lando wouldn’t be with her because their worlds were too different, he knew that was what he wanted. He didn’t want someone who stuck around for his titles and fame, he wanted a welcome sign and a plane ride home.

But Max would never intrude on fate, he was letting them be. They were meant to be, he knew it as well as everyone around them, but he was letting fate run its course for the result would be far more fulfilling than if he meddled with the two sides of the same story he was continually being told. 

[artbyblastweave]

One of your posts had a rec list of zombie media, and one of them was Savageland. Watched it. Even knowing there were zombies involved it’s good. Even better, actually, because you the audience know that there’s something wrong but the characters don’t, or at least they don’t know what you know.

11/10. One of those movies that you have to go sit and think about for a while. I really liked the way it’s presented, the pseudo-documentary style. Also. So much going on. And it really hits because yeah, this feels terrifyingly plausible to happen. And even though it is a zombie story, it’s also got a lot more going on. Just. There’s so much to say about it. It’s a horror story. It’s political commentary. I don’t even know where to start.

Thanks for the rec! I feel like you’re the person for Good Zombie Media, and this is definitely one.

You're welcome! I've had this sense, and a longer post on the topic, that there's this loose trinity of themes from which zombie fiction can draw horror. There's the fear of societal inadequacy, the classic romero anxienty that our society simply isn't capable of rising to the challenge of something sufficiently disruptive, be that zombies or anything else. There's fear of sickness- the horror of being a zombie, of the indignity and helplessness of being reduced to something so base, so at odds with your current desires and morality, or alternatively something so inept- a creature that's basically less capable and competent than a human in every way despite going through the motions. And lastly there's the very straightforward fear of violence- what if there were a bunch of mindlessly-violent human-but-not-quite monsters running around killing the shit out of everything they see? What if all your neighbors all decided at once to try and kill you for no discernible reason? People don't normally do that! That'd be fucked up!

I think that these things can push and pull on each other, fighting for space. For a long time I thought that "fear of societal inadequacy" was fighting for space with "fear of violence," because the more effective a threat you make your zombies, the less meaningful it is when society can't react effectively to them. In the original Dawn of the Dead the fact that zombies are such an underwhelming threat if you've got your shit together is why the authority's dysfunctional response can provide meaningful criticism of our society. In the remake- they're hyperdurable beserkers with a short incubation period and they run at full speed! It doesn't say anything in particular if the army has trouble with that! So more of the horror ends up concentrated in the thing itself, the incongruous violence the zombies enact. Anyway, the long story short is that Savageland convinced me that actually, with proper framing, there's no contradiction whatsoever between a narrative about societal dysfunction in the face of crisis, and a narrative about scary-as-fuck implacable uncanny-valley killing machines.

Go watch this movie

[epickiya722]

"She liked him since the beginning! The ship was hinted at the beginning!"

AH!! How come people are so stuck on mentioning just how Ochako feels and not Izuku?

It's like some of you can't process that regardless of whether she had a crush on him or not, which again isn't a bad thing, her crush shouldn't be the only thing Ochako stands for.

It's not a personality trait and I hate it people will treat it like it is.

If anything, it just feels weird!

And I ask again, then what about Izuku? Oh, what did he not like her in the beginning? Or it's just being realizing that his mannerisms is that of a person being nervous and/or embarrassed?

Or does it not matter because "He's a guy, he's gonna have the girl anyways, so who cares if he develops romantic feelings for Ochako"?

And I wouldn't say Ochako even liked Izuku in the beginning romantically. In fact, I would say she started to like him that way during the Final War Arc.

Saying she liked him in the beginning would imply she liked him since they met.

Oh, please, the word "crush" didn't come up until season 3 during the Provisional License Exam arc. And how that scene played out, let's be real, Ochako believing she had a crush was enforced by Mina. Someone is obsessed with the idea of love. That's whose word is to be believed? Are you joking?

And I said this before, as big as Iida is, people be acting like he's invisible. Mina brought him up to in that conversation as, hello, Ochako hung around him a lot, too. Izuku just so happen to be who Ochako's attention went to because he was right in her line of sight... while practicing moves inspired by Iida!!

Now, do I think Ochako confessing her feelings undeveloped her growth? No. She accomplished what she wanted to do and I don't see Izuku making her a wife at the end. I see them deciding to reconcile a bond. Do I think Toga was forgotten? Uh, no. She is drawn right there and been on Ochako's mind for nearly a whole damn decade.

Everything about this chapter is up for debate. We don't know if that ship is truly canon and who said it has to be? And if it is, who is stopping you from not shipping it?

I know some people hate to see that IzuOcha handhold as the last shot and I get it. But I wouldn't be too pressed about given it's a part of an aftermath. You can just pretend the epilogue doesn't exist. Chapter 430 is still the complete story. You don't have to read the epilogue to fully understand the story.

Epilogues typically are just added ending scenes to show a glimpse into the future and/or to tie up loose ends. And honestly, MHA didn't need it. This was just something to have.

What I do know is I'm not on anyone's side.

I find funny that people who don't ship BakuDeku was quick to be like "I only see BakuDeku as platonic, the shippers really want them to be romantic, they're like brothers". But if anyone even implies that maybe the ending could be Izuku and Ochako rekindling their friendship, it's "how dare you, Ochako said she loved him".

Again, what about Izuku?! DID HE LIKE HER FROM THE BEGINNING?!

If BakuDeku are "like brothers", then bring up how Izuku and Ochako look like relatives. Having the same face shapes and whatnot.

Look, both sides are wrong. The behavior is ridiculous. Attacking and harassing each other over characters some of you clearly don't really care about unless it is for shipping.

I know the story isn't flawless, what story is, but it's not hard to actually read and try to understand what these characters are all about.

I'm not an expert on these characters, I'm not. But I adore them and regardless of how the writing is, I like to read their arcs and understand them better.

And there's no need to point at someone and fire lasers to do that.

If you ship BakuDeku, ship it. If you ship IzuOcha, ship it. No one is fucking stopping you. Heck, the story shouldn't stop you.

But all of this ship war bullshit is stupid. The official epilogue ain't even out yet, but here y'all go wanting to argue and argue and argue and argue and harass and harass and argue and act the fucking donkey.

"Well BakuDeku shippers are toxic!"

"IzuOcha shippers are toxic!"

No, look in the mirror, sit back and do some self-reflection.

Come December, the story will be done, finished, published, sold, another one in the "Well, that manga is finished" collection.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (3); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, potential smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 5.4k+

Chapter Warnings: high society vibes and events, jungkook is a simp.

A/N: this is inspired by the iconic tan hua blooming party that happens in the movie. "BY DAWNNNN THEY'LL BE GONEEEE." anyways, wishing jungkook all the luck because this is literally just the beginning. I can’t wait for you all to read the upcoming chapters. let me know your thoughts, and stay tuned !! 💖

part 3

As you and Jungkook stroll through the expansive premises of your sprawling home, he tries to focus on your words, your cheerful explanations about the house's history and quirks.

Yet, the interaction with your mother lingers in the back of his mind like an unwelcome shadow. The knot in his stomach tightens with each step as he wonders about the impending introductions to the rest of your family like your father, your brother, your grandmother, your cousins, your relatives.

What if they look at him with the same quiet judgment your mother had? What if their gazes hold the same piercing scrutiny, the same silent question of whether he’s truly worthy of you?

He swallows hard at the thought but masks his anxiety, instead focusing on the way your face lights up as you guide him around. You point out pieces of art, family heirlooms, and stories from your childhood, your voice warm and animated.

He tries to focus on you, your smile, your laugh, and the way your hand feels so steady in his. But the thoughts persist.

“Not going to introduce your lover boy to me?” A teasing voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, breaking the quiet hum of your conversation.

Both of you turn towards the source of the voice, and a smile immediately spreads across your face when your eyes land on Taehyung and the stunning woman beside him, his fiancée and also your best friend, Miyeon.

“Tae…” you say warmly, letting go of Jungkook’s hand to approach your brother. Taehyung looks effortlessly suave in a luxurious maroon suit, its tailored fit and rich fabric oozing sophistication. The soft sheen of his black tie complements his polished look, giving him an air of effortless charm.

Beside him, Miyeon exudes grace in a long halter-neck gown of soft gold, the dress flowing elegantly around her with every step she takes. Her hair is swept back into an intricate bun, leaving a few loose strands to frame her delicate features. Together, they look like they’ve stepped out of the pages of a high-fashion editorial.

You greet them with warm hugs, the joy evident in your voice as you briefly chat animatedly. Meanwhile, Jungkook stands rooted in his spot, unsure of how to approach the pair. His nerves bubble up again, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated... not just by their presence but by the possibility of yet another round of judgment.

He shifts slightly, feeling his palms grow clammy as he debates whether to bow, introduce himself, or wait for you to take the lead.

“You think I’d bring my boyfriend all the way here and not introduce him to you?” you tease, raising an eyebrow at Taehyung. Then, glancing back at Jungkook, you offer him a small, reassuring smile before speaking. “Tae, this is Jungkook.”

You pause, gesturing towards the couple. “And Jungkook, this is my brother Taehyung and his fiancé and also one of my best friends, Miyeon.”

Jungkook steps forward cautiously, forcing his nerves to the side as he extends a hand towards Taehyung. He feels this is the most appropriate greeting in such a formal setting. Taehyung, however, bursts into laughter at Jungkook’s stiff posture.

“Man, quit the formals!” he exclaims, stepping past Jungkook’s outstretched hand and pulling him into a hearty hug. He pats Jungkook’s back firmly, laughing. “You’re practically part of the family now since you're my sister's boyfriend!” he beams.

Jungkook blinks, taken aback by the warmth and ease of the embrace. For a moment, it feels like all his earlier apprehensions and insecurities are swept away, replaced with a feeling of tentative belonging.

This wasn’t the greeting he had braced himself for. If anything, he had imagined your brother might be even tougher to impress than your mother. But he was wrong, completely and wonderfully wrong.

As Taehyung pulls back, a broad smile lights up his face. “Y/N’s told me all about you, man. I’m so glad to finally meet you.” His voice is full of sincerity, and Jungkook’s heart skips a beat at his words.

You’d spoken about him? To your brother? He hadn’t expected that, and the thought that you’d shared pieces of him with someone so important in your life fills him with a strange mixture of pride and disbelief.

For the first time since entering this house, he feels a flicker of confidence returning to him, and he can’t help but smile back at Taehyung, feeling a bit more at ease.

He finally turns his attention to the woman standing beside Taehyung, the soon-to-be bride. She radiates elegance and warmth, her soft gold halter-neck dress catching the light as she steps forward. With a gentle smile, she extends her hand to him, her demeanor welcoming and kind.

Jungkook immediately reaches out to shake her hand, his own movements less hesitant now after Taehyung’s reassuring gesture. Her grip is delicate but firm, and he finds himself smiling back at her easily.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Miyeon says, her voice carrying a warmth that instantly puts him at ease. Her eyes hold a genuine kindness that feels worlds apart from the cold, probing gaze of your mother.

Jungkook nods, his nerves settling just a little more. “Thank you for having me. It’s a pleasure to meet you... both of you.” he responds sincerely glancing at the couple, grateful for the way they make him feel so included.

Miyeon’s smile widens, and she exchanges a quick glance with Taehyung, who is already beaming at the interaction. “Y/N’s told us a lot about you... She basically wouldn't stop, ever since she got back.” she giggles, her tone holding an encouraging note, as if to subtly let him know he’s already made a good impression.

Jungkook can instantly sense the close bond you share with the couple... there’s an ease in the way you laugh with them, a familiarity in the way your eyes light up when they speak. It’s heartwarming, and knowing you had spoken about him to them fills his chest with a sense of belonging, a feeling he hadn’t dared to hope for earlier.

“Make sure you’re here for all the events before the wedding, man. It’s going to be so fun.” Taehyung says enthusiastically, his energy contagious. “And we should definitely hang out more around the city! I’ll show you all the spots that Y/n and I love going to”

Jungkook can’t help but let out a smile, the tension he’d carried ever since meeting your mother melting away entirely. He nods, his earlier apprehension replaced with genuine excitement. “I’d love that.” he replies, his voice steadier now.

Taehyung pats him on the back again, his grin wide and reassuring, and Miyeon gives him another warm smile. For the first time since he arrived, Jungkook feels like he might actually enjoy these following three weeks.

The heaviness that once lingered in his chest is long forgotten, replaced by the comfort of knowing there are people here who truly welcome him.

//

As the four of you finally step onto the huge lawn, the scene before you unfolds like something out of a timeless painting. The sprawling grounds are alive with elegance, the soft hum of a traditional korean song playing in the background along with polite conversation mingling with the crisp evening breeze.

Pristine white canopies dot the lawn, their chiffon drapery billowing gently in the wind, casting delicate shadows across the jade-green tablecloths beneath them.

Each table is a work of art, adorned with intricate porcelain tea sets painted with orchids, their vibrant purples and soft whites capturing the flower’s delicate beauty... a tribute to the event’s name, The Jade Orchid Tea Ceremony.

This ceremony is not just a gathering, it’s a tradition in your family that has stood the test of time. It’s a day your grandmother cherishes, designed to bring the entire family together along with many friends in a moment of unity and reflection.

The orchid, her favorite flower, symbolizes elegance, strength, and the fragile beauty of life... qualities she embodies and expects her family to honor. The atmosphere feels both intimate and monumental, steeped in meaning.

The air is fragrant with the delicate aromas of freshly brewed teas... jasmine, oolong, chrysanthemum, and a rare orchid blend that your grandmother herself oversees.

The attendants, dressed immaculately in white uniforms, glide effortlessly between guests, carrying silver trays laden with delicate tea cakes, miniature macarons, and neatly cut finger sandwiches.

Strings of fairy lights are woven artfully through the hedges, their twinkling reflections catching the faint glimmer of jade ornaments placed strategically around the space.

Jungkook walks beside you, his eyes flitting across the scene, taking in every detail... the grandeur, the meticulous precision, the understated opulence.

You catch the way his shoulders stiffen slightly, the overwhelming weight of the moment settling into him. “Wow.... This is... this is something else.” he mutters, his voice tinged with awe and just a hint of nerves.

You lean closer, your voice soft and reassuring. “This isn’t just a tea party. It’s a tradition. My grandmother's tradition. For her, it’s more than the tea... it’s about family, about friends, about unity, about legacy. She’s been hosting this for decades.” you explain.

Jungkook listens intently and as you stop talking, his ears are instantly catching the soft traditional korean song that's been playing in the background, carried gently by the breeze. The serene notes create an almost meditative atmosphere, mingling with the quiet chatter of the guests.

It’s a song Jungkook doesn’t recognize but feels the weight of... a melody that seems to carry history, steeped in the same elegance that the event exudes.

He glances around the gathering, trying to soak it all in, but he can’t help noticing the way a few pairs of eyes dart towards him, then to your intertwined hands, before turning away to whisper among themselves.

It’s subtle, but he feels it... a faint ripple of curiosity, perhaps judgment, passing through the crowd like an unspoken conversation.

Jungkook shifts slightly, his fingers tightening around yours. The warmth of your hand steadies him, even as the faint unease lingers in his chest. Are they wondering why he’s here? Judging the way he’s dressed? Or perhaps questioning his right to stand beside you in such a deeply rooted family tradition?

“Hey...” your voice breaks through his thoughts, soft but purposeful. You turn to look at him, your expression calm but full of understanding. “Ignore them. You belong here, Jungkook. With me.... So don't even bother paying any attention to them.”

He exhales quietly, nodding as his gaze meets yours. Your words settle something inside him, though the weight of the stares doesn’t entirely dissipate. Instead, he chooses to focus on you... your voice, your touch, the way you seem so effortlessly at ease amidst all of this.

“It’s just... a lot.” he admits in a hushed tone, his eyes darting briefly back to the crowd. You offer him a gentle smile, brushing your thumb across his knuckles. “It is. But we’ll get through it together.”

As the song swells in the background, Jungkook finds himself grounding in the moment... not in the whispers or the glances, but in the soft rhythm of your voice and the steady anchor of your hand in his.

As you continue walking, you finally spot your grandmother. At the center of the gathering, she's seated beneath the largest canopy. She exudes the quiet authority and grace of someone who has long been the anchor of this family.

Her ivory hanbok, accented with subtle jade embroidery, catches the light as she gestures elegantly to a guest beside her. Her silver hair is swept into a bun so flawless it seems to defy time itself.

Her sharp, observant eyes scan the crowd, taking in everything with a calm yet commanding presence. Despite her composed exterior, you know that today is her favorite day of the year... a day she has poured her heart into preserving.

Beside her, your dad is busy talking to a few men in suits. You wonder what the conversation is about, but you shake your head, bringing your focus back on Jungkook. "Come, let's meet my grandma." you say.

He doesn’t know what to expect from the interaction, but the unease lingers, gnawing at him. Even though Taehyung and Miyeon had managed to ease some of his nerves earlier, a deep-seated fear remains. Meeting your grandmother feels daunting enough, but when you casually gesture towards your father, Jungkook's anxiety spikes.

“And that’s my dad...” you say, motioning towards the man engrossed in conversation with a few people. “Hopefully, he’ll stop talking to them when I need to introduce you.” Your smile is lighthearted, but Jungkook’s heart sinks a little further.

Meeting two more significant family members at once feels overwhelming, but he knows there’s no way around it. Quietly, he follows you, his steps careful and uncertain.

As you approach your grandmother, her presence exudes a quiet elegance. You stop beside her, immediately catching her attention. Bowing respectfully, you greet her, and she takes your hands in hers with a warm, familiar grip.

“Y/N-ah, you’re here…” she says, her voice carrying the softness of years and wisdom. “Hello, Grammy.” you reply, your tone affectionate. “Everything looks so beautiful... as always.” You glance around, admiring the event she’s clearly poured her heart and soul into.

She chuckles softly, her hands tightening around yours. “You barely come to visit me, Y/N-ah. You know my days are numbered.” she says with a playful yet bittersweet complaint.

A frown tugs at your lips. “You’re going to live a very long life, Grammy.” you reassure her gently. “And I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to visit you more often.”

Her laughter is light, but her eyes soon shift behind you, landing on Jungkook, who’s standing awkwardly, unsure of where to place himself. The moment feels charged, and you realize it’s time for introductions.

“This is Jungkook, Grammy.” you say, a soft fondness lacing your voice. “Remember I told you I wanted you to meet someone special? This is him. We met in New York, and he’s my boyfriend.”

You place a comforting hand on Jungkook’s arm and gently bring him to your side. He nibbles on his lower lip, his nerves evident in the subtle tension of his posture. Once you finish speaking, Jungkook steps forward and gives her a respectful bow, hoping to make a good impression.

Before your grandmother can respond to Jungkook, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Y/N!” Your father’s voice calls out, pulling both of your gazes towards him. He’s approaching with an easy stride, a soft smile etched on his face. Jungkook immediately adjusts his posture, his shoulders squaring as he stands straighter beside you, his nerves suddenly heightened.

You smile warmly at your father. “Hi, Dad.” Then, with a playful tone, you tease. “Didn’t Grammy tell you there’s no work talk allowed at events like this?”

He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Not work, sweetheart. Just planning a golf session for next weekend.” he replies casually, his tone lighthearted.

You laugh softly, the teasing exchange easing some of the tension in the air. Then your father’s gaze shifts to Jungkook, his curiosity evident. “And who might this be?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook suddenly feels the full weight of two sets of eyes on him... your father’s sharp yet kind gaze and your grandmother’s intrigued expression. He swallows hard, his pulse quickening, but he doesn’t let his nervousness show.

Bowing respectfully, he introduces himself. “Hello, sir. My name is Jeon Jungkook.” he says, his voice polite but firm.

Your father studies him for a moment, his face unreadable, and Jungkook’s nerves threaten to surface again. But then, a broad smile spreads across your father’s face. “Ah, so you’re the one who’s captured my daughter’s heart all the way in New York.” he says, his tone playful but warm.

Jungkook blinks, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected reception. “And such a handsome face, too.” your grandmother finally chimes in with an amused grin, her sharp eyes twinkling as she gives Jungkook a once-over.

The heat rushes to Jungkook’s ears, turning them a shade of red so vivid it’s almost comical. He lowers his gaze for a moment, caught off guard by the lighthearted approval.

For a moment, he’s almost speechless. This is nothing like what he’d braced himself for. Where he had expected judgment or skepticism, he’s met with warmth and gentle teasing. The contrast between their welcome and your mother’s frosty demeanor feels striking, and the relief flooding his chest is palpable.

Your grandmother extends her hands, the delicate gesture prompting Jungkook to glance at you for reassurance. You give him a small, encouraging nod, and with a slight hesitation, he steps forward, bending down to her level.

For the first time, he gets a closer look at her... a face adorned with kindness, her gaze steady yet tender.

“Thank you for being there for our Y/N.” she says softly, her voice carrying a warmth that feels like a comforting embrace. “And thank you for coming today.”

Jungkook feels a lump form in his throat at her words. Her tone is so genuine, so welcoming, that it tugs at his emotions in a way he hadn’t expected. The world around him seems to quiet for a moment, and the air feels lighter.

A smile slowly spreads across his face as he nods, his voice steady despite the emotions bubbling inside. “I’ll always be there for her.” he affirms, his sincerity shining through. “And thank you for having me here. It’s an honor.”

Your grandmother smiles back, her eyes crinkling in delight as she gently pats his hand. “Make sure you have lots of fun in the days to come, okay? I’m sure Y/N has a lot to show you.” Your dad quips from beside her.

Jungkook stands back up straight, his gaze shifting to your father. The easy, genuine smile on his face is contagious, and Jungkook feels a sense of inclusion he hadn’t anticipated.

"We’re all so glad to have you here, Jungkook. These events are only the beginning... plenty of moments to enjoy and memories to make. Take it all in.” your father adds.

“I will.” he says, nodding, his own smile widening as the earlier tension dissipates completely.

You can’t help but smile as you watch the interaction unfold. There’s a softness in Jungkook’s expression now, the earlier tension in his shoulders melting away. Seeing him engage so naturally with your grandmother and your father fills you with a quiet relief.

You knew how nervous he’d been about meeting your family, especially after the interaction with your mother. But now, as he stands there with that gentle smile, looking at ease, you feel a surge of gratitude for how welcoming the rest of your family has been to him.

You step a little closer to Jungkook, your hand brushing against his arm in a subtle show of support. He glances at you briefly, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that says everything he doesn’t need to put into words.

“Looks like someone’s fitting right in.” you tease softly, your smile widening. Jungkook chuckles under his breath, the sound light and genuine. “It's going way better than I'd expected.” he admits quietly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

And in that moment, you know he’s starting to feel like he belongs... not just in your life, but in the world you’ve invited him into.

//

The evening carries on, the lawn glowing softly under the amber lights strung across the trees. A gentle breeze wafts through, carrying the mingled scent of flowers and freshly brewed tea.

Jungkook is doing his best to enjoy the event, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you and, occasionally, your mother who stands by one of the tables. He notices how she eyes the two of you every now and then, her expression unreadable but heavy with something he can’t quite place.

He tries to brush it off, reminding himself that the rest of your family had been warm and welcoming. Still, the occasional icy glance from your mother leaves a harsh unease in his chest.

The tea ceremony itself goes beautifully, the delicate clinking of porcelain teacups harmonizing with the soft hum of conversation. You guide him around the crowd, introducing him to childhood friends, cousins, and relatives. Jungkook experiences a whirlwind of interactions, from genuinely sweet greetings to snobby little elites.

He quickly learns there are two distinct types of people here. Those who embrace him with genuine warmth and curiosity, and those who are impossibly preoccupied with their designer outfits, designer bags, carefully manicured appearances, and the weight of their family names. It’s not unexpected, but it’s exhausting nonetheless.

Eventually, the two of you part ways for a brief moment as you and Miyeon head off to the restroom. Jungkook, left on his own, finds himself standing near the buffet table when a familiar voice cuts through the chatter.

“So, how’s it going?” Yoongi asks casually, appearing beside him like a shadow and helping himself to a finger sandwich. Without waiting for a response, he bites into it and groans dramatically. “Fuck, that is so fucking delicious.” he mutters through a mouthful.

Jungkook can’t help but laugh lightly at Yoongi’s unfiltered commentary, though it quickly turns into a sigh. “I met her family...” he starts, keeping his voice low. “Her mom, brother, dad, grandma… the whole lineup.”

“And?” Yoongi prompts, already reaching for another sandwich.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. “Everyone was nice... like, really nice. Her brother, her grandma, even her dad. But…” he pauses, glancing around before lowering his voice further. “I think her mom hates the sight of me.”

Yoongi chews thoughtfully, leaning against the table with a raised brow. ���Hates the sight of you? That’s a strong statement. Did she say something?”

“No.” Jungkook admits. “She doesn’t have to. It’s the way she looks at me. Like I’m…” He hesitates, the words catching in his throat. “Like I’m not good enough for her daughter.”

Yoongi takes another bite, nodding slowly. “Hmm, classic rich mom move. She’s probably just protective or has some weird standards. You’re not a legacy or some corporate heir... guess that’s what she’s used to.”

Jungkook frowns. “I know, but… I just-”

“You just want her to like you.” Yoongi finishes, smiling knowingly. Jungkook sighs again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not perfect, but I’m trying. For Y/n... For her.”

Yoongi nods, placing a firm hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’re doing fine, man. Honestly, you can’t please everyone. Her dad and brother like you, her grandma seems to adore you as well, and most importantly, Y/n chose you and brought you here because she wanted to. Her mom? She’ll eventually come around. Or not. Either way, you’ll survive.”

Jungkook lets out a small laugh, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Anytime. Now, stop sulking and grab one of these sandwiches before I eat them all.” Yoongi teases, shoving the plate closer.

Jungkook chuckles, finally picking one up. The simple moment feels like a breath of fresh air, grounding him in the midst of a night that had felt overwhelming until now.

Yoongi was right. For all the unease simmering in Jungkook's chest, one truth cuts through it all like a guiding star... you’re by his side. And for now, that’s enough.

The weight of the evening’s events lingers, a mix of warmth from the family members who embraced him and the quiet sting of your mother’s disapproval.

But in the larger scheme of things, it’s your unwavering presence that grounds him. Every time you looked at him tonight, every gentle touch or whispered reassurance... it all stitched him back together in ways he couldn’t articulate.

He watches the way you move through the crowd now, returning from the restroom with Miyeon. Your laughter carries softly through the air, and though you’re not directly looking at him, Jungkook knows... he feels... that you’ll turn to find him soon enough. It’s an unspoken understanding between you two, a gravitational pull that brings you together even in the most unfamiliar spaces.

“Man, you’ve got that dreamy look again.” Yoongi teases, snapping Jungkook out of his trance. “Relax, Romeo, she’s just ten steps away.”

Jungkook huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Shut up, hyung.” But there’s no bite to his words, only a quiet gratitude for Yoongi’s knack for lightening the mood.

Yoongi’s smirk lingers as he leans casually against the buffet table. “Seriously though, kid. You’re doing fine. Hell, better than fine. And trust me, I’ve seen guys crash and burn in these kinds of situations. But you? You’ve got something real with her. That counts for more than her mom’s icy stares.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his cuffs. He glances around, taking in the splendor of the event once more... it’s a world far different from his own. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t feel entirely out of place anymore.

“Thanks again, hyung.” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me.” Yoongi side eyes, though his tone is warm. “Now go back to your girl before she starts thinking I’ve stolen you away again.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, straightening up and smoothing his jacket. As he makes his way towards you, his heart feels lighter, his steps steadier. Because for all the challenges tonight has thrown at him, Yoongi’s words echo in his mind... Y/n chose you. And that’s what matters.

And as your eyes meet his from across the room, a radiant smile blooming on your lips, Jungkook knows... Yoongi is right. For all that matters, you’re by his side. And that’s more than enough.

//

As the evening winds down and the last of the guests leave, you, Jungkook, and Yoongi stand near his car under the warm glow of the driveway lights. Yoongi helps Jungkook unload his luggage from the trunk. Turning to one of the guards stationed nearby, you kindly request. “Can you please take these up to my room?”

The guard nods, efficiently gathering the bags and heading towards the house. Jungkook murmurs a quick "Thank you." his voice polite but subdued. You catch his tired gaze and offer him a small, reassuring smile.

Yoongi stretches, letting out a low sigh as he looks at you. “Well, I’d say tonight went better than expected.” he quips, his tone light. “Thank you for having me, Y/n. It was an honor to spend an evening at The Kim Mansion.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head at his dramatics. “You’re always welcome, Yoongi.”

As you linger near the steps, you watch Jungkook walk Yoongi to his car, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the driveway lights. “Thanks for today, hyung.” Jungkook says sincerely, his voice steady despite the weight of the day. “Drive safe.”

Yoongi nods, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Always.” he replies with a small smile. Just before the car starts moving, he lowers the window and quietly adds. “Don’t forget to take it easy, alright?”

Jungkook gives a faint nod, his lips curving into a grateful smile as Yoongi’s car disappears into the night, leaving you and him to make your way towards the front door. You hold his hand tightly, sensing his lingering unease.

But as you approach, you spot your mother standing by the entrance, her eyes fixed on the two of you. Jungkook instantly stiffens, his grip on your hand faltering slightly. His gaze drops to the ground, avoiding her piercing stare.

“Hi, Mama...” you greet her, your voice laced with exhaustion as the day’s events catch up with you. “How was the evening for you?”

She offers you a tight smile, her expression carefully neutral. “It was great, honey. Everything turned out well.” she says, her tone pleasant but impersonal.

Then, with a pointed look, she adds. “I’ve asked the guards to move your friend’s luggage to one of the guest rooms.”

You pause, your eyebrows knitting together in mild confusion. A soft, incredulous laugh escapes you as you shake your head. “Oh, no, Mama. Jungkook is staying with me... in my room. Plus, he’s my boyfriend... so, it should be fine.” you say firmly, your voice steady but polite.

Your mother’s smile falters just slightly, her composure slipping for the briefest moment. Before she can muster a response, you grip Jungkook’s hand a little tighter and step past her, your movements confident and deliberate. "Goodnight, Mama." you mumble, walking away.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way your mother's hands clench into fists at her sides, nor the way her jaw tightens as if she’s swallowing back words she desperately wants to say. Her disapproval hangs heavy in the air, but she doesn’t voice it, merely watching the two of you walk inside.

Once you’re safely inside the house and up the stairs, you turn to Jungkook and offer him a tired but genuine smile. “Don’t let her bother you.” you say softly. “She just has a hard time adjusting to new people.” you reason, even though you know that might not be the case.

He nods, his shoulders relaxing just a little, though the weight of the interaction still stays. But as you tug him gently towards your room, your warmth and unwavering confidence start to ease his worries, even if it's just a little.

//

Once you ensure all of Jungkook’s luggage is safely in your room, you close the door behind you with a quiet sigh. Jungkook stands in the middle of the space, his soft smile illuminated by the warm lighting. His presence feels like a balm after the chaos of the evening.

Without hesitation, you walk towards him, exhaustion evident in your every step. Like second nature, you fall into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist. He holds you instantly, his embrace firm yet comforting, his touch grounding you.

“Thank you for coming here with me, Kook.” you murmur against his chest, your voice barely above a whisper. “And thank you for hanging in there throughout the evening. I know that must’ve been exhausting.”

Jungkook shakes his head gently, his hand coming up to smooth over your back. “It wasn’t so bad.” he replies, his voice soft but sincere. “Not when I had you by my side.”

He presses a fond kiss on the crown of your head, lingering for a moment as he inhales the familiar scent of your shampoo. The gesture is so tender, so him, that it brings a sense of calm you didn’t realize you needed.

You slowly pull away, though his arms remain securely wrapped around you, as if he’s reluctant to let go. Giving him a small smile, you lean forward and press your lips to his. The familiar warmth of his kiss washes over you, and you sigh softly, your arms looping around his neck to pull him even closer.

Jungkook didn’t realize how much he needed this until now. The kiss... gentle yet passionate, stirs something deep within him, a mix of emotions he can’t quite put into words. All he knows is that, in this moment, everything feels right.

When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest against each other, breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. “Well...” you start, your voice soft but teasing. “tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

His eyes remain closed, a small smile playing on his lips as he listens. “Tae and Miyeon want to hang out with you around the city.” you inform him, a hint of excitement in your tone.

He chuckles, the sound low and comforting. “Well, I can’t wait.” he replies, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze is tender as he studies your face, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture so affectionate it makes your heart flutter.

With the night finally winding down, the two of you change into something comfortable and climb into bed. The exhaustion of the day melts away as you settle into his arms, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Moments later, sleep claims you both, the promise of tomorrow dancing in the air.

<- part 2

taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy @tsukiesimp @lovingkoalaface @taekrve @jaytheatiny @loverofannabeth @jaerisdiction @whoa-jo @parkinglot-nights @reneeblack6230

[thesilverlock]

“To Eden” ⋱⟢ AMV for @numercnnightingale

lol remember near the end of zexal when Astral was like “i’m going to the numeron source”, accidentally calling Don Thousand’s bluff that he’d allow Astral to die so the blast got send to astral world and eliphas instead? pretty sure that’s what happened

[silverwhittlingknife]

"the fault, dear Brutus -" (Julius Caesar)

Quotes from A Critical History of English Literature by David Daiches. Panels from Death in the Family, Under the Red Hood, Lost Days, and Batman and Robin.

[hana-bobo-finch]

Shoutout to this draft I made a couple hours ago when I suddenly had an epiphany for how I could fix a part of my story and I was so excited that the only way I could express it is to write whatever this is but I couldn’t post it because I didn’t have internet

also it got marked as mature for some reason

[ananke-xiii]

Okay, I think I can finally share this now.

In my version of "Moriah" Chuck orders Jack to kill Castiel with the promise of bringing things back to how they were before all the mess they're in now, Mary included. Jack starts panicking and crying and is clearly being played but he's in no state to rationalize things so he starts blurting out all kinds of stuff and eventually resolves to actually do it. Sam and Dean are forced to watch by Chuck and are totally incapacitated just like us, hypothetical viewers, are made to watch Jack's tragedy as it unfolds.

But Castiel is okay with that and actually plans to do the deed himself in order to avoid at least this one pain in Jack's life so he comes close to Jack and holds his face in one hand while the other is ready for the blade. He needs to tell him one last thing before the end. They're both crying but somehow Cas find the courage to recite a different type of blessing over the children, one that of course doesn't involve God and it goes something like this:

Jack, don't cry. It's okay, it's okay.

I need to tell you something, Jack and I need you to listen carefully, okay? Okay, good.

Being elected as your father has been the greatest joy and honor of my life. Hey, it's okay, shhh, it's okay, listen to me.

It was a joy so great that I got scared, Jack. I'm sorry Jack but I got so scared. I didn't know it then but it was this gnawing fear of losing it all, of losing you, that made me make... many mistakes. It was this fear that prevented me from understanding who you really are, from seeing the truth. So here it is.

Jack, you were, are and always will be such a luminous, beautiful and important presence in this world. Ah, as a matter of fact, in any world. Because you're... you. And you are... amazing.

No, no, no listen to me now, please, shhh, it's okay: You have to know that whatever happens in your life, I will be there for you. No matter what, I will be by your side. If things will go wrong, I'll be there to give you my energy. If things will go right, I'll also be there to give you even more energy.

You must never forget that you're loved, Jack. Oh, look at you: my son...my son... I love you. So much.

Cas, in an instant, is ready with his angel blade but it's in this moment that the Shadow erupts into the world to take Castiel away: no reasoning, no strategic plan, nothing. The moment of happiness is the moment of unconditional love.

Chuck's frantic because this "unconditional love" thing wasn't in his script and yells that it was not supposed to happen this way, that he gave them the possibility to access everything they ever wanted, the price was just one self-loathing, doomed-anyway angel but it still wasn't enough for them, was it?

It's also the moment where Sam, briefly freed from Chuck's powers, gets his lucidity back and decides to pull the trigger on Chuck (and himself). In the background, Jack's screaming and crying so much that the mere force of his screams is enough to resurrect the whole cemetery but Cas is not coming back to him.

Chuck is wounded by Sam (who's also hurting in return) and is forced to flee. Dean is also wounded beyond repair and is like turned to stone and almost can't breathe because he's living, again, one of the worst moments of his life as we go back to a distorted, more messed-up version of s12 finale and to the beginning of Jack's tragic story.

Jack is spiralling and he's out of control and out of himself as he starts opening woundsrifts after rifts through dimensions and worlds looking for Chuck, looking for the Empty, looking for whatever comes first at this point because he's moved by the dangerous, unpredictable and explosive bomb that is revenge spurred by love. Until Billie finds him.

[bochedogmeat]

So. Ive been kind of turning this au around in my head like a rotisserie chicken bc i obviously want to keep as many details as possible consistent with canon, but also that is kind of impossible given the massive leaps in technology between mouthwashing’s distant future and. Well. 1917. So what happens is that i figure their platoon is being court-martial’d for something (maybe cowardice/refusal to follow orders? For getting stuck up in the mountain bunker?) and Jimmy suggests blowing up the bunker theyre in so that they would have solid evidence that it wasnt their fault. Curly, still reeling, agrees, not thinking it would go anywhere, but Jimmy nabs the explosives from swansea and goes through with it anyways.

…more ramblings below v

Jimmy, in this au, was aware that Anya is trans before they were even stationed together, and becomes aware that Curly may be an invert (which, historically, means that he is not only queer, but adopts the ‘woman’s role’. This phenomena of inverts being treated more harshly than their more ‘manly’ counterparts is supported by history! Fun fact) while on the Ypres frontline. He is resentful towards Curly because how can a supposed invert, someone whom he has been taught is less than half of the man Jimmy himself is, be such a well-loved leader and well-rounded man? Why is Jimmy so drawn to him? Why does he still respect and even love this ‘man’? What does that say about his own masculinity?

The cognitive dissonance is too much for his weak, spiteful, hateful little pea brain and he feels like he is losing what little control he had over his own masculinity and understanding of the social world to begin with. This leads him to assault anya and, added with the stress of a court-martial, blow the bunker up.

I figure they give Curly what little chloroform they have in the medical kit to keep him asleep until they run out/it starts making him too sick and are forced to start giving him soothing syrup and gin in large doses. Anya and Curly had something of a mutual understanding/budding friendship before the incident, both having had a sense about the other, which makes Curly’s subsequent inaction suck all the more. He understands Anya better than anyone else there, so why didnt he do anything? Anya doesn’t understand, and she never gets to ask. She still takes extreme care in tending his wounds though, and will often go to his bedside and tell him stories/play cards with him (and by that i mean play cards by herself and narrate her strat)

I also figure the whole thing happens over a matter of days as opposed to months because. You know. 1917. But anyways. If anyone wants to talk about this w me/add on to it, any musings are more than welcome!! I love queer and ww1 history :) see tags for more tidbits❤️

[clownjacket]

Okay my crack theory for Lucy’s god situation:

What if instead of dying Lucy’s god became an archfey and fucked off, forsaking all of their followers. I could see that as justifiable for a minor god—maybe you don’t want your personality and existence to be dependent on a group of people small enough for a really big hurricane to wipe them out. Maybe you want to try your hand at self actualization, which you can’t really do as a god. Whatever.

But that would still mean Lucy’s grades would be screwed for the year, and the whole group would be switched to pass/fail.

Whatever god they’re trying to bring back seems like they want to stay a god, but would also only have a single living cleric so their nature would be heavily influenced by who that cleric is, and could still be controlled. Bringing back an established dead god with living followers probably reduces the risk of the god immediately dying or completely sucking ass/not being powerful like what happened with YES!(?), and we know the Ratgrinders LOVE minimizing risk. And choosing a dead god that represents something Lucy is actually passionate about preaching and proselytizing would make her work as a cleric much easier for her emotionally than, say, switching to Helio and just going through the motions, and bringing back a god would probably look good on college resumes.

Idk, that’s just an alternative theory to Lucy’s god dying based on what’s been established this season.

[frogayyyy]

just some ramblings on the rise of rebranded homophobia in relation to shipping and fandom etc (i watched lotr yesterday)

the way people will say "healthy friendships between men are important and we need representation!!!!" (this is true) in response to shipping as if there's an abundance of mlm relationships in media and yknow. homophobia hasn't existed??

“>:[ us men aren't allowed to be just friends anymore!!!! because of the homophobia!!!! that we created!!!!!!”

i've definitely seen this sentiment grow more again over the last few years as the number of canonical mlm relationships (often badly written or lacking any substance) increases.

before it was just a blatant "no homo" or something but it's now becoming a bit more subtle and "how dare you imply this character could be gay? do you hate men being friends?! go back to your handful of bland designated Gay Characters that we so generously gave you" from the same people who have spent years adding to the very same toxic masculinity and homophobia that stopped them from having deep and healthy friendships with other men in the first place. dare i say gaslighting?

(and just to be extra clear i am not talking about ace/aro people, or characters who are headcanoned as ace/aro, or qprs, etc. or even anyone interpreting a relationship as 'just' platonic. i'm only referring to that specific "no homo" kind of argument against shipping)

[queenlucythevaliant]

Once, Always

(Edmund has an abundance of birthdays)

 .

“I say,” murmured Edmund sleepily as the fire burned low. “When do you suppose it is here? I mean—what time of year? Do you think it’s the beginning of September, the same as it was in England?”

“Summer,” said Lucy. “Certainly summer.”

Peter agreed. “I think it must be Highgrass, if I had to guess. Perhaps later. Greenroof?”

“If it’s Greenroof, then Edmund gets another birthday,” Lucy sighed. “Eleven or twelve, Ed?”

“Neither,” put in Susan. “A thousand, if you’re going to rationalize it that way. Now everyone hush, please, and get some sleep.”

.

Edmund’s birthday was the fifteenth day of Greenroof by the Narnian reckoning. Greenroof, late summer, when all the leaves were dark and broad. Narnian summers were long, but Greenroof was the last and best of the summer months. Greenroof was hunts through the dense foliage, blackberries heavy with juice, lazy afternoons, bonfires, wild romps, and the pleasant kind of sweat. Edmund’s birthday celebrations were always held on Dancing Lawn in the old days: the sort of long, laughter-bright nights that summer was made for.

. 

The second time Edmund celebrated his eleventh birthday, it was just past three months since he and his siblings had returned home from the country. Their house was glass-strewn and battered, but still standing when they arrived home. By August it was beginning to feel really safe again, but sometimes Edmund still woke in the night to find his mother standing silent in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her two sons returned to her.

The professor sent one of Ivy’s famous spice cakes for Edmund’s birthday. It arrived tied in red string, which made Lucy reminisce fondly about dear Mr. Tumnus. Edmund’s siblings pooled their allowances to buy him the new Nero Wolfe detective novel, and his mother gave him a new cap and an electric torch.

“How do you feel?” his mother asked over dinner.

“I don’t feel any older, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Eleven feels just the same as ten did yesterday.”

. 

All four of them missed their birthdays the first year in Narnia. Too much else was going on at the time, and none of them was quite sure when their birthdays were supposed to be besides. The measurement of time was a thoroughly tangled issue.

The Narnian year had four hundred days even, divided into fourteen months of inconsistent lengths. Furthermore, the kingdom had only known winter for the last hundred years. The Narnians themselves were still remembering how the calendar worked in a world where the seasons changed. They didn’t have the words yet to explain it to their sovereigns.

. 

“Eustace,” said Edmund, “your journal is wrong.”

“Give me that,” Eustace scowled at once. “I know it’s wrong, but there’s no need to rub my face in it. Aren’t I trying to make up for how I was?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. The month is wrong. You’ve got September written here, but time works differently in Narnia than it does in the Other Place. Haven’t you noticed that it’s summer, not autumn?”

“Oh.” Eustace shrugged. “I followed Occam’s Razor and assumed that the climate here was different rather than time itself.”

“Occam’s what?” This was Lucy.

“Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution to a problem is the most likely—never mind. Well, go on, what month is it?”

“Highgrass,” said Lucy.

“July,” said Edmund at the same moment. “More or less.”

 .

They worked it all out one afternoon as the second spring of their reign was ending. Peter and Susan wrote out the English calendar on one stack of parchment while Edmund and Lucy sat down with the Narnian calendar and penciled in seasonal markers as best they could manage.

“The first crocuses came up right at the end of Cleardome, yes?”

“Yes, I think so. And the snowdrops were in their full glory that month too.”

“How do you want to deal with leap year?”

“Just forget about it. Narnia doesn’t have anything similar, so I think twenty-eight days for February is fine for our purposes.”

“Magnolia in Laceveil, yes?”

“Laceveil is a good marker in general. We ought to set that as May and go from there.”

Birthdays were guesses, no matter how much counting they did. Yet as memories of England receded and Narnia’s world blossomed into everything they knew, those guesses solidified into fact. Edmund turned eleven for the first time on the fifteenth day of Greenroof. He was the first of his siblings to celebrate a proper birthday in Narnia.

. 

The fourth time Edmund turned twelve, he received another electric torch to replace the one he’d lost. He laughed for half a minute, holding that gift in his hand.

“Really, you should have expected it,” said Susan primly.

"I did."

Their mother tsked and added something about keeping track of one’s belongings, but that was alright. His siblings understood.

Edmund flicked on the light and watched the beam land on the far wall across the living room. Bright at the edges and dark towards the center where the bulb was. He moved his wrist sideways and watched the spot of light follow.  

. 

Edmund might have forgotten about his birthday aboard the Dawn Treader if Lucy hadn’t remembered. She conspired with the cook to have a spread of Edmund’s favorite foods at supper (such as could be managed at sea) and coerced Rynelf into playing jigs on his fiddle afterwards. While they were dancing, Caspian called for a cask of his best wine, and soon the ship’s whole company was making merry like only Narnians could.

“Didn’t you have a twelfth birthday the last time you were in Narnia?” Caspian asked curiously as the party was dying down.

“Yes,” Edmund replied, “and the time before that too. Confused yet?”

“Ed has all the luck,” Lucy pouted playfully. “We always seem to return to Narnia in the summer, so he gets all the extra birthdays.”

Caspian's face lit up. “How extraordinary! When’s yours then?”

“Cleardome. There’s a year and a half between Ed and me, and he never lets me forget it.”

“It’s really not as exciting as all that,” Edmund added. “We’re not living our lives backwards, or unstuck in time, or any such nonsense. It’s more like—our lives are folded in on themselves, you see? But never the same way twice.”

���I think it’s more like music than anything else,” Lucy said, a kind of fond wistfulness in her voice.

“Yes,” said Edmund. “I know what you mean.”

. 

On the thirteenth of Greenroof, the Telmarines laid down their arms and surrendered to Old Narnia. The next day, messengers were sent forth across the land with news of the surrender and with terms for the Telmarines. Caspian’s coronation followed, and then Edmund woke and it was his birthday again.

Breakfast that morning was long and languid, for Peter and Susan knew that they must say farewell to Narnia, even if the younger ones did not. They lingered round the table with Caspian and Trumpkin and the rest, and presently Peter offered a toast.

“To my brother King Edmund, who is eleven and twelve and sixty-three and thirteen hundred years old today.”

Everyone raised their cups and repeated, “King Edmund.” Caspian nodded and added, “Long live the king,” with an almost ironic tilt to his head.

Naturally, Edmund nodded back. “And to you, King Caspian. Long may you reign.”

Another round of assent followed, and then Lucy cleared her throat. “But also,” she said, “To late summer and the rebirth of Our Narnia. And to the land, the sea, the hills, the trees, the sky, Cair Paravel-by-the-sea and Dancing Lawn and all the flowers that are still in bloom. And to the color green. To all of us here today, and to those who are gone. And to Aslan.”

“Here, here.”

There were tears in Susan’s eyes now. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, and squeezed Edmund’s hand tight. Edmund looked down at his plate, fiercely overcome with love for this place and these people. In a strict, chronological sense, it had been less than a month since his last birthday, but how did the saying go? Time was just a tangled string, or falling snow, or whatever else Aslan told it to be.

. 

“Bother,” said Edmund, “I’ve left my new torch in Narnia.”

Everyone chuckled at this, but Susan said, “Wait a year. We’ll get you a new one for your next birthday.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

finally working on my short story collection after manyyyy months of fear!!!! I HAVE A PLAN OF ACTION!!!!

[blue-rose-soul]

"AU about Lilith being Alastor's bio mom"

Consider me confused and intrigued. Please go on.

You think you're confused? I have no idea what's going on here and it's my brain!

Okay, so I don't really have anything yet. How does Lilith end up pregnant with a human's child? I dunno. Who would Alastor's dad be? I dunno, I literally only just started daydreaming about this. Half-considering making his dad a gender-swapped Nicaise. I do think I'd have his dad be a Creole man in this AU though, even though I normally think his dad is white, bc I don't want to lose that part of Alastor's background.

But it would be so, so funny to see Lucifer's face when he finds out! And sad, give the poor guy a comforting pat on the back.

I'm torn between whether I'd have Lilith raising Alastor herself, or if she'd leave him with a human family. Actually, now that I've typed that, maybe Adam figured out the fact that Lilith had another child and was blackmailing her as part of whatever deal they set up.

I think this AU would make things worse between Alastor and Lucifer, with Lucifer actively resenting Alastor for being Lilith's son. He's definitely the type of petty who would respond badly to this situation. Adam and Lucifer are alike in this way and this results Alastor having a much, much worse time on the hotel's roof.

And this would probably also change how Alastor interacts with men vs women. If he was raised by a single dad with Nicaise's personality, maybe he wouldn't write off most men as stupid brutes. Maybe having Lilith as a distant or absent mom would sour his opinion of women. But then, if he still met and befriended Mimzy, maybe not so much.