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elleaitch22 · 1 day ago

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Terms of Endearment

Chapter 17: Twenty Nine Candles

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: We’re back from the concussion! I lowkey hate the plot, but we have to move it along for what happens in Chapter 19. I hope y’all love it!! xx Elle

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics

Word Count: 9.9k words

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Azzi was bored.

Morgan had taken her to drop Soleil off at school. Then she went to the grocery store to restock fruit and vegetables.

She stared at the blades of her fan going around and around before sitting up.

Walking to the kitchen, she looked at the list Paige had given her for the day.

Affirmations in the mirror

Groceries

10 minute walk

4 cups of water

Journal prompt: do you feel safe and accepted here? what do you need to feel safe?

Share journal w P if you want

She’d done her affirmations as soon as she got up. She’d already gotten groceries. She was going to go on a walk with Soleil after lunch. She didn’t really feel like journaling yet, and today’s question required some thought. She pulled out her phone and saw a text from Nika.

Nika 🇭🇷😎: Have you and Paige talked about the simple stuff, like birthdays?

Azzi 👩🏽‍🏫🩷: …actually, I don’t think we have lol

When was Paige’s birthday? Azzi knew that the woman already knew hers due to her control issues desire to know everything about people who would be around Soleil.

Her phone buzzed again.

Nika 🇭🇷😎: Well lucky for you, it’s Monday 🙃

Azzi 👩🏽‍🏫🩷: MONDAY!!!

Azzi 👩🏽‍🏫🩷: What the fuck omg

Azzi 👩🏽‍🏫🩷: I’m gonna plan something. Will lyk about what I come up with!

Today was already Thursday. She had the rest of today and maybe tomorrow to plan something good for her girlfriend’s birthday.

Pause.

What can she even afford?

She grabbed her MacBook and pulled up her bank account.

Wait, that couldn’t be right.

Thirty-two thousand one hundred sixty-seven dollars.

She blinked. Refreshed the screen. Stared. Still. Thirty-two thousand one hundred sixty-seven dollars. What the actual fuck?

Well, she had been working for Paige since September, but she’d assumed that it stopped once they got together.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: You’re still paying me

Paige 💗😍🥰: You’re still working for me.

Azzi read the message twice, not quite believing what Paige had said.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: Just thought contract stuff was over when you asked me to be your girlfriend…

Paige 💗😍🥰: Yeah, but you’re Lei’s private tutor?

Azzi 🧸💌💗: Oh…😬

Paige 💗😍🥰: You don’t want to anymore?

Azzi 🧸💌💗: I love working with Soleil! Always!!!

Azzi 🧸💌💗: I just didn’t know you were still paying me

Paige 💗😍🥰: You’re working. I’m paying. That’s how it works, love.

Azzi stared at the screen. Paige was typing. Then paused. Then typing again.

Paige 💗😍🥰: And you’re my girlfriend. I like to give money and gifts to people I love. You should be happy I don’t give you something new every time I see you.

The brunette decided to ignore the swarm of butterflies that rumbled in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting that word.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: Lol please don’t

Paige 💗😍🥰: Where is all this coming from?

Azzi 🧸💌💗: I looked at my bank account. Was just shocked

Paige 💗😍🥰: We agreed on 5k a week. We can talk about adjusting the amount if you want.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: No. You’ll just pay me more

Paige 💗😍🥰: I’m happy you know me so well.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: 🙄 bye Paige.

Paige 💗😍🥰: Fix your attitude, love.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: Sorry.

Azzi 🧸💌💗: Bye Paige! 😁

She texted all the girls and asked them if they would be free on Sunday night.

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: Yes, why?

Ice 🧊🤍: me, j, and kk were supposed to have a movie night

Ice 🧊🤍: got something better 👀

KK 🤣🤪: girl boo 🙄 nothing is better than a night w me!!!

Nika 🇭🇷😎: You planned something that quick? Damn

Azzi 🩷😇: Not really

Azzi 🩷😇: I just wanted to see if everyone would be available

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: Is anyone gonna fill is in orrr…?

Azzi 🩷😇: OH! Sorry!! Going to do a birthday dinner for Paige on Sunday night!

KK 🤣🤪 renamed the chat to ‘PSkii’s Faves 💘’

Ice 🧊🤍: oh. much better than movie night! i'll be there

KK 🤣🤪: rude?? but me too

Nika 🇭🇷😎: I’m free. Can I bring N?

Ice 🧊🤍: not rude if it’s true 💅🏽

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: I’ll be there! Just tell me the time.

Azzi 🩷😇: Of course! Does anyone else have a plus 1

Nika 🇭🇷😎: Sounds good. I’ll be here if you need any help!

Ice 🧊🤍: just kk unfortunately

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: No. But I need to know if there’s a dress code?

KK 🤣🤪: shut up before i tell everyone what happened on tuesday

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: You can never go wrong with all black. But her favorite color…

Azzi 🩷😇: I think black with a little purple would be pretty

Ice 🧊🤍: 🤐🤐🤐🤐

KK 🤣🤪: p would love if everybody had on purple tho

KK 🤣🤪: thats what i thought

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: Perfect idea! So all black with a lilac or lavender accent!

Nika 🇭🇷😎: Cool. I’ll text Bob and Katie.

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: Me and Ice can help you decorate or plan if you want!

Azzi 🩷😇: I would really appreciate that! I’ll send some pictures later once I finalize a restaurant. Was thinking a steakhouse so everyone could have options?

Ice 🧊🤍: that sounds great Azzi. she's really gonna love it

Azzi let out a sigh of relief. Everyone was going to come, and now she just needed to find a space. She perused the internet until she found a steakhouse with good reviews who would handle everything, and they had a private space! She called to book the space for twelve people.

An uneasy feeling settled over her, and while she tried to remind herself that she was good enough, she didn’t feel like a basic dinner would be enough for the woman who had done so much for her.

Azzi 🩷😇: Are you busy rn

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: No. Need me to come over?

Azzi 🩷😇: Yes please!

The tall Egyptian queen was at Azzi’s in no time at all.

“What do you need help with?” She questioned as Azzi opened the door.

Azzi stepped to the side and went to get a pair of shoes. “I wanted to get Paige an outfit for dinner. Something she would stand out in.” She muttered.

The tall woman’s face lit up with glee. “Yes!” She exclaimed, grabbing Azzi’s wrist. “P never lets me style her anymore, but I have the perfect fit in mind.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two were sitting in Louis Vuitton.

Louis Vuitton.

“Azzi, this is my friend, Elyse. She’s going to help us.” Jana smiled.

The pale woman gave a kind smile before gesturing them to an area to the side.

“Jana told me this is supposed to be a surprise, which I normally wouldn’t agree on, but I’ll do anything for J.” She rolled her eyes affectionately.

Jana nudged Azzi gently, “She’s scared it’s not going to fit her well.” She whispered loudly. “But she doesn’t know I already have all of Paige’s numbers.” She finished loudly.

“What are you wanting to see, Azzi?” Elyse asked.

Azzi couldn’t say anything. Usually went she went to fancier places; people always looked to the person she was with. They never even acknowledged her.

“She’s having everyone wear black with hits of lavender, since that’s Paige’s favorite color.” Jana replied, looking at Azzi weirdly. She hadn’t known the woman to be very quiet, not since she’d been fully integrated into the family.

“Oh, so are we thinking a full lavender set? I have a few pieces I can pull.” Elyse started to turn.

Which was the exact moment Azzi found her voice. “No!” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I mean, the room will already be a lot of black, lilac, lavender, and purple. I want her to stand out.”

Jana nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “That makes sense. What about an off-white or cream?” She asked thoughtfully.

“I think she’d look like an angel in all white,” Azzi felt her cheeks warm as she envisioned her girlfriend in an all-white outfit.

Elyse giggled at her facial expression. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be back with some pieces.”

“An angel, huh?” Jana smirked.

It was Azzi’s turn to roll her eyes at Jana. “Shut up.” She said, a smile spreading across her lips. “She’s just so perfect, Jana. I swear she’s my own personal angel.”

Jana smiled softly, “I’m happy you feel that way about her.” She put her hand on Azzi’s shoulder. “She’s deserved someone like you for so long. You make her so happy, Azzi. Thank you.”

“She said I was one of the people she loved today.” She whispered, smile softening. “I wasn’t expecting her to say anything like that. We’ve only known each other for like two months.”

Jana’s brows nearly touched her hair before her face turned pensive. “Well, that’s not surprising. P feels very deeply, and once she decides to let someone in, she’s all in.”

Azzi nodded minutely, “I know, I just am a little��scared I’m gonna fuck it up and she’ll leave.”

“The best and worst thing about Paige is that she stays through everything. I promise that’s not something you'll ever have to worry about.”

As Elyse returned with a rack of white pieces, Azzi straightened up, cheeks still warm but eyes focused.

If she couldn’t give Paige everything, she could still give her this, one perfect night planned with love.

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Ice 🧊🤍: Attachment: 3 images

Ice 🧊🤍: all done!!! see you in a few hours

Azzi let out a breath she’d been holding all day. Ice and Jana had made the room look amazing. There was a tasteful balloon arch covering the entire back wall, and it would be perfect for pictures. The table was decorated beautifully, the centerpieces and place settings a lush mix of purple flowers and greenery.

Her phone buzzed again.

Jana 🪡🇪🇬: I’ll be there in 45 with all the luggage and your presents!

Azzi eyes were almost closed with how hard she was grinning. She hoped Paige would love her surprise. Well surprises.

She grabbed the garment bags that held Paige’s outfit and Soleil’s dress before heading upstairs.

“Paige Madison!” She yelled the moment the elevator doors slid open.

She giggled at the quick footsteps slapping the wooden floors.

“What did I do?” Paige gasped as she rounded the corner. She clocked the bags Azzi was holding and her brows furrowed. “What’s that for?”

Azzi huffed, jutting her hip to the side, full of faux attitude. “What you did was not tell me your birthday was tomorrow.”

A pale hand to scratch at the back of her neck, “Well, I just don’t like celebrating my birthday much.” She hesitated. “And it never came up.” She finished, cheeks red.

“Well, to make it up to me, we’re gonna go to dinner. And you’re going to be happy and go put on this outfit,” She thrust the garment bag into Paige’s hands. “And you’re going to go do your hair and makeup and be happy about it.” Azzi finished.

When Paige saw her turning back towards the elevator. “Wait! Can you just…get ready up here with me and Lei?” She asked, brows raised hopefully.

Azzi couldn’t keep up with the mad act. She smiled brightly, “Of course I can! Just let me go get my outfit, then I’ll be right back up! And don’t get Soleil ready, I got her.”

Paige watched her go, lips tugging into a soft smile.

“Soleil! Azzi’s gonna be here soon!” She called, walking back to the living room.

Her daughter turned away from Lilo and Stitch with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell me Azzi was coming ovew!” She shrieked, excitement clear in her voice.

“She didn’t tell me either, Lei!” Paige exclaimed playfully. “You can wait for her here or in your room, but I have to get ready so I don’t get in trouble."

Soleil’s eyes widened. “Yeah, Mommy. You don’t wanna be in twouble on youw biwthday!” She shooed Paige away.

She walked to her closet, hanging the bag on one of the racks. She knew whatever Azzi had picked for her would be great, and it was a gift from the girl she loved, so it would be perfect.

Paige didn’t know what to expect when she opened the bag, but it certainly wasn’t this. She just stared at the cream fabrics, jaw on the floor. She was stuck there until a knock sounded at her door. Instead of a person, all Paige saw when she turned around was a sleek Louis Vuitton shoe box.

No fucking way Azzi spent this much money on an outfit.

Paige was in a bit of a daze as she pulled on the thick pants, monogrammed shirt, and wool vest. She floated across her bedroom to do some light make up and pull the front of her hair back.

When she looked in the mirror, she almost decided to fire Jana and hire Azzi to pick out all her outfits because she looked good.

Not like ‘I want to find a wife’ good.

But like ‘I’m rich and hot and the world’s perfect woman is in love with me’ good.

Like ‘My girlfriend, who I haven’t pressured for sex, might fuck me tonight’ good.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

In another room, Azzi was helping Soleil get ready.

“Whewe we going? We getting fancy, Azzi.” Soleil asked as she sat in between Azzi’s legs.

Azzi finished the last twist in the front of Lei’s head before pulling the rest back into a ponytail. “Well, your mommy’s birthday is tomorrow, so we’re going to celebrate.”

Soleil smiled brightly, “A pawty all fow Mommy?”

“Yes, baby. All for your mommy. I just hopes she likes it.” Azzi smiled. “Do you want a ponytail or a ballerina bun?”

“Ballet bun, please.” Soleil started. “Mommy always tell me when I do something fow hew, she love it the most. She gonna love hew pawty.”

Azzi planted a kiss on Soleil’s forehead as she finished the bun. “You’re all set pretty girl! Just gotta put on your dress and you’ll be ready to go.”

When she unzipped the garment bag, Soleil gasped at the fluffy lilac dress. “I’m gonna look like a pwincess!” she squealed.

As soon as it was zipped up, Soleil darted out of the room to find her mom.

Azzi took the quiet moment to get dressed.

After their day at Louis Vuitton, she and Jana had thirty more minutes before school pickup. And when the Egyptian saw a lingerie shop across the street, she pulled her over with a wink.

The set was simple, but gorgeous. On theme for tonight, it was lavender. The bra was made of lace so delicate that Azzi could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric. Instead of a thong, they decided on cheeky underwear. They made her ass look perfectly round and juicy enough to take a bite out of. The garter belt was the perfect touch, emphasizing her waist perfectly.

Paige was going to lose her mind when she saw Azzi, and she couldn’t wait.

The rest of her outfit was understated but sensual. The square neck displayed a tasteful amount of cleavage. The back dipped past her shoulder blades; Paige loved running her hands all over the bare skin. The silky fabric wasn’t skintight, but it clung just enough to outline Azzi’s curves.

The best part of the outfit? The shoes. The lavender heels were the perfect match to the set beneath the dress. They had satin ribbons that tied into bows on the backs of Azzi’s ankles (her favorite part, of course).

She pulled her hair into a curly updo, her face framing pieces doing their job perfectly. She added a smoked out purple shadow that made her brown eyes pop. A few swipes of lip gloss and blush meant she was ready to go.

Paige and Soleil’s voices got louder as Azzi walked out to the living room.

“Just tell me what Azzi’s planning, Lei. And we can stay home one day next week and watch movies.” Paige tried to bribe.

Soleil gasped dramatically, “But then Sewenity won’t have nobody to play with hew!”

“She can’t tell you anyway,” Azzi started, rounding the corner. “It’s just dinner, like I said.”

Azzi smirked as she watched blue eyes dilate. The heated gaze darted around her outfit, lingering on the cleavage.

“You look perfect, Azzi.” Paige said lowly.

Tanned thighs squeezed together at the low rasp in Paige’s voice that Azzi had never heard before.

“Thank you. You look good too,” Azzi shifted from one foot to the other.

A loud whine broke their trance. “Can we go? I’m hungwy.”

“One second, Lei. I gotta give your mom her present!” Azzi said, already turning toward the elevator. “It’s at my house.”

They rode down to Azzi’s floor, Soleil humming softly as she held Paige’s hand. Everything was quiet and warm, a hush of anticipation in the air.

Inside the apartment, a single white box with a lavender ribbon sat waiting on the entry table.

Azzi stepped forward, her voice low, almost reverent. “Happy birthday, Ms. Bueckers.”

Paige walked over slowly, untying the ribbon with careful fingers, as if rushing might ruin it.

“Azzi…” she breathed.

The purse was stunning. Cream leather was monogrammed with Louis Vuitton’s signature print, only this time, in her favorite color. And it matched her outfit perfectly.

“Look inside! Look inside!” Azzi said, practically bouncing.

Paige opened it and paused. Her eyes widened.

Three plane tickets were tucked neatly into the silk lining.

She looked up, already grinning. “Aspen? I guess it is time to teach Soleil how to ski.”

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Azzi had Soleil perched on her hip, holding her tightly with one hand and Paige’s hand in the other.

The hostess reached to pull open the door, and the moment they stepped through –

“SURPRISE!!!”

The room was quickly filled with noise – music, clapping, laughing, whistles, and a shout from KK.

Paige’s jaw dropped. Her eyes scanned everything. The ballon arch on the back wall, the towers of lavender and eucalyptus, everyone in all black. Her dad, her stepmom, her little brother. Her sisters and Naheim. All smiling and clapping – the picture of joy.

“PopPop!” Soleil’s exclaimed, reaching for her grandpa.

Bob came over with a grin, “Come here, Munchkin.” He scooped her into a hug, kissing all over her face.

Paige was still frozen, eyes misty. “You did all this?” She whispered to Azzi.

“Well, Jana and Ice decorated. KK’s on the aux. And Nika made sure Bob, Katie, and Drew could come.” Azzi shrugged casually.

KK cut in from across the room. “Don’t believe her, P! She planned everything and paid for everything.”

Azzi turned to glare sharply at her friend. “Kamorea!”

“Baby,” Paige reached out, hand resting low on her back. “Thank you. No one’s ever cared enough to do something like this for me.”

Azzi let herself be pulled into a hug. “I was more than happy to do this for you, Paige. You take such good care of me…I just wanted to do something special for you.”

Large hands slid down the back of her dress, cupping her ass gently through the silky fabric.

Paige leaned in to press a firm kiss to her temple. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Deserve you. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you.”

“Gross, gays!” Ice called out playfully.

“Auntie Ice!” Soleil gasped, “You don’t bully fow love! That’s not kind! You can’t pick who you love!”

The room broke out in more giggles as Ice tried to defend herself.

Everyone moved to the table. Paige sat at the head, Soleil nestled comfortably in her lap.

Food arrived in waves, just as Azzi had planned. Pasta—al dente. Roasted vegetables, caramelized to perfection. Steaks, medium-rare. No seafood, everyone knew Paige hated seafood.

Naheim taught Soleil how to do a proper dap and fist bump. Katie and Bob told stories about Paige getting caught or telling on herself for sneaking out in high school. The girls all took turns talking about their UConn adventures.

Paige’s cheeks were flushed the entire evening, happiness shining in her eyes.

Several times, she leaned over to Azzi and whispered, “Thank you so much, Azzi.”

And each time, her girlfriend responded with a smile and a soft kiss. “You deserve it.”

As dessert was cleared, the waiter brought out champagne flutes and one with sparkling cider for Soleil.

Bob stood as soon as his flute was placed in front of him. “Paige, I didn’t know how you would turn out when it was just me and you. I was scared that I raised you too rough, but you are one of the best women I know.” He said, voice quivering. “You are a good listener, you show up, you’re an amazing mom. You’re raising Soleil to be strong and brave, and I am so proud to be your dad.” He walked over to press a kiss into her forehead. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

From there, everyone went in a circle around the table.

Katie talked about being grateful Paige had been so loving and welcoming, from the moment they met. She praised her for being such a good big sister to Drew. “Everything you’ve been though, and you’re still choosing to let people in. Let them love you. I am so proud of you, Paige. Happy birthday, baby.”

“I was gonna get you a present, but you bagged someone as bad as Azzi, so I feel like she’s your gift.” Drew started, drawing laughter from everyone. “But nah, for real. I think you were the first person I ever looked up to. You always make sure to take care of people; there’s so much you do that no one will ever find out. I couldn’t have a sister better than you. I love you, Paigey.”

KK was crying before she even stood. “You’ve been a role model to me since the day I met you. You’re a leader, but you lead in serving people, not ordering them around.” She breathed out harshly, trying to stop the tears. “Thank you for loving me, P Boogers, and happy birthday.”

Ice called Paige the eye of a hurricane – in all the calamity and chaos, Paige was always someone she could depend on. A safe space. “I’m lucky to know you, Paige Bueckers. I love you so much.”

“My twinnnnn,” Nika started. “I admire you more than you know. You make the best out of every situation, and you make it look easy. You are one of the best, most loyal, kindest people I know. And I am grateful to be one of the people you have chosen to love. Happy birthday, Twin.”

Naheim kept his short and sweet. “I’ve never had a sister, but I don’t think I couldn’t have gotten a better sister-in-law if I tried. I hope this year is everything you’ve hoped for.”

Like KK, Jana was a wreck by the time it got to her. “When I moved from Egypt, Paige made sure I felt like I had family here. She would make breakfast for me, wake me up for classes, make sure I was good at parties. You remember everything, no matter how small it is. You’ve just been the best, and I love you so much. Happy birthday, Paige!”

And finally, it was Azzi’s turn.

“I didn’t know a hot blonde was going to change my life, but you have. From the beginning, you have looked at me and seen me. You haven’t tried to fix me, to rush me. You have been so patient. So kind. So loving to me. You made it safe for me to fall again. You made me brave enough to fall again. So, I hope you know how loved you are, Paige Bueckers. Everyone in this room loves you so much, not for the things you can do for us, but because you’re you.” She cupped Paige’s face gently, “Happy birthday, my love.”

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Paige’s penthouse was silent.

KK offered to take Soleil for the night, promising to bring her back upstairs for their flight.

Paige sat on her bed; her vest draped over the back of an armchair. Her fingers were still working on the buttons of her shirt when the bathroom door opened again.

Holy fuck.

Azzi was –

Fuck.

She stepped into the doorway in a lacy lavender set, glowing under the dim light.

Paige wanted to bite her. Lick her. Mark her. Claim her.

“Well,” Azzi said coyly, padding forward until she stood between Paige’s legs, “Aren’t you going to unwrap your present?” Her voice shook slightly, nerves audible.

Paige reached for her immediately, pulling her in by the hips. “You look so good, baby.”

Her hands slid up the back of Azzi’s thighs, drawing a quiet gasp from her lips. Paige pressed soft kisses along her skin, trailing up until she could lick her belly piercing. She smirked against her skin as Azzi’s abs tensed under her lips.

“Paige,” Azzi breathed out.

“Whatchu want, Az?” The blonde rasped.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Paige tugged gently, pulling Azzi to straddle her legs. The brunette wrapped her arms around her neck, lips hovering over Paige’s “You can do whatever you want with me, Paige.”

Their lips crashed together. Heated, messy, breathless. Paige licked into Azzi’s mouth like she wanted to claim it. Azzi whimpered as Paige gripped her ass roughly. Her hips ground against her pelvis. Paige groaned at the soft moan that escaped her lips.

In one smooth movement, Paige rolled them quickly, settling between Azzi’s thighs, sitting back on her heels to take her in.

Azzi moaned softly, eyes following veiny hands as they finished unbuttoning the shirt.

“Fuck, Az.” Paige said, voice thick with heat. “You’re so perfect for me.”

Her eyes raked over Azzi’s body. The outline of the nipples under the lace. The gleam of her belly ring. The darkening patch of wetness on her panties.

Paige’s hand reached out on instinct, thumbing at one nipple. Mouth watering at the thought of wrapping her lips around it. At the thought of licking all of her.

“You gonna be good for me, baby?” She asked.

Azzi whimpered, a small thrust showing her desire.

Paige leaned over her, “C’mon baby. I need your words.” She muttered, her voice low against her neck.

“Fuck,” Azzi moaned.

She’d never heard Paige like this. This Paige – voice low, eyes blown, completely locked in on her – this Paige was new. She was wrecking Azzi.

“Azzi,” She said firmly.

Her head and hips moved at the same time, “Gonna be so good for you, Paige.” She nodded.

Any other day, she’d be mortified by how much it sounded like a whine, but not tonight.

“Good,” Paige smirked. “I just want you to relax and feel.”

Azzi tried to sit up a little, “But it’s your birthday!”

Paige placed a warm palm in the center of her chest and gently pushed her back down.

“Yeah, it is my birthday.” She said. “And for my birthday, I want to make my girl cum. I want to fuck you until you cry. That’s all I want tonight.”

Her words were a stark contrast to the gentleness she used to brush curls out of Azzi’s face.

“You said I could do whatever I want. So you’re gonna be good and let me fuck you, alright baby?”

Azzi nodded, lips parted. She lay sprawled across Paige’s bed, silent. She let herself be looked at like she was art..

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Azzi.” Paige whispered reverently.

She kissed her again. Slower this time, even filthier than before. Her tongue licked deep, teeth grazed her bottom lip. Azzi’s hips lifted off the bed, her body begging for more.

Paige didn’t answer her whimpers and pleas with words. She kissed down her body, licking from her jaw to her sternum to her belly, leaving a shiny trail in her wake.

Her hand came up to cup Azzi’s breast gently, “You gonna let me take this off, baby?” She murmured.

“Please, Paige.” Azzi gasped, breath picking up.

But Paige didn’t listen. She wrapped her lips around a lace-covered nipple and sucked hard.

Azzi cried out, hips jolting up again. Paige grinned around the fabric.

“Okay, baby.” She said. Azzi wanted to cheer at her finally unhooking the bra, slipping it down her arms, and tossing it aside.

Azzi didn’t have time to catch her breath before Paige’s mouth was on her again, hot and wet. Her tongue swirled around one nipple, while her hand pinched and pulled at the other.

She moaned louder, thighs rubbing together, desperate for attention.

“Be patient,” Paige warned. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

She kissed down her torso, tongue flicking at the dangling jewelry. She sucked a bruise into her hipbone, just above the lace edge of her panties.

Paige looked up, blue eyes dark with lust. “You want these off?”

Azzi moaned at the lips brushing against her skin and nodded, “Yes, please.”

Paige slid them down slowly, keeping her eyes locked on Azzi’s.

The brunette gasped as the cool air brushed over her warm center.

“Be still, Az. Be good for me.” Paige rasped.

Her mouth watered as she stared at the wet apex of Azzi’s thighs.

“Fuck, Azzi. You’re dripping for me.” She groaned at the sight of her — spread open, soaked, trembling already.

Paige had planned on teasing her a bit more, but Azzi looked like everything she’d been praying for since high school. She couldn’t wait any longer.

She planted a soft kiss at her clit, pulling back a little when Azzi’s hips lifted involuntarily.

“Fuck, please,” Azzi gasped.

Paige licked her lips, groaning at the taste. “Be still,” She repeated firmly.

She licked up her slit slowly, eyes rolling back at the taste. Then she couldn’t stop. Her mouth wrapped around Azzi’s clit like it belonged there.

Paige licked again, slower this time, tongue flat and firm.

A cry fell out from Azzi’s perfect lips.

“You taste so fucking good, baby.” She groaned, tongue dipping into the wet hole. She licked back up to her clit, tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves. Sucking, kissing, and licking harder as Azzi cried out.

She sucked until thighs shook under her hands. Azzi came fast, sob tearing from her throat, hips thrusting uncontrollably.

She pulled off, kissing her thighs and hips, pressing praise into her skin.

“You did so good for me, baby.”

“I knew you’d be perfect.”

“You taste so good, Az. Everything I could ever want.”

When tanned thighs stopped shaking, Paige pulled one over her shoulder and pressed the other wide. She dove back in, tongue relentless.

Azzi arched off the bed, trying to move away from the warm mouth. “Paige, I – I – please, I – fuck. Paige! I can’t,” She begged.

Paige pulled back, “You said whatever I want.” She licked into her. “You can.”

Azzi writhed and babbled, pleas incoherent.

“You’re gonna cum again for me, Azzi. You’re gonna be good for me,” She said, dragging her fingers up and down her slit.

“Please.” Azzi cried out, tears welling in her eyes.

Two fingers slid in easily, the slide easy after the first orgasm. She moaned loudly, hips lifting at the overstimulation.

“Cum for me again, baby. Be good for me,” Paige rasped against her clit, vibrations making wet walls clench around her fingers.

It took three curls and two more sucks for Azzi to shatter again. This time, Paige could hear her tears as she went over the edge.

“Paige — fuck, too much, I can’t — I can’t —” Azzi babbled, her hips bucking wildly.

She let the woman ride her orgasm out as she thrusted her fingers slowly,

Paige withdrew her fingers gently, wanting to lick back into her messy center. Instead, she kissed up Azzi’s trembling body.

“You taste so fucking good, baby.” She groaned, bringing her wet fingers to Azzi’s lips. “Wanna taste?”

Azzi nodded, curls falling against flushed cheeks, mouth dropping open.

Paige groaned loudly as Azzi wrapped her lips around the digits. She ground down on the caramel thigh involuntarily.

“Can you give me one more?” Paige begged, forehead pressed into Azzi’s cheek. “Wanna feel you fall apart on me while I cum with you.”

Azzi whimpered, core clenching. “Uh huh,” She whined.

“Thank you, Azzi. You’re so fucking perfect for me.” Paige scrambled to pull off the rest of her clothes.

She pulled Azzi’s leg high on top of her shoulder, slotting a leg between hers. Paige aligned their cores and ground down.

Loud moans escaped them both.

“Shit, baby, I’m not gonna last.” Paige groaned, leaning down. She hadn’t felt like she was going to cum this fast ever. But she needed Azzi to fall apart before she did.

She kissed at the tears falling into Azzi’s hair and pulled back. She brushed the curls out of her face. She interlaced their fingers, touching leaning closer until their foreheads touched.

Paige’s gaze locked onto wet eyes as she moved her hips again. Their bodies slid together perfectly. Each thrust was hot and slick. Paige rolled her hips hard and deep, grinding into Azzi with precision that bordered on cruel.

Azzi’s grip tightened, moaning so loudly Paige thought she might scream. Brown eyes rolled back as she shattered.

Paige gasped, staring at the woman beneath her.

“Fuck, I lo – Paige!” Azzi sobbed.

Paige’s hips stuttered as her own orgasm crashed over through her, hips bucking against Azzi.

After she felt like she could breathe again, Paige rolled over and pulled the sobbing girl to her chest.

“Shh,” She whispered into her hair. “You were so good for me, baby. So good.” Paige spoke praises into her hair until she stopped shaking.

Azzi was quiet, dazed, eyes still unfocused.

She whimpered when Paige started to pull away.

“Need to clean you up, baby.” The blonde said lowly.

Azzi just wrapped her arms around the blonde tighter.

Paige lifted her on shaky legs and walked them to the bathroom. She spread a towel on the counter so the marble wouldn’t be too cold on Azzi’s skin.

She gently dragged a warm washcloth through both of their centers. A quiet apology when Azzi hissed with sensitivity.

“You okay, Azzi?” Paige said, cupping her cheeks so the brunette could see her.

Azzi’s cheeks were flushed when she smiled at Paige tiredly. “I’m perfect, just a little floaty.” She opened her arms.

“You were perfect, Azzi. Thank you.” Paige said, walking into her embrace.

Azzi tucked her face into Paige’s neck. “I’ve never felt that safe with someone.”

“That’s all I ever want you to feel. Safe, happy, and loved.” Paige pressed a long kiss to her shoulder.

This time, Azzi’s hands cupped Paige’s cheeks. “I love you.” She smiled softly. “That’s not post nut clarity either,” She giggled. “I’m so in love with you, Paige.”

Blue eyes shined with joy and a soft smile graced Paige’s face. “And I love you, Azzi Fudd.”

They fell asleep tangled together, soft and satisfied and full of everything they never thought they’d get the chance to have.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi wanted to cry when her alarm went off the following morning, but the dread was short lived when she remembered they’d be going on vacation today.

She tried to sit up, but she was pulled back down by the arm around her waist.

“Go back to sleep,” Paige grumbled.

Azzi turned in her arms with a pout. “But we have to get ready before Soleil gets back. And we can’t miss our flight; I spent a lot of money on that.”

The blonde head popped up, eyes squinted. “Exactly how much money did you spend on my birthday, Azzi?”

“Um,” She started. Azzi knew she wasn’t supposed to mention anything about money. She figured that Paige wouldn’t even think about money after they’d had sex. And she didn’t. Not until Azzi opened her big fat mouth. “I don’t know. Let’s go get ready, Paige.” She rushed, trying to get out of bed.

Paige’s grip tightened as she rolled to hover over her girlfriend. “Nah, I don’t believe that. But that’s okay, I’ll find out.” She dipped to kiss at her neck. “And I’ll double it since you don’t want to tell me.” She finished, biting her ear.

“About twenty-eight thousand.” Azzi gasped. Paige froze above her, and Azzi rushed to explain herself. “The Louis fit was expensive, and I covered everyone last night. And then the last-minute flights, the VRBO, and the activities in Aspen.”

Paige pulled away, rolling out of the bed. Azzi gasped as the cool air settled over her nude form.

“We can talk about this in the shower. We’re not missing that flight.” Paige tossed over her shoulder.

Azzi trailed her into the bathroom on shaky legs. “Are you mad at me?” She questioned. She leaned against the doorway, watching the muscles in Paige’s back move as got the shower ready.

“No,” the blonde sighed. “I just wasn’t expecting that. It’s almost all of the money I’ve paid you.”

They stepped under the warm water together, Azzi wrapping her arms around Paige’s back. “Yeah, but you do so much for everybody. You’ve done so much for me. I just wanted to make you feel as special as you make me feel.”

“That’s okay,” Paige said, smirking. “I’m gonna make sure you feel exactly how much I appreciate you.”

Large hands trailed down tanned skin before she was stopped. “My legs are still a little shaky, P.”

“I’ll carry you through the airport if I have to, baby.” Paige chuckled, moving to grab the shampoo.

Azzi let her girlfriend wash her hair as they stood under the warm stream. “I like when you call me that.” She muttered.

“What, baby?” Paige questioned. She smiled at Azzi’s shy nod. “What else? You like babygirl too?” Shrug. “What about angel?” A nod. “Pretty girl? Sweetheart?”

“Yes to both.” She replied, cheeks warm. “I don’t hate any of them.”

Paige pulled her into a soft kiss. “Noted, babygirl.”

“Well, what do you wanna be called? Mommy? Daddy?” Azzi teased.

The smiled dropped off Paige’s face quickly. “Soleil calls me Mommy, Az. And fuck no to daddy.”

“What about love?” Azzi smiled softly. “Or ma’am?” She paused. “Oooooh, or my love?”

Paige nodded, “Those are all fine.” She breathed.

They rinsed and dried off quickly. Azzi pulled on a pair of Paige’s boxers and a t-shirt before going down to her place to get the matching sweatsuits she bought to wear to the airport.

The lilac sweatshirts had a white PSA stitched on the cuff for a sentimental touch. She made sure each of them had socks to wear with their purple Crocs before heading back upstairs.

Azzi was greeted with a squeal. “Azzi! Mommy said we gonna go on a aiwplane today!”

“Yeah, baby!” Azzi exclaimed, matching the girl’s energy. “I even brought us matching outfits for the plane!”

Soleil gasped, just as elated as Azzi knew she’d be. “Lemme see, lemme see!” She bounced.

After she pulled her clothes on, Soleil ran to her mother. “Mommy, look! P, S, and A!”

“Yeah, for Paige, Soleil, and Azzi,” She responded, gesturing to each of them. She grinned at Azzi. “Our little family.”

The brunette grinned back at her girlfriend – they really were the perfect little family.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The trio was complemented the entire day.

First by Morgan when she came to drop them off at the airport.

Then by two TSA agents at Chicago-O’Hare.

The cashier from the terminal shop flirted with Paige until Soleil and Azzi came up behind her, dropping chips, candy, and slim jims on the counter. Then, the young woman melted. “You have the most beautiful family. Like your wife and your kid? Geez.”

There were a few people sneering at them – two of them had on those disgusting red hats. Paige planted a firm kiss on Azzi’s lips just to spite them.

They read a few books while they waited for boarding to start.

“First class?” Paige’s eyes widened.

Azzi’s brows furrowed, “You mean to tell me that you, Paige Bueckers, fly economy?”

The blonde scoffed. “Absolutely not. I have a plane, Azzi.”

“What? Was I supposed to reserve your plane or something?”

Paige just raised a brow in response.

“How am I supposed to know how to charter a plane?” She questioned.

“I figured the girls would’ve told you!” Paige exclaimed.

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully. “They didn’t know. It was all a surprise. Well Jana knew we were going somewhere, but she didn’t know everything.”

“Well, I’ll send you the information, so you don’t have to do this next time.” Paige leaned in, pecking her lips.

Despite ensuring that Soleil had her own pod, she didn’t actually use it outside of takeoff and landing. She bounced between Azzi and Paige, pulling a different activity from her carryon each time.

Her nose was pressed to the window as the descent started. “Look, Mommy! Mountains! With snow!”

A driver was waiting outside of baggage claim with “Bueckers Family” written in thick print. And even though Azzi arranged their transportation, she gasped, realizing she really was in the family.

Though the thought filled her with warmth, there was still a part of her heart that mourned the distance she had with her family. She missed them.

Paige looked at her, concern clear on her face.

Azzi just shook her head and smiled warmly.

The ride to their reservation passed quickly.

Pierre, the driver, pointed out a few restaurants that were kid-friendly and some others that were more for romance. He drove past the ski resort where most of their activities would be before driving a few minutes to drop them off at the cabin.

The house was nice. Too much wood for Azzi to live in forever, but just enough to feel warm for a week-long cabin trip. Soleil was ecstatic to see a hot tub out back, and Paige looked at Azzi with a smirk about the same feature.

Wiped from the day of travel and last night’s activities, the trio ate dinner and piled into the bed together.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The skiing trip was going well.

On Tuesday, they went into town to find a ski suits for their lessons the following day. Azzi took a million pictures of Soleil in different patterned suits. She had her favorite – the light pink one with sparkles – but Soleil had the final say. The definitely wouldn’t be able to lose sight of the girl in a rainbow tie-dye snowsuit.

They spent the rest of the day in the city, staying cozy and bonding. Azzi watched as Paige read book after book in the library until Soleil fell asleep in her lap. They walked around the center, grabbing a coffee while they waited for Soleil to wake up.

They enjoyed perfectly. crisped grilled cheese sandwiches and a soup bar at a tavern in town. Soleil ate very carefully, not wanting tomato soup dripping onto her sand-colored sweater.

A local took a picture of them in front of the restaurant. Soleil’s cheeks were rosy from the wind, but she showed all of her teeth as she grinned for the photo. Azzi’s smile was soft, warm as she adjusted the earmuffs on little girl’s head. And Paige just looked at the two of them with so much love that it could be felt through the screen. Maybe one day they’d be mad that they didn’t get a picture where each person was looking, but for now, it was perfect.

On Wednesday, the trio had ski lessons.

Well, Soleil and Azzi had ski lessons. Apparently Paige was already a pro, despite only going skiing once before.

The city had gotten fresh snow the night before. It was fine and glittering, softly crushing with each step. It was the kind of weather people fantasized about when they thought of a ski trip.

The ski class would have been great if Paige didn’t spend the entirety of it distracting Azzi, which then caused Soleil to keep looking back at them and giggling.

“You’re going to teach her on your own then, since you couldn’t let us just learn.” Azzi pouted during lunch.

An hour later, Paige knelt in front of Soleil. They were at the Fawn Slope, one of the easiest for small children. She took great care adjusting her daughter’s sparkly pink helmet and mittens.

Azzi stood a few feet away, wanting to take pictures, but content to stay bundled with her hot chocolate.

“Mommy, it’s all squishy.” Soleil giggled, poking her gloves against her stomach.

Paige grinned, “Yeah, Sunshine. It’ll keep you safe if you fall, like falling on a pillow.”

Azzi moved closer to the bunch as Paige strapped the little boots to the skis.

“You ready, Lei?” She questioned.

Soleil nodded fiercely. “I’m gonna fly!”

Paige giggled, pulling the cover over her nose and the goggles over her eyes. Azzi gasped at how real it became.

“What’s wrong?” Paige called over her shoulder.

Azzi forced herself to relax, sound casual. “Are we sure she won’t launch herself into a tree?”

Paige rose, dusting the snow off her pants.

“Nah, she’ll be fine. Slope’s not too bad, and I’ll be right beside her.”

Azzi nodded, heart in her throat.

Soleil shuffled toward the edge of the gentle slope, skis awkward and much too wide.

Azzi pulled her phone out, recording Paige crouching nearby, grinning and shouting encouragement.

She continued to record short clips, breath catching every time she went down, and sighing in relief when she popped up.

“Ready to try by yourself, Sunshine?” Paige urged.

Azzi stood straighter, looking to see Soleil’s answer. She wanted the girl to be brave and fearless, excited to conquer the slope. But at the same time, she wanted her wrapped in bubble wrap, where she’d be safe.

“Yeah, Mommy!” She nodded firmly.

Soleil trudged back to the top of the slope. Leaving her mom to wait for her at the bottom.

Then she pushed off.

She glided slowly at first, knees bent, skis closer together.

Azzi held her breath.

She reached out in vain when Soleil wobbled a bit.

She made it all the way down the track. A short ten-second run that felt like ten minutes to Azzi.

Paige let out a loud whoop, picking Soleil up and spinning her around.

Azzi was running towards them without even knowing it, smile stretched wide across her face.

Soleil’s giggles filled the air around them. She turned to Azzi with the biggest grin. “MAMA DID YOU SEE ME?! I DID IT!”

Soleil’s voice rang out like a bell, pure and proud.

Mama.

Azzi blinked. Just once. The word echoed in her skull, again and again, until it wasn’t just a sound, it was a truth.

Paige reached out with her free arm, bringing her into their embrace.

Azzi’s brown eyes were glassy as she pulled the face covering off and planted a kiss right on Soleil’s cheek. “Yeah, of course I saw you, Sunny Girl. You were amazing!”

When they got back to the cabin a little later, Soleil was starfished on top of Azzi, napping in front of the fireplace.

Paige dropped down next to her two favorite people with hot chocolate.

“I didn’t tell her to do it, but I’ve been waiting for her to call you that. Wanting her to call you that.” She said, eyes locked on her daughter.

Azzi blinked, eyes misty again. “Me too, I just…I didn’t want to overstep. Feel like we haven’t really talked about it.” She paused. “I know I’m not – I know she’s not mine.”

Paige grabbed her hand, running her thumb across her knuckles. “Maybe not legally, but in every way that matters.” She kissed Azzi’s forehead firmly. “We can work on that though, if you want.”

“I know I’m not supposed to think like this, but you haven’t made me a list this week, so technically, I’m not breaking any rules.” She swallowed. “I just don’t wanna fuck anything up. I’m so scared that something’s gonna happen, and she’ll be the one that gets hurt the most.”

The crease in the middle of Paige’s forehead deepened, and she didn’t say anything.

“Well,” She started after a few minutes. “Even if something happened between us. God forbid, if we didn’t work out, you’d still want to be in her life – still want to be her Mama, right?” She questioned.

“Of course,” Azzi replied. She didn’t need to think to know that. “Not unless you didn’t want me to.”

Paige smiled softly. “Okay, so no matter what happens, you’re her Mama. You’ll always be her Mama.”

This time, when Azzi exhaled, all the tightness in her chest evaporated.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid.

She just lay there — Soleil snuggled on top of her, Paige curled at her side – holding her daughter, next to the love of her life.

Her family.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

On Friday, the night before they were set to return to Chicago, they had a Halloween movie marathon. Halfway through Halloweentown, Paige whispered in Azzi’s ear. “Hot tub after she goes to sleep?”

They had spent time in the hot tub every day since they got to Aspen, but Soleil was always there with them. Which the loved! Any time spent as a family was cherished by both women, but warmth and anticipation flooded Azzi’s system as she nodded at the idea.

Hours later, after Soleil was tucked in and drooling, Paige waited in the hot tub.

Steam curled around her bare shoulders as she sank into the hot tub, the mountain air crisp against her flushed skin. She watched the snowflakes as they floated down, melting before they could get close to the water.

Her head popped up at the sound of the patio door sliding opened.

Azzi was in her favorite color again. The lavender bikini had a cutout on the bottom of the top, her under boob on display.

Paige’s mouth was already watering. Her eyes dragged across Azzi’s body as she climbed in to sit next to her.

They spent the next couple of minutes in silence, eyes watching the steam vanish into the sky.

“You warm enough?” Paige asked, voice low.

Azzi nodded slowly, lips parted. She was content to admire the woman next to her. She traced the slope of her nose, the slight pout of her lips, the texture on her cheeks. Every inch of Paige Bueckers was perfect.

“You’re quiet,” Paige turned to her.

She blinked a bit, snapping out of her Paige-induced trance. “Just looking at you.” She felt her cheeks flush, not from the heat.

The corners of Paige’s lips twitched. “Yeah? What do you see, baby?”

Azzi inhaled sharply and shifted. Her hands settled on Paige’s waits, fingers tracing slow circles against the warm skin.

“I see…” She whispered nervously. “I see everything I want.”

The next second, Paige closed the distance, licking Azzi’s mouth open. The kiss was slow and all-consuming, warm from the heat and the tension. Azzi moaned softly, leaning in, hands running up Paige’s back.

Water sloshed over the edge of the hot tub as Paige pulled Azzi onto her lap, thighs instantly sliding apart. Azzi straddled her, lips trailing down to her jaw. She sucked a mark into the base of her neck as Paige palmed her ass roughly.

The blonde let one hand move up her back, landing in her curls and pulling softly. Azzi moaned into the kiss, pushing her body in even closer.

Paige pushed her hips up while guiding Azzi’s down, the friction eliciting a quiet gasp from the older woman. The motion was subtle but deliberate.

“Want you,” Azzi moaned against her lips.

Paige’s voice was just as wrecked. “Then take me, babygirl.”

Azzi reached behind the woman to unclasp the bikini top before getting frustrated and roughly pushing it over her head with a grunt. Her hands cupped the small mounds reverently, thumbs brushing over pink nipples.

Paige groaned again, pulling Azzi’s hips down again. “Fuck, Azzi.”

She dipped her head, tongue flattening against the stiff peak. Swirling in a slow, deliberate motion while the other was rolled between her fingers.

Paige’s hand tangled in tight curls. “You’re driving me crazy, angel.” She murmured, breath hitching.

“I wanna make you cum,” She pulled away with a pop.

“Yeah?” Paige said, pupils blown. “You will, but I haven’t even started with you yet.”

Before Azzi could say anything, a large hand slipped beneath those tiny bikini bottoms. Paige grinned at the slickness she found. Azzi cried out softly, hips bucking against the two fingers against her folds.

“Mmm, you’re so wet for me already.” She whispered, breath hot against Azzi’s skin. “You’re dripping, and I hadn’t even touched you yet.”

Azzi moaned at her words. Sweet sounds turned into a gasp as Paige bit her neck.

“All this from a little heat and bubbles,” She teased, soothing the bite with her tongue.

Azzi bit her lip, head titling to the side to give Paige more space. “No.” She whined. “All this from you.”

Paige kissed her again, rougher now, tongue demanding, mouth desperate. She thrust her fingers slowly, just two at first. Moving slowly to give her time to adjust, curling only after feeling Azzi tighten.

She moaned, rocking into her roughly, tucking her face into Paige’s neck and holding tightly to her shoulders.

“You’re such a good girl, sweetheart.” Paige rasped. “Just like that, baby. Take what you need.”

Azzi nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” She swallowed. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna cum.”

Paige brought her thumb up to her clit. It took two, maybe three swipes. Azzi’s vision blurred as she came with a choked gasp, trembling in Paige’s lap.

Her balance was unsteady as she stood, pulling Paige up with her. “Want you in the bed.” She muttered.

Paige grabbed her bathing suit top, rushing in behind her girlfriend.

Azzi was standing in front of the fireplace, situating blankets in front of the flames.

“What are you doing, Az?” Paige chuckled, coming behind her.

Azzi looked over her shoulder. “Don’t wanna get the bed wet, and I don’t wanna be cold.”

She yanked Paige down and rolled on top of her.

“It’s my turn now.” Hands already moving to Paige’s blue bottoms.

A pale hand reached out to grab her wrist firmly. “I think you’re forgetting who is in charge here.” She said with a smirk.

Azzi’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “But you said I could be next.”

“You are.” She said, cupping her chin, forcing eye contact. “But you’re all keyed up. Relax a little.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Azzi whispered, pulling at one of the threads. “Not with a woman.”

Paige leaned back until she was flat against the covers. “You do what feels right, okay?” She started. “I’ll help you if you need it. But I love you, Azzi. Anything that you do will be enough, I promise.”

The brunette still looked a little nervous, so Paige spoke again. “Can you take your bathing suit off?” She asked lowly, already reaching for her own bottoms.

“God, you’re so beautiful, angel.” She whispered, getting wetter with every inch of skin Azzi showed her.

The brunette sat on her heels, eyes wide with uncertainty.

“Now, you’re in charge sweetheart.” She started. “You can kiss, you can suck, you can lick. Whatever you want baby.”

Azzi knelt between pale legs. “And you’ll tell me if you don’t like it?”

“I promise.”

Azzi brought her face closer, nose brushing against sticky skin. She breathed in, pressing a kiss into one thigh, licking the other.

The taste wasn’t bad. Much different from the bitterness she’d experienced before, not a bad different…just different.

She kissed her way up each thigh, pausing at Paige’s gasp.

“You’re doing good baby,” She smiled. “Just teasing a little.”

The smile sent warmth all throughout Azzi’s body. With a little more confidence, she trailed kissed up each of lips before reaching the apex.

She licked her lips and kissed the soft, swollen heat between her thighs. “Fuck, Azzi.” Paige groaned, hips bucking into her face.

One hand reached up the spread her lips. “You’re so pretty, Paige.” She said, breath warm against the wetness.

She leaned in, tongue dragged through the sticky heat. “Shit, baby.” Paige moaned.

Azzi watched her hole tighten and she dipped down the catch the drop before it could slide down. She moaned against the wet heat at the taste of her girlfriend. Her tongue flicked against the opening, eager to taste more of the girl she loved.

“You feel so good, angel. You’re doing so good for me.” The blonde rambled.

Azzi’s hips twitched at the praise, her own hand circling her clit. She whimpered into Paige.

The vibrations moved through her core, “Fuck, just like that, baby.” She groaned, tossing her head back.

Azzi’s tongue slithered up to Paige’s clit. She licked the sensitive nub softly, mouth following as her hips bucked.

“Oh my – Azzi.” Paige moaned. “Keep going, just like that.” She rode her face, pushing her hips further into her mouth.

Azzi wrapped her lips around Paige’s clit and sucked.

Paige came. Hard.

She didn’t have words, just gasps.

Azzi’s tongue darted back to drink down Paige’s release greedily. Her tongue ran up and down the slit until Paige pulled her face away.

She pulled Azzi up and licked into her mouth. “You were fucking perfect, baby.”

Azzi had a dazed smile on her lips, but that didn’t last long. Her jaw dropped as Paige sucked on the fingers she’d been using on herself.

“Did eating me make you all sloppy and wet?” Paige’s tone was teasing, and Azzi couldn’t help but pout at the thought of her ruined orgasm.

Paige leaned back again, legs spread wide. “Oh, my poor baby, just needs to cum.” She pulled Azzi into her lap. “When we get back, gotta fuck you with my strap, gonna make you ride it. But today, you’re just gonna ride me, okay?”

Azzi nodded, still in a daze, but eager to please Paige and finish.

The strong hands on her hips guided her into place. Azzi pushed down a little, throwing her head back at the sensation.

Their slick centers met, warm and pulsing, friction building with every slow roll of their hips. Paige’s hips rolling slowly, creating the best friction. Azzi whimpered as Paige gripped her ass, encouraging her to move above her.

They moved together, fast and a little sloppy.

Azzi threw her head back in ecstasy as Paige’s hand came up to pluck at her nipple.

“No,” Paige said firmly. “Eyes on me. Looks who’s making you feel like this.”

She nodded, eyes still dazed. Her hips sped up as she chased her orgasm. “Fuck, I love you.”

“Yeah?” Paige sat up, pressing their foreheads together.

The movement changed the angle, and they were both bucking against thighs. Azzi’s moans were high, but quiet as Paige breathed heavily in her ear.

“Come on, love. Cum with me.”

Azzi nodded, breath stuttering in her chest.

Their orgasms hit like waves, overlapping and pulling them under. Azzi tried to keep her eyes on Paige, wanting to see how beautiful she was when. She came, but her eyes rolled into her head.

The only sound was their breathing, synced and heavy, surrounded by the low crackle of the fire. Paige’s hand found Azzi’s, fingers curling tight. “You’re mine,” she whispered against her temple.

Azzi didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. She just smiled into Paige’s shoulder, body limp, heart wide open.

They stayed like that, tangled in skin and love, warm in every possible way.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

A/N: I might turn my anons on. I miss seeing y'all react to chapters, and I feel like less people are sending things in. But if those kinds of messages are sent in, I'm gonna have to delete my account 😭 So please remember to be kind :) Love you guys!!!

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #elle's fics #terms of endearment

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screaminglygay · 2 days ago

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Professional distance (my ass)

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you start driving your younger sister to therapy, you don't expect the real challenge to be resisting her therapist.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mild language, themes of mental health and therapy, bad flirting, mentions of self-worth and responsibility, a healthy dose of yearning:D

an: to everyone who’s sent requests - I see every single one and I’m so grateful for your ideas and support. I’ll be writing them throughout the summer, so stay tuned and thank you for reading!

☀️ Summer with A masterlist ☀️

The waiting room is quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the sound of your sister nervously picking at the edge of her sleeve. You nudge her knee gently with your own.

"Hey," you murmur, offering her a small smile.

"If this therapist doesn’t vibe right, it’s okay. We’ll try someone else. No pressure, okay?"

She exhales shakily and nods, though her hands are still fidgeting.

You continue, light but sincere, "Worst case scenario, she’s a weirdo who makes you draw your feelings with crayons. Best case… she’s actually helpful and everything will get a little bit better."

That earns a little laugh, which feels like a victory. You loop an arm around her and pull her in for a quick side hug. She leans into it, her forehead pressing against your shoulder.

"You’ve got this, Ellie," you whisper, pressing a kiss to her head. "I’ll be right here when you’re done."

The door opens behind you before she can answer, and a soft voice says, "Elena? Hi, I’m Dr. Wanda Maximoff."

You turn, and- oh.

Okay, wow.

She’s beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, soft eyes, a calm, composed presence that makes you shift a little straighter. Her hair is perfectly styled, her voice warm and level, and she’s wearing a blouse that does deeply unfair things to your focus.

You stand with your hand out, easy smile already in place. "Hi. I’m her sister. Thank you for seeing her."

Wanda takes your hand in a gentle shake. Her skin is warm. "Of course. It’s nice to meet you."

You watch the two of them disappear down the hallway, and you can’t help but think, yeah… we’re in trouble.

Forty-five minutes later, Ellie walks back out with pink in her cheeks and a calmer step than before. You put your phone away and stand, watching her approach.

"So?" you ask, walking with her toward the exit.

She shrugs, but she’s trying not to smile. "She’s nice. Like… really nice. And she doesn’t talk down to me. I actually talked more than I thought I would."

You bump your shoulder into hers, "that’s what I like to hear."

"She said I did well. That I should be proud." Ellie glances at you. "And she asked about you."

You blink, "me?"

"She said you seemed very… supportive," she teases with a smirk.

You grin, "did she now?"

Ellie groans, "oh my god, don’t flirt with my therapist."

You throw your hands up, mock-offended, "I didn’t! I just said hi!"

"Uh-huh." Your sister knows you too well.

You nudge her again, laughing, "I´m just being nice."

Ellie rolls her eyes but leans into you anyway as you walk down the steps to the car. You unlock the doors and both slip in, and for a moment, there’s a quiet stillness. She’s staring out the window, a thoughtful look on her face, and you glance at her before speaking again.

"I know I say this a lot," you start, voice softer now, "but I really am proud of you."

She doesn’t look at you, but her shoulders rise like she’s holding in emotion.

"And I know when I say it all the time it might sound less… important," you continue, "but it’s not. I mean it every time."

Ellie turns to look at you now, eyes a little glassy.

"I’m really happy your session went well," you say, smiling at her gently. "But I understand you want someone else to talk to so… You deserve to feel safe, and seen."

Ellie blinks rapidly, "you’re being weirdly perfect right now. It’s gross."

You snort, reaching over to ruffle her hair, not really caring she´s almost an adult now, "yeah, yeah. Let’s go home."

The next week you pull up to the same office building, Ellie next to you sipping from a smoothie you grabbed on the way.

"You sure you’re good?" you ask.

She hums around the straw, "yeah. Just gotta pee first."

"Again?," you tease.

She hops out of the car and hurries into the building ahead of you while you trail behind, phone in one hand, sunglasses perched on your head. You’ve barely had time to sit down in the waiting room when you hear a familiar voice.

"Is Elena here?"

You look up. God. She’s in another dangerously well-fitted blouse today. Burgundy, soft silk, her hair tucked behind one ear. Her tone is professional, her posture easy, but the moment your eyes meet, something crackles.

"She is," you answer smoothly, standing. "Just in the bathroom."

Wanda nods politely, "I see."

You shift, hands in your pockets. “Thank you for being so… patient with her. This is like… our fourth try. Every other therapist made her feel weird or shut down. It’s been hard."

Wanda’s expression softens. "That’s not uncommon. It takes time to find the right match."

"Yeah, well," you say with a small grin, "I’m just glad you’re making her feel safe. It means a lot. To both of us."

There’s a pause. A quiet kind of understanding settles between you.

"You two are very close," Wanda says gently.

"She’s my little sister. It’s been just the two of us for a while now. I think she gets tired of me hovering," you say with a smirk, "but that’s the job."

Wanda smiles, and something flickers in her eyes, warmth, maybe. Curiosity.

You tilt your head slightly, grin sharpening. "I should probably thank you with something more formal. Do therapists accept bribes in the form of coffee?"

Her brow lifts, but her smile grows, "not usually, no."

"Shame," you say, just as Ellie steps out from the hallway.

"I’m ready," she says, tossing you a look like she knows what you’re doing. "Okay, thanks, sis," she says, then adds with extra emphasis, "I’ll see you later."

You smile more innocently this time and just nod, "see you later. Dr. Maximoff." You give her last smile for now. Your sister snorts and disappears into the hallway with Wanda, who glances back once at you, just for a second longer than necessary.

And you smile to yourself. You’re definitely in trouble.

You and Ellie have made a little ritual of it now, smoothies on the drive, music just loud enough to sing over your nerves, and a whole playlist Ellie insists on cueing up just right so she doesn’t walk into her session with sad girl energy. Even though it wouldn´t be a bad thing.

You drop her off at the front again, waving as she disappears into the building. Usually you hang around in the parking lot, scrolling on your phone or grabbing a coffee from the coffee shop nearby. And it was ritual that neither of you mind. And you weren´t really upset since you got to see such a pretty lady like Dr. Wanda Maximoff herself.

Another week later you’re halfway across the street, sunglasses on, when you spot her.

Wanda.

She's in line at the coffee shop, where you often came to, dressed down this time, dark jeans, flats, and a tucked-in navy blouse. She’s holding her phone in one hand, eyes skimming the menu above the counter.

You walk up to her, "didn’t think I’d run into you outside your natural habitat," you say-

Wanda glances up, mildly startled, then her lips curve. "It’s just coffee. Even therapists are allowed that."

"Really? I had this theory you only drink existential potion with a bit of widsom."

She huffs a quiet laugh, and it’s adorable, even if she tries to smother it,"funny."

You offer an exaggerated shrug, "I have to use my charm somewhere. Otherwise it just leaks out."

Wanda doesn’t respond immediately, just tilts her head at you, lips pressing together like she’s trying very hard not to smile.

"You’re still being professional. Even away from your office? That’s commitment."

"I try," she says dryly.

"Impressive," you murmur. "I’d be more impressed if you told me your coffee order, though. For future bribery purposes."

She narrows her eyes at you, "I thought I told you, bribery doesn’t work on me."

"Oh, I know," you say, taking a step closer, eyes flicking from her hand to her amused expression. "You’re far too composed for that. But I also know you’re currently analyzing me, aren’t you?"

Wanda takes a slow sip of her drink, keeping her expression unreadable. "You’re charming, confident, and used to getting your way with a well-timed smile. You flirt to test boundaries, not to disrespect them. It’s calculated, but not cruel."

You blink, "whoa…"

She shrugs lightly, "occupational hazard."

You recover quickly, tilting your head with a slow smile. "Well, I hope you can also tell I don’t just… let things go that easily."

Something flickers behind her eyes at that, interest, maybe. She hides it fast, covering it with a sip of her coffee. Still, the tiniest smirk curls the corner of her mouth.

"I’m sure you don’t," she says smoothly. Then, almost teasing, "have a nice day, (Y/N)."

That smirk widens just a little when she sees the reaction her saying your name does to you.

You grin, "you too, Dr. Maximoff."

She nods and starts to turn, and you casually call out, "almond milk latte with one pump of vanilla, right?"

Wanda glances back over her shoulder and rolls her eyes.

"What can I say? Occupational hazard."

That earns you a soft, amused laugh she doesn’t quite manage to suppress. She shakes her head as she walks away. You’re not crossing the line. But you’re dancing on it and she’s dancing right back.

Once again Ellie sits beside you on the curb outside the coffee shop, fidgeting with her phone while you wait for her session time to come up.

"You okay?" you ask, nudging her with your elbow.

She sighs, resting her chin on her hand, "yeah. Just… more nervous today, I guess."

You glance over at her, chewing her lip, shoulders tense and place a reassuring hand on her back. "Hey, no pressure, okay? If you just sit the whole time, that´s okay too."

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans into your side a little.

Ellie hums, "I feel like not going, but I know I should."

"You know you´ll feel better, you always do." You softly say.

Ellie hums once again, "I wouldn´t go if you wouldn´t be here."

"Oh I know."

"I´m glad you do tho. At least I don´t have to walk home."

"So now I´m just taxi to you?" That makes her laugh, then you glance at the clock. "Come on, sweetheart. Go do your brave thing."

Later, after the session Ellie gets in the car with a light step and a kind of glowy calm around her.

"Go well?" you ask.

She nods, buckling her seatbelt, "Wanda was really understanding and helpful with her methaphors"

"I´m glad."

Ellie watches you for a second, her eyes narrow.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," she says. "Just… do you always smile like that when I say her name?"

You raise an eyebrow, "like what?"

"Like you’ve got a crush in a high school and you just spotted her across the cafeteria."

You laugh, "Ellie-"

"I’m just saying. You’re subtle, but I´m not blind."

Next session, mid-conversation in Wanda’s office Ellie hesitates, pulling her sleeves over her hands, "can I ask you something?"

Wanda’s tone is calm, encouraging, "of course."

"Let’s say… hypothetically… there’s this woman."

Wanda tilts her head, smiling slightly, "alright."

"She likes someone. A lot. But she’s scared they don’t really see her because… well, she acts all tough. Like a jock. Real confident, sarcastic. But inside she’s, like, soft. An actual marshmallow."

Wanda’s brows lift with interest. "So, she thinks the person she likes might not notice the vulnerable side of her?"

"Exactly," Ellie says. "And she flirts. Like, all the time. But she’s scared to be real because what if the other person just thinks she’s joking?"

Wanda’s expression softens, "well… I’d tell her to be honest… carefully. To show the vulnerable side when she feels safe. To let the person she likes see her. Because no matter how charming someone is, people can tell when it’s real."

Ellie nods, thoughtful. Then Wanda pauses. Her eyes narrow slightly, but there's amusement there too.

"This is about your sister, isn’t it?"

Ellie bites her lip and shrugs. "… hypothetically?"

Wanda exhales a slow breath, hiding a small smile behind her hand, "I see. You two are truly sisters."

Ellie tilts her head, "what’s that supposed to mean?"

Wanda chuckled lightly and gestured for them to continue, "let’s get back to you, shall we?"

Ellie later slides into the passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt over her chest and giving you a look that's way too smug for someone who just left therapy.

"What´s up with that smile?" you ask, starting the engine.

She shrugs, "nothing." She leans her elbow against the door, looking out the window with a faux-innocent tone. "I was just trying to figure out how someone like you might… I don´t know show her true self, since I´m understanding myself better, I figured you should do the same. So I simply just ask the one and only."

Your jaw drops, "you didn’t."

She grins, "I might’ve."

"Oh my God, Ellie."

"Relax! I didn’t say it was you. I was just describing a certain type of woman who might wear tank tops too tight on purpose and smirk a lot."

You glance at her with mock scandal, "you're trying to psychoanalyze me with your therapist’s help?"

"I would never," she says, putting a hand over her heart. "I’m just looking out for your emotional well-being."

You snort, "oh right."

Some days later you tap your fingers against your thigh while the line moves slowly forward. Something about the quiet hum of the place, the soft clink of ceramic cups, and the smell of espresso is making you more fidgety than usual. You glance over your shoulder. Then again. When you finally turn around, you spot her again, Dr. Wanda Maximoff, halfway through the line, her hair shining in the light, eyes glued to her phone.

Your breath catches for half a second. You try not to grin. You step to the barista. "I’ll pay for the lady in the black top," you say casually.

The barista glances over, "you know them?"

"Uh-huh." You pay. No big deal. Just a small, innocent coffee. That’s all.

Wanda doesn’t look up until she’s called forward to order and the barista says, "You’re all set. Your drink’s been paid for."

She blinks, "oh?"

The barista points, "by them."

Wanda follows the gesture. Your eyes meet. You raise your cup in silent greeting, smirking just enough to get under her skin. She stares at you for a long moment, her lips parting like she’s about to say something. Then, to your surprise, she walks over.

"I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you look," she says lightly.

You lean back against the chair, eyes warm. "And yet, you came over."

Wanda exhales, a soft puff of a laugh, "maybe I was curious."

You raise your brows, sipping your coffee. "Careful, Doctor. Curiosity can be dangerous."

Her lips twitch, "so can charm."

You grin, "I wouldn’t know. I’m just a supportive sister making small talk with my sister’s therapist over overpriced caffeine."

Wanda leans slightly forward, her eyes scanning you like she’s doing more than just looking. "Do you always deflect with humor?"

That stops you for half a second. The coffee cup stills in your hand.

"That’s a real question," you say, laughing, half-caught off guard.

She smirks and tilts her head, waiting for your asnwer, that she already knows.

You tilt your head, thoughtful for a beat. "Maybe. But sometimes I just think life moments are too heavy not to laugh through it."

She hums, "that’s… fair."

You sip your drink again, a little slower now, like the air between you shifted. Not tense. Just more… present.

Wanda glances at your cup, then back up. "So, what is this little moment to you?"

You don’t even hesitate, "definetly a date." You smirk at her.

She blinks, "this is what you call a date?"

You shrug, playful. "Two attractive women, coffee, soft lighting, emotionally probing questions? Sounds like a date to me."

Wanda leans back with a smile that’s far too amused for her usual clinical composure. "Interesting definition."

"Oh, come on. What would you call it?"

"An ambush."

You laugh, "you’re not running."

She raises an eyebrow, "not yet."

You grin wider, satisfied, "so, you’re saying there’s a chance."

She shakes her head, but the fondness in her eyes lingers, "you’re relentless."

"And you’re still hereee," you chuckle, stretching the word with a teasing grin.

Wanda sips her drink again, not looking at you this time, "maybe I’m just being polite."

"Mm," you tilt your head, eyes still fixed on her. "I don’t know, you don’t seem like the type to do anything just out of politeness. Especially not sit through my very charming advances."

She raises an eyebrow, finally looking at you again, "is that what this is? Charming advances?"

You gasp, mock offended, "you wound me, doctor. I’m doing my best."

"I can tell," she says, her tone still calm, measured, but the corner of her mouth betrays her, tugging up just slightly.

You lean in a bit, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something softer, "I know I joke a lot, but I’m not… messing around."

That earns you a pause. Her eyes flicker, searching. You can see it, how part of her wants to keep the wall up, to gently but firmly redirect the moment. But another part of her… is just enjoying this.

"I’m not supposed to enjoy any of this," she murmurs.

"But you are," you whisper back.

Before she can respond, your phone buzzes. You glance down and see Ellie’s name light up the screen. Your smile falters, just for a second. Wanda notices.

"Go be a good older sister," she says gently, nodding toward your phone.

The way she says it, soft, but knowing, catches you more off guard than the text itself. You look back up at her, blinking.

"Right," you clear your throat, "yeah. Duty calls."

You grab your coffee and stand, still a little stunned by the shift. Wanda’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable now.

As you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder and shoot her a softer smile. "Thanks for the not-a-date."

She doesn’t respond right away, just watches you. Then, finally, "drive safe." You nod, then head out the door.

Weeks passed like clockwork. Drop-offs. Pick-ups. Quick coffees. Soft smiles. Glances that lingered a little too long. Your routine with Wanda had become a rhythm a familiar song that played each time you brought Ellie to her session. The flirtation had grown playful, easy. And maybe a little dangerous.

Today felt the same, until Wanda opened her office door and as Ellie went out Wanda waves her hand at you.

"(Y/N), could I ask you to stay for a moment?"

You blink, surprised, nodding as you went it, when the door close you speak up, "so we gonna finaly talk about a date, hm?"

Wanda’s lips curve up slightly, but she leans against the table with that same unreadable calm. "I’m here to talk to you. About Ellie. She said it might help her… to have me speak with you."

Your smile falters, warmth settling into something more serious, "oh, of course."

She pulls a chair beside yours, angled just slightly. "She asked me to talk to you because she wasn’t sure how," Wanda starts, gentle but direct. "She’s been carrying something. And she’s afraid you’ll dismiss it or reassure her… instead of really hearing it." Wanda sits down, on her chair.

You straighten a little, heart tightening, "what is it?"

"She’s worried about you," Wanda says. "Not in a way that suggests you’re doing something wrong. But… she feels like she’s taking up too much space in your life."

You blink, frowning, "that’s ridiculous. I want to be here. She’s-"

"I know," Wanda interrupts softly, hand resting on her knee. "But that’s part of the problem. She knows how much you love her. She knows you'd move mountains for her. And she’s grateful, she really is. But… she feels like you're putting your entire life on hold. Like her healing is coming at the cost of your freedom."

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, "I don’t see it that way."

"I believe you," Wanda says. "But she does. And it’s heavy for her to carry, the idea that she might be holding you back. That because it’s just the two of you, you’ve felt like you have no choice but to be the strong one all the time."

You glance down at your hands, flexing them once in your lap, "she’s all I’ve got."

Wanda’s voice softens even more, "that’s exactly why she’s scared of being the reason you lose yourself."

You nod slowly, "I never wanted her to feel like that."

"I know. That’s why I agreed to talk to you. So you could hear it without her breaking down trying to say it herself."

You let out a quiet breath.

"She’s trying. And so are you. But she needs to feel like you’re living your life too, not just existing to keep hers stitched together."

You nod, pressing your fingers to your brow, "I should talk to her." You glance at her. "You’re good at your job."

She smiles, wry and warm, "I try."

You nod, pushing yourself up. But just before you open the door, you glance over your shoulder. "…Thanks, Doc."

Wanda raises an eyebrow, playfully, "you can still call me Wanda."

You give her a tired, affectionate smile, "okay. Thanks, Wanda."

Then you step back out, into the hallway, where Ellie waits, pretending not to look anxious, even though her fingers are twisting the strap of her bag. The drive is quiet for a while. You don’t turn on the radio. Just the soft hum of the engine and the muted sound of traffic outside. Ellie’s curled into the passenger seat, legs pulled up slightly, her head against the window. You glance at her every few seconds, hands firm on the steering wheel.

Eventually, she speaks. "I didn’t mean it like… I don’t want you around."

You exhale gently, "I know. Wanda told me."

She looks at you, visibly nervous.

"She said you asked her to talk to me. Said you were worried I’d just brush it off if it came from you."

Ellie shrugs a little, "you always joke when stuff gets heavy with yourself. Or change the subject. Or pretend you're fine." You nod, "I guess I do."

There’s a quiet beat before you pull into a quieter street and park under a big leafy tree. You turn the engine off and sit in the quiet stillness.

"I never saw it like that, El," you say softly. "That I was giving up anything for you. I just wanted to be the one thing you didn’t have to worry about. The one constant."

"I know," she whispers. "But sometimes it feels like you're holding everything together and forgetting you're allowed to want things for yourself too. We came from the same fucked up parents, so we both need therapy."

That makes you laugh, fair point. "I guess that is true, yeah." Then you look over at her. "And I do want things."

She turns her head once again, one eyebrow raised, "like what?"

You shrug, half a smile, "... buy a motorcycle, a dog, a wildly inappropriate amount of chocolate."

Ellie snorts, "okay, serious things."

You hesitate, then say, quieter, "a life that’s more than surviving. Something real. Someone real."

She watches you for a moment, then leans her head against the seat, "that’s why I think you should go for it," she says.

You blink, "go for what?"

Ellie doesn’t look at you as she smirks, "ask her out."

"… ask who out?"

She turns slowly, eyes narrowed in the most sarcastic way she can muster. "Hmm, I don’t know. Just someone you’ve been making eyes at for weeks. Subtle as a truck."

You scoff, grinning, "okay, rude."

She smacks your hand lightly. "Come on, you’re not even trying to hide it! You go all heart-eyes when she says your name."

"I do not!"

"You literally look like a school girl!"

"I´m just being polite!"

Ellie rolls her eyes dramatically, "just ask her out, dummy. She likes you too. I can feel it."

You lean back with a groan, dragging your hands down your face. "Great. Now I have my little sister coaching me through my love life."

Ellie crosses her arms, smug, "well, someone has to make sure you don’t die alone with your motorcycle and dog."

You chuckle, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. "Fine," you say, nudging her arm. "But only because you’re such a convincing therapist."

"Damn right," she grins. "Now buy me a smoothie and we never speak of this again."

"Deal."

You both laugh, the kind that sounds like something settling back into place.

Another week passes. The routine has become something comforting - morning traffic, Ellie’s music in the car, Wanda’s smile at the door. You don’t say it aloud, but things feel…lighter. Like whatever storm the two of you had been walking through is finally easing into something warm.

Ellie’s session is about to end when you glance at the clock and stand from your spot in the waiting room. Your heart’s thudding a little louder than you’d admit. When the door opens, Ellie walks out with her usual post-session softness, tired but calm. You meet her with a smile.

"Mind waiting in the car for a sec?"

Ellie raises a brow, but then realizes, "oh- of course!" She winks at you and head out.

Wanda appears in the doorway, immediately sensing the shift. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," you assure, gently. "Nothing’s wrong. Ellie’s doing amazing. You’re amazing, honestly. I just… I wanted to talk to you for a second."

Wanda steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. Inside the office, it’s quiet, comfortable. Wanda stands near her chair, arms crossed gently, gaze curious but cautious.

You breathe in, "I know this isn’t how things usually go. And I don’t want to make anything weird for Ellie or mess with boundaries. I just… wanted to ask you something."

Wanda tilts her head slightly, "go on."

You smile, trying not to fidget, fuck this is harder than you thought it would be, you exhale softly, "would you like to go on a date with me?"

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Wanda blinks, "oh."

"I mean- no pressure," you add quickly, hands lifted in surrender. "Just… you are really phenomenal."

She arches a brow, amused despite herself, "phenomenal?"

"In every way," you say, voice softer now. "And if it doesn’t work out after one date, that’s okay. But… I know it will."

Wanda exhales a short laugh, shaking her head as if trying to hide the smile creeping up, "you’re confident, aren’t you?"

You grin, "like I said… I’m not backing down."

Another quiet moment. Her expression shifts, not flirty this time, but thoughtful. Then she nods small, but real. "Alright," she says, "one date."

You´re suprised, "really?"

"Really," she replies. "Though I’m starting to think Ellie’s not the only one I’ll end up analyzing."

You chuckle and back toward the door, "we’re a package deal."

As you exit the office and walk back to your sister, "well?" Ellie stares at you.

You try to hide the grin spreading across your face.

Ellie narrows her eyes. "No. No, no, no- don’t you dare try and be cool right now- well?!"

You turn to her, grin slipping free, "she said yes."

Ellie gasps, "WOOHOO!" She fist-pumps the air and nearly knocks over her water bottle in the process. "Yes! My matchmaking era!"

You laugh as she cheers again, pounding her hands on the dash with unfiltered joy.

Back inside the office, Wanda hears the muffled noise through the door and smiles quietly to herself, shaking her head.

Then suddenly, Ellie’s voice cuts through the joy like a knife, "wait a minute."

You glance over, "what?"

Ellie turns toward you slowly, horror blooming in her expression. "Holy shit. Does this mean I have to change therapist again?!"

Thank you for reading!:)

#adele writes #SummerWithA2025 #marvel fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff imagine

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misspantymime · 18 hours ago

Text

Bat X Family ("Operation: Surprise Adoption – Bat-Family Breakdown!")

a/n: I took way too long for this, but in my defense I am very tired and full of cheesecake.

Taglist: @c4xcocoa, @shinning-stars, @whognuthis, @dkddkdkdkdkdkdk, @nisarelle, @tree-ag, @welpthisisboringing, @sugary-strawberry-shortcake, @thatoneraeder, @celesteelysia, @scentedwombatarcade, @nxdxsworld, @lonely-entity, @jsprien213, @cocobally229, @kokazuu, @alishii, @misdollface, @charlenexoxo1, @wendee-go, @lunoorbonoor, @rainschnael, @punkandnerdy9, @mintynilla, @nervousalpacalady, @mallowryblog, @sirenetheblogger, @cupid73, @doggyteam2028, @nanazuly, @gaychaoticraccoon, @iarainha,

Anya Forger! Child! Reader x Yandere! Platonic! Batfam

The silence that followed didn’t last too long. The tense atmosphere dispersed to give way to a more astonished silence. Until the spell was broken by a half-amused, half-incredulous bark of laughter from the right side of the room. Not even bothering to hide it, Jason leaned slightly forward to sit at attention with a smirk.

“Wait, wait a second B,” He barely got through without a chuckle, “That’s what you got us here for?”

Bruce sighed, setting you down with only a slight sound of discontent from you. As you tugged on the hem on his suit jacket, Bruce tried to tune out the fussy whines that negged at his ears and addressed the others, trying to nip any other comments at the bud.

“It would appear, Master Wayne,” Alfred said with no small amount of mirth in voice as he set down a tray of tea, “That the agenda of the family meeting has changed significantly.”

“She’s–”

“No, I’m sorry– what? “ Tim asked flatly, lowering his cup finally. “Did you adopt another kid? Today?”

‘Is he serious right now? I took a break from three ongoing investigations for this? There's not even a dossier. Who is this kid? Where’s the logic? Did he adopt her on the way home from patrol?’

Bruce opened his mouth to– what? Confirm? Defend himself? –but Stephanie cut him off with her on two cents.

“Oh my god, no way,” Steph snickered. “B, did you actually?”

‘Oh my god. Oh my god. He really did it. Bruce Wayne, serial child adopter. This is unreal.’

Jason, more than a little tickled by the revelation, couldn’t help but snark, “Damn, you adopt so many you got the next one free?”

‘Yeah, this is a sick habit at this point. Should I ring up a shrink?’

Duke’s eyes flicked between them and him, looking like he was still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Cass stared directly at you, which made you stare back unabashedly once you realized you weren’t getting his attention away from the hectic scene. Barabara, meanwhile, shot Bruce a look, one she usually reserved for malfunctioning tech– sharp, unimpressed, and far from flattering.

Dick, for all of his adaptability, seemed to be struggling to grasp the situation, “Bruce, what the hell?”

‘I left Blüdhaven for this? There better be a real explanation coming, because we’re one more “surprise child” away from a reality show.’

You gasped and pointed at Dick, “You said a swear!”

Jason leaned down and said in a mock whisper, “Hey, kid, no one likes a narc.”

He then turned to Bruce again. “But seriously, where’d you get this one?”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep inhale, before trying to explain, again.

“Like I said, this is (Name) –”

“That's hardly an explanation, Father.” Damian remarked, also far from impressed.

‘Of course he goes and picks up another stray. Replacing me with something smaller and louder, how predictable’

“– And she’ll be staying here in the manor.” He finished shooting him a look.

‘For now’

“Okay, but why?” Dick stressed the question.

“Cause he’s my Papa!” You answered quite matter of factly, before Bruce could. “And the Nice Moustache Man said I live here now!”

Unintentionally, that just seemed to heighten the chaos.

“Wait, what?–”

“–Oh my god–

“Father, this is–!”

“–Nice Moustache Man?” Duke blinked, seeming to only be able to voice that question out of many others he had.

“I believe Miss (Name) is referring to Commissioner Gordon.” Alfred provided some help.

“Oh, uh, right.”

“She’s your kid? Like, biological daughter?” Barbara inquired sharply.

‘He did not. Not again. I swear to God, if this affects the Wifi budget or security layout I will–’

“Gordon ran a DNA test,” Bruce pushed on, as composed as he could be, looking down at you. “The only match that came up…was me.”

The room stilled for a second. Maybe two.

Then Tim actually laughed—dry, disbelieving. “No. No way. No way science betrayed us like this.”

‘That’s impossible. DNA tests aren’t foolproof. I’ll re-run it myself. This is like finding out Batman’s blood type is glitter.’

“Holy crap, so you mean this one is, like, legit?” Stephanie probed further.

‘Damn we could go on TLC at this rate.’

‘So, what, you knoc–”

Alfred cleared his throat and shot Jason a pointed look.

“–uh,” Only slightly skipping a beat, he asked instead.“The stork visit again?”

‘This is gold. He actually did it again.’

Damian physically recoiled. “So you went and impregnated some random harlot?”

‘After you told me I was a “mistake”? You absolute hypocrite.’

Bruce shot him another look, half-pleading and half-exasperated, even as the last word seemed to go over your head.

Duke piped up, “Uh, I don’t think I signed up for this. Where’s she even going to stay?”

‘But where is this going? Am I gonna be babysitting in shifts now? I didn’t sign up for Babysitter Batfam.’

“If that thing is sleeping anywhere near my wing–” Damian started, voice dripping with venom.

‘I will physically move. I don’t care. I have standards.’

“I sleep in my own room! It’s a big one, too! With a TV!” You proclaimed loudly.

“She is staying in the western wing for the time being, Master Damian” Alfed answered before prompting Bruce, calm as ever, and placed another cup of tea on a tray. “Perhaps, Master Bruce, if you were to elaborate how this situation came to be, it would assuage some of the more… energetic concerns.”

‘Translation: I will not be the one cleaning up the tea you throw at each other if you keep this up’

“And for the time being,” Alfred turned to you, taking note of the overwhelmed look on your face as your feature contorted slightly. From a headache, it appeared. “I will entertain Miss (Name) while you discuss the intricacies.”

Bruce almost sagged with relief, even as you hesitated. Alfred kneeled closer to you and offered a warm smile, “If you’d like, you may help me with baking cookies, Miss (Name).”

That caught your attention, “Can they have peanuts in them?”

“But of course.” Alfred replied, offering a hand which you took.

Before he led you away, you looked over your shoulder and waved cheerfully. “Bye-bye!”

‘Okay. I need to hack the GCPD database. Again. Gordon had to have missed something. No way Bruce just… had a secret kid this whole time. No way.’

‘Aww, she’s cute. But, yeah… she’s definitely a clone. Or spy. Maybe alien? Wait, is that mean to think about a toddler?’

‘This is too good. Maury Povich, eat your heart out.”

‘This was not in the job description. Are there labour laws for vigilante childcare?’

‘She flinched. Even when no one was speaking.’

‘I give her three days at most before she runs off screaming. Or bites someone. Maybe both.’

‘Great, Alfred’s soft for her. I give it week, tops, before she’s hacking the Batcomputer.’

‘You don’t get to lecture me about wearing protection when this is the second time this has happened, Bruce.’

And once the door shut behind the two of you, the others pounced on Bruce once again.

“Alright,” Barbara said sharply. “When did this happen? Who’s her mother? How old is she? And why are we hearing this for the first time now”

“Listen, I don’t know anymore than you all do,” Bruce confessed, exhausted. “I only found out about her a few days ago, before she moved in.”

“I know you all heard about the trafficking bust.”

That sobered the room. Faces grew tense as any traces of a smirk or smile faded.

“She was one of the rescued kids. All the others had records—missing persons, medical files, something. But her... nothing. No ID. No birth certificate. No trace.”

He turned to Tim. The father faded and the tactician emerged.

"Tim, I need you to find out everything you can—quickly and quietly. Background, medical history, anything. There has to be some trail.”

Glancing at Dick, Bruce continued, “See if Blüdhaven PD has any reports on girls her age. Anything suspicious. Even if it’s closed.”

“Okay, but B, this is still wild, you know?” Dick responded sounding a tenth of exhausted as Bruce felt. “I mean you had me call before I even brought a dog home, and now you suddenly have a whole kid?”

“If it were up to me, she wouldn’t be here," Bruce admitted. "This place… it’s no place for a child. She’s not a case. Not a mission. She's just a kid”

“Like we weren’t all kids.” Jason quipped, on a bit more somber note.

“You know what I mean. She doesn’t know anything about what we do, and she doesn’t need to. If she had anywhere else to go, she wouldn’t be here”

“So why keep her here at all?” Damian asked what they all were thinking.

“It’s only for the time being. Until we can find any living family members.”

If they all sensed the uncertainty in the air, no one commented on it.

a/n: Did I write the batfam well? Maybe not? Either way, it's hard to write thoughts and dialogue at the same time. "( – ⌓ – )

#yandere #yandere core #yandere blog #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #platonic yandere #child reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere dc #the mime has written

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sunelloise · 2 days ago

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I was not aware of Reyna joining the Hunters until this post. I checked out about 3 chapters into the second TOA book so if it happened after… yeah.

Thing about Reyna is, for me, that I remember well before I knew I was ace, and when I wasn’t really into shipping, that Reyna’s last(?) scene with Piper in BOO, Aphrodite’s daughter, being all sad about how she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and Piper going “you’ll find somebody eventually :)” like

What a horribly missed opportunity for the daughter of the love goddess, who already has a complicated relationship with her mother, to remind Reyna that the Greeks had 7 definitions of love, that there is more to life than just a romance, and that she’s not lesser for not having one.

Also tho

Artemis was 100% the villain in TTC, which would have actually been interesting if it was done intentionally, instead of accidentally. Artemis is the root of Nico’s modern problems. She ripped his sister away from him, and she got Bianca killed, and then let Percy take the fall for her when none of this was his fault. I kinda give Zoe a pass, in a way that she joined a cult so long ago that her agency here is very muddied.

The frustrating thing is that it’s very inconsistent when gods are meant to be seen as either helpers or obstacles based on their myths. Artemis running a cult championing virginity is seen as a good and necessary thing because the myths said so. Poseidon causing Medusa was a “we don’t talk about that beyond book 1” thing, because he has to be a ‘good’ dad eventually. Aphrodite is a nuisance but Cupid is a straight-up villain, both gods of romantic love giving horribly mixed messages about it.

Trying to distill thousands of real myths into consistent characters that we can understand and empathize with means cherry picking which myths you want to represent your arbitrarily “good” and “bad” gods… when they are all simultaneously “good” and “bad” because they’re gods!

He didn’t fail completely, and these books are beloved for a reason. I love that Hades wasn’t stereotypically evil, and I loved the complicated nature of Hermes and May Castellan’s doomed relationship.

But Artemis was a villain, he just contorted her myths to say otherwise, and even back then when I was like, 13, I knew something was up (I’m ace too OP).

Also I know these books are getting older, but “strong women means bashing men” is not what feminism means ffs. Artemis isn’t the cool aunt goddess for turning her nose up at teenage boys who are just being boys. Percy and Nico are kids! Having her resolution be “oh wow you have surpassed my cynical expectations of you because of your gender, I hate you slightly less because you saved me from a trap I fell knowingly into.”

Was really frustrating.

More so because a very strong theme throughout the series is the consequences of the gods being fickle and neglectful of their children, which causes Luke and every other bitter, lost, and heartbroken demigod to join their enemy.

So the inconsistency of “sometimes the fickle and neglectful god is teaching Percy a valuable lesson” or “the fickle and neglectful god made the series villain and should suffer for it,” makes for a very confusing message.

Everybody worrying about Nico going dark side because of Artemis would have been way more interesting than blaming Percy, because they would have been forced to confront the thing that Rick kept tiptoeing around: Do I make my message be that “we’re family and we’re stuck together even if the abuse and neglect continues?” Percy did his best to go “fuck you guys do better” and then all of that was steamrolled over in the very next series where the new prophecy and splitting personalities put a raincheck on their godly promise.

The hunters of Artemis, Reyna, and Asexuality in Riordan's writing

I kinda started thinking about this since Reyna became a hunter. I could never articulate why I hated this Choice. I was asexual after all. Shouldn't I be happy about this rep? We Ace people barely get any after all. Then I realized that it's because I just didn't like the hunters as ace representation. And I didn't need to be grateful for mediocrity.

You want to know why the hunters of Artemis suck in general? And as Ace rep specifically? Because Riordan did not write them with that mindset.

Like people are so busy hailing this man as the king of representation in literature(blegh) that they forgot how heteronormative and white(sometimes racist) the original series was. Y'all really think this man was thinking about writing asexuals in the year 2007? Get real. What Riordan was doing was a white man trying to write feminism and failing (there's a reason most of his female characterization of female characters boils down to tough "not like other girls" characters who are dicks to the boys around them yet also to the girls around them if they're jealous)

Now onto the hunters.

The hunters when first presented in TTC are not a group of asexuals but rather religious celibates. Fantasy Pegan nuns if you may. The first problem arises when their ages are brought up.

"Then the archers came from the woods. They were girls, about a dozen of them. The youngest was maybe ten. The oldest, about fourteen..."

Remember, before ToA gave us Emmie and Jo, the hunters WERE all young girls. Now why in the world are they so young? Especially when in the actual myths, the hunters could come from any age whatsoever? Well the reason is a doozy.

"Are you surprised by my age?" she asked.

"Uh… a little."

"I could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray."

"Go astray?" I asked.

"Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves."

Hooo boy. What a way to phrase it. Going astray. Losing themselves. This kinda confirms that the reason why Artemis goes after young girls specifically is because she only wants girls who have yet to finish puberty. Girls have yet to discover their own sexuality. Now I'm not a representative of Asexuals everywhere, but I'm pretty sure most of us don't discover our sexuality at the age of ten. Let alone have the maturity to decide to become celibates about it. And let me reiterate: celibacy is not sexuality. Sure asexual people CAN choose to be celibates but it's not the same thing at all. In fact Zoe and Thalia are big cases for this. Both of them had liked men before(herakles and luke) but joined for their own reasons. Thalia to escape the prophecy and Zoe out of heartbreak. Hell, Bianca herself is mostly swayed by the idea of having no responsibility and a new family.

Now Rick does another thing that goes against the myths. The exclusion of make hunters. Artemis frequently hung around or taught male hunters who respected her. Daphnis, Scamandrius, freaking Hippolytus whom Artemis greatly cared about. Oh but we need to come up with bullshit reasons why Nico can't just join the hunt with his sisters so the hunters of Artemis are all: Ewww men. Also note how at no point does Riordan mention people who fall in love with women.

Now the next point is the oath itself. Artemis says this:

"What oath?" I said.

"To forswear romantic love forever," Artemis said. "To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally."

When I tell you that Emmy and Joe were retcons . Rick was freaking INSISTENT on the hunters being kids. Also note the three points: to never fall in love, to never get married, to stay a maiden.

I mean I think I don't need to explain why obsessing over the virginity of young girls is creepy. Does Riordan think girls older than fourteen can't keep it in their pants? And let me be adamant here Riordan only cares about the virginity Clause here. He mentions falling in love and marriage because he sees them inherently intertwined with sex.

Now onto the wording of the oath itself:

'I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.'

I mean you might be able to interpret men here as mankind and therefore excluding women as well. But I have many reasons to believe that Riordan didn't even CONSIDER women as a possibility(someone inform this man that lesbians existed smh 😞). Also note that falling in love is not mentioned in the actual oath but maidenhood is.

Now onto the next big issue. Percy Jackson's Greek gods and its chapter on Artemis. It basically confirms all of my problems.

"IT’S NOT THAT ARTEMIS HATED ALL MEN, just most of them. From the moment she was born, she knew one critical fact: Guys are kinda gross."

No mention of girls. In this chapter Percy(Rick) brings up Artemis' disdain for dudes over and over again.

“Let me be a maiden forever, Father,” Artemis said, twirling her finger in Zeus’s beard. “I never want to get married.---- But you can grant me a bunch of followers: ocean nymphs, river nymphs, wood nymphs—what the heck, how about mortal girls, too? Any girls who want to join me can become my followers, as long as they remain maidens like me. They should probably make the decision when they’re about nine years old, before they get interested in boys, because after that, they’ll be all distracted and of no use to me.”

Yikes yikes yikes. Ladies and gentlemen the age has been lowered to 9. Freaking 9. Also I guess girls older than that don't need Artemis' protection then? (the real problem is that older/married girls should be out of Artemis's jurisdiction and under the protection of other gods like Hera, Hestia, and Ares. But Hestia is barely there. Hera is terrible and the Amazons also suck)

Now when I tell you that Artemis' big point was about virginity, I mean it. This actually has mythological evidence.

The myths actually DO mention what happens when female hunters fall in love. Rhodopis and Euthynicus were two hunters who offended Aphrodite by choosing a chaste life so she had Eros make them fall in love. However note that they weren't booted out of the hunters for falling in love, but rather after having sex in a cave. THAT was what Artemis took offense to.

Another myth is the story of Aura. A huntress who offended Artemis by comparing their breasts(Greek mythology am I right?). Saying that her breast were better than Artemis' because they were smaller and hey maybe that means that Artemis isn't actually a maiden. Artemis punishes her by making her lose her VIRGINITY. She goes to nemesis for revenge. Nemesis goes to Eros who makes Dionysus fall in love with Aura and when Aura refuses his advances he ties her up and... Yeah you can guess where I'm going with this.

But hey! Those myths aren't in the Greek gods book. You know which myth is? The myth of C(K)allisto. And this one angers me so much I want to chew on the drywall.

The way Riordan writes it. Zeus turns himself into Artemis, brings Kallisto's guards down with the disguise, gets close to her and then when Kallisto REJECTS Artemis' supposed advances, forces himself on her. I need to say this again. Kallisto does not fall in love, she isn't seduced, she does not break her oath. But we still need a reason for her to be yeeted out of the hunters so her lack of maidenhood it is

“You were my favorite,” Artemis said. “If you had come to me immediately, I could have helped you. I would have found you a rich, handsome husband and let you settle into a new life in the city of your choice. I would have allowed you to retire from the Hunt with honor. You could have gone in peace. Zeus’s assault was not your fault.”

Kallisto sobbed. “But I didn’t want to lose you! I wanted to stay!”

Artemis felt like her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t show it. She had rules about her followers. She couldn’t allow those rules to be broken, not even by her best friend. “Kallisto, your crime was keeping the secret from me. You dishonored me, and your sisters of the Hunt, by not being honest. You defiled our company of maidens when you were not a maiden yourself. That I cannot forgive.”

I want to slap this man so hard he flies to the opposite side of the universe. We are not here to blame victims of assault guys! Except we are! But with extra steps. If you get attacked, it's not your fault, but If you are too scared to admit the truth then you deserve to lose your only safe space and turn into a bear. Oh nooooo Kallisto DEFILED Artemis' company by being an icky non virgin. The moment you lose your virginity even if it's not your fault you get punished. But not because I'm gross but because YOU lied. How terrible! And he expects us to feel for ARTEMIS???

But rosabell! This is how things go in the myths. What was uncle Rick (bleghhhh) supposed to do? I don't know... Choose a different version of the story? There are versions were Zeus/Hera are the ones who transform Kallisto into a bear. There are versions where Kallisto actively CHOOSES to sleep with Artemis. Granted it's still assault because she's being lied to but at least then, she'd have a degree of autonomy in the events. At least Artemis could rightfully accuse her of breaking her oath. But noooo, Riordan doesn't know lesbians exist. He actively makes Zeus into a canonical Ra*ist. Why is he on the throne again?

(the fact that this book came out AFTER HoH y'all 😭)

Once again, Riordan sees maidenhood(virginity)/love/marriage as intertwined. This is NOT what being on the aroace spectrum means. You can fall in love but not have sex. You can have sex but not fall in love. You can have sex AND still be an asexual. You can be married and still be a "maiden". Riordan doesn't get to claim to be such a progressive ally for retconning the hunters in 2017, TEN years after he first introduced the hunters because he suddenly remembered that lesbians exist.

Or more like because he doesn't know what to do with his female characters. The hunters more than anything are Riordan's heroine dumping ground. If you don't want it put them in relationships, either kill them(Bianca whose main purpose is to die) or make them eternal virgins(the hunters, Rachel). The fact that some people genuinely think that Calypso should have joined the hunters astound me. Girl suffered for years because of the gods and you all think that the best thing outside of Leo for her(not that I like Caleo) is to become a servant to the gods? Because you can't perceive a female character doing anything else if she's not in a relationship. Like with Thalia, this at least made sense on a strategic level because she didn't want to reach sixteen. Oh but we also don't know what else to do with her so she needs to want to be a hunter after the war is over so we give her a half-assed argument with Luke and now she can be all: wah wah Zoe you were totally right about boys. And the cherry on the cake is that she doesn't even get to be in the final confrontation with Luke or say goodbye to him because of a freaking STATUE. And after pjo her personality becomes Zoe 2.0 and her and Jason get ONE measly meeting.

When I first spoke of not liking Renya joining the hunters this is what I mean. Riordan had so many options with Reyna. Why did she have to leave her esteemed position which she worked so hard for? Two boys rejected her? Why couldn't she go reconnect with her sister more then? She could have joined the Amazons. But nooo Riordan was so allergic to the fans asking him wether she could be Bi or a lesbian. For the stupidest reasons too? Oh Reyna being a lesbian would come off as stereotypical because she got rejected by two guys beforehand! My dude, do you think people don't say the same thing about us who are on the aroace spectrum? That we say we are aro/ace because we got rejected before? Come up with a better excuse next time.

My brother in Christ couldn't even allow Reyna to talk about her sexuality and whatnot. It couldn't even be fully about her. No. He had to turn Reyna into his own mouthpiece admonishing the EVILLLL fans who may have shipped Thalia and Renya. He literally had her say the word "shipping". How cringe can you get? And then he had the audacity to admonish the fans by saying: Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?

It's a sentiment I agree with but coming from this man, it's extremely hypocritical? I don't know Richard maybe because YOU are obsessed with shipping? No character can escape your shipping hands unless they're eternal virgins or dead. You literally turned the Argo2 into Noah's ark2. So much attention focused on shipping that the seven barely felt like friends.

Why does Reyna need to join the hunters? She can choose to not relationship without having to become a servant to female Peter pan.

This is actually a really adequate metaphor when you consider that Emmie and Jo say that they have not met Artemis in YEARS and Apollo mentions that the two of them were lucky she let them LIVE. god can you imagine joining Artemis when you are 9? At an age when you have still not finished maturimg cognitively and therefore shouldn't be trusted on taking a freaking celibacy vow(were you even given the talk yet that age) and after 70 years you decide you want to leave? If you're lucky Artemis will part with you on good terms but SIKES every person you probably knew before joining is now dead. Where is THAT angsty Bianca fic?

Speaking of Bianca. How she was handled also angers me. In another post, I've already talked about how the hunters barely gave her adequate information before letting her join.

How Zoe was the main reason for her death. Zoe KNEW that at least 2 people might die in the quest she was given and yet she decided to bring the least experienced girl to the quest and couldn't even watch her properly.

But you know what else pisses me off? The fact that THEY should have been the one to tell Nico about his sister's death. I've always hated how Chiron made Percy the CHILD tell Nico the other CHILD about his sister dying. But more than anyone, it should have been the hunters' responsibility. Bianca was THEIR responsibility. She died in a quest to save Artemis. The least they could do was tell her remaining family of her fate. The Doylist reason of course is that we need to kickstart Nico and Percy's complicated relationship and have Percy discover that Nico is a son of Hades. But in universe, the fact that they immediately fuck off from the camp upon regrouping makes them come off as extremely selfish. We don't even know if Bianca was given a funeral by them or not. We see Artemis being upset about Zoe but we never see her react to the news of losing Bianca.

#the hunters of artemis #rr critical #pjo hoo toa

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pitlanepeach · 3 hours ago

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Three Of Us | Chapter Two (2/3)

Lando Norris x Original Female Character x Oscar Piastri

Summary — Margot has single-handedly run Marjorie’s Bakeshop, a Monaco institution, ever since her grandmother’s passing. It’s by chance that a tiny blue Fiat Jolly breaks down on the curb right in-front of her door.

Warnings — Established!Landoscar, polyamory negotiations, eventual throuple, slow(ish) burn, vandalism, OFC has atypical OCD.

Notes — Margot my sweet baby... please get the hint. They want you so bad omg.

The door clicked shut behind them. Oscar locked it without a word, setting his keys in the dish by the entry like always. No wasted movement. No fanfare.

Lando was already face-down on the couch.

“Mmph.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Tired, baby?”

“Margot,” Lando groaned into the cushions in response. “She’s literally—like, actually—too pretty. My brain’s stopped working. I’m not okay.”

Oscar toed off his shoes and wandered toward the kitchen. “Well, I’ve known that for a while now.” He said, half amused.

“Yeah, but Osc — she had that little scarf thing in her hair. And she laughed at your dumb parking joke.”

Oscar opened the fridge, stared inside like something appetising might jump out at him. “That wasn’t a joke. The sensors are just wrong.”

“Still. She laughed.” Lando lifted his head just enough to squint toward the hallway. “Do you think she knows how distractingly lovely she is?”

Oscar grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, then came back into the living room. “She knows,” he said, setting one can beside Lando and sinking into the armchair across from him. “She just doesn’t do anything with it.”

Lando blinked, sitting up. “God, that’s worse.”

Oscar shrugged, cool and quiet. “It’s better.”

They both sat for a moment, the hum of the streetlights outside the only sound.

Then Lando leaned forward, elbows on knees. “We should take her on a date.”

Oscar met his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Yeah but—” Lando made a helpless little gesture, fingers fluttering like moths. “She might freak out. Just… you know. We’ll tell her to come for pasta. It’ll casual. Except it won’t be. Except it totally will be.”

Oscar took a slow sip of water. “You done?”

“I can’t stop thinking about her smile.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched at the corner — almost a smile. “We could just invite her over here for a takeaway or something.”

“Shit, yeah. Good idea, babe.”

“But if she dances around it too much,” Oscar added calmly, “If she doesn’t seem to be getting the picture — I’ll just book a reservation at a fancy restaurant, tell her to wear something pretty, and give her no other choice.”

Lando grinned, already soft. “You always get so bossy when you’re being romantic.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s because you tricked me. You said it was a ‘cool-down dinner.’ I thought we were debriefing.”

Oscar leaned back, arms folded. “You wore your favourite aftershave.”

“You told me to make an effort!”

“And you kept wearing it afterwards. Every day. And now you make me buy you a new bottle everytime you run out.”

Lando blushed. “Okay, that’s—yeah. Shut up.”

Oscar didn’t. He just tilted his head, studying him. “She’s smart,” he said quietly. “Sharp. Observant. I like that.”

“Yeah,” Lando said, softer. “And I like her hands. Is that weird?”

Oscar’s brows drew together. “Her hands?”

“They always look a little flour-dusted. And she wears that little plastic ring. She’s got this…” Lando shook his head, at a loss. “Like, bakery angel energy. She makes my heart feel funny, you know? Is that weird?”

Oscar didn’t laugh, but something about him softened. “No. That’s not weird.”

Lando looked up. “Really?”

Oscar met his gaze steadily. “You think I haven’t noticed her hands?”

Lando smiled.

Then he said, “Alright. Takeaway night at our place. We ask. Nicely. No kidnapping.”

Oscar opened the pizza box. “Yet.”

—

Saturdays were always for the market. Even during race week.

Margot walked alongside Alex through the winding rows of open-air stalls, the scent of sun-warmed fruit and fresh bread curling around them like something familiar. Alex had already claimed a peach, turning it over in her manicured fingers, examining it.

“Do you ever think about wearing anything not in the neutral family?” Alex teased, eyeing the simple linen dress Margot had slipped on that morning.

“I think about a lot of things,” Margot replied, adjusting the woven basket on her arm. “Doesn’t mean I act on them.”

Alex laughed. “You’re such a grandma.”

Margot smiled. She’d take that as a compliment.

They strolled past a stall full of heirloom tomatoes, then one with hand-dyed napkins, the kind Margot never bought but always paused to admire. The sun was bright, and the streets were buzzing in that particular way they always were the weekend before the Monaco Grand Prix — louder, glossier, full of people pretending not to stare.

Alex nudged her. “Charles asked again if you’d come this year. He said he would be able to get you onto the Ferrari guest list.”

Margot didn’t pause. “Tell him thank you, but no.”

“You sure?” Alex asked, light but persistent. “He’s desperate to win it — finally. It could be very special.”

“It will be special,” Margot said. “It’s the best day of the year for business.”

Alex made a soft, thoughtful sound. “You could hire someone. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“No.”

The word came fast. Harder than Margot meant it.

Alex blinked, then slowed a little as they passed a display of linen dresses.

“I’m sorry,” Margot said quickly, voice low. “I didn’t mean to bite. I just… Marjorie’s is my whole world. I know how everything works. When to switch the pastries, how the regulars take their coffee, how many tarts we actually sell versus how many people say they want one. I can’t just… hand that over to someone else. Even for a day.”

Alex didn’t flinch. She just tucked her arm through Margot’s, squeezing gently.

“It’s fine,” she said with a small smile. “I love how much you love Marjorie’s.”

Margot’s throat caught for a moment — the kind of emotion that shows up when you’re not looking for it. She smiled.

“You think they’ll ever make a dress that fits a person with wide hips and a need for multiple pockets?” she asked, nudging her chin toward the boutique window ahead of them.

Alex grinned. “If they do, I’ll buy you every colour.”

—

The flatscreen buzzed to life at exactly 15:55. Volume low. Subtitles on. The feed rolled into pre-quali coverage — engine sounds softened to background texture, commentators already debating tire strategy.

Margot barely looked up. She knew the schedule by heart.

Marjorie’s was packed, elbow-to-elbow in that loud, warm way only Monaco could manage — polished and chaotic all at once. Someone was ordering a second lavender scone. Two girls at the front table were splitting an apricot tart. Tourists in team caps shuffled in and out, bringing in bursts of sunlight and conversation.

Behind the bar, Margot moved like she always did: smooth, fast, methodical.

Pull espresso.

Tap out the puck.

Steam milk.

Swipe the counter.

Smile.

“Ferrari’s running softs already?” someone muttered near the back, eyes on the screen.

“Is Charles up yet?” another asked.

Margot didn’t need to answer — someone else always would. The café had regulars who followed F1 the way other people followed religion. It was background noise and heartbeat all in one.

But she had added that TV. It was the only thing she’d changed when she inherited the business. The walls were still lemon cream. The same brass hooks held the same mugs. The menu board was still written in her grandmother’s spidery chalk hand, just copied fresh every month.

But the big screen? That was her addition.

She liked the rhythm of the race weekends. The buildup. The strategy. The precision. She liked knowing that right now, less than two kilometers away, teams were holding their breath while men she’d brushed shoulders with tried to shave half a tenth off perfection.

She didn’t let herself look at the standings. Not right away. Not when it might mean seeing two names and feeling something she didn’t have time to feel.

Instead, she poured another espresso.

“Full house today,” Luc said. He was one of the locals who always flocked to Marjorie’s on race weekends.

She nodded. “Quali always is.”

“You should charge double.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He grinned and slipped back into the crowd.

At the far table, someone cheered. Margot allowed herself a glance toward the screen.

Oscar’s name lit the timing board. Purple sector one.

She didn’t smile. Not quite. But she did watch the lap through, eyes sharp even as she wiped down the bar.

There was flour on her wrist. She didn’t brush it off.

—

Charles opened the door with a grin that was far too smug.

“I’m not staying long,” Margot said as she stepped inside — mostly to herself, because Alex was already pulling her in by the wrist with a triumphant “She came!”

The apartment smelled like pizza and aftershave and engine grease. Not in a bad way. In a race-weekend way. The kind of smell that made you think of speed and adrenaline and champagne sprayed across pit walls.

“You said there’d be food,” Margot muttered, toeing off her flats. Alex handed her a slice before she’d even made it to the kitchen island.

“Fresh from the gods of Napoli,” she said solemnly. “Or whatever place down the road Charles panic-ordered from.”

“Best in Monaco,” Charles called from the couch, where he was half-sunk into cushions, hair still damp from media duties. He held up the remote. “You missed me being charming on camera.”

“I’ll survive.”

Except she didn’t. Not entirely.

Because five minutes later, Margot found herself tucked beside Alex on the floor, eating basil off the top of her slice, while a man with a shoulder-mounted camera hovered discreetly in the corner.

“Don’t mind him,” Alex said, mouth full. “He’s Netflix.”

Margot blinked. “What?”

“Drive to Survive,” the cameraman confirmed with a polite nod. “Just catching some B-roll for the post-quali segment.”

Margot immediately sat straighter. “Am I in frame?”

Alex grinned like a cat. “You’re so in frame.”

“Alex.”

“Oh, relax. You’re adorable. And come on, you’ve got that whole mysterious girl-in-a-bakery vibe. The fans are going to eat it up.”

“I am not a storyline.”

“Not yet.” Alex leaned in, voice low and teasing. “But give it a few weeks. A couple of suspicious glances from Lando. Oscar making a loaf of sourdough from scratch. Boom. McLaren throuple. Global headlines.”

Margot nearly choked on her pizza. “You are insane.”

“Thank you, I try.”

From the couch, Charles just laughed and flipped to another highlight reel. “You should’ve seen her today, Margot. She cried.”

“You got pole!” Alex said, indignant.

The room settled into warmth and crumbs and the low murmur of post-qualifying analysis. Outside, Monaco glowed. Inside, Margot let herself stay a little longer than planned.

Just a little.

Long enough to laugh.

Long enough to forget, for one quiet moment, how complicated it could all get.

—

The city was still asleep when Margot turned the corner onto Rue Jules Soccal. Pale gold light slipped between shuttered windows, and the hush that came before the Grand Prix felt heavier than usual — the kind of quiet that buzzed with held breath.

She almost didn’t see it.

Not until she reached the steps of the café and nearly tripped over the box tucked neatly against the door. Not a delivery crate. Not a courier envelope.

A bouquet.

No—a bouquet was too modest a word.

This was a small explosion of florals, wild and tall and sun-soaked — shades of orange and peach and papaya that spilled from crinkled brown paper like a sunset had been caught in her arms. Margot crouched to pick it up, eyes catching the little folded square of paper taped to the side.

It wasn’t signed in full, just a scrawl in slightly smudged ink:

Cheer for us today,

l + o x

Margot stared at it for a long moment.

Then smiled — quiet and involuntary, a thing that pulled from deep in her chest like something waking up.

She unlocked the café door slowly, bouquet cradled like something sacred. Inside, the scent of cinnamon and sugar greeted her like always. Familiar. Steady.

She set the flowers in her grandmother’s old blue pitcher and placed them dead center on the windowsill. Just where the morning light hit best.

By the time she flipped the sign and switched on the flatscreen, there was already a line outside.

—

By midday, the bakery was loud in the way only Marjorie’s ever got — espresso hissing, plates clinking, the low hum of chatter layered beneath the flatscreen broadcast mounted on the far wall.

Margot never watched during service. Not really. She let it play for the tourists, for the families passing through, for the regulars who liked to sip and shout commentary at the screen like it made any difference.

Charles had started on pole.

That alone was enough to make the room feel a little fizzy.

Margot moved between tables with practiced ease, refilling cups, collecting crumbs, setting down fresh raspberry tartelettes with a quiet voilà.

Outside, the streets of Monaco were barricaded, empty of traffic but thick with anticipation. The race could be heard in the distance like a ghost of thunder — only louder when the café door swung open and let in bursts of sound.

“Lap fifty-five!” someone called, pointing at the screen.

Margot didn’t look up at first. Just smiled, wiped her hands on the cloth at her waist, and moved behind the bar. But then she heard it — the commentator’s voice lifting, turning almost breathless.

“He’s done it! Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix—his home race, finally—”

The café erupted.

Not in chaos, but in that sweet, surprised kind of applause you heard after someone said I do or a magician made a dove disappear. Customers stood. A woman at the window dabbed her eyes. The old man with the spaniel gave a proud little whoop, and Margot—

Margot looked up.

And for just a second, her whole chest filled.

Not because she followed every race. Not because she was a Ferrari fan or because Alex would come by later, cheeks pink with pride and a camera roll full of pit wall photos.

But because she’d known him as a boy. A boy in the class two years above her.

Because once, years ago, he’d pressed his nose against the café window and asked her grandmother if the tarte au citron was made fresh that morning, and if he was allowed to buy enough for him and his brothers too.

Because he had never stopped waving when he passed the bakery on his bike.

Because Monaco was small, and memories stuck like sugar.

Margot poured two more coffees and gave away a free slice of apricot clafoutis. The café stayed full long into the afternoon.

And on the windowsill, the papaya-orange bouquet caught the light, blooming.

—

Marjorie’s was closed. Lights dimmed. Chairs stacked.

Margot was halfway through her final wipe-down of the espresso machine — ritual, always — when there was a knock at the side door.

Two soft raps. Then one.

She knew it before she even looked.

She opened the door to Lando first — all curls and grins and the undeniable smell of whatever expensive aftershave he always wore to race weekends. Oscar was a step behind, still in his team jacket, zipped all the way up despite the warm night air.

“Hey,” Lando said, rocking back on his heels. “We brought leftovers.”

Oscar held up a pizza box. Margot narrowed her eyes like she was deciding whether to scold or smile.

She smiled. “Come in.”

They slipped inside like it was natural. Like they’d done it before. Shoes scuffing the tiles, Lando already pulling plates from the shelf he definitely wasn’t supposed to know about. Oscar set the box on the bar, then quietly started helping her stack the last of the pastry trays.

“The flowers were… really pretty,” Margot said eventually. “Brightened the whole day.”

Oscar gave a nod — casual, unreadable. “We figured papaya was a safe bet.”

“They represented us,” Lando added. “Obviously.”

Margot flushed. Then leaned against the bar, arms crossed, uncertain.

“You’re both—”

They looked up.

“—really close,” she finished. “I mean, obviously. But I’ve been… wondering.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Wondering what?”

Margot exhaled in one go, like ripping off a bandage. “Are you two together?”

A pause.

Then Lando laughed — not meanly. Just surprised.

“Charles didn’t tell you?”

“Well,” Margot hedged, “kind of? He said something vague, Alex too, but I didn’t press. I figured it wasn’t really my business.”

Oscar was the one who spoke next. “That’s fair.”

He stepped around the bar, closer now, resting his hands on the edge. Lando lingered beside the espresso machine, pretending to examine the switches like he hadn’t already memorized what every one of them did.

“It’s new to most people,” Oscar said. “But not to us.”

“And now it’s kind of new to you,” Lando added, shooting Margot a lopsided smile. “Surprise.”

Margot laughed. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Honestly, it just makes sense.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched. “You don’t think it’s strange?”

Margot blinked at him. Then reached for a slice of pizza, steam curling in the air between them.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that Charles just won in Monaco. There are stranger things.”

Lando snorted. “Can’t argue with that.”

Oscar watched her — calm, unreadable, but not distant. There was something deliberate about the way he leaned his hip against the bar, the way his arms stayed uncrossed, like he wanted to be seen as open. Not pushing. Just… here.

Lando came around to her side of the counter with two plates, setting them down in front of her like they belonged there. He didn’t touch her — didn’t even brush her hand — but he hovered a little closer than he had to. Not crowding. Just… waiting.

“Not everyone would’ve been cool with it,” Oscar said after a beat. “Us.”

Margot glanced up. “You mean dating as teammates?”

He shook his head once. “No. I mean… like this.”

Her eyes darted between them. “I don’t think there’s a rule for what makes something strange. Just what makes it work.”

Lando gave a soft, pleased sound, almost a hum. “You’re clever.”

“She’s thoughtful,” Oscar corrected gently.

Margot looked down, cheeks flushed, but didn’t deflect. Not this time.

The three of them stood there in the dim quiet — half-lit bakery, cooling pizza, sugar still in the air — and it didn’t feel like a moment that needed to move quickly. It just needed to settle.

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. “You know,” he said, casual as anything, “we’ve been thinking about asking you to dinner. Properly.”

Oscar didn’t flinch. Just nodded once.

Margot turned to him. “Both of you?”

“Together,” Oscar said.

“We like being together,” Lando added, then grinned sheepishly. “And we like being with you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Didn’t smile, didn’t frown. Just let the moment stretch.

Oscar watched her closely. “No pressure. We mean that.”

Lando gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Just… if you ever feel like it. There’s room.”

The phrase lingered — there’s room — and Margot felt it settle somewhere low in her chest. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just new.

There was room.

She took a bite of pizza. Chewed. Swallowed. Then looked at them both, eyes soft but steady.

“Dinner,” she echoed.

Oscar gave the barest smile.

Lando beamed.

Margot smiled too.

—

Margot didn’t even sit down.

She let herself into her apartment, dropped her keys somewhere vaguely near the side table, and stabbed at her phone screen with such ferocity she nearly FaceTimed her landlord instead.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up—”

Alex answered on the third ring, voice casual and smug before Margot even spoke.

“Well, well, well.”

“You were right.” Margot was pacing already. Hair still in a loose bakery bun, pizza scent still clinging to her apron. “It’s a throuple thing. It’s a throuple thing.”

A beat of delighted silence. “You don’t say.”

Margot groaned and flopped onto her couch. “They showed up at the bakery tonight.”

“I told you—”

“And flowers, the ones I texted you about this morning?”

“Oh, I remember.”

Margot clutched a cushion to her chest like a life raft. “They asked me to dinner. Together.”

Alex gasped. “Wait, like properly? Not a ‘we’re all conveniently hungry’ thing?”

“No, a real dinner. Oscar said ‘together,’ and Lando said, ‘We like being with you,’ and then Lando said— oh my God, he said, ‘There’s room.’”

Alex squealed. “Stop. I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m freaking out!”

“Margot, welcome to the throuple program. I’ve been trying to prepare you for weeks.”

Margot buried her face in the pillow. “What do I do?”

“You say yes to dinner, you wear something cute.”

Margot groaned louder. “What if it’s weird? What if I ruin everything? What if I’m just—a passing crush or the local flavor or a sad little ‘let’s add a girl’ fantasy—”

Alex cut her off. “Okay, no. No spiral monologue. They’re not like that. They like you.”

Margot sat back up, the cushion still clutched like a shield. “…what if I like them back?”

Alex’s voice softened. “Then you’re already halfway there.”

There was a pause.

Margot blew out a breath. “You’re so annoying when you’re right.”

“I know,” Alex said brightly. “Now go shower, put on a dress, and come and celebrate Charles’ win with us!”

—

The club pulsed with bass and champagne. It was the kind of place that only made sense on a night like this — when the whole city felt like it belonged to Charles, when the streets of Monaco still echoed with cheers, when the sea glittered like it knew him personally.

Charles was practically vibrating. He had one arm around Alex, the other wrapped in the flag they’d draped around his shoulders after the podium. “Ce soir,” he grinned, already drunk on adrenaline and barely touching his drink, “we celebrate everything.”

Margot wasn’t even sure how she’d ended up here. One minute she’d been in jeans behind the bakery counter, and the next she was in a little black dress Alex had pulled from the back of her closet, surrounded by the most famous people in motorsport.

And yet, the only ones she was really aware of were Lando and Oscar.

They’d arrived late — late enough for it to feel intentional, late enough for Margot to see the exact moment they spotted her.

They’d only been eating pizza together a few hours ago — but it felt like a lifetime.

Oscar’s gaze settled on her like it had every right to. Warm. Steady. Barely a flicker of surprise that she looked different tonight — flushed with champagne and golden under the lights.

Lando, on the other hand, actually tripped over someone’s shoe.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“You came,” she said, lifting her glass toward them as they approached.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lando grinned, eyes flicking to her dress, then darting away like it physically pained him. “You, uh. Look insane.”

Oscar smirked. “He means good. Really good.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You always translate for each other?”

Lando leaned in, his breath warm near her ear. “Only when he’s being smug.”

“And are you?”

Oscar just smiled. “A little.”

They danced. Of course they danced. Charles was off on some VIP table being adored, Alex was busy convincing a bartender to make spritzes the “proper Italian way,” and Margot — well, Margot was glowing.

At some point, Lando spun her under the lights and didn’t let go. At another, Oscar’s hand found the small of her back and stayed there.

And neither of them looked uncomfortable with the other.

They just looked at her.

With open space.

With invitation.

With room.

Margot tilted her head back and laughed — truly laughed, light and free and full of something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe this was what Charles had meant by everything.

—

The bakery was quiet.

Not empty — there were still a few couples chatting over tarts and two older men arguing gently in French about the Grand Prix results — but quiet in that way Margot liked best. The espresso machine silent. The air warm. The hum of calm routine settling back over everything.

She was wiping down the till when she noticed it.

A small seam she’d never seen before — on the underside of the drawer, flush against the wood grain. She blinked. Leaned closer. Ran her fingertip along it.

It clicked.

A hidden compartment popped open with the softest creak, and inside was a small envelope, yellowed at the corners. Her name was written on the front in faded blue ink, in her grandmother’s unmistakable handwriting — tall and looping, always a little slanted to the left.

Her throat tightened.

She sat down right there on the floor behind the counter, legs folding beneath her, fingers trembling just slightly as she opened the envelope.

Inside: one piece of stationery. Floral at the corners, faintly scented with something old and familiar. Lavender, maybe.

Margot,

If you’re reading this, you found the drawer I swore I’d tell you about “one day.” I suppose today is that day.

I don’t know what you’re looking for, my heart, but if it led you here, then I hope it’s comfort. Or maybe just proof that I was always thinking ahead — about you, and my legacy, and how much it would all mean when I wasn’t around to explain it.

You’ve always had your own way of doing things. That’s good. Don’t ever let anyone take that from you. But know that running this bakery isn’t just about success. It’s about the people. About joy.

Make room for that joy, sweet girl.

I love you.

— Grandmere

Margot folded the letter back up slowly, her chest hollow and full at once. A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, but didn’t rush.

She let herself feel it.

The grief, still there, like a soft ache behind her ribs.

She glanced toward the door, toward the sunlight spilling through the windowpanes.

Then she stood. Smoothed her apron. Placed the letter in the drawer again, right where she’d found it.

And wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, just once.

There was baking to do.

She leaned back against the counter and looked out at the light dancing across the tiled floor, the outline of the chairs she straightened every night before closing, the sugar jar Oscar had fiddled with when he didn’t think she was watching. Lando’s silly little note still pinned to the notice board — a badly drawn doodle of the three of them, smiling like cartoon idiots.

She tried not to think too hard.

About how Lando had looked at her, steady and sure, and said there was room for her.

About how her grandmother had written, “Make room for joy.”

She tried not to — but the thought came anyway, soft and stubborn as a rising loaf:

Maybe she was the joy.

Not just someone who made the pastries, lit the candles, kept the place running.

But the joy itself.

The thing someone made room for.

It made her heart twist in the quietest, most dangerous way — with want, with hope. It scared her a little. But she didn’t look away from it this time.

She let it bloom.

Just for a moment.

And then the bell above the door rang, and she blinked, straightened up, and smiled like she hadn’t just had a world-shifting realization behind the till.

—

There was a knock at the door just as she was deciding whether or not to change her top for the third time. Not a buzz — not the building intercom — just a knock.

She stared at the door for a second.

Then another.

Then, with a sharp breath, she opened it.

Oscar and Lando stood there. Oscar in a black button-down rolled at the sleeves, Lando in a soft, pale tee that clung to his collarbones.

Lando was holding flowers — not papaya this time, but soft lavender and cream, tied in a ribbon that looked suspiciously like one she’d used to wrap a pastry box the week before.

“Hi,” she said, voice light. Nervous. Oscar’s gaze dropped to the flowers. Lando held them out, slightly awkward.

“They’re not as dramatic as last time, but we thought—”

“That you’d see the ribbon we nicked from your bakery and think it was romantic?” Oscar finished, perfectly deadpan. His mouth twitched.

“Yeah, exactly that,” Lando said.

Margot took the bouquet, fingers brushing Lando’s as she did. Her chest ached in that good, unfamiliar way again — the one that started in the quiet and bloomed louder.

Oscar stepped in closer, not assuming, just waiting. “You ready?”

She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Where are we going?”

Lando grinned, all bright eyes and too much charm. “Somewhere nice.”

Oscar arched a brow. “But not too nice. We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Yeah! But it’s going to be, like, a fun nice dinner,” Lando added. “First date dinner. You’ll love it.”

Margot looked at them, standing in her doorway like they’d always belonged there. She glanced down at the bouquet in her hands. Her smile curved.

“All right,” she said, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind her. “First date it is.”

Oscar offered his arm. Lando offered his, too, with a little wiggle of his eyebrows like he wasn’t sure which side she’d take.

She looped an arm through each.

167 notes · View notes

demie90s · 13 hours ago

Text

Some Things Are Sacred

NAVI | MORE

Summary: Your a well-known face around UConn funny, bold, always on live after games. But off-camera, she’s the quiet kind of hero.

Word Count~ 2k

Genre: Sports drama, emotional comfort, slice-of-life

Warnings: Mental health themes, mentions of suicide (no graphic content), emotional vulnerability

Post-Game

The hallway outside the locker room still hums with leftover energy, squeaky shoes, ESPN lights packing up, someone wheezing from laughter a few doors down.

You’re leaning against the wall, phone in hand, scrolling with lazy fingers while your legs recover.

You’re not looking up when a deep voice says, “Hey. She… um. She asked for you.”

It’s one of the arena security guards. Real chill dude. Wears the same black windbreaker every game. You blink, then glance past him and there she is.

She’s tiny. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, lanyard swinging nervously from her neck. Her sneakers are worn out at the toes. She doesn’t say anything, just stands there like she’s debating whether or not to bolt.

You straighten up. “Hey. You good?” The guard steps back to give y’all space.

She nods fast, too fast, then shrugs like she changed her mind mid-thought. “Yeah. Um. I just… I’m not tryna be weird or anything. Or make it awkward. I just..”She stops herself. Swallows. “My cousin told me I should say hi. Like actually say something.”

You tilt your head and smile a little. “You already saying something.” That makes her laugh under her breath. Barely. But it’s a start.

You step off the wall, not too close, just enough that she doesn’t feel like you’re towering. “What’s your name?”

She hesitates, then tugs at her sleeve. “Layla.”

“Cool name.” You offer her a fist bump.

She bumps it back. Shy. Quick.

Then she fiddles with the string on her hoodie, staring down at it. “So like… this is kinda dumb. But I printed something you posted last year.

That caption about losing somebody. I stuck it on my mirror.” Her voice cracks a little. “Read it like every day.”

Your chest tightens, but you stay steady. Calm. Let her talk.

“I was in a bad place. And I don’t know. It just felt like… like somebody out there actually got it. Even if you don’t know me. It was like..” Her voice trails off and she bites her lip. “Sorry. This is probably so cringe.”

You shake your head. “Nah. You’re good.”

She peeks up at you, barely. You smile. “You ain’t gotta explain the whole thing. I’m just glad you said hi.”

Something soft passes over her face, like she needed that permission. That space.

“I’m better now,” she says quickly. “Just… yeah. You helped. That’s all.”

You nod slow. Let the silence stretch. It’s not awkward—not when it’s honest.

Then you tap her arm gently, just enough to get her attention. “You got a phone?”

She looks confused, then pulls it out of her hoodie pocket. You open your notes app, type in your number, and hand it back.

Her mouth drops open a little. “For real?”

“For real. Text me if you ever need to vent. Or just wanna send me a meme or whatever. I like memes.”

She laughs again, softer this time, and it actually reaches her eyes. “Okay. Bet.”

You lean down and whisper, like it’s just between y’all. “Promise I’ll text back. But don’t tell your whole school or I’ma have fifty kids in my phone talking about ‘you got games on your phone?’”

Layla giggles, and you swear it’s the best sound you’ve heard all day.

She pulls her sleeves up just enough to wave before bouncing back to whoever she came with. You watch her go. You don’t say anything when she turns around to smile again before disappearing into the hallway crowd.

You just smile back.

A Few Weeks Later [9:03 PM]

Layla 🦋: hi :) is it okay if i text you today?

You: always. what’s up?

Layla 🦋: nothing bad just school stress and girl drama, also why is algebra a scam

You: bc math is the devil. proven fact. also girl drama?? 👀

Layla 🦋: girl why do people flirt if they don’t mean it like if i’m smiling at you and laughing at your jokes… i got plans

You: LMFAOOO you sound like me when i was 15 (also they flirt bc they like the attention not the commitment. be smarter than them.)

Layla 🦋: ugh. i wish u were my older sister fr the kind that lets me talk mess and doesn’t tell mom

You: bet. i’m your big sister now. it’s official. talk mess all you want.

———————————————————————————————

Two Months In

Layla 🦋: can i ask you something and you won’t think it’s weird

You: go for it

Layla 🦋: if i made it through all the dark stuff and i’m still sad sometimes does that mean i’m backsliding?

You: nah it means you’re human. healing isn’t straight lines it’s a squiggly ass map with bad wifi and broken roads you’re still on the road tho. and i’m proud of you.

Layla 🦋: i’m crying at that 😭 squiggly ass map is my new twitter bio

You: you better tag me

———————————————————————————————

Most Recent

Layla 🦋: guess who got invited to prom 👀 and i said yes 👀👀👀

You: oh so you grown now huh. i need a pic. i’m tryna see this glow up

Layla 🦋: you’ll see 😏 (i wish u could come tho)

You: who says i can’t?

Tattoo Reveal – IG Live

The sun’s out and your crop top’s loud a little “UConn Girls Love Chaos” design that your teammates keep clowning you for. You’re walking across campus, holding your phone up, scrolling through comments as you talk to the live chat.

“Y’all ever realize how every professor got the same tone when they email you like you personally ruined their week?” you say, sipping a smoothie. “Like my bad Ms. Janine. I was depressed. Damn.”

“LMFAOOOO”

“who hurt ms janine 😭”

“WAIT IS THAT A TAT”

“Y’ALL SEE HER RIBS? ZOOM IN”

You don’t even notice the moment until you stretch your arms over your head, showing just a flash of new ink: soft cursive, right under your ribs. It reads: 𝐿𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒶.

No dates. No explanation. Just the name.

“WHO’S LAYLA 👀”

“y’all think she dating a girl named layla??”

“uhm… she didn’t have that last week??”

“the tattoo… it’s giving important”

You grin and keep walking.

“I’m not explaining shit,” you say, sipping your drink again. “Let the theories fly.”

The Night of Prom

You left campus with nothing but a hoodie, a carry-on bag, and a nod to Coach Auriemma.

“Everything alright?” he’d asked as you leaned against the doorframe of his office.

You just held up a tiny gift bag and smiled. “Got somewhere important to be.”

He didn’t press. Just gave you that small, knowing look and waved you off with a quiet, “Don’t be late coming back.”

So you weren’t. But you were late to dinner check-in. Late to group FaceTime. Missing from the girls’ usual chaos. They noticed.

It’s nothing like the campus galas you’re used to. The decorations are paper stars and curling ribbon. The music is ten minutes behind the vibe. The punch is lukewarm.

Layla is glowing. Her dress is baby blue. Hair laid. Nails done. There’s a quiet nervousness in her when you text her to come outside.

You: I’m here. Don’t freak out. Just meet me by the front doors.

She replies with twenty question marks and a “what??????” before you see the doors swing open. Then she sees you. She freezes.

You’re in a tailored black suit, button undone, white tee underneath. Casual. Sharp. Cropped curls. Fresh sneakers. Gift bag still in hand.

“You… what…?” she stammers.

You lift the bag. “You really thought I’d miss this?.“

Her hands cover her mouth. She looks like she might cry, but instead she just runs into your arms.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers, muffled against your chest.

You hold her tighter than you mean to. “Told you I show up when it counts.”

Inside, you stay in the shadows. Let her shine. You take a few pics, sign a few autographs, but most people don’t even realize who you are.

You pin her corsage. Give her her gift: a dainty silver necklace that says “light.” Just that.

Because that’s what she is.

“Where the hell have you been?” Nika asks, bursting into the locker room as soon as she sees you walk in.

“Y’all,” Paige says, wide-eyed, “we thought she was kidnapped.”

“I checked her location last night,” Azzi adds. “She turned it off! Which means it was serious.”

“She never turns her location off,” Ice mutters. “Even when she’s drunk.”

You just toss your duffle down and start pulling on your hoodie, nonchalant. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

Jana turns her phone toward the group. “More like who. Look what’s trending.”

It’s a photo from last night. A fan post. Blurry but clear enough to tell it’s you in that black suit, standing next to a girl in a blue dress. You’re putting a necklace around her neck. She’s beaming.

The caption: “UConn’s [Y/N] showed up to my little sister’s prom. Y’all… she has a tattoo of her name too 😭”

The locker room goes silent.

“WAIT—LAYLA?!”

“THE TATTOO?”

“Is that why she got the name??”

“You been texting her this whole time??”

You glance up, calm. A little shrug. “Y’all loud as hell.”

Nika throws a towel at you. “You’re soft as hell!”

Azzi’s eyes are glassy. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You just smile and grab your water bottle. “Didn’t need y’all making it a big deal.”

Paige is grinning from ear to ear. “Girl. That is a big deal.”

“I mean…” you mutter, heading toward the showers, “…some things are sacred.”

Graduation Day

It starts simple. Layla’s walking across the field with her class, cap tilted back, gown billowing in the breeze. Nervous. She’s been nervous all morning.

You told her last week you might not make it. Finals. Travel. Media. The usual.

She understood. Said it was okay. But she didn’t mean it.

So when she turns the corner and sees the crowd and you, sitting right there on the edge of the front row, sunglasses low, smile wide her breath catches.

She mouths your name. You wink.

“GO LAYLAY!!”

“YEAHHHH BABY GRADUATE!!!”

“WE OUT HERE FOR YOU!!!”

“LOOK AT MY BABY OH LAWD”

The rest of the UConn team stands up. All of them. Matching UConn hoodies, signs, cowbells, and blown-up face cutouts of Layla that Azzi made in the hotel room last night.

One says “MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS” in glitter letters. Another has a picture of Layla’s favorite quote printed in big block font.

Layla gasps.

She turns slowly, face half-hidden behind her hands, absolutely stunned as her entire section of classmates and family loses their minds. The crowd starts clapping louder. Cheering. Crying.

Even the principal looks confused.

You stand up last, slow and steady, holding your phone to record her reaction. She sees it and immediately wipes her face, pretending not to cry.

“Mhm,” you call softly, grinning.

The field turns into a photo frenzy, and Layla is surrounded. Paige’s tall ass is holding her diploma like it’s a championship trophy. Nika’s twirling her around. Ice is on FaceTime with her cousins yelling, “Look who we came for!”

Someone hands Layla a gift bag. It’s a chain. Simple. Dainty. The charm says: Still Here. Everyone signed the card. Geno included. Layla looks at you, blinking.

“Y’all really came.”

You nod. “Told you. I show up when it counts.”

Paige claps you on the back. “She ain’t tell us until the last minute. We booked the whole back row of the Amtrak.”

“We brought snacks and everything,” Nika adds. “Layla, be for real—you’re basically our team baby now.”

Layla snorts, tears forgotten. “I’m okay with that.”

Azzi snaps another picture of y’all hugging. “This better go viral for the right reasons.”

———————————————————————————————

You and Layla sit on the edge of the bleachers, everyone else packing up behind you. She leans into your side, diploma in her lap, face peaceful.

“I’m glad you didn’t keep it a secret anymore,” she says softly. You smile, pulling her closer.

“You’re my little sister you repeat.

“And the whole world should know you made it.”

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai @mrsarnold @prettyyyinblack

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sheastri · 1 day ago

Text

What You Heard ft. Jason Todd

Synopsis: In which she's in a toxic situationship and Jason knows he could treat her so much better.

Pairing: Jason Todd x black!fem!reader

Genre: Bad bitch and her protecter

Warning(s): Situationship (I do not reccomend or support)

A/N: This is my first time writing for him, lowkey scared but trust this ate down. He's 23 years old in this for reference bc the batfamily ages are kind of a mess so do what you will with that information!

・・・・・

liked by yourusername, username, and 9,000 others

valid_q me and mines

username one thing I’ll never do is trust a Dominican man with my heart😭

username thats a threat, run girl

username oh so hes posting her now?? ts is official

username girl these men dont gaf, he probably got 3 other acc's with a different girl posted up with him on each one.

username aww you guys are so cute

yourusername ❤️

username ok let's get you back to bed grandpa

username Fuck your mind up, waste time. I’m prone to that, do it all the time.

liked by imanirowe, stephb, and 23,000 others

yourusername Met this guy at a cafe, he's my bestie westie now (he doesn't have social media so he can't say otherwise)

username never a boring day with you

valid_q yo who tf is that? answer your phone rn

cassidyc can we go back 5 steps??

yourusername is he like a criminal or something? actually no if he is i don't mind living a little dangerously, yk life on the edge bc im like that

username wait, he looks a little familiar

stephb y/n...

yourusername i'm scared imanirowe GIRL OPEN THE GC NOW!!

username can i meet a cute guy at a cafe next??

username she's living life on creative mode

username Keep your guard up or wait in line. You don't need me, please believe me.

Damian Wayne viewed your profile.

Tim Drake has followed you.

Duke Thomas has followed you

・・・・・

This ain't easy, you know I've been feindin'. Let me unleash my demons on you

Prior To This

"Could I get an iced vanilla late. Almond milk and extra shot please and thank you." You say smiling at the cashier before paying for your order. The cashier handed you your receipt with a 'have a nice day' before going to the next customer.

Soon your order was ready and you took up your latte before heading to go find a place to sit. As you were turning to make your way to find a seat you accidently bumped in a man.

"I'm so sorry." You say panicking as some of your latte spills on his shirt.

"Watch where you're going, what the fuck." The guys immediately yells out.

You would think it ended there but he continued to go on a whole rant as you stood there. People were now turning to look at you guys to see what the commotion was. Thankfully someone decided they had enough of it and walked up behind the man before pushing him with just enough force to move him.

The guy who pushed him looked at you before looking back at the man you bumped into.

"Problem, or what?" He said raising an eyebrow as if he hadn't just did what he did. You were just looking in between the two and trying not to laugh at how he towered over the man. You watch as the man shrinks in on himself a little before trying to play it off.

"Nah, I was just leaving." He says trying to sound tough. The guy just raised a brow and crossed his arms. To be fair if you were his position you would be intimidated too. You just watch the mans facade break down as he immediately apologies to you and runs for the door.

"Umm I'm Y/n and thank you for helping me out." You say turning to face him directly with a soft smile on your face.

"No problem. Right?" He replies keeping things short and direct.

"Nice to meet you 'no problem'." You reply humorously. You just watch as he deadpans.

"Yeah, not my best work. It didn't even sound right as I was saying it." You remark after seeing his expression.

"Jason." He says after a short lived moment of awkward silence.

"Ok then, nice to meet you Jason." You say smiling.

After This

"Hey Mani, I'm just at a cafe editing some photos right now." You say casually on the phone.

"Oh from that maternity shoot, right?" Imani responds with a hint of question in her voice.

"Yeah, it was a little chaotic. They have a 2 year old son and when I tell you he doesn't run out of energy. Like love that for you but let's slow down for 5 seconds. The family was great as a whole though, these photos came out pretty well." You say as Imani leaves little comments every once in a while.

"Girl, I don't know how you do it." Imani says teasing.

"Baby I own businesses." You say referencing the TikTok video.

You and Imani burst out laughing in sync. Soon a call comes in from the last person you want to see right now after the argument you guys had earlier.

"Hold on Mani, Mr. I don't have anger issues is on my phone right now." You say before sighing.

"I don't know why you don't just let him go girl. All that nigga does is play in your face." Imani says frustrated.

"I wish it was that easy, I'll call the group later and update everybody." You say before hanging up the phone and ringing your bf's, Quinn, phone as you walk out of the cafe knowing that it's about to get messy.

"Why didn't you pick up on the first call?" He immediately says yelling in your ear.

"Sorry, I was busy." You say staying calm.

"Busy? Listen, when I call, pick up. Don't let this shit happen again." He says straight up.

"Yeah, sure, ok." You say.

"Nah, what were you busy with? I saw you posted up with that n*gga, you're busy on a date." He says, progressively getting louder every time you try to cut in and speak.

"Do you make it a goal to accuse me of something every time we talk?" You say putting emphasis on the word 'every'.

"But why are you dodging the question? If nothing was going on you woulda just kept shit short and sweet." He says accusingly.

"It doesn't even matter what I say because I already know you're gonna shoot it down. I can't win with you." You say exhausted.

"Because you stay coming up with some bullshit" He says.

"So then what's the point? What do you want from me? We're not together at the end of the day so I don't owe you anything." You say.

"I just want you to be truthful baby. You act like I'm breathing down your neck like some evil spirit but I'm just looking out for you and for my heart. You know I've been hurt before." He says attempting to garner sympathy.

"Yeah I know." You say sympathizing with him and trying to understand where he's coming from again.

When the call finally ends you just sigh unknown to Jason leaning on a wall just outside the cafe.

"Trouble in paradise, or what?" He questions.

"Worse, trouble in hell." You say.

"And you're still wit' him?" He replies narrowing his eyes, his Gotham accent potent.

"I don't even know how I'd begin to leave. Plus he's not all that bad." You say trying to convince yourself.

"I could hear him screamin' and your phone wasn't even on speaker mode." He states.

"Look let's just forget this. I'm heading back inside to do some work. Join me?" You say happy at the prospect of making a new friend.

He doesn't respond and doesn't make any hint that he's going to move so you start walking back inside. He stands up from the wall and follows you in moments later, sitting down across from you at the table.

What's the word? Tell me what you've heard. Don't tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts. When I get you to myself, it's murder.

・・・・・

I ain't got no kids, so don't be so childish. You be wildin', I be wildin', too. But not like you, shit, maybe a little like you. Maybe we ain't so different, maybe I be trippin', too.

・・・・・

4 Months Later

What's the word? Tell me what you've heard. Don't tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts. When I get you to myself, it's murder.

"So, lemme get this straight, huh? You're out here almost on a date with me, and you still can't shake that guy givin' you the bare minimum?" Jason says while leaning back manspreading in the seat across from you.

"This is just a chill friendly hangout and second if I could shake him I would. And he occasionally has his sweet moments." You reply.

"His sporadic nice moments kinda balance out the nonstop wickedness, huh?" Jason says looking at you skeptically.

"Ok fair but like I feel like I just crave that feeling of being loved. Like when someone likes me and I become aware of it I don't let go easy, you know?" You reply before sighing.

"Look, I get it, but dis guy ain't into ya. He just likes da whole concept of ya, y'know?" Jason replies bluntly.

"Yeah but I'd rather this temporary love, likeness, or whatever than not being even remotely liked at all by somebody. And it's just a lil situationship so I'll take the risks." You reply.

"I like ya, so whaddaya need him for, huh?" Jason says as if he didn't just make your almost give out.

"I want to be loved." You say challenging his response.

"I love you." He says quickly, not needing to think about.

You stare at him almost breathless as he stares back at you, making direct eye contact.

"Ouhh you want me so baddd." You say dragging it out in a sing songy voice. Jason just looks at you like you're the only woman in the world.

What's the word? Tell me what you've heard. Don't tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts. When I get you to myself, it's murder.

・・・・・

8 Months Later

liked by jasontodd, imanirowe, and 187,000 others

yourusername your sign to call off your situationship

username already done, what's the next step??

username i feel like this was my sign to call him up...

username oh he wasn’t playing, had that ring prepared!!

username ouhh i love your new accessory girl

username if i fumbled this i would cry for 7 days and 7 nights

username I could put like 25 on your finger, five for your shades. So you can't see these other niggas. They won't call you again, that's enough.

liked by yourusername, cassidyc, and 347,000 others

jasontodd Wifey and I

yourusername js bc ur face wasn’t in my post??

jasontodd yes.

username JASON TODD HAS SOCIAL MEDIA???

username ik some of these ppl are rushing to delete their posts.

username hottest couple in existence

username was not on my bingo card but I am so here for it

username damn the groomsmen couldn’t even get a lil photo op…

username ur not slick at all girl

username this is how i need my man to post me

username oh i js know he doesn't play about her

username I just want to clock in, night and day, I'll stay. I'll be more open if you keep it open.

・・・・・

A/N: I lowkey got lazy at the end but it still worked out but I had so much fun with giving him an accent😭

On another note Part 2 to 'Heart of A Woman' is coming soon! Drop your guesses for which f1 driver y/n ends up with in the comments...

#smau #jason todd x reader #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd #batfamily #batfam #damian wayne #dick grayson #dcu x reader #dc x reader #dcu fic #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #x reader #f1 x black!reader #x black fem reader #jason todd one shot #sheastri's workshop

91 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 days ago

Text

I feel like we have no choice but to write angst with this character! loll (God how I love that Amber x Mark gif 🤣)

Ahhh thanks, Wayne!! 🥹 I told you, the first thing I saw when Michelle gave me that color palette prompt was "seasons." The colors were just perfect for it, so I thought the dividers were a simple way to capture that 💗

Her answer took me tf out! Loved her bold sass 😏🔥

Ehehe that's the line where I found the character tbh. 😂 Mark needs to be with someone who can keep even him on his toes!

Oh, interesting! Also ballsy of Mark to date his boss’ daughter. Let’s hope he doesn’t screw it up 🤞🙈

Right?! lmfao I figured if anyone was gonna, it'd be Mark 😂😂

I’m getting a queasy feeling in my stomach… I genuinely already love them! Their little beach day in Santa Cruz was so cute 🥹 (and my love for Cali is never ending, too) But my heart hurts so much because I think I can guess where this is going. WHY ALEX 😫

Aww yay!! 🥹 This is why I also loved getting your request and Michelle's at the same time, because I saw how this one could later connect to "Hits Different" when I looked up the lyrics 🥲☀️

Poor reader! Hard enough when a parent is dying, but even worse when you have to watch them go 🥺 (And so close to the wedding as well! Truly can understand her pain that her father didn’t get to walk her down the aisle anymore 😭)

Ugh, exactly, on both counts! 😓 And of course it's just fuel on the fire for Mark's later reluctance to tell her about his diagnosis.

(Her father's death is actually based on how my grandfather passed away in December. 💙 He was a smoker for 30 years, quit for 40, but it still unfortunately caught up to him in his 80s.)

(I had to lmao)

Bahaha winter is definitely coming! 🤣 Jon Snow = perfection

Men… lol We’ve had this discussion before with your headcanons about men and doctors/being sick. I think we can add Mark to that list 😂

omfg yeah!! 🤣🤣 Mark would literally be the reigning king of medical man denial. And that reminds me, I'm gonna have to add Mark to the HC lineup soon! 🤭

Dear God, the sister’s already a lot 🙈 You better ain’t trying to impress your sister’s fiancé, girl…

Ahaha thank you for catching that hint! She's trying to impress somebody all right 😅

The fact her father died just months before from cancer just adds such a nice and angsty layer to this whole story. Of course Mark wouldn’t want her to go through that again after he’d witnessed how the sickness and death of her father affected her. And I do understand where he’s coming from when he essentially doesn’t want to tie her to a “dead man walking,” but man, does it break my heart. It’s such a hard situation for both. Ultimately, he should’ve involved her in the decision, though. The choice should be hers if she can handle it or not, if she wants out etc.

Aw thank you! 🥲 I was trying to think of added reasons why Mark wouldn't want to tell her, and this to me felt the most impactful, especially because her dad was Mark's boss, and in my head, his mentor too. 💔

And so agree -- he should've just talked to her, even if it was probably going to be one of the most difficult conversations of their entire relationship.

Jesus fucking Christ, that makes it even sadder and more messed up 😭 (I do love your brain for this masterpiece of cruelty)

Ehehe sorryyyyyyy. 🤭 But see? He wanted to have The Talk with her, he just never got there 🥲

But man, the fact he legit was so drunk that he stumbled into the wrong room and was basically taken advantage of in this state by her sister?! I hope the bitch burns in hell, seriously 😅

Ughhhh you and me both. As you saw in Part 2, Rachel deserves every bit of the hellfire lmao

It’s been my headcanon as well that he probably cheated on Melinda with Rachel to give her an “easy out” after finding out his diagnosis, but in my opinion, it’s even worse than actually cheating on her because he’s a stupid, selfish ass because it would’ve meant he never really love her to begin with. But doing that shit to someone you genuinely love is messed up 🙈

This was my initial instinct too for Melinda and Rachel, and while it's very plausible, it doesn't make Mark sympathetic for that exact reason. If he was going to marry a girl he didn't love enough to simply tell the truth and not cheat on her right before the effing wedding, then he's a POS for that. I really hope it comes out that he fibbed to Amber about that.

And since you've already read Catastrophic Blues (tysm 🥹 - can't wait to get into your lovely amazing feedback) I'll tell you this part:

Even in this story I debated going that exact route, having Rachel and Mark actually sleep together to create that "out" (or he just lets her do "something" sexual to him lol). But in the end I felt that no, if he truly loved the reader he would've put a stop to Rachel's advances the best he could, even while drunk. 💔

But I love how you took that mini plot line and put your own spin on it. Especially for this story, I prefer Mark accidentally stumbling into Rachel’s room, and Rachel taking advantage of him. If he’d done it on purpose to “free” reader, I would’ve murdered him. After losing their father, it would’ve been so cruel of him to tear their family apart in the wake of it, so I’m glad you went a different way here. Not sure I could’ve forgiven the other thing 🫣

Exactly, I wouldn't have forgiven him either if it was intentional 😭😭

And it's an unfortunate truth that there are girls like Rachel out there: immature, selfish, jealous, entitled, even downright hateful. So I wanted to explore the thing of, there are of course predatory men out there, but there are also predatory women. Sometimes the ones that should love you the most are the ones who hurt you the most 😭

Can’t wait to jump straight into Part 2! I can totally see the song fitting for the aftermath of this 😎💜💜💜

🥹🙏🏽💗 When I tell you I got SO much inspo from "Hits Different," like immediately lol. And *gasp* I also ended up liking "Snow on the Beach" from the same album! 🤭 I also liked "Lavender Haze."

Count me as Swiftie Curious, I guess?

DOWNGRADE

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: There it was. The beginning of the end, and neither of you saw it coming.

AN: Ahhh here we go! For the first time ever, Mark Meachum! Obviously I’m still learning this guy as a character, but this idea grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. Thanks so much, @luci-in-trenchcoats for choosing this color prompt for the 5K Follower Celebration!

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, implied smut, and rom-com vibes, until the angst sets in (lol). Medical diagnoses, implied cheating

Spring

Mark set two mugs of coffee on his nightstand to free up his hands. He had to cut wide swaths through the bedsheets to reach you. As usual, you were a tangle of limbs and frizzy hair.

“Jesus, what’d you do here, woman?” he said, lips tugging at a smile when he heard your muffled giggle.

Eventually he unearthed your head and found your sleepy smile. You squinted at the sun glaring through the window behind him. It backlit that look of fond amusement on his face.

You clawed half-blind at the front of his shirt and pulled him down to you. He lost his footing and grunted as he fell, just barely catching himself from crushing you. Your laugh rang in his ear and forced a chest-shaking rumble out of him too.

You freed your own arms from the warm nest you created, just to take his face in your hands. Your thumbs caressed along the coarse edges of his beard.

“Getting scraggly, baby,” you remarked.

“Yeah, but you like your man all wild and caveman-like,” he said mischievously.

You shook your head, but you still couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Only when he fucks me,” you said. A cheeky challenge in your eyes.

Mark’s brows popped high, his devilish grin showing teeth. It didn’t matter how long you’d been his, you still managed to keep him on the ropes.

“Well, he does aim to please.”

Summer

The sound of your laugh was like sweltering sunshine in his chest. After the wave finished dunking you both, you swept the salty sting of the ocean out of your eyes and clung to his shoulders in the water.

Santa Cruz agreed with you. It shone down on your glistening skin and caught in your eyes. You both needed this—taking a beat, just the two of you.

Finally, Mark had allowed himself to take some time off. He was reluctant at first, workhorse that he was. But the Captain—your father—insisted that Mark take a break. Wrapping up a triple homicide after four months of legwork, getting to see that motherfucker be denied bail until trial, and giving the victims’ families a sense of relief that the killer was off the streets was a decided win.

“You’ve got someone waiting for you,” the Captain reminded him. “Don’t take that for granted.”

Mark grabbed your left hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. He felt the coolness of metal against his lips. It reminded him to turn your hand over.

“Whoa!” He closed his eyes and playfully looked away as if he was being blinded. “Who gave you that fucking rock?”

The summer sun glinted off a modest stone. Your sister told him not to overthink it. Just get the classic square cut. But his instincts told him to go with something called a “cushion,” like the sales lady said at Jared’s.

Mark knew he made the right choice when you gasped, covering your mouth with shaky hands, your eyes filling with tears when you met his slightly nervous ones.

Now, you just laughed in his face. “Oh, nobody really. Just the love of my life.”

His smile quirked, even though his heart was double-timing.

“You’re so fuckin’ cheesy.”

“But you love it, though.”

(That day, you both spent an extra hour looking for the ring when it somehow slipped off your finger and fell into the sand.)

Fall

“I’m just saying, sweetheart,” Mark said, his tone deep and gentle while he steadied you in his arms. “Maybe it’s best we put off the wedding, just a few months. It’s a lot coming at you right now.”

You shook your head, covering your mouth with trembling fingers.

“No,” you said eventually, but your words faltered along with your unsteady breaths in between. “No, he wouldn’t have wanted that. I just wish he, uh…could be there.”

You were a pillar of a woman, but no one could fault you for falling apart. Your father had been a lifelong smoker. He quit ten years ago, but it still caught up to him in his sixties, a severe case of COPD that he’d been trying to hide for months. It eventually withered him down to weeks of degeneration in a hospital bed, relying on oxygen masks that could no longer sustain him.

Your mother and sister had left the room for just half an hour to grab some coffee. You stayed behind.

You were alone with your father when he died. All you could do was hold his hand.

Now, all Mark could do was hold you. But he had to blink past a sharp pain, almost like a sudden migraine. Aftershocks reverberated through his skull, radiating from the right to the left.

He’d been dealing with less intense versions of the feeling for a month, but this time, it was like a small shiv between the eyes. It took him enough by surprise that it forced a grunt out of him, making him grimace and blink hard.

You picked your head up from his chest and met him with tearful eyes, frowning in concern.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Just a little headache.”

Winter

“Mark, you need to go to the doctor. You’ve gone through three bottles of Advil. That’s not normal.”

“Look, I told you already. I’m fine.”

“Yeah. That’s really convincing.”

“…Look, that’s Rachel pulling up. You ready to go?”

You looked out the windows near the front door and saw your sister walking up the driveway. You blinked, like you both could and couldn't believe what you were seeing.

“Wow," you said. "She couldn’t have found a skimpier dress to check out the church. Who’s she trying to impress? The pastor’s already married.”

Mark snorted in amusement, but something soon occurred to him.

“Didn’t you tell me she and her boyfriend just broke up or something?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with it?”

He shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. She’s probably just looking for attention.”

You sighed. You loved your younger sister, but there were times when you wished she’d just grow up a little.

One appointment with Mark’s primary doctor led him to the oncologist. His entire inner world was leveled with just two words:

Glioblastoma Multiforme.

Two words he couldn’t say to you.

It all rang between his ears…

The excitement in your voice when you told him how your last fitting went for the dress.

Faces he’d put behind bars. Years he’d scraped and clawed his way through bureaucratic bullshit, standing his ground against officers with more power than him, but never as much heart.

Your raw, broken grief when you watched your father waste away from the absolute monument of a man he’d been.

How was Mark supposed to level your world too?

He kept it all inside. And like the master of improv he was, he faked enthusiasm for a joint bachelor-bachelorette weekend.

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers he stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

AN: 🫣 I know, I know - I'm sorry it's not my usual happy ending. 💔 But! I am working on a second part to this for @waynes-multiverse, who also requested Mark Meachum for the 5K Celebration...though that one's gonna be even angstier than this one loll 😅 (but maaaybe with a kind of happy ending?)

In the meantime, what did you think of this drabble? Don't you wish we could've stayed in Summer? ❤️‍🩹

Read Part 2: Catastrophic Blues

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Add yourself to my Tag Lists ⟡ Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. ❤️

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can send me requests!

Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

I haven't built out the Mark Meachum tag list just yet, but he's now available on my Tag List form, for anyone who wants to add themselves.

For this post, I'll just include the Dean Winchester tag list and some others who I think are interested in Mark Meachum. Next round, I'll only tag people who want in on the tag list.

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28

@midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad @kmc1989 @siampie

@masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

@impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @bettystonewell

@bleuatlas @podiumackles @samslvrgirl

#the wonderful wayne tag 💛#lovely review! 💗#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #zep replies

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m-robinavitch · 22 hours ago

Note

May I have #19 with Jack!

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Trope: Love at first sight

I’ve posted a snippet of this before but this is my take on how Jack and is wife from in passing., silent., and wet. meet!

“Who is that?” Walsh had asked while walking next to Abbot- hearing the commotion going on and seeing what she assumed was a civilian on top of a patient giving compressions. She was giving an update on the MVC patient from last night when an incoming trauma was announced.

“I think that's my future wife,” Jack mumbled, watching how you took point- strong voice and calling shots. You definitely weren’t a civilian. He was enamored- in love at first fucking sight of the way you held your hand up to pause Jesse from getting the defibrillator ready after you finally found an irregular pulse.

“Who is this and why are you on my patient?” You heard someone comment- taking Jesse’s hand so he can help you off said patient. All you wanted to do after your shift was grab some pizza and sleep for the entire day you had off. But of course you saw the man sway in front of you while standing in line to grab your order- before he even hit the ground you ran up to him before he could add concussion to his list of injuries. You jumped in the ambulance with him, telling the medics to take you to PTMC where you’ve been an intern for a few months already. You explained the situation- how you were in the scene and the attending held his hand up in front of you. You knew him- some asshole that liked to throw rank around but not listen to anyone who wasn’t an attending or a man.

“I’m an intern sir- I-“

“An intern?” He sneered, “Well move aside little lady and let me work.” He physically pushed you away, grabbing his stethoscope while Jesse hooked the monitors onto the patient and gave you a look that told you to not say anything. But-

“Actually we got it from here Dr. Chase,” you turned, eyeing the man who stepped into trauma bay 2. You had seen him in passing, the lead attending on the night shift, Dr. Abbot. Strong arms with salt and pepper hair, snarky comments and a smile that made your knees weak. “That is if our intern wants to keep working on her patient?” Jack hated Chase. Misogynistic asshat who should have retired to the golf courses years ago. And maybe he was so taken by those mere seconds of seeing you but Jack wanted to know how he missed out on you. And eagerly you smiled- nodding and reaching in your backpack for your stethoscope, somehow having so much energy again after a 10 hour shift.

Turns out it was a seizure. The man had a blockage and when he seized it stopped his heart along with it. You were right to stop Jesse from shocking his heart, that would’ve caused more harm than good. And Dr. Abbot praised you for it. You listened and watched the monitors and even mentioned how when the man fell he didn’t grab his chest but jolted for a moment. It was hours later and you were exhausted but you found yourself on the roof with the attending you just met, laughing along with him about Dr. Chase and sharing the pizza he DoorDashed up to the roof- an extra $10 but worth it because you both got your fix. And- you got some time with Jack. He was funny and gorgeous and you’ve only known him a few hours but as you watch the stars light up the sky on what started out as a shit morning yesterday-

“Do you wanna go out with me?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling with the moon. He only met you a few hours ago but dammit if Jack isn’t a man smitten with a smart, beautiful woman who talks as much shit as he does.

“Yeah- yeah I do. Lunch date?” You ask while nodding, smiling because somehow even if you’ve spent the last few hours with him you don’t want this to end.

“Fuck it- breakfast date. The sooner the better baby.”

#trope tuesday #lexi answers life’s questions #my random typings #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x female reader #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot x you

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fiamat12 · 2 days ago

Text

Yes, Anon! Daddy's home. It's been a minute since we've gotten a "weekend w/ Lukey Newts" - meaning him posting in succession - and we love to see it... first, a few notes on that, then on to the State of the Lukola Union/ Launch 😊

1) Um... yeah, the obvious

And an F1 race? Just happens that N was at the one in Miami 🤭. We were actually surprised L didn't show up in Monaco, but obviously other things needed to die down 1st (🙄), and better late than never. As an Anon dmed me after seeing the Boss collab: "I’m glad he got something out of that miserable night". 🙏

2) Last night's concert posts

• As I said in my previous post, Lukola could have been there together or not. It's possible they went down to GA from VIP to say hi to friends (that's what N did at APF when she saw JD but you saw how that ended up 📸); if so, it was brief and purposeful. Regardless, we don't need any more crumbs, we need CLARITY... full faces, full acknowledgment.

• The most important take away from L's song posts, imo, were the MESSAGE. It said #1- I'm a married man w/ a baby #2- I'm apologetic for past deeds

• That brings us to the tag of A in C's story. We will have to wait and see. It may be they are trying to wrap things up to where A is linked to L to give her visibility through the end of the contract. (Was she there? Who knows, but that's not the pt). As @jmuz09 noted: " If Luke is about to drop a bunch of stuff, she’s getting algorithmic advantage at a time when Luke himself is getting a lot of traffic to his page. Makes total sense".

3) Final thoughts

Per usual, as of late, we need CLARITY not confusion. What doesn't make much difference?: thumbs, eyes, backs of heads or tags w/ out full disclosure. What matters more?: The message from L's concert posts + delivering on new projects after his IG cleanse. N's hints about "rebirth" the past couple of weeks and the stroller pic (do NOT forget the stroller pic) should not be lost on us either. We need to keep moving in this direction, and then as Anon said "good things are to come"... 🙏

More notes on A's algorithm (trigger warning lol) - all business no pleasure! ⬇️

If you look at A's TT alone and she has almost a half a million likes and several hundred thousand views. The deal has worked for her in terms of social media engagement/ visibility.

We don't see that breakdown on IG***, but it has to be similar, if not more engagement, and this is good to get work/ brand deals. If she really wanted to be an influencer she probably could have, but that's actually alot of work and she's too hated. The visibility is enough to get representation and to help jump start her in the industry 🤷🏻‍♀️

***instapv.com can be used to see hidden tags, perhaps IG views can be seen too... need to play around w/it 😉

Here's L's Boss video if you don't have IG...

#lukola rebirth #clarity not confusion #literally mom and dad

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wyattjohnston · 1 day ago

Text

feeling like the sun never sets - trevor zegras

summary: maybe the player her dad hates the most isn't belle's wisest decision. it's definitely the most fun, though.

word count: 17k

note: this is set in 2022. special shoutouts go to @blueskrugs for hearing about this fic for approx 1000 years, and to @comphy-and-cozy for making sure it makes sense <3

playlist: love by mistake by bad suns | lost in california by little big town | heaven is a place in my head by bad suns | but daddy i love him by taylor swift | swimming in the moonlight by bad suns

“Bold strategy, Cotton,” Belle said, the corners of her mouth lifted. “Too bad it didn’t pay off.”

Belle hadn’t intended to say anything to anyone, perfectly content to sit in her own little corner of the arena and keep to herself the entire weekend, but the words had slipped out of her mouth the second she saw the bright yellow Average Joe’s jersey of Trevor Zegras.

Trevor swivelled and he took a moment to find her behind the crowd of people passing through. His smirk was devastating when he caught sight of her. She didn’t break eye contact even though it was her first instinct.

“I scored, too. Might be rigged.”

“Someone should have made a call to Toronto,” Belle agreed, referring to the review system used for in-game goals.

He was standing right in front of her, looking up at her through distractingly long eyelashes. The electrical box she was sitting on was a great vantage point. She wanted to sit on it all weekend if it meant he looked at her that same way.

“I’m Trevor,” he said, his right hand coming to rest so close to her thigh that she could feel his thumb brushing her skin through her tights.

“Is there anybody here this weekend who doesn’t know that?”

Belle placed her hands on the edge of the box, leaning in closer to Trevor—so close that she could feel his breath fanning across her face. She parted her legs, pressing into his hands where they were still pressed against her thighs, and he stepped easily into the newly created space.

“And what’s your name?”

His question came with a near constant flickering of his gaze between her eyes and her mouth. Belle kept her eyes locked on his, though she did not miss the way he licked his lips.

“Isabella.”

Trevor pressed closer. “I don’t get your last name?”

“No.” Belle couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh at the idea. “You absolutely do not.”

“Why not?”

She hooked her foot around the back of his left leg, delighting in the effortless way he moved just a bit closer. She was still laughing when she said, “If I told you why not, I may as well just tell you my last name.”

“So, you’re someone’s sister?”

“I might be.”

He paused so slightly that she might have imagined it before his eyes glimmered with a mischievousness Belle never wanted to be without. He said, “At least tell me if I’m going to get my ass kicked.”

“Oh, yeah,” Belle said as she nodded confidently, knowing that her face conveyed a challenge he was going to accept. “That’s basically a guarantee.”

Belle woke up the next morning thinking of Trevor and the way his thumb against her thigh had had her stomach flipping, remembering how close their faces had been. She’d dreamt about it. About more. About everything.

She woke up the morning after that feeling the same way, but with an added element of disappointment that she hadn’t seen Trevor at all the day before. She’d stayed clear of the actual All-Star games, as she’d been asked to, and sat in the stands by herself to watch as a fan—even if she was the most casual amongst them.

The day after the game, when Belle had expected everybody to clear out as early as possible to finally get in what they could of a vacation, she wandered into the hotel lobby to see two people drawing the attention of everybody else standing around—the woman in the pair’s white dress left only one conclusion. She stopped to get a better look at everybody around her, to see if she’d missed some gossip, but it looked like everybody had missed the gossip judging by the raised eyebrows.

Belle spotted Trevor amongst the chaos and, desperate for an explanation, beelined towards him—standing casually beside him for plausible deniability if required. He was smiling as she approached, and the gentle hand on the back of her elbow was fleeting. If anybody had seen that, or the tinge of pink that grew on the tops of her cheeks, that plausible deniability would be stripped. Luckily, everyone was distracted.

“The fuck is going on here?” she asked, having to raise her voice to make sure she was heard. “Are they getting married?”

“That’s my best friend!” Trevor shouted, bouncing up and down to get a better look over the crowd, “He didn’t say anything! I have no fucking clue what’s going on. I’ve gotta go—do you want to come?”

She thought about it hard, the energy was contagious, and the need to know what was going on was nearly enough to sway her. Except: “I promised I’d have lunch with my dad.”

Trevor’s face lit up, “Another bit of info to file away. I’m gonna work this out. Call me Sherlock Holmes.”

“Alright, Sherlock,” Belle said with a roll of her eyes, shoving Trevor in the direction everybody was moving in. “Go watch your friend get married.”

Belle took her time answering the door, expecting it to be her father stopping by to say goodnight after having to leave lunch earlier than anticipated. It was a little petty, but he’d left her at the table alone, so he could stand and wait at the door for a minute or two.

She peaked through the peephole first, just to delay a second longer; seeing Trevor on the other side made her increase the speed of her movements.

“You cannot be here!” she chastised, hauling him into the room by the arm and slamming it shut behind him. “Everyone knows what room I’m in. If someone sees you—”

“I’ve been thinking, and I think I’ve worked it out,” he said, unperturbed by her outburst. “If you were Isabella Tortorella that would be pretty funny.”

Belle dropped Trevor’s arm, shifting her gaze to his feet. She said, meekly, “I am. Isabella Tortorella.”

The ensuing silence was palpable, and Belle didn’t want to look up. It wasn’t usually a secret she kept—not usually something that made any difference to her life—but she’d heard the way her father spoke about Trevor both when he was being recorded and when he wasn’t and could only imagine that Trevor was well acquainted with it.

“Only I would get myself into this situation,” Trevor said, slowly. Cautiously.

Belle did look up, then, to see the wry smile that had formed in his face. She sighed, wondering if her fun had been ruined before she even had any.

“Nobody else has hit on me at all. No players, no handlers, no journalists—just you.”

“I’m probably the only one who hasn’t seen you with him.”

“Probably.”

A laugh bubbled out of Trevor’s throat, and Belle was caught up in the sound of it, caught up in the unashamed way he said, “I’m gonna get my ass kicked.”

She was halfway through a step towards him when another knock at the door had every muscle in her body locking up. She put her finger to her mouth, silently telling Trevor to keep quiet, and walked towards the closet.

She mouthed ‘get in’ as she slid the door open, and when Trevor didn’t immediately move Belle again grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards it. He protested, though managed to stay silent, and she did her best to make her eyes wide in an attempt to beg him to play along.

In a harsh whisper, she said, “If anyone finds out you’re here, we’re fucked.”

He conceded, not before he pressed a rushed kiss to her mouth and smirked when Belle leant in for another after the first ended too quickly. She slid the door closed on his smug expression.

Belle knew she was right to hide Trevor away when her father was standing in the hall on the other side of the door.

“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted tersely, still not impressed about being abandoned for a lunch she hadn’t organised.

John Tortorella wasn’t an intimidating man, not to Belle anyway, but he did have an undeniable presence to him that she recognised might give some that impression.

“I just wanted to come say goodnight and apologise again for leaving lunch.”

“There was a wedding I could have gone to,” Belle said, barely controlling her foot from stomping petulantly. “I know that this is a work weekend, Daddy, but you asked me here to spend time with me and aside from half an hour last night and the world’s shortest lunch I haven’t seen you at all.”

“I know, Bella, and I’m sorry. I bought you something to make it up to you.”

That wasn’t a surprise to Belle, and not just because she could see the Valentino box he was holding; she had a nice little collection of expensive things bought purely as apologies. Inside the Valentino box was a black locò small shoulder bag which he definitely hadn’t gone and bought himself, but the poor person he’d sent on an impromptu shopping trip had chosen very nicely.

“Thank you. It’s perfect,” she said, as sincere as she could manage. “I was just about to get ready for bed, though.”

“I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning. Promise.”

Belle nodded once, stepping out of the door to let it close on her father’s face. His promises were empty.

Throwing her gift onto the bed as she went and not even caring enough to watch it bounce out of its box, Belle slid open the closet door to see Trevor staring at her, waiting.

“Daddy?” His question came so quickly and with so much accusation that Belle rolled her eyes and turned her back on him.

“Lots of people call their fathers that,” she huffed at him as she sat down on the end of the bed with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re an adult, though.”

“I’ll call my father whatever I want to.”

Trevor pulled out a chair from the small dining table in the corner and set it down directly in front of Belle. He sat with his legs spread wide, his knees either side of hers. Belle had put her hands behind her and was starting to lean back onto the bed, only to be drawn back closer to Trevor when he rested his elbows on his knees.

“So, your dad is John Tortorella.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked. Even though her voice was not without challenge, she was dreading that the answer would be ‘yes’ even if she would fully understand.

“Not for me,” Trevor answered, easily, without pause. “Is it one for you?”

“He can never find out. I don’t really want to know what would happen if he did.”

Trevor’s eyebrow twitched upwards. “Your dad’s an asshole. Shoulda let him see me in here.”

“It would burn our entire relationship to the ground,” she scoffed. “I don’t ever get to see him, and you want me to parade you around when I finally do?”

“You don’t ever get to see him? Doesn’t he work out of LA?”

Belle averted her gaze. The last thing she wanted was for Trevor to see any of her insecurities, but counting to ten and breathing exercises were sure to give her away. She kept her eyes on the wall behind him, doing her best to keep her voice even when she said, “Sometimes. He’s not usually there long enough to see me.”

He shifted, his hands either side of her thighs, his thumbs brushing at the bare skin exposed by her skirt—the electricity shot through her entire body. He leant in, his weight shifting to his hands on the bed and Belle let her eyelids flutter shut.

“You sure you don’t want to burn that relationship to the ground, Bella?”

“Call me Belle. Please.”

His breath was warm against her lips. “I can do that, Belle.”

Getting Trevor’s phone number hadn’t really been part of the plan when he’d snuck out sometime in the late hours of their night together in Vegas, though Belle had ended up with it. She’d also ended up with a promise of a repeat performance as Trevor lingered in the door to her hotel room stealing kisses that Belle wasn’t doing much to withhold.

From the phone number came Snapchat. Belle warily accepted that one, having received far too many unsolicited dick pics to think very highly of the app. Trevor had behaved, to her surprise and delight, and the pictures he did send—even the ones no doubt intended as thirst traps—were always sure to brighten her day. She was slowly getting to know his teammates through the photos and videos, none of them looking particularly willing to have the camera in their faces but Trevor loudly announcing their names in an unnatural enough way that Belle knew it was purely for her benefit.

He was the first to suggest they ‘hang out’. Despite how well behaved he had been in the two weeks since the All-Star Game, the ‘u up?’ text had come across as entirely natural and expected. Belle knew long before she received it that she was never going to say no.

Hockey wasn’t, and never had been, a passion of Belle’s. She knew more about it than she cared to admit—both as a sport and as a business—despite having paid minimal attention to it after the age of ten. It was impossible to ignore with her dad being who he is and being incapable of leaving his work at the rink, but everything she’d learnt about hockey as a teenager had been against her will even if she’d retained it all.

Which is probably why it felt so weird to turn on her television and actively seek out a game.

The Ducks weren’t good—and Belle didn’t need to be actively following hockey to know that—but she was interested in seeing Trevor play a real game, not silly three-on-three All-Star games, so she pulled her drafting table and stool within line of sight of the television and went to work.

It wasn’t as productive an evening as she would have liked, but the pencil designs were easily fixable and not at all final, it was just annoying to be halfway through a skirt idea and lose it because the television distracted her for five minutes whenever Trevor’s name was mentioned. Which was a lot. Belle wasn’t sure anybody else was even on the ice for the Ducks. Though, perhaps she just didn’t recognise the other players enough to remember if they were talked about. Perhaps she just didn’t care enough about them.

There was one name she knew as someone who had played for her father rather recently. Her father didn’t particularly like him, either. The feeling was almost definitely mutual.

By the end of the game, Belle had more than a couple rough designs and a plan for a few summer dresses—if she started early enough, they might actually be done come June.

The end result was frankly depressing, and Belle packed up her drafting table to the sound of her father’s post-game analysis.

Belle didn’t find out about Trevor’s birthday until one week before when she got a Snapchat around midnight Sunday—meaning it was nearing 2am in New York—of Trevor wearing a party hat. It was immediately followed by a video of someone forcing a party blower into his mouth and demanding he make it make the noise while someone (or some people) cackled in the background. There was an accompanying high-pitched giggle behind the camera which Belle would never admit to playing over and over.

No response or further Snaps were sent until the next morning when a far too hungover Trevor called her from his hotel bed to let her know he was alive, and that he was celebrating turning 21 with his best friend Jack—and their respective teammates Jamie & Ty. The high-pitched giggle belonged to Jack’s girlfriend. Belle was happy that information came without prompting.

She had coaxed out of him—and it had taken more effort than she’d expected—for him to tell her that the team were going out after their game the day after his birthday. It would be a Monday night, and she had an early class on Tuesdays, but she batted her eyelashes on the FaceTime call and asked if he’d be bothered by her conveniently being at the same club.

“I want you there,” he admitted, mumbling into his pillow. “But you wouldn’t be there for me.”

“I can just be the girl you find and hook up with. Nobody will even know who I am.”

Trevor had, at that, buried his face further into his pillow. Belle waited him out, wrapping her free arm around her body and trying not to let the uncomfortable silence consume her.

After what felt like an age without him responding or even moving, she slowly said, “I don’t have to. We can celebrate your birthday another time.”

“No, no,” Trevor said, and Belle watched his brain come back online. “You aren’t worried about being recognised?”

“Most guys in the league who would know me haven’t seen me since I was a pre-teen, dude.”

“Sonny played for your dad in Columbus like two years ago.”

Belle rolled her eyes. Sonny was the name she’d recognised when watching games. She knew there would come a point, if she continued whatever she was doing with Trevor, that Sonny might become an obstacle. She didn’t anticipate it being a very large obstacle.

“Then we don’t let me be seen by Sonny. Easy.”

And, as a result of that conversation, Belle was getting dressed up on a Monday night and convincing her longest standing college friend, Karla, to join her. Karla didn’t take much convincing—she was typically the one dragging Belle around LA, after all—and Belle would have felt worse about having her exit pre-planned if Karla hadn’t also decided to spread word that they were going out clubbing. If Belle was lucky enough, they’d be on their way to the next venue before they even realised she was missing.

Wearing the shortest dress she’d ever had the courage to whip up and the highest heels in her closet, Belle’s legs were on show to the fullest extent. Any of the—admittedly minimal—insecurities she harboured had disappeared with the pre-game and the stress-free entry into the club that came with no longer needing her sister’s ID.

Karla held her hand as they immediately made their way to get drinks, trying not to get separated in the already incredibly busy crowd. Belle let herself be pulled through people as they weaved, her attention on the VIP booths she knew Trevor would be at. There was no way she was going to walk directly up to them and announce her presence—not with the risk of being recognised—so Trevor would have to find her.

“There are some big guys here,” Karla shouted into Belle’s ear when they had stopped. “You always pick the best nights to go out.”

When she finally had a drink in her hand, the ice cooling her otherwise sticky palms, Belle again let herself be pulled around to a high table someone had managed to secure. There was enough happening around her to prevent her thoughts from getting obsessive; the girls she was with were all creating game plans based around guys they saw, only for the plans to change when the next guy walked past. It was easy enough for Belle to play along without letting on that her plans were set in stone, not when there was an endless parade of good-looking guys who had clocked that they were being checked out and kept walking back and forth.

At least one of them had to be a teammate of Trevor’s, just going on the size of them. If she wasn’t specifically waiting for Trevor, they all would have caught her attention just as much as they had her friends’. There were a few unconscious adjustments of her cleavage, regardless. Complete with ego boost when she noticed that they were looking.

Belle dragged Karla to the bar again for the next round of drinks, and very much wished she’d gone alone when she finally spotted Trevor. He wasn’t close enough to get his attention without drawing the attention of the rest of the club, so Belle did her best to direct Karla to the end of the bar closest to him.

Karla was saying something in Belle’s ear, but she could only hear every third word. She nodded along, hoping that it was the right response, and sneakily manoeuvred her way through a crowd of people lining up for drinks until they were the next in line to order. The timing was perfect.

Belle had looked back over towards Trevor, just as he was glancing around the bar. Their eyes met and his whole face lit up in such a way that the friend he was with immediately looked at Belle, too. She just smiled back at both of them and tracked Trevor’s movements while he was getting the bartender’s attention and pointing towards her and Karla.

Karla was oblivious to it all, ordering their drinks when they were being pushed against the bar’s edge by some impatient people behind them, until Trevor’s bartender put down two shot glasses in front of them.

“A shot of whatever you ladies would like from that guy over there,” he said, pointing at Trevor—and Trevor’s friend who was bemused but no less interested.

“Belvedere,” Karla said without a moment of hesitation. Belle rolled her eyes but nodded when the bartender prompted her for an answer.

It was the smoothest shot she’d ever done and came with a small worry that she’d never be able to stomach a bottom shelf shot again. Trevor didn’t stop watching the entire time.

With the shot done, their original vodka soda orders in hand, Karla was clearly heading back to the others. Belle wrapped a hand around her wrist, tugging her gently so that she could shout in her ear, “I’m gonna go talk to them. Do you wanna?”

“One drink? You are not that easy.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Whatever. I’m not,” Karla said as if it wouldn’t take more than thirty more minutes to have her sitting in someone’s lap. “I’m watching from across the bar. Be safe.”

It must have been on purpose that Trevor’s friend was gone by the time Belle reached him. She was thankful that she didn’t have to pretend to introduce herself, and even more thankful that his arm could settle around her waist as he easily pulled her flush against him.

“You always drink top shelf?”

“Only when we can get some poor sucker to pay for us.”

He smiled—not a smirk, but something between self-effacing and amused—and Belle felt herself leaning towards him before she really knew what she was doing. To her friends, she no doubt looked easy as she melted into his mouth, all space disappearing from between their bodies.

“You good to get out of here?”

“I don’t want to cut your birthday short,” Belle said, her mouth still pressed to his. She added, though it was a struggle, “I can go back to my friends.”

Trevor’s hand met hers, their fingers entwining as if it were second nature. He told her, “I don’t want to go back to mine.”

They didn’t even get close to his friends as they were leaving, just a simple look in their direction across the crowded bar, and Trevor was guiding Belle out the doors and past the bouncer.

“Your friend is hot, by the way,” Belle said as she was pressed up against him, fighting off the cool breeze by tucking herself against Trevor’s front, her hands wrapped around him and in the back pockets of his jeans.

Trevor laughed, “Yeah, he does alright.”

It wasn’t the first time that Belle had been at Alex and Quinton’s place—which was quickly becoming Alex, Quinton and Rio’s place—and it looked like every college dorm or frat house she’d ever set foot in. It never looked any different between visits, even with Rio doing her best to make it feel like less of a biohazard.

Belle had met Rio in her first ever class at UC Irvine, nearly four years prior, and while Rio hadn’t finished her first semester of college they had remained close friends. The introduction of Alex Turcotte into Rio’s life had been a welcome change to their friendship. Alex playing hockey in the LA Kings organisation had put Belle on edge at first, and the few warnings sent Rio’s way about hockey players were ignored for the better.

Rio ushered Belle inside, talking over the raucous being created by the boys in the next room. Before they could go in and Belle could greet them, Rio pulled her aside and into the tucked away kitchen.

“One of Alex’s friends is here, he’s single,” Rio said, her eyes lighting up. “He plays hockey, too.”

“Does he know people who don’t?” Belle asked, running through every other time she’d been anywhere with Alex and his friends.

“I mean…” Rio paused to think. “Not in California? Not really, anyway. Most of his friends are his teammates.”

Belle hummed and nodded, unsurprised. As little time as she’d spent growing up in hockey herself, she’d been around it and hadn’t failed to notice that it was insular. She knew enough to understand that it may have been different at a younger age, but once they reached the NHL there wasn’t a lot of branching out. It seemed there was even less branching out if they had spent any time at all in the USNTDP.

She was even less surprised by Rio trying to set her up with one of Alex’s friends. Again.

With a conniving smile, Rio took Belle’s hand and pulled her from the kitchen into the living room where Alex was playing a video game with his friend.

His friend, Trevor.

Trevor looked back at Belle and Rio for just a second before he turned back to the screen. Belle may have imagined hearing the snapping of his vertebrae when he realised who she was and looked at her again. Rio nudged Belle with her hip. Belle pursed her lips and shook her head at Rio. Rio didn’t need any ammunition.

The boys continued to play their game, Belle only able to identify the rapid sound of gunfire coming from the speakers, and she dragged Rio back into the kitchen away from the noise. She let Rio fill her in on the life of an AHL WAG, as she did every time they caught up, before the conversation moved onto Belle. It was harder with Trevor in the next room to be vague about the guy she’d been sleeping with. Normally she was very forthcoming with any and all information that Rio wanted about any of her hookups whether short or long-term, but knowing that there was every possibility that something might give her away or that Trevor might walk in and hear had Belle keeping her mouth shut—it made any conversations about Vegas difficult when Rio had been expecting tales of a debauchery filled weekend only for Belle to brandish the handbag she’d been bought as a platitude as the most exciting thing that had happened that weekend.

“Please,” Rio scoffed. “Your dad buying your love is so far from news. If you’d come back without something, then I’d be surprised.”

“Fine, I guess you don’t want it?” Belle asked, challenging Rio with a raised eyebrow. Rio challenged Belle, direct eye contact being made only moments before her eyes flicked back to the Valentino bag. Her resolve immediately crumbled.

“For real? You’re really gonna give it to me?”

“I don’t need any more bags. He doesn’t even know what this looks like,” Belle said, emptying the few things she had been carrying onto the table. “Merry Easter or whatever.”

Belle collected the items she’d emptied and pushed them into a neat pile at the edge of the already crowded table—her sunglasses, phone and a ChapStick that was definitely going to be absorbed into the mess—whilst Rio inspected the bag in awe. It was then that the boys walked in, Alex rolling his eyes at the sight.

“Don’t be jealous, Alex, we all know I’m her real Sugar Daddy.”

“How am I meant to surprise her with anything when she gets it all from Torts?” he complained, standing behind Rio’s chair to peek over her shoulder. “Trevor, this is Belle. Belle is John Tortorella’s daughter. It’s freaky.”

“My biggest fan. Say hi for me.”

Belle, unsure of how to act like she didn’t already know who she was, just nodded at him with what she hoped was a confused expression on her face. He sat down in the seat beside her, stretching out much more than was necessary, and Alex sat down in the seat closest to Rio—closest meaning that he pulled the seat so that it was basically touching hers. Trevor’s hand dropped under the table as he leaned forward casually, finding Belle’s thigh with ease and splaying his hand across it.

They ordered from Uber Eats, the boys deciding something that would fit loosely within their meal plans, and Belle tried the entire time to carry on their conversation as if Trevor’s hand wasn’t gradually moving further and further up her thigh. The only thing that was saving them from being caught was Rio being enamoured by Alex and Alex being generally oblivious to everything that ever happened around him.

After they’d eaten, they headed out into the backyard to swim. The weather had been growing sunny and warm for the last week and Belle never needed to be asked twice to get into a swimming pool. She pulled her dress over her head without a care as she walked through the sliding doors and kicked her Birkenstocks off to the side as she picked up pace and ran straight for the water.

When she emerged from the water, she saw Trevor standing near the door, bemused, with her dress in his hands. Rio and Alex were less confused only because they’d seen her do the same before. Many times.

“Come on in!” she shouted to all of them. “The water’s fucking freezing!”

The others were slow to enter the water, even the boys taking their time to acclimatise.

“You’re mad at me for buying Rio nice things but you’re too cheap to even heat your pool,” Belle said to Alex as she watched him timidly stand on the steps of the pool.

“I make AHL money,” Alex countered, somewhat aggressively. It may have been because his masculinity was being challenged, but it was equally as possible it was because the water was not very welcoming. “I cannot afford to heat a fucking swimming pool through winter.”

“Get your best bud, Trevor, to help you out. He’s making NHL money, right?”

Trevor grinned. “I knew you know who I am.”

“Mr Michigan,” she said snidely. “Turned my father into a fucking meme.”

“He did that himself—I just scored a goal, babe.”

Belle swam closer to Trevor where he was still standing on a ledge, only knee deep in the water, and let him get caught up in her really, willingly, being in his space for the first time that day. It was enough of a distraction that she was able to take him by the wrist and pull him into the water.

He surfaced after a momentary scramble, spluttering only briefly before realising that he and Belle were inches apart. She tracked his eyes as they darted to her mouth. Belle looked at him and felt an invisible tug drawing her closer to him.

“I might start paying to heat this thing over winter,” Alex said to Rio, oblivious to the sudden splashing caused by Trevor putting a hefty amount of distance between himself and Belle.

When Belle looked back to Alex and Rio, she immediately redirected her attention to avoid the twinkle of delight in Rio’s eyes.

Keeping distance between herself and Trevor became Belle’s main goal for the rest of the afternoon. It had to be done in a way that wasn’t so obvious Rio would notice—and she was noticing everything—and in a way that didn’t have Trevor pouring unconsciously. Belle wasn’t sure she managed to prevent either, and, by the time they finally pulled themselves out of the water, Rio was actively making sure she and Trevor were left alone together. Maybe she was just taking Alex into the shower so they could be alone together. Belle couldn’t be certain.

When they were officially alone—the water rattling through the house's old pipes assuring them of that—Trevor crowded into Belle’s space, his hands on her hips and the cool, wet skin of their stomachs pressed against each other.

“You didn’t want to tell me you were friends with my buddy’s girlfriend?”

“You didn’t want to tell me you were buddies with my friend’s boyfriend?” she countered. “How the fuck am I supposed to know who you’re friends with? You aren’t on the same team. You should hate each other.”

“Babe, I don’t hate anyone. Free love and all that.”

Belle rolled her eyes, ducking the kiss he was about to press between her eyes to wrap a towel around herself. Trevor was visibly disappointed.

“They’re trying to set us up because I once asked her if she could set me up with Quinton.” She started to dry off, every movement of the towel over her body drawing Trevor’s attention from where it had been seconds earlier.

Trevor’s staring didn’t cease, even as he said, in utter disbelief, “He’s Canadian.”

“Oh no,” Belle deadpanned. “The horror.”

Trevor made no moves to dry himself, but he did pull Belle into him and half used her towel to do so. Belle was happy to let it happen as long as she could hear the pipes.

“Why am I here and he isn’t?”

“He’s got a girlfriend. Apparently, my interest in guys is transferable.”

“I mean, it is. You’re already sleeping with me.”

There was nothing she could do but roll her eyes, the arrogance he was exuding was more of a turn on than she wanted it to be.

She struggled to pull her dress over her head, the towel not having removed the final dampness from her skin, but Trevor came to the rescue and once again crowded into her space. His fingers lingered against her ribcage, and he tilted his head down to stare at her with a longing she didn’t want to disappear.

“Come over,” he said, his voice low.

Belle sighed, breaking eye contact solely to stop herself from letting him have his way with her in her best friend’s kitchen, and said, “I’ve got class in the morning.”

“I’ve got skate,” he told her, his lingering fingers leaving her skin to pull her dress down her body. “I’ll drive you to class and pick you up after.”

She met his eyes again, nodded with the smallest smile on her face and, in an instant, Trevor was stepping back and running around the house grabbing as many of his belongings as he could remember.

They didn’t bother to wait for Rio and Alex to resurface from their shower. Trevor was shameless in yelling that he and Belle were leaving and that there was “no need to stop fucking for our sake”.

It was far easier for Belle to follow Trevor out of the street without anyone to take note of her driving the opposite way she was meant to.

Belle stared down at her phone, the Torts (Dad – Emergency) ID sending chills down her spine. In any normal situation, Belle had no issues getting texts from her dad; it was just different when her head was resting in Trevor’s lap, ignoring that he was getting harder and harder by the second so that they could finish another episode of Succession. Trevor’s hand stilled where it had been massaging her scalp, and she knew he’d seen the name.

At least he hadn’t called her, she supposed.

“What does he want?” Trevor asked.

Belle opened the text, sighing when she said, “His travel agent is about to call me. My mom’s birthday is soon.”

“You can’t call the agent on your own time?”

“He knows I won’t,” she admitted. It wasn’t one of her favourite things about herself, but leaving California during the school year hadn’t been something she was known to do since she moved for college. At least not without it being organised for her.

She sat up and paused the show. The travel agent wasted no time in calling—she was probably on the phone to Belle’s dad when he sent the text, and Belle did her best to sound unbothered by the interruption.

Pleasantries were exchanged, though they were kept brief, before the travel agent launched into the beginning of her plan, “The eleventh is a Monday this year, which I know isn’t great for classes—”

“Yeah,” Belle interjected, “it’s nearly Finals.”

“—but I think if you fly out Friday night or Saturday morning and leave first thing Tuesday morning you would only have to miss one day.”

Belle rolled her eyes at how rehearsed it sounded; it was entirely plausible that this was her dad’s plan, and he’d sent someone else to be the messenger.

“Can I just mute for a sec and work out what I’ll have to miss?”

“Take your time.”

Belle muted her phone and looked to Trevor expectantly. He raised an eyebrow as unfortunately he had not yet learnt to read her mind. She asked, “Do you know your schedule?”

“Not past the end of this week, why?”

“Does the captain send out a group text every Sunday?” she asked as she started her search for the Ducks’ schedule. Trevor leaned over her to see her screen, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“Not the captain, but, yeah, we get messages. Also, when we need to know about road trips.”

“Looks like you’ve got an East Coast trip they haven’t warned you about yet.”

“Oh, no they did tell me that, sorry. I didn’t realise it was soon.” His apology was followed by him muttering the order of the games, Philly, Carolina, Florida, Tampa.

Belle let him mumble, though she stood up to walk around the room as she flicked between the schedule and her calendar to see what it would look like for her to be gone while Trevor was.

“Who’s your captain?” she asked, mostly to stop Trevor from trying to commit the road trip to memory with his repetitive mumbling.

“Ryan Getzlaf.”

“Oh!” Belle squeaked, pleasantly surprised to hear a name she knew. “He’s been around for ages. He won silver at Worlds in 2008. Second in points for the tournament.”

“How do you know that?” He leant forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I thought you didn’t care about hockey.”

“I was like seven,” she said with a shrug. “I loved my dad and wanted him to love me, and I thought the way to do that was to memorise stats from Worlds that year.”

“You knowing that is way hotter than you think it is.”

“I’ll tell you all the stats you could ever want to know about it, just let me finish this.”

Belle unmuted the call, turning her back on Trevor just to get through the conversation, and confirmed that the dates she suggested were perfect, that leaving the Friday night was her preference, and hung up after barely saying goodbye when Trevor decided to press himself against her back.

“Are you really turned on by me knowing hockey stats?” Her question was not without a laugh—a laugh that turned breathy when he pressed his lips to her neck. “Babe, you have no idea.”

Belle enjoyed that the Ducks seemingly cared enough about the sleep health of their players that they shelled out for good mattresses in the furnished apartments they organised. It certainly made waking up easy, even if it made getting out of bed hard.

Trevor was nowhere to be seen when she woke, the apartment quiet and peaceful. He was likely sitting at his breakfast bar, scrolling through his phone, but there was the possibility that he’d gone to the gym. She wasn’t quite used to being left alone in his apartment, even though he did it every other time she was over, but it was what it was.

She reached towards the bedside table for her phone—another win for the Ducks, because he for sure wouldn’t have a bedside table otherwise—and then, when her phone wasn’t there, pushed her hands underneath her pillow. When she didn’t feel her phone, she groaned and pulled herself out of bed to rummage through the pockets of her jeans. Then underneath all the clothes they’d left on the floor. Then she pulled the duvet off the bed and threw the pillows onto their clothes.

Glaring at the mess of sheets and the chaotic array of clothing on the floor wasn’t solving Belle’s problem, so she had to admit defeat. She opened Trevor’s drawers and pulled out the first shirt she saw that didn’t immediately appear to have a graphic of some description plastered across it and then cringed as she picked up her panties when the shirt didn’t extend as far down her thighs as she wanted.

It turned out to be a good thing that the shirt hadn’t been quite so oversized to not wear panties when she walked down the hall towards the kitchen and, instead of finding Trevor at the breakfast bar, she found Trevor and a friend sitting on the couch.

Belle stopped in her tracks, staring straight at Trevor, and pointedly not looking at the guy he was sitting with. The guy looked vaguely familiar in a way that all hockey players did.

“I—uh,” Trevor stuttered. “I texted you. To tell you.”

“I couldn’t find my phone. Was hoping you could call it.”

Trevor nodded, pulling out his phone. Belle didn’t move when she heard the very faint ringing of her phone in the bedroom. Her eyes darted to the other person sitting on Trevor’s couch and back to him.

“This is Jamie. Jim. Jameson. Teammate. Best friend. J, this is Belle. Isabella.” Trevor’s face froze for a moment before he said, rather hopelessly, “Belle,” instead of any sort of descriptor.

“I have heard a lot about you,” Belle directed at Jamie, friendly as she could be.

“I’ve heard nothing about you,” he said, entirely unashamed and utterly bemused, “but I think that mighta been on purpose.”

“Yeah, as intended,” Belle confirmed. “The real secret is that I’m John Tortorella’s daughter, so… If you could also keep a lid on it, I’d owe you one.”

Jamie blinked once at Belle, then turned to Trevor. “Do you go out of your way to make your life hard?”

Trevor glanced at Belle out of the corner of his eye before he shrugged at Jamie and said, “Life’s not that hard, bro.”

It lingered in the air, Trevor’s pride, Jamie’s bewilderment, and Belle’s slight annoyance at their secret getting out. She stretched out the early morning tightness in her back, the movement causing the shirt to ride up and draw the eyes of both boys; Jamie’s snapped immediately back up to her face, where Trevor’s lingered long enough that Belle felt her cheeks go red.

“We were gonna get breakfast,” Trevor said, breaking the silence. “Wanna come?”

She shook her head, “I’ve got class. Can you drop me at home on your way?”

“Course. Jimmy’s driving.”

“Sure,” Belle nodded. Whoever was driving, it made no difference to her. “Call my phone?”

Her phone was hidden underneath the bed, so far underneath it that Belle just laid flat on her stomach, staring at it with her arm outstretched, trying to work out when exactly it would have gotten there. She heard Trevor walk back into his bedroom, and felt his hand tap her ass cheek. He was smirking when she emerged from under the bed; they’d be right back on it if she wasn’t going to be late for class.

Jamie drove an old Nissan Altima—and Belle only knew that because her sister had driven the same thing and been kind enough to let Belle learn in it. It wasn’t quite the car Belle expected an NHL player to be driving, and she wondered if that was Jamie quirk or if the league was doing better about teaching the young guys to be sensible with their ELCs. Trevor’s brand-new Wrangler did point to it being the former.

“Are you the girl Z met on his birthday?” Jamie asked. She knew for a fact that he wasn’t the friend Trevor was sitting with at the bar because that friend was approximately a thousand feet tall and didn’t have a contrasting complexion.

“We met at the All-Star Game,” Belle corrected. “But, yeah, I’m the girl from his birthday.”

Belle didn’t see Jamie’s arm stretch out before she heard the thump of his hand against Trevor’s chest and the accompanying yelp out of Trevor’s mouth. Jamie said, “I finally get why you didn’t say a fucking thing about Vegas.”

“I told you about the game,” Trevor argued, “that Machine Gun Kelly was there, and about Jack’s wedding.”

“Yeah,” Jamie snorted, the incredulity in his voice causing Belle to snigger, “and not a single fucking word in there about wheeling any chicks.”

“I was not wheeled,” Belle said, disgusted, cutting over Trevor’s weak rebuttal. “I wheeled Z.”

“I’d believe it, yeah.”

Belle, letting a real laugh bubble out of her chest, held a closed fist in between the front seats and nudged Jamie with it to get his attention. “Dirty fuckin’ dangles, boys.”

Trevor protested loudly, flailing an arm out to swat Jamie’s hand as he fist-bumped Belle. He missed in his frustration.

As they pulled up outside of Belle’s apartment building, Trevor opened his door and got out of the car. Belle furrowed her brow, more of face contorting when he let the door fall shut behind him and he waited for her to get out, too. Jamie didn’t appear at all confused by the scenario, just started clicking next on every song that came up on his playlist.

“You gonna walk me to my door, or…?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not without some tightness in his voice. “I know you didn’t want anyone to know.”

His actions clicked into place. Belle scoffed, wrapped the arm not carrying her bag around his neck and pressed their lips together.

“It's fine,” she assured him, even if she wasn’t totally sure of it herself. “Jamie’s cool, right?”

“Course. The coolest.”

“Then we’re cool, Trevor.”

His shoulders loosened underneath Belle’s arm, and he leant down to kiss her again. There was a moment where it was verging on deepening, on Belle pulling him up the stairs and into her apartment, but it was fleeting as Jamie’s palm landed on the car horn.

Belle, after fighting with her slightly dodgy lock as per normal, pushed open the heavy front door and stood in its way so that it wouldn’t shut on Trevor and all of the food she’d so kindly let him carry up from the car. He turned to her after she’d let the door shut, silently asking for where exactly he was meant to put everything down and Belle cringed as she looked between her dining table and kitchen counter and the distinct lack of space on both of them.

“We may have to eat outside,” she said sheepishly, bundling Trevor to her small balcony so that he could put down their food.

She disappeared back into the house, re-appearing with some spray and paper towel to clean off the dust from the table and the chairs.

A little out of breath after running the cleaning products back inside, she apologised as she sat down, “I promise it’s not usually that bad I’ve just got like three projects going right now and nothing else has a home. I’m untidy, but it’s not a biohazard. I swear.”

“Babe,” Trevor mumbled through a mouthful of fries, “You’ve seen my place; there’s probably at least three biohazards in there.”

That would be true if he didn’t have a cleaner come through once a week, but Belle appreciated the sentiment, nonetheless.

She kicked her feet up under the table, rested them in Trevor’s lap, and watched in amazement at the frankly inhuman speed he ate a larger order of In-N-Out than she’d ever seen anyone order before. They were empty calories, too, so she knew he’d be rooting through her fridge for something to eat later—the mental checklist of her fridge happened quickly, she wasn’t sure there was much in there, but they would make do.

“You said before that you’ve got three projects going on—I know you said you sew stuff, but I thought it was just like… fixing stuff.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I can do that no problem,” Belle said, quickly swallowing what was left of her burger and pushing the remainder of her fries towards Trevor who took them without a second thought. “At the moment I’m making a sundress and then a dress each for me and my friend for graduation.”

Trevor perked up, “Can I see?”

“They’re just dresses,” she shrugged. “They’re not that impressive.”

“Bullshit. Show me, I wanna see.”

His enthusiasm was, as always, contagious, and Belle agreed to show him what she’d made. It was no longer impressive to her that she made her own clothes—or at the very least, tailored anything she might have bought—because she’d been using a sewing machine since the age of thirteen when her Nonna had given up on teaching Belle’s older sister, Nicola.

Trevor was made to wash his hands before he got close to her overcrowded dining table, just as Belle did herself, because there was no risking any grubby fingers touching the carefully selected fabric. The sundress wasn’t a big deal; it was the graduation dresses that she didn’t want to risk having to start over.

“These are the bodices for my friend’s dress—the top bit,” she clarified, gesturing to her torso. “I’m at the point where Karla needs to come over and I need to pin everything while she’s wearing it, so I know it’s perfect. That probably needs to happen soon.”

“And yours is there?” he asked, pointing to Belinda, her dress form.

“Yeah. Mine will be a bit easier because she’s made to my exact measurements. I just can’t ever gain or lose any weight until the end of time.”

So fast that Belle didn’t see it coming, Trevor’s hands were on her hips, and she was being spun so that her back was pressed firmly against her chest.

He said, into her ear in a low, husky voice, “Good thing you’re already a fucking rocket.”

The season had ended—early and poorly for the Ducks—and Trevor had disappeared off to New York. It wasn’t a surprise that he’d done so, and Belle hadn’t expected him to stay behind just for her. Especially when her parents and sister had flown into Los Angeles for a few days.

She also hadn’t expected Trevor to be on the phone with her from the minute she finished showering to the second she walked out her front door. She knew that at least a small part of him wanted to be there to watch her graduate, it just wasn’t feasible. So, instead, he’d kept her calm as she dressed and did her make up, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he got to see the final dress she’d crafted from scratch.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re hot?”

“Just this one guy,” she said, quickly and mindlessly, mostly focused on her reflection where she was trying to get her dress to sit right. “It’s getting a bit weird.”

After silence hung in there, Belle turned her attention back to her phone to see if the call had disconnected, just in time for Trevor to ask sheepishly, “You’re talking about me, yeah?”

She grinned, “Yes, babe. I have to go; I’m already kinda late. I’ll call you later. I might be drunk.”

“You better be wasted when you call.”

“I will be!” she exclaimed, blowing kisses through the phone as she pressed the red X multiple times whilst also trying to wrestle open her front door and push the phone into her purse.

She ran down the stairs of her building, chunky heels saving her from toppling as she had no hands free to grab hold of the railing. Her graduation cap was nearly blown away in the wind, and the garment bag holding the robe was close to getting tangled around her legs—that was typically not of note, except that her mother and sister were standing at their rental car looking exasperated.

“Are you trying to trip and break your nose this morning?” her mother sighed, taking the garment bag and placing it into the trunk.

Belle ignored her, distracted by her sister grabbing onto her, complimenting her dress and being kind enough not to hug her and crease it.

“You’ve really outdone yourself with this one, Bella,” Nicola said, standing back to take in Belle’s creation.

Belle curtsied, dramatic and lavish, delighting in Nicola’s applause.

It hadn’t escaped her that her father was still sitting in the car, and she could hear him talking on the phone gruffly and with rising volume, but she let Nicola keep complimenting her so that she couldn’t dwell on it for longer than a few seconds.

She was hurried into the car by her mum so that she could drive rather recklessly to campus so that they would only be a little bit late for the time Belle was told to arrive. They arrived just as her father was ending his phone call, and there was just enough time for a hug and a compliment about graduating before Belle was running off.

A BA in Business Economics from UC Irvine wasn’t as prestigious as Nicola's BA in Psychology from Princeton—and was even more undermined by Nicola’s dedication to a PhD—but a boring office job in economics of any type was far from Belle’s goal. It was a means to an end if she wanted to be able to live off her own designs and creations.

In the scheme of things, a surname beginning with T wasn’t the greatest thing for a Graduation ceremony, but she did get to sit beside Karla. Their complementary dresses were hidden by their robes whilst sitting down, but it was evident as they walked across the stage—Karla first, then Belle—it was a nice extra flourish on an early important moment.

The best flourish, the true capstone moment of the day, was the text waiting for her when she was finally back to her phone. Trevor had pulled up the livestream on the television in his family phone and apparently gotten his family around to watch for her—someone they had never met.

Belle truly had no expectations that Trevor would actually show up at La Guardia to pick her up; had been waiting for a text to come the entire flight with an apology for not being able to make it.

It never came, though, and Trevor was standing at baggage claim with his hands low in his pockets. Belle spotted him first; he wasn’t looking at anything in particular, seemingly just staring into nothingness and ignoring the buzz around him. It meant that she was looking at him when he noticed her, his eyes lighting up and a smile taking over his face. Hers did the same on a less grandiose scale, and her chest lightened with the final confirmation that he hadn’t left her to fend for herself.

She wheeled her carry-on to him, letting it drift away as she reached him and wrapped her arms around his waist, his arms over her shoulders, and buried her face into his neck.

“You got a haircut,” she said solemnly as her fingers reached up to play with the hair on the back of his neck—or the hair that used to be there.

“I told you I was.”

“I know,” she moaned petulantly.

She stepped away with a sigh when the conveyor belt started to move and then swayed into him until he tucked her under his arm.

It was disgustingly domestic and not something Belle could say she was used to, or that she was totally ready for or comfortable with, but it would hurt to take away from the moment if she dwelled on it.

Having Trevor pick her up and drive her to Bedford was for the best, as it meant that she wasn’t able to dwell on the fact that she was about to meet his family—she’d done enough of that on the plane. She wasn’t going to ask out loud if Trevor thought his parents would like her even if the thought had lingered through her head for hours. Days.

She let herself get lost in the urban landscape of The Bronx, rolling her eyes when she realised that Trevor had taken them slightly out of the way just so he could excitedly point out Yankee Stadium to her.

“I was born here,” she said pointedly. “We moved to Tampa not long after, so claiming that doesn’t feel super right, but we came back for a few years and lived in Manhattan.”

“You’re a Yankees fan?” Trevor asked, taking his eyes off the road with a dramatic head turn.

Belle pointed back to the road and rolled her eyes, “No. Devil Rays, baby.” She threw up some devil horns just to make Trevor laugh but it did not elicit that reaction she expected.

“No.”

“‘No’? What do you mean ‘No’?”

“You grew up in New York!” he exclaimed, as if she hadn’t just told him about that. “You can’t grow up in New York and not be a Yankees fan.”

“Mets fans across the city just felt the sudden urge to commit murder,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I grew up in Tampa. I was like eight when I moved to New York, my allegiances were made. If it was going to be any other team, it’d be the Red Sox because of my dad.”

A full body shiver seemed to overtake Trevor’s body, and Belle laughed at the dramatics. She took the opportunity to go on a slight rant about how seriously men took sports that Trevor was unable to make a good argument against.

It was over by the time they'd left the city, not even really real to begin with, but it all seemed inconsequential as the city gave way to the suburbs. None of it was shocking—it’s not like they were in the middle of nowhere—but it was different to Los Angeles, and it wasn’t something that Belle usually mentioned even when heading to see her parents’ in Connecticut. Was nothing like what she had gotten used to seeing in Columbus.

“You got the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, American Dream childhood,” she said, not even noticing that she’d said it out loud until Trevor glanced at her briefly and made a confused noise.

“Huh? So did you.”

“In Tampa and Manhattan? No. And Columbus is a shithole,” she said, unapologetically. “I guess the one year in Vancouver was the closest I ever got, but my dad wasn’t around. He was on the road. Or at an arena somewhere. Your parents gave a shit.”

“I mean… I guess? That’s not my fault, though.”

“I’m not—I’m not mad. I knew, like, somewhere in my brain. You’re a white hockey player from New York, who got shipped off interstate to play hockey before you graduated high school.”

“Your dad has coached multiple NHL teams. You came from more money than I did.”

“Oh, no, that’s… actually not what I meant. Just that, like, both your parents put a lot of effort into getting you here.”

“Your parents love you,” he said softly. Belle knew it was just a generic something to say in that part of the conversation, and she would have expected it from anyone.

She sighed, and shrugged, before saying with a feigned laissez-faire attitude, “no, I know. I’m just realising that it’s in a different way to yours loving you.”

Trevor’s hand came to rest on her knee, a light squeeze to let her know that he didn’t know what to say but that he was there.

The rest of the drive was mostly quiet aside from the music Trevor had playing. Belle was horrible company in that moment, and she knew it, but it was combining with the heaviness in her stomach at the knowledge that his parents weren’t too far away.

Trevor provided no peptalk in the car when they pulled up to a nice two-storey house—distinctly lacking traditional picket fence—and Belle didn’t have time to decipher if that made her feel better or worse, because he was opening her car door and gesturing for her to go towards the house even as he was heading back to the trunk to grab her cases. The multiple cases. She knew when she was packing that she would be going straight from Bedford to her parents’ place in Connecticut; she hoped his parents knew that. It looked like she was about to move in.

She needn’t have worried, though, because his parents were waiting for them, opening the front door before they could even reach it, and she was being embraced by hugs and kisses and welcomed inside for something to eat.

“We are so excited to have you,” Julie assured her, likely noticing Belle’s hesitation. “Trevor hasn’t stopped talking about you since he got here.”

“Mom.”

“Now, not to have this talk right away but if we can get it done we don’t have to have it again—you are welcome to stay with Trevor in his room. We’re not stupid, we know what young adults get up to—”

“Oh my god.”

Julie powered on through Trevor’s protests, “—but we aren’t ready for grandchildren just yet and would prefer not to be woken up by the practice of any being made.”

“Just fucking kill me now,” Trevor all but shouted, taking Belle’s hand and pulled her directly up the stairs and away from his parents.

Belle didn’t truly comprehend what had happened until they were alone again, and she couldn’t keep her mouth from hanging open.

“Ignore her,” Trevor stressed. “Two seconds that took. Two seconds for her to be the most embarrassing mom ever.”

They didn’t spend much time with his parents while Belle was in Bedford, which made sense in that Trevor was twenty-one years old and probably didn’t want to spend the entire day with his parents—though he had been particularly lenient in letting his younger sister, Ava, crash most of their days. Julie and Gary were always sitting in the living room when Trevor and Belle got in, though, even on the nights when they walked in after eleven. Belle wondered if that was purposeful, if they were waiting to make sure all their kids made it home safe, or if it was part of their normal routine. Trevor never seemed surprised by it.

As they entered the house after a long day trip to Coney Island, they popped their heads into the living room to say hello and goodnight.

“I love your dress, sweetheart,” Julie said, causing Belle to twist a little and fan out the bottom of her sundress. “Did you make that, too? You and your friends’ dresses at the graduation were gorgeous.”

“I did, yeah,” Belle beamed. Thank you.”

“I always wished I’d learnt to sew. Being a seamstress would certainly have come in handy over the years, I think.”

“I’m not really a seamstress. Mostly a wannabe fashion designer? The making just kind of happens as an extension.”

“Either way, Belle, you’re excellent at it and I am jealous of your talent.”

“I could make you something,” Belle said excitedly. “Like, it wouldn’t be hard—well it might be because I’d have to take your measurements here and then make it back in LA without you being able to try it on. But, anyway, we can if you want. I think everyone should have at least one piece of clothing made just for them.”

“Ava will kill me, you know.”

“It won’t be quite the same, but I’m sure I have something in my suitcases that I can tailor for her. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Julie smiled, a disbelieving type of smile that Belle was grateful for because it would definitely take too long to change a dress by hand and it seemed like Julie wouldn’t hold her to it. Belle would make something for Ava another time.

Gary shooed the pair off to bed, shortly after, reminding Trevor that he’d booked an early tee-time and that he didn’t want him slowing down the game just because of a poor night’s sleep. Julie rolled her eyes at Belle, promising that they would get brunch.

Up the stairs, Trevor watched Belle change from the bed, his eyes never leaving her for a second—she wasn’t even sure he blinked. She wasn’t even putting on a show for him, the day having been too warm and long to put in more effort than she needed to change into one of his shirts.

“You don’t have to make her a dress to make her love you,” he said when she’d turned her back on him to apply the final steps of her skincare routines in his tiny excuse for a mirror.

“I like making clothes for people,” she said with a shrug, looking at him in the reflection.

She caught him pouting when he said, “You haven’t made me anything.”

“What do you want?” she asked, turning around. “Matching summer set?”

“What?”

“Like shirt and shorts from the same fabric. Matchy matchy.”

She took a few steps toward him; into the grabby hands he’d extended out towards her.

“Will you wear a dress from the same fabric?”

Belle bit into her lower lip, shaking her head dramatically to show him that she had to think long and hard about it. She pushed her full weight onto him, his hand moving to her ass without hesitation, and pressed her mouth to his. It was hardly a kiss with both their mouths broken out into full smiles, especially as she squeaked out a ‘maybe’ that had him rolling them over so that he could tickle her sides in protest.

Going to Michigan to hang out with Trevor and his frat boy friends would have been easier than fronting up at her parents’ place in Connecticut, but Belle only realised that when Nicola, her older sister, pounced the second they were alone in the same room.

Their parents had welcomed Belle in happily, her mother pulling her into a hug and her father with a perfunctory kiss to the top of her head, before shooing her up to her old bedroom to unpack her bags. They meant well, she knew, but their welcomes never felt like the homecoming she knew her friends got. Or like the one she’d gotten in Bedford.

Nicola, on the other hand, never left Belle alone. They had been inseparable throughout their lives and only the distance between Princeton and UC Irvine had changed that.

Despite the load of washing Julie had let her do prior to leaving New York, Belle still had no shortage of unwashed clothes in her suitcase. It did have her wondering just how many times she changed clothes throughout the day—she’d only spent a week with Trevor’s family, but her laundry pile looked like the far side of a four-week vacation. Nicola noticed, judging by how carefully she watched Belle sort everything into piles from where she sat on the bed.

“Where did you come from?” Nicola asked as Belle was nearing the end of her first suitcase.

“Garfield?” Belle answered, trying to keep a waiver out of her voice and purposely not looking anywhere in Nicola’s directly.

“Bullshit,” Nicola countered, with enough vigour that Belle was sure their mother would have heard it from downstairs. “You did not come from Cali. You haven’t seen real sun in weeks by the look of you.”

Belle tried to deflect, “Nobody—”

“—from California calls it Cali,” Nicola mocked. “Where were you?”

Belle sorted three more items of clothing to allow herself time to decide if she really wanted to tell Nicola the truth. She always did tell her the truth, though, so it wasn’t much of a decision. It was even less of a decision when she finally looked at Nicola who was staring back at her looking sad and betrayed.

Belle sighed, “New York.”

Somehow—and Belle would never know how it was possible—Nicola’s face shifted into an even sadder expression as she asked, “You went to New York without me?”

“Not the city,” Belle assured her. “Just… New York.”

Nicola was sitting perfectly straight on the bed, still staring at Belle. Belle knew that she was expected to say something, to provide additional information that she did not want to speak out loud, though she kept her mouth shut and returned to sorting out her laundry.

“Are you seeing someone?” Nicole pressed, finally realising that she’d need to prompt any answers from Belle.

“No,” Belle said as she pulled out the dress she’d been wearing when Trevor ate her out in the bathroom of his friends’ restaurant. Her cheeks were definitely warmer for the thought.

“What’s with the hickey then?”

Belle’s hand slammed onto the side of her neck as she silently cursed Trevor, but at least she had a reason to be turning bright red.

Through gritted teeth she told Nicole, “It’s just sex.”

“If it was just sex, you’d tell me. Fuck, you’d tell me if you were seeing someone. Like, what are you hiding? Is it a hockey player or something?”

A beat of silence filled the air.

“Why would it be a hockey player?”

Another beat.

“You’re dating a fucking hockey player.”

Belle’s head snapped so quickly to look at her sister that she felt a twinge, though she still managed to snap, “I’m not dating anyone.”

“No, you’re just sneaking around and going to New York for dick appointments. Who is it?”

“No one.”

“Bella… Why won’t you tell me? We used to tell each other everything.”

“Because it’s bad.” Belle grimaced. “If Dad finds out then it’s even worse, so…”

“The only players I’d imagine him caring about are Dubois or Zegras.”

Belle stared at Nicola unwaveringly, her mouth pulled tight.

“Bella… No…”

“It’s not a big deal,” Belle said, her voice pitched high and her shoulders pressing up against her earlobes. “It just is what it is.”

Nicola was staring straight through Belle, her eyes tracking back and forth over the imaginary line between Trevor Zegras and Pierre-Luc Dubois. Her eyebrows pulled together when she asked, “Which one is it?”

Belle’s inhale was audible throughout the room. “Zegras. Trevor.”

Nicola whistled low, her eyebrows no longer knitted together but now in her hairline. Belle looked away again, and she was glad she did when Nicola’s next words were: “Dad’s gonna kill you. The both of you.”

“You can’t tell him,” Belle pleaded, earning a low laugh from Nicola.

“I’m not gonna be the one to fucking tell him.”

For all the faux arguments Belle and Trevor continued to have about which baseball team was the right choice, heading out to a Dodgers game to see them take on the Astros wasn’t really that hard of an ask.

It was mid-September, the regular season nearly at an end, both teams were top of their division, and the weather was so perfect that Belle couldn’t have said no if she’d wanted to.

The perks of Trevor being Trevor was that they were given Loge seats behind home plate. For two people who weren’t Dodgers fans, they had done alright. She hadn’t even had to fight too hard for him to not wear his Yankees cap.

Of all the things that had been hardest for Belle to get behind was Jamie not making an appearance. Trevor and Jamie had moved in together the moment they were both back in California, and Belle had gotten accustomed to Jamie being around 24/7. Even if it was just to divert some of Trevor’s energy.

Belle returned to her seat and handed Trevor a beer. She sat back next to him, settled into the arm he had thrown over the back of the seat and prepared herself for the next innings.

The Kiss Cam was running. Despite her eye roll, Belle’s eyes were glued to the screen and the people on it who all took far too long to realise they were being filmed.

Her judgement was misplaced.

Despite staring straight at the screen, it took the loud raucous of the crowd around her and Trevor’s leg nudging playfully against hers for her to realise.

“No, no, no,” Belle said when she saw her face etched across the big screen with Trevor’s right beside her.

She turned her head just in time to see Trevor leaning towards her, preparing for a show-stopping kiss no doubt. She was out of her chair in a heartbeat and didn’t even look back to see Trevor’s reaction as she stormed away.

The crowd was deafening with people jeering at her as she retreated up the stairs as quickly as she could. It would have been even more embarrassing if she tripped up them, and she felt her stomach completely bottom out as the toe of her shoe clipped one. It was only a slight tumble, but enough that more than one person nearby laughed.

The people on the concourse were luckily none the wiser, so she was able to slow down and walk at a normal, less attention-grabbing pace which was all well and good until Trevor started shouting her name and it bounced off every concrete wall to become head achingly loud.

Pulling him into a stairwell felt like her only option, even though it offered no real privacy. There was no conversation she wanted to have in that moment because getting out of the stadium and away from everything was top of her mind but Trevor’s hand on her wrist was keeping her in place.

“Did you know they were going to do that?” she asked, tired and stoic, before he could open his mouth to stay anything else.

“What are you so worried about?” he asked, uncertainty and disbelief pouring off him. “Your dad’s not going to find out.”

“Wanna bet? Trevor, I know how social media works. What’s going to happen is that somebody has got the entire kiss cam recorded and then somebody recognises you, so it gets shared to hockey Twitter. From there, all it takes is one person recognising me before everyone’s blowing up Torts to tell him.”

His voice turned incredulous. “Who? Who is going to recognise you and care enough?”

A bat connected with a ball, the sound resonating throughout the stadium quickly followed by the roar of the crowd. Belle didn’t even flinch.

“Paul fucking Bissonnette,” she answered, unable to resist the eye roll.

“Biz?” Trevor asked, the disbelief and incredulity increasing tenfold as he finally dropped her wrist to throw his hands in the air. “Why the fuck would Biz know who you are?”

“Because he wants me on the fucking podcast to share secrets about Torts. I’m gonna ask you again: did you know they were going to do that?”

Trevor grew small, and Belle’s stomach sank.

“They said they might.”

“Jesus, Trevor… I asked for one thing.”

“One? Belle, it’s been six months, and half a dozen people know we’re together. It’s insane.”

“We’re not—” Belle paused when her phone started ringing, the vibration sending shockwaves through her entire body. “We’re not together and we never were.”

The caller ID that flashed up was, unsurprisingly, Torts (Dad – Emergency).

Belle didn’t say another word to Trevor before she answered the call and walked away.

It was too warm for Belle to be curled up on her bed and tucked under the duvet—she’d spent a lot of time in that position, though. With no classes to go to, no job to be at and no Trevor to take her anyway, she had become a recluse in the week since the baseball game.

Her phone was on speaker beside her, Nicola telling her about something that had happened during her classes, but Belle was desperate to know something else.

“Has he… said anything to you?”

“No,” Nicola answered, quietly.

Her dad hadn’t tried to talk to her at all since he called after the Kiss Cam. It was an embarrassing conversation to say the least, made worse by the looming shadow of Trevor in the stairwell as she walked down it.

“He’s pretending I don’t exist, isn’t he?”

“There might be a bit of that…” Nicola admitted. “What happened when he called, Bella? I want to help, but I can’t if neither of you are telling me.”

“You can’t help,” Belle told her morosely. The reflection of her in the mirror near her bed was too much to bear with the conversation having shifted, so she rolled over and tucked herself further under the covers. “He asked me if I had made it my life’s mission to embarrass him. He asked what he’d done for me to spite him. He thought he raised me better than to date a hockey player, and definitely better than to be with someone like Trevor Zegras. You know, I’ve never heard him say a person’s name with so much hatred and we watched him throw JT Miller under the bus when he was his coach.”

Nicola’s poorly stifled laugh filtered through the phone and Belle wanted to crack a small smile but couldn’t find the energy to do so.

“You know he doesn’t hate anybody, Bella,” Nicola said after recovering, her voice soft yet serious. “He’s just a hard ass who doesn’t know when he crosses the line with tough love. He certainly didn’t hate Miller outside of hockey.”

“Well, he crosses that line when somebody fucks his daughter.”

“Which can’t be a surprise…”

“No.”

“We had that conversation when you got back from your little vacation with Zegras’s family.”

“Yes, I know, Nicola. I just… fuck. I don’t know how to make any of this better.”

The phone line went so quiet that Belle checked if the call had failed, but no, Nicola was still on the other end. A few moments passed without either sister saying a word, just listening to the nothingness in the air.

“Are you sad about Dad or are you sad about Trevor?” Nicola asked, her voice tentative like she was expecting Belle to reach through the phone and ring her neck.

No response was given; Belle didn’t know.

Belle couldn’t have said what she was expecting when she showed up at Rio’s house. It absolutely wasn’t for Alex to walk past her as she stood at the front door and mutter ‘bitch’ under his breath.

After finally pulling herself out of bed and half-heartedly searching for some jobs—she would need one if she was cut off by the father who still wasn’t speaking to her—she realised that maybe she should call back the friends who had been trying to talk to her. Karla’s photos from somewhere on the Tenerife Sea were easy to react to with a heart, but Rio’s increasingly concerned texts and voicemails required a personal visit.

Rio was standing in the kitchen, waiting for Belle, who couldn’t get Alex’s face out of her head.

“What did I—” Belle took in a steadying breath when her words were caught in her throat. “What did I do to Alex?”

“Made one of his best bros cry. A lot.”

“Trevor’s been here?”

Rio nodded and Belle sighed to herself. It hadn’t been top of mind that Trevor might have been around. They hadn’t been together in Rio and Alex’s presence since the time Rio had been trying to set them up. As far as Belle was concerned, Rio still had no idea that they already knew each other.

That cat was out of the bag, though.

Rio said, not unkindly, “I’m finding it really hard not to take his side, Belle.”

“I didn’t know there were sides to take.”

“I didn’t even know you were together,” Rio said pointedly, “and, all of a sudden, you’re broken up and he’s getting drunk on my couch, and we have to call Drysdale to pick him up, so he won’t be late for practice. Like, mija, he’s not okay.”

“Don’t you think that this mess is exactly what I was trying to avoid?” Belle’s voice was rising with every word, her frustration with the whole situation only amplified by the safe space she thought she would have having been co-opted by Trevor. “Nobody could know because if people knew then my dad would find out and we end up in this exact same scenario.”

“Do you? Because I think there’s a scenario where he finds out and you and Trevor get through it together.”

“There’s no scenario where he finds out and it’s all sunshine and roses, Rio. Before I’d even left the stadium he was on the phone, chewing me out, and now he’s not talking to me. Nobody’s talking to me.”

Despite the heat in Belle’s voice, a month of sadness and solitude being forced out of her at pressure point, Rio’s expression and body language didn’t change. She was being pointed and matter of fact but not mean.

“I’m sorry that he reacted that way, and I’m even more sorry that it was a predictable outcome. You know I’m sympathetic about him and how he acts,” Rio said with complete, utter sincerity, loosening Belle just a little, only to come in and ruin it immediately with: “That doesn’t mean I see in any of this how Trevor is the bad guy.”

The pressure point getting ever closer, her entire body leaning back into the kitchen counter with the effort that went into snapping, “He coordinated the kiss cam with the Ducks’ and Angels’ media teams. He knew I wanted to keep us quiet.”

“He had no idea why, Belle. Tell me if he’s been lying to me and I’ll take it all back, but I think he’s been telling the truth when he’s said that you never really explained why.”

“Because my dad is John Tortorella.”

Rio sighed and Belle knew it wasn’t at her specifically only because it was a sigh she’d heard many times before where he was concerned.

“In Trevor’s head you were keeping it a secret because you were ashamed of him because you know your dad thinks he’s an idiot. He thought you just didn’t want to be seen with him in public, not that your dad would blow up. He still doesn’t know that.”

“I’m not—” Bell shook her head, the idea playing out in her mind utterly unbelievable. “I’m not ashamed of Trevor.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

The sinking feeling that had been slowly growing in her stomach took hold in a split second, because of all the possibilities about why Trevor was avoiding her that hadn’t been a consideration. As she counted some deep breaths and fixated on the backsplash behind Rio, she realised for the first time that there was maybe no coming back from where she had taken them–and that thought led to her realising that she wanted nothing more than to go back.

“I’m gonna go,” Belle whispered, taking a few short steps. “Thank you for letting me come over. Sorry for lying to you for so long, and sorry for causing Trevor to be here so often.”

“¡Dios mío!” Rio exclaimed, stepping in front of the door so that Belle couldn’t leave. “Belle, mija, you are my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

“I didn’t get that vibe while you were reading me the riot act.”

“You’ve been so happy for months and I didn’t know why, but now I know it was Trevor, and I don’t want that to end if it doesn’t have to.”

There were no words Belle could conjure that would convey the millions of possibilities flowing through her mind, especially when not a single one of them felt like they would end in anything positive, so Belle merely nodded to appease Rio before slipping out the door.

Finishing Julie’s dress was just as satisfying as finishing any other dress, something checked off her to-do list but with an actual item in front of her to show it. She’d put as much care into that dress as she had her graduation dress, even if it was just meant to be a casual summer dress—even if she didn’t know whether Julie would get to see it, let alone wear it.

Despite not having spoken to Trevor since September, three months prior, with no communication outside of the little snippets she got from Rio, Belle knew she would be doing herself a disservice to not even try to get it to the person it was made for.

Sending the text was difficult, and it was even more difficult having to wait for him to respond.

He didn’t respond instantly like he once would have—oftentimes she had barely hit send before he’d texted back, as if he had their texts open, waiting. He didn’t even respond within the hour.

Or the same day.

The dress was taunting her where it was set up on her bodice. It hadn’t been so bad as she was making it, but when it was sitting there as a reminder that she was being ignored it was a lot harder to stomach. On the third day of silence, Belle tucked the dress into a garment bag, hung it up in her closet and began to consider how long she should keep it before pulling it apart to use the material in another project.

On the fifth day a text came with just a date and a time. It was such a contrast from the last text he’d sent her, still on the screen and tormenting her—him begging her to talk to him. Maybe she deserved the silent treatment. That didn’t matter, though, because it was an olive branch of sorts and one that she had all but given up on.

She put more effort into her appearance on that day than she had in months, without even really expecting it to do anything. Not when Trevor had seen her in all states of being—from incredibly drunk and falling over her own feet, to sobbing hysterically during Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, to ugly laughing at he and Jamie arguing over who was smarter when the answer at that point in time was obviously neither. It made her feel better, though, to look good. Feel confident. Fake it ‘til you make it.

Not once since meeting him had Belle been nervous showing up at Trevor’s place, so it was confusing to be fidgety and tight-chested as she pushed the doorbell and waited.

Waited until the door opened and Jamie appeared in front of her, silently raising his eyebrow.

“I—uh… Trevor?”

“Trevor’s not here,” Jamie said, his body taking up the entire door frame and his eyes scrutinising the garment bag she was carrying.

Belle did her best not to stutter again. “I’m just dropping off something I made for his mom.”

“Sure.” Jamie reached out, ready to take the bag but Belle kept it clutched in her hand.

“Is he really not here? Or does he not want to see me?”

“Pretty sure he went to see Turc.”

“Yeah,” Belle sighed, dejected. “Alex hates me.”

“Don’t know if you have too many fans, right now.”

Jamie was just stating a fact, his voice steady, but, just like it had been with Rio, it hurt Belle in a way she’d not imagined. It felt worse coming from Jamie.

“No. I guess I don’t.” She inhaled, handing Jamie the garment bag. “If you could just tell him that I’ll make any adjustments Julie needs. And also tell him I’m sorry.”

Jamie took the bag silently, looking down at it as though it was going to burn his hand. Belle smiled sadly as she turned away because she didn’t know what else to do.

“You don’t think you overreacted?” Jamie asked before she reached the end of their path.

“No,” Belle answered simply as she turned. Jamie’s face contorted. “Look, my dad wasn’t mad that I was seeing someone and that I’d kept it a secret. He wasn’t even particularly mad about the secret part. He was mad specifically about the Trevor part and didn’t talk to me for a few months.”

“He hates Trevor that much?”

“It’s exactly what I said would happen.”

He didn’t believe her—just like Rio hadn’t, like Nicola had struggled to—but Belle was beginning to wonder if that even mattered. It wasn’t a secret to anybody in the hockey world that John Tortorella had a high disdain for Trevor Zegras, so Belle couldn’t work out why everyone was surprised by any of it.

Jamie wasn’t speaking, his face saying all it needed to. He must have known John Tortorella’s reputation, he definitely knew what had been said about Trevor publicly. Maybe he was coming around to understanding.

“I miss him,” Belle told Jamie, her shoulder shrugging sadly. “My dad actually called me last week to make amends. All I could think the entire time was that Trevor made me happy and—not to get super fucking Freudian—my dad didn’t.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling Trevor all this?” Jamie asked, his voice having changed from its matter-of-fact nature to something softer.

“Yeah, well, I told him that that was done and asked when I could drop it off, and he told me to come this afternoon, so.” Belle swallowed the bubble that was growing in her throat. “Made it pretty clear.”

Jamie nodded, once. “I’ll let him know you came around.”

Belle turned back around, continuing back to her car. She managed to keep somewhat composed as she walked, though her chest did begin to heave the further she got from Jamie. She hadn’t heard the door close, but with her heartbeat beginning to thump in her ears she couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t happened.

The floodgates opened when she was securely inside her car, her shoulders shaking and a sob wracking her chest. Tears formed in her eyes with such ferocity that all she could do was hunch over the steering wheel and wait until they had subsided before she could leave.

The text came through the next day. Belle wondered how long he had been home before he sent it.

The dress is great. My mom will be in town next week. You should give it to her.

Belle’s nerves had been at an all-time high for more than a week. She hadn’t even been so nervous when she went to take the dress to Trevor in the first place—Jamie had confirmed what she’d already assumed, but the confirmation that Trevor hated her enough to purposely have her deliver it when he wasn’t home had her worried for what would happen when he did see her.

If anything would happen.

Maybe she would just be there for Julie to see the dress and then be marched out the door never to be seen again.

All possibilities needed to be considered.

She pulled out a dress she’d been making in tandem with Julie’s dress, one that she’d finished purely to distract herself from everything that had been happening. One that she’d worked on when she was too strung out to put the required attention into Julie’s dress.

The house looked no different than it had when she’d been met with Jamie at the door, aside from Trevor’s car being parked in the drive which was a relief but still only helped a little to ease the crushing weight on her chest.

She was walking towards the house when the door opened and Trevor walked out, his gaze mostly fixed on the ground. Belle froze mid-step.

“We can probably go have a talk before?” Trevor suggested as he got closer to her, finally looking directly at her. His hand started to rub at the back of his neck. “Like, not in front of my parents?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Are we… Do you want me to drive?”

“Just a walk?”

Belle didn’t want to go for a walk—her dress wasn’t made for it and her sandals prioritised form over function—but she wanted even less for Trevor to give up on her before she’d even had a chance to talk, so she nodded hastily and only turned her back to him to unlock her car and throw her bag inside.

There were a few moments of silence to begin the walk; not an awkward silence as she had expected but it still lingered as they waited to see who would talk first.

Belle knew that it probably had to be her.

“You didn’t have to talk to me,” Belle said tentatively, one hand clenched tightly around her car keys to keep her focused. “You could have just given her the dress.”

Beside her, Trevor’s hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched. “Jamie yelled at me a bit for getting you to come over when I knew I wasn’t going to be there.”

“Everything everyone has said to me since September… I deserved it. I’m not surprised you didn’t want to see me.”

“That’s kind of the problem, though,” he said. Belle hated that she could hear wetness creeping into his voice. “I did want to see you; I just didn’t know what you would do. I didn’t want you to yell at me again.”

“I shouldn’t’ve done that,” she admitted. “At the game.”

“Jamie said that Torts didn’t speak to you for ages,” Trevor told her, confirming that Jamie had spilled everything. She wasn’t mad about it or even surprised. “I guess I get why you were mad.”

“But you didn’t get why I was mad until he told you what I told him, right?” she clarified, her conversation with Rio running through her mind. “Because I hadn’t made it clear enough why I didn’t want anyone to know about… About us.”

“I still don’t really get it.” He took a half step, almost as if he had forgotten to walk momentarily. “You said right at the beginning that you didn’t want him to find out, and I guess I thought you were joking just because it’s kinda funny.”

“I embarrassed him, apparently,” Belle said, her eyes rolling. “Because of all the hockey players in the country, or even in California, I had to pick the one he’s got a public grudge against. Like, as if it matters to his image who I let put their dick in me. It’s none of his business, you know? And sure, I don’t want my dad to hate me but fucking Christ he doesn’t need to be so dramatic.”

“Is that all it was?”

“You make it sound like getting yelled at by your dad for embarrassing him on a national scale is a daily occurrence.”

“No—I’m just the guy you let put their dick in you?”

Belle stopped walking, the questioning taking up so much of her brain power that she couldn’t be trusted to move her legs as well as think it over. Too much effort was going into churning the words over and reaching out to wrap her hand around his forearm and stop him in his tracks. His eyes, flickering between her arm and her face, brimming with tears.

“I know that I said we were never together.” She sighed. The whole conversation at the baseball had been on a loop in her head for months. “I was wrong. I was mad and I’d like to think that if it had been brought up in any other moment I wouldn’t have said it, but I did. I’m sorry.”

“It was the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in. I took you home to meet my parents.”

“It was the most serious I’ve been in, too. I know that I didn’t introduce you to anyone or anything, but I wish I had. I wish people knew. Like Rio. I wish she and Alex had known.”

“I didn’t tell him. Well, until after. When he found out from Twitter anyway.”

“I—I know,” Belle stuttered. As much as she had known that Trevor had kept everything to himself just as she had asked, it was something entirely to hear him say it out loud with a tightness in his voice that she couldn't bear. “I shouldn’t have asked you to keep it from your friends like that. I don’t know what I’m doing. Ever. And I really fucked this up.”

“I’m sorry, too. For last week. For not realising that your dad is actually a bigger asshole than I thought.”

“What would you have done if you’d known that? It doesn’t change anything.”

“Sure, it does. I would have let him see me in Vegas. I would have burnt it down then and gotten it out of the way. He shouldn’t have that control over you.”

The only thing Belle could do was shrug. She didn’t disagree, but realistically it wasn’t something she would ever have let happen. Things may have changed since Vegas, but at that time it wasn’t a possibility.

Moving along the sidewalk felt appropriate, and Trevor quickly fell back into step beside her. It also made it easier to not be looking directly at him when she asked, “So, what are we doing?”

“What do you want?” he asked back, cautious and slow.

“Being one hundred percent honest? For you to forgive me and magically forget that any of this ever happened.”

So much time elapsed between her statement and Trevor’s response that Belle started taking deep breaths and preparing herself to be told that not only was that the dumbest thing anyone has ever said, but that Trevor was ending their conversation. She kept her eyes forward, focusing on the house at the end of the street and the guy on his roof trying to string up Christmas lights, and squeezed her hands into fists so tight that at least one of her nails was breaking skin.

“I don’t know if I can do all of that just yet, Belle.”

“No, I—I get that. I shouldn’t have said that. It was so stupid.”

Trevor cut her off, “I want you to come back and see my parents and hang out and maybe take it a little slow.”

“Yeah, yes!” Belle said, quickly and loudly, so that Trevor wouldn’t have the time to take it back. “We can do it however you want. I—I missed you so much.”

Everything around Belle seemed lighter in that moment, and the Christmas lights at the end of the street turned on at the perfect time. She bounced on her toes, spinning around to wrap her arms around Trevor’s neck, pulling him close and revelling in the easy way his arms wrapped around her waist. The even easier way he pulled her closer. She may have imagined the press of a kiss against the side of her head but she really didn’t think that was all in her mind.

Back at his house, after doubling back on their walking path hand in hand, Belle did her best to be comfortable around his parents. Trevor told her that he hadn’t said anything to his parents about what had happened and had brushed off the Kiss Cam things they’d seen as no big deal. Julie, after complimenting Belle on the dress, commented that that afternoon was the happiest she’d seen Trevor since she arrived in California.

Trevor didn’t deny it, just smiled even wider with his eyes firmly fixed on Belle.

One Week Later

would love to hear your thoughts, this one took forever <3

#trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic #this header is all kinds of awful but i give up #the winter fic exchange 2k25

63 notes · View notes

youdontknowe · 1 day ago

Text

Ok I’m back! I was queer and drunk yesterday (pride parade) and when I saw someone saying what the fuck Thea I felt the fear of god go through me so I’m buckling in and bracing

1. The ole razzle dazzle has me giggling in the AN

2. CACKLING that poor woman

3. The good ole get the lecture from mum over with asap

4. I would fight god for her cus he’s a dick

5. I’m building the theory that the spider web is actually deans feelings like when she described to him in the bar that people’s lust n stuff reach out. That’s what I think the spider web is but it’s not just lust it’s a lot more

6. CROWLEY ehehehe my evil pookie

7. Giggling you write is snippy sarcasm so well!! He’s a perfect character for your sarcasm skills

8. “Yes, you sound it” she would rather die than apologise for something she’s not sorry for

9. THE APPLE

10. I KNEW IT!!!! THE FUCKING EDEN TREE I need to calm down, this is words on a screen.

11. Cas is already exhausted with her and her plans

12. I absolutely adore the way cas is with her! He’s so gentle but also reasonable with what he asks and tries offering reason. I can definitely see the same vibe I’ve seen with cas and Dean coming in

13. Everyone can’t resist being nice to Dean

14. I wonder if somehow her feeding angels grace works as a booster too because the angels become part of her power while remaining independent (does that make sense I have no idea if it does)

15. ‘And an empty seat at the dinner table. There’s already one stained blue, coated in orange’ I will cry and it’s your fault 🫵

16. NO NOT THIS GUY

17. oh thank cas (cas gets to be the good thing we thank until I come up with something better) I was not ready for that

18. She could have killed god 😛

19. “I respect you” I smell bullshit

20. Whew I was getting nervy there thinking she’d go to god if he offered to save Sam and Dean

21. “Actually this is worse than foreplay” cackling Sam’s back

22. YOU ALWAYS MAKE THEM GET HORNY NEAR OR IN THE KITCHEN

23. not that I’m complaininggg 😛

24. The double oh in italics MY FAVE

25. finally the conversation with Bobby we’re getting places people

26. Poker game is so so domestic for all of them I love family time

27. Clawing at the walls SHE GOT HIM A COWBOY HAT I really really wanna see that in a smut scene one day pookie

28. HE CALLED HER BABY

29. “Your saving the world, then resting. If not for me, for her” sammy my baby 😭

30. She’s totally the girlfriend that offers special services in exchange for stuff he’d otherwise say no to

31. I hope this can be a better version of Sam trying to use demon blood for good but I’m also scared

32. I also realised that you told me I don’t need to worry about Sam yet in very very suspicious way (I’m sweating)

33. AHHH WHAT THAT HAPPENED SO QUICKLY

34. I hate how funny lucifer can be cus he’s an evil bitch in a not fun way

35. ‘His grand plan to save the world was the same one he’d had to coast through high school’ HES SO REAL FOR THAT

36. Oh no this is the cage coming isn’t it

37. Oh no

38. WHAT THE FUCK

39. WHAT THE FUCKKKKK

40. YEAH it’s physiological torture alright!!! imma give you a strongly worded letter (I won’t)

41. This fandom is a prison I won’t wanna escape omg

42. I’m genuinely like in shock right now I KNEW I COULDNT TRUST YOU WHEN I WAS FREAKING OUT ABOUT SOULLESS SAMMY

43. this is worse than god getting her atp but also I kinda hope she just scares the shit out of the angels in the cage and comes out with Sammy minimally traumatised and the angels are the ones traumatised (please I beg)

44. I was not strong enough you lied

Chapter 27 - When You Go

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I call this format of chapter “The Ol’ Razzle Dazzle”

Chapter Title from The World is Ugly by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a birthday, and there’s no other way. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 26 - Chapter 28

Read on A03!

You don’t look up from your book, when you hear the woman scream. She goes silent a second later, and the Silver is still settled in your body, so everything is safe.

Not fine.

But safe.

In this moment, even as an eerie silence hangs in the air and a cold feeling sits in your bones, you’re safe.

“Dean told you to stop doing that.” You hum, and Cas sighs, dropping in the chair across from yours.

“I do not have control over people’s reactions to my appearance-“

“That’s not what he meant, Cas.” You give him a flat look over the top of your book. “You landed in front of her.”

He shrugs. “I erased the memory from her mind. At worst, she will have a headache.”

“You’re going to get yourself shot-“

“And it will be ineffective. And Dean has already had this conversation with me-“

“It obviously didn’t work.” You drawl, and Cas lets out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Would you like to yell at me about flying, or actually talk about the plan?”

You hum, crossing your legs under your body. “I think I can do both-“

“I think that Sam and Dean will only be occupied with the grocery store’s post-Holiday sale for about ten more minutes.” Cas gives you a pointed look, and you sigh.

“Fine.” You drop your book on the table, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “I’ve got nothing. The Sioux Falls public library doesn’t specialize in the occult, and Crowley doesn’t want to play, so-“

Cas frowns. “Crowley?”

“Yeah. But he’s being a dipshit-“

“When did you speak to Crowley?”

“Yesterday.” You hold Cas’ gaze, but you expression must not be as casual as you want it to be, because his eyes narrow. “I didn’t make a deal, Cas, it’s fine-“

“Why did you speak to Crowley.” He doesn’t let up, and you sigh, running your thumb over your palm.

You know it had been stupid. And reckless. And if Sam hadn’t burst into your room, shouting that Adam was also missing, you’d probably owe Crowley two favors.

But you’d been desperate. So fucking desperate, and a little broken, and right on the edge of snapping in half. Dean had vanished. He’d kissed you but then just left. And you’d been sure he was doing something heroic and fucking stupid, but the longer he’d been gone the more it had started to make your heart twist, and the louder the world had gotten.

Ringing in your ears and sneering that of course he’d leave. He’d realized what fighting at your side meant, that you weren’t worth the extra trouble or effort when the world was ending, and he left. He’d been right the first time, he’d always been right, but John had been right too.

John would’ve shot you in your sleep, though. And Dean had tucked you in before bolting out in the dead of night.

It had been a long, horrible day of replaying every single moment that might have made him leave. Your recklessness with Raphael, or the fact that you hadn’t been reckless, but just lied to him and left him out of the plan. Cas wouldn’t have told him that, but he could’ve found out himself.

But he would’ve fought with you. Confronted you, or at least told Bobby and Sam.

So it could’ve been the Bride of God thing. He’d finally gotten that you were a parasite or sickness, and that the day God came for you the world would be grateful. That you might have been made for heaven, but all you did was make things worse. Make Dean lose sleep and worry and pour care into someone who’d just leave in the end.

You didn’t want to leave.

You’d tried to tell him in the dark, when everything had smelled like cinnamon and his Gold had been wrapped around you like a shield. That you never wanted to leave. That the Silver kept brimming a little too close to the surface, and you didn’t want to go outside in case God came for you, because you didn’t want to leave.

You couldn’t go anywhere you wouldn’t be allowed to hold Dean. Didn’t care for Michael’s promises of paradise when it would mean losing Dean. And you’d thought he’d understood. That you were sick and barely better than a monster, and there wasn’t a cure or way to put you down because you’d been made like that, but you’d keep using all your teeth and poison to fight for him.

That you’d fight God when he tried to take you, if that’s what it came to.

And all of Heaven had just seemed fucking lonely.

The Sky had only ever seemed cold and angry and untouchable. Only ever watched and waited and abandoned you.

Dean had fought with you. For you. Let you falter because he’d keep you behind him, his hand in yours. The Spiderweb sang whenever he grinned at you, even when it was a smug, shit-eating grin and you’d wanted to punch it off his face.

You’d thought he’d understand that. How this wasn’t a choice you were making. It wasn’t survival. It just was.

You loved Dean. You’d only ever wanted to be close to him.

He’d kissed you, and it had remade little parts of you that had started to rot—something that had been festering in the cavity of your chest, about how maybe you weren’t human enough for him to touch—but then he’d left.

Bobby had tried to talk to you. Sam had tried to talk to you. They’d even called Cas, and he’d knocked on your door, as if he couldn’t just fly into your room.

And you might have gone a little insane.

First with worry—he wouldn’t just leave, something was fucking wrong—then anger, then just darkness. A heavy pain that had swallowed you whole, and reminded you that God was waiting. Right outside your window. And if Dean had gone—if he was done with you but just was too good to shoot you in the skull and be done with it—you deserved it.

He wouldn’t have done that to you. The Spiderweb, still singing and colorful in your body, had kept demanding that he wouldn’t do that to you. Just fucking kiss you like he dreamt about it half as much as you did, then vanish forever.

You’ve never been good at ignoring the Spiderweb.

But you’ve been good at just sitting in the pain either. The way it makes the Silver riot, and how it spread to the very tips of your fingers, telling you to sprint for the hills or after Dean to fucking strangle him, then kiss him until you both maybe sank into the dirt, and God couldn’t see you anymore.

You were supposed to be done running.

But you couldn’t just sit in your room, drenched in all of Dean’s Gold and still tasting him on your lips, and staring at the blue on your fingertips.

So you’d, kind of, sort of, summoned Crowley.

“You know.” He’d glanced around your room, lingered on Dean’s shirt hanging out of the hamper—he’d left his shirt, he’d need to come back, and you’d needed to get a goddamn grip—and looked back to you with a grin. “I don’t normally do house calls.”

“I’m glad to be an exception.” You’d muttered, sorting through your notes, and he’d scoffed.

“I’d hardly call it my choice, what with you summoning and trapping me-“

“What do you know about angel vessels.”

Crowley had blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Angel vessels.” You’d snapped, fingers lingering on a Dean’s name, scrawled in Enochian in the margins of a notebook. “What do you know.”

“What do you know about Gucci?”

You’d frowned at him. “It’s Italian. What-“

“I’m not an angel, love, no more than you’re a Gucci wearing socialite. And I don’t understand how this question warrants a kidnapping-“

“I’m going to let you go, you fucking baby.” You’d rolled your eyes. “And you don’t have to be something to know about it.”

“Angels are secretive asshats, they aren’t exactly spilling state secrets to me-“

“I don’t believe you.” You’d snapped, and Crowley had given you an exasperated look.

“Do you not have other demon friends to bother with insanity-“

“No. And I thought you wanted to be partners.” You’d grabbed your knife, spinning it in your hands, and you could’ve sworn Crowley paled. “You want Lucifer gone, I need a weakness.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley had sneered. “Are you planning to give the devil an allergic reaction to defeat him? Are you insane?”

You’d shrugged. “Nobody’s sure. I need something, Crowley. Anything you have.”

He’d just looked at you for a long moment, dark eyes seeming to split right into your skull, then hummed, “Dean’s not here to reel your little plans in, is he. Mommy’s going a little bananas without Daddy to kiss it better.”

It would’ve been so fucking easy to stab him. Or let the Silver burst out and crush him to nothing. But part of this had to be keeping the Silver in control, and stabbing Crowley meant you wouldn’t get information, so you’d bitten your lip until you tasted blood and shoved it down.

“I’m working on something.” You’d hissed through your teeth, and Crowley had hummed.

“Oh, I’ve heard about the sudden injuries of Raphael.” Crowley had sighed. “He went on a rampage because of that. Killed a lot of my best demons.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes.” Crowley had drawled, his voice bored. “You sound it.”

You’d shrugged, watching him carefully. You’d had to know. “So it worked. It hurt him.”

Crowley’s jaw had twitched, but he’d given you a tight nod. “It quite seemed that way. Whatever you did seemed to cause him… strife. And an apology would be appreciated, love-“

“No.”

It had—sort of—worked. Your trial run had worked. You’d pulled Raphael out of his vessel like Zachariah, and maybe you hadn’t held him properly, but you just hadn’t been ready. You’d be ready for Michael and Lucifer, you just needed that weakness to hold both of them. And in the moment, that relief had been enough to distract you from the pain of Dean. Gone and maybe not coming back. Maybe done, or maybe just dead, but you’d know if he was dead, so he’d just left-

He wouldn’t leave.

He hadn’t left.

He’d crawled back to you with Death’s rings and apologies and another, sweet, world-ending kiss, and you’d wanted to scream it at him. That you love him. That you’re always going to want him with you, because you’re safer together and when he’s gone, there’s nobody to stop you from making really, really stupid choices.

You tell Cas that. Not the part about losing your mind just because Dean was gone for a day—he likely already knows—but that Raphael had been injured in the forest.

And that Crowley had looked at you, sighed, and said, “I’d like to bet on your success, for whatever little scheme you’re cooking up, but I can’t.”

Now, in the library, after a heavy, hanging silence, Cas frowns. “He can’t know what our plan is-“

“He doesn’t.” You mutter. “But he told me he knows witches, and they’re always looking to pull little tricks. That it won’t fly here, in the big leagues. Then I asked him for any books about souls he had, and Sam knocked on the door.”

Cas sighs. “Unsurprising, but still… Not ideal. We are not empty handed, though.”

You blink. “We aren’t?”

“No.” He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out an apple.

An iridescent, glowing apple, so incredibly out of place on the chipped wood and florescent lights of the library.

“Cas-”

“Our primary issue is that you might have enough practice or power to take hold one Archangel. Two is even less likely.” He nods to the apple. “This will help.”

“I- How?”

“I went back to the garden.”

“Cas,” you keep your words slow. “You can’t get into Heaven, they’ve locked you out-“

“Joshua let me in.” Cas frowns at you. “I wasn’t reckless. I didn’t stay long, and Michael and Raphael tend not to bother looking there.”

“Well, why did you go back-“

“For the apple.” He’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one, for not wanting him to be smited, and you let out a heavy breath through your nose.

“Cas. I don’t understand how an apple is worth such a massive fucking risk-“

“It is not an apple.” Cas says your name, his tone slightly exasperated. “It is an apple from the Tree. And while we don’t understand how you being a Magdalene is connected to you being the Bride, that doesn’t change that you are one.”

You blink at him. “And?”

“Lilith was the tender of the Tree, before her exile.”

“The- Oh, fuck.” It hits you, and you gape at Cas for a long, silent moment. “You mean the tree. The Eden tree.”

Cas nods. “Yes. That tree. Its apples are holy, and consuming one will, theoretically, offer you a stronger connection to Heaven.”

“And me being a Magdalene matters because-“

“You are descended from Lilith.” He shrugs. “From what I understand, the apples run in your blood. It is not a sin for you to consume them.”

“Oh.” You swallow, glancing down to the apple on the table. “What?”

Cas sighs. “I do not know the whole story. It is not the exact one told in the Bible, and I was always told Michael preferred not to speak of it. But Lilith was the first wife of Adam. And eating the apple only became a sin after her banishment.”

“But- I-“

“It will make you stronger.” Cas mutters. “That is what’s important.”

You take a long, slow breath. He’s right. Now isn’t the time to dwell on another confusing angel story. “You want me to take steroids, so we can win.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“It’s like a drug that- Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

Cas gives you a tight nod, and you stare at the apple. It’s not crumbling away, like the ones that grow when you lose control. And Cas is right. You do need a boost.

But even if it works, you still need more.

“Okay. But,” You lean forward, and Cas frowns at you. “I have an idea.”

“You said you had nothing.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “About vessels. But Raphael was already on guard against me. He didn’t seem to trust that I actually was the Bride.”

“He had become disillusioned with God altogether.” Cas mutters, still frowning at you. “That is not surprising, but I don’t understand-“

“I need to get their guards down.”

Cas falls silent again. Staring at you for a long, stretched out moment before shaking his head, words low and firm. “No.”

“It’s a good idea-“

“It is not a good idea. There is no evidence it would be effective, and Dean will be furious. He will rampage-“

“Rampage-“

“Yes. Rampage. He

“Then we tell Dean.”

He hisses your name. “That will not go well-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But we don’t have any other options.”

Cas lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. “There are too many ways it could go wrong. One misstep or slip up-“

“I don’t misstep.” You raise your chin, making your voice as commanding as you can manage when there’s a cold, wired fear running over your skin.

It is a bad idea. One of your worst.

There’s no other way, if you want to keep Sam out of the cage. If you want your family to walk out of this intact, with little lost, and nothing broken.

Dean gets to have Sam, so that when you’re gone, he won’t be alone. Sam won’t have to sacrifice himself for something that’s not his fault.

You pull Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel and toss them in the pit, you’ll be using the Silver properly. Salvation, not damnation. And you can’t die—you think, because you haven’t yet and something tells you God won’t let you out that easy—so you’re in the best position to play offense.

But a lifetime of fighting the Silver and self-inflicted torture on your body is, once again, catching up with you. You won’t be strong enough to just grab two archangels without the Silver exploding, and damaging a lot more than you can afford. You just need an extra boost, and an easier way in.

So it’s a bad idea. You’re pretty sure Cas is only helping you because he thinks if he doesn’t, you’ll just do it behind his back.

And this is pushing the bounds of bad idea into horrible, godawful, borderline insane idea, but nobody’s offering anything better.

And Cas is right.

You’ll just do it anyway, and he won't be able to stop you.

You can see it on his face, as he stares at you. The slight twisting of his features as he tries to find a comeback, fails to, and concludes that this is happening. And he’s either with you, or not.

“Sam can’t know.” He mutters. “We will need to make that clear to Dean. If he tells Sam-“

“Lucifer will know to.” You finish, rubbing your wrists. “I won’t tell him until he promises not to say anything. To Bobby, either. He’ll try to stop me.”

Cas gives you a flat look. “He’d be right.”

You ignore him. “It’s going to have to be Lucifer.”

“Michael may be safer-“

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the table. “I think I ruined any chance of using Michael with the Raphael thing. It has to be Lucifer.”

Cas lets out a long sigh—he’s been picking up a lot of you, Sam, and Dean’s habits lately, namely the Sam Bitch-Sigh, and you know he’s doing it on purpose because the drama queen doesn’t have to breathe—and nods slowly. “That is… a fair point. And Michael will likely make no attempts to engage you, even at Lucifer’s side. But if you side against Lucifer, he will be… unforgiving.”

Fuck, that’s a good point too. “Okay. I- I think I can use Adam. Say that I went over to Lucifer because Michael didn’t have anything I wanted.”

Cas’ jaw twitches. “Dean.”

You give a small nod—you really don’t want to talk about it—and Cas tilts his head at you.

You know Cas knows. Maybe not that you love Dean, but that it’s more than just friendship. He can see your soul, same as you can see all his hands folded into the two in his lap. He’s seen the way you’re embedded in Dean. Been with you when you’d confronted Famine, and he’d taunted you about how your hunger for Dean would make him so powerful he’d devour suns.

He’d sat with you yesterday, when the sun had started to set and Dean still hadn’t returned. Gently tried herding you to bed, before telling you he didn’t know how to drive, but would eat ice cream with you in the kitchen if it was needed.

And you’ve told him about the deals, while Sam and Dean were on a hunt last week. If the plan was going to work properly, he needed to know as much as possible.

Not how you dreamt of Dean. Not how you’d always crashed into his gravity, and never been able—or really cared to—pull away. Not the full extent of your plan, or how God was watching you.

But the deals were relevant to the plan. To being the Bride of God, and both Michael and Lucifer being so desperate to have you on their team.

So Cas knows.

And that’s why his words are so careful.

“Is Dean aware that he is the center of the deal?” He says, and you shake your head.

“No. And I- Cas, you can’t tell him-“

“I have no plan to. But if I would not count on him never knowing. When we tell him-“

“He knows they offered me deals. That I’d never really agree to either of them. But-“ You squeeze your hand on your wrist, the sting of raw skin makes the Silver turn in your body. “Cas, he can’t know. Please.”

Cas frowns at you. “Why. He would be receptive-“

“I can’t do that to him.” You whisper, bile rising in your throat. “It’s- We’ll tell him about the plan tomorrow, and I’ll switch sides when Sam lets Lucifer in.”

“There is still the chance Sam will overpower him.” Cas mutters, and you swallow.

“Then I’ll just pull him out there.”

Cas says your name, but cuts himself off with a frown.

“Cas-“

“Dean is praying to me.” He mutters. “Their credit card got frozen.”

You still feel sick, but the Spiderweb is glowing and casting light around your body. He does that all the time, the adorable, perfect dumbass. Prays to Cas for small things, and you can see the annoyance on Cas’ face, but you know it’s fake. The same way that when you’re trying to read and Dean starts asking you questions, you roll your eyes but indulge him anyway, because it’s Dean.

“I have told him to stop using me for this-“

“It’s his birthday, Cas.” You give him a small smile. “Yell at him tomorrow.”

He glares at you. “We are not finished with this conversation-“

“Yeah, we are.” You pick up your book with a shrug. “I’m fake siding with Lucifer to get close to him, and pull him out of his vessel. If Sam gets the up, I pull him there. If he can’t, I get to pull him and Michael. That’s it. Easy.”

Cas stares at you for a moment longer, and you give him a wide, bored grin. It’s the one you learned from Dean, that says I have never done anything wrong in my life, and it’s unbelievable you’d even believe that I am capable of that. And somehow, Cas buys it. He sighs, and gives you a tight nod.

“You should test the apple.” He mutters. “I picked two.”

Your chew on your lips, but hum an agreement. “Do I, just-“

“Eat it. Then try to do something.”

“Something?”

Cas nods, and you take the apple with a careful touch. It doesn’t melt or vanish. You can even taste it, and definitely fruit, but not quite apple.

You swallow, and you’re about to ask Cas how long you should wait when it hits you.

It is a steroid.

The Silver is vast and bright and in perfect harmony with almost everything. No pain, just like when you’d been in Heaven. Just you, and you’re all knowledge of the books, the peaceful dreams of the librarian Cas knocked out, and the love of the knife in your jacket, ready to bloody itself however you want it to.

“It worked.” You mumble, and Cas sits a little taller.

“Good. Dean is still-“

“Wait.” You lean across the table, and you can’t just let this ebb away and go to waste.

You press your hand over Cas’ brow, and he tenses, but doesn’t pull away. All the Silver flows easily, right into your palm, and dips right into that electric blue Cas is made of. Feeds like lightning striking an ocean, making it crackle and rises and grow brighter and brighter and brighter until you pull away, and Cas blinks at you slowly.

You’re not embedded in him. And he seems to have absorbed all the Silver you offered him, but you don’t feel smaller.

If anything, you feel bigger. Brighter. More.

“I feel…” Cas trails off, giving you a look of disbelief. “What did you do.”

“Your Grace is back.” You pull your knees back up to your chest, grabbing your book from the table. “Don’t tell Sam and Dean.”

Cas blinks at you, and you sigh.

“They’ll ask questions. Now go get them before Dean tries to rob the store and they get arrested again.”

Cas still doesn’t move. “Thank you,” he mutters your name, and you give him a weak smile.

“Of course. You’re my friend, Cas.”

He nods, looking at you with an odd, unreadable expression, then vanishes into the air.

You turn your attention back down to the book, but you’re not really reading.

You hadn’t thought of the chance that Sam does overpower Lucifer. Not because Sam isn’t strong, but because you’ve seen Lucifer. All his teeth and Red and anger. Since Sam thought of the let Lucifer in idea, you’ve been having nightmares about bloodied teeth sinking into Sam’s neck, and Dean’s broken expression, and an empty seat at the dinner table.

There’s already one, still stained blue, deep into the wood. Now coated in a light orange, where Adam had sat for almost a month.

Sam had been confused, as to why Adam would just up and take in Michael. But Cas had thrown you a look, and you’d know.

Men of God never could resist a Magdalene.

You’d done this. If you weren’t here, Sam and Dean probably would’ve grabbed Adam from Zachariah, and they’d be down one archangel to worry about.

A lot of things would be better, if you weren’t here. Weren’t their problem. They wouldn’t be worrying about the Bride of God situation, spending too much time and thought on something that’s only your curse, only your sickness. And you’re not going to leave them, you’d promised you wouldn’t run, but anything you have to do so they both get to rest, you will.

It doesn’t matter what happens to you. If God takes you right when it’s done. If you, someone, get one second longer to make up for all the ruin and wreckage you’ve brought into their lives. Something to, maybe, prove that John hadn’t been right. Even though you know he was. If someone had managed to properly muzzle or cage you, Dean wouldn’t be losing sleep. Sam wouldn’t be stretching himself thin to try and help you research any Bride of God legends you can find.

Legends that don’t make this better. Legends that only tell you what you’ve known.

You’re destined to marry God. It’s written in old Babylonian ruins, painted and faded on cave walls, and carved into ancient, rusted Phoenician weapons. All in Enochian, all found by Sam on scholarly websites, all right under your nose your whole fucking life.

All reminding you what you’d been told so long ago.

The Sky was watching. It’s going to swallow you whole.

And you can feel him, before you see him. And your gaze darts to the window, but he’s not in the sky. You can feel his eyes on you, and it’s all suddenly off kilter, like the whole world has been caught in a lense flare. Something strong is wrapping around your wrists, sending a rush of blinding panic up your spine and throat, the Silver has started to stir in your body. It’s stronger than before. Leaking out, until you can feel the wrath of the air around you, the tension of the earth as it welcomes it’s father home, and the hope of every space in between. To grab your attention, begging to be more than just nothing at all.

You’re still you. Maybe it’s just the lasting effects of the apple, but the Silver seems to be running up and up and up without making you too big. But the Spiderweb is sinking. Trying to sink deeper and deeper into the Silver. Trying to hide as the pain hits you.

So much fucking pain, because the Sky isn’t watching.

You turn, away from the window, and he’s sitting at your table, right where Cas had been only a second ago.

God. Small and bearded and smiling at you, like he’s your fucking friend.

You don’t think. The Silver seems to be in pain from ripping into itself—desperate to properly explode and attack him, but not quite powerful enough to break from that tie around your wrists—but you don’t need it.

It’s barely a split second before you have your knife in your hand, and you’re vaulting across the table to drive it into God’s heart.

His eyes widen just slightly, the odd, colorless white light flashing, and suddenly you’re back in your chair. And when you try and throw the knife, right for his heart, the light just flashes again, and it returns to your head. You let out a strangled sound, the grip of the white on your wrists starting to flood the Silver, pushing it higher and higher with panic, and you’re going to explode. When you try and aim a kick at his balls under the table, your feet meet nothing. A choked sob escapes your throat—not now, he can’t be coming for you now—and try to leap back over the table with only your nails, aimed right for his eyes.

“Hey!” God grabs your wrists, and the Silver rushes up. “Stop, I’m not here to take you-“

You don’t believe him. The Silver is scratching under your skin, and you can’t go, not when Sam and Dean need you, and it’s Dean birthday and he deserves one good fucking birthday-

God snaps your name—Enochian, almost echoing off the walls of the library like you’re in a canyon—and it doesn’t calm you down. You’re still a little feral, and the white strength around your wrists feels like it’s strangling your throat-

“I- I can’t-“ You try to move away from him—it’s all you can do now—and claw at your wrists, trying to get it off, it has to come off-

“Can you please stop freaking out?” He says, his tone almost pleading. “I told you, I’m not going to grab you right now. I just want to talk, and- Wait-“

The light flares again, and you’re back in your seat. You’re still everything, and the line between what’s you and what’s not is blurring, and you can’t fucking breathe, there’s a dull pain on your wrists as you try to scratch the white-hot power off, and you might be drawing blood, but you can’t breathe-

“Is it the binds?” God says, and you can hear a frown in his voice, but you can’t really see anything but color and all the gaps between the stars. “If it’s the binds, I can take them off.”

You blink and make another weak sound, and God clears his throat.

“I can only promise so many times not to hurt you, at some point you’re going to have take a deep breath. And I’m actually risking a lot to be here. Sam and Dean could show up any moment, if the credit card thing doesn’t work.” He laughs to himself. “I mean, I could just freeze them, but, y’know. Whole free will show. So if you could please calm down-“

You are calming down. You’d heard Dean, and the Spiderweb had hummed, and a lot of panic had softened. Sam and Dean could come back. He wasn’t going to take you, or hurt them, at least for now.

And you’re still right on the edge of snapping, but you’re drawing blood on your wrists, and the Silver is dragging back down.

It’s fine.

God wants to talk.

You can fucking talk.

It takes a shaking breath and a sharp pang as you draw blood in your inner cheek, but you pull yourself together and meet God’s gaze.

His eyes are blue. A cold, almost bottomless blue that’s filled with life, but the same way the Sun is filled with life. Burning and capable of giving it.

Not actually capable of holding it within itself.

All you can think it’s that Dean’s eyes have life in them. All that green and luminescent color, buried deep but flashing under the surface whenever you really look at him. And Dean always wraps around you, but it’s like a second layer of skin. Golden. A promise of protection. God is just white and demanding. Bright and blinding, like it should hurt to look at him. Clean in a way that reminds you of the floor and walls of your family’s home.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

Like you couldn’t crash into it and destroy yourself without being punished. Like nothing would wrap around you and keep you safe, and no soothing, deep words would hum in your ear, telling you that you’re alright, and he’s got you.

God’s voice is sort of high, too. And Dean’s nose is crooked, while God’s is straight, but the crookedness has always suited him. You’ve always wanted to run your finger down the line of it the same way he does to you. Just to feel him.

But you’re wrapping your arms around your stomach, as God sits across the table from you.

You don’t want him to touch you at all.

“Take them off.” You whisper. “I’ll be good.”

God frowns at you. “You don’t have to be good, they’re just a protection. See?” He snaps his fingers, and you swallow a gasp of relief as the binds on your wrists release. “As long as you don’t try to kill me again, I won’t use them. I mean,” he laughs to himself, and the sound skitters over your bones. “It was sexy, and it’ll be a great story one day, but I’d like, y’know. Actually get to tell it.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to remain even. “What do you want.”

“I told you, to talk-“

“Everyone always just wants to talk.” You’re almost spitting the words, your eyes narrowing on God’s. “What do you want from me?”

God raises his brows, the air hanging with the venom of your tone for a lone, horrible second, then his face splits into a grin.

“You know, it’s been a really long time since anyone has spoken to me like that, knowing who I am.” His grin grows, all white teeth, and the Silver seems to plummet into your gut. “And you’re a lot prettier when you’re awake. This is going to be really, really good.”

You blink at him, your voice dropping slightly. “Awake?”

“Oh, not like that.” He shakes his head, his tone still so casual. “You know I don’t watch you when you don’t want me to. I respect you. I’ve been watching those, ah- The Hallmark movies? And they’re horrible, but humans are very good at making sloppy romances. I’m trying to study them, to see how human relationships work. I know you were raised with them, and maybe I should’ve had you raised in Heaven, but I like the symmetry of it. I give humans their life and loves, they give me mine.”

His.

He thinks you’re his.

“And I know you’re not totally on board yet,” God adds, giving you a small smile. “But you will be. I don’t want this to be one of those stories where there’s no chemistry, and you can tell the characters are only together because the writer wants them to be. You have complete and total free will, promise! We’ll have hard times, but we’ll get through them. It’s called a third-act recovery-“

“I know how stories work.” You cut him off with soft words, and he won’t stop smiling at you.

“Of course you do. I’ve been saving all the stuff you like for when you join me, by the way. So we can have some easier stuff to talk about before, well- The everything. And that,” he sits up a little taller, like he’s please with himself. “Is a great transition.”

“Wha-“

“I know what you’re planning.” God says your Enochian name, giving you an almost disappointed look. “Not because I’m in your head. Again, total free will, but because sweet little Castiel is very worried about you. And he’s stopped praying to me lately, but I can still hear him. Especially when he’s in my garden, talking to my gardener.”

You take a deep breath, and it’s getting really hard to keep your voice properly steady. “So you don’t want me to go through with it.”

God shakes his head. “No. Not really. I just want to tell you that if it goes wrong, I’m not helping you. I sort of can’t, as long as you’re fighting me.”

“Fighting you-“

“The self-harm and starvation? Repressing yourself until your soul literally splits in half? Then shoving down all the pain you feel about Jo’s death so aggressively you can’t even control yourself? Not exactly the healthiest approach.”

You scowl. “If you’re here to tell me to go to love myself or some shit-“

“Oh, no.” He laughs again. “I’m talking about how you don’t want to be a part of this. Heaven, Hell, all the power you were born into. And you have to decides you want it yourself, or it really won’t mean anything. Again, I want you to want it. Does that make sense?”

“What if I don’t want it?” You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “What if I like just being human?”

God just waves you off. “Sure you do now. But once you’re mine, nothing will hurt anymore. You’ll never have to worry about losing me, either. And I’m willing to wait forever, for you to come around, but you have to learn this lesson yourself.”

You can still breathe. You’re still yourself. But your fingers are curling around you knife, your hand under the table, and God seems to lost in his own monologue to notice. Maybe if you’re fast enough. Maybe if you let it all rip out, and-

“I’ve heard women don’t like you to do things for them.” He sighs, giving you an almost sad look. “But I do love you. And I want to help you. So I’m giving you a chance to back out, hit eject now. But it’s only a one-time offer. For both of us. It’ll be easier like this.”

“Like-“ You take a deep breath, his words banging around in your skull.

I do love you.

It’s in a horrible, twisted harmony with Dean’s voice. Baby. You know I love you, baby.

It’s sort of hard to think.

“Like what.” You manage to push out, and God shrugs.

“You and me. Together.”

No. One of your hands flies to your throat on an old instinct as the Silver rushes and roars, and no. “You- you said you weren’t going to take me-“

“Oh, I’m not.” He’s looking at you like he can’t even understand why you’d possibly react like this. “I’m offering you the change to run away with me. Tonight. If you got through with this, your little plan, you’ll be changing too much. Everything will be…” He sighs, and shakes his head. “A lot harder.”

“I-“

“Wait,” he holds his hand up, and your protests die in your throat. “Let me finish. You come with me, I’ll wipe everyone. Make things the way they should’ve been. But once we get past this, there’s no going back. I think.” He grins at you again, and it’s starting to make you want to claw out your eyes. “I’ve never done this before. It’s kind of exciting. But I just don’t want you to get upset when you break your favorite toys.”

You swallow, your words barely audible over the pounding of the Silver in your ears. “I- Don’t have toys.”

“Right, sorry. You’re not there yet. I meant Sam and Dean.”

Sam and Dean.

You’re not going to break them. You’re doing this to help them, to save them, to make up for all the times you’ve made things worse-

“Speaking of Sam and Dean, I think they’re coming now.” God gives you one last smile, and he’s right. You can smell cinnamon. “I hope you make the right choice, but I’ll support you no matter what. You know I’m listening. Just call me, before midnight, and I’ll be there.”

You’re not going to call him. It’s not even a choice, it just is. You won’t fucking leave Dean. And if you are running, it’s not into the arms of fucking God. You’d rather drown yourself, or fall to the deepest pits of hell, because at least then you’d be all yours. And you want to spit and sneer that at him, but the white flares one last time, and then he’s gone.

Barely a split second later, Sam and Dean round the corner.

“Do you smell something?” Sam frowns around the room as Dean walks to your side with a wide grin. “It’s sort of like, um, batteries?”

“Batteries don’t smell like anything, Sammy.” Dean stops at your chair, passing you a chocolate bar with a small frown.

“Yeah, they do, they smell like iron. And burning things.”

“Sammy, that’s-“ Dean sniffs the air, his frown deepening. “Huh.”

“Right?” Sam looks around the library, like he’s expecting something to jump out from behind the shelves. “It’s batteries-“

“It’s not batteries, bitch.” Dean glances down at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Princess, you eat any, uh- Fruit?”

You just stare at him. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you love him, that God had just tried to ask you to run away with him, that you’re planning something insane, that you’re going to make everything worse-“

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean frowns down at you, big, careful hands frame your face, and your hands fly up to cling to his wrists. “Can you, uh- I need you to say something-“

“I’m okay.” You whisper, and his frown deepens, his fingers trailing slightly over your brow.

“You know you can tell me anything.” His voice is lowered, and Sam’s seems to be busying himself with staring at books. “I’m here, I’ve got you-“

“I know you do.” You give him a small smile, and the worry in his gaze doesn’t waver for a second. “Did you get all the stuff?”

Dean stares at you, and for a second you think he’s going to push it, but Sam clears his throat first. “Yeah, we got it. Do you need us to do anything else-“

You shake your head, trying to ignore the intensity of Dean’s gaze. “No, once we’re back home I’ll take care of it.”

“I can help.” Dean grunts, and you give him a flat look.

“It’s your birthday, De. You’re not doing shit.”

“What if I want to help-“

“No.” You hold his glare, and his lips slowly curl into a teasing grin.

“Bossy.”

“I’m gonna stab you-“

“Ah. Not until my birthday’s over.”

“Then sleep with one eye open, Winchester-“

“Hey, guys?” Sam cuts in, frowning between you and Dean. “Can you guys do, uh- That later? And not in front of me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “We’re just freakin’ talking-“

“It’s not just talking, Dean, it’s foreplay.” Sam scoffs. “Actually, it’s worse than foreplay, because at least that would actually in sex instead of,” he makes a loose gesture between you and Dean. “This.”

You can feel the flush on your cheeks, and it doesn’t help that Dean isn’t pushing you away at the suggestion. He might be holding you closer. Moving his body in front of yours, blocking you from Sam—wide eyed and panicked, obviously realizing what he just said—as if he’s worried about your fucking modesty or something.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is almost a growl, and you can picture his set jaw and narrowed gaze. “Shut your face, or get shot.”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbles, and Dean grunts.

“You’re lucky I don’t tell Bobby you said that.”

You lean around Dean to see Sam shaking his head frantically. “Dean, c’mon, don’t- He’ll kill me-“

“I know.” Dean twists his arms slightly, palm spread, and you take his hand without thought.

He glances down, and you give him a small smile.

It doesn’t matter if you’re imagining the softening of his gaze. He’s here. Even knowing everything about you, having to deal with all your freak outs, Dean’s still holding your hand and grinning at you. Letting you smile back, and squeezing his hand once, just to make sure he’s feeling something like it.

The light, dizzy feeling that comes with his proximity. The warmth in your core when he helps you to your feet and keeps your hands tangled together. Not the inescapable, magnetic pull that’s always told you to stay near him, with him, next to him.

Not love, either. That might be too much to ask for.

But just something like it. Something that might give you a chance—even if God returns and takes back all his letting you come to him bullshit in the morning—for you to kiss him just one more time.

Because you’d kissed.

Two more times.

And Sam’s teasing isn’t anything new, but that had a sharper edge than usual. Like he knows—really knows something you don’t quite fully believe yourself—that there might be a chance.

It’s all you can think about, watching Dean shuffle around the kitchen as you and Bobby cook.

There could be a chance.

“Dean,” Bobby grunts, not looking up from his carrots. “Get outta the kitchen.”

“It’s my birthday, Bobby, I can be wherever the hell I want-“

“Not in here.”

“C’mon, Bobby-“ Dean’s words cut off, and you glance up again to see him starting at the cutting broad. “Carrots?!”

You can hear Bobby’s sigh from across the room. “They’re good for ya, Dean-“

“I don’t want shit that’s good for me-“

“Dean.” You interrupt him with a firm look, and his mouth snaps shut. “I’m making you cake and pie. You’re going to eat your carrots.”

He stands up straight, a smirk covering his face, and before you know what’s happening you’re pinned against the counter, and Dean is incredibly close to your face.

It must be the lighting, or your stupid soul vision, but he’s glowing. There’s his usual Gold, the light off his slight tan—it’s January, how the hell does he have a tan—and all the little bits of blond in his hair that you want to touch. You just want to touch him, to check that he’s real, to kiss his smug expression and hear him groan your name again, like maybe he’s just as desperate to have you as you are for him. You want to maybe drown in him. Have his Gold painted all over you, and breathe so easily because his eyes are full of life. They’re the prettiest shade of green in the world, and they’re dancing with amusement at your slack expression, and you never want him to stop looking at you like that.

Like he’s happy, and it’s only because you’re there.

“What kinda pie you makin’ me, Princess?”

You swallow, your voice a little breathy. “Cherry.”

His grin widens. “That’s my favorite-“

“I- I know, De-“

“And I get pie and cake.”

“Only if you eat your carrots.” You whisper, and he shrugs.

“Fine. But you gotta eat everything I eat.”

You frown. “Dean-“

“Nope. I eat something, you eat the same.”

“I’m going to eat-“

“Yeah, you are. Everything I eat.”

“Dean-“

He drawls your name back with a wide, boyish grin, and you haven’t seen that expression on him in so long. Maybe since before Hell, and if after, not this wide. This relaxed. Making the Spiderweb feel like almost a supernova, with so many colors and so much color and heat. One of Dean’s hands is holding your hips, and it’s sparking so much heat-

“Dean.” Bobby grunts. “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Dean pushes back like nothing happened at all, speaking to you like you weren’t seconds from jumping him right in front of Bobby. “If you guys need anything-“

“We’ll make Sam do it. Out.”

Dean rolls his eyes, whispering in your ear and making a small shiver run up your spine. “He’s grumpy.”

You don’t get a chance to respond—you’re not sure you remember how to speak—before Dean’s kissing your cheek, and then he’s gone.

And you get—as you sway slightly and reach up to touch your cheek, right where Dean’s lips had sloppily and easily pressed against it—why Sam has upped his teasing game.

Something’s flipped in Dean, since the kisses.

He hasn’t blatantly flirted with you like this since you met him. As if there aren’t a million obstacles in your way and the world isn’t ending as you speak. As if this night isn’t a single island in the ocean, and you don’t have a long way to go before any of you see land again.

But Dean’s flirting with you.

You think.

He’s kissed the top of your head before. And he’s held your hand before. He calls you princess all the time, as if it’s a second name. He also whispers in your ear all the time, because he’s your best friend and that’s what friends do-

Jo would say she’s his friend too. That he doesn’t do that with her. And she and Sam are friends, but Sam’s never pinned her to a counter. Sam’s never held her hand, either-

Oh.

Fuck.

Bobby clears his throat and you blink down at him. “You alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah?” That shouldn’t sound like a question. “Yeah. I, um- Yeah.”

Bobby gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ve been askin’ you to grab the salt for a damn minute, and you’ve just been standin’ there. Try again.”

“I-“ You swallow, setting down the bowl of your batter carefully. It would be really nice, not to have this conversation with Bobby right now. Maybe ever.

You’d gotten an awkward show of how to put a condom on a banana, when you were sixteen. And there had been a period, before the pain and White and Darkness had started, where Bobby had tried to send you elementary and middle school, under a fake name. There had been a few kids who’d made you feel fuzzy, and you’d told Bobby all about them, and he’d grumbled something about kids and their crushes. But then there had been Dean, no one else, and all of Bobby’s awkward attempts to tell you that he’s okay with it, and just wants you to be happy.

But you hadn’t counted those as real. They’d been just like Sam and Jo’s teasing, because there might have been a ring of truth to it, but everything else was too complicated.

But there’s a chance.

Bobby grunts your name and you shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach.

“Bobby?” You speak slowly, not wanting to meet his gaze. “When you met your wife, how did you know?”

He frowns at you. “Know?”

“That it was-“ You take a deep breath. “That it was something.”

There’s a long pause, and Bobby sighs your name. “I ain’t sure what to tell you. I wish I could say somethin’ like fireworks, but it just was. Nothin’ big, nothin’ special. She was pretty, and I was a little drunk, so I took the jump and asked ‘er out. Then we built from there.”

You frown at the floor. It had been something special with Dean. It hadn’t been fireworks, but just fucking gravity. A pull, then a strange, dizzying feeling close to euphoria, making your whole-body light up. Then a feeling of needing to know him. But maybe you’d just been young, and you’d seen the most beautiful man alive, and lost your fucking mind-

“John used to tell me ‘bout when he knew for Mary.” Bobby says, and your gaze shoots up to find him watching you carefully. “He said he just looked at her one day and got those fireworks. And they mighta been ordained for heaven or whatever shit Cas said, but fireworks don’t last. I’d gotten fireworks with plenty of ladies, before Karen. But with her, it always… more. Felt like lookin’ at the stars. When I decided to marry ‘er, it wasn’t cause of some movie like, time slowin’ musical bullshit moment. It was ‘cause I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, blinking sudden tears out of your eyes. “Bobby, I- I don’t know-“

“You know.” Bobby shrugs, giving you a gentle smile, and you shake your head.

“But- It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, sinking down to the floor. “It is the fireworks. And it’s where I’m supposed to be, but it can’t be ordained by Heaven and- It just- It feels-“ You wipe your tears with your palm, and Bobby passes you a cloth. He’s wheeled over to your side, and you haven’t felt this much smaller than him in a while. Like really just a kid. And his hand rests on your shoulder as you take deep breaths, trying to find an end to your sentence.

“It doesn’t have to be anythin’ big.” Bobby mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear it. “All you gotta do is throw that boy a bone, and he’ll eat out of your hand.”

You shake your head, sniffing slightly. “That’s a little dramatic-“

“Uh huh. When was the last time he said no to you?”

Fuck. “Bobby-“

“It’s his birthday,” Bobby sighs your name, and you look up to see him frowning at the air. “Like I said, don’t gotta marry ‘im right now. Whatever you can manage, long as you’re both happy.”

Long as you’re both happy.

Dean deserves being happy with anyone but you.

But you’ve always wanted it to be you. For there to be another life where you’re still doing this—maybe not crying on the floor until you’re ready to get up, but making Dean a birthday dinner—and there are not monsters in the shadows or wars on the horizon. For you always to be the one at Dean’s side.

Just like now, getting to smile at him as he drops into his seat and bumps your knees together. And you’re not going break it or infect it. Not going to be the reason it breaks, because it’s your whole life, and nothing about that is complicated.

Maybe—in that life—you have to pay a mortgage and student loans, and maybe sometimes you fight with Dean about stupid things, but nobody dies. There’s not a sense of one night, and one night only, as you, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Bobby eat and laugh and joke.

There’s no threat of God, wrapped around your neck like a noose set to yank you up without warning, so when Sam brings out the pie and cake—he has the biggest hands, and can walk—you kiss Dean before he blows out his candles.

You don’t kiss him.

Not here, or now. But you sing him happy birthday, and watch his eyes widen on yours as his lips part, and you want to kiss him here. With the soft light of the candles flickering over his face, and that same peaceful look washed over his features, mixing with one of almost awe.

You love him. And if it can only ever be like this—the painful, long, complicated way—you’ll be okay with that. It would be almost impossible not love him, which is why you’ve never been able to fault that faceless woman in your head. The one who someday comes along and takes Dean away from you.

But you’re the one who’s going to be taken away.

And right now, you’re the one he’s looking at. The one he’s giving fireworks, and keeping his thigh pressed against, and the one who belongs at his side.

So even if you only get one of these moments every ten years, you’ll keep loving Dean like it’s written into the fabric of your soul. It’s impossibly easy.

And Bobby’s right. It’s the only thing you’ve ever really known.

The rest of the night is just about Dean. Eating the cake and pie—Dean hadn’t lied, he’s refusing to take bites unless you take them first, and you’re either going to punch him in the gut or climb on his lap at the table and see what happens—then playing poker. You lose, horribly, and very fast, but Dean lets you hang over his shoulder and explains all his hands to you before he plays them.

“How are you this bad at poker, Princess.” He grins at you as Sam takes another million years to decide what he’s doing. “I know you don’t hustle, but that was- Real bad.”

“I’m bad at math,” you mumble, and Dean gives you an amused look.

“You make spreadsheets for fun.”

“That’s not the same,” Sam frowns up from his cards. “That’s data organization. I do it.”

“And you’re good at math, Sammy-“

“That’s correlation, not causation-“

“I don’t know what the fuck that means-“

Dean cuts himself off as you whisper in his ear. “Correlation is two data points that move together, but it’s just a coincidence. Causation is when two data points are the same because one is caused by the other.”

“Ah.” Dean nods slowly, and twists to give you a grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You beam at him, Sam makes a gagging sound, and Bobby whacks him for taking a million years to make his move.

After the poker game ends—Cas winning by a mile, shocking Dean and Bobby but pretty unsurprising considering neither of them, at any point, knew what Cas was going to do next—there’s a quick exchange of presents, and you try not to look too lovingly at Dean while he opens them. It can’t be written on your face. You still have rules, and you still can’t tell him or indulge or make it about you either—this won’t be about you, if you open the door a crack and Dean is the one who breaks it down—and you can’t show it on your face.

But it’s hard, when he gives Cas a tight, sudden hug for the rare car parts he’d found during his God-travels, or Bobby gets the same treatment when he shows Dean the upgraded TV in the living room. Or when he grins at Sam for the joke toy gun, then crushes him in another hug for the rare jerky and Batarang shaped knives he found online.

He looks so happy. And he’s retreating to your room, as the night comes to an end. Because he’s not yours, but fuck, he’s something close to it. And that’s more than you’ve ever dared to hope for.

You never want to let it go.

“These are cool,” you hum, focusing on the Batarang spinning in your hand and trying really hard not to think about shirtless Dean, washing his face in the bathroom. “Do you know where Sam found them?”

“You know Princess, you can just have them.” Dean laughs, and you look up to find him walking over to where you’re cross legged on the bed, still not wearing a shirt.

You want to touch him. All the slopes and panes of his chest, every scar, the lines of his tattoo and then the muscles of his back, and he’s so Golden and if you pressed your face into his stomach, it would be soft and safe.

“They’re a gift,” you manage to whisper, blinking up at him. “I can’t take them, De-“

“You don’t have to,” he shrugs, dropping on the edge of the mattress. “But whenever you wanna use them, they’re there.” He pauses. “Is it rude if I tell you I really wanna see what you got me?”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, it’s not. And maybe I didn’t get you anything-“

“Don’t try to lie, sweetheart. I’ll know.” He leans forward, and you can feel the heat from his body. “And you have to show me. It’s my birthday.”

You give him a flat look. “For thirty more minutes.”

“And I’m gonna milk that half hour like you can’t believe. C’mon, please?” he gives you a dramatic, pleading expression, and you can’t stop your giggle. “You’re not supposed to laugh-“

“Sorry.” You grin at him, and he just rolls his eyes. “You want your presents?”

He blinks at you. “Presents?”

You nod, and reach over to the drawer of your bedside table. “You’re not allowed to say anything until I give you all of it. Okay?”

Dean doesn’t respond, and when you look over your shoulder, he’s right there. Inches away and grinning at you, not saying a single word.

You roll your eyes, his grin grows, and you shove him slightly so you can sit back up.

“I got you an iPod.” You say, holding out each item as you speak. “You need to get into the 21st century, Deano. But, I also got you a bulk pack of blank mixtapes because I know you won’t. And, um-“ You reach under the bed, not allowing your gaze to linger on his face for too long. “I also got you a cowboy hat, and I’ll watch one whole Clint Eastwood movie with you, and I promise not to say anything when it’s stupid.” You give him a small smile, carefully placing the cowboy hat on his brow, and tipping it up when it falls slightly forward. “Happy Birthday, Dean.”

I love you.

It’s all you can think, as he stares at you. Not saying a single word, but not kicking you out either, and you can’t really read his expression. Can’t figure out what he’s thinking, if you’re about to lose him, if he’s going to grab you into one of those hugs, if maybe, you get to crash into him and feel it more than any possible pain-

Dean reaches up slowly, tucks a little hair behind your ear with a feather-light touch, and you blink at him.

“Do you like them?” You ask, trying not to let your voice waver, and he nods.

“They’re awesome,” he mutters your name, and his eyes look slightly glassed over. His hand is still lingering on your face. “You’re awesome, Princess. These are- Really fucking awesome.”

You give him a nervous smile. “Did I break you?”

“No.”

“Then-“

He sets the cowboy hat off to the side and leans forward, but doesn’t kiss you. Dean’s brow just falls to yours as he cradles your face in his hands, and you’re really not sure what’s happening.

“De.” You whisper, carefully dragging one of his hands into yours. “Are you okay?”

He nods, but his grip on you only tightens.

“Dean-“

“I don’t wanna fight.” He mutters, and you frown.

“We’re not going to fight-“

“Yeah, we are. I’m gonna tell you, and you’re gonna get pissed-“

“No, I’m not-“

“Princess-“

“I’m not your Dad.” You say softly, and he lets out a shaking breath. “I know we fight but I- I’d never get mad at you for not liking something, or feeling something, or-“

“Being selfish?”

“You’re not selfish, Dean.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I am.”

“Dean-“

“I asked Death.” He mutters, breath ghosting over your lips, and you still in his touch. “Asked him if you had a way out, from that God bullshit. And Hell, if he’d told me all I had to do was trade you for someone else or do a fuckin’ volcano sacrifice- Son of a bitch, I would’ve done it. Wouldn’t have hesitated, either. Even if it ruined some poor assholes life, losing his girl so I could keep mine.”

His.

“De-“

“But he said no.” Dean’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and when he pulls you a little forward, you don’t fight him. “That you are the Bride of God, and there’s nothin’ I can do about it. Fucking- I don’t know how the hell you did it.”

You frown. “Did with?”

“Didn’t fucking kill someone.” He rasps. “When you knew you were gonna lose me. Hell, I’m not even losing you and I- Shit-“

Dean leans back, scanning over your face with an intensity you can feel lighting up the Spiderweb, and you just hold his gaze.

“I need you, baby.” He mutters, and your fingers curl on his hands. “You’re my best friend, and I need you. And I don’t care if it makes me selfish, if God needs a wife he can take anyone else, but he can’t take you.”

Baby.

I need you, baby.

Again, you don’t think about it. You’ve never had to think about it with Dean. He moves, so you move.

And when you crash up into him, your lips slamming against each other like you’re trying to fuse together, you know it’s not going to go there. Not tonight. Dean can pull you fully into his lap and you can wrap your arms around his neck, but that’s as close as you’ll get. The bare skin of your thigh brushing his naked abdomen, as you try to climb up his chest. His hand tangling in your hair.

You can’t do more. Not when you can’t feel God watching, but some pain lingers on your wrists, and the deep, frozen fear that he’ll just take you.

That you’ll tell Dean the thing you’re never allowed to say—instead of just moaning his name down his throat or squeezing his hand three times—and God will rip you away. Or worse, that Dean will try to fuck you, and you’ll vanish from his hands.

But this can be enough. It’s Dean.

So it’s always enough.

A high whine leaves your throat as he angles his mouth over yours, deepening the kiss until it’s all just Gold and a high feeling brimming under your skin and rising in your chest. Dean’s hands are rough but careful as they start to roam under your shirt, lighting small trails of fire on your skin, and he groans your name when your nails sink into his shoulders.

The sound sends an ache of warmth between your thighs, and you start to grind down, trying to chase some friction as your breath hitches and your mouth falls wide open for Dean to take, you just want him to take you and touch you, because there’s no pain when his tongue is tangled in yours and his erection is pressed right over your core-

Dean grabs your hips, kissing the tip of your nose and rubbing his hands soothingly, and slows your pace.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, finger trailing up your spine and making you shake in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you.

You melt into him with a happy sigh, and Dean’s got you.

You let him take the lead—you’d let him lead you anywhere, and apparently you can’t be trusted to control yourself when you can feel every flex of his muscles—and he turns the kiss slow. Not pushing, not demanding, just rolling you carefully onto your back, squeezing the skin of your hips and grinning at your soft sigh.

It’s more than the fireworks. It’s enough heat to maybe rewire a universe. But it’s also so gentle, the way he’s touching you and kissing you like he’s just as afraid as you are, that you’re going to vanish.

But most of all, when Dean presses a final, sweet kiss on your swollen lips and rolls onto his side, keeping you pressed to his chest, it’s comfortable. Easy. The Spiderweb singing in time with the drum of his heart, and his hands pressed into your skin in a possessive way that might leave a brand.

You hope it does. Or that the Earth grows around you both, and nothing ever tries to take you away from him.

Because this, here, in Dean’s arms with the taste of him on your tongue, and your legs tangled together, is right where you belong.

——————

Dean’s caught. Suspended. Trapped like a damn animal, unable to even gnaw its own leg off.

The two people that he loves the most are trying to kill him. They’re both genius, unmovable, determined idiots that he’d lay down his life for in a heartbeat, even though they both keep being insane.

Sam had cornered him last night, while She and Bobby had been in the library. Sat across from Dean at the table with a firm expression, dead quiet until Dean had raised his brows.

You got something you wanna tell me, Sammy?”

Sam had sighed—as if he hadn’t been the one who cornered Dean—and spoken with a heavy tone that set a stone in Dean’s gut. “We need to move soon. On Lucifer.”

Dean’s jaw had clenched. “Yeah, man, I know-“

“And we’re doing my plan.”

The fucking plan. The stupid fucking plan that was going to make him lose Sammy forever, that Death had made him promise to go through with. “Sam-“

“There’s no other way-“

“We’ll do it.”

Sam had blinked at him. “We will?”

Dean had nodded, staring at his beer bottle on the table. “Yeah. No other way, right?”

“Right.” Sam had stared at him for a long moment, before clearing his throat. “So, um- I wanted to talk to you about after. When I’m…” he’d swallowed, and Dean’s fists had clenched.

That wasn’t the Sam that hunted at his side and was addicted to demon blood and had all the same nightmares, but just strangled them in silence and kept moving.

Across the table from him was Sammy. The little kid who had been afraid of the dark and cried when he saw clowns. The one who had gotten lost in a grocery store when they were kids and hugged Dean first when they found him. And Dean goddamn knew that Sam didn’t want to do this either. Just like he knew that the kid was a stubborn bitch, and nothing Dean could say would make them turn back now.

“When I’m not here,” Sam muttered, and Dean might have been about to break the bottle. “What you do after.”

Dean had frowned. “The hell you mean what I do-“

“I know you, Dean.” Sam had sighed. “You’re going to want to try and bring me back, but if I come back, Lucifer comes back with me. And I- I don’t want you to have the stupid hunter death. You deserve better than that.”

That had pulled a dry, humorless laugh out of Dean’s throat. “No, I-“

“It’s not up to you.” Sam had cut him off, his eyes flicking in the direction of the kitchen, and something to the right of Dean’s heart had stuttered. “You know it’s there, Dean. I know you’re never going to be to- Y’know. With anyone else. And I- I’d feel better if I knew you guys would have each other-“

“We do have each other.”

“That’s not what I mean, dude.” Sam had given him a tightlipped smile. “I know she’s got her own thing with, uh- God-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that.” Dean had grunted. “She might not be ready, Sam. And I’m not gonna-“

“Tell a girl that you have a crush on her?” Sam had raised his brows. “That kind of sounds like me, Dean, not you.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed, and Sam had just held his gaze casually, his tone bored.

“You could take another ten years to settle down. But I want you to stay with her, Dean. Try to stop hunting, don’t try to bring me back, and-“ Sam had sighed. “I don’t know, man. Have a life.”

“And you just-“ Dean had scowled, shaking his head. “Want us to leave you in there? The hell we’re just gonna freakin’ abandon you-“

“You’re not abandoning me, Dean.” Sam had given him a sad smile. “You’re saving the world, then resting. If not for me, for her.”

For Her.

Sam hadn’t needed to say what he meant.

That, if there was anyone to be worried about, it was Her.

Dean wanted it. God, he fucking wanted it. He’d never seen anything clearer than those fantasies in his head, where he woke up next to Her and got to kiss her good morning, and they showered together. Then he made her breakfast and she made him lunch and they ordered take out for dinner. He’d flip Her over on the couch and kiss down Her body, and She’d give him that blinding smile in the dark. Maybe he’d have a picture of Her in his wallet, and the assholes at his normal, tax-paying job would tease him about saying my girl all the time, but then they’d meet Her, and understand.

If they to be in Her orbit, they’d never shut up about it either. Not when all the world moved for Her, but She only moved to Dean.

And he cared about the Bride of God thing. He’d been lying through his teeth to Sammy, because he knew he was going to lose Her. He’d always known, but now it wasn’t just a cold fear in his ribs, making his breathing sort of shallow. It was just the truth. Sort of gospel, because it had been told by God. And when Her time came, if She didn’t want to go, he’d still fight to keep Her. And he’d end up dead—it was God—but at least he would’ve died in Her name.

The promise to Sam was the easiest one he’d even make. It was going to be real damn easy to stay with Her, when this was done. To maybe crack when he thought of Sammy, but then just hold Her until the pain eased a little. If he only got to have Her for a week, a month, a year, a decade, he wanted to have Her. To love Her well enough that when God came, She’d spend the rest of time knowing that Dean had loved Her. And he’d loved Her right, and She’d never wanted for anything as long as She’d been in his arms.

He hadn’t fucked Her, on his birthday. He wanted to do it right. Not in a storm of confusing pain his chest, warmth in his gut, and a high in his head from how She’d been on his lap and kissing him like She was starved. Gentle. Romantic. Like in a telenovela or drama show, where someone did a big, sweeping gesture, and the other person realized that they were deeply in love, and then they fucked on rose petals.

In the moment, with Her fast asleep in his arms and a tiny little bruise Dean had put on Her neck, it had felt like the right call.

But he should’ve known better. Sammy was right, Dean wasn’t the one to be worried about. It would fucking suck, and he might never sleep well again, but this was Sam’s last wish. And Dean had always wanted to grow roots with Her, and put up a white fence that She’d carve with Enochian, and hug Her from behind while they made apple pies for a dumb bake sale.

She was the one who never stopped running. Who was going to want to do something insane to try and get Sammy back.

Hell, She already was trying to do something insane.

They’d been hunting demon blood for Sammy, and She’d tipped Her head back on the Impala’s bench as they drove back to Bobby’s. Looked at Dean under fluttering lashes and with pouted lips, and his eyes had narrowed. That was Her expression when She wanted something.

“Deano.” She’d said softly, and his grip had tightened on the wheel. “Can you pull over, please?”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“Whatever you want, ask me while I’m driving.”

She’d sighed. “I don’t want you to crash.”

Son of a fucking bitch, things could never just be simple and easy. Something in the universe had to be out to fucking get him, because he’d pulled the car off to the side of the road, and She’d given him a sweet, full-lipped smile, and he’d known this wasn’t going to end with anything good.

“Remember how I completely and totally forgave you for going to see Death behind my back?”

Dean had given Her a flat look. “Princess-“

“This is like that. You’re gonna be mad at me, and I- I’m sorry, but-“ She’d taken a shuddering breath, and given him a nervous look. “We can kiss again, if that helps?”

It wasn’t fair how She was so damn adorable. How that would help, but She couldn’t know that Dean would probably let her get away with anything if She rewarded him with the right touches. If he had to carry Her out of playing in oncoming traffic, but got to make Her scream his name and arch off the bed, he’d never be capable of being really mad at Her.

She liked to test him, though. Liked to see just how much She could bring out of him—the answer was all of it, Dean was never more than when he was with Her—and, just like Sammy, goddamn kill him.

He’d muttered Her name, slinging his arm around the back of the bench and tipping Her face up to hold his gaze, and She’d let out a long, soft breath.

“Please don’t be mad.” She’d mumbled, and before Dean could respond, She was rambling. “This isn’t just my idea, it’s Cas’ too. I mean, it was my idea, but he helped. He found the apples, and he- He backed me up-“

“Princess-“

“Remember how I was able to pull Zachariah out of his vessel?” She’d said nervously, and Dean froze. “And, um, I almost did it with Raphael too? I- I think I can just toss Lucifer and Michael in the cage.”

Dean had stared at Her for a long moment, unable to fully form a thought, his own voice sounding a million miles away. “You think.”

“Yeah.” She’d whispered, Her eyes shining on his. “But, um- You’re not going to like how.”

That was damn right. Dean fucking hated how. And he’d fought with Her about it. Told Her it was insane, to fake-join Lucifer, to take magic steroids, to try and grab archangels-

“Dean.” She’d grabbed both his hands, pushing up on Her knee under her body, and it didn’t seem like a fair fight. She looked heavenly in the morning mist and light, and She smelled like fruit and sugar and god-

“No. It’s goddamn bonkers, Princess.”

She gave him a small smile. “Bonkers?”

“No.” He’d pointed an accusing finger at Her, and her smile had grown. “You can’t try and joke me out of this one, sweetheart, there’s no way in hell you’re doing this.”

“Please.” She’d scooted closer, and he’d just stared at Her, a little enchanted like an idiot. Dad had been right. She was dangerous, and She might make Dean an idiot.

But he could never hate Her, either. It wasn’t Her fault Dean liked falling under her spell, or dreamt about Her drowning him in all Her fruit and sugar and light.

“I’ll be okay, De.” She’d whispered, Her siren-like voice calling him down, down, down- “Sam will be okay, too, I just need to catch Lucifer off guard-“

“So we throw him a surprise party.” He’d grunted, and She smiled at him. The real, sweet smile that had always sort of melted him, because She didn’t really give it to anyone else.

“Dean.” She’d hummed, squeezing his hand three time. Fine. Everything was fine. “Please. I can’t do it without you.”

Fuck. He’d agreed. He was a weak willed, selfish asshole that wanted Her to love him and never look anywhere else for things she needed. And this could go wrong. This could, so goddamn easily, go a million ways wrong. Dean could think of about fifty off the top of his head.

But he’d always just been a weapon. A blood and dirt-rusted blade for the people he loved to wield. And apparently being that meant sitting awkwardly with Bobby while Sammy downed gallons of demon blood in the panic room, and She kept him company because She’d be the safest.

He and Bobby hadn’t really spoken. They’d played a card game and glanced at the stairs to the basement, waiting for Her to come up and tell them that they were ready to go. The original plan had just been turn themselves over to demons, but She’d rolled Her eyes like that was insane and insisted on using Her tracking spell.

And now, with Sam silent in the passenger’s seat, Her curled up in the back seat—slumped against a fully alert Cas, picking at Her fingers again, making Dean want to pull over and make Her stop, but they didn’t have enough time—and another bone guiding Dean on the dash, they were at the end.

This was it. She’d told him that She had that apple thing in Her jacket, and that She’d be fine. Lucifer wouldn’t hurt Her. And if Sam didn’t get a hold on Lucifer, she wanted to go for Michael, too.

Of course She did.

Because She and Sam were trying to fucking kill him.

Dean hated this. He’d never really hated anything more. He’d been staring at Death’s ring for hours last night, sitting up on the headboard and She’d been curled into his side, and hadn’t been sure it was worth it. The world. He was a selfish fucking asshole, and She might not be able to see it, but Dad had. Dad had known him better than anyone. He’d told Dean that the hard thing was the right thing, and that he just wanted Dean to be strong enough to do the right thing.

This didn’t fucking feel like the right thing. Letting the world fucking burn didn’t feel like the right thing either. The right thing maybe felt like using Death’s ring to kill God, because it was possible. Death had said God would die, and there wasn’t any damn reason it didn’t have to be now. Dean could use it to make God talk his asshole sons down from ending the world, then kill the douchebag anyway, so She never had to go.

Selfish.

This fucking sucked. And Sammy didn’t know about Her plan, and Bobby didn’t know Her plan—goddamnit, Bobby was finally going to shoot him—and Dean knew She was powerful or whatever, but fuck, She couldn’t just do this alone. She’d always told Dean she needed him, for when She fell apart or faltered and he could be Her weapon, carving them to the end.

But they were at the end. And unless this went perfectly, Dean wouldn’t be allowed to go with Her. If something went wrong, he’d still lose one of them.

That was the real fear, he knew. The cold, uncertain dread settled back in the cavity of his chest, splitting that pit more and more open until it was a canyon of just fucking empty dread.

He didn’t know who he was going to lose. And there was a dangerous light of hope deep in the pit—that he’d get to keep them both—but it was just going make this so much fucking worse.

“He’s in there.” Dean muttered, frowning at the abandoned building the Bone was angled towards. “Showtime.”

She and Cas exchanged at look that Dean could see in the rearview mirror, but went entirely unnoticed by Sam.

“Do I just… walk in and tell him?”

“Ideally, yes.” Cas muttered. “And Dean-“

“Got the rings.” He muttered, his hand sliding into his jacket. “And the incantation.”

Cas nodded, and Dean wanted to roar that this a mistake, all of this was a mistake, something was going to go wrong, and they needed to turn back now, but the brake lines had been cut.

They walked into the house, Cas waiting the car—She and Cas exchanged a strange look before they separated, making Dean’s stomach churn—and there was no way out.

Lucifer was waiting for them, arms spread wide and a manic grin on his face. His burnt, rotting, ugly face, the substitute vessel already falling apart. Dean wasn’t sure if the bile in his throat was from the sight of the motherfucker, or just what he knew was about to happen.

“Sammy! And Dean, and,” his grin fell to Her, and shooting his smug face wouldn’t do anything, but Dean really wanted to. “Hi, doll. I heard about your talk with Mikey. He really can’t charm a lady, can he? You finally realize that I’ve got the better deal?”

She didn’t response, just glancing to Sam, and Lucifer sighed.

“Guys, this is a safe space. We can all talk about our feelings, before I climb into Sam and Sam tries to jump us both to hell.”

The room fell dead silent, Lucifer grinning at them with an amused expression, and Dean’s blood curled in his body. He knew. The son of a bitch knew, of course he knew, Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue why they’d even fucking bothered because now he was going to lose Sammy-

“Here, I’ll start. Sam,” Lucifer put on a simpering, wounded expression. “While I am hurt that you’d try to do that to me, I forgive you. I would still love to hop in for a ride, though. And if you get the reigns, hey! Fair game! I mean, I will torture you for eternity for putting back there,” he spat the word, and Sam paled. “But right now? Let’s fucking dance, baby.”

No. This wasn’t going to end well, and Dean glanced down to see Her braced and ready, and no-

“Ready, Sammy.” Lucifer spread his arms wide. “What’d you say? Ready to take on the world?”

No-

“Okay.” Sam stood a little taller, but her still just looked like a kid- “Yes.”

Dean lurched forward. This couldn’t happen. Lucifer had the jump on them, so he didn’t give a fuck about cut brake, they had to go-

“Dean.” She grabbed his arm, and shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Lucifer grinned at Her, his body starting to glow, and raised his brows. “C’mon, doll, you’re the last thing we’re missing-“

“No,” Dean’s grip tightened on Her arm, and he didn’t care about the plan. Both of them, he couldn’t lose both of them-

“And you know Mike’s not going to be good to him.” Lucifer hummed, and something strange flashed over her favors. “I am going to win, but on the chance I don’t… Dean was the prettiest girl at the dance, and he turned Michael down. You remember my promise. You already lost the shoe in with Heaven, I don’t think you want Daddy coming back.” He extended a hand, attention entirely on Her, and no- “Join me. You won’t have to be the Bride. Just you, me, Sammy, and, well-“ He grinned at Dean. “You know the rest.”

She swallowed, and Sam’s eyes widened on Her’s.

“Don’t,” he said Her name in a pleading tone, and Dean felt like he was drifting in the Ocean.

He knew the tide had grabbed him. He knew what was going to happen. Sammy had said yes, and he couldn’t take it back. She had a plan, and Dean had the rings, but She wanted to go for Michael too. If he fought it, he’d just be dragged further and further down, but not into Her. Into the pit in his body, already feeling so fucking empty because he fucking knew-

Sam repeated Her name desperately, and She shook Her head.

“You have to promise.” She whispered, Her eyes not moving from Lucifer, and Dean knew it was an act, but She was too damn good at it.

“Promise. Easy.” Lucifer grinned at Her. “You in?”

“Yeah.” She let go of Dean’s arm, and he could still feel the fucking burn from where She had been touching him. “I’m in.”

Sam shouted Her name, and Dean didn’t fucking care about the plan. If this was being selfish, he’d live with it. He was going to fucking fight the tide, and he was going to let it kill him because fucking hell, he couldn’t do this without Her-

The room started to glow a red-gold light, and Dean was thrown back like a hammer had slammed into his chest. Fully out of the room with Her and Sam still inside, and Lucifer growing brighter and brighter as She stood at his side.

Their eyes met, for only a second. She gave Dean a small, sad smile and blinked three times, right before the door slammed shut.

But nothing was fine. None of this was fucking fine. Dean slammed his fist of the door and roared their names, and it wasn’t for the show of it. He didn’t care if Lucifer found out about Her plan, he just wanted Her back, wanted Sammy back, needed Sammy to fucking know that She wasn’t betraying them, She was just insane and brilliant and reckless, so fucking reckless with Herself when She was the most important thing in the world-

The door broke open, and Dean stumbled forward into an empty room. They were gone. Both of them were gone, and he’d just fucking let it happen. The rings felt heavier than a black hole in his pocket, and they were both gone.

He’d get them back. They had a plan, and he was going to get them both back. But he couldn’t really breathe. All the air felt like ash in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to be able to breathe until he got them both back.

Cas was frowning at him when he returned to the car, glancing past Dean’s shoulder to the dead empty house. “Did she-“

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, holding the rings up for Cas to see. “She’s going for the big game.”

“Michael.” Cas muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze. “We will need to find the location of the final fight, and meet her there. The prophet should be able to see it.”

“Chuck?” Dean glanced over, and Cas nodded. “You think he’s going to be able to see how this ends? If we get it?”

“I would not count on it. Without God’s interference…” Cas sighed. “We have no way of knowing what will happen.”

Dean didn’t understand the point of a prophet, if they couldn’t just know that everything was going to be fine. That he’d find them, open the cage, She’d pull Lucifer out of Sammy and Michael out of Adam, and it would be over. They’d have to figure out what the hell to do with Adam, if this worked. The dumbass had voluntarily handed himself over to Michael, like the dipshit hadn’t kidnapped him only weeks ago. And whenever he’d tried to bring it up with Her, she’d just shrugged and mumbled something about angels being convincing.

She’d know. Michael and Lucifer had made Her offers, and She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Dean they’d give Her paradise, but there had to be more. If they thought She wanted paradise, Lucifer would’ve offered her more. Heaven’s whole deal was bringing paradise.

And Lucifer had been a lot less suspicious of Her than Dean liked. As if he’d always known he’d win Her over. It didn’t make Dean feel any better, with how real the whole thing had felt. And he trusted Her, with more than his goddamn life, but son of a bitch She liked to pull the most insane shit without telling him.

He couldn’t think about it. They had work to do, so Dean couldn’t think about it. Just like he couldn’t think about how quiet the entire world was.

Like it was already in mourning.

He didn’t want to think about any of this. He just wanted to go the hell back, to when She’d been right next to him. To when he didn’t have to park the car and walk inside, look Bobby in the eyes, and tell him what happened.

Bobby just stared at him. And maybe Dean should just swallow the end of the shotgun, because whatever Bobby did to him for losing Her, he deserved it-

“She tell you she was plannin’ that?” Bobby grunted, his knuckles white on his wheelchair, and Dean nodded.

“She would have done it behind our backs.” Cas injected, and Dean apprenticed it. He wasn’t sure he could say anything without choking right now. “If we didn’t help her. I got her an aid, to increase her power. And Dean will open the cage, so she can keep the upper hand on Lucifer.”

Bobby looked at Dean for another long, impossible heavy silence, then nodded.

“We best get our asses to work then.” His voice was gruff, but Dean recognized the strain in it. It was the same strain he had over his own ribs. “If she’s doin’ all the work, she needs to two idjits to pull your share.”

Their share was making a fucking phone call.

“So,” Chuck’s voice was a little static through the laptop speakers as he said Her name. “She chose Lucifer?”

Cas sighed. “She pretended to choose Lucifer. She plans to put both Lucifer and Michael in the cage, and this is the easiest way.”

Chuck frowned. “Why both? Lucifer is the one starting the end of the world, right?”

“I don’t think Michael made that good an impression on her.” Bobby’s tone was a little dry, and Chuck’s frown deepened, but Dean pushed on. They didn’t have time for this.

“I’ve got the key to the cage,” he held it up to the camera. “So nothing’s happening until we get to her. And she’s not making a move until she’s got them both in one place, so we need to know when that’s going to happen.”

“Um, probably the final battle?” Chuck glanced at Dean nervously. “It’s at noon, in Lawrence, Kansas. Skull cemetery. And she’s really planning to put them both in-“

“Yep.” Dean shoved the key back into his jacket. “Well, Chuck, if there’s another side, we’ll see you there-“

“Wait!” Chuck sat up on the screen, and Dean’s hand paused on the top of the laptop. “Do you want to know what they’re doing? Her and Sam?”

Dean froze. He wanted nothing more to know that they were okay, but Christ, if they weren’t-

“I thought you weren’t able to see in her head,” Bobby muttered, and Chuck sighed.

“I- I can’t. But I can see into Sam’s, so I know she’s there.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed, and he wheeled a little closer. “She alright? Lucifer ain’t- He’s not hurtin’ her-“

“I don’t think he can.” Chuck frowned. “All I saw when I was thinking of Sam is- Um- Well he’s not really thinking clearly. He’s sort of angry, but mostly because she didn’t let him in on whatever she’s planning. And whenever I could see her, it was just kind of in a corner. Lucifer’s talked to her a few times about how when he’s done, he’ll help her burn her veil? But also that, um-“ Chuck brow furrowed. “She can do better than Dean. And she should take a second look at the menu, when they’re done.”

Dean’s grip on the laptop tightened, his words pushed through his teeth. “Alright. Bye, Chuck.”

He slammed the laptop, and turned to see Cas and Bobby frowning at him.

“What?”

They exchanged some strange look, and Cas cleared his throat. “We are… worried about you, Dean. You may not be going into this with the most stable state of mind-“

Dean cut him off with a scoff. “Stable states of mind are for assholes who do yoga and business douchebags. I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Bobby grunted. “I know what you’re thinkin’ right now-“

“No, you don’t-“

“That you feel like your whole fuckin’ life is on the line, and you ain’t able to do jack shit about it?” Bobby’s voice raised, and he held Dean’s glare. “I know that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’ boy, cause I’m thinkin’ it. At least you’re able to go out there and do somethin’ about it. Don’t get blinded and let all the shit they’re puttin’ themselves through go to waste.”

Dean’s hands curled into fists, and he shook his head. “They’re both in danger, Bobby, I’m going to do whatever the hell I gotta to get them out of it-“

“I know ya are, Dean. But I-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “Don’t be stupid about it.”

“I won’t-“

“Yeah, ya will.”

They stared at each other for a second, and Bobby let out a long breath, looking between Dean and Cas with the most open look Dean had ever seen. And it was filled with exhaustion, and desperation, and-

Fear. Right on the surface of Bobby’s face was pure fear, and it was so wrong. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen Bobby afraid, but God, it was maybe the worst thing in the world.

“Bring them home.” Bobby grunted. “Both of ‘em. And come back in one piece yourself.”

Dean nodded, and didn’t bother with a goodbye. If he said goodbye, that meant he might not come back. One piece or not.

And it wouldn’t be one piece, if he came back without Her or Sammy. If Dean came back with just Her, a large piece of him would be missing that would take a long, hard time to fill.

If he came back, somehow, without both of them, the pit in his body would split open, and he’d never be whole again.

Cas sat silently the whole drive, and Dean was grateful for it. Cas was there. Maybe his angel mojo was fucked, but at least he wasn’t doing this alone. At least Cas put on the music for him, dealt with the directions, and didn’t try to make him talk about how this was making him feel, because the only answer was dread. It was settling deeper than his bones, the closer they got to the cemetery. He could feel it, heavy like iron and cold like death, sunken over maybe just the fabric of his being.

And the cemetery was dry. Gray and dry, with a dead crow sadly resting over one of the graves. Michael and Lucifer were glaring at each other and walking in circles like the worst high noon showdown in history, and Sammy looked fine, but he didn’t walk like Sammy, and She was sitting behind Lucifer.

Silent.

Her being silent had never been a good thing.

Dean climbed out of the car, trying to keep his expression natural, or his lunch from falling all over the ground. “Hi. Sorry we’re late, guys, but Cas gave me a wrong exit on 81.”

Cas frowned at him, and Dean just shrugged. He couldn’t really hear his own voice, or see anything but a Sammy that actually Sammy, and Her flat-out refusal to look him in the eyes.

“Dean.” Michael frowned at him through Adam’s body, and Dean felt the dread rising to his throat, making him sort of sick. “You are lucky I don’t smite you where you stand, for daring to be here.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “He’s here to plead with Sammy and his Princess, Michael, let him get blown up in the mess-“

“I’d rather not get blown up.” Dean raised his hand, both archangels glared at him, and this didn’t really feel fucking real. “If we’re choosing horrible fates for me to meet, I’d veto blowing up. Cas, you wanna take that one for the team?”

Cas stared at him, and—thank goddamn Christ—seemed to pick up the insane plan Dean had backed himself into. “No. I would rather not.”

Dean nodded, gave the archangels an apologetic half-grin, and he was never going to be able to give Her shit about her plans again. This was what happened when he was left without Her and Sammy. His grand plan to save the world was the same one he’d had to coast through high school.

Talk and talk and talk and say nothing at all, until the bell ran out, and class was over.

Only here, the bell was Her doing whatever she needed to grab Michael and Lucifer, and class was her throwing them in the cage.

It wasn’t a good metaphor.

Dean needed Her and Sammy for that, too.

“Lucifer.” Michael grunted, and Dean was pretty sure that glare might be capable of shredding him to ribbons. “Unless you have objections, I am going to blow them both up so we can continue-“

“I have objections. You know I have objections.” Lucifer said Her name, and she glanced up from where she’d been cross-legged in the grass. “Tell Mikey he can’t blow up Dean.”

“She does not command us, Lucifer.” Micheal muttered, even as he eyed her wearily, and Lucifer laughed.

“Uh, yeah, she does. She certainly commands you. Dad spent so much time telling us about how perfect she’d be, how he’d done this all for her, can you imagine how disappointed he’d be in you if you made her cry?”

Michael didn’t visibly react, but Cas tensed at Dean’s side. Maybe it was only visible to other angels. “She chose wrong. I hold no deal to her, Lucifer, when she decided to turn her back on all I offered her-“

“You didn’t offer me anything,” She whispered, and Michael froze. “You told me you’d make me forget everyone. That you’d just hand me over to God.”

“He wants what’s best for you-“

She let out a dry laugh, pushing up to her feet. “Everyone wants what’s best for me. It’s usually ends with me in a basement.”

“It would have been paradise.” Michael hissed. “And you’ll see, when I win and offer you a second chance-“

“I don’t think she wants your second chance, man.” Dean cut in, trying not to think about how She was next to Lucifer. How all she needed now was to get between them. “She doesn’t really do first chances. You’re either in or out, and I don’t think you’re in.”

Michael scowled at him. “You should watch yourself, Dean. A hundred years goes faster than you think, and that is all it will take for Her to forget you.”

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “But I don’t think she’ll ever think anything good about you. Cas?”

“Dean.”

He frowned, and turned to find Cas a whole lot closer to him than before. Braced. As if he was ready for something.

“Uh-“ He shook his head, and watched her take a casual step forward in his periphery. “What does paradise look like?”

“A lot of nature.” Cas muttered, and Dean sighed, giving Michael a sympathetic look.

“See, that’s where you’re going wrong. My girl doesn’t like the outdoors. Hates bug spray, says it makes her skin itchy. And you’re gonna have to keep soda fountains around. And, uh-“ Dean said Her name, and their eyes met.

Her’s were a bright as when the door had closed between them. Not empty, but made of more life than he’d ever really been able to understand.

Telling him to be ready. And to keep going.

So he did.

“What’s the name of that makeup store you like?”

A small smile that could’ve been nothing, but Dean would know anywhere, crossed over her lips.

“Walgreens.”

“Right.” He looked back to Michael. “But she doesn’t buy from them, she steals. So you might need to make that, uh- Not a sin anymore. Or you can win,” he nodded to Lucifer. “But you’re gonna have to make sure the fires of hell don’t burn the books. She won’t like that either.”

There was a long second of silence, and she was just in Michael’s reach. One more second. They were so damn close-

Michael said that strange, musical sound Lucifer had made in San Francisco, and turned to her with a glare. “That is what you’re willing to betray the earth for? What you’re willing to side with my brother for, when my father, when I have been ready to give you whatever you want, since the world began?”

She didn’t say anything, but She didn’t move either, and Michael’s eyes narrowed.

“This is all in your name. And our fight,” he gestured between himself and Lucifer, who was mostly just frowning. “Is not yours. Come here. I’ll put you somewhere safe, until you understand.”

She still didn’t move.

But Michael did.

He lunged for Her, and Dean didn’t think. He’d never thought, when he was on a hunt. When She or Sammy were in danger.

He’d only ever moved.

Dean sprinted forward, trying to put himself between Her and Michael’s hand, and he couldn’t hear anything over the blood in his ears. She might have screamed his name, but at least if he died here, that would be the last thing he ever heard. And She’d pull out Sammy, and they’d be fine without him. She and Sammy had already survived when he’d been dead, and when God came for Her maybe she’d drop in on him in hell, because he sure as shit wasn’t going to heaven when Michael was about to kill him.

But he wasn’t dead.

He’d been yanked back by the collar of jacket, but Michael hadn’t grabbed Her. The archangel had been knocked back by Cas, brawling in Dean’s place, somehow holding his own for more than a second, until-

Cas vanished, reappeared at Dean’s side, and Michael burst into flames.

Dean stared at the lingering ash on the ground, then at Cas. “What the hell did you do?”

“I shot him.” Cas muttered, holding up a gun. “I did not know it would have that effect.”

“That’s Bobby’s gun.” She whispered, and Dean’s head whipped up to find her blinking at him. “I enchanted it.”

“Oh.” Dean grinned at Her. “Cool.”

“Castiel.” Lucifer hissed, and the expression on his face was goddamn murderous. It couldn’t be anything good. “You should be dead.”

“I know how not to shoot myself-“

“No.” Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Holding a fight with Michael, even cheating should have destroyed you, but-“ His gaze slid to Her. “Someone helped you. Gave you a boost.”

She swallowed, and Cas grabbed Dean’s arm before he could launch forward again.

“You shouldn’t be strong enough to restore an angels grace.” Lucifer hissed. “You ate an apple, didn’t you. You were going to betray me.”

“I-“

“Shh.” Lucifer held a finger to his lips, his gaze sliding to Cas and Dean. “You did a good job. It’s going to take a lot more effort than before to smite him. But I can still-“

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Cas vanished. A shout had barely left Dean’s mouth when Lucifer scoffed, and appeared right in front of him, wrapping a hand around Dean’s throat and lifting him off the ground.

“He’s alive.” Lucifer sneered. “Thrown down to the bottom of the Pacific ocean, but alive. And I’d be more worried for yourself Dean.” He tossed Dean all the way back against the Impala, and the pain had barely even gotten a chance to hit him before he was being lifted up again, and slammed back down.

She was screaming again, in the background. But Dean couldn’t get to Her, couldn’t calm her down or save Her from this one. He could only look at Sammy’s face, full of a pure hate that made Dean wish Lucifer would just get it over with, and feeling the snap of his ribs as a kick like wrecking ball slammed into his chest.

"Hear that?” Lucifer sneered in his ear, and Dean’s vision was starting to fill with spots as his head got bashed once more. “She won’t hurt you, or she’ll try not to. But she’ll snap, and kill you, and then neither of you will get anything. I’ll lock her up, just like Mikey would’ve, and maybe Daddy will come and take her. Maybe she’ll just rot forever. Or I can bring her back, make a duplicate of you, and make her watch me kill all those too.” Lucifer laughed, and Dean wasn’t sure what was Her screams or just his own pain anymore. “I’ll kill that old coot you both got, too. And Sammy will live happily,” Lucifer raised him up, glass crashing somewhere in the background, and Dean felt a sting near his back. “Without any of you-“

Lucifer’s words cut off, and Dean blinked. The light was too bright. It was making his vision blur and his head throb, and he could barely see anything but Sammy’s face-

Sammy.

That wasn’t Lucifer, looking back at him in shock and confusion and pain. It was-

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was weak, and Sam’s grip slacked on him immediately.

“Fuck, Dean-“ Sam’s eyes scanned over him, wide and frantic. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Not-“ Dean coughed, the motion hurting his lungs, and She was still crying. He could hear it. It might be making everything hurt more. “Not you. Wasn’t you, Sammy, but-“

“Dean, I can’t hold him long- The cage-“

“No.” He shook his head, looking over Sam’s shoulder to Her. On Her knees in the grass, curled into Herself, a hand around her own throat.

He couldn’t go to Her now. They didn’t have time. But after, he’d maybe hold Her for the rest of his life and not let go.

Dean whispered Her name, shoving the key into Sam’s hand. “Trust her. You gotta trust her.”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze, nodded—not a question, but Dean didn’t really Sammy’d had one about her since they met—and moved.

He felt like he was floating. Like he was watching something on a TV, instead of it folding out in front of him. Sam stopped in front of Her, offering a hand to stand up, and She glanced at Dean but took it. Then She pulled an apple out of Her jacket—iridescent and glowing—and started to eat it as Sam tossed the key on to the ground. The earth started to shudder and bend, and Dean was still just suspended in nothing, unable to real feel anything but numb pain and that dread. The wind shifted slightly, blowing right against his face as She gave Sam a small smile, and placed a hand on his chest. And Dean-

He could smell the fruit. Stronger than ever in his goddamn life, right on the wind.

The apple. It was the fucking glowing apple, and he could smell it.

He was crashing right back down to earth, right as it all blew apart.

Michael reappeared, a step behind Her. And Dean roared Her name in warning, ignoring the pain it shot through his chest., but Sam was faster. He grabbed Michael, turned them both to Her with a tiny nod, and when She slammed Her hand on Michael’s chest, Dean could see it.

All the dry color of the cemetery, vivid. The dead grass turning green and starting to bloom in all those strange flowers Dean had never seen before. The ground shaking and the crow that had been dead on the grave a moment ago, cawing then taking off.

Her pupils, blindingly silver as Her beautiful face sent in determination. All Her features seeming to glow as She pulled Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel.

Michael moved first, and Dean felt like that thing deeper than his bones was being ripped apart. Michael was all yellow and a flurry of a million wings that were going to make him go deaf, and fitting in Her hand and somehow still bigger than the sun.

Michael was thrashing. Trying to fight Her, as he was pulled all the way out and Adam’s body fell to the ground. But Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Lucifer wasn’t coming out, and She wasn’t throwing Michael into the pit. Every time Dean saw Her turn, Michael twisted and roared, Her eyes squeezed shut, and a goddamn tree shot out of the ground. She couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t let go of Michael, and Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Time seemed to slow, and Dean wasn’t suspended anymore, but he also couldn’t move. Lucifer had either broken his legs, or he just didn’t fully register what was happening until it was done.

She looked at Sam, said something Dean couldn’t hear over the pounding of Michael’s wings, and Sam took her free hand and said something back. They just looked at each other for a long moment, and then they both looked at Dean.

He tried to call for them. Tried to roar that whatever they were doing, it was insane, and he could do it instead. He could take the bullet, jump on the grenade, be the punching bag or put himself in the line of fire.

He might have gotten his plea out. Maybe not. It didn’t really matter.

Because She and Sammy turned away and, hand in hand, fell into the cage together.

It sealed shut before Dean could even get in a breath for a scream.

And they were both gone. Leaving Dean alone with nothing but himself, and the wind.

End Note: I think this might have counted as psychological torture? Please not call the UN on me, they’ll send me a strongly worded letter.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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#babylon the great

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