#and for her to hold my hand. the whole time. for five hours straight and i dotn even speak at all that whole time

[eideticmemory]

SNAP OUT OF IT | SPENCER REID

Spencer knows he’s just a coworker. He knows he’s just a friend. He knows you’ve got a boyfriend. He just doesn’t really give a fuck!

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning/Includes: Taken!Reader, DownBad!Spencer, a little angst and a little smut.

Dedicated to wifetthew + future mrs stewart (and sidepiece) who inspire me everyday and don’t even realize it.

Spencer vividly remembers the moment he realized he was in love with you. Spencer remembers everything about you but this moment in particular, he recounts in his mind a lot. You had just joined the unit. He could tell you - you'd only been there three months, two weeks, and five days. You were flying across time zones so by the time you landed, it would be six days. Everyone else had fallen asleep or was nearly there. Save for you two. You tried your hand in a round of chess but you're shit at it so you'd taken to a game of cards. Spencer remembers thinking it was the easiest conversation he's ever had in his life. He could talk and talk and talk until he lost his breath and when he was done, you'd do the same until there was no air left in your lungs either. He shuffled the cards between his fingertips, hanging onto your every word, watching the sparkle in your eye as you spoke. He kept firing out subtle agreements between your words like, 'yeah...oh, I know...absolutely,’ not just because it's impossible to disagree with your pretty face but because you’re so smart. You get it. He actually had the thought: she gets it.

Finally, he thought, someone gets it.

And you felt just the same. You said to him, "Thank you for agreeing. No one ever gives a shit about my foreign film analysis."

"I...I give a shit."

You chuckled at the gentleness with which he swore and although his voice was soft, it was genuine. "I appreciate it. My boyfriend's unreasonably against the horror genre as a whole. I think it's his biggest flaw. I like being scared."

Because you were too busy counting up your cards, you couldn’t see the bright smile instantly drop from Spencer's face. He could feel the shift in his muscles, the way his eyes stretched wide. He promptly shifted his gaze down and cleared his throat, “B-boyfriend?"

"Yeah..." you shrugged. Very casual, very nonchalant. "Three years next month."

"Oh, wow," he replied and it sounded kind of snide but you didn't think much of it. “That's nice."

He had realized he was in love with you three years too late.

Spencer could have accepted defeat, yeah. Absolutely. If there's one thing the boy genius can do, it's compartmentalize. This is work. This is [y/n]. This is my coworker. This is our job. This is our jet. These are the cards we've been dealt. The best thing to do would be to play them as they fall. Yet, he keeps himself awake for six hour flights just to hold your undivided attention, to talk about things nobody else cares about. His eyes linger on you as you deliver a profile and he thinks: That's [y / n]. That's her face. That's her voice. That's the sweater that matches her eyes just right and the boots she wears when we travel down south. If there's one thing the boy genius can't do when it comes to you, it's compartmentalize. How could he?

He finds himself standing by the elevator at four in the morning. There is nothing exciting about being called in at four in the morning, save for the prospect of seeing you. The elevator dings and he stands up straight, poses his satchel just perfectly on his hip. He wants to be picture perfect ready. Like a model directly out of a Backup Boyfriend catalog. Although, when you step out, you don't even notice he's there. You storm through the bullpen, your phone held up to your ear and your head ducked down. You sequester yourself in an awkward corner, far enough that you feel secluded but not enough so that Spencer can't see you. He sways in place, an attempt to look casual, his hair tucked behind his ear so he can hear you better. He picks up strained words like, 'please...I don't know...okay...fine...bye!' It all comes to a sudden end, your thumb landing on the screen with such force that it could crack.

You seamlessly join the rest of the team, shoving your phone in your back pocket. Try as you might to shift your focus, the edge hasn't quite left your body so when Spencer asks, "You okay?" You respond with a curt, "Yeah. I'm fine.”

He thinks: That's fine. That's okay. I can take it. On the jet, you bury your nose in a case file and when your phone won't stop vibrating, you silence it completely. Spencer brings you a cup of coffee and you hardly even process it.

"Cream and extra sugar," he pips because he knows that's how you like it.

"Thanks.”

That's it. Spencer waits for more but it never comes. He sits on the opposite side of the jet, watching you pick up your phone, huff, and type, type, type in a rage. He thinks: I cannot take this.

The case is a good distraction. A relief for him to know that even when you are not yourself, you're still brilliant. You just can't help it. There's a moment where he just finishes the geographical profile and you stand at his side, arms crossed as you look it over. Your gasp cuts through the air like a knife and his eyes land on you instantaneously.

"Spencer Reid." You put your hand on his shoulder and oh, he almost drops to his knees. “You're a fucking genius."

You race out of the room and he exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He grips onto his shoulder and his skin is still red hot.

A win is good. You needed a win. You all needed a win. Makes you feel good for something. Makes the flight home much less suffocating than its departure. On top of solving murders in a rush, the mental gymnastics your brain has endured over the week leaves you exhausted. You pull a blanket over your body and snuggle against the solid walls of the jet. You let out this big, heavy sigh just as Spencer sits down across from you.

“Close call today, huh?” he says.

“Yeah,” you nod. You look up at him with these bleary eyes and they’re so beautiful that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk.

But he does, “All thanks to you.”

You smile. You want to be bashful, to deny the praise, but you don’t have the energy. “Thanks for the pat on the back.”

“Oh, anytime.”

He watches you take another deep breath, your body lulling into further peace by the second. He hates to disrupt it. “You, uh…” he stutters. “You wanna share what’s been bothering you now?”

You glance over at him from the corner of your eye, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a profiler.”

You chuckle. He loves to make you laugh. “It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“You…you know I’m the profiler, right?”

You sit up, another laugh escaping your throat without much thought. It feels nice. “Yeah. Right.”

“So?”

“I’m just…stressed…” you finally admit, though that part was evident.

“Blackjack?” He sets an array of cards in front of you.

You nod, “I have a stressful job. Hit me.”

He flips another card, “Five. Yeah, you do.”

“And…it’s hard when…when things at home are stressful, too. Makes it worse. Hit me.”

Another card, “Ooh, six. That makes sense.”

“Sometimes, I…I don’t know…I let myself get pulled in too many different directions,” you look over your cards, dangerously close to 21, and you take a leap of faith. “Hit me.”

He turns the final card over and it brings you right to 21. The way it unfolds shocks you, pulls you from your brain fog and you break out in a grin. “21? That’s 21, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods. He bites down on the smile on his lip and it’s a look on him you’ve never seen before. You can’t stop staring at it. “All you, money bags.”

You giggle, “Did you rig that?”

“Me? No,” he shakes his head, casually clearing the pile. “There’s no rigging in blackjack.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard that before.”

“Everything should be that easy for you,” he whispers. There’s a slight change in his tone that even an untrained profiler could pick up. He glances up to meet your gaze, “I’d rig it all for you if I could.”

Now, he thinks because he’s resetting the table that you’re not focused on the subliminal message in his voice. But you notice. You look down at your cards, look back at him, “Hit me.”

When the boyfriend is a concept, an idea trapped inside your phone, a mirage that you only mention in passing conversation, Spencer doesn’t think much of him. Spencer doesn’t think of the motherfucker at all. You clock into work and he’s determined to take the time he can get with you, any way he can, the only way he knows how.

You get back into DC one night and the sun hasn’t even set yet. Emily and JJ invite you out for drinks and it’s with an anxious nod that you accept. So Spencer super graciously accepts. He strides beside you on the walk from the bureau, keeping you tucked in on the safety of the sidewalk because he doesn’t know how to not shield you. From anything. You order a wine and a glass of water. Spencer sits right beside you and orders himself a shirley temple.

You gasp, “Ohhh my god, I should’ve got that.”

“Here,” he slides the glass over to you.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay.”

“No, take it.”

“I can’t.”

“But I’m offering. I don’t even want it. Maraschino cherries, yuck, gross. You have it.”

You chuckle and shyly grab the drink, sticking a straw in. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he nods. And he means that mhm in the way of it’s really no big deal. He’d give you a kidney if he was a match.

He trades you for your water though he doesn’t pay much attention to it. He watches you fall into loud conversation with the other ladies, yours being the only laugh to match Penelope’s in pitch.

You lean into him, cackling, “She’s insane. Oh my god, she’s ridiculous.”

His skin buzzes where your shoulders make contact and his face is bright red from how wide he smiles at you. “Oh, yeah. I could’ve told you that.”

Spencer’s absolutely obsessed with the joy in your eyes, the way you nearly choke on your second shirley temple. The way you’re so close to him. He cannot look away. So when your smile suddenly drops and that joy’s promptly replaced with anxiety, he’s the first to notice.

“Hey,” you whisper to the figure behind him. He turns around and looks the man up and down. “You’re early.”

The Boyfriend shrugs, “Sorry. Hi, everyone.”

He’s not at all like Spencer imagined him. He’s taller. Not as much of a little bitch.

You rise from your seat and wrap your hand around Boyfriend’s bicep. “Uh, this is just some of the team. That’s Emily, Penelope, JJ and, uh, Spencer. This is my boyfriend.”

They all dole out polite waves and smiles. Except for Spencer. He stands up tall and ha, just as he thought, they’re the same height. He gives Boyfriend a stern handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Spencer? Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Haven’t heard that much about you.”

The ladies exchange confused glances and you exhale a quick breath to cut the tension.

“Well, we’ve been together a while. Too much there to sum up in words, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Spencer nods and here is another smile you’ve never seen on his face before. It’s not genuine. That, you know.

“You ready to go?” Boyfriend asks and you nod.

“Mhm. Bye, you guys!” you wave, falling into the grip of the possessive hand around your waist.

Emily glares at Spencer as he lowers back onto his stool, his eyes not leaving the door even when you’re long out of sight. “You done swinging that thing around?” she mutters.

“Hm?” he hums. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.”

As Boyfriend opens the car door for you, he can’t help but comment, “So that’s Spencer, huh?”

“Yeah?” you buckle yourself in and it’s an anxious few seconds before he’s buckled in beside you.

“Well, it makes sense now.”

“What?”

“The little toothpick’s in love with you.”

Spencer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the time you spend on your phone at work becomes more frequent after that. That you come in looking drained and pale even at ten o’clock in the morning. That, carefully, you distance yourself from him. It’s not a coincidence. It just hurts.

As he reads over a case file, he builds a tower of cards. You can’t help but admire the way his brain splits in two, one side reading and the other stacking each piece just right. It’s cool. You think it’s cool, but there’s not a kind bone in your body today and you snip, “Got nothing better to do?” as you sit across from him. “People are dying.”

“People are always dying. Kind of how we get a paycheck.”

“Mm. How altruistic of you.”

“I’m just passing the time,” he continues to stack. He’s very near the top of the pyramid. “People do all sorts of things to pass time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. They spend hours, days, weeks, years…building something. And you know, you would think that would ensure some type of stability or longevity or…anything, right?”

“I guess.”

“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes no matter how much time passes or…how much effort you put in,” he places the final two cards on top. “It’s just not meant to last.”

And with a tiny flick of his finger, the whole pyramid comes tumbling down. You can’t help but watch the picturesque scene, the way they float down onto the table in a big mess.

Spencer doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You’re smart. You get it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though.

That night, you can’t sleep. For some reason, you’ve got this idea in your head that if you force your eyes open for a few hours longer, you can make yourself useful on a case that, so far, has no end in sight. The hotel accommodating the team is a nice one. There’s a library on the first floor that they leave open 24/7, perfect for a profiler on the hunt. You flip through the files in the near pitch black, curled up in a chair beside the tiniest lamp in the world. Despite your eye for detail, you don’t even notice when Spencer walks in. Not until he clears his throat.

You look up at him, startled, until you see his face, “Oh,” not the reaction he was hoping for. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”

“I like to think I’d find you anywhere,” he shrugs. He sits down in the chair beside you and looks over your shoulder. You can smell him from just a foot away but it doesn't affect you. It can’t affect you. “Any luck?”

“No. Care to help?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, great.”

“[y/n], it’s late. Nothing you can do without brain power.”

“I just hate…” you start, the exclamation coming out before you can hold yourself back. Spencer watches you intently, hanging onto your voice. “T-the detergent they use on the linens. Gives me a headache.”

He sighs, “Yeah. Me too. I swiped some extra pillow mints. Want one?”

“Mhm,” you hold your hand out and unwrap the candy instantly. It helps your anxiety.

Enough so that you open up just a bit more, you tell Spencer about the headache that’s been bashing against your skull all day. “But maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”

“Or not enough.”

You laugh, “Yeah, no, that must be it.”

Your phone pings in your lap and you check the message very quickly, the small smile that once sat on your lips dissipating in thin air. Just when he wrangled a laugh out of you, Spencer thinks. Of course. He watches your entire mood change in the blink of an eye and he fucking hates it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Yeah…tired. Should probably head to bed.”

“But the detergent?”

You chuckle, “I’ll survive.”

On the elevator ride up to your floor, you rest your back against the wall, Spencer perched right beside you. You keep your eyes closed, your hands gripping the bar for balance. The motion doesn’t help your headache. You gulp, clear your throat, and when you open your eyes, Spencer is staring at you. Shamelessly. You furrow your eyebrows at him, tracking his eyes as they focus in on your mouth.

“Are you looking at my lips?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“Can you read them?”

“Mhm.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” that snaps him out of his trance and he stands up straight, shaking his head. The elevator dings and he walks off, exasperated, exhausted, exclaiming, “[y/n], who cares?”

Your jaw drops in shock and by the time you step out to follow him, he’s already marched into his room. You scoff as you burst into your own suite. You crash in bed and you lay there tossing and turning for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only thirty minutes but it’s long enough. Long enough for this unbridle, illogical rage to build within you. Long enough for your mind to fill with thoughts like: who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck does he know? Oh, I’ll tell him what he doesn’t know. And you hop out of bed. You storm down the hall in your slippers, knocking on Spencer’s door like, ironically, the feds.

Lucky for you, he was nowhere near asleep yet. He swings the door open and he opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Listen, Einstein.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…just because you don't get it doesn’t mean you have the right to shit on my relationship.”

“Who was shitting on your relationship?”

“Stop it.”

“Fine, I was shitting on your relationship.”

“And that’s not fair.”

“But you’re…” and he enunciates this next word very clearly. “Not happy.”

“Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know anything. You don’t know me or my life. You don’t get to cast judgement.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. Well, then, I’m so happy for you, [y/n]. I am.”

You’ve said all you need to say and you have no interest in hearing any more. You turn around and march away but he persists, “Hey, I really am. I’ll be the first one to buy something off your wedding registry!”

There are no more card games on the jet for a while.

And that sucks, but you’re trying to prove a point here. Spencer knows nothing. Maybe no one’s ever told him that before and maybe that’s why it stings. Maybe that’s why he can hardly look you in the eye, but you’re trying to prove a point here.

You’ve drawn a boundary that should’ve been drawn long ago. Not even because you wanted to but out of spite. Spite can carry you a long way. It has before. The nature of your work makes it easy to clock in and think of nothing else. Focus on nothing other than getting the job done. It’s the moments in between that are hard.

Like tonight, as you’re typing up case notes at your desk. It’s too quiet. It leaves too much room for opportunity. Taking full advantage, Spencer sets a small gift bag in front of you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, your face etched with inhibition.

“I…” he stutters. “I got it a while ago. Thought it’d be a nice birthday present and I won’t see you tomorrow, so…”

You give him a small smile. The ice doesn’t just thaw, it melts. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you dive into the bag, pulling out the hardcover book and holding it flat between your palms. You release a small gust of air from your nose. You touch the textured font of the lettering along the cover. “Oh, Spencer.”

He has to act like the tone in your voice doesn’t have the biggest effect on him. Hearing his name in such a gentle whisper. He just shrugs, “I recognized the limited edition cover while I was in this library near the art museum. It’s a nice library, you’d like it.”

“I love it,” you breathe before you can censor it. “The book. I love the book. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s so much more to be said. The weight of it all vibrates behind your teeth and you grind them together as you gaze at Spencer. He can see your mouth aching to open but he knows it won’t.

“Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope it’s a great one.”

“Thank you.”

And you watch him disappear. You feel your heart sink to the barrel of your stomach, like all the words you’re destined to scream out to him are making you sick.

This nausea lasts well into your birthday. No matter the sheer amount of fuss. No matter the amount of texts or calls or gifts that arrive at your door. You’re sick. Even when you put on your fanciest dress for dinner, you curl up in your office with your new book, finally and for no reason, gathering the courage to open its pages and read the quote recounted on the first page.

“And here you come

with a shield for a heart

and a sword for a tongue”

Happy Birthday, [y/n]

Spencer

You slam the book shut and trap it in the drawer of your desk. You’re sick.

You still eat at your birthday dinner. The love and affection reserved for a day like today helps settle your stomach. You think: I am [y/n]. It’s my birthday. These are my gifts. They are from people who love me. This is my boyfriend. This is my birthday cake. It works, it’s working.

Then he pulls out that fucking ring.

The angle at which he kneels in front of you catches the light just right and the diamond blinds you in the eye. Your mind, along with the entire room, falls silent. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime - silence. When his voice cuts through the thick air, you can see his lips moving, you can hear the vibrations going wah wah wah wah wah. But nothing is as loud as the sound of your own breathing, heavy and rapid. Your hands are over your heart but just to keep it from forcing its way out of your chest. You’re sick.

You’re sick.

Spencer had just gotten in bed. He made it the entire day without allowing himself to call you and now he figures he can force himself to sleep. That is until there’s a booming knock at his door. Now he’s wired. He springs into action like it’s not a potential threat and he throws his body against the door to glance out the peephole.

When he opens it, you are still out of breath. Your chest is heaving and you wheeze with every exhale. His eyes travel down your body, the pretty dress and your beaten and bare feet, the heels dangling from your fingers. The look in your eyes is a mystery to him. It’s laced with exasperation and desperation and he furrows his brows trying to figure it all out. Nonetheless, when he sees you moving towards him, he wraps his arms tight around your waist, opens his mouth and gasps as you kiss him.

He’s quick to close the door behind you, stumbling when you drop your shoes to the ground, but only for a moment. No time for stumbling here. He moans at the sudden grip you take of his hair and his body pushes into yours even more, directing you to his bedroom with just the pressure of his chest.

Never expecting this to happen, let alone tonight, Spencer is quick to swipe away all the books that have piled up on his bed. He promptly takes their place and grabs your waist to pull you back into the kiss. You have to hike your dress up your thighs to properly straddle him but once you, he swears he can feel the warmth all the way to his toes.

Your eyes roll back as he licks all over your neck, attacking your chest with sloppy kisses and sudden bites. You feel his erection raise between your legs and the pressure of it has you moaning directly in his ear. The vibration scratches just the right spot in his brain and he bunches your dress up in his hands, the veins along his arm straining through his skin.

You huff, pull back to look at his face, his eyes hooded and hungry. “What…” you pant. “What am I doing?”

Caught off guard, Spencer can’t do much but blink. And shrug. “What…are you doing?”

You stumble over your words, if that’s what you could even call them. It’s more a collection of whines and one short whimper before you simply carry on. Grab his face, catch his mouth and let it go. Perfect for Spencer, because he didn’t really need an answer.

He follows your lead as you undo the tie on his sweatpants. He pushes and you pull until his throbbing cock is free. You don’t mean to gasp, but you do. It just all feels so unreal, like a dream, like a fantasy. Except it’s not, it’s tangible. You can feel it. You can touch him - and you do. You wrap your hand around him and shudder as he grips onto your forearms. His teeth are clenched tight so it makes it harder for him to kiss you, harder for him to breathe but he keeps you locked in place. If he could talk, he’d beg please don't stop, please. Please, please, please.

And it’s like you can read his mind. Through the ferocity with which he pushes his face into yours, the way his hips buck underneath you, you get it. You’ll give it to him. You pull your panties to the side and just the tip pressing against you sends a visual jolt through your body.

“Yeah?” You whisper. More like - right? This is right? Right?

Almost immediately, Spencer grunts, “Yes. Yes. Yeah,” he could say it in a million other languages if it would get the point across but english is good enough. You lower yourself down on him and thoughtless, he yelps, “Yes!” as he falls back on the bed.

Even though he’s transcended his own body, Spencer keeps his eyes locked on you. His gaze follows your jaw as it drops wide open and both of your moans fall in sync as you start to roll your hips. Spencer’s hand clamps down on your thigh, the other reaching up to touch your face. The tender contact makes your vision blurry but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.

He touches your hair and your jaw and takes a soft sweep over your cheekbone. His thumb runs over your bottom lip. He can feel your breath coming out hot and quiet each time you land on him, the rhythm of your body taking the air out of both of you.

Is this really happening? he thinks. This can’t be happening. But you increase your speed, lower your inhibition, send a shock of pleasure through him so good that he has no choice but to believe it’s real. You catch his thumb between your lips and he grunts, whines out for you, “[y/n]…”

“Mm, yes?” you lay your body flat against his, your hands intertwining with his amongst the bedsheets and he clenches his fist tight, tight, tight, tight. It’s all so much. Stimulation coming from everywhere at once. From your chest rubbing against his, from your pussy tightening around him like you’re nearly swallowing him whole. From the messy kiss your lips tangle in and the ever increasing volume from you both.

Spencer bends his knees behind you, supporting your body when your movements become rushed and uncontrollable. With your hand pressed to his chest and your head thrown back, he’s emboldened enough to grope your breasts, losely place his hands around your throat.

“Oh…” you whimper. “G-god…” and Spencer hangs onto the broken sound of your voice, enamored by the way your eyes cross over one another. He feels like he’s not doing much, like his body is still in shock and most focused on keeping himself grounded. As you crash down on him, he bends underneath the pressure, overwhelmed as each bounce grows more deliberate than the last. Each collision accompanied by a throaty, “Mm…mm…hmm.” Until your thighs come to a grinding halt and latch onto him, the orgasm radiating from your belly to your chest and directly to your head. He responds to your boisterous moan with a breathless gasp, catching you in his arms when you land on his chest.

He peppers your shoulder with tiny kisses, licking his way to your neck, biting your throat because he absolutely has to. Your hips continue in this mindless rhythm, draining every last twitch from your body as he whispers, “[y/n]…”

“Hm?”

“[y/n]…I, mm,” you catch his voice in your mouth, pushing your tongue between his lips. You attack his neck. You push his shirt up his torso just to move down his body and kiss his stomach.

“[y/n]…ah!” and though you love the sound of your name on his lips, you love to hear him scream even more and after you suck his cock into your mouth, he can’t stop screaming. Mouth open, body trembling, ear ringing moans. He reaches down to keep your hair out of your face and his hips jolt a bit rougher than he means to. He wants to look at you but his body is too taut. He wants to hold you in the palm of his hand, to call out your name one last time to make sure this is real. But he shoots into your mouth, his legs flailing around your frame, and all he can do, still, is scream.

You hum. You swallow. You slide off of him with a sharp pop. You crawl off of his body and drop as soon as your head hits the pillow. Spencer’s hand keep track of you, grazing your thigh, sad to feel you leave, begging to keep you close. Even as he struggles to breath, he balls up the edge of your dress in his fist. You lean back against the headboard, looking up at his ceiling fan, your body finally exerting all its energy and unable to move any further. The room has settled into nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and catharsis.

Spencer looks up at you and when you make eye contact with him, there are so many more complicated thoughts you could have. But the only thing that swims in your mind is the slow bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You rest your knuckles on his cheekbone and he promptly grabs your wrist, peppers soft kisses all over your hand.

You owe him something. He has every right to ask. As he opens his mouth, you’re prepared to tell the truth. You will give him nothing but the truth.

“Did you see they’re adapting another Stephen King novel into a movie?”

You exhale a small laugh. Partially because you weren’t expecting it and partially because you had been dying to talk to him about it. “Yes. And I think it’s stupid.”

“Me too! I mean, the premise is promising, I think it can be done, but it’s the…”

“Supernatural element.”

“Yeah!”

“It’s hard to pull off. Major chances of it turning out cheesy and robotic.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’m still going to see it.”

“Oh, me too,” you laugh and his laughter blends in just perfectly.

It can wait. There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot of questions to ask and answer but for now, it’s easy. This, Spencer thinks. This is it. This is actually the easiest conversation he’s ever had in his life. And he’s not gonna fuck it up now.

Author’s note:

Ahh 😝 thanks for reading!!! Like, reblog, comment, all the things!! Just wanted an excuse to post this meme. Stay safe out here 😚

[marscardigan]

A-lister — chapter i. happy new year!

A-lister masterlist

summary: to serve as ellie williams’ assistant was to live a dream, or survive a nightmare. no one made it past eight months. and then, you showed up.

content warning: mdni. smut ahead. no use of y/n.

word count: 5.1k

You don’t move across the country for just anyone.

But when Theresa Servopoulos calls you directly and says she needs someone, you pack a bag, hand in your notice, and get on a plane.

Now you moved through it all in a daze, nerves buzzing. Your carry-on bumped your heel for the third time, and you were half a second from kicking it across the floor when you heard her voice.

“There’s my girl.”

You turned—and there was Doreen.

She looked like the sun breaking through New York’s humid concrete gloom: golden skin that glowed like she carried her own light source, long dark braids streaked with copper, and wide brown eyes that already held you like home. She was wearing gold hoops the size of your palm, and her smile was soft and a little sideways, the kind that made you want to confess things.

“I missed you,” you breathed, nearly dropping your bag as she pulled you into a hug.

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, squeezing you tight. “I can already tell. You’ve been holding it in, haven’t you?” You nodded into her shoulder, suddenly too full to speak. “It’s okay,” she said gently, pulling back. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here before you start crying.”

“Alright,” she said from the driver’s seat an hour later, both hands steady on the wheel. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet for ten whole minutes. Spill it.”

You blinked over at her, and hesitated. “You know Theresa Servopoulos?”

Doreen’s foot jerked off the gas for a second, so fast the car lurched forward. “Fuck.” She reached across your chest dramatically. “Sorry. Reflex. You can’t just drop that name mid-traffic like she’s your cousin.”

“I take it you’ve heard of her.”

“Heard of her? Babe, you know how many people I know would give up a kidney just to get a five-minute Zoom call with her?”

You looked down at your hands. “Yeah, well. She called me.”

Doreen stared straight ahead, jaw slack. “She called you. Directly?” You nodded. “No manager, no assistant—Tess fucking Servopoulos got your number and called you?”

“Apparently my name was recommended,” you said, like it wasn’t the most surreal thing.

“By whom?”

“She didn’t say. Just said she was in a bind, and that someone she trusted said I was… what they needed.”

Doreen let out a long breath through her nose, quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it hit harder than you firstly thought. 

“I think I’m still in shock,” you admitted. “I mean, she didn’t even tell me what the job was. Just that it was a personal assistant role, high-level, sensitive, and… quote: ‘not the kind of thing you describe over the phone.’”

You felt her glance over again. “That’s cryptic as fuck.”

“She said I had to talk about it in person to understand.”

There’s a pause before Doreen murmurs, “Jesus. That sounds serious.”

“Right?”

“Not just serious. That sounds life-altering.”

Her apartment in Queens hadn’t changed at all. Plants still climbed the windows, books still lived in little messy kingdoms on every flat surface, and the scent of clove, cardamom, and the faintest hint of eucalyptus was always in the air. 

She opened the front door and gestured inside. “Your kingdom awaits, my lady.”

You smiled. “You didn’t have to—”

“—I wanted to.” She took your bag and set it down for you. “You stayed with me when I got fired and didn’t know what to do with my life, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” you said.

It was right after college. You had pure luck in finding a decent job after your internship. Doreen didn't have the same destiny, and her first job after uni was hell. You stayed with her until she found something better, helping her paying the rent. And now? Now she had everyone in the palm of her hand. 

You hadn’t known who Doreen would become when she first moved to New York. That first job nearly broke her. She almost quit the city entirely. But she didn’t. She jumped ship, freelanced, networked, and found herself curating campaigns for indie designers and visual artists so good it made people stop scrolling mid-thumb-swipe.

Now she was known as someone whose word got people in the room. She worked with stylists, production designers, and cultural consultants. She built brands from scratch. She knew people, not just names on rosters, but people who created real things. She was always meant to shine, after all.

Later that night, you sat on the fire escape with mugs with hot chocolate, staring down at the street below. 

You broke the silence first. “What if I’m not what they’re looking for?”

She shrugged gently. “But what if you are?”

“I keep imagining all the worst-case scenarios.”

“Here’s a better one: What if it’s someone brilliant? Someone who needs you the way you deserve to be needed?”

You smiled tiredly. “That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is,” she said. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked out at the night. “And what if I mess it up?” you asked quietly.

Doreen’s answer came soft and immediate. “Then you come home to me. And we can talk about it as much as you need to.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder, warmth pooling behind your eyes. Her touch alone was enough to ground you, to make you feel safe. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

“No, baby. I’m just good at loving what’s good.”

Your heart was loud. You didn’t know who you’d be meeting Monday. You didn’t know why Tess was so vague, why the job was secret, why even she sounded uneasy when she said the words ‘it’s complicated.’

But you do know that you were not here by accident. And you were not going back.

As days passed, your anxiety started eating you alive. And Doreen could tell. Now it was December 31st. The last night of the year. And you were at her kitchen table in your softest hoodie, rereading your notes for the fifth time, when she waltzed in wearing a floor-length coat and a velvet head wrap.

“Okay,” she said. “Here’s the deal. You’re coming with me tonight.”

You didn’t look up. “I love you. No.”

She leaned against the counter. “You haven’t left the house in three days except to go buy cereal.”

“Correction,” you said, flipping a page. “Also toothpaste.”

“And I will throw that toothpaste out the window if you don’t listen to me.”

You smirked, eyes still on the paper. “I need to focus. The interview’s on Monday. I need to be clear-headed, not hungover and panicking because I made eye contact with someone who was on the cover of Vogue.”

She stepped closer, lowered her voice to that gentle, glinting tone she saved for moments she knew she was right. “I know you think preparing means being perfect. But what if it just means being present? Trusting your instincts? Trusting you?”

You looked up at her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and still looked like a goddess who could command a room with her posture alone.

“Please,” she said, softer now. “Come with me. You don’t have to drink, or talk to anyone you don’t want to. Just be there. You deserve to enter the new year feeling alive, not locked in.” You hesitated. “And also,” she added breezily, “I told people you were coming, and they’re excited to meet you.”

“Doreen—”

“It’s mostly work people. Creative people. Respectful, weird, brilliant—”

“Famous?”

She smiled with all her teeth. “Maybe one or two.”

You sighed. “Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m leaving early.”

“I will personally unlock the fire escape for your escape route.”

Both of you knew how tonight’s party wasn’t just a party. It was the party: an invite-only, rooftop-under-the-stars kind of night with stylists from Milan, playwrights from downtown, Netflix showrunners, Victoria Secret’s supermodels, and, apparently, you.

The city buzzed that night, a hum beneath your skin.

A low vibration, like something about to start. Streetlights diffused by fog, the hiss of tires on wet asphalt, and the deep bass of music rising from somewhere above, like the party was floating above the rest of the world, unreachable unless invited. And you were, indeed, invited.

Wrapped in winter, cheeks flushed and fingers stiff in your gloves, you stepped out of the elevator and into a rooftop that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. It was all polished glass and concrete softened by string lights. Hanging lanterns glowed honey gold. The skyline opened beyond the safety rail, glowing like the inside of a beehive.

People glittered. Silk. Sequins. Fur coats unbuttoned just so. Perfume that smelled like luxury and secrets. You adjusted the hem of your dress. The dress Doreen had insisted you borrow from her closet. “Something that doesn’t look like you’re trying,” she’d said, rifling through hangers. She landed on one that was midnight-colored, silky but not too shiny, hugging the lines of your body like it knew what it was doing. You’d protested. Then looked in the mirror. And she was right, like always.

“You’ll thank me later,” she had whispered.

The scent of money and ambition hung in the air like incense. Everyone looked like they had perfect teeth and someone to manage their schedule. Polite conversation clinked like glasses.

You clutched your mocktail too tightly. Took a breath. Then reached for a glass of wine instead. Just enough to soften the edges.

At some point, you laughed too loudly at something Doreen murmured in your ear. Her hand was on your back, grounding you. She could tell when you needed it. Her concern came through in small ways, like a slightly longer glance, a subtle repositioning to block someone’s gaze.

“I’m gonna go talk to Jules about this campaign pitch,” she said, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Sit. Breathe. Soak it in. You’re doing fine.”

You nodded, the wine finally easing your shoulders. “Okay.”

And then she was gone, swept up in the slow-moving tide of social sharks and glass clinks.

You turned, off-balance in that way you only are when you're slightly tipsy and slightly too aware of yourself. A velvet couch near the corner of the terrace caught your eye—tucked into an enclave half-sheltered by hanging lights and a sleek heat lamp that made the shadows long and soft.

You let your body fall into the cushions with a sigh that felt like release. It was quieter there. The edge of everything. You set your glass down on the little marble table and relaxed.

When you opened your eyes—God knows how much later—someone had taken the other half of the couch.

A woman.

You blinked slowly, trying to focus. The room shimmered slightly at the edges, like it was underwater. Your head was light, your limbs too warm, and the lighting in this corner was low, just the soft gold glow of string lights spilling sideways from a nearby window. Shadows sliced across her face like secrets.

She wore a dark satin shirt, matching pants. Her posture was effortless, an ankle resting over her opposite knee like she’d been there forever. There was something about her presence, but you couldn’t really see her face. Not clearly, anyway.

The alcohol made your vision slightly syrupy. And she was positioned just off the edge of the light, her face half in shadow. You caught flashes: the strong line of her jaw, the subtle glint of freckles, maybe? Or just the way her mouth moved when she sipped from her glass. Her hair was cropped close, that much you could tell, and it suited her, framed her head like something deliberate, almost poetic.

But the details like the color of her eyes, the exact curve of her smile, they were just out of reach. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

And when she muttered under her breath, “I fucking hate parties,” with that dry, dismissive edge, you snorted. Out loud. You knew the comment wasn’t meant for you. But you heard it.

She turned. Slowly. “Wow,” she said dryly, “that wasn’t even my best material.”

You pressed a hand to your lips, trying not to laugh. “Sorry. You caught me off guard.”

“What?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “You kinda just appeared.”

“Would you have said no if I’d asked?”

“Would you have asked?”

She shrugged, eyes glittering. “No.”

There was a beat. 

“Why are you even here?” you asked, waving at the glittering crowd. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. Came with someone. Got bored.”

“You ditched them?”

“Moment they got sucked into a conversation about some rich shit.” You winced. She sipped her drink. “You?”

“Friend dragged me out. Even allowed me to borrow her dress and everything.”

Her eyes flicked down your frame, slowly, like she had all the time in the world. “The dress was a good call.”

You felt your ears flush. “Thanks.”

Something in your chest ticked faster. You picked up your glass again for something to do. The conversation moved from there, warm and comfortable and safe. Something spun loose inside you. It didn’t feel like trying anymore. It felt like finding a strange rhythm with someone who danced the same way.

Then she said it. Like a challenge. Like a door swinging open.

“Come with me. Let’s disappear.”

And just like that, she lifted her palm, waiting for you to grab it, and you did. You rose. She stood. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care. You moved together like shadows along the back wall, down a side hall, through a door that probably belonged to a coat closet but felt like something more secret.

It wasn’t like you planned it. You were following her. Or maybe she was following you. Or maybe the universe cracked open just wide enough to let this happen, the dim hallways that rich people always seem to have in their homes.

She reached past you to open a gold-trimmed door. You slipped inside first.

The light was low, almost nonexistent. Just the thin glow of the hallway seeping through the cracked door before she closed it. The air inside was heavy, warm, thick with expensive perfume soaked into designer coats. You could smell vanilla, amber, cedar. Something floral. Something like leather.

The door clicked shut behind her, soft but final. And in the dark, the world shrank.

You could feel her, even before she moved. That quiet presence, like heat. Then, you felt the contact. How her fingers brushed your hip. Barely. Just enough to make your breath catch. Tentative. A question, maybe.

You turned toward her, heart thrumming like wings against your ribs. The closet was too narrow for distance. You were already close, but now, face to face. Eyes somehow finding each other in the dim.

And hers, God. Even if you couldn’t see clearly, you could decipher them perfectly. They weren’t impatient, or cocky, or drunk. They were something else entirely. Like hunger layered with caution. Like she was afraid of breaking something sacred. Like a restraint coiled so tight it might snap.

Finally, her mouth was on yours. Not rushed. Not clumsy. A ghost of a kiss. A brush, a pause. Like a prelude. Like a question you didn’t know how to answer except to lean in, give more, let it happen.

So you did. You kissed her back. Soft at first, tasting her, breathing her in. The shape of her mouth was like a secret. Warm and deliberate. You could feel the way she was holding back, measuring the space between pleasure and permission. It made your skin burn.

Then it shifted into something hotter, something deeper, but still soft. Her hand found your waist again, firmer this time, fingers curling through your dress like she wanted to memorize every inch. She tilted her head and kissed you like she'd waited hours. Days. Like she was trying to burn her name into your mouth without ever speaking it.

Your back hit the wall of coats with a muted thud. She pressed into you as her other hand slid into your hair, slow, threading carefully. You gasped when her teeth grazed your bottom lip, sharp and fleeting.

And still, she paused. “This okay?” she murmured against your mouth.

The words ghosted over your own lips. You nodded, dizzy. “Yes.”

But she didn’t kiss you again right away.

She pulled back just far enough to take a good look at you. Her gaze flicked between your eyes, scanning for something. For doubt. For permission. And when she found it, whatever she was looking for, her mouth came back to yours with purpose.

And this time, it wasn’t soft. This time, she kissed like someone who had nothing left to lose. Like she was trying to brand the night into you. Like the only thing that mattered in the entire city, the entire world, was you saying yes and meaning it.

Your hands slid to her shoulders. Her jaw. The back of her neck. Every part of her was heat and pressure, intention and control. She was taller up close. Or maybe it just felt like she towered, the way she moved against you, steady without being still at all.

She tasted like whiskey and Marlboro. Her lips moved to your jaw, slow, trailing heat. She kissed the place under your ear, and you inhaled sharply, your knees nearly buckling.

Outside, faintly, the countdown began.

Five!

Her mouth was on your throat now, open and warm, teeth teasing the skin before she soothed it with her tongue. Your head tilted instinctively, letting her in, exposing more.

Four!

Your hands gripped her shirt, fingers curling in satin. She pulled you closer like she couldn’t stand even a sliver of distance. Like needing you against her was the only thing that made sense.

Three!

Her hand found your thigh. She slid it slowly, deliberately, under the hem of your dress, fingertips featherlight, waiting for the smallest shift of your body to tell her yes again.

Two!

You kissed her like you had nowhere else to be. Like you belonged there, in the dark, in her hands, in the fire she’d lit inside your ribs. Her mouth moved over yours with bruising intensity now, like she was starving for something neither of you could name.

One!

A ragged exhalation passed between you as her hand tightened on your thigh. She pushed gently, fingers slipping upward with aching slowness, testing every second for resistance. You didn’t pull away. You tilted your hips forward, just slightly, a silent answer—yes, yes, please.

She groaned softly, like the sound had been dragged from somewhere low in her chest.

Happy New Year!

Outside, muffled through walls and coats, came the pop and sizzle of celebration. The windows must’ve lit up with color from the fireworks. Someone yelled, followed by glasses clinking and a shriek of laughter that felt miles away. A whole world was happening outside. But inside, time fractured. She was kissing you like she’d forgotten language itself. Like her only fluency was touch and need and want.

Her hand slid further, seeking for skin, heat, finding the soft inside your thigh. You gasped into her mouth. She swallowed the sound like it fed her, grinning deviously. Her fingers traced a line with maddening patience, not rushing, not assuming, she was just taking her time to learn you with every move.

You were breathless now. Unraveled. Your hands gripped the collar of her shirt, then her shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength of her. Her body fit against yours like puzzle pieces twisted into something new; familiar and foreign all at once. She cursed under her breath. And then her hand moved where you’d wanted it. And you arched.

Your back hit the coats again, your forehead dropped to her shoulder, and she held you there, one arm firm across your lower back, anchoring you like she knew you'd forget gravity existed. Her mouth traced your temple, your jaw, the curve of your neck. She kissed every inch she could reach, slow and reverent, like you were something holy and fragile and on fire.

And when her fingers moved, when she pressed and stroked in rhythm with your breath, your knees almost gave out. But she caught you.

You bit your lip, hard, to keep from crying out. She kissed you again, coaxing the sound out anyway. Every touch was impossibly tuned to your body, like she knew how to ask without words, how to listen to the smallest shiver of your hips, the catch in your breath. Like this was the language you both shared now, this rhythm, this rising tide.

You pulled her closer, nails pressing lightly into her back through the thin silk of her shirt. Her breath was ragged against your skin, just as undone as yours now. You buried your face in her neck and let it take you. A trembling wave of sensation that left you raw and open and shaken in the best possible way. She didn’t say anything. Just held you. One hand cradling the back of your head. The other still resting on your thigh, soft now. Still.

Minutes passed, and the fireworks faded outside. The party throbbed on beyond the door. The music pulsing low, someone stumbling past the hallway with a laugh and the clink of heels. But in the quiet closet, you breathed.

Finally, she spoke. Low. Breathless. A little stunned.  “Happy New Year.”

You exhaled against her collarbone. Your lips brushed her skin as you answered. “Not bad,” you murmured. “As far as midnight kisses go.”

She laughed softly. “High praise.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was charged. Like the air still crackled with what had just passed between you. Like the universe was still catching its breath.

You could’ve stayed. Could’ve said something. Could’ve asked her name. Could’ve learned her voice, her laugh, what color her eyes really were in the light. Could’ve exchanged numbers.

But something in you wavered.

Maybe it was the sudden rush of clarity, the sharp return of your heartbeat as the spell broke. Maybe it was the way she didn’t ask for anything else. Didn’t say “stay.” Didn’t try to stop you. Maybe it was your own fear. So, you reached down. Smoothed your dress. Ran trembling fingers through your hair.

She stepped back just enough to give you space. Her hand lingered on your wrist for a beat longer than necessary. She didn’t speak.

So, you opened the door as the cool air rushed in. Sound returned. Light. Laughter. The sharp clink of glasses. You stepped out into the hallway. She didn’t follow, and you didn’t look back. But you could feel her, standing in the shadows. The shape of her still written on your skin. Her mouth still warm on your lips. Her fingers still trembling ghosts on your thigh.

Later, you would wonder what would’ve happened if you’d turned back. But instead, you found Doreen again—her makeup smudged, her laugh still bright. She was holding two flutes of champagne and raised one when she saw you.

“Hey, dove,” she said, tipping her head. “You good?”

You nodded, breathless. “Better than good.”

And for once, you meant it.

The next morning hit like betrayal.

You woke up on Doreen’s couch with your face half-stuck to one of her throw pillows, mouth dry. Your head pulsed in slow, deliberate thuds. The kind of headache that felt personal. Like your brain was mad at you specifically. You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.

“Oh, good,” Doreen’s voice came from somewhere near the kitchen. “You’re alive.”

“Debatable,” you croaked.

“Didn’t even drink that much, lightweight,” she teased. A mug clinked against the counter. The smell of coffee drifted across the room like a blessing. “You know you have your own room, right? I know the couch is good, but…”

You sat up slowly, regretting every second of the motion. “This feels illegal.”

“Hydration is not a crime,” she said cheerfully, walking over with a glass of water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. She handed them both over like a priest delivering a sacrament. “Water, coffee and ibuprofen. Say thank you.”

You squinted at her, blinking. “Thank you, Jesus in a silk robe.”

“You’re welcome, my child.” She sat down on the other end of the couch, one leg folded beneath her. “So.”

You blinked again. “So what?”

She grinned. “Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t disappear for like thirty minutes and come back looking like your soul had just been rearranged?”

You groaned and collapsed backward onto the couch. “Oh my God.”

“I knew it,” she crowed. “You hooked up with someone, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with the pillow again. “Shut up.”

“Tell me everything. Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled into the cushion.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You what?”

“I don’t know!” you said, sitting up, hair a mess, coffee sloshing in your mug. “She just—she was there. On the couch. We talked. And then we ended up in that weird gold closet, and I don’t even know her name but—” Doreen stared at you like you’d announced you’d married a cryptid. “—Doreen. She was so good at it.”

You weren’t even sure what ‘it’ covered, exactly. Kissing, touching, the part where her hand slid up your spine like she’d been built for it. The part where you forgot your own name for about thirty seconds because her mouth had learned you too quickly.

Doreen’s jaw dropped. “Okay, wait—like, good good?”

You nodded slowly. “Like—how-do-you-know-what-I-want-before-I-do good.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

She whistled low. “So mystery hot girl with angel face and demon skills just made out with you in the coat closet, then vanished into the night like a horny fairytale?”

You sipped your coffee. “Pretty much.”

“And you didn’t get her number?”

“She didn’t ask for mine.”

Doreen threw both hands in the air. “You’re killing me.”

“I didn’t plan it! It just… happened.”

“Okay,” she said, holding up a hand like she needed to physically catch the chaos. “Was she someone I invited? Someone from work?”

“I didn’t ask.” You shrugged helplessly. 

“But like—you can’t even describe her to me?”

You looked at her, deadpan. “Oh, I’m sorry, it was kind of hard seeing anything in the dark apart from her lips.”

Doreen choked on her own coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

“I stand by it,” you said, sipping yours. “They were very informative lips.”

“Did you at least recognize her from somewhere?”

“I was too busy trying not to combust.”

Doreen made a dramatic noise of suffering. “God. This is why I need to start running background checks on my party guests.”

You laughed weakly, falling back again. “Do you think I’m gonna see her again?”

She gave you a look. “In this city? Not unless fate’s feeling flirty.”

“I hate that you’re probably right.” You sighed. 

“Okay, but what if she was someone famous?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Like, what if you made out with someone who has a fucking Wikipedia page?”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“I’m just saying—if you turn on HBO, and she’s the lead in some big series, don’t act surprised.” You threw a pillow at her. She ducked, laughing. “Anyway,” she said, calmer now, “I’m glad you had a good night.”

You looked at her. “Me too.”

She smiled gently. “It’s nice to see you let go. Even if it took whiskey and a woman with witchcraft lips to make it happen.”

Finally, Monday arrived.

You were up hours early, pacing the length of your apartment with a mug of black tea you never drank, because your stomach couldn’t handle it. Your phone buzzed with a final confirmation from Theresa Servopoulos’s:

Subject: NYC Meeting – Confirmed Time: Monday, 10AM Location: Office address attached. No phones. No assistants. NDA will be waiting. T.S.

Tess. Fucking. Servopoulos.

Even saying her name in your head felt like trying on something expensive and too tight. She wasn’t just a powerhouse in the industry. She was the industry. The woman had turned reputations into legacy, scandal into stardom. She was untouchable. And you were walking into her office to interview as a personal assistant to a ‘very high-profile’ client. No name. No details. No photos. Just the warning: this person is very private. Very well known. Very demanding. Your knees nearly buckled in the elevator.

Theresa’s studio wasn’t quite an office, it was more like a sanctum. You were led down a hall too silent for footsteps and into a glass-walled room with floor-to-ceiling views of Manhattan.

And there she was. Sitting at the head of the room like a god behind glass, wearing an immaculate gray suit. Her gaze flicked up as you entered, cool and precise.

“Sit,” she said simply, and you obeyed. She didn’t waste time. “You’ve worked in event coordination, communications, and crisis management. But you’ve never been a personal assistant.”

“No,” you said, willing your voice to stay steady. “But I’ve supported high-pressure workflows. I’m organized, fast, and extremely discreet.”

Theresa arched one brow. “Everyone says that until the first public meltdown.”

“I don’t melt,” you replied swiftly.

A pause. Then a twitch of something almost like approval at the corner of her mouth.

“This client,” she continued, “requires a full-time shadow. Scheduling. Messaging. Coordinating press with multiple teams across time zones. You’ll have no work-life balance. You’ll have no predictability. You’ll have to know what she needs before she says it.”

She. She said she.

“This client values privacy. Discretion. Stability. You’ll travel, often last-minute. Works irregular hours. And she doesn’t tolerate… dramatics.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Theresa studied you a moment longer. “You’ll meet her now. She’ll make the final decision.”

That thud in your chest? That was your heart deciding it might bail. You swallowed hard and nodded. Before you could even say anything else, the door behind you clicked open. You turned, and your heart dropped clean through the floor.

Leather jacket. Auburn hair tied back, loose at the nape. Eyes shadowed behind dark sunglasses — until she took them off.

It was her. Ellie Williams. 

Oscar-nominee. BAFTA darling. The face of two billion-dollar franchises. You’d seen her a thousand times. On billboards. In interviews. On streaming platforms and film festivals and magazine covers.

She was one of the most recognizable woman in Hollywood from this generation.

And you’d had your tongue in her mouth in a coat closet two nights ago.

series taglist !

@leaaavesss @yasmilks @bambi-luvs @mars4hellokitty @esotericatrait @wewerewildandfluorescent @ferxanda @haithone @bbut3rflyi01 @lvmxih @oneinameliann

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi gorgeous,

can you do Lando with teenager daughter who has diabetes or epilepsy and something happens at a race weekend and so Lando looks after her the whole time and makes sure she’s okay,

looking forward to it x

Sweet as sugar

The paddock buzzed with energy as the race weekend in Silverstone kicked off. The familiar scent of burnt rubber and gasoline filled the air, mixed with the excited chatter of fans and the occasional roaring of engines in the distance. It was one of Lando’s favorite places in the world—one that had felt like home for so many years.

But this weekend, his mind wasn’t on lap times or race strategy. It was on his daughter, Yn.

At sixteen, Yn was used to life in the paddock. She had grown up surrounded by F1, walking through garages, watching races from the pit wall, and sneaking into drivers' debriefs when she was little. But growing up in this world didn’t mean it was always easy—especially with her diabetes.

Lando had been overprotective of her ever since she was diagnosed as a child. He tried to act normal about it, but the truth was, he always worried. And now, as she walked beside him, scrolling on her phone, he glanced down at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was okay.

"You’ve checked your blood sugar, right?" he asked casually, adjusting the cap on his head.

Yn sighed, lowering her phone. "Dad, I literally just did."

"When?"

"Like, five minutes ago. It’s fine."

Lando squinted at her. "What’s the number?"

She rolled her eyes, pulling out her phone to show him. "5.8. Happy?"

He nodded, pretending not to be relieved. "Very."

Yn smirked. "You worry too much."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, "I have to. You’re my little girl."

She made a face. "Dad, I’m sixteen."

"You’re still little to me."

Before she could argue, they reached the McLaren motorhome, where the team was gathered. Oscar was already inside, sipping on a drink and reviewing some notes with the engineers.

"Hey, Yn!" he greeted with a wave.

"Hey, Oscar," she replied, sitting on one of the chairs and stretching her legs.

Lando sat down beside her, watching as she lazily scrolled through Instagram. Everything seemed fine, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen.

And unfortunately, he was right.

---

The first sign that something was wrong came a few hours later, during FP2. Lando was in the middle of a long run, focused on his pace, when his race engineer’s voice came through the radio.

"Lando, Yn is in the McLaren motorhome. She’s feeling a bit off. Wants to let you know."

Lando’s hands tightened on the wheel. His heart immediately jumped into his throat.

"What’s wrong?" he asked quickly.

"She said she’s a little shaky. The team’s keeping an eye on her."

Lando was already making a decision before they could say anything else. "I’m boxing this lap."

His engineer hesitated. "Are you sure? We still have—"

"I said I’m boxing," Lando snapped, already heading toward the pit lane.

As soon as he pulled into the garage and hopped out of the car, he ignored the confused looks from the mechanics and jogged straight to the motorhome.

When he entered, he found Yn sitting on one of the couches, looking pale. Her hands were slightly trembling, and she was chewing on a glucose tablet.

"Yn," he breathed, kneeling in front of her. "What happened?"

She looked up at him, her face slightly flushed. "I think my blood sugar dropped too fast. I felt fine earlier, but then I got all shaky, and my vision went weird."

Lando ran a hand through his hair, his heart pounding. "Did you check it?"

She nodded, holding out her phone again. "It was 3.1. It’s going up now."

He exhaled sharply. "Shit, Yn."

"I’m fine, Dad," she reassured, trying to smile. "I just need a minute."

But Lando wasn’t convinced. He stood up and immediately turned to one of the McLaren team members. "Get me another juice box and something with fast-acting carbs."

"Already on it," they replied, hurrying off.

Lando turned back to Yn, sitting beside her this time. He watched her closely, still frowning. "Did you feel it coming?"

She hesitated. "Kind of. I thought I was just tired."

His stomach twisted. "You should have told me earlier."

"Dad, you were driving," she pointed out.

"That doesn’t matter," he shot back. "I don’t care if I’m in the middle of a qualifying lap, Yn. You call me. Immediately."

She sighed. "It wasn’t that bad."

"It could’ve been."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the worried look on his face stopped her. She knew that expression too well.

"You were scared," she murmured.

Lando swallowed, glancing away for a second before nodding. "Yeah."

A McLaren team member returned, handing her another juice box and some crackers. Lando made sure she ate all of it before speaking again.

"I don’t want you wandering around the paddock alone today," he said firmly.

Yn frowned. "Dad—"

"No," he cut her off. "I mean it. You stay with me or with someone I trust. I don’t want this happening again when no one’s around."

She looked frustrated, but deep down, she understood. "Fine."

He relaxed slightly, but he still wasn’t done worrying. "And you need to check your blood sugar more often. Even if you feel fine."

"Okay," she agreed softly.

Lando let out a breath. "Good."

There was a brief silence before she nudged him. "You abandoned FP2 for me, didn’t you?"

His lips twitched. "Of course I did."

She grinned. "That’s kind of badass, not gonna lie."

Lando rolled his eyes. "I just love you, idiot."

Yn leaned her head against his shoulder. "I love you too, overprotective dad."

For the rest of the weekend, Lando did not leave her side.

He made sure she checked her blood sugar constantly. He made sure she ate properly. He even carried an emergency snack pack in his racing suit, just in case.

Yn found it both annoying and endearing.

"Dad, I promise, I’m fine," she said for the hundredth time, standing beside him in the paddock as they watched Oscar’s FP3 run on the screen.

Lando crossed his arms. "Yeah? And what’s your blood sugar right now?"

She sighed dramatically but pulled out her phone. "6.2."

He nodded approvingly. "Okay, good."

Yn smirked. "Do I get a prize?"

"Your prize is me not lecturing you."

"Damn. What a reward."

Lando gave her a look, but his eyes were still filled with warmth. "Brat."

The weekend continued with him hovering over her at every turn. Even after the race, when he finished P3 and had a podium to celebrate, his first instinct was to find her.

And when he spotted her in the McLaren hospitality, watching him with a proud smile, he grinned back and pointed directly at her before stepping onto the podium.

Because at the end of the day, no trophy or champagne shower mattered more to him than his daughter.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[theseh00perscanh00p]

Coaching Violation: Part 7

paige x azzi

a/n: no warnings just moving the story along...

word count: 5.9k

Apartment Door – Early Evening

Azzi’s POV

Azzi juggled her keys in one hand, the strap of her duffel digging into her shoulder as she finally reached the familiar door to her apartment. Her body was still humming from the trip — the game, the press, the bus ride that felt like holding her breath for five straight hours. She was tired. But it was the kind of tired that came with adrenaline still burning at the edges.

She just hadn’t expected to find someone waiting for her.

“Finally.”

Caroline stood there, arms crossed, one foot tapping, a bottle of red in hand and a bag of what looked like every type of chip in existence hanging from her wrist. Her eyes were wide and suspicious and way too delighted for someone who hadn’t seen her best friend in less than a week.

Azzi blinked. “How the hell did you—”

“I tracked your location. Don’t judge me. I’m invested.”

Azzi dropped her bag and groaned, pressing her forehead to the doorframe. “You’re insane.”

Caroline held up the wine. “And yet, I brought Pinot. And Cool Ranch. So.”

Azzi laughed in spite of herself, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Fine. Come in. But I’m not saying anything until I get out of these shoes.”

Caroline breezed past her like she owned the place, setting the wine and snacks on the kitchen counter with the grace of a woman on a mission.

Azzi kicked off her sneakers, letting her muscles finally relax, and walked barefoot toward the living room. Her hoodie was oversized. Her face still slightly puffy from sleep deprivation. But none of that mattered. Because Caroline was looking at her like a detective about to crack the case.

“So,” Caroline said, plopping onto the couch and cracking open the wine with a twist, “what exactly happened in Vegas that you couldn’t say over text but apparently broke the part of your brain responsible for complete sentences?”

Azzi opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Then grabbed the wineglass offered to her and drained half of it in one go.

“Oh my God,” Caroline breathed, eyes gleaming. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Azzi slumped next to her, glass still in hand. “It’s… complicated.”

Caroline snorted. “Everything with you and Paige is complicated. That’s your whole thing. Now spill it.”

Azzi stared into her wineglass like it might tell the story for her. But then she exhaled, long and slow, and said the words out loud for the first time.

“We kissed. Again.”

Caroline’s mouth dropped open. “No—”

“And she stayed.”

Caroline gasped like she was watching a drama unfold live in front of her. “YOU—ARE—KIDDING—ME.”

Azzi just shook her head, a quiet, disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt good to say it. Not just hold it. Not just feel it like a secret pressed too close to her chest.

They’d kissed.

She’d stayed.

And something — everything — had shifted.

Caroline grabbed the bag of chips and tossed them in Azzi’s lap. “Start at the beginning. And don’t leave anything out.”

Azzi smiled. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Caroline raised her glass. “I’ve been training my whole life.”

“So,” Caroline said, glass filled, legs folded beneath her on the couch like she was preparing for battle, “let’s go over everything in your ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ situation.”

Azzi gave her a crooked smile, the kind that tried too hard to be casual. “Well… let’s hope what happened in Vegas doesn’t stay there this time.”

Caroline’s eyebrows lifted — impressed. “Okay, damn.”

They both laughed, that kind of nervous, heart-racing laugh only two best friends could understand. But underneath it, Azzi could feel the knot tightening in her chest again. The one that formed every time she thought about how long she’d kept this secret. About how big it actually was.

Caroline tilted her head. “Alright. Hit me. The beginning. Like, actual beginning.”

Azzi hesitated. Then nodded, setting her wineglass down on the coffee table and curling into the corner of the couch.

“All-Star Weekend,” she began, voice quieter now. “Ten months ago. We were both in town for events, stayed at the same hotel. We didn’t even plan for it — not consciously. But I saw her sitting alone at the hotel bar and I decided to take a seat.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Got it. Classic rom-com movie type of tension.”

Azzi gave her a look, but didn’t argue. “It was this bar in the lobby. Real low lighting, kind of classy. She was already sitting there with a drink when I walked in. Alone.”

Caroline leaned forward. “And?”

“And it was just… immediate,” Azzi said. “Like all the shit we’d never said to each other was sitting in the space between us, and that night — we finally let it in.”

Caroline stared. “You’re telling me you hooked up with Paige Bueckers at All-Star Weekend and I’m just now finding out?”

Azzi groaned, pulling a cushion into her lap. “I know. I didn’t even tell my therapist.”

“You didn’t tell your therapist?” Caroline yelped, dramatic as ever.

“I was in denial, okay?” Azzi snapped, laughing despite herself. “I thought it was just… a moment. Something intense and stupid. We were drinking. We didn’t mean to. I wanted it to mean something but she left like nothing happened soooo.”

“But you did,” Caroline said, voice softer now. “You meant to. Even if you didn’t say it.”

Azzi nodded, eyes far away. “Yeah. That night was messy and chaotic and…” Her voice dropped. “Everything. It was the first time someone touched me like they meant it. Like it wasn’t complicated or performative — it just was.”

Caroline blinked slowly, like she was trying to absorb the weight of that. “And then she ghosted you?”

Azzi nodded once. “I woke up, she was gone. I texted her — more than once. Nothing.”

Caroline let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… ice cold.”

Azzi tucked her knees under her. “Okay. So. Ever since Paige became my coach… we’ve basically been avoiding each other.”

Caroline blinked. “Avoiding?”

“I mean — not outwardly. But yeah. Avoiding.” Azzi twisted the edge of the throw blanket in her hand. “Like pretending there wasn’t history between us. She stayed professional. I stayed annoyed. It was… easier that way.”

Caroline tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Easier, but not better.”

Azzi nodded. “Exactly. And then, one night a couple weeks ago — I’d had a couple drinks, and I was just so tired of pretending like it didn’t affect me… so I sent her a text.”

Caroline’s eyes sparked. “How risky?”

Azzi gave her a sheepish look. “Risky enough that I knew the second I hit send it was probably a mistake.”

Caroline leaned in. “And she replied?”

Azzi shook her head slowly. “Nope. Left me on read.”

“Damn.”

“I know.” Azzi sighed. “And honestly? I was hurt. But it was probably my own fault. I didn’t exactly make it easy for her to respond.”

Caroline let that sit, softening a little. “Still sucks.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. So then we get to Vegas… and guess what room they assign me?”

Caroline’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yep. That room. The one we…” Azzi trailed off, flushed. “So I panicked and asked to switch.”

“Reasonable.”

“And apparently Paige saw the room number, had a full guilt spiral, and went knocking on the door looking for me.”

Caroline gaped. “Wait — like, actually went to your door?”

“She accidentally knocked on KK’s room thinking it was mine. It was a whole thing.”

Caroline cackled. “Oh my God.”

“Eventually she found me,” Azzi said, quieter now. “And we just… talked. Not about everything. But about enough. Then the next day at the pregame press conference, she held my hand under the table. Like, fully just grabbed it.”

Caroline’s hand slapped the couch. “Are you kidding?!”

“I wish,” Azzi muttered, cheeks burning again. “Then after the game… we both ended up in the same elevator. Total coincidence. It broke down.”

“Oh, this is fate-fate.”

“And we almost kissed. But didn’t. And then…”

Caroline’s voice dropped. “And then?”

“She came to my room later that night. And we did… everything.”

Caroline’s eyes went wide. “Like everything everything?”

Azzi just buried her face in the pillow.

Caroline shrieked. “YOU DID EVERYTHING AND YOU WAITED THIS LONG TO TELL ME?”

Azzi exhaled, falling back into the couch cushions like the weight of the last few days had finally caught up with her. “And after I texted you this morning…”

Caroline raised her brows expectantly.

“She sent me breakfast,” Azzi said softly. “Like, room service breakfast. Full tray. Bacon, eggs, fruit… with a note tucked under the fork.”

Caroline’s eyes were already saucers. “What.”

Azzi smiled, small and dazed. “It said, ‘Facetime me? –P.’”

Caroline slapped her hand over her mouth like she needed to physically contain the scream. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said, laughing now, the disbelief still fresh in her own voice. “We ate together over Facetime before we had to leave this morning.”

Caroline dropped her hand and pointed at her with it. “Ohhhhhh. She’s trying. Like, really trying this time.”

Azzi’s smile faltered. “I think so… I want to believe that. But I still don’t know what we’re really doing, to be honest. I mean…” Her voice dropped. “I won’t lie — part of me’s scared this was just a heat-of-the-moment thing. We were in Vegas. You know, the place where unspoken mistakes get made every hour.”

Caroline’s expression softened instantly. “Az. No.”

Azzi looked at her, helpless. “But what if it was just that? What if I’m reading too much into it because I want it to be more?”

Caroline scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t know Paige the way you do. But from everything you’ve told me — from what I can see — this doesn’t sound like someone playing games.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek.

“I mean,” Caroline continued, “she tracked you down after you switched rooms. She held your hand under a table in front of the media. She ordered you the same breakfast as her just to talk to you before a team bus ride. That’s not heat-of-the-moment. That’s intention.”

Azzi’s voice was small. “But what if she changes her mind?”

Caroline leaned her head against hers. “Then she’ll have to answer to me. But I don’t think she will. I think this time might actually be different. You just… have to let her figure it out. And trust her enough to let you in while she does.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah… I want to.”

They sat in silence for a moment, wine glasses half full, the sounds of the city faint through the window behind them.

Then Caroline nudged her playfully. “Also, next time? Don’t wait ten months to tell me you’re sleeping with your on-court rival turned head coach.”

Azzi laughed, head falling back on the couch. “Deal.”

Paige’s Apartment – Late Evening

Paige’s POV

She dropped her duffel bag by the front door and just stood there for a second. Everything was still.

Her apartment smelled like lavender detergent and barely-used air conditioning. The city buzzed faintly through her balcony glass, a world too calm for the chaos in her chest.

She hadn’t slept more than two hours last night. Hadn’t stopped replaying everything since the elevator. Since the hotel room. Since that kiss.

And now, alone again, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

She changed into sweats, mindlessly moved around the apartment — opened a window, stared at the fridge like it held answers — but her thoughts stayed locked on one thing.

Azzi.

The way she looked in the soft morning light. The weight of her arm around Paige’s waist when they woke up, like she was holding on for both of them. The way her breath hitched when Paige whispered I meant it.

She ended up sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over their thread like she was thirteen again trying to text her crush for the first time.

What do I say?

Do I even say anything?

What if she thinks I’m overstepping?

What if I don’t say anything and she thinks I regret it?

She let out a breath. Ran her hand through her hair.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t be a coward.”

And finally—

She typed: hi

Sent it.

Panic instantly bloomed in her chest.

Then—

Az #35

hey

Paige stared at it, bit her lip, then typed:

how was your day?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly. Then stopped. Then started again.

Finally:

Az #35

omg not the “how was your day” 💀 lol

Paige winced. Okay. Deserved.

She sent back:

sorry I’m… new at texting women I almost kissed in an elevator who I also technically coach so I’m kind of malfunctioning

Three dots. Then—

Az #35

lmao that’s fair. malfunction noted. I’ll let it slide… this time.

Paige smiled, tucked her knees up to her chest like it would somehow contain the warmth flooding her face.

She typed again:

so… what’s the protocol for texting someone you’re pretty sure you’re terrified of messing things up with but also can’t stop thinking about

A beat.

Then the typing bubble flickered back to life.

Az #35

i’m not sure either

but i think i want to figure it out

Paige’s heart stuttered.

She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she saw the little bubble pop up again.

Az #35

as long as you promise not to ghost me this time lol

Paige let out a soft laugh through her nose. Winced.

Fair.

She replied:

scout’s honor

(do basketball players have scout’s honor or is that a baseball thing?)

Az #35

lmao idk but it’s cute that you tried

you get half a point for effort

Paige:

rude. i feel like i deserve a full point for texting first while still hiding under the emotional blanket fort i built for myself

Az #35

okay okay 1 point

but i’m keeping the scoreboard this time 😌

Paige:

dangerous

you always were competitive

There was a pause. A longer one. And then:

Paige:

i’d really like to see you again

like… outside of practice

and not in a broken elevator

The reply came quicker than she expected.

Az #35

damn. there goes my plan to fake another elevator malfunction

guess we’ll have to settle for something normal

you free tomorrow night?

Paige blinked. Smiled.

Paige:

that depends

you gonna bring the same energy you did in that hotel room or am i gonna have to pull it out of you

Az #35

first of all rude

second of all, i guess you’ll have to find out

Paige:

can’t wait.

She stared at the screen for a beat longer. And then, almost without thinking:

Paige:

hey

thank you for not giving up on me

The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then:

Az #35

i wanted to

but i think part of me always knew you’d find your way back

Sparks Practice Facility – 10:02 AM

Azzi’s POV

Practice was brutal in the best way. Drills moved fast. Screams echoed off the walls — sneakers against hardwood, ball slaps on passes, the low grunt of bodies fighting for position.

Azzi pushed through it all like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Because it kind of was.

What had happened — what they did — was still thrumming under her skin. And now Paige was twenty feet away with a whistle, a clipboard, and that same impossibly focused expression.

Except sometimes, her eyes gave her away.

During passing drills, Azzi caught her watching.

Not long. Not obvious.

Just a half-second too late in looking away.

Azzi held her breath and looked back down the line.

Hydration Break – 10:37 AM

Paige’s POV

She didn’t even know what she was doing at this point. Hovering near the Gatorade table like she was auditing hydration levels or something.

But Azzi was there. Tight curls pinned back. Shoulders gleaming with sweat. Reaching for the yellow Gatorade and wiping her face with the hem of her jersey.

Paige stepped closer. She didn’t mean to brush her fingers — really, she didn’t — but the touch still happened.

Light. Fast. Electric.

Azzi glanced up, the faintest curve of something on her lips, but she didn’t say anything.

Neither did Paige.

She just stepped back and said, quiet, “Your footwork on those curl cuts was cleaner today.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Didn’t realize you were watching that closely.”

Paige pretended to check something on her clipboard.

“Always.”

Film Review – 11:15 AM

Paige stood at the front, walking through offensive sequences from the previous scrimmage. Her voice was steady. Professional.

But she felt Azzi’s presence like gravity.

“Fudd,” she said, pausing the video. “Talk me through this screen read.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “Missed the slip. Was half a beat late.”

“Correct it.”

Their eyes met — a single beat of loaded silence. It was all anyone else would’ve seen. A coach and a player.

But for Paige, it was a collision.

She looked away.

Post-Practice – 12:30 PM

Locker Room – Low Music, Fading Voices

The crowd had thinned. Most players were in the showers or already gone. Azzi sat quietly, tape remnants piled at her feet, one shoe still untied.

She didn’t expect to hear footsteps behind her.

But she knew right away. The pace. The way it slowed near her row.

Paige stepped in — slow, deliberate — until she reached the edge of the bench.

“You looked good today,” she said. Soft. Careful.

Azzi didn’t look up. “I had to.”

A pause.

“You okay?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s fingers stilled on her laces. “Don’t ask me that when we’re surrounded by people.”

“I’m asking you now.”

Azzi finally lifted her eyes. And there it was again — that ache. That quiet tension neither of them had learned how to put down.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. This is… hard.”

Paige nodded, just once. Small. Measured.

And then — barely noticeable — she tapped two fingers gently on the edge of the bench near Azzi’s hand. Like a question. Or a signal.

Azzi glanced at the motion, then back up at her.

One breath. Two.

Then, just as subtly, Azzi gave the smallest of nods. Like a reply. Like yes.

Their eyes held, the silence between them finally loosening — not solved, but not as sharp.

And then Paige turned, shoulders a little lighter, and walked out of the locker room.

Azzi sat back against the locker, one hand curled around the edge of the bench where Paige had touched, finally letting herself breathe. Just a little.

Paige’s Apartment – Later That Evening

Azzi stood in front of the door, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her palms, heartbeat annoyingly loud in her ears.

Then the door creaked open.

Paige stood on the other side, barefoot in sweats and an oversized UConn t-shirt, hair damp from a post-practice shower. She looked… soft. Nervous, but trying not to show it.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly.

Azzi smiled, small and real. “Hey.”

Paige stepped aside to let her in. “Make yourself at home.”

The apartment was dimly lit, cozy — a small candle flickering in the corner, low R&B humming from a Bluetooth speaker tucked behind a stack of books. The scent of takeout drifted from the coffee table: one open pizza box, a plastic container of Caesar salad, and a bottle of wine with two glasses.

Paige scratched the back of her neck. “I, uh… I’m not exactly a chef, so… hope you don’t mind delivery.”

Azzi dropped her bag by the door, grinning. “I don’t. But next time, I’ll cook.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Confident.”

“I can make exactly three things really well,” Azzi said, toeing off her sneakers. “And I’ll make the best one.”

They settled on the floor, cross-legged with slices in hand, dipping in and out of laughter over practice bloopers — a mistimed pass from Rickea, a ball that ricocheted and hit the Gatorade cart, Paige pretending she didn’t see Azzi nearly trip over a cone.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Until the laughter faded into a quieter moment. A slower breath.

Paige set her crust down on the plate and wiped her hands on a napkin. She glanced over — at Azzi’s socked feet curled under her, her gaze fixed on the TV that wasn’t really playing anything.

“We should probably talk about…” Paige started, voice tentative. “Y’know. What we’re doing.”

Azzi looked over, the smile fading just a fraction, but her eyes were steady.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “We probably should.”

Paige nodded, nerves starting to edge back into her posture.

But the moment didn’t feel sharp.

It just felt real.

And overdue.

The pizza was mostly gone. The playlist had looped once. The candle was burning low.

Paige leaned back against the couch, fingers playing with the corner of a napkin. Azzi was still on the floor, legs stretched out now, leaning on one elbow — close but not touching.

The silence stretched, not heavy… but not quite easy, either.

Paige cleared her throat.

“I’ve been thinking about how weird this all is,” she said quietly, gaze fixed somewhere near Azzi’s knee. “Not in a bad way. Just… weird.”

Azzi tilted her head, watching her. “Weird how?”

Paige hesitated. Then:

“I’m not really sure what we’re doing. I don’t think either of us is, and I think maybe that’s okay for now. But—” She exhaled, slow. “I keep thinking about how I’ve known of you for so long. Since we were teenagers. I’ve competed against you, read interviews about you, argued with fans online about you…”

That made Azzi huff out a small laugh, but she didn’t interrupt.

Paige kept going.

“I know the player version of you. The one I was always told to guard tighter. The one I envied. The one who showed up on every scout report like a damn warning label.” A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. “I know the idea of who you are. The public opinion. The rivalry story. The headlines.”

Azzi’s smile faded to something quieter. Her eyes didn’t leave Paige.

“But I don’t think I really know you,” Paige admitted, voice lower now. “Not the real you. Not all the quiet parts. The stuff people don’t get to see.” She finally looked up, met Azzi’s eyes. “And I want to. I want to know who you are when it’s just… you.”

A pause.

Paige’s voice turned softer, barely above the music.

“Because I know how you make me feel. That part’s crystal clear. But everything else? I want to learn it. If you’ll let me.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

She just watched her. Like she was cataloging every inch of that vulnerability.

And then—

“I want to know you too,” she said quietly. “Like, you you.”

Another beat passed between them — one that felt a little more certain.

Then Azzi added with a small grin, “Also… for the record, I was never scared of guarding you.”

Paige let out a breath — part laugh, part relief — and nudged her foot against Azzi’s playfully.

“You should’ve been.”

Azzi pulled her knees up loosely, arms wrapped around them as she rested her chin on top. Paige was still perched on the couch, one leg folded beneath her, eyes fixed now on the soft flicker of the candle between them.

“I think I built a version of you in my head,” Azzi said after a beat. Her voice was low, like she was testing the sound of her own truth. “This… fierce, impossible person. Always untouchable. Always two steps ahead.”

Paige glanced over, eyebrows raised slightly.

“I think I did the same with you,” she said. “Only mine was… always composed. Always calm. Like nothing got to you.”

Azzi let out a soft breath. “It wasn’t true.”

“Mine wasn’t either.”

They sat with that for a moment.

Then Azzi asked, “So what’s real?”

Paige looked at her. “Right now feels pretty real.”

Azzi nodded slowly, chewing at her bottom lip. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“What changed?” she asked. “Ten months ago, you left. No text. No explanation. And then the next time we saw each other, you acted like I didn’t exist. And now you’re… here. Saying you want to know me.”

Paige’s expression faltered.

She swallowed. “I don’t have a good answer. Not one that’ll make it hurt less.”

Azzi waited.

“I panicked,” Paige admitted. “That night was the first time in a long time I felt something I didn’t know how to name. It scared the shit out of me. And then my injury happened, and I spiraled. And I think… walking away from you felt like one thing I could control.”

Azzi nodded, slow and silent, trying not to let that sting show too much.

“I’ve regretted it every single day since,” Paige added. “That’s the part I need you to know.”

Azzi’s voice came quieter now. “And this time?”

“This time I want to stay,” Paige said. “Even if I’m still figuring it out. Even if it’s messy. Even if we have to pretend around the entire damn team. I just… don’t want to pretend when it’s just us.”

Azzi studied her for a long second, then reached forward, brushing her pinky finger against Paige’s — a quiet signal, deliberate and slow.

Paige curled her pinky back around hers.

They stayed like that, in soft silence, tethered by something fragile but real.

Azzi’s POV

She’s quiet for a long moment, just watching Paige — watching the way her thumb rubs slowly across the rim of her glass like she’s still turning over every word she just said.

Then softly, almost too soft:

“So… no one else since then has made you feel something?”

Paige blinked. Looked over. “What do you mean?”

Azzi shrugged a little, like she regretted asking. Like it slipped out. “I just mean… I’m sure I’m not the last person you’ve—”

She faltered.

“—slept with. So.”

Paige’s brows furrowed. “Wait. What?” She shook her head, like she didn’t even understand the premise.

Then, firmer: “No. You are the last person I’ve slept with.”

Azzi’s eyes snapped up. “Seriously?”

Paige nodded. “Seriously.”

Azzi blinked, visibly surprised. Her lips parted like she had a follow-up, but nothing came right away.

Paige let out a small breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

“The last ten months…” She trailed off, searching for the words.

“My whole world got knocked off its axis. I was grieving something I never thought I’d have to give up. And grieving it while everyone else kept moving around me — it shut me off. From everything.”

Azzi watched her carefully.

Paige looked up at her then, voice quieter, steadier.

“No one I talked to after you made me forget how you made me feel. So I didn’t try to replace it. I didn’t want to.”

A silence stretched between them — but it wasn’t tense.

It was heavy in the way honesty always is.

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, trying not to smile too obviously — but her eyes gave her away.

“Okay,” she said, almost under her breath.

A beat.

“That’s… good to know.”

Paige smiled faintly too. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah.”

Azzi shifted. Slowly. Deliberately.

She rose from her seat across from Paige and crossed the space between them, not saying anything yet. Just easing down beside her still leaning against the couch, close enough their shoulders brushed.

Paige’s breath caught — not in fear. In recognition. That closeness again.

Azzi turned slightly, tucking one leg underneath her, and reached for Paige’s hand. Not forceful. Not searching. Just… there. Warm. Willing.

Her thumb gently brushed Paige’s knuckles before she asked, voice barely above the soft hum of the music:

“Do you wanna talk about the injury?”

Paige didn’t answer right away.

Azzi didn’t rush her.

“Because,” she added carefully, “based on what you just said… it sounds like it’s been a really lonely recovery. Like you haven’t had anyone to really carry it with you.”

That cracked something open.

Paige looked down at their joined hands. Her jaw flexed, once. Twice. Then relaxed.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

Her thumb brushed over Azzi’s this time.

“It’s been… quiet. Really quiet.”

Azzi’s chest tightened.

Not in pity. In understanding. In the kind of ache that comes from knowing exactly what it means to carry something alone.

Paige continued, her voice steadier now but still raw:

“When it first happened, everyone said the right things. My team. The league. My family.”

A pause.

“But after a while… people stopped checking in. I stopped wanting them to. Because there’s only so many ways you can explain that the thing you built your life around… just stopped being an option.”

Azzi squeezed her hand, just once. No words yet. Just presence.

“I didn’t know who I was outside of the game,” Paige went on. “And then I had to become someone else entirely — a coach. A leader. But not the kind I ever pictured being. I was still grieving something I hadn’t even named.”

She laughed, bitter and soft.

“It felt like I was expected to turn the page while I was still stuck in the middle of the story.”

Azzi leaned in just a little closer. Her free hand resting lightly on Paige’s thigh — grounding.

“You don’t have to keep carrying all of that alone,” she said gently.

“Not with me.”

Their eyes met.

And in that look — Paige finally let her guard fall all the way down.

“Okay,” she whispered.

A beat.

“Then I won’t.”

The room had quieted to a hum. Music faded. The city outside Paige’s window felt far away — muffled by the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but full.

They sat like that for a while. Paige’s head tilted slightly toward Azzi’s shoulder, Azzi’s hand still wrapped loosely around hers. No need to fill the space with more words. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

And then Azzi moved — just a shift, subtle but sure.

She let go of Paige’s hand, only to reach up and gently brush a strand of blonde hair from her cheek. Her thumb lingered there, against the soft skin beneath Paige’s eye. Paige blinked up at her, slow and unsure, her expression asking a silent what are you doing?

Azzi didn’t answer it with words.

She leaned in.

No rush. No hunger.

Just a kiss.

Soft. Intentional. The kind of kiss that didn’t take — it gave. It said I see you. It said you’re not alone. It said I’m here now. And I want to be.

Paige melted into it, her hand finding Azzi’s knee. There was no frantic heat, no urgency like the last time. Just breath. Just warmth. Just that gentle press of lips that lingered like a promise.

When they finally parted, Paige’s eyes were still closed. Like she didn’t want the moment to end. Like she was scared it might vanish.

Azzi smiled softly, and her forehead touched Paige’s.

“You don’t have to feel lonely anymore,” she whispered.

Paige exhaled — shaky, grateful.

They sat in that closeness until the clock on the microwave blinked 12:41 AM.

Azzi pulled back just slightly, groaning softly.

“I should go.”

Paige hesitated, hand still on her leg. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Azzi said, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“But we don’t need to rush. Right?”

Paige looked at her for a long second. Then nodded.

“Right.”

Azzi stood, gathered her jacket slowly. Paige walked her to the door. Gave one kiss goodbye. Held one last look. Loaded. Quiet. Trusting.

“See you at practice?” Azzi asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Paige replied.

And with that, Azzi stepped into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her.

Paige stayed there, hand on the knob, heart impossibly full.

She was already counting down the hours.

Practice Facility – Morning

Paige’s POV

Whistles, squeaks of sneakers, the occasional sharp clap echoing against the gym walls. A normal practice. At least it was supposed to be.

But nothing about it felt normal.

Not when Azzi was on the floor.

She was locked in — smooth footwork, clean follow-through. The kind of locked in that came when she was trying not to feel something.

And Paige?

She felt everything.

Every time Azzi got near her, she tensed. Every brush of skin — the shoulder tap, the whisper-close pass near the out-of-bounds line — burned like a brand. Azzi wasn’t making a show of it. No smiles. No flirt. Just there.

Which made it worse.

It was the restraint that made Paige want to crawl out of her own skin.

Near the water station, Paige walked past, clipboard tucked to her chest, and Azzi moved behind her just a little too close — her hand grazing Paige’s hip like it was nothing. Like it never happened.

Paige’s breath hitched.

She stopped beside the bench to “check notes,” heart racing like she’d just run suicides.

Azzi walked by moments later, slowing just enough to murmur, “Still good for later?”

No one else would’ve caught it. No one else was listening.

Paige didn’t look at her, just gave the faintest nod — yes.

Azzi kept walking.

Locker Room – Late Afternoon

Azzi’s POV

Most of the team had cleared out — a few stragglers still swapping shoes or arguing about who owed who lunch. Azzi was half-pretending to dig through her bag when she heard the familiar click of sneakers down the hall.

She didn’t even have to look.

Paige.

Azzi smirked to herself, standing up just as Paige stepped into the threshold of the locker room, trying to look casual. She failed spectacularly.

“You know,” Azzi said, voice low as she crossed her arms, “if your plan was to keep this a secret, you probably shouldn’t have stood that close during huddle today.”

Paige blinked, caught. “I stood the same as I always do.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You touched my back. Twice.”

“That was—” Paige started, then faltered. “Accidental.”

Azzi stepped forward, just enough to close some of the distance. “Right. Like the clipboard that magically grazed my hip three different times during drills.”

Paige fought a smile. “You think I’m the problem? You spent the entire scrimmage ‘accidentally’ boxing out into me.”

Azzi raised a brow, clearly not sorry. “Maybe I was trying to make it fair. You were watching me like I was the only player on the court.”

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but her words died when Azzi reached for a water bottle… and their fingers brushed — deliberate, slow, charged.

A beat.

Then—

“Yo, Coach—!”

They both jolted apart so fast it looked choreographed.

Rickea stood halfway in the doorway, holding up a left-behind hoodie. “KK was looking for this. I think she thought it was yours.”

Paige cleared her throat, stepped back like she’d just remembered where she was. “Nope. Not mine.”

Rickea’s eyes bounced between them. “Okay… well. You good, Azzi?”

Azzi coughed, trying to school her face into something neutral. “Yeah. Just, uh… hydrating.”

Rickea smirked faintly. “Right.”

She turned and left.

The second the door swung shut again, Paige whispered through clenched teeth, “You are so gonna get us caught.”

Azzi grinned and bumped her shoulder into Paige’s as she passed. “Me? I was just hydrating.”

Paige looked to the ceiling like she was asking for divine patience. “This is going to kill me.”

Azzi didn’t stop walking — just tossed a wink over her shoulder. “You make a great dead woman walking.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Hiii!! I had an idea for the As You Wish Series, what if Eddie and R are invited to their daughters kindergarten/elementary talent show. And she’s supposedly singing, and she comes on stage and starts belting out Twist by Korn!

I wonder what their reactions would be!

+ (Your writing is really really good ☺️)

Thank you so much 🥺

Apparently there are arguments that there are real lyrics to this song or if it’s just scatting. The proposed lyrics would not be child appropriate so I went with scatting, containing phonetic spellings that I found on Reddit lol

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Did she tell you what she’s going to sing?”

You take your seat in the hard plastic chair next to your husband. The cafeteria of Hawkins Elementary School is full of kindergarteners’ parents, milling about and having soft conversations as they await the talent show to begin. It’s a small room, and the stage is a single step up that might be able to hold one class at a time.

Both you and Eddie cleared your entire Friday to see your daughter perform and then take her out to lunch. Luke and Ryan grumbled about how they still have to go to school the whole day but your husband was quick to remind them that he did the same thing for each of them when they had their respective kindergarten talent shows. Wayne is back at the house, watching the twins for a few hours. The older man assured you he was able to handle the newly one-year-olds at the same time. Of course, you trust him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss your babies and hope everything is going well.

“She wouldn’t tell me,” Eddie answers you with a sigh. “I tried everything. Since when can Eliza not be bribed?”

You turn your head and cock an eyebrow at your husband.

“You tried to bribe our five-year-old?”

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never done that.” Eddie’s cocky smile dares you to lie to him.

“What did you try to give her?” you ask, skirting around his response altogether.

Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drapes his arm along the back of your chair.

“Ice cream. Apparently, vanilla was a no-go, though.”

“Ah,” you muse, snuggling up to his side. “That was your mistake. She’s in her cookie dough period right now.”

Eddie lets out a soft groan and says softly so that only you can hear, “It’s going to be a princess song, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But she has an eclectic taste just like her parents.”

“She gets the good taste from me,” Eddie says.

“Sure, honey.”

A young woman in a gray argyle sweater and a calf-length cranberry skirt steps up on the stage and your attention turns towards her. The famed Ms. Berry you hear about almost every day after school smiles out at the audience and rubs her hands together before speaking.

“Hello! Welcome to our Hawkins Kindergarten Talent Show!” There’s a soft polite applause from the crowd before she continues. “First, we will start with my class. So, please welcome our first student from Ms. Berry’s class, Andy Arvano.”

The only downside of having a last name that starts with an “M” is always having to wait, being stuck in the middle of the pack alphabetically. The first eleven students perform a variety of “talents”: juggling, dancing, singing, jump rope, magic tricks, and even ventriloquism.

By the time it’s Eliza’s turn, Eddie’s about ready to fall asleep. But the moment he hears his little girl’s name announced, he’s wide awake and sitting up straight in his rigid seat.

The indigo curtain partitioning off the cramped backstage space is tugged to the side by a small hand with perfectly pink polished nails. Out pops your daughter’s beautiful face, her bright smile shining out at everyone as she steps out and makes her way to the middle of the stage, her magenta dress with white polka dots swaying with her movements. She looks down at her black Mary Jane shoes, before looking back up at the crowd. It’s impossible to keep a smile off your face as you watch her gently toss her head to make sure her ringlet curls fall just right against her cheeks. Without raising her hand higher than her waist, Eliza throws you and Eddie a quick wave. Giddily, the two of you wave back to her.

Eliza’s chest lifts as she takes a deep breath and you feel like you’re on the edge of your seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie beaming as he looks up at her. You reach over and slip your hand into his. He gives yours a gentle squeeze in anticipation.

“Twist!”

The belted-out word takes you aback. Without music accompanying her, you’re initially confused as to what song she’s singing.

After the first word, Eliza begins to jump up and down on the spot, thrashing her head from side to side. Her curls whip around, smacking her in the face with every turn. Her motions don’t stop as she opens her mouth and continues.

“You not ooh rah dah en dahp ooh rah daht endaht en dik ah poo ra ta teek a poo rah doo rah do dik oh mumblio dah dah dosa pa errah sa dey definitely ha to think about pa errah so ma et it heh uh uh rah nada no ob rah da sa oh rak ah you ma heh to bro rah de de eh ah is ah ra ray nah hear aned darayeah woo who rah eh pay pa do rah not to errraah.”

The approximation of words, which could hardly be called scatting in this instance, clues you and Eddie into where she got her choice of song.

You hear Eddie let out an irritated sigh under his breath. He leans in and whispers in your ear the one word conclusion that you’ve also come to.

“Ryan.”

Silently, you nod. Your eyes don’t leave Eliza as her jumping becomes even more frantic and her arms start pumping up and down with the action.

“Twist!”

Someone a few rows behind you lets out a soft snicker and it breaks your own resolve as well. You smile, pressing your lips together to contain laughter as you watch your five-year-old shout out a Korn song. Eddie chuckles next to you as well and the two of you share an amused glance before looking back at the performance.

“ooh e ooh rah daht endaht endaht endaht ooh rah sadah eh mah rah day huh pah tay who uh mah nah who nah peek a boo nah eh na ooh rah eh essimple he neh head a nerah.”

Coming up on the final word, Eliza ceases her bouncing. She poses with her feet spread, her arms reaching out, resembling a starfish as she throws her head back.

“Twist!”

Her little chest is heaving as she finishes. Both you and Eddie immediately break into applause, the crowd around you doing the same. It’s by far the most entertaining performance of the afternoon.

The proud look that graces your daughter’s face at the clapping warms your heart. She grabs the sides of her skirt and tucks one leg behind the other, dropping into a curtsy. Once she stands back up, she searches for you and Eddie in the crowd. You immediately blow her kisses and Eddie waves at her. She giggles and gives a quick wave back before skipping off the stage.

After she’s out of sight, your laughter comes bubbling out. You tuck your face into Eddie’s neck and he slings his arm around you, chuckling himself.

“Oh boy,” he huffs with a laugh. “Well…it could’ve been a worse Korn song.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his cheek.

“At least it wasn’t a princess song, huh?”

[vxnusorbit]

let him cook!

despite having a whole bakery, perhaps wriothesley was never fated to be an excellent baker. warnings: established rs, gn! reader, usage of pet names, wrio being an idiot (affectionate) wc: 730  a/n: hehehe specially dedicated to @poessiblyfedya !! happy birthday to my favourite big sibling in the entire world <3 reblogs w/ tags & comments highly appreciated <3

“not again…” a loud sigh echoes as the kitchen fills with the acrid scent of burnt sugar and overcooked batter. 

wriothesley stares at the cake pan in his oven-mitt hand, at the tragic sight sitting before him. what was meant to be the cake’s golden crust has become utterly scorched, with the cracks running across almost akin to those jagged lines that stretched across the walls of the central laboratory ruins. he cannot help but wrinkle his nose at the bitter note that lingers in the air, and at the burnt patches scattered all over the top that continue to bubble, as though mocking him for yet another failure. 

wriothesley sighs in defeat. 

“sigewinne!”

the head nurse pokes her head around the doorway. “yes, your grace?”

“a little help��� please?” 

sigewinne fights to hold back her giggles at the sight of the seemingly infallible duke of the fortress of meropide looking like a kicked puppy in the face of his failed bakes. 

“alright, how long do we have?”

they glance at the clock, before looking back at each other in panic. five o’clock. only one hour before you said you’d be back. “let’s… get to work?”

“yeah, let’s.”

they work almost in silence, sigewinne doing most of the work while wriothesley mixes the batter vigorously. with her added help, he achieves his best attempt yet — though the cake still carries a slightly charred scent, and its base looks a little too brown, clearly, it isn’t burnt and looks (hopefully) quite edible. well, it’s not as if he’ll have time to bake another one if he wants to get the surprise done in time, so he grabs the piping bag and gets to work. 

when he finally squeezes out the last of the icing onto the cake, the sense of relief washing over him is comparable to what one would feel when declared innocent by the oratrice. he steps back to admire his work, and exchanges a high-five with sigewinne just as you walk in with your nose scrunched up.

“why do i smell something burning?”

“never mind that,” wriothesley replies hastily, linking his arm with yours as he steers you toward the kitchen counter. “i made you a lil’ something, come see.”

he finally lets go, and your jaw drops when you see the cake, with the words “happy birthday, [name]!” messily written on the top, hearts scrawled in icing of your favourite colour. a simple cake compared to those you’d find in bakeries all around fontaine, but still beautiful to you nonetheless. 

“you… remembered?” your eyes shift between the cake and the very proud wriothesley standing before you.

“of course i did, darling, why would i ever forget?” he smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “did you not find it odd that clorinde took a sudden day off from work?”

and realisation floods in as you finally figure out why your friend had been acting odd the entire day— avoiding any topic related to wriothesley, almost begging you to stay for “just an hour longer” when you mentioned it was about time you headed back home.

“it was you!” you accuse, almost affronted, “no wonder she wanted to meet up so early today!”

“guilty as charged,” he laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead as an apology. “will my love accept their cake as my apology?”

“only if it’s good.” you huff, helping yourself to a slice. you almost spit it right back out the second it touches your tongue, and while fighting to keep a straight face, you watch in silent horror as wriothesley feeds himself a big spoonful — only for him to start choking as he looks for a glass of water. 

“what did you put in it?” you ask when he finally recovers.

“nothing the recipe didn’t state, i don’t know why it came out so… salty…”

realisation slowly dawns on his face, and he turns to rummage through the cabinet. 

for the nth time that day, wriothesley sighs. “i think i– or rather, i think sigewinne may have mistaken the salt for sugar, and– well, you know how that ended.” 

you laugh, reaching out to pat his back. “that’s alright, it happens to the best of us. now you know to check your ingredients before putting them in, right?”

the kicked puppy expression returns on his face. 

“i should’ve asked navia for help.”

© vxnusorbit. do not plagiarise, repost, or feed to ai in part or whole.

[sanjisleggy]

beautiful things (roronoa zoro x reader) [pt2/2]

a/n: the way Ace has me gripped by the BALLS is insane i have woken up every day the past two(?) weeks thinking about him send help anyway here’s part 2 of the zoro fic i wrote last week. also if you;re reading this, this is a plea for Ace requests ty

contents: hurt/comfort, fluff!!, making up, zoro tries his best :’)

wc. 2.3k

wanna be on my taglist?

part 1

i.

you know Zoro loves you.

you can tell from the way he’s always watching over you, even when you’ve been avoiding him for most of the past week. he keeps an eye on you during meals when you’re seated far away and not in your usual spot beside him, always ready to pass the salt or the whatever it is you need even before you ask for it.

you can tell he loves you from the way he checks up on you every night when you’re sleeping in Nami and Robin’s room instead of the one you share with him. Zoro never questions why you haven’t been sleeping beside him–he already knows the answer–instead, he takes a quick peek into the room you’re in and leaves once he spots your peacefully sleeping form draped across Nami. some nights, he does it multiple times, as if he’s unable to sleep and checking on you is the only thing he wants to do in his waking hours.

you can tell Zoro loves you from how Robin tells you he’s been asking the other Straw Hats what he should do to make it up to you. while having tea with her in the Sunny’s aquarium on a particularly cold day on the seas, you ask her how he’s been and she says he’s been resting, without needing Chopper to even breathe down his neck.

“he’s been asking everyone what he should do,” she says, taking a sip.

“do what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“he wants to apologise to you but doesn’t know how.” you can’t help but smile at the thought of Zoro overthinking such a simple matter–though, matters of the heart never seem to be simple to a man like him.

“he could just say sorry,” you think aloud with a shrug and Robin laughs lightly. 

“i think you’re too special to him for that.”

ii.

it’s been a little over a week since your perilous experience on Thriller Bark and you find yourselves docked at a new island. it’s fairly small compared to the other places you’ve been to but since it’ll take a few days for the log pose to set, everyone splits up to kill time in their own way.

Zoro heads straight to town with Nami accompanying him so he doesn’t get lost (and also because she has berry). holding a small piece of paper in his hands, he frowns down at it, prompting the navigator to ask what’s up.

“‘m just not sure if i can find everything i need here,” the swordsman replies with a deep sigh, missing the way Nami smiles at him. as tempted as she is to make fun of him for being broke and–possibly in the near future–single, she bites her tongue, knowing Zoro’s putting a whole lot of effort into his apology. she’ll be nice to him, for you.

“don’t worry about it so much, what could possibly be so hard to find anyway?”

Sanji felt Zoro’s stare burning into the back of his head for nearly five whole, silent minutes before the shitty swordsman finally decided to speak up.

“hey… i need your help.”

well. that certainly was not what Sanji thought he was gonna say but the chef would be lying if he said he was totally surprised.

almost everyone in the crew heard firsthand what Zoro said to you several days ago. the commotion inside the infirmary had drawn everyone to linger outside nearby in case an intervention was needed and it ended up backfiring in the worst way possible. you’d walked out of the infirmary in tears and cried even harder once you realised all your friends were looking at you after hearing what should have been a private moment.

Sanji nearly offered to kick his ass upon seeing your distraught face but stopped himself when he remembered the sight that greeted him once he’d woken up after encountering Kuma. as much as he wanted to avenge your feelings, he knew Zoro was going through a lot, too.

“the shitty co– i mean, Sanji told me to get ‘em roses because ‘it’s romantic’,” he said with a scoff, as if physically incapable of talking about the blond chef without insulting him. “but i know (Y/N)’s favourite flowers are daffodils. i just don’t know if this island has them or not.”

the next person he approached was Nami, who was much less courteous than her previous counterpart. upon seeing his face, she’d started tearing into him immediately, stopping only when she noticed he was just letting himself take all of it.

“not gonna fight back?” she scoffed, unable to push away the anger she felt on your behalf.

“why would i fight back if you’re right?” he replied, his jaw clenched. “i know i fucked up. that’s why i came here for help.”

“you told me to get her a gift, like a necklace or something,” Zoro continues talking without missing a beat as the two weave through the crowded shopping street. “(Y/N) doesn’t like necklaces, though, they make her neck feel itchy, so i thought i’d get a bracelet instead.” even though he’s finished his sentence, Nami can’t help but notice how he looks like he has more to say.

“you’re broke, aren’t you?”

he nods, looking almost like a child being scolded by his mother.

“fine, i’ll pay for it this time. only because it’s for (Y/N).” Nami keeps it to herself, but she’s impressed he remembers such specific details. if only he could do the same with directions, she sighs.

he never intended to ask Luffy for relationship advice but his captain, with his weirdly high emotional intelligence, sniffed out Zoro’s distress without even realising it. he was one of the few who didn’t catch the argument so he wasn’t really sure why his first mate and chronicler weren’t seen together as much as usual but he knew something was up and wanted to help.

“i think you should buy her meat. lots of it. just all the meat the island has to offer.” Luffy nearly started drooling as he spoke and Zoro wasn’t sure if he even remembered what the conversation was about at that point.

the whole meat thing was useless but the conversation did spark an idea in him.

“there’s this candy that (Y/N) talks about a lot, it’s her favourite,” Zoro says with a smile, unable to help remembering all the times you yapped on and on about how it’s the best thing ever from your childhood and how you hope one day he gets to try it. he’s not a fan of sweets but if you love it, he knows he will, too.

“that’s gonna be the hardest thing to find here, i think,” Nami says exactly what Zoro’s been most concerned about. “but i think if we try hard enough, we can probably find it.” she gives him an encouraging look. “c’mon, i’ll help you look.”

iii. 

you only see Zoro again when the sun has set and everyone slowly starts gathering in the dining room for dinner. you’re not sure if they’re just trying to be funny or if they’re actually this bad at subtlety because your beloved crewmates don’t even try to hide how they’re leaving the last available seat next to you. Chopper’s even draped across two chairs for no reason aside from “i just feel like lying down today”. you don’t point it out, though, having reflected on your role in the argument after your conversation with Robin, you no longer feel the need to be petty.

with an awkwardness only two complete strangers could possess, your boyfriend slowly takes a seat right beside you. to Zoro’s surprise, you turn to look at him for a second–so starved for your attention, he nearly feels his heart stop–before asking, “you okay?” your eyes flicker down to the fresh set of bandages wrapped around his upper body. 

“yeah, i’m good.” Zoro coughs and looks away, inadvertently making eye-contact with Nami. she frowns at him and mouths "don't be a loser!” turning back to you, he feels his heart drop when he realises you’re talking to Sanji about something else now. not wanting to draw too much attention to himself, the swordsman tugs gently at the hem of your shirt.

almost instantaneously, you look back at him, a hint of a smile on your face. “what’s up?” you ask, reaching your own hand over to rest it over his before rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

swallowing thickly, Zoro murmurs, just loud enough for only you to hear, “can you meet me in our room after dinner? i have something to show you.” his face is burning red and you swear you can feel his calloused hand start to tremble ever so slightly.

the last person he ended up approaching for help was Chopper. it wasn’t planned since he’s just a little reindeer but Zoro thought it wouldn’t hurt asking him for his opinion, especially since redressing his wounds always took a bit of time and the silence sometimes got a little awkward.

“hmm…” the doctor hummed thoughtfully as he opened a new pack of bandages. “wouldn’t the best thing be to just do what she wanted you to? i mean, you guys fought because she didn’t want you to train while still injured, right?” Chopper sniffled a little but held it together. it wasn’t a secret that he felt a little responsible for your falling out since he was the one who asked you for help in getting Zoro to rest that fateful day.

“i think i might have an idea.” 

“here,” Zoro says as he hands you a neatly folded piece of paper. there’s an obvious lump on your bed under the blanket but you opt to ignore it for now. in the distance, you can hear the clanking of utensils and muffled chatter as your crewmates carry on with dessert without the both of you. 

unfolding the paper, the first thing that catches your eye is a large stamp of what looks like a hoof at the very bottom.

this note is to verify that Roronoa Zoro has locked all his training equipment and swords in the crow’s nest and that the sole key is in the possession of Tony Tony Chopper. if in any case Roronoa Zoro tries to exercise before he is cleared to do so by Tony Tony Chopper, the latter reserves the right to throw the key into the ocean. signed, Roronoa Zoro & Tony Tony Chopper

the laugh bursts out of your mouth before you can help yourself and for a full minute that’s all you do as the silliness of it all tickles at your heart. too preoccupied, you fail to notice how Zoro’s eyes soften as he watches you in silence. seeing the familiar smile on your face, after more than a week of being deprived of your voice and warmth, soothes his nerves in a way he should frankly find alarming. no one person should hold this much power over him and yet he wilfully leaves his entire heart in your possession to keep safe or to break. 

folding back the extremely precious document in your hands before slipping it into your pocket, you return your attention to the man standing in front of you, his physical size a stark contrast to the shy smile on his flushed face. 

“i got you some stuff, too–” before Zoro can turn away to bring out the gifts, you lunge towards him and lock your arms around his neck. he’s quick to return the embrace, instantly nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder as he holds you close. 

“i’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he mutters into your skin, brushing his lips against your jaw as his warm breath brushes past your ear, “i didn’t mean what i said. i was pissed at myself and took it out on you.” Zoro hears you draw in a shuddering breath and his fingers curl around the fabric of the back of your shirt instinctively. “i’m sorry. you’re never a burden and… i-i want to be the one who protects you for the rest of our lives, so please,” your boyfriend pleads as he presses a kiss to your neck, “keep fussing over me and taking care of me. i’ll listen to everything you say.”

for a while, you remain silent, basking in the warmth of his embrace as you think about what he’d just said. you feel almost breathless from how rapidly your heart pounds in your chest and you briefly wonder if Zoro feels it, too. mistaking your silence for hesitation, the swordsman presses his lips against your neck and jawline a few more times as he runs his hands up and down your back.

“i love you,” Zoro mutters as he shuts his eyes and leans his temple against yours, wondering if this will be the last time he gets to touch you like this. “whatever you choose to do with me, i’ll always love you.”

“i love you, too,” you sniffle, finding yourself suddenly tearing up as you’re caught completely off-guard by his words. “i didn’t know you could be so cheesy,” you add with a soft laugh, only to feel his fingers brush against a particularly ticklish part of your body. you try to wriggle away but even an injured-Zoro is much too strong for you to break free from.

“don’t make fun of me, brat,” your lover replies, his own lips tugging into a smile as he keeps you locked in place and unable to escape from his wandering hands. “this is what i get for pouring my heart out to you, huh?”

“no, you get this,” you giggle before pulling your head away just enough to kiss all over his face. shutting his eyes, Zoro basks in the feeling of your brushing against all parts of his face as his heart nearly bursts from the overwhelming affection; and he can’t help but wonder what he’d done in his life to deserve such a beautiful thing. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch

[elliespassagerprincess]

could you please write like pfofessor ellie not going to class because aurora is sick? sorry for my bad english 🫶🫶

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

TW: mentions of seizures

☆ Ellie was deep into a lecture on postmodern theory, gesturing at the board, when her phone buzzed. She ignored it—until she saw your name.

☆ You never called during her class. Texted sometimes, but never called. Her stomach dropped instantly.

☆ At first, she thought maybe you forgot what time it was—but the second time your name flashed again, she froze mid-sentence.

☆ Her TA offered to finish the lecture. Ellie didn’t even respond. She walked straight out with her phone pressed to her ear.

☆ “Baby?” she answered, voice low, urgent. Then she heard it: Aurora’s sobbing, Arnold screaming, and you—panicked.

☆ “Ellie—she’s burning up—she’s shaking—I don’t know what to do, I can’t get her to open her eyes—”

☆ Ellie’s face drained of color. “Where are you right now? I'm coming. Keep her awake. Don't hang up.”

☆ She ran across campus like she didn’t care who saw, pushing past confused students and nearly getting hit by a bike.

☆ Her whole body went cold hearing Arnold crying in the background, yelling “Mommy! Mommy, Ro-Ro won’t wake up!”

☆ She called your pediatrician while in the car, eyes blurry, barely stopping at red lights. Her voice cracked: “She’s six. She has a history of febrile seizures. This is an emergency.”

☆ Ellie burst through the front door still holding her phone, and immediately dropped to her knees at the sight of Aurora limp in your arms.

☆ Arnold clung to her leg, hiccupping and crying, terrified and confused. Ellie scooped him up with one arm while pressing her lips to Aurora’s forehead.

☆ She barked out instructions like a soldier—wet towel, ice pack, call the pediatrician again—until she caught the fear in your eyes and softened.

☆ “I’ve got her now,” she whispered to you, holding Aurora to her chest, rocking her gently. “You did good. You’re okay.”

☆ She checked her daughter’s breathing every five minutes, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face, whispering, “Mommy’s here, baby girl.”

☆ Arnold sat beside her, clutching her shirt. “Ro-Ro’s broken?” Ellie held both children tight. “No, sweetheart. She’s just fighting really hard right now.”

☆ You stood behind her shaking. Ellie reached one arm back blindly, pulling you to the floor, to her chest, into the huddle of trembling limbs and panic.

☆ She called her department, voice thick: “I’m taking personal leave. My daughter’s sick. I don’t know how long. I’ll send materials.”

☆ She didn’t move from the living room floor that night. Laid there with Aurora in her lap, Arnold beside her, and you curled against her chest.

☆ Even asleep, she kept one hand on Aurora’s chest to feel it rise and fall, counting seconds between every breath.

☆ The next day, Ellie couldn’t stop blaming herself. “I should’ve known something was off. She was clingy yesterday. I brushed it off.”

☆ She sobbed silently in the shower so you and the kids wouldn’t hear, hands pressed against the tile, whispering “please don’t take her from me.”

☆ Aurora murmured “Mama El” in her fever dreams, and Ellie would cry every time, whispering “I'm right here, angel.”

☆ She refused to let anyone else hold Aurora—even you—for the first twelve hours.

☆ She fed Arnold while bouncing Aurora in her lap. She looked wrecked but still kissed his head and said, “Don’t be scared, buddy. Your sister’s strong.”

☆ Ellie didn’t sleep. Not once. She spent the whole night memorizing Aurora’s fever patterns, alternating ice and lukewarm baths, cradling her close.

☆ She kept whispering “I should’ve stayed home today. I should’ve known. I should’ve felt it.” You had to hold her and say, “She needs you strong now, not guilty.”

☆ Arnold kept waking up crying. Ellie climbed into his bed with him, holding his tiny hands, kissing his tears away while Aurora slept on your chest.

☆ She kept checking your pulse, your temperature too. You were emotionally fried, and Ellie could see you spiraling. “You’re not allowed to fall apart without me.”

☆ She emailed her students personally. “I’m sorry I had to leave. There was a family emergency. Please be kind to one another this week.”

☆ When Aurora finally opened her eyes, Ellie broke down and kissed every inch of her face. “There you are, baby girl. There you are.”

☆ Aurora whispered, “My belly hurts…” and Ellie responded, “We’re gonna make it feel all better, okay? Mommy and Mama El got you.”

☆ She made a pillow fort for Arnold just to distract him while still checking Aurora’s vitals every half hour.

☆ You caught her kissing Aurora’s hand like a prayer, over and over again.

☆ Arnold asked, “Is Ro gonna go to heaven?” Ellie pulled him into her lap immediately. “No, baby. Not for a long, long, long time.”

☆ When Aurora smiled weakly at her juice, Ellie sobbed against your neck like her world was restarting.

☆ She wrote all the symptoms and medication times in her journal in tiny, perfect handwriting—“because my daughter deserves accuracy.”

☆ You caught her thanking the universe out loud. “You scared the shit out of me, Ro, but thank you for coming back.”

☆ Aurora whispered “Mama El?” at 2 a.m. Ellie was by her side in seconds. “You okay?” “I missed you in my dream.” Ellie sobbed.

☆ She told you the next morning, “If we ever lose her, I’ll go with her. I swear to God.”

☆ You hadn’t let yourself cry fully until Ellie came home. When she held you in bed, everything spilled out.

☆ She kept whispering, “You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you. You called me. That saved her.”

☆ You said, “I didn’t know what to do.” Ellie cupped your face, “You did everything right.”

☆ You fell asleep holding her hand, her arm over Aurora’s waist. Ellie whispered, “I could live here forever.”

☆ She made you tea and forced you to rest once Aurora stabilized, carrying you bridal style to the couch.

☆ She kept texting you every hour while you napped. “Aurora smiled. Arnold farted. We’re okay. I love you.”

☆ Ellie bought your favorite snacks and restocked the medicine cabinet with backup fever meds.

☆ You caught her sketching again—Aurora asleep, Arnold cuddled at her side. You, blurry in the background.

☆ “This house doesn’t breathe without you,” she told you. “I don’t breathe without you either.”

☆ You kissed her slowly, hands in her hair, and whispered, “Thank you for coming home.”

☆ Ellie declined two guest lectures and ignored all her committee meetings. Her only priority was home.

☆ When she finally checked her email, there were 300 unread messages. She read none.

☆ She rescheduled midterms. Students were confused. She didn’t care.

☆ When Arnold asked if she was going to work again, she answered, “Not until your sister’s bouncing again.”

☆ She cooked meals from scratch—soups, comfort food—and you caught her humming lullabies while stirring broth.

☆ Her academic journals sat untouched. Instead, she read The Gruffalo five times to Arnold and Aurora, even when they were too tired to listen.

☆ She stopped wearing her usual crisp outfits—just sweatpants, your old hoodie, and messy braids.

☆ When Aurora asked why she looked sad, Ellie smiled gently. “Because you scared me, lovebug. But Mama El’s okay now.”

☆ Ellie swore she’d never take another class lightly again. “Family first. Every time. Always.”

☆ When you teased her about it, she replied dead serious: “I’d burn every degree I have for you three.”

☆ When Aurora got her energy back, Ellie took the whole family on a “recovery picnic” to the backyard.

☆ She hung fairy lights in the living room and let Arnold and Aurora fall asleep watching cartoons in a blanket nest.

☆ She started writing a paper on maternal instinct. It included a paragraph about “the call that split time in two.”

☆ You both agreed to keep emergency protocols more visible—color-coded notes on the fridge, double-packed medicine kits.

☆ Ellie started sleeping with one arm over each child every night for weeks. It grounded her.

☆ She kissed your temple every morning and whispered “thank you for trusting me.”

☆ She bought a locket and put pictures of both kids in it. On the back, she engraved: “Call me. Always.”

☆ You woke up once to find her watching Aurora sleep. “Just making sure,” she whispered, teary.

☆ Ellie started including family anecdotes in her lectures, more open with students about what love really looks like.

☆ And every time you call her now—even for something small—she answers before the first ring finishes, heart open, ready to protect the world she built with you.

[omgfangirlland]

I've been reading about supernatural reader having a toddler with Dean. And I propose that her and Dean a child, though magic like supernatural reader, can't have a baby naturally for one reason or another so her and Dean make a baby using magic. I feel like it would add another layer to Anxious Dad Dean

(I'm assuming this is all one anon, and I didn't read this through, so sorry for any mistakes)

I'm such a big fan of neglected reader or just batsis in general looking like Martha y'all don't even know- I also have to get this out of my brain before I continue answering:

Reader: I'll get you a baby.

Dean, thinking this is some next level flirting and is shocked you spoke it with Sammy around: *stumbles in incoming traffic*

And the alternative:

Reader: I'll get YOU pregnant.

Dean: Promise?

I can get behind this-

So I have two thoughts- "amazonian" baby girl made from clay and "demon" baby boy gifted by Crowley with a hellhound as a bonus protector.

What I'm saying is twins. I have settled on twins.

The thought would start with Dean cuddling you in bed or on a couch, slightly drunk, after running around with the baby of the family y'all saved that day. Maybe a little jab from you along the lines of him looking nice with a baby on his hip, and him just straight up saying he'd love to have a baby with you, maybe five and a big wedding- "And one of those ugly dogs that the kids will get mad at me for calling it ugly".

And while he falls asleep with no worries, it keeps you awake.

Thinking it through- it was a nice thought. Having a family, a loving one and proving to both of your fathers that you can do so much better. But that was a conversation to happen while sober.

And it definitely happened when Bobby and Crowley were present, and whether they thought it'll be a nice gift or whether they wanted their kids happy (You can't get Dad!Bobby even from my cold dead hands, and I also think Crowley would get attached to you purely because of the zero filter you have) they get their kids a kid-

Well, a kid each. They both thought they had an original idea, alas, they did not. Bobby pulled out an old magic book of Amazonian rituals, and Crowley finally cashes in a "first born" contract and takes a pup so the kid(s) will be protected whenever and wherever.

Now- Dean didn't cry- but he was teary the whole time he held the two(and hissed at Sam when he tried to take one of the kids, honestly, he barely let you hold them, the compromise was you sitting on his lap and holding the kids while he had you three wrapped in his arms). You both were terrified.

Mainly due to the fear of turning into your fathers, but also- you now had two little creatures who despite not needing to be as baby proofed as a human baby, were still fragile little things that needed the best- Sam wasn't sure where all the money came for but when he asked you just smile and said vengeance(Crowley stole a few cards from Bruce and gave one to you).

You, after Dean handed you a blanket: No. Texture is nasty.

Dean, throwing the blanket at Sam who was pulling two carts filled with toys, clothes, 30 different types of baby food and formula milk, dog stuff, and books for the baby and parenting tips for both of you: The texture is nasty, Sammy, we need something better!

Sammy, tired from Dean's constant doubting of everything and anything in this store: I will teach your kids to bite you- (he did teach the kids to bite Dean on command and to give you kisses on another command)

----

Dean, face scrunched as he tastes all the baby food they got: Who thought green beans mixed with banana is a good baby flavor?... Who thought apple, squash and zucchini is?!

You, mixing something in a bowl: Banana and biscuits mush. Very good for adults too. (to this day I eat this, it's such a good munch but fair warning- it can be a texture nightmare for some)

----

You're a more relaxed parent, but you hold the kids more, while Dean takes the "check on the babies every hour to make sure they're breathing" type of parenting- helicopter dad? idk man is stressed and worried 24/7- He chills once they enter toddler stage, but his eyes are always on them to make sure they don't smash their heads against the floor (he's thought a few times during the walking stage to just put the rascals in helmets and rugby padding)

I, personally, would think Morgana or Cersei would be amazing for the baby girl and while I'd itch to name the kid after a prince of hell, I fear Dean would be too superstitious about it- so Lucian, Acheron or Anwir would be something he better agrees with.

Now, the kids are both mischievous once they start walking and talking- not in the brat type of way, but in the trickster "mom said only a cookie but if we entertain dad or uncle Sammy enough we can manipulate them into giving us seconds" type of way. And while the baby girl is the planner of the mischief, the baby boy is the emotional manipulator aka the one who lies better(I also think the boy took after you, quiet and looking more like the Wayne part of the fam but with Dean's eyes while the girl is Dean with your eyes.)

The quote marks around the amazonian and demon are there for a reason- they're not exactly that, but show signs of powers/inclinations. The baby girl has better reflexes than either of you and is more resilient but not to the point WW and Donna are, and the baby boy is more supernatural inclined, senses/sees ghosts and demons in their true forms, is allergic to holy water but not to the point it burns, just a mild itch.

So, coming back to Bruce and his parents seeing the babies, Like I said, Bruce would pass out seeing you with one kid, two of them? Heart failure. Add to that that you look like Martha when the light hits you one way(and he has flashbacks to when his mom died) while looking like his ex wife when the light hits the other way- and little toddler man looks eerily like him- the man is not okay. And the poor baby girl looking like the jobless, national terrorist you found in a ditch(his thoughts not mine)- but that's fine grandpa Bruce is in business- What do you mean you don't want him in your babies lives?

Yeah, he's delusional, not even a bit, straight up thinks he can tell you to leave Dean and you will come back and live here with the kids. Remember when I said Sam will throw hands? Dean will jump across the coffee table before he can. (Martha is cheering him on, but shh. Thomas is just too busy cooing at the young kids to care)

It hurt more coming from you than if the men(he refuses to acknowledge either Sam or Dean) were to call him a deadbeat who could barely be called a sperm donor.

Dick will have an existential crisis with Jason because now they're officially old™️and have niblins, and I think the info will break Damian in the Damian.exe has stopped working way, lil man just can't process that he's an uncle. The rest won't really be affected beyond being sad that they can't see them irl, just in the video the cameras captured.

Bruce in a moment of stupidity would probably try to go the cps route but like- he doesn't know where the fuck you're at, and John C. sure as hell ain't telling him- "Nope, not fucking with people protected by Angels and Demons, you bellend. Lie in the bed you made."

The whole fam learns that what the police records say isn't the full truth, but they still don't deem the Winchesters as good people to be around- and Bruce is really only raising his tension by watching the few CCTV records of Dean slow dancing with you to some old rock music while Sam naps in the booth with the babies, kissing you like you're the most important person in his life- like even then he was mocking Bruce.

Peepaw Crowley starts fucking with the family when he finds out the shit they tried to pull by hitting where he knows they'd be the most inconvenienced at- the businesses, both vigilante and day business.

[roosterforme]

Okay, but how about the first time Jake and Darling have a fight? How would that go?

I really like your stories bc while it is fiction, I feel like you show every aspect of a relationship, not only the good parts.

🩷

OMG, nonny. I'm swooning. I try to make my stories realistic (as much as they can be for fanfic). Nobody is happy and confident all the time. Everyone is stressed about something. Relationships are hard work, and dealing with someone else is sometimes weird and annoying. So thank you, I appreciate that so much.

Jake and Darlin' argue all the time about all the small things in life. They have different opinions on a lot of things, but it's never usually anything they remember by the next day. I think their first big fight would happen shortly after she moves in with him, just after she graduates from school and starts her new job. (angsty below).

"I had the longest day at work," you muttered, shoveling the last bite of the dinner Jake made into your mouth. You set your fork down and stretched as you stood. This whole week was dragging. You realized you were probably complaining more than usual, but you were just over it. "Let's go take a bath and just go to bed. I'll clean up tomorrow morning."

Jake looked at you, his lips pressed into a firm line. "Go ahead. I'll clean it up."

You reached for his hand, but he was already stacking the plates. "You cooked. I don't want you to clean up. I'll do it later," you reiterated.

"Just go get in the bath," he snapped, carrying everything back to the kitchen.

"I don't want to take a bath without you!"

Jake dumped everything into the sink and spun around. "You're not the only one who's working full-time, but you're certainly acting like it."

With narrowed eyes, you asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jake took a deep, practiced breath and let it out slowly. "I know you're tired, but it would be nice for you to acknowledge that I work longer hours than you do. So just go relax in the bath by yourself while I clean up."

"Well, now I don't want to!" You were suddenly so angry, you couldn't see straight, and you also wanted to cry. "You're treating me like a child!"

"You're acting like one."

His words hurt you more than a slap across your cheek would have, and your jaw dropped open. But then his next sentence made it even worse.

"In my house no less."

"Wow," you gasped, turning and running toward the bedroom as you started crying. It wasn't like you weren't paying to be here. You knew it wasn't much, but you had been insistant about giving Jake five hundred dollars per month. And for what? So he could act like you were an unwanted guest?

You ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you before you curled up on the tub mat on the floor and sobbed. Work wasn't like school. Trying to figure out how you fit in with your coworkers was exhausting, and you were still learning all the ropes. You drove back here every day mentally drained, and up until tonight, Jake was always the one who seemed willing to listen. You should have just cleaned up the kitchen, because now you felt like you didn't belong anywhere.

"Darlin'." Jake's voice was as sharp as his knock on the door. You tried to dry your tears, but it wasn't working, and maybe you really were a child compared to your boyfriend. "Darlin'!"

"It's not even locked!" you shouted, but it came out as weak as you felt. Jake opened the door, and in an instant, he was curled up on the floor with you, pulling you into his arms.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I acted like an asshole." You tried to wriggle away from him, but he wouldn't let you. "I think I'm more exhausted this week than I'd like to admit, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

In spite of the fact that you were on the floor crying, you mustered up the courage to whisper, "I'm not a child."

"You're an adult," he said firmly. "An adult who just started a very impressive job. You're holding it together better than I did when I was in flight school." He kissed your forehead. "And you're absolutely right. We should have just climbed in our bathtub and then gone right to our bed. The fucking dishes do not matter right now. They can sit in our kitchen sink until whenever the fuck we feel like cleaning up."

Jake rubbed slow, soothing circles against your lower back until you were all cried out. If you thought you were tired before, it was nothing compared to how wrung out you felt now. You wanted to put forth a peace offering and just get up and clean the kitchen, but his lips were on your damp cheek and his voice was in your ear. "I love you, Darlin'. It has been a long week for both of us. I would like nothing more than to climb in a hot bath with you, relax until the water gets cold, and then get in our bed and go to sleep."

You nodded and started the water while he got two towels ready, and then both of you undressed. Jake kissed your bare shoulder and held you while the tub filled. "You belong here," he whispered. "I don't want you anywhere other than our house."

[sturniololuvz]

could you make a first period story where their younger sister is with them on tour and she gets it while they are on the road??

⸻“Bloody Hell (Literally)”

Y/N (12-13) gets her first period while on the road with the Sturniolo triplets on their tour bus.

The hum of the wheels on the road and the low thump of music through the tour bus speakers made everything feel chill. It was one of those long travel days between shows—hours of open roads, pit stops, and just trying not to kill each other in tight quarters.

Y/N was curled up in one of the bunks, hoodie over her head, headphones in. She hadn’t moved much all morning. Normally, she was cracking jokes with Chris or annoying Nick by poking him in the back of the head with a spoon, but today? Quiet. Too quiet.

Matt noticed first. “She’s been in that bunk since breakfast.”

Chris glanced up from his phone. “You think she’s carsick?”

Nick shrugged. “Or just tired. She’s been running around nonstop.”

But in her bunk, Y/N was panicking silently. Her lower stomach hurt, her legs ached, and when she finally got up to go to the tiny bathroom, she noticed it—the stain in her underwear, the red, the reality.

Her breath caught. She locked the bathroom door and just stood there, heart racing.

This cannot be happening. Not on a bus. Not with my brothers. Not now.

After what felt like an hour, she cracked the door open and peeked out.

Chris looked up. “Hey, you good?”

“I—I need Matt,” she whispered. “Please.”

Chris blinked, instantly serious. “Yeah. One sec.” He got up and pulled Matt from the couch.

Y/N pulled him aside and whispered fast, “I think I got my period. For the first time. And I don’t know what to do. And there’s nothing here. And I’m wearing grey pants and—”

Matt didn’t even let her finish. “Okay, okay, it’s all good. Don’t freak out.”

“I am freaking out.”

He nodded, trying to stay calm for her sake. “Alright. Stay in the bathroom. Lock the door again. I got you.”

He turned and marched straight back to Chris and Nick.

“She got her period,” he said flatly. “First one. Bathroom. We need supplies.”

Chris immediately stood up. “Pads?”

“Obviously pads. But like… what kind? What size? What scent?!”

Nick was already googling on his phone. “There’s a CVS a few exits up. Five stars. Open.”

Matt grabbed a hoodie, already heading for the front of the bus. “Tell the driver to stop. Emergency. I’ll be back.”

Chris knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I left you my hoodie outside the door. Tie it around your waist when you come out, just in case, okay? And I got chocolate.”

There was a pause.

“You’re actually not the worst,” she said through the door.

“Thank you,” he said proudly. “I try.”

Matt returned about 20 minutes later, looking exhausted but victorious, holding a brown bag like it was sacred.

“I blacked out and bought like six different kinds,” he said, handing it to Chris. “Also, Midol and four kinds of chocolate. I panicked.”

Y/N finally came out of the bathroom, hoodie tied around her waist, face a little pale but eyes grateful.

“Here,” Chris said, holding out the bag. “You got options now. You’re in control.”

She opened it, jaw dropping. “Why are there so many?”

Matt shrugged. “We didn’t know what you’d need. So we got everything.”

Nick, now holding a heating pad and a hot water bottle from the back of the bus, added, “Also, I googled period cramps and now I’m mad on your behalf.”

Y/N actually laughed. “Thanks, guys. I seriously thought I was gonna have to figure this out alone.”

“You never have to do anything alone,” Chris said, nudging her shoulder. “Even if it’s… bleeding in a moving vehicle.”

Nick gagged. “Okay, that’s where I draw the line.”

Y/N giggled and sat down with her snacks and supplies, suddenly feeling way less alone—and way more ready to handle this whole womanhood thing.

Chris leaned back on the couch and smirked. “So… do we get like a big brother badge or something?”

Matt grinned. “Nah. But we do get to say we survived a first period. On a tour bus. With no warning.”

Nick muttered, “Next time we tour, I’m packing tampons and extra pants.”

⸻

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Did You Like Them? || D. Targaryen x oc (Dear Motherhood Series)

GIF by unknown DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: A heartfelt conversation between Leyla and her closest handmaiden reveals her feelings towards her first child, Alyssa.

a/n: pls pls pls send in some requests!!! this can be for the dear motherhood series if you like!

Dear Motherhood Series Masterlist

Leyla quietly moved her feet towards the nursery. The whole of castle were fast asleep and yet she was still awake, except for the few guards around, including the two infront of the nursery. She quietly opened the door and closed it slowly. Daemon was still asleep in their bedchambers.

The young Lady walked closer to the crib at a slow pace where her daughter, Alyssa laid asleep. She crouched down beside her, her eyes studying every feature of her face. Alyssa looked very much Leyla, except for the silver hair that she inherited from Daemon.

With so much intent, Leyla stayed there for the next 10 minutes, Alyssa’s chest falling up and down at a steady rate. The door quietly opened as Alyssane, her closets friend and handmaiden, approaches her. “My Lady, what are you doing up at this hour?” she asked before crouching down beside the babe’s crib.

“I like watching her sleep,” Leyla spoke in a soft voice, admiring her daughter. A smile makes it to Alyssane’s lips, “When my children were babies, it was my favourite time too,” She says as the two make eye contact and chuckle softly.

Visiting Alyssa in the middle of the night was a daily occurrence for Leyla. Of course, Leyla often saw her daughter throughout the day but it felt different watching her at night, all alone. Whenever they were around the castle or outside, the young Hightower would often feel quite awkward holding her own child.

The looks she would be given or the whispers that would go around drove her insane. So she rather enjoy her daughter’s presence alone, without the prying eyes of court. Leyla’s eyes flicker to Alyssane, she hesitates before opening her mouth to ask her question.

“Did you like them?” She felt herself holding a breath, “Straight away?” Alyssane’s eyes snap to Leyla. She noticed her hesitation before she covered it with a small smile. “Well, I was pleased they were healthy. I would’ve killed anyone that could cause them any harm.”

“Like them? I think that comes later, my Lady” Leyla listens intently. “When I look at her,” She starts, her fingers moving away a stray lock of hair fallen on Alyssa’s face, “All I can remember is the pain of giving birth to her. Those horrible nine months I had to endure.” Leyla confessed.

Alyssane held her hand in a comforting manner. “Having a baby is a sacrifice aswell as a blessing,” Alyssane added with a sad smile. Leyla knew that when she found out she was with child, her childhood was being sacrificed. It took her some time to accept the cold truth.

“I’m afraid, Alyssane. Father is asking for more grandchildren and there’s no doubt Daemon wishes for more heirs from me,” Otto had been on Leyla’s back on having children well, ever since she married Daemon. Even more after she had her first, Alyssa.

“Don’t be, my Lady. You are incredibly strong, having a child at ten-and-five? Not many people can do that and still continue with a smile on their faces. These feelings you’re feeling right now? They will blow over and overtime, when you look at Alyssa, you will feel a sense of accomplishment”

Leyla looked back over at peaceful Alyssa, “Thank you Alysanne,” she smiled gratefully at her friend’s comforting words.

~

It was the Hour of the Owl and once again, Leyla slipped out of Daemon’s hold and quietly moved away from the bed and into the corridors. The brunette was only helped guided by the burning torches that lit up the castle, although it was nearly impulse that led her to her daughter’s nursery.

That day had been particularly hard for Leyla. Otto had found out that she had been talking about finding ways to slow down the chances of becoming pregnant. That earned Leyla a harsh slap across her face.

The young Hightower didn’t dare to tell her Lord Husband out of embarrassment. Leyla was slightly surprised to see her daughter eyes wide awake. She quickly moved to her and carefully picked her up as Alyssa cooed making her mother smile.

She opened the curtains to allow light from the moon to seep through the nursery. There, Leyla stood cradling her daughter in her arms as she sung a sweet lullaby. She cherished these moments she shared with her first born, away from the bustling of court.

Leyla was slightly startled when she felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around her waist. “Husband,” “Wife,” He replied back in a husky voice, his head rested on her shoulder as they both look down at their daughter. “I thought I might find you here, pray do tell, what are you doing here at this hour of the night?” He spoke calmly, leaving a small trail of kisses along her shoulder and neck.

“I could not find sleep Daemon, and neither could your daughter it seemed” She softly chuckled as he joined. “Can I?” Daemon tilted his head to Alyssa as Leyla nodded. She carefully passed the 2 month old babe to her father as he softly patted her back, a soft tune coming out of his mouth in his mother’s tongue.

Leyla thought it would be impossible to fall in love with Daemon even more, well that changed ever since he became a father. He was such a huge softie when it came to Alyssa and she liked that he only reserved this side for her.

In just a few minutes, Alyssa had fallen asleep. Daemon slowly laid her down in her crib as the two stand in each other’s arm admiring the tiny human being they created. “Goodnight, my darling” Leyla leaned down to whisper to her before placing a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Daemon smiled as he watched the whole interaction. He always knew Leyla would be a great mother to his children. The couple quietly walked back to their bedchambers hand in hand with smiles on their faces.

~

taglist

@bellstwd @sesamepancakes @writtingforfun @bunbunbl0gs @mxtokko

[dreaminofdixon]

Nine.

Long, but it goes together!

Later, back at camp, we’d gathered around the fire, voices low as we debated our next move. Walkers were creeping closer—not on top of us yet, but their stench drifted on the wind, a sour rot that clung to the back of your throat. The city was tapped out—food gone, survivors picked off or fled. The dead were getting desperate, spilling into the woods like a slow, shambling tide.

Then it hit.

Amy’s scream shredded the night, raw and jagged. I jolted upright, heart slamming against my ribs. Rick and Shane were already moving, Dale and Glenn scrambling behind. The firelight flickered over a scene straight from hell: a walker’s blackened teeth sunk into Amy’s forearm, tearing flesh with a wet rip. Another had her by the neck, blood spraying in dark arcs. Andrea lunged for her, a guttural cry ripping out of her as she clawed at the thing’s matted hair.

Gunshots cracked—sharp, deafening pops. Screams collided with the guttural moans of the dead. The air turned thick with it: coppery blood, rancid decay, the acrid bite of gunpowder. A walker lurched toward me, its face half-gone, one eye dangling by a thread of sinew. I swung my knife, burying it in its skull with a sickening crunch, black sludge oozing over my hands. My stomach churned, but there was no time to puke.

Ed went down hard, a walker’s fingers digging into his gut, pulling out ropes of glistening intestines while he gargled a scream. Jim took a hit too, a chunk of his shoulder gone, blood soaking his shirt dark. Three others—faces I barely knew—dropped, torn apart in the chaos. Teeth snapped. Skin ripped. The ground turned slick with gore, a muddy stew of dirt and insides.

We fought like animals, hacking and shooting until the last walker twitched and stilled. Five gone. Ed was a mess, his corpse splayed open like a gutted deer—no one mourned him, not even Sophia, who just stared, blank-faced. But Amy… sweet Amy was a heap in Andrea’s arms, her neck a ragged ruin, her eyes wide and empty. Andrea’s wails clawed at the air, a sound that sank into your bones and stayed there.

We dragged the bodies—ours and theirs—to a pit. Shovels bit into the earth, the rhythm steady but hollow. The fire crackled, the only sound left as the chatter died. Grief hung over us like smoke, choking out everything else. The hours passed slowly as we watched the burn, flames licking each of the bodies before swallowing them whole. 

I sank onto my log at the camp’s edge, staring at the others, numb but suffocating under it all. The creek called to me—a lifeline—but the woods felt alive with threats, and I couldn’t go alone.

My eyes found Daryl’s across the fire. For a heartbeat, it was just us. I mouthed, “Creek?” He nodded after a pause, and we slipped away, the darkness swallowing us whole.

“Hey,” I said quietly, my voice barely cutting through the rustle of leaves. “Thanks for joining me.”

“Had t’ get away,” Daryl muttered, his eyes flicking to the shadows beyond the trees.

“Today was hard.”

“Yeah.”

His words were spare, but they carried a weight I was starting to feel in my chest. A man of few, yet each one landed like a quiet spark, and I found myself drawn to the way he let the silence breathe.

“How’s yer head?” he asked, his tone cautious, like he was reaching out without stepping closer.

“Better. Much better.” I ducked under a low branch, sensing him right there behind me. “Headaches aren’t as bad anymore.”

“Good.”

“How about you? How you holding up?”

“Fine.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was soft, alive with something stirring between us. I sighed, realizing how much I craved this: his steady presence slicing through the chaos, making me feel like I could hold on.

“Do you think we’ll move soon?”

He grunted his response. Best not use up the quota for words.

“Where do you think we’ll end up?”

“Dunno.”

We reached the creek, checking the dark for threats before settling on the bank. His arm brushed mine as he sat, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through me, warm and sharp. The night air hung still, but my skin buzzed like it knew him.

For a while, it was just us, the crickets, and the creek’s gentle song. I stared at the water, wrestling with my thoughts. “I’ve heard Rick talk about the CDC. Shane’s mentioned Fort Benning,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I don’t know… Benning doesn’t feel right. After what I saw at my condo, the Guard cutting people down…”

My chest tightened, the memory clawing at me. I shook the thoughts away and pushed through. “How safe would we be there, really? I can’t shake the thought of walking into the hands of the ones who torched the city, who killed the people they were meant to protect.”

He nodded, slow and sure, his eyes on me now. He didn’t speak, just let my words settle, and that quiet felt like a steady hand.

“I just… I don’t want to end up somewhere I can’t feel safe,” I said, tracing a rock’s edge to keep my hands steady. “If it comes to it, I might have to go my own way. I can’t do Benning. I didn’t survive this long to die in a place that’s supposed to be safe.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low and firm, grounding me.

I glanced at him, a half-smile tugging at my lips. “Why? Would you miss me?”

He grunted, sidestepping it, but his eyes held mine a beat too long, and my pulse jumped.

“Just don’t let Carol hear that,” I teased, nudging the air between us. “Now that Ed’s gone, she’s free to—”

“‘m not interested in Carol,” he cut in, quick and sharp, his gaze pinning me.

The air stilled. I blinked, thrown. “I didn’t mean… I was just—”

“She’s just a friend,” he said, his tone even, shutting down the misstep.

“Oh.” I hesitated, recalibrating. “You two seem close. I guess I read it wrong… sorry.”

He shrugged, looking away, but the tension in his shoulders said more than his words. “Don’t wanna get involved. Ain’t worth it.”

I nodded, letting that sink in. “Never?”

He glanced back, his blue eyes catching the moonlight. “Nah.”

His face hardened as he turned to the creek. “Look what happened today. With Merle. Why bother?”

I bit my lip, his words digging deep. But I couldn’t let it lie. “Because…” I twisted a strand of hair, searching for the right way in. “Because there’s this old line: ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ I know, it’s cheesy, but hear me out.” I shifted closer, my knee brushing his, my breath catching at the warmth of him. “You ride a motorcycle, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay, so think about this,” I said, my voice softening, like I was handing him a piece of me. “You’re out there, ready to ride. You kick the engine over, and that first rumble hits you—your heart picks up, your hands grip the bars, and you’re excited, right? Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s yours. You hit the road, and yeah, sometimes it’s smooth, the sun’s out, and you feel unstoppable. Other times, it rains—hard. The wind stings, the tires slip, and you’re soaked to the bone. But even then, you keep going, because it’s the ride itself that gets you. The ups, the downs, the way it makes you feel alive.”

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t pull away. I had him.

“Relationships are like that,” I went on, leaning in, my voice low and steady. “You start out all lit up, happy just to be in it. And sure, there’s rough patches—fights, mess, endings that hurt like hell. But even when it rains, even when it crashes, you don’t regret it. Because there were moments—good ones—that made you smile, made you feel something real. That’s why it’s worth it. Not because it lasts forever, but because it was yours to ride for a while.”

His gaze locked onto mine, deep and searching, and the air between us thickened, humming with something I could feel in my bones. My hand brushed his arm, light but sure, and the heat of his skin sent a jolt through me. I lingered there, heart pounding, before pulling back. “Even the bad rides leave you with something,” I whispered, “something that made you happy once.”

He didn’t speak for a long stretch, just watched me, his eyes tracing my face like he was weighing it all. “Guess that’s true,” he said finally, his voice rough, like it’d been pulled from somewhere deep.

I grinned, a little breathless. “Good. I’d hate to think I’m just over here spinning my wheels.”

He snorted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t sayin’ I’m jumpin’ on for the ride.”

I laughed, the sound cutting through the tension but not the warmth. “Not yet. But if a good stretch of road opens up, you might not mind the trip.”

“Depends on the road,” he said, his tone low, teasing but laced with something heavier. His fingers shifted, brushing mine on the ground—quick, deliberate, a spark that lit me up.

“Oh, come on,” I said, leaning closer, playful and…not at the same time. “I’m a damn fine ride. Smooth turns, good mileage. You’d enjoy the scenery.”

He shook his head, but that smirk deepened, and his hand lingered near mine, close enough I felt its heat. “Maybe,” he muttered, so soft it nearly drowned in the creek’s murmur.

“What?” I teased, my pulse racing. “You don’t think I’d make it worth the gas?”

He opened his mouth, but I waved a hand, grinning. “Don’t answer. My heart can’t handle hearing anything to the contrary.”

He chuckled—a low, rough sound that sank into me—and the spark between us flared, quiet but bright.

The conversation drifted after that, but the charge stayed. “What’d you do before all this?” he asked, his voice softer, peeling back a layer.

“Hmm?”

“You a smarty pants ‘fore the world went t’ hell?”

I stuck my tongue out, playful despite the ache. “No. I knew my job, but I wouldn’t call it smart. Just… enough.”

“You did school?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, the weight creeping in. “Lots of time, lots of money. For what? I know everything about stuff that doesn’t matter now and probably won’t ever again. How tragic is that?”

I dropped my forehead to my knees, lost in it, until a rustle jolted me back. Daryl was up, crossbow in hand, moving toward the sound.

“Be careful,” I whispered, my heart jumping.

“Daryl?” I called, gripping the rock like it could hold me steady.

He reappeared, tension easing. “Rabbit or somethin’. Should head back.”

“Yeah,” I said, disappointment tugging at me. “You’re right.”

We walked back in silence, shoulder to shoulder, the night folding around us. At my tent, I expected him to peel off, but he stayed, stopping with me at the flap. I unzipped it, turning to him. “Thanks again.”

He nodded, his eyes locking onto mine, fierce and open. “Get some sleep. Work tomorrow.”

“Right. Goodnight.”

I stepped forward, but his hand caught mine—warm, rough, real. I froze, looking up, my breath catching as his thumb brushed my knuckles, slow and sure.

“Hmm?”

He held my gaze, something raw flickering there. “Yer heart wouldn’t’ve heard nothin’ different.”

My mind spun. Wait… What? Before I could catch it, he let go and walked off, fading into the dark.

I stood there, rooted, the night pressing in as my pulse thundered. What did that mean? I zipped the tent shut, collapsing onto my mattress, shoes kicked off, mind racing. Did he just… 

I groaned, staring at the ceiling. Too much to unravel, but one truth stuck: whatever this was, it was real, and it was ours.

**** You have NO IDEA how long it took me to get the motorcycle/relationship analogy just right. I'm honestly not even sure it's there yet! lol

@imadisneyprincessiswear

@knight-of-the-doctor

[pepi1989]

Don't mind me, just crying over this. Meds got me all emotional lol

Game, Set, Love - Ben Shelton

The racket squeaks against the ground as you adjust your grip, watching from the sidelines while Ben gathers the kids around for some sort of impromptu tennis lesson. It was supposed to be a private training session for the two of you, but the moment a group of kids wandered onto the court, Ben's focus shifted entirely.

"Alright, who's up first?" Ben calls, his voice light and easy, as one of the little boys proudly steps forward, gripping a racket almost too big for him.

You can’t help but laugh quietly, leaning against the fence as Ben crouches down to meet the kid at eye level. He's careful as he shows the boy how to hold the racket correctly, his hands guiding the small ones with such tenderness that it makes your heart flutter. Ben looks over his shoulder at you, flashing a wink that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks.

For the next half hour, Ben is in full coach mode, giving out compliments, high-fiving every little accomplishment, and being so damn patient when the balls are flying everywhere but over the net. You just watch, entranced by how natural it is for him to be around these kids, smiling every time one of them shouts his name or shows off a new trick.

"Ben, did you see that?!" one of the boys exclaims after managing to make a decent hit, and Ben’s laugh fills the air, his pride obvious.

"I saw it! You're a pro, buddy."

And that’s when it hits you, right there in the middle of this chaotic tennis court: this man is going to be the most amazing dad one day. The way he’s so gentle with them, so encouraging, so Ben… It's almost too much.

You bite your lip, heart swelling at the thought. When one of the little girls runs straight into Ben’s arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs, you know you’re a goner.

Once the kids finally head off the court, still chattering excitedly about their new 'coach,' Ben walks over to you, a bright smile on his face. His hair is messy, cheeks flushed from all the running around, and he's absolutely glowing.

"So," he says, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. "What'd you think of my coaching skills?"

You smirk, leaning in close. "I think… you’re gonna make one hell of a dad someday."

Ben’s eyes widen just slightly, and you can see the way the words hit him, the way they warm his whole expression. He’s speechless for a second, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, pulling you just a little closer.

"Yeah," you repeat softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We're definitely having babies one day."

And just like that, his face breaks into the softest smile you've ever seen, a mixture of love and joy and pure excitement. He squeezes your hand, his voice low and gentle as he says, "You have no idea how much I love hearing that."

Your heart races, and for a moment, it's like the world narrows down to just the two of you. Ben leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and you know, deep down, that this moment? It’s just the beginning.

[gukksweets7]

Just Him

JJK ONESHOT

Pairing: bf jk/ gf reader

Wc: 2k+

Warning: Just five letters for the warning that it's a FLUFF.

Summary: when your day is already not going well and on top of that you start your periods, your boyfriend helps you through it and makes you feel good.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

The day came to an end just as soon as it started. You are heading back home. Finally! The whole week is over and you are getting your weekend holiday. You can't believe that you actually didn't punch Mrs. Lee for her being too talkative, which she always is but today when early in the day, 2 hours after reaching your office you started your periods, every second of seeing her got you angry. For you periods in your first three days suck so bad. They just are bad. You get to experience extreme mood swings, lower back pain, stomach pain, your inner thighs hurt and what not?

So, today when Mrs. Lee was feeling too much of herself in the office you couldn't help but to finally land the punch you have been willing to land for years. That woman saw you as her biggest competition for some reason, which even you were not known too.

Anyways, your thoughts get diverted when the elevator’s door opens in the corridor to your apartment. You slowly stand straight from your leaning position and get out of the elevator.

Now, all you wish to do is to lie down, get your heating pad and your pain killers. You also want to hold Jungkook, rub your face against his soft, buffy chest. You want to smell him.

You get inside your apartment, messily opening your clothes and dropping them right beside your bag on the front door. You open your bra, having a deep feeling to just throw it out of the window. Now being just in your pink cotton panty, you move inside the living room switching on just a single light. You lie down on the sofa, not even having the energy to get yourself a heating pad.

Jungkook, who just came home, gets in shock after seeing the pile of clothes and your handbag on the floor. As he moves further in, he notices your black bra on the floor.

“Baby, where are yo–?” there you are, lying on the sofa, with nothing, just your panties on with your one hand above your head and your other hand on your lower stomach. It doesn't take him long to understand that you are on your periods.

You remove your hand from above your head now looking at jungkook. You don't even bother to cover yourself up. Jungkook is quick to move towards your form as he drops his bag and coat on the glass tea table placed in front of the sofa, now only in his black shirt with its sleeves folded, giving you a view of his beautiful tattoos.

“ Periods” you mumble, but Jungkook has already understood that. He knew your date was close.

“ I know, sweetheart. It must hurt right?” he asks now, replacing his hand with yours on your lower stomach. You nod as a reply. Slowly you sit up from your lying position. You pat the seat beside you, asking him to sit there. Understanding your signals Jungkook wasted no time and sat there.

“ Did you take your pain killers? Where's your heating pad?” amidst his questions you waste no time straddling his lap. You comfortably place yourself in his lap as you put your head in the crock of his neck, inhaling his cologne which is still there from the morning. His skin is soft against your lips, just like always.

“ You are my heating pad and my pain killers” with this being said, you push yourself further deep in his warm body.

“ Babe, how about I prepare you a hot bath and make you some good food to eat?” He asks.

“ I want you gguk, only you “ you reply while his hand moves on your lower back, giving you rubs.

“ Not now baby, just take a quick warm shower. It's going to help you relax and just like the steam all your tiredness will vanish” he jokes, trying to lighten your mood.

You don't want to deny furthermore,what he said was right. A good warm bath, some good food and an all night cuddle session is definitely going to help you. So you agree.

Jungkook stands up with you still in his arms, your legs wrapped around his torso. This ain't the first time he is doing this. He knows once in a while your periods are too exhaustible. Placing you on the counter, beside the sink he starts preparing for the bath.

A comfortable silence lingers when you suddenly say “ You look sexy” you comment intensely looking at him, whose muscles flex in his black coloured shirt as he prepares the warm bathtub for you. Fuck! He is going to be the death of you.

“ Ohh really? But I look sexy…always” he looks at you raising his eyebrows. You can't help but nod at his words. He is not wrong though. You are well aware of Jungkook and his charisma. You can't appreciate God enough for giving him to you before anyone else.

You get down from the counter as he has now finished his preparation by lastly dropping your favourite lavender bath bomb. You reach Jungkook’s side and open your only cloth covering your body, your panties and throw the used pad in the bin.

You have been so close to Jungkook in the past 5 years that you both have literally nothing you both haven't seen about each other or shown to the other. His presence is the most comfortable thing for you. In a room full of people, he is the only one whose close you want to be.

“ Okay now baby, get in the tub” you comply by standing in the tub while he holds your hand. Slowly sitting down, you sink your whole body in the tub only your neck being out which is supported by the neck pillow of the bathtub.

“ Okay! Then enjoy while I go and make some food for us. When you are done, call for me, I'll come and help you out. Okay?” Jungkook gently asks, while opening his black shirt, now being only in his trousers.

Your eyes roam over his form, to say the least you are not at all shy to show your cravings for him which Jungkook is well aware about. You still give him a thumbs up and look aside, or you will definitely not be able to control yourself. Yes! This is what your period does to you.

“ I'll come back and wash you up “ he says as he kneels down and places a peck on your lips.

—-----

It doesn't take you long to be done with your shower while Jungkook is quick to be done with his half food preparation. He comes back in and helps you out of the bathtub and drains the water of the tub.

You both walk to the glass shower. Jungkook helps you with your shower and within a few minutes you both are done. You get in the room in your robe while he has a towel wrapped lowly around his torso. His hair is wet and droplets of water fall on his face and chest from his long hair.

You see your clothes on the bed. You pull your light pink coloured baggy shirt and proceed to search for your panty.

“ Here “ he says, forwarding you the panty which he just now put the pad on. Yes! This is why you love him so much, he knows exactly what you want and how you want. Him being himself with you is all you have ever wanted to have.

For someone who is not close to him will definitely think he has no care for anything going in the world (which is partially true) But you know him well, like nobody else does. Jungkook is a very caring guy but for that you'll have to reach a certain position in his life.

“Thank you, gguk” you say, placing a peck on his left cheek.

Getting changed to your comfortable clothes you both move to the kitchen while Jungkook switches on the tv, knowing well you like having some carefree time after a whole week of work. But instead you move to the kitchen with him, which makes him confused.

“ Do you need something? Does it hurt a lot? Let me get you a heating pad.”

“No gguk, I am completely fine” you say showing him a thumbs up.

“ Then?” He says, narrowing his eyes as he leans on the kitchen counter, already getting a hint of your intentions.

“ I am here to help you or how about you go watch the tv while I make the rest of the dinner” you suggest now moving to the kitchen counter to start making the dinner.

“ No, you don't need to, instead you can go and rest. I'll be done in a few minutes.” Jungkook suggested holding your hands to not let you cook.

“ Gguk, you already helped me a lot today and it's because of you I am feeling well so let me make the dinner”

“ A straight No” he says jokingly, now pulling you away from the kitchen counter.

“ Yes”

“No”

“Yes”

“No”

“No”

“Yes” and that's Jungkook!

You mischievously smile at him, now pulling your hands from his grip while he looks at you agape.

“ Shit you won! But you are the helper and I am the chef. Cool?”

“ Ahh! That works too until I am getting to rub myself against you” you suggest with a flirtatious look in your eyes.

“ Oh that! You do every night” he says, no doubt he loves teasing you.

“ Okay, that wasn't the ‘rub’ I was talking about here” you say rolling your eyes to his naughty remark.

The dinner making part is done. You have helped Jungkook as much as you could. He was already taking the lead in everything even before you could start. Jungkook wasn't the type who would be too prominent about his care for his kindred, but his actions always spoke louder than his words.

As Jungkook is serving you food on the kitchen counter, you wrap your hands around small waist and lay your head on his broad back.

“ Gguk, I need cuddles. And kisses” you say with your right cheek pressed against his back while he serves you dinner.

“ You get that after we are done with our dinner. Hmm?” He replies now being done with serving you and himself dinner.

After dinner:

Jungkook and you are lying side by side on the sofa. Your head is on his arm while your one leg is around his waist. Jungkook is warm and soft, just like always.

Currently you are watching the drama in the living room which you both started together. But right now, you are not at all in the mood to watch any show.

His soft and buff skin against your body helps you in giving in to your dreamland. It always happens when you are cuddling Jungkook. It never takes you long to fall asleep in his arms. Just like now.

As Jungkook senses no movement from you he is quick to understand you are already asleep. So he quietly stands up with you in his arms and switches off the tv before taking you to the bedroom, who is sleeping in his arms without any care in the world.

Jungkook lays you down on the bed beside him when you turn on the other side. He pulls you towards his chest from your arm.

“ Here I am girl, where are you going?” He whispers to himself as he pulls you towards his chest.

“ Sleep well pretty, it must have been a tiring day and I know you did a great job. I love you” he says, placing a peck on your forehead.

“ You too sleep well, handsome. I love you too” you say with your eyes still closed, as you smile.

“ Shit! Go back to sleep” he says as he starts patting your head making you giggle, which makes his smile wider.

—-----------

[softcursechoso]

Somewhere, We Do: Ch. 5

JJK x Reader Nanami x Reader

Masterlist

MDNI! // 18+ // NO SPOILERS ARE OFF LIMITS!

Ch. 5 Warnings: Suggestive talking type shit! A titty in a mouth and grabbing a big dick TYPE SHIIIIT!!! ...I apologize. I am so unserious.

Words: 10.5k+

MAKE UP FOR IT

Office : 1:29pm : Shinjuku

Back in the office is where you were today. Same office chair. Same computer. Same copy machine slowly printing pages of a report that needed to be filed hours ago. Soft chatter and rhythmic typing of keyboards blended in with the occasional ring of a phone.

The Human Resources department was a little quieter than usual. Most employees still dragging their feet from the post holiday slump. Such a mundane life to go back to, but at least your mind was on vacation. 

You sat at your desk eating your homemade bento as you spoke with the work bestie. It’d been five days since your date with Nanami, and you told her nothing about what happened. Wasn’t like you didn’t want to. This was more of in person gossip than over the phone, but unlike you, she actually did go back to the States to visit her family for Christmas.

“Hold on, hold on hold ON! Wait!” She hollered.

“What?” You took a bite of your food, watching her with mild amusement.

“So you went to a goddamn Michelin star restaurant in Roppongi, and then-” She dropped her fork, scrambled up from her seat and rushed to the office door—closing it swiftly before spinning around. “You met Gojo?!” She whispered loudly.

“Mhm.” You nodded, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

“The Satoru Gojo?! The strongest?!” She dramatically stumbled back over to her desk.

You snorted. “Why are you acting like I met God?”

“To some people- he may as well be, okay?”

You shook your head, stifling laughter. “I mean, yeah, he knew Kento. They were friends from high school.”

Kaya froze, her eyes narrowing. “High school? Okay so you know what that means then?”

You sighed, tapping your finger against your desk. “Yup. Jujutsu High alumni.”

You could see Kaya waiting, watching for your reaction. You weren’t shocked though. You already processed your emotions about the whole thing that night. Nanami wasn’t your average person, and that you already knew. He was disciplined, honed. A fighter. A sorcerer.

Kaya crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat, “Have you talked to him about it?”

You shook your head, “I have no idea how to even bring that up. How do you just ask someone if they’re a jujutsu sorcerer? Obviously he left that life behind him for a reason.” 

“Well, you gotta bring it up at some point. That’s pretty major.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I did something really stupid on Christmas.”

“What?” She sat up straight once more.

“I gave him a tie with cursed energy.” You sighed, “If I knew he was a former sorcerer at the time then I wouldn’t have even done that. It’s the most hideous tie I’ve ever seen, but I thought it would be kind of cute for him to wear. I was gonna toss it, but then he gave me this really pretty bracelet, and I was backed into a corner. I literally had to give him the tie because I didn’t want him to think I didn’t get him anything.”

“Oh my fucking God!” Kaya gasped, “He has to know then. Why would you give him a tie with cursed energy? What the hell is wrong with you? I wouldn’t even give that to a regular guy.”

“I just wanted him to be safe.” You slumped in your chair.

Kaya sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. “Well… I guess that’s that… but forget about Nanami for a second. Tell me about Gojo. Was he as handsome in person as they say?”

You shrugged, “He’s alright.”

“Alright?!” Your friend shook your head, “That’s disrespectful!”

You poked at your food with your chopsticks. “I mean, he was very sweet. He gave me a bottle of Reikyo Absolute 0.”

“He GAVE it to you?!” Kaya slammed her hands on the desk.

You blinked, “Yeah. He had all of the leftovers from the restaurant delivered to my house too. Oh, and texted me the other day about hot yoga. He said there’s a studio that’s like ¥20,000 a month, but it also comes with a friend pass. He said he’ll commit and pay the 20k if I go. Very friendly guy. You’d like him.”

“Girl, he’s hitting on you!”

You rolled your eyes, “No, he’s not. Besides, even if he was, he’s looking at the wrong person. My eyes are very fixed.”

Kaya smirked, “Yeah, yeah, sure… So tell me the rest- did you fuck him or not? Nanami, not Gojo.”

You nearly choked as you took a sip of your water. “No!” You coughed, “But it wasn’t for lack of trying, I’ll tell you that.”

She squealed, perking up. “Ooh! So it got a little hot and heavy?!”

You groaned, “It’s like the universe did not bestow their blessing. First the smoke alarm stopped us. Then my damn work alarm on my phone. Ugh… I can’t wait to see him again.”

Kaya raised an eyebrow, “Is that why you made two lunches?”

You slumped in your chair a bit, “Yeah, I was gonna surprise him because we were on the phone last night and he was talking about how he rarely gets a chance to eat lunch, so I decided to make him one… but I don’t have clearance for the top floor, so I can’t even bring it up.”

The blonde woman laughed, “Damn girl. You are head over heels.”

You pouted, “I can’t wait for our second date.”

Kaya smirked, “You better go further than second base next time… and turn off your alarms! Get that dick even if the house is burning down goddammit!”

You laughed, “Shut up!”

The two of you laughed, nudging one another until suddenly- a knock on the door sounded.

“It’s open.” You responded.

The door gently opened, and standing in the doorway- tall, broad, and looking entirely out of place in the HR office. Kento Nanami. 

Your heart stopped practically, and Kaya immediately snapped her mouth shut. What the hell was he doing 50 floors below his office? 

He’d crack the door before walking over to you with purpose. His presence was commanding yet gentle- if at all possible. His hazel eyes were fixed on you. “Good afternoon.”

Before you could even stammer out a greeting, he leaned down, his large hand cupping your jaw- tilting your face upward, and kissed you. It was soft, warm, and so incredibly tender.

It was a slow and meaningful press of lips that spoke of missed moments and the desire to make up for them. Your heart was pounding as you kissed him back.

Kaya whipped her chair around, grabbing a drink and facing her monitor like she was about to hack the mainframe. She was pretending to mind her own business… you appreciated the effort.

You looked up at Nanami with stars in your eyes, “Good afternoon to you too.”

He greeted Kaya with a polite nod, “Nice to see you again.”

“Mhm, you too.” She spoke dismissively as if she wasn’t totally invested in the scene before her.

Your cheeks were on fire as you reached for the bento on your desk. “I made you lunch.”

Nanami looked down at the box- something incredibly soft passed through his features. “You made this for me?”

You smiled softly, “Of course. Can’t have Kento the Closer skipping meals.”

The blonde man let out a low exhale, “I still have no idea where you got that nickname… but thank you nonetheless. I appreciate this.”

“I suppose it’s a fair trade. Some kisses for a bento.” You grinned. “But why are you down here Mr. Finance? Thought you didn’t take breaks.”

He gave a slight, nonchalant shrug,”I came down to say hello to you.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “We haven’t seen each other since Christmas, and it’s a shame especially considering we work in the same building.”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers brushed over his knuckles. “I know your job is time consuming. So is mine. We do what we can. I appreciate any time you can spare for me.”

“Do you?”

You bit your lip softly- shrugging. “Depends. How much time are we talking?”

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” 

Your smile grew, “Spending time with you?”

Nanami’s lips parted as he smiled. It was like he hadn’t expected you to answer so smoothly. You saw that surprise, and before you could call him out on it, he leaned down and kissed you again. It was a short, but sweet kiss- like a promise against your lips.

He pulled back, “We can ring in the new year at my place.”

What?! Oh fuck! Do not react big!

You smirked, doing your best to hide a full on smile. “A peek behind the curtain? How can I resist?”

“I’ll cook dinner. I’ll make it nice for you.” 

You tried your best not to sound desperate as you replied. “I know you will. I’m excited for it.”

He watched you for a second longer before kissing you one last time. His hand cupped your jaw with the softest touch. “I’ll see you soon.”

He’d straighten his coat, tucking the bento under his arm. With one last glance, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

The second the door shut—

“Biiiiiiitch!” Kaya spun in her hair so fast she nearly fell off.

“Ahh! I know!”

She grabbed your shoulders, “Second date at his place?! Ringing in the new year with some back shots! Oh my God!”

You sighed dramatically, flopping against your desk, “I’m in over my head. You saw how sexy he is right? You saw that?”

Kaya pushed all of her work into one pile, “Fuck staying late tonight! We are leaving on time, and we are going shopping! You need lingerie and a dress okay?! He’s making you dinner and you are gonna make him dessert!”

You snorted, nodding. “My thoughts exactly.”

Isetan Shinjuku : 6:23pm : L'Ivresse Parisienne

The streets of Shinjuku were alive with movement. People weaving in and out of stores, cars crawling through intersections, the occasional distant laughter of tourists enjoying their first winter in Tokyo.

Despite the chill in the air, the city was warm with so much energy. As you and Kaya walked along the upscale shopping district, you felt light. 

“I’m thinking modest, but eye catching.” You thought out loud. “Like okay he’s seen me in a sexy dress, but has he seen me in a sleek dress with lingerie under it? No.”

Kaya nodded, “Yeah, normally I am always down for the slutty sorority party dresses, but this time? I think you gotta drive him wild by leaving a little more to the imagination.”

You gasped, “I cannot believe you even said that?”

“I know. I feel pretty ill.” She laughed. “Okay, so sexy lingerie under a modest dress. That means it’s gotta be nasty intimates. Let’s go hard! There’s a L'Ivresse Parisienne right there. Come on.”

Ah yes, the store known for its gorgeous undergarments, and beautiful dresses. Only issue- it was expensive as fuck! Was it worth it?! Plus you guys were talking about modesty, and the L'Ivresse dresses were known for blurring the lines between lingerie and clothing. Whatever. You wanted to impress Nanami. It’d be worth it.

As the two of you stepped into the upscale boutique, the warm lighting and neatly arranged racks of dresses gave the store an elegant feel. The scent of expensive perfumes lingered in the air, and the soft instrumental music from up above created an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

You walked over to a lovely red dress and ran your fingers along the fabric. You’d take in the texture and consider it. Maybe this would be good, but you weren’t too committed.

As you were deep in thought, a familiar silhouette caught your peripheral vision. Long, sleek black hair. Bangs framing a sharp but elegant face. A large yet unmistakable scar that ran from the right cheek over the nose bridge.

She was dressed casually but refined. Cream colored oversized sweater, fitted dark jeans, ankle boots, and a baseball cap. Quite the contrast to the black pantsuits you and Kaya were wearing. What a pleasant surprise. Your old mentor. Your dear friend.

“Look who it is.” Kaya nudged you with a wide smile.

Your eyes amplified, “Hime-chan!”

Before she could even react, you rushed forward, throwing your arms around her back in an excited hug.

The woman let out a startled laugh, but quickly maneuvered so she could wrap her arms around you in return. “What are you doing here?” She pulled back to get a good look at you.

You grinned, “Shopping for some… essentials. What about you? I thought you were in Kyoto still.”

She smiled softly, “I am. I’m just visiting. I leave tonight.”

You pouted, “Damn, glad we caught you then.”

Kaya stepped forward, giving Utahime a quick hug as well. “It’s been so long. You look good.”

“So do you—both of you. Corporate life hasn’t ruined you yet huh?”

You let out a long exhale, “It could be better.”

Kaya rolled her eyes, “It varies from day to day.” 

“Sounds like you hate it.” Utahime tilted her head, “Why don’t you come back then?”

Your smile faltered just slightly as you turned back to the dresses. “I don’t know.” Your fingers brushed against a dark green slip on the rack. “Maybe I just wanted something normal for once, you know? Then again… normal doesn’t make me happy either. I guess I’m still figuring it out.”

The dark haired woman turned to Kaya, “What about you? You plan on staying in the corporate world forever too?”

The blonde shrugged, “It pays the bills.”

You sifted through the dresses, your voice quieter now. “Going back would be tough. I’m out of practice.”

“Out of practice?” Utahime raised a brow. “You have an active seal on yourself right now.”

You froze before whipping around to face her, “How do you know that?”

She crossed her arms. “If you weren’t intentionally suppressing all of your cursed energy, every sorcerer in Shinjuku would feel it. I haven’t forgotten how strong you are.”

You swallowed hard, “Hime-chan…”

It was jarring to hear out loud. It was a reminder of the life you put behind you. Ever since you stepped out of the jujutsu world, you just stopped talking about it. You didn’t even utter the name of your own technique even though you’d been using it everyday to conceal your cursed energy. 

“Just think about it.” Utahime offered you a sweet smile. You wouldn’t be starting from scratch. You could come back to Kyoto, and we could hang out like old times. All three of us.” 

You sighed, but before you could even think of a proper response, Kaya was opening her mouth again. “Yeah, Kyoto might be out of the picture babe.”

“Why?” Utahime tilted her head slightly.

Kaya smirked, “Because she’s got a sexy eight figure boyfriend now, and she definitely won’t leave him without a fight.”

“Kaya!” You attempted to hide a smile.

“Really now?” The pale woman shot her eyebrows up. “Let’s hear it. Who is he?”

You groaned, covering your face. “Do we have to do this? First of all, I’ve only known him for like two weeks.”

“Irrelevant.” Kaya dismissively shooed you. “But anyway, this man is fine, he’s rich, he’s crazy about her, he-”

“Kaya, I’m begging!” You whined.

Utahime laughed, “I knew you’d find someone. You always had a way of making people fall in love with you.”

Her words were so kind. It made your heart swell a little. It’d been years since you last saw Utahime, and yet it felt like nothing had changed. She was still your mentor. She was still your very good friend.

The two of you kept up through social media throughout the years, sure, but nothing was like in person communication. Damn you missed her.

“Listen, I will talk about him, but let me pick out a dress first… it’s my second date in a couple days and I wanna look pretty.”

Kaya clapped, “Eee! That’s what I like to hear!”

Maybe you shouldn’t have opened that window to talk, because now your shopping trip was going to turn into a whole entire interrogation. 

The shop’s soft golden lighting cast a luxurious glow over the racks of elegant dresses and delicate fabrics. The air was so rich with the scent of polished wood and sweet perfumes… and here you were talking about this mysterious boyfriend.

“Okay, so tell me more about this billionaire boyfriend. I wanna know if he’s good enough for you.”

“Hime, he’s not that rich, first of all.” You laugh. 

“Eight figures and she’s not gonna call that rich?” Kaya rolled her eyes.

“Okay, so it’s been two weeks, but if you’re out here shopping for an expensive dress and lingerie—you’re clearly in deep.”

You bit your lip, “He’s… special…” It was the easiest way to describe him without going too far.

The way Nanami looked at you, the way he touched you, the way his presence alone made you feel like you were on solid ground even when the rest of the world felt chaotic. It was one of a kind.

After selecting some potential dresses, you made your way toward the intimates section—the lighting softer, the displays of lace and silk draped over elegant fixtures.

It wasn’t that you minded talking about Nanami, but things were getting serious at a quick pace, and although it was something that you and Nanami understood and accepted, it wasn’t something that was easy to discuss exactly.

Your old friend could tell you were hesitant to say the least, and for that reason she’d not push… well, only on the boyfriend issue. There were still other things she didn’t mind pushing you on.

Utahime kept her voice low, her eyes scanning the store for any eavesdroppers before leaning in slightly. "You and Kaya should think about coming back."

You paused, glancing at her. "Utahime—"

"I’m serious.” She continued in her hushed tone. "You both were incredible back in school. You dominated every Exchange Event, and I know you still have it in you."

Kaya snorted, picking up a lacy red bra. "Man, don’t tempt me, because it really was more interesting back then.”

Before you could even respond, you were being interrupted once again. A sharp, amused voice cut through the air.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite little heartbreaker.”

Enter: Satoru Gojo

All three of you simultaneously turned with completely different reactions. You were surprised.  Utahime was frowning, and Kaya looked like she was meeting God!

Gojo Satoru, dressed in a perfectly tailored black turtleneck, long navy coat draped over his shoulders, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. His snowy white hair was tousled just slightly, his ever-present dark sunglasses hiding his too-knowing gaze.

The grin on his lips was nothing short of pure mischief. It was like he was planning something.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Utahime’s face dropped entirely.

“Hi Gojo.” You waved.

He laughed softly, stepping closer, his gaze fixed entirely on you. “You know the more I see you, the more I think the universe is trying to tell us something.”

“You two know each other?” Utahime groaned audibly.

Kaya cleared her throat, acting like she totally wasn't talking about him earlier. “Yeah, who is this? How'd you meet?”

Gojo ignored Utahime completely, instead taking your hand and—just like last time—placing a kiss against your knuckles. “We met on Christmas, when I saved her from a terrible dining experience.”

 "Oh my God, leave!" Your old mentor yelled. 

The man finally turned to her, looking delighted. “Utahime! I almost didn’t see you there!”

Goodness she looked like she wanted to strangle him. Kaya however was still in shock.

You gestured to the blonde, “Gojo this is Kaya. Kaya, Gojo. Seems you know Utahime already?”

“Nice to meet you Miss Kaya.” Gojo turned back to you, “Did you get a chance to try the Reikyo yet?” 

You smiled, “Not yet. I’m kind of scared to open it. I will eventually though. That was really kind of you to give me. Thank you again for that.”

His grin softened slightly. “Anything for you.”

Utahime groaned louder. "Why are you even here?"

Gojo’s smirk returned. "Fate, probably." 

His eyes then flickered to the lingerie in your hands. The crotchless panties. The sheer bra. The undeniably scandalous set. Oh lord! You just had to be looking at something crazy when he showed up!

Gojo grinned wider. "Oh? Interesting choice."

Utahime smacked his arm, "Go away! That’s for her boyfriend!"

Gojo’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might get whiplash. "You’re wearing that for Nanami?!"

Utahime gasped. "You’re dating Nanami?!"

Kaya looked at Utahime—"Wait, you know Nanami?"

You stared at all of them, completely overwhelmed. The world wasn’t so big after all. Especially when it came to the Jujutsu world.

Gojo, recovering quickly, smirked again. "You should try it on."

You blinked. "What?"

He gestured toward the dressing rooms. "I'll point you in the right direction, you know, give you the male perspective."

Utahime nearly lost her mind. "Are you really flirting with her?!"

Gojo looked offended. "What? No!"

"I just said she’s dating Nanami!"

Gojo scoffed. "I was just offering friendly advice." He turned back to you. "Anyway, what are you three up to?”

Utahime crossed her arms, “Obviously shopping for intimates, so leave.”

You smiled, “Pretty much.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve got everything you need already. Why don’t we grab something to eat. On me… again.”

Utahime rolled her eyes in pure irritation.

“Well, I need to pay…” You spoke, totally unsure if you had what you wanted.

“Come on then.” Gojo ushered you over to the register. 

Through the store and past all the intimates you walked. Thankfully there wasn’t a line. Typically in stores like this there never were. The clientele were typically high profile, so it wasn’t exactly a hot spot for normies.

You didn’t even have a chance to sort through the dresses you held. You were just picking up ones that might be pretty and then maybe settling on the cheapest, but nicest one. Same with the lingerie! Fuck! This was way too expensive for you to buy it all.

The cashier held up one dress as he got ready to scan it. 

“Hold on.” You grimaced. “How much was that one again?”

“Aww, that’s so cute!” Gojo grinned as he handed over his card. “She’ll take them all.”

“Gojo. Wait.” Your eyes widened. “One of those dresses is like ¥50,000.”

He looked down at you from over his perched sunglasses. “It’s my pleasure. Just send me a picture of you looking happy in it and we’ll call it even.”

Kaya nearly died hearing that. Choked! Gagged!

“Did you just ask her to sext you?!” Utahime yelled. “That’s Nanami’s girlfriend! You're outta line!”

Gojo smirked, “She’s also my new best friend. Don’t be jealous, Utahime. It’s not even like that.”

Goodness, Kaya was watching all of this like a premium drama series. Guess from the outside looking in it was rather entertaining.

After your clothes were bagged, you were so excited! Now you didn’t have just one dress for New Year’s Eve. You had like five new dresses, and three lingerie sets! Yay!

“Thank you so much.” You smiled at the man. “I will repay you. I’m so serious. I can’t keep accepting these expensive things. It just feels—”

“What did I just say? We’re best friends now. It’s not a favor. It’s a gift.” 

Kaya mumbled, “I want a gift.”

You, Utahime, Kaya, and Gojo were heading for the door now. You’d step out onto street, and the crisp winter air met your skin once more. The lights were bright, and the sky was black with a painted haze of pink and orange near the west.

“So, there’s this nice restaurant I like close by—” Gojo started, but you cut him off without thinking.

"I just ate a big ass bento for lunch, so I’m not that hungry."

He tilted his head slightly, interested. "Oh? Then what do you want?"

You shrugged, glancing down the street. "Ever eat at the takoyaki stand like half a block away?"

Gojo’s entire expression changed. It was like you had just spoken the most fascinating words he’d ever heard. “Is that what you want?”

You blinked at his sudden intensity and shrugged again. "I mean, if that’s what everyone else wants, sure."

Utahime huffed. "Why are we entertaining him?"

Kaya sighed dramatically. "Damn, we were so close to a five-star meal… but I guess street takoyaki is fine."

Gojo grinned. "Sounds like a yes to me. Let’s go."

The walk wasn’t too far away. You knew a shortcut by heart since it was so close to work.

The stand wasn’t anything flashy. It was small, tucked into a quieter part of the street, a faded red noren curtain swaying slightly in the breeze.

Unlike the more tourist-packed food stalls nearby, this one was modest, a single elderly man working behind the griddle, carefully turning golden, crisp octopus-stuffed spheres with years of practiced ease.

You stepped forward, and the owner’s face lit up the moment he saw you. "Ah! My favorite customer."

“Good evening, Aoki-san.”

Kaya giggled. "Of course you’re a regular."

You smirked, pulling out your wallet. "Gotta support the best, right?"

Gojo watched the entire interaction, a slow, amused smile forming on his lips. "You really do have good taste, huh?" He’d stop you before you could take your wallet fully out. “I said it’s on me.”

You grinned, ordering for everyone. "Four regulars, please."

The owner nodded, working quickly. “Right away.”

As you waited, you all fell into easy conversation.

Gojo, ever the agent of chaos, turned to you with an all-too-innocent smile. "So, what are you doing for New Year’s Eve? Any plans?"

Before you could even open your mouth—Utahime cut in immediately. "She’s not hanging out with you."

Gojo clutched his chest dramatically. "That hurts."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "He’s just making conversation."

Gojo nodded solemnly. "See? My new best friend gets me."

Utahime looked like she wanted to physically strangle him. His very presence just pissed her off.

As the conversation continued, your phone buzzed in your purse. You pulled it out and the moment you saw that sender the butterflies in your stomach came fluttering.

Nanami 🍯📈 sent a message.

[Nanami] 🍯📈:  Did you eat yet?

You: I had a big lunch, but I’m getting ready to eat right now with friends. What about you?

[Nanami] 🍯📈: Just finished. The bento you made was delicious. Thank you.

You: You’re just saying that to flatter me.

[Nanami] 🍯📈: I don’t flatter people. It was perfect.

You: Perfect?

[Nanami] 🍯📈: Down to the last grain of rice.

You bit your lip, grinning at your phone like an idiot. Totally unplugged from the real life conversation happening in front of you. 

Kaya immediately caught on. “Look at you. Kicking your feet and twirling your hair over this phone.”

Gojo, not missing a thing, tilted his head. "Who has you smiling like that?"

Utahime rolled her eyes. "Who else? She’s obviously talking to Nanami."

Gojo’s expression shifted slightly, but the grin never left his face. "Nanami can wait. You’re out with your friends. Most importantly, your best friend."

You laughed. “Okay, okay."

You just had to get one last message off though. The conversation was getting good. 

You: I love a man who isn’t afraid to finish his food.

[Nanami] 🍯📈: Oh, I never leave a meal unfinished. Especially when it’s something I want to savor.

You: That so?

[Nanami] 🍯📈: Mm. I like taking my time. Enjoying every taste, every texture. Making sure nothing goes to waste.

You: That’s very thorough of you.

[Nanami] 🍯📈: I can be. When it’s something worth devouring.

You: Oh? Only when it’s worth it? So there are some things you leave on your plate?

[Nanami] 🍯📈: Tell you what. On New Year’s Eve I’ll be sure to answer that question for you. 

“Here you are. Nice and hot!”

“What?! What’s hot?!” Your head shot up. God, you needed to end this conversation with Nanami right now before you combust!

Aoki-san blinked. “The takoyaki.” He handed you the tray of piping hot treats. Steam curling into the winter air.

You stuffed your phone into your purse and received the tray of food. “Thank you so much.” You turned to the others, “Alright, you guys know how to eat takoyaki, right?”

Gojo grinned- shoulders coming up into a shrug. "Why don’t you show us? Open wide."

Utahime immediately smacked him. "PERVERT!"

Gojo laughed, unbothered.

You just rolled your eyes, picking up a skewer. "You have to eat it hot and whole. One bite."

Gojo nodded. "Then we’ll all do it together. On three."

Everyone grabbed their skewers, holding them up.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

You popped the entire takoyaki into your mouth—The heat burst through your mouth instantly, the crispy outside giving way to the molten, rich center.

Your eyes watered from the heat. It was scorching, but it was so good. 

Beside you, Kaya was fanning her mouth furiously. "Ahh! So hot!"

Utahime groaned. "Why did I agree to this?"

Gojo, however—"HOLY SHIT."

You turned, and to your complete and utter bewilderment, Gojo looked like he had just been given the keys to the universe. Like he just found out the reason for life was to eat these takoyaki.

His eyes were glowing behind his sunglasses- his expression one of pure revelation. "This is the single greatest thing I’ve ever eaten!"

Utahime sighed. "You know he’s gonna keep coming here now because of this."

You grinned, shrugging. "That’s good. I’m glad he liked it."

Gojo turned to you suddenly, clasping your hands in his. "My new best friend. My takoyaki queen. How can I ever repay you?"

Utahime frowned. "Stop Satoru."

Gojo just smirked, but for once—he wasn’t joking. Maybe the finer things in life weren’t what you could find in a fancy restaurant, but through shared experiences. Sounded corny, but it was true.

“Let’s have another!” The man smiled widely.

The sizzle of batter crisping on the griddle, the scent of savory bonito flakes and rich takoyaki sauce hung in the cold evening air—it was too good to stop at just one tray.

You, Kaya, Utahime, and Gojo huddled around the food stand, indulging in another round of the delicious, piping hot takoyaki, exchanging stories and playful banter between bites.

Gojo, still reeling from his newfound culinary enlightenment, practically had stars in his eyes as he bit into another piece. "I can’t believe you’ve been hoarding this knowledge and keeping this place to yourself?"

You laughed, shrugging. "I wouldn’t say hoarding. Just… cherishing."

Gojo sighed dramatically. "I see how it is. You only share the good things with special people."

Kaya nudged the man. "Guess that means you’re special now too since she just shared it with you."

Gojo shot you a devastatingly charming smile. "I am special."

Kaya, now sufficiently full and not ready for the night to end, perked up. "So, you guys wanna do karaoke?"

Gojo’s face instantly lit up. "Yes."

Before you could even process it, he had already invaded your space, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. "I know the perfect duet for us."

You tilted your head. "You think you can outsing me?"

Gojo shook his head. "I think we can harmonize."

“Ooh! I’ll invite Kento.” You grinned.

It was like Nanami read your mind. Like he knew you were about to message him.

[Nanami] 🍯📈: You got kind of quiet there.

No, you couldn’t acknowledge this conversation or you’d never get out of it. You had to move on!

You: I’m still out. We’re about to do karaoke. Did you wanna come with?

You knew the answer before you even sent it—Nanami worked late most nights, and while he made time for you when he could, you doubted he’d be able to make it.

Gojo pouted immediately, watching you type. "Why does Nanami have to be here?"

You raised a brow at him. "I thought you said you were best friends."

Without missing a beat, Gojo threw an arm around you. "We are best friends." He spoke smoothly, "But now I have a new best friend. How am I supposed to get to know my new best friend with my old best friend hovering?"

Utahime pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re exhausting."

Gojo ignored her completely, grinning at you.

You gave a faux pout. "Sorry, I already asked him if he wanted to come."

[Nanami] 🍯📈: Probably can’t make it. I’m still working.

You: Aww, well I’ll tell Gojo you said hi.

[Nanami] 🍯📈: You’re with Gojo?

There was a pause.

…

Gojo’s phone started ringing. His grin widened. "Oh? A surprise call from Nanamin?"

You couldn’t hear the other end, but the moment Gojo answered, his entire demeanor shifted.

"Nanamin!—" His expression froze. Then, his smile twitched slightly.

He tilted his head away from you just slightly, nodding as he listened. From what you could tell, Nanami was absolutely laying into him. Gojo’s voice remained smooth as ever, but you could see the slight twitch of his fingers, and the way he adjusted his sunglasses...

"We’re just having fun."

A pause.

Gojo’s lips curled at the corner. "Don’t worry. I’m taking care of her needs."

Another pause.

Gojo laughed. "Oh, come on, of course I didn’t mean it like that."

A pause again.

“If that were the case I wouldn’t have answered the phone.”

Utahime and Kaya watched in pure entertainment.

Gojo continued deflecting whatever it was Nanami was throwing at him, but the more he spoke, the more you could tell—he was losing.

Finally, after a few more moments, he hung up.

Your phone buzzed.

[Nanami] 🍯📈: I’ll be there in 10.

Your eyes widened, and you grinned. "Yay! Kento’s coming!"

Gojo, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “Yay."

Kaya clapped her hands. "Well, let’s get a room before we freeze to death. Nanami can meet us there."

Kira Kira Karaoke : 7:32pm : Shinjuku

The karaoke lounge was cozy and dimly lit, with a plush red couch stretching along the walls, a low table in the center already stacked with a tablet for song selection, thick menu books, and a sleek microphone resting in its dock.

The wall-mounted screen flickered, displaying an array of colorful music videos while soft ambient lighting pulsed faintly in the background.

You and Kaya immediately made yourselves comfortable, tossing your bags onto the empty space beside you.

"Alright, what’s everyone drinking?" Kaya asked, flipping open the menu.

Utahime sighed. "Something strong, so I can survive this night."

Gojo gasped. "Ouch, Utahime. This is gonna be fun."

You scrolled through the song list, biting your lip. "Hmm, what should I start with?"

Gojo, already grabbing the mic, grinned. "I’ll start."

You and Kaya cheered. "Let’s hear it!"

Gojo stood, tossing his coat onto the couch, rolling up his sleeves dramatically. He tapped the screen, selecting his song.

The moment the intro began, you blinked in pure shock. A ballad. A full-blown, soulful, heart-wrenching ballad.

You sat back, utterly bewildered as Gojo launched into First Love by Hikaru Utada—with actual skill. And strangely… It felt directed at you.

His voice was surprisingly good, rich and deep, laced with just the right amount of emotion to make it actually believable.

Kaya and Utahime stared. Gojo was putting on a performance, his eyes lingering on you, his voice achingly smooth as he delivered the melodic heartbreak of the lyrics.

Then, when he hit the last note, he grinned, expecting applause—but…

“Kento!” 

Nanami opened the door just in time.

You perked up instantly, your attention completely shifting.

Gojo’s smile dropped. "Wow, okay. Way to steal my moment, Nanami."

Nanami arched a brow, stepping inside, scanning the room before his gaze landed on you.

He looked perfect as ever—still in his crisp white button-up with sleeves neatly rolled, tie gone, top button undone.

You waved him over and Kaya immediately scooted to the side, giving Nanami the seat right next to you.

He greeted both Kaya and Utahime before he settled beside you. The warmth of his broad frame immediately noticeable, his scent—clean, deep, laced with that nice cologne—intoxicating.

Your voice lowered, "I’m glad you could make it.” You looked at him practically awestruck.

He exhaled softly. "Me too."

Then, his eyes flickered to the shopping bags beside you. "What’s all this?"

You smirked. "Just a little something something."

Nanami’s brow lifted. "What does that mean?"

You leaned in, "Incentive to clean your plate?"

Nanami’s lips parted slightly, gaze sharpening with interest. "It’s cute you think I need any help.” His voice low and warm.

Okay, no! You can’t be doing this here!

Before either of you could push that moment further, a microphone was shoved directly in Nanami’s face.

"Here!" Gojo said dramatically. "Follow that up."

Nanami blinked slowly, exhausted already.

You grabbed the mic immediately. "Oh! Okay!"

Gojo opened his mouth to clarify, but it was too late. You were already on your feet.

"I’m dedicating this song… to Utahime!"

Utahime immediately groaned. "Oh no."

Kaya perked up. "Ooh! I already know what it is! Utahime’s favorite!"

The beat dropped. A fast, upbeat, brightly energetic intro filled the room—Mottai Nightland by Kyary Pamyu Pamyu.

You launched into the song full force, grinning as you twirled in place. "Mada mada motto, muchuu ni sasete~"

It took no effort for Utahime and Kaya to join in, singing along. The room shifted—it felt alive, warm, electric.

Nanami, seated on the couch, just watched you. Completely captivated. The way your eyes lit up, the way your smile could melt an entire city. It wasn’t that song. It was you.

Your movements were effortless, the way you swayed to the beat, the way you radiated joy.

Gojo, despite being pushed out of the spotlight, was cheering the loudest. "That’s my new best friend! Mottai night!"

Nanami shook his head, exhaling, but his eyes never left you. There was something deeply grounding about you, something magnetic.

Even now, after a long workday, exhausted and still half-thinking about deadlines—you were the only thing that existed… and when you caught his stare—your smile softened, eyes lingering on his.

His breath hitched. Dammit. You had him.

The final notes of your song faded, and the room erupted into cheers.

Kaya and Utahime clapped enthusiastically, while Gojo was dramatically fanning himself like he had just witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime performance. 

"My best friend, everyone!" Gojo declared, as if the audience was bigger than the four of you. "An absolute star!"

You grinned, curtseying before plopping back down beside Nanami, feeling warm and exhilarated.

Kaya hopped up from her seat, stretching. "Alright, my turn!"

She flicked through the song selection, choosing something upbeat, and as the opening melody played, Nanami leaned slightly toward you.

"You have a beautiful voice.”

You tilted your head, smiling. "That’s not exactly the kind of song you showcase your vocal talents with, but… thank you."

Your gaze lingered on him for a moment. You noticed something. "No tie?"

Nanami’s lips curved into a small smirk. "You said you like it without the tie."

Shit.

You nodded slowly. "I do… but you must’ve forgotten what I said about the buttons."

His eyes glimmered with amusement. "I didn’t forget. I just like when you fix it."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you didn’t hesitate. No, you couldn’t hesitate!

Your fingers moved to his collar, expertly unfastening two buttons, revealing more of the firm plane of his chest.

"Much better." You spoke, smoothing your hands lightly over the fabric.

His eyes darkened just slightly. "What about you?"

"What about me? You wanna unbutton my shirt?"

Nanami’s voice was like silk and gravel now. "I might not stop at two."

Your eyes widened. Your stomach tightened. Your thighs pressed together on instinct. You were not going to make it through this night! Inviting Nanami was a mistake!

"STOP THE SONG!" Gojo shouted.

The entire room jerked back into reality as Gojo dramatically flailed toward the screen.

Kaya, who had been singing, paused mid-lyric, confused. "What?"

Gojo pointed an accusatory finger at Nanami. "I’m trying to enjoy your version of 2 On, but he’s talking through the whole thing! Start over!"

Kaya snorted. "It’s fine, man. He’s talking to his girl." She winked at you.

Gojo’s jaw dropped as he looked around. "Is no one else offended by this?!"

Utahime, arms crossed, deadpan as ever. "No one."

You turned to Gojo, putting on your most apologetic expression. "I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll be quiet."

Gojo’s expression softened, as he took your hand, patting it sympathetically. "I could never blame you. It’s not your fault."

You grinned. "Oh? Then whose fault is it?"

Gojo glanced at Nanami. "You know whose fault it is."

Nanami, completely unbothered, just rested his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm was solid, grounding, fingers resting just enough to drive you insane. How were you supposed to focus like this? 

You looked at him with such a surprised but also pretty aroused expression. Like goddamn, could your horny sex face be any harder to hide?! You weren’t good at this!

His breath ghosted over your ear, his voice low and hushed, meant for you alone. "If you keep looking at me like that I’m going to have a very hard time keeping my hands where they are."

Heat pulsed through your core. Your thighs tensed. Your entire body reacted before your mind could even process it. He felt it, and he was unfortunately the poker face champion of the world!

You gasped softly, glaring at him. "You can’t just say things like that."

He tilted his head keeping in close proximity to you, "Why not?"

Your nails dug into your own knee. “Because I might… fall—”

Nanami chuckled softly. "I'll catch you."

Kaya finished her song, and cheers circulated. Who was next?

Gojo: A Man Who Refuses to Lose Attention

He was kind of desperate to regain your focus as he cleared his throat. "You know, best friend, we still have our duet."

"Duet?"

Gojo smirked. "‘A Whole New World.’ You and me. Let’s do it."

Nanami rolled his eyes.

Utahime sighed into her drink.

Kaya sipped her cocktail, fully entertained.

You laughed, still trying to shake off the warmth in your chest. "Alright, alright. Let’s see if you can keep up with me."

Nanami, leaned back a bit. He wasn’t worried as you and Gojo stood up.

You pulled a second mic from the front stand and turned it on. Okay, maybe you didn’t have to show off your vocal talents with the first song, but you’d definitely have to now. 

The bright neon lights of the karaoke screen pulsed in time with the intro of A Whole New World, and you couldn't help but smile at how over-the-top Gojo already was.

The moment the first soft, whimsical notes played, Gojo straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and extended a hand toward you as if he were about to perform on a Broadway stage.

You sighed dramatically but took his hand anyway. The second you opened your mouth to sing, Gojo’s grin widened.

Your voice was soft yet strong, and surprisingly… it blended really well with his. Gojo, ever the performer, sang with obnoxious enthusiasm, one hand over his heart, the other dramatically gesturing to the invisible horizon like he was actually soaring through the sky on a magic carpet.

He was singing directly to you, his voice controlled, hitting every note with frustrating ease.

You could feel Nanami’s eyes on you, and you stole glances at him between verses.

His face was neutral, but you could read the tension in his shoulders, the sharp flicker of his gaze. He was watching you too intently. 

Yes, just watch Kento!

By the time the final note faded, Gojo spread his arms like he had just performed the concert of the century. "WOW!"

You laughed, “What do you know, we can harmonize.”

Gojo collapsed onto the couch next to Utahime, sighing dramatically. "That was perfect."

You giggled. "It was fun."

"No, no, no, best friend, listen." He grabbed your hand. "That wasn’t just fun. That was art."

You leaned over and gestured the mic to Utahime who hadn’t had a chance to sing yet.

She put her hands up slightly and shook her head, “No thank you. I just wanna watch.”

Kaya grinned. "Alright, I’ll go again!"

As she flipped through the song selection, you settled comfortably back against the couch—Until Nanami’s voice broke through the noise.

His voice was low, casual—like he wasn’t about to say something that would leave you absolutely floored. "I never realized you could hit such high notes."

You turned toward him slowly, suspicious. His expression was neutral. Too neutral.

You tilted your head. "I mean, yeah. I can sing."

He’d lean in close once again. "I wasn’t talking about singing."

"Kento!" You hissed.

His expression didn’t waver. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your entire body react. He was taunting you, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

Guess it was sort of the natural order of things. After Christmas, your late night calls had been getting spicier. For some odd reason you just hadn’t expected him to keep this same energy in person.

Alright. Two could play that game. You leaned in just slightly, lowering your voice "You know…" You let your gaze flicker down deliberately before returning to his face. "It’s a good thing you’re such a patient man. Most wouldn’t last long with me."

Nanami’s entire body went still. His grip on his drink tightened. His jaw clenched so subtly that no one but you would have noticed. He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze dragged over you, slow, controlled, hot.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was softer, rougher. "I’m not most men. You know that?"

You smiled innocently. "Sure, Kento."

You clapped along with Kaya’s song, pretending like you hadn’t just shattered his composure, even if for a brief moment.

By the time the song ended, the room erupted into cheers and laughter.

You looked back at Nanami, eyes wide with fake innocence. "What?"

“Let’s find a song we can all sing!” Gojo excitedly sprang up.

You shifted in your seat, stretching slightly before brushing a hand over Nanami’s thigh for balance as you stood up again. Well, at least that was the excuse.

Your fingers landed higher than intended, warmth pressing dangerously close to something firm.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Did you strike a nerve? You didn’t even bother to correct yourself.

Your fingers lingered for a bit longer than they should—feeling the hard muscle of his leg beneath his slacks, before you pulled away. "Be right back. I gotta use the restroom."

Nanami’s eyes followed you. He didn’t hesitate. "Excuse me." He said to no one in particular before standing up. He just needed to go.

Utahime and Kaya were too engrossed in conversation, Gojo too busy scrolling through the song list. It was kind of the perfect time to leave. 

They didn’t notice the way Nanami followed after you, didn’t see the heat in his stare as he trailed you down the dimly lit hallway toward the bathrooms.

When you rounded the corner, away from view—A strong grip closed around your waist.

Yes you were in public, but there was no one over here. You weren’t even near the restrooms quite yet. You were off to the side. A corner near a supply closet. In other words- alone.

Your back hit the wall, breath escaping in a soft gasp as Nanami pinned you in place. The air thickened instantly, tension wrapping around you both like something that needed to be acted on.

"You wanna try that again?" His voice was low, rough, slipping through your veins like whiskey.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Try what, Kento?"

A muscle in his jaw flexed. Then, without another word, his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was demanding, his fingers digging into your waist, pressing you deeper against the wall. You weren’t just going to grab so dangerously high on his thigh without repercussions. 

You melted into him, arms looping around his broad shoulders, fingers slipping into his neatly-styled hair.

His lips parted slightly, and heat flooded your body as his tongue teased yours- slow and deliberate. A low sound rumbled in his chest, his palm skimming down your side, fingers tracing the outline of your waist.

He pulled back ever so slightly- lips brushing your ear. "On second thought, I think your shirt could lose a couple of buttons."

"Okay.” You smirked. "Help me out then. Don't keep a girl waiting."

His breath faltered just slightly, before his fingers moved to your top button. You felt breathless as the first button popped open. 

Why didn’t you think this man had the balls to do such a thing? Of course he did. He was stuck in that office every day of the week. That pent up frustration had to come out somewhere.

His lips followed immediately, trailing down the newly exposed skin at the base of your neck.

The next button slipped free. His lips dipped lower, pressing hot and slow against your collarbone.

He said he might not stop at two. Is he really going to push it?

The third button—gone. His mouth dragged lower, breath skating over the swell of your chest. Then, his fingers brushed against the top edge of your bra.

This felt so hot, so naughty- so scandalous. You were in public for crying out loud! How far was this gonna go? You had no willpower or desire to say no if he wanted to fuck you right here in this corner.

His hazel eyes flicked up, voice husky and deep. "Can I?"

Your pulse pounded. “Mm, yes.” You voice came out breathier than expected.

His pupils dilated as he kept his eyes on you. They slowly broke away as they gazed downward now. His teeth grazed your bra before pulling it down and exposing you.

It was such a shame you were in public. He wanted to savor such a gorgeous sight. Nipples nice and perky just for him. He watched as they reacted- becoming taut against the cool air.

His lips closed around your nipple. A sharp breath escaped you as warmth engulfed your body. Tongue lapping and swirling, lips sucking slow and deep. Guess he wasn’t all talk.

“Fuck.” You let out a weak, airy moan.

His other hand traced up your side, thumb brushing over your other nipple, teasing the sensitive bud that deserved no such neglect. 

Your head tipped back against the wall, knees weakening as heat pooled between your legs. Your hands gripped his shirt, certainly scratching him through the fabric. 

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan, but the way his mouth worked you—licking, sucking, nibbling—Your body reacted instantly, heat spiking, and desire skyrocketing.

You could tell by the way he sucked you harder he liked that. He liked the way you tried to hide it, but it felt so good that you couldn’t do it. 

Your fingers, desperate for stability, drifted downward, skimming over his broad chest, down the muscles of his abdomen. That wasn’t their final destination, no. You went lower. 

Fingertips cascading over his belt, giving it a stern, but ultimately, teasing tug. You wanted him to be fully aware of where you were going… but perhaps it’d be you who was in for more of a surprise than he was.

You traced his length through his pants, slow and teasing before you froze. "...Oh my God."

Your breath faltered. The length of him was—It kept going. Oh fuck. Your smile faded, replaced with pure, unfiltered shock. Sure your hand was moving slowly, but you weren’t even at the full length yet.

Your pulse roared in your ears. "Kento… Oh my God."

This man may have had the single biggest dick you have ever come in contact with. Where the fuck could this fit?! You had a feeling when it came down to it he’d make it work.

Nanami let out a low, rough chuckle. “Don’t be worried.”

His teeth caught your nipple, drawing back in a way that would bring you the utmost pleasure. Your hand gripped his hair in response, not knowing how to even react otherwise.

But of course- just like with your first date, the universe did not favor you. She was an unkind bitch!

A drunken patron stumbled into view just as things were spicy. "Oh, my bad!"

Nanami immediately pulled back, his jaw tight. He moved to shield your body with his own in a way that didn’t look completely suspicious. More like a hulking businessman casually standing in front of a woman.

“Jus lookin fer the bathroom.” The drunk man hiccupped before walking the other way in the actual correct direction.

You exhaled, still dazed, watching as Nanami turned  back toward you. His long fingers expertly buttoning your shirt again.

You sighed. "The universe really doesn't want this to happen."

Nanami tilted his head. "Doesn’t want what to happen?"

You gave him a look. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

His gaze didn’t waver. "I want to hear you say it."

You tilted your chin up slightly, stepping closer, fingers trailing up the front of his chest. "You’ll just have to beg me."

A low exhale left him before a strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against his chest.

His voice was sweet like honey, but dangerous like a trap. "I’m not the begging type."

Your pulse spiked again, your body still coursing with heat. “Neither am I.”

“I’m sure that's not true.”

Nanami’s lips were back on yours. It was hungry, a silent frustration spilling through the kiss. Still, behind it, he knew that something was bound to interfere again… and you did too.

You crossed your arms smirking as you pulled away.

Nanami tilted his head, lips barely parting. "What’s that look?"

You brushed a hand along his jaw, thumb tracing the sharp edge of his cheekbone. "I know the universe is gonna stop us again."

His brow ticked up, and he sighed, closing his eyes briefly like he was conceding to the inevitable.

Then, when he opened them again, his gaze was darker, more focused. "You can feel it too, huh?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"New Year’s Eve."

You blinked up at him. "Hmm?"

His hands tightened on your waist. "I’ll make up for it on New Year’s Eve. It’ll be all about you."

A slow shiver ran through your body at the weight of those words. You felt his promise in them, felt the gravity behind his tone.

"I look forward to being taken care of."

"No distractions."

You nodded again. "None."

Your fingers slid down his chest, reveling in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. "Even if the house is burning down?"

Nanami chuckled softly, "I’ll make sure the fire doesn’t reach you."

You laughed, but before it could last—a sharp vibration cut through the moment, and both of you immediately stilled.

You didn’t even have to check to know what it was. His boss. At the exact wrong moment.

Both of you groaned simultaneously. "There it is."

You sighed, stepping back. "Go on then."

He answered the call, voice slipping into something more professional. You weren’t really listening though. You were just watching.

The way his jaw flexed, how his forearms shifted as he adjusted his sleeves. How his shirt was slightly wrinkled now, collar still open from where you had undone the buttons earlier. His hair was slightly messy, fingers running through it as he spoke into the phone. He looked so fucking good.

This man was going to ruin you before, during, and after New Year’s Eve.

The call was brief, just a few clipped sentences, a sigh, and then he hung up. "Boss needs me back."

You exhaled dramatically. "Figured." A grin tugged at your lips, though.

Nanami narrowed his gaze slightly. "What?"

"Take care of yourself in the bathroom first.” You teased.

Nanami’s brow twitched, but his expression stayed neutral. "I know how to hide it."

You snorted. "No. That’s a lot to hide. I’m scared."

His eyes studied you, and his voice dipped into something lower, smoother. "Don’t be scared. I’ll make it easy for you.”

You had no idea what that meant, but the way he said it made something in your stomach tighten painfully.

“We’ll see about that.”

Nanami smirked just slightly, leaning in for another kiss. You let it linger, let your fingers brush the back of his neck.

"I’ll tell the others you had to head back to work."

Nanami nodded, "Do you need a ride home?"

You shook your head. "No. I wanna see Utahime off at the train station, so Kaya’s gonna drive me."

Nanami nodded again, but something flickered in his eyes. Something knowing. "I never asked, how do you know Utahime?"

Your lips curved into a slow smile. "Why don’t we both discuss how we know her on New Year’s Eve?"

He watched you carefully, but you could tell—he knew. Realistically he probably could tell from the tie you gave him. Then again, maybe he thought it was a coincidence.Instead of pushing, he leaned down and kissed you again. It would all be discussed in due time. 

The kiss was slow and deep- like he was imprinting you into memory before he left.

Then, against your lips, he spoke, "Text me when you get home."

You pouted. "Aww, no late-night call tonight?"

Nanami smiled. "Call me when you get home then."

Your heart fluttered. "Okay, Kento."

He brushed a thumb over your cheek, then stepped back. You watched him leave, feeling the heat of his touch still on your skin. 

It was time to head back now. Wrap up this impromptu outing and see an old friend off.

Shinjuku Station : 11:47pm : Shinjuku

After Nanami took off you’d continue a few more rounds of karaoke. It was pleasant, but you wished he did more than just stop by. There was something about his presence that was so grounding, even if he didn’t sing or directly participate.

He had no choice though. He had work.

The night carried on, and although you wanted it to continue, Utahime had a train to catch. You wanted to see her off. After assuring Gojo multiple times that you would hang out again, you were here at the train station waiting to see your old friend off.

The three of you stood at the train station, the air crisp and quiet, the distant hum of the city muted beneath the glow of dim platform lights.

Utahime’s bags rested by her feet, her posture relaxed yet weighted, as if she was reluctant to leave but accepting of it all the same.

Kaya stuffed her hands into her pockets, "I can't believe you're ditching us." She teased, trying to keep things lighthearted.

You nudged her. "She's not ditching us. She’s going home."

"Same difference." Kaya huffed.

Utahime just smiled softly, shaking her head before pulling you into a hug. You held onto her tightly, feeling the warmth of her familiar embrace. Even after all these years, even with the distance, the changes, the time apart—she still felt like home.

"I don’t know how far you plan to take things with Nanami…" The raven haired woman backed up a bit with her hands still on your shoulders. "Maybe it's something that happens when you're in a shitty situation. Maybe it's right place, wrong time…"

You pressed your lips together. Listening.

She exhaled, giving your shoulders a squeeze. "I just hope you two can make it work. I didn’t see much, but whatever that was… it was real."

Your chest tightened. "I know." You admitted softly.

It was still so early, but you could see something more than just casual dating with Nanami. Something you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to name yet, but whatever it was, it was definitely real.

You sighed. "I just hope work doesn’t get in our way." You paused thoughtfully, "Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad rejoining the jujutsu world again."

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. A gust of wind swept through the station as if reacting to the weight of your admission.

Utahime’s eyes widened. Was that a real statement, or were you just mindlessly speaking?

Kaya let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest. "Oh wow. You actually said it."

You groaned. "Don't make this a thing."

"This is a thing!"

"It's not a thing."

Utahime’s shock faded into something gentler, something knowing. "You know getting back into it means lifting that seal."

You nodded. "Yeah. I know what it means."

The moment felt heavier than the night air. Utahime looked between you and Kaya, lips pressing together before she crossed her arms.

"You too." She spoke to Kaya. "I won’t let you both rot behind a desk. It wouldn’t feel right."

“Rot?” Kaya made a face. "Okay, rude."

The sound of the train approaching broke the moment. A pang of sadness settled in your chest. This was it. She was leaving. A short amount of time, but something worth cherishing. No need to spill tears. You’d see her again. Hopefully with a plan next time.

The three of you exhaled simultaneously, before Utahime threw her arms around you both, squeezing tightly.

"Kyoto could use teachers like you." She murmured. "The government could use sorcerers like you. Either route you choose, let me know. When you're ready, give me a call. There's always a spot open for you."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Thanks."

She pulled back, taking a step toward the train as the doors pulled open. Just as the moment was about to settle into something bittersweet and heartfelt—Kaya, of all people, ruined it.

"Utahime! Wait!... I never asked… Why the fuck were you in L'Ivresse Parisienne earlier?"

You whipped around. "Kaya—that is a good question though."

"When I spotted you, you were holding a see through dress. Ummmm…"

Utahime rolled her eyes. “I’m going home."

You burst out laughing. The train doors started closing, and at the last second, Utahime shook her head with a small smirk.

You watched as the train pulled away. The two of you kept up your smiles and waved until it pulled away completely.

The station was quiet again. You and Kaya stood there for a moment, watching the train disappear into the distance.

“I’m going home." Kaya mimicked in a deep voice, then immediately cracked up.

You gasped for air, wheezing. "I cannot stand you. Do not call her out! You know how she is."

She wiped away a fake tear. "What a beautiful send-off. She'll be back. She totally missed us."

You shoved her playfully. "Come on, let's get out of here before you say something else dumb."

"No promises."

As the two of you walked away, the weight of the night lingered in your chest.

You didn’t know what the future held, but maybe it was nice not knowing… at least for now.

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