#and they were all harder than my last one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pbaz7 · 1 day ago

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ONE SHOT: IN HER ORBIT

paige x azzk

warnings: drinking, sexual content, cheating

word count: 14.9k

A/N: Alright this combined like a hundred prompts ngl 😭 so i’m so sorry if it’s a little all over the place but I think it’s pretty ok. It’s definitely not as toxic as some of you wanted but it’s still there 🫣. Let me know what you think and leave like reacts if you can! Happy game day!!

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Azzi hadn’t thought much about how far she and Amber had drifted until recently. They’d been together since her junior year of high school, the perfect couple that everyone envied. Amber was there for every game, every late-night phone call about college recruitment, and every post-game celebratory hug. When they both got into UConn, and Amber told Azzi she was going to go with her, Azzi thought it was a sign—proof that they were meant to keep building their lives together.

But somewhere along the way, things started to change. Amber was preoccupied with her own career goals, diving headfirst into internships, networking events, and her demanding course load. What used to be excitement about Azzi’s basketball career had faded into indifference and a lot of times, criticism.

“You’re stressing too much over practice,” Amber had said a few weeks ago when Azzi mentioned staying late to work on her shot. “It’s just basketball. A literal game. You’re already starting anyway, just come help me study.”

It was little comments like that, each one slicing a bit deeper than the last, that made Azzi feel like Amber didn’t really understand what this meant to her. What this meant for her career. Basketball wasn’t just a sport or a game, it was Azzi’s entire livelihood, her entire future.

That’s when Paige came into the picture.

Azzi didn’t expect to find comfort in Paige—at least not at first. Paige was composed in a way that made her seem untouchable, like she had the entire world figured out. As the face of the team, Paige carried herself with a quiet confidence that made her magnetic, always pulling people into her orbit naturally, whether she was in the locker room, on the court, or just walking across campus. People noticed her and they wanted to be noticed by her.

But Paige wasn’t just a star. She noticed things, little things, like how Azzi’s shooting percentages dipped slightly during stressful weeks or how her shoulders would slump after a particularly bad day. Paige stepped in without making a big show of it, offering help that felt more like a genuine friendship than obligation.

“You good, freshie?” Paige would always ask after practice, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she lingered by Azzi’s side. The question was always casual, but her tone portrayed something genuine—something that told Azzi she didn’t have to be fine if she wasn’t because Paige was genuinely asking about her well being.

It started with extra shooting sessions after practice. Paige would stay behind, helping Azzi find her rhythm again when her mechanics felt off.

“Don’t force it,” Paige would say, gently adjusting Azzi’s elbow. “You’re one of the best shooters in the world. You know the motion. Just let it flow naturally.”

Azzi felt like she could let her guard down around Paige. There was never any judgment, no criticism—just unwavering support. And when practice was over and the rest of the team had left, Paige didn’t rush off either.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Paige asked one day after they’d spent an hour running through plays together.

Azzi hesitated, but Paige’s smile was disarming. “My treat. Call it payment for all the extra work I’ve been putting you through.”

They ended up at a nearby diner, talking about everything from basketball to their childhood and dreams. Paige was funny and unfiltered in a way that made Azzi laugh harder than she had in her entire life.

…

What started as casual basketball texts here and there quickly turned into long, rambling late-night conversations. Paige had a way of keeping Azzi on her phone for hours, their texts bouncing from lighthearted banter to deeply personal confessions every night.

11:34 PM

Freshie: I swear Geno’s trying to kill me with all these plays. My brain is mush

Paige: Mush isn’t good. Should I start bringing you flashcards?

Freshie: Flashcards? Really?

Paige: I’m trying to be supportive here Azzi. Don’t knock it till you try it

Freshie: Fine. But if I mess up this week, it’s on you

Paige: Deal. But you won’t

12:52 AM

Freshie: Okay, real question this time. Did you always know basketball would be your life?

Paige: I pretty much knew the moment I picked up a ball. Why?

Freshie: I don’t know. Lately, I feel like I’m just losing myself in it. Like… is this all I’m good for? Dribbling an orange ball lol.

Paige: You’re not just “good” for it. You’re great at it. But you know you’re more than that too. You just have too much going on to see it right now.

2:14 AM

Freshie: Do you ever feel like you’re failing at everything outside of basketball?

Paige: Lol every day.

Freshie: How do you deal with it?

Paige: I remind myself why I started. And then I text you and distract myself with your constant overthinking or rambling

Freshie: So I’m a distraction now?

Paige: Yeah, but a cute one so it’s ok

Azzi stared at the text longer than she should have, biting her lip before replying. Whenever Paige flirted it was always subtle, just enough to make Azzi’s heart pick up, but not so much that she couldn’t dismiss them as harmless jokes.

By the time Azzi finally fell asleep, her phone still clutched in her hand, Paige’s words about basketball echoing in her mind.

…

The first time Azzi showed up at Paige’s dorm late at night, it wasn’t planned. She and Amber had just had one of their worst arguments yet—Amber accusing Azzi of putting a “stupid game” above their relationship, and Azzi firing back that Amber didn’t even try to understand what she was going through before it ended in a shouting match and Azzi leaving her own room.

Paige opened the door in sweats and a hoodie, her hair still wet from the shower she just took.

“You okay?” Paige asked, stepping aside to let her in.

Azzi nodded, even though her red-rimmed eyes told a different story. She dropped onto Paige’s bed without waiting for an invitation, staring at the ceiling.

Paige didn’t press much. Just handed Azzi a bottle of water and laid beside her, their shoulders almost touching.

“Girl troubles?” Paige finally asked.

Azzi sighed, covering her face with her hands. “She just… doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get me anymore. It’s tiring”

Paige hesitated, then looked over at Azzi saying. “For what it’s worth, I get you. And there’s these ten other girls known as our teammates that get you. So I promise you’re not as alone as you think.”

The words hung in the air for some time, heavy with something Azzi couldn’t name but felt deep in her chest as she laid there with Paige.

After some time passed, Paige, wanting to cheer Azzi up, let out a dramatic grumble as she sat up. “Alright, fine. We can watch Frozen,” she said.

Azzi laughed instantly as she grabbed a nearby pillow and tossed it at Paige.

Paige caught the pillow midair with ease, narrowing her eyes playfully as she held it up. “Don’t be rude,” she deadpanned, throwing the pillow back on the bed before turning toward the dresser for the remote.

When she turned back around, she caught Azzi pouting, her bottom lip jutting out dramatically. Paige froze for a second before shaking her head, chuckling softly. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, though the fondness in her voice betrayed her words.

Azzi’s pout turned into a grin as Paige climbed back into bed, remote in hand. Their shoulders brushed as Paige settled beside her, pretending to scroll through the streaming options with exaggerated effort. “Happy now?” Paige asked.

“Very,” Azzi said, leaning slightly into Paige’s side, her smile lingering as she watched Paige pretend to grumble under her breath.

…

This became a pattern. The more drifted from Amber, the more they argued and Amber hurled insults at Azzi. The closer she found herself to Paige. They started spending more time together outside of practice whenever they could. Paige would go to Azzi’s room to watch movies, always teasing her about her terrible taste in romcoms. Azzi would show up at Paige’s room whenever she wanted, sinking into Paige’s beanbag chair as they talked endlessly.

There was a lightness to being with Paige that Azzi hadn’t felt in a long time. Amber always seemed to expect something from her—more time, more effort, more of herself. But Paige just… let her be.

…

For Paige, the shift came suddenly and without warning. She didn’t realize how deep her feelings ran until one night when Azzi showed up at her door after another fight with Amber.

Azzi’s eyes were puffy, her hair a mess, but Paige thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

“What happened?” Paige asked, ushering her in.

Azzi shook her head, collapsing onto the bed. “It’s the same thing. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get me.”

Paige sat beside her, not saying anything at first. She just listened as Azzi vented, her words tumbling out in frustration.

“You’re amazing, Azzi,” Paige said softly when she finished. “If Amber can’t see that… it’s her loss.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Paige could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the air between them heavy with something unspoken.

That night, as Azzi curled up in Paige’s bed and drifted off to sleep, Paige lay awake, staring at the ceiling and grappling with the truth: she was in love with Azzi.

…

For Azzi, the realization crept in slowly but hit her all at once. It wasn’t until she caught Paige looking at her during practice—really looking at her, with those dark, intent eyes—that she felt it.

Paige wanted her.

And the moment Azzi’s brain registered that, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting Paige too. It wasn’t just the way Paige made her feel seen, or the way her presence steadied Azzi in a way Amber never could. It was everything about her—the quiet strength, the soft encouragement, the way her lips curled into a knowing smile whenever Azzi said something sarcastic.

But she was still with Amber.

The guilt gnawed at her, but it didn’t stop her from staying up late to text Paige, or from seeking her out after practice, or from craving the way Paige made her feel. It was wrong, and messy, and complicated, but Azzi couldn’t help herself.

And the more Paige let her feelings slip—through lingering touches, teasing words, and the way her eyes softened whenever they were alone—the harder it was for Azzi to pull away.

The First Slip Up

It was supposed to be a fun, carefree night—a random house party off campus that some of the team decided to attend. Azzi hadn’t been in the mood to go, not really, but Amber insisted. She liked these kinds of things, the big crowds, the chance to “network” with people Azzi didn’t care to meet. And maybe Azzi would’ve said no, but Amber had a way of making her feel guilty for turning things down.

“Bruh come on, Azzi,” Amber said with a heavy sigh as they were getting ready. “You literally never wanna do anything I wanna do. You can’t just be about basketball all the time.”

So Azzi went, pulling on a long-sleeve shirt she hoped would keep her warm in the brisk Connecticut air as Amber rushed her out of the door.

By the time they approached the house, the coldness of the evening had already sunk into her bones. Azzi hugged her arms tightly against herself, glancing sideways at Amber who had on two sweaters.

“I’m freezing,” Azzi said, hoping Amber might offer a solution.

Amber glanced at her briefly, shrugging. “You should’ve brought a jacket.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t warm either. It was dismissive, like the problem was Azzi’s and not something Amber needed to worry about.

Azzi’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t push the issue, not wanting to argue anymore tonight. They stepped inside and the music was loud and the air was warmer than outside. Before Azzi could say anything, Amber spotted a group of girls she knew and disappeared into the crowd without so much as a glance.

Azzi exhaled and scanned the room looking for the team knowing at least one of them would stand out.

When she spotted Paige near the kitchen, surrounded by a few of their teammates, something in her chest loosened. Paige stood out in any room she was in, tall and composed, carrying herself with a natural ease that made people gravitate toward her. When Azzi made her way over, Paige looked up immediately, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Azzi feel like the only person in the room.

“Heyy, there’s the freshie,” Paige teased, her smile widening as Azzi came closer. But then her expression changed, her brows knitting together as she tilted her head. “You cold?”

Azzi blinked, startled. “What?”

“You’re shivering like crazy,” Paige said simply.

“No, I’ll be fine soon,” Azzi protested quickly, though her body betrayed her as another shiver ran through her.

Paige didn’t argue. She just pulled off her jacket—a soft, worn-in zip up that smelled like her soap and shampoo—and handed it to Azzi.

“Here,” Paige said, holding it out.

“Paige, you don’t have to—”

“Azzi,” Paige interrupted, “just take it.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment before reluctantly slipping it on. It was warm, the sleeves long enough to cover her hands that were still freezing, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Paige grinned, satisfied.

But even with the jacket, the chill didn’t seem to fully leave Azzi’s body yet. Paige must’ve noticed, because before Azzi could protest, Paige stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her.

The hug was casual enough on the surface—just a friend warming up another friend—but it felt like more. Paige’s hands rubbed slow circles on Azzi’s back and Azzi felt herself relax against her. Her head tipped slightly, resting on Paige’s shoulder, and for a moment, the noise and chaos of the party faded into the background.

“You’re freezing. You need to put on a jacket next time,” Paige murmured, her breath warm against Azzi’s hair.

“Amber was rushing me so I couldn’t,” Azzi said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Paige stiffened slightly but didn’t say anything. Her hands kept moving, rubbing against Azzi’s back to warm her up, and after a moment, she spoke.

“Well,” Paige said, her voice soft but edged with something Azzi couldn’t quite place, “you have mine now so you’ll be fine.”

Azzi pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Paige, and the way Paige was looking at her—it made Azzi’s breath catch. There was something unspoken in Paige’s gaze, something Azzi wasn’t sure she was ready to name.

“Thank you,” Azzi whispered

Paige smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course.”

The moment passed quickly—someone yelling Paige’s name from across the room, and she stepped away, though not before giving Azzi’s arm a quick squeeze and saying “I’ll find you later.”

Azzi wasn’t much of a drinker. She didn’t like how it dulled her mind or left her body sluggish, but tonight, after Amber’s repeated dismissals and her own growing frustration, she’d let herself indulge a little. Just enough to take the edge off.

Amber hadn’t noticed.

Azzi sighed again, watching as Amber laughed with a group of girls across the room. She had tried to hang around her girlfriend, to ease the tension that had settled between them for a while. Slipping her hand into Amber’s or leaning close during the conversation. But each time, Amber had pulled away or brushed her off.

“Azzi, not right now,” Amber said at one point with an edge of annoyance in her voice. “I’m trying to talk to them. You’re clingy when you’re drunk.”

The words stung more than Azzi cared to admit, and she found herself retreating, stepping back as Amber turned her attention fully to her friends.

She sighed again, deciding to walk away. But the house was packed, bodies pressed together in every corner, and Azzi quickly found herself a little stuck, barely able to navigate through the crowded room.

That’s when she felt a steady, warm hand resting lightly on her back.

“You good?” Paige’s familiar voice cut through the loud noise.

Azzi turned her head slightly, relief flooding through her as she saw Paige beside her. She nodded, not trusting her voice in the moment.

“Come on,” Paige said simply. As she guided Azzi with ease, her hand never left Azzi’s back as they weaved through the chaos. Paige moved like she was born to lead, her presence cutting through the crowd effortlessly, and Azzi found herself leaning into it, letting Paige take control.

When they finally emerged into a quieter corner of the house, Paige spotted an open spot on the couch and steered them toward it. They sank into the cushions together, and Azzi felt her shoulders relax for the first time all night.

“You good?” Paige asked again, her eyes scanning Azzi’s face.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for... that. It was getting a little overwhelming in there.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” Paige said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You looked like you were about to elbow somebody out of the way.”

Azzi laughed softly. “I was definitely close,” she admitted.

They settled into their usual rhythm easily, the conversation flowing like it always did. They talked about everything and nothing. Azzi found herself laughing more than she had all night, the tension in her chest easing with every word. Paige had a way of making her forget everything else going on in her head, of making her feel seen in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

At one point, someone came over to talk to Paige, pulling her attention away for a moment. Azzi instinctively shifted, as she was about to get up to give Paige space and go talk to the rest of the team, but Paige’s arm shot out, draping casually over the back of the couch, her hand resting near Azzi’s shoulder.

“Stay,” Paige said, glancing at her. The word wasn’t a command, but it held weight, a quiet reassurance that Paige didn’t want her to go anywhere.

Azzi froze for a moment, the warmth of Paige’s arm so close making her chest tighten. She nodded, staying right where she was, even as Paige turned to answer the person who’d approached.

When the conversation ended, Paige turned back to Azzi, a small grin on her face. “You need anything? Water? Soda? Something stronger?”

Azzi hesitated for a second before shrugging. “Water’s fine,” she said, grateful Paige even thought to ask.

“I’ll be right back,” Paige said, standing and weaving her way through the room towards the kitchen.

Azzi watched her go, the space beside her feeling oddly empty without Paige there. She fiddled with the hem of Paige’s sweater, her mind wandering back to Amber—wherever she was in this house—and the sharp contrast between her and Paige.

When Paige came back, she handed Azzi a bottle of water before settling back on the couch, her body angled slightly toward Azzi.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, cracking the bottle open and taking a sip.

“No problem.” Paige studied her for a moment before tilting her head slightly. “You look like you’re over this party.”

Azzi chuckled softly, leaning back into the couch. “It’s not really my scene honestly,” she admitted. “Too loud. Too crowded. I don’t know half the people here, and the one person I came with...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Paige frowned slightly but didn’t press her for more. Instead, she just sat there as she thought for a moment. Then, as if deciding something, she turned back to Azzi and reached out her hand.

“Come on,” Paige said.

Azzi blinked, looking down at Paige’s outstretched hand. “What?”

“Let’s go,” Paige said simply, her fingers wiggling slightly as if to prompt Azzi to take her hand.

Azzi hesitated for a moment longer before setting the water bottle down on the floor and slipping her hand into Paige’s. Paige’s fingers interlaced with hers immediately, her grip warm as she tugged Azzi up from the couch.

“Where are we going?” Azzi asked.

Paige glanced at her with a small smile, her hand still holding Azzi’s tightly. “Somewhere better,” she said.

Azzi followed her without question, though her mind buzzed with curiosity. Paige led her through the crowded house, their intertwined hands drawing a few curious glances but nothing that lingered for two long. They climbed a narrow staircase, Azzi stumbling slightly on the last step, but Paige steadied her with a soft laugh, her hand tightening around Azzi’s.

When they reached the top, Paige guided her down a hallway and pushed open a door. Azzi blinked in surprise as the cool night air hit her face. They were on a small outdoor balcony, completely empty and tucked away from the noise and chaos of the party below. String lights hung lazily along the edge of the railing, casting a warm glow over the space.

Azzi let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The air was crisp but refreshing, and she was still warm from the drinks and the faint buzz of Paige’s presence. Paige’s jacket hung loosely around her shoulders, and though the cold nipped at her face, she didn’t mind.

Paige let go of her hand but didn’t step far, turning to lean her back against the railing and taking in the view. “Better, right?” she asked softly, her voice almost swallowed by the hum of the party below.

Azzi nodded, moving to the railing and resting her forearms on it. “Yeah. Way better,” she murmured, looking out at the dark yard below. She felt Paige’s eyes on her but didn’t turn, letting the comfortable silence settle between them for a moment.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Paige said after a beat.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You noticed?”

Paige scoffed softly, shifting to face her fully. “Of course I noticed, I’m me. Plus you’re not exactly the type to fade into the background but it feels like you kinda just been drifting tonight. Not as confident as usual.”

Azzi chuckled, her fingers playing with the hem of the jacket. “I don’t know. I guess... this just isn’t my scene,” she admitted. “I came because Amber wanted to….” She trailed off, shrugging slightly.

Paige’s gaze hardened a little, her jaw tightening at the mention of Amber, but she pushed the feeling aside. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here,” Paige said.

Azzi finally turned to look at her, her eyes searching Paige’s face. There was something about the way Paige was looking at her—intense but soft, like she was seeing every piece of her. It made Azzi’s stomach flip in a way she wasn’t ready to unpack.

“You are?” Azzi asked, her voice quiet but tinged with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Paige said, stepping closer now. Her voice dropped slightly.. “You’re the only one worth talking to here.”

Azzi’s heart stuttered in her chest, and she swallowed hard, glancing away briefly to compose herself. When she looked back, Paige had moved closer, so close that Azzi could feel the faint warmth radiating from her despite the cool night air.

Azzi leaned back against the railing, her hands gripping the edge lightly as she tilted her head to look at Paige. “You’re really sweet, you know that?” she teased, her tone light but her eyes giving away something deeper.

Paige arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Me? Sweet? Who would’ve guessed.”

Azzi smiled, her confidence sparking to life in the safety of their banter. “You make everything seem so effortless,” she said, her voice dipping slightly.

Paige let out a soft laugh, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “I could say the same about you,” she murmured, her tone quieter now..

The space between them felt incredibly small, and Azzi wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or the way Paige was looking at her, but she felt a pull, an ache between her legs that was as exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Paige leaned in slightly, her hands coming to rest on the railing on both sides of Azzi, effectively boxing her in. She wasn’t touching her, not quite, but the proximity sent a shiver through Azzi’s body.

“You warm enough?” Paige asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, her breath catching slightly. “Yeah. Your jacket’s helping,” she said, her fingers brushing the fabric lightly.

Paige’s eyes flicked down to the movement, then back up to Azzi’s face. “Good,” she said, her voice a little rougher now, her gaze holding Azzi’s.

For a moment, the noise of the party below faded completely, and it was just them, the night air, and the soft glow of the lights. Azzi felt her resolve slipping, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t fully control.

Paige tilted her head slightly, her face inches from Azzi’s now. “You’ve got that look again,” Paige said softly, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“What look?” Azzi asked, her voice barely audible.

“The one that says you’re overthinking,” Paige teased.

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Maybe I am,” she admitted.

Paige’s smile softened, and she reached up, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from Azzi’s face. “Don’t,” she said simply.

Azzi didn’t know how to respond or how to react, so she didn’t. She just held Paige’s gaze, the space between them filled with an unspoken tension. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the soft hum of the night enveloping them.

Finally, Azzi broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

Paige’s brow furrowed slightly, and she smiled softly. “For what?”

Azzi hesitated for a second, her eyes flickering down to the jacket she was still wearing, then back to Paige’s face. “For everything,” she said simply, her tone almost vulnerable.

Paige’s expression softened even further, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Don’t mention it.”

She raised her red cup to her lips, intending to finish off the rest of the drink, but before she could finish it completely, Azzi tilted her head slightly, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Can I have some?”

Paige blinked, then grinned, holding the cup out toward her. “You can kill the rest,” she said casually, her fingers brushing Azzi’s as she handed it over.

Azzi took the cup, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she tipped it back, finishing the drink in a few quick swallows. The warmth from the alcohol spread through her chest, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as the warmth radiating from Paige, who stood just inches away. Azzi set the empty cup down on the railing behind her.

Azzi set the empty cup down on the railing, her fingers brushing over the smooth surface before she turned back to face Paige. She hadn’t realized how close Paige had gotten, her arms still braced on either side of the railing.

“You look good in my jacket,” Paige said, the compliment coming out smoothly. Her eyes scanned Azzi, lingering for just a second longer than they probably should have as she took her in.

Azzi felt a blush creep up her neck, but she masked it with a soft laugh. “Yeah? Guess I’m doing you a favor, making it look better.”

Paige smirked, her hand sliding casually to rest on Azzi’s hip, her touch light but deliberate. “Exactly,” she murmured, tilting her head as her gaze locked on Azzi’s. “You make it look better.”

Azzi’s breath caught for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the warmth of Paige’s hand on her or the way Paige was looking at her, like she was undressing her with her eyes. “You’re bold tonight,” she managed, her voice softer than she intended.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her thumb brushing over the fabric of the jacket. “Just telling the truth,” she said. “You look... really pretty tonight, Az.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Paige’s tone. It wasn’t the first time someone had called her pretty, but the way Paige said it made her feel different. “You’ve had a few drinks,” Azzi said lightly, trying to deflect.

Paige leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it gorgeous.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She should’ve stepped back, should’ve said something to lighten the moment, but instead, she stayed rooted to the spot, her body betraying her. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige chuckled softly, her hand still resting on Azzi’s hip as her gaze flickered down to Azzi’s lips for the briefest of moments before returning to her eyes. “Only if you want me to be,” she replied.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, shaking her head slightly. “You’re too good for that,” she said softly.

Paige leaned in just a little closer, her voice barely a whisper as she teased, “What do you mean?”

Azzi exhaled a quiet laugh, trying to brush it off, but the moment felt too heavy to laugh it off. “You’re a good person Paige,” Azzi said, her voice softening at the admission.

Paige smiled, a slow, satisfied grin pulling at her lips. “I am,” she said, a hint of pride in her tone.

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, her heart beating just a little faster as she glanced at Paige, the warmth from their closeness making her skin tingle. “So you’re not going to let me cheat tonight,” Azzi murmured, a little unsure why the words slipped out.

Paige didn’t pull away, though. Her hand remained on Azzi’s hip, her body still close enough that Azzi could feel the heat radiating between them. She just looked at Azzi for a beat too long, her eyes locked onto hers, saying nothing.

For a second, everything hung in the balance. Azzi felt herself holding her breath, her body unsure of what to do next. But before she could make up her mind, a voice interrupted the moment.

“Ahem.”

The sound was unmistakable—clear, direct, and too familiar. Azzi’s stomach dropped as she turned her head slightly, glancing over Paige’s shoulder.

Amber stood a few feet away, her eyes narrowed, her arms crossed over her chest. The discomfort was clear, but at that moment, Azzi didn’t jerk away. She didn’t pull back.

Instead, she stayed rooted to the spot, holding Paige’s gaze. For a heartbeat, she let herself savor the closeness, the pull of something real between her and Paige. Then, she finally glanced back at Amber—seeing the look on her face—and it hit Azzi with a quiet, unsettling clarity.

This was probably when Azzi should’ve ended things with Amber. The realization hit her harder than she expected, but it didn’t feel like a mistake—it felt like the truth.

Azzi didn’t break the moment quickly, though. Instead, she smiled softly at Paige, a small, genuine smile that conveyed more than words ever could. Paige’s expression softened in response, her eyes warm with something almost like understanding, even though she said nothing.

Azzi pushed gently against Paige’s waist, a quiet movement that separated them just enough to give her space to breathe. “I should go,” Azzi said, her voice soft but steady, as she stepped away from the railing.

Paige smiled at her, a gentle, almost wistful curve of her lips. “Get home safe, Azzi,” she said, her voice carrying an underlying warmth.

Azzi returned the smile. “I’ll text you,” she murmured, before turning toward the hallway. She couldn’t quite look back, not with that lingering tension between them.

As Azzi made her way down the stairs, she noticed Amber already ahead of her, walking with purpose, the distance between them increasing by the second. Azzi’s steps purposely slowed, her mind still racing with everything that had just happened—what she had almost let happen.

When they finally stepped outside, the crisp night air hit her, making her pull Paige’s jacket closer around herself. Amber, who had been silent up until now, suddenly stopped walking and turned sharply to face Azzi, her jaw set.

“What the hell was that?” Amber’s voice was low but heated, frustration clear in every word.

Azzi blinked at her, not breaking her stride as she pulled the zipper on the jacket higher, securing it snugly against the cold. “Nothing,” she said flatly, keeping her tone calm.

Amber’s eyes flicked down to the jacket, her brow furrowing as if noticing it for the first time. “Whose jacket is that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi replied, her eyes focused ahead as she kept walking.

“It does matter,” Amber shot back, quickening her steps to keep up with her. “You’ve got some random person��s jacket on like it’s normal or something.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath, the sound humorless. She finally glanced at Amber, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s literally a jacket, Amber. You’re being childish.”

Amber stopped in her tracks, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she stared after Azzi. “Childish?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “You’re walking around in someone else’s clothes, and I’m supposed to just ignore that?!”

Azzi sighed, exasperated, as she turned around to face her. “It’s really not that deep. I was cold and you wouldn’t give me yours so…”

Amber’s face twisted in disbelief, her frustration clear, but Azzi didn’t wait for her to say anything else. She turned back around, her hands burying themselves in the jacket’s pockets, and started walking toward the dorms again, leaving Amber standing there in silence.

The Second Slip Up

The night at Ted’s was supposed to be a break—a chance for everyone to unwind after a long stretch of games and practice. The team had been looking forward to it all week, and Azzi, too, had been excited to just let loose for a while. But everything had been sour before she even left. Her argument with Amber had been heated—one that nearly turned into a screaming match—but it was the same pattern as always. Amber had wanted Azzi to drop everything and come to the DMV for a week, something about an interview, but Azzi told her she couldn’t just throw her responsibilities aside. She had two games, practices, and meetings. Amber didn’t understand, once again insulting Azzi and it led to another fight.

Still, despite the tension, Azzi wanted to go out. Amber, always aggressive when she didn’t get her way, was all over Azzi the moment they walked into Ted’s even though Azzi wasn’t interested. She tried to pull Azzi into a dance, dragging her by the hand, her lips kissing at Azzi’s neck, whispering promises Azzi wasn’t sure she could still believe in.

Paige, on the other hand, was across the room, surrounded by a few of the girls from the team, laughing and “dancing” with a random girl who was at the bar. Azzi tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest when her eyes found Paige's across the crowded room. She couldn’t help herself—there was something magnetic about her, something that called to Azzi even from a distance.

The moment they locked eyes, Azzi felt everything inside her still. Amber’s hand was on her waist, pulling her into the chaotic rhythm of the music, but Azzi wasn’t moving, she couldn’t focus on anything except the way Paige was looking at her. Her usually bright blue eyes were darker than usual, her gaze intense as she sipped her drink, not blinking, as if she were daring Azzi to look away first. And for a moment, Azzi forgot how to breathe.

The world seemed to slow down. Amber was still murmuring into Azzi's ear, but Azzi couldn’t hear her. Her words were drowned out by the music and the rapid beat of her heart. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Paige. It felt like a secret shared between them, even though they hadn’t said a word.

Paige’s gaze never wavered, and Azzi could feel everything between them, like the entire room had been reduced to just the two of them. Amber, oblivious to the tension building, continued to cling to Azzi, her whispers falling on deaf ears. Azzi barely even registered what Amber was saying.

Azzi’s chest tightened as the girl dancing on Paige didn’t back off. Instead, she leaned in closer, her body grinding against Paige's as she ran her acrylics slowly down Paige's jaw, tracing the curve of her face and lips. Azzi watched the movement, her stomach twisting as Paige barely reacted. Her eyes were locked on Azzi, unmoving, unblinking, as if nothing else in the room mattered, not even the girl trying to press herself closer to Paige.

Azzi could feel the heat creeping up her neck, the possessiveness bubbling inside her, even though she had no right to feel it. Amber's hand was still on Azzi's waist, trying to pull her into the rhythm of the music, but Azzi couldn’t bring herself to care. Not while Paige’s gaze was still locked on her.

The girl on Paige’s body kept dancing, but Paige’s focus was unwavering. Paige smirked slightly as the girl's hands ran over her neck, as if she knew Azzi wouldn’t like it. Still, her eyes never leave Azzi’s.

It was like a silent challenge, a dare to Azzi to make a move, to step in and claim what could be hers, but Azzi was frozen. She was stuck, caught between the familiarity of Amber and the pull she felt toward Paige, the way Paige's eyes seemed to tug at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

Amber, noticing Azzi's lingering stare, tugged her closer, leaning into her ear. “Babyyy, you’re not even paying attention,” she said, but Azzi still barely heard her. All she could focus on was the way Paige’s gaze had deepened, how there was something raw and magnetic about the way she looked at her.

As Paige slowly took another sip from her drink, Azzi noticed how the girl's hand slid down Paige's side to her hips, and for a brief moment, Azzi wanted to rip her hand off. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She was still stuck in Amber’s grip, still trying to hold onto something that was slipping through her fingers.

"Who are you looking at like that?" Amber's voice cut through the haze, and Azzi blinked, tearing her eyes away from Paige to look at Amber, but the heat between her and Paige still lingered, like a flame Azzi couldn’t put out.

…

Azzi hadn’t planned on doing anything that night. She was determined to be respectful, to keep her distance from Paige and stay respectful to her relationship, like she always had. She’d made up her mind to stay out of the way, to avoid any of the tension that had been building between her and Paige. She thought if she could just make it through tonight without any issues, everything would be fine. But then after a few drinks Amber had to go and make everything complicated.

Amber wasn’t just rude that night. She was worse—she was dismissive, condescending, and cruel in a way Azzi hadn’t seen in a long time. It was though all the frustrations Amber had been bottling up for weeks finally exploded, and Azzi was the target. Amber fully snapped at Azzi when she pushed her off gently and tried to suggest they grab a drink instead of dancing. She accused Azzi of ignoring her all night, accused her of being self-absorbed, accusing her of not wasting her time playing a game rather than trying to better their relationship and so much more.. Each comment felt like a jab, cutting deeper than the last.

Azzi tried to brush it off at first, telling herself it was just the alcohol or a bad mood, but it didn’t stop. Amber’s insults, her passive-aggressive remarks, and the way she treated Azzi like she was nothing more than an accessory to her life—it all piled up.

The quiet argument had escalated quickly, spiraling out of control before Azzi even had a chance to process it. “Call me when you’re done being so fucking self-centered,” Amber spat. She didn’t wait for a response, turning on her heel and storming out of Ted’s.

Azzi stood there for a moment, watching the door swing shut behind Amber. A sigh left her lips, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it, she honestly didn’t feel bad about it. The tension in her chest loosened as she turned back to the team, who, like her, were already a few drinks in, their mood carefree and light. It was easy to slip back into their energy, letting the music and laughter fill the space Amber had left.

The drinks flowed freely, and with each one, Azzi felt herself relax more. She didn’t have to force anything; the team’s energy was infectious, and before long, she found herself genuinely enjoying everything. Paige was initially on the other side of the room, laughing with Evina and Olivia, but like a magnet, they naturally drifted toward each other. Neither of them said anything as their proximity closed; it was unspoken, almost instinctual, like gravity pulling them together.

Paige didn’t even realize how close she had gotten until Azzi reached out, her hand finding Paige’s wrist and gently tugging her closer. The tug wasn’t rushed or eager—it was simple and confident, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Paige felt her pulse quicken, but she didn’t hesitate. She let herself fall into the moment, her hands sliding around Azzi’s waist as the music guided them.

They started swaying to the beat, bodies pressed together as neither one of them said anything. Paige’s arms tightened slightly around Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer. Their movements grew more fluid as Azzi wrapped her arm around Paige’s shoulder, her hands coming together to rest on her head. Neither spoke a word, but their silence was filled with a quiet understanding, the tension between them growing.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige’s lips, and Paige caught the movement, making her instinctually lick them. The air between them continues to grow heavier, their gazes dancing between each other’s lips and eyes, silently asking questions neither of them said out loud.

Azzi, trying her best to keep her composure, let her head dip down, resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder. Her breath fanning across Paige’s neck, the simple warmth of it making Paige clench her jaw. Azzi’s lips hovered tantalizingly close to Paige’s skin, not quite touching but close enough that Paige could feel the ghost of them. Paige’s fingers tightened slightly on Azzi’s waist, her own breaths shallow as she tried to steady herself.

Their dancing grew needier, the space between them nonexistent. It wasn’t just the physical closeness; it was the way they seemed to be silently communicating through every glance, every brush of skin. Paige closed her eyes for a brief moment, soaking in the sensation, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure Azzi could hear it.

Without warning, Azzi crossed the line between hovering and touching.

Her lips ghosted over Paige’s neck, softly. It wasn’t aggressive or rushed—just featherlight kisses that sent sparks racing through Paige’s veins. Paige sighed audibly, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her composure. Her fingers dug into Azzi’s hips reflexively, grounding herself so she didn’t lose it entirely in the middle of the bar.

Azzi noticed the way Paige’s body tensed under her touch, and it only fueled her. As she let her lips linger a moment longer, the pressure slightly firmer now in a few spots, before pulling back just enough to murmur into Paige’s ear.

“Meet me in the bathroom.”

Paige’s eyes opened, her grip on Azzi’s waist faltering as her heart raced. Before she could respond, Azzi was already stepping back, her touch slipping away like sand through Paige’s fingers.

Azzi didn’t look back as she walked toward the bathroom. Paige stood there for a moment, frozen, the ghost of Azzi’s touch and the warmth of her lips still lingering on her skin.

The music continued around her, the chatter and laughter of the team and other patrons filling the space, but it all felt distant now. Paige’s focus was entirely on the retreating figure of Azzi, her heart pounding as she weighed her next move.

Her lips curved into a subtle, almost involuntary smirk as she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. There was no real decision to make—her body had already made it for her. With one last glance around the bar, Paige slipped through the crowd, following the same path Azzi had taken moments earlier.

When Paige stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, her gaze locked onto Azzi, who was leaning casually against the sink. Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet Paige’s, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

Paige didn’t say a word as she turned and locked the door behind her with a click, the sound echoing in the space. Her hand lingered on the lock for a second longer than necessary, steadying herself as she exhaled, before slowly facing Azzi again.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick. Azzi’s smirk faltered slightly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she studied Paige’s expression. It wasn’t playful or hesitant—Paige’s eyes burned with something Azzi couldn’t place, her chest rising and falling as though she was barely holding herself back.

The silence was broken when Azzi took two quick steps forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. Without warning, her hands gripped the front of Paige’s shirt, pushing her back until Paige’s shoulders hit the cool wall with a thud. Azzi’s lips were on hers immediately, the kiss urgent and messy, tongues battling one another as they fought for control.

Paige’s hands instinctively went to Azzi’s waist, her fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as she pulled her even closer. Azzi pressed against her fully, her grip tightening on Paige’s shirt, but it was clear neither one of them was willing to give up control.

Then, in a quick movement that left Azzi momentarily stunned, Paige flipped their positions, slamming Azzi’s back against the wall with a force that made her gasp. Azzi’s head tilted back slightly from the impact, her lips parting in surprise, but her body instantly responded to the dominance radiating from Paige.

The heat coursed through Azzi, her breath hitching as she met Paige’s gaze. No one had ever handled her like this before—there was a certainty, a confidence in Paige’s actions that excited Azzi.

Paige didn’t give her much time to process, her lips crashing back onto Azzi’s with the same fervor as before. Her hands slid down Azzi’s sides, gripping her hips firmly as she pressed her body against Azzi’s, pinning her to the wall. Azzi let out a soft moan against Paige’s lips, her own hands tangling in Paige’s hair as she pulled her even closer, the world outside that bathroom disappearing entirely.

The two of them stayed locked in that rhythm, bodies pressed impossibly close, lips and hands moving with an urgency that neither seemed able—or willing—to control. Paige’s grip on Azzi’s hips remained firm, holding her in place every time Azzi tried to shift, a silent but undeniable reflection of her dominance.

As their kisses deepened, Paige’s lips began trailing down Azzi’s jaw. She kissed and sucked softly along the curve, her movements careful not to leave any marks. Azzi’s head tilted instinctively, giving Paige better access even as her mind began to catch up to her body.

The thought of Paige leaving marks on her skin—of something so visible, so undeniably real—triggered a sudden flicker of realization. Azzi’s heart pounded in her chest, her breathing shallow as she tried to fight the pull of Paige’s lips, her touch, her everything.

“Paige…” Azzi’s voice came out barely above a whisper, shaky and uncertain, her resolve faltering even as the word left her lips. Paige didn’t seem to hear her—or maybe she did and thought Azzi was whispering her name for other reasons—because she continued, her lips sucking against the sensitive spot just below Azzi’s ear, drawing a sharp inhale from her.

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, pulling every ounce of willpower she could muster. This time, she took a deep, steadying breath and whispered more firmly, “Paige stop.” She gently pushed at Paige’s shoulders, just enough to create a space between them.

Paige stilled immediately, her hands falling away from Azzi’s hips, her hazy eyes snapping up to meet Azzi’s. The awe and unfiltered admiration written across Paige’s face made Azzi’s chest ache, her throat tightening painfully as she tried to find the right words.

“We can’t,” Azzi said softly, the words catching in her throat as her hands lingered on Paige’s shoulders, not wanting to completely let go yet.

Pain flickered in Paige’s eyes briefly but she quickly masked it as she reached out, her hand gently cupping Azzi’s cheek slowly. “It’s okay,” she said softly, forcing her voice to sound understanding.

“I…Um... I should go,” Azzi said quietly, her voice barely audible over the thundering in her chest. She turned to leave, but Paige’s voice stopped her.

“Get home safe Az,” Paige said softly.

Azzi didn’t turn back as she walked out, her mind a storm of emotions, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on her chest. She couldn’t look at Paige again. Not right now.

…

Later that night Azzi finally mustered the courage to go talk to Paige. She needed to explain, or at least some kind of resolution to everything swirling between them. The night’s events—especially the kiss in the bathroom—kept replaying in her mind, and she couldn't get rid of the knot in her stomach. She knew she couldn’t just let things sit unresolved between them. But she didn’t know what to expect when she knocked on Paige’s dorm door.

As she walked down the hall toward Paige’s room, Azzi felt her heart pound in her chest. Her hand hovered over the door, and for a moment, she paused, wondering if this was the right thing to do. But before she could knock, she heard something from inside Paige’s room—a sound that made her blood run cold.

“Paige! Oh my god, Fuck Paige.” A girl’s voice, excited and a little too loud for the quiet of the dorms.

Azzi’s stomach dropped. She froze, her hand still in the air. The sound of the girl calling Paige’s name echoed in her ears, and Azzi could feel a wave of nausea rise in her throat. Her pulse quickened, and her breath caught in her chest.

It hurt, even though Azzi couldn’t explain why. She wanted to shake it off, to remind herself that she wasn’t with Paige and that she had no claim on her, but the sting wouldn’t go away.

She stood there for a long moment, paralyzed by the sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t even bring herself to knock on the door anymore. Instead, she backed away, feeling like she couldn’t catch her breath. The feeling of walking into Paige’s room and finding that girl with her—that girl whose name she didn’t even know but who had already made Azzi feel small—was too much.

Azzi turned and walked quickly down the hallway, away from Paige’s room, her heart racing in her chest.

…

For the next few weeks, Paige and Azzi kept things friendly, almost as if that night at Ted's had never happened. They didn’t bring it up once—no awkward glances, no mention of the kiss. They were good at pretending. To anyone else, they were just two friends hanging out, enjoying the occasional late-night talk, laughing at inside jokes, and sharing glances across the room. And for a while, that worked. They kept it light and uncomplicated. But Azzi knew, deep down, that something had changed.

It wasn’t until they found themselves at another party that the cracks started to show again. Clearly alcohol was their biggest enemy. This time, it was more of a low-key kickback in someone’s suite—still loud and filled with the hum of music and chatter, but less crowded than a full on party. Azzi was grateful for that; she didn’t want to deal with the crowds of people that had made everything feel so messy the last time.

Amber hadn’t so much as glanced at her all night, spending the majority of her time with some girl from her law class who kept trailing after her, whispering in her ear, and laughing like they were in their own little world. Azzi didn’t mind. In fact, it was a relief. She didn’t want to deal with Amber tonight. She just wanted to get through the evening without any drama—something she knew she was starting to crave, especially when it came to Paige.

Paige was there too, of course, as she always was. She wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but she was still fun to be around. Her usual carefree energy, though, was tempered by something tonight. Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something in the way Paige held herself, the way she lingered a little too long in Azzi’s space when they shared a laugh, or the way their hands brushed as they passed each other in the small crowd.

For a while, Azzi managed to focus on other things—laughing at jokes, chatting with some of their teammates, and even dancing a little. But it wasn’t long before Paige’s presence became undeniable again. Every time she looked in Paige’s direction, there was something magnetic about her. She found herself gravitating back toward her, unable to resist the pull.

And then, of course, the alcohol kicked in. The drinks kept flowing, and just like the last time, the line between friendly and something more began to blur. Azzi caught herself looking at Paige longer than necessary, noticing the way the light hit her face or how her lips curled into a smile when she said something funny. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own, responding to the subtle cues, the closeness they shared.

The night seemed to slip into a haze after a few too many drinks. The music was louder, the air warmer with the scent of alcohol and bodies pressed together. Azzi, already feeling the effects of the alcohol, found herself near Paige again. Azzi tried to focus on something else—anything else—so her eyes flickered back to Amber, still deep in conversation with the same girl from her law class.

Azzi wasn’t even upset, she was just curious about the situation, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Paige followed her line of sight, eyes narrowing slightly as she saw the same thing Azzi did. Amber was leaning in, her lips too close to the other girl’s ear, her body language clearly more than friendly. For a moment, Paige didn’t know what came over her, but she felt a spark of something, something protective that pushed her forward. Before she had a chance to second-guess it, she stood from her spot and pulled Azzi gently but firmly onto her lap on the couch, wrapping her arms around her waist.

The sudden proximity caught Azzi off guard. She could feel Paige’s heartbeat against her back, the warmth of her body pressing against hers, and the weight of Paige’s arms as they tightened around her. Azzi tensed slightly, not sure how to react to the intensity of the moment. But then Paige’s voice, soft and soothing, brushed against her ear.

“Just relax,” Paige whispered, her breath warm on Azzi’s skin. It was as if the simple words unlocked something inside Azzi. She felt her body hum, a subtle tension easing as Paige’s words settled in her mind. She leaned back slightly, her head resting against Paige’s chest, the solid thump of her heartbeat grounding her.

Paige’s voice was soft against Azzi’s ear as she whispered, "You know you're much prettier than whoever she's talking to." Azzi couldn’t help the hum that escaped her lips, the sound almost a mixture of appreciation and something else.

Paige’s voice dipped lower. “I would never do you like that.”

Azzi stayed still for a moment, leaning comfortably against Paige’s chest, but her words came out without hesitation. “You did.”

Paige froze for a second, confused, her arms tightening around Azzi instinctively. "Whatchu mean?"

Azzi let out a breath, her heart racing with the weight of the conversation, and she turned her head just enough to rest her cheek against Paige’s chest. “That night after Ted’s… I came to talk to you.”

Paige stiffened, her jaw clenching slightly. She didn’t need to hear more. She already knew exactly what Azzi was talking about. The air between them shifted, the lightness of their previous banter now replaced by an unspoken tension.

She tightened her grip around Azzi, not out of force but to keep her close, to prevent the moment from slipping out of her control. "I was drunk," Paige said quietly, though her tone betrayed a hint of guilt.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her chest felt tight, not just from the closeness, but from Paige’s words. She didn’t know why it hurt more to hear that it had been a moment of drunken weakness than if Paige had just admitted it had been something more. But she swallowed hard, pushing the sting of it down.

“Yeah, well.” Azzi finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between them, as cutting as the silence that followed.

Paige let out a frustrated breath, but instead of getting defensive, she spoke with more restraint. “You wanna know something?” Her voice was quieter now.

Azzi nodded her head gently against Paige’s chest, her heart pounding in anticipation. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at Paige just yet, not wanting to see what might be written on her face.

Paige’s lips brushed against Azzi’s ear as she spoke, lowering her voice even more, making Azzi shiver. “Your name slipped out.”

Azzi’s breath hitched at that, her body instinctively turning, as if the words had unlocked something inside her. She was trying to turn to face Paige, to process what had just been said, but Paige’s grip on her tightened, keeping her in place, pressing her body flush against hers.

“Don’t. Just listen,” Paige murmured. Azzi felt the heat of Paige’s breath against her neck, and despite the knot in her stomach, she couldn’t pull away. Paige’s arms were like anchors, steadying her in the midst of the storm inside her.

Amber’s gaze shifted across the room, her eyes narrowing when she spotted the two of them. She had been too distracted by the girl from her law class, but now that she was looking, it was impossible to ignore the way Azzi and Paige were practically wrapped around each other. Paige’s arm was snugly around Azzi’s waist, their heads tilted toward each other, too close. Amber felt a surge of anger rise within her as she watched Paige’s lips move near Azzi’s ear, whispering something she couldn’t hear but could certainly imagine as Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed and she crossed her legs.

Amber’s grip on her drink tightened, and her pulse quickened. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Azzi was lost in the moment, but then, out of the corner of her eye she felt Amber’s gaze. The air seemed to thicken, and Azzi could feel the tension spike instantly, even before Paige noticed.

Amber’s eyes were locked on her and Paige, and the fury in her gaze was clear. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her posture was rigid. Azzi knew Amber well enough to see the storm brewing in her eyes, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like it was directed solely at Azzi. It was as if Amber was furious with Paige too.

Paige, however, seemed to enjoy the spectacle once she noticed. Her smirk widening as she notices Amber staring at them. She didn’t break eye contact with Amber. Instead, she leaned in closer to Azzi, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent an involuntary shiver through her.

"You want me to let go?"

Azzi’s eyes flickered toward Amber, still standing across the room, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Azzi paused, her heart racing as she considered Paige’s question.

She knew Amber was watching. And yet, as her mind spun with uncertainty, her body couldn’t help but answer for her. She shook her head softly, her voice barely a whisper as she responded, "No."

Paige’s smile was slow and full of satisfaction, a gleam of triumph in her eyes as she tightened her hold on Azzi, pulling her impossibly closer. Azzi felt the pressure of Paige’s arms wrapping around her, keeping her in place as Paige’s lips descended on her neck, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss against the sensitive skin there.

Azzi's breath caught in her throat, her body trembling slightly from the gentle caress as she bit her lip. Paige made sure to angle her head just enough so that Amber could see every move, every touch. The kiss lingered for a moment longer than necessary, the intimacy of it undeniable.

Paige pulled away just slightly, her gaze flicking over to Amber, locking eyes with her again in an almost mocking way. She knew Amber was furious, but it seemed like the moment only fueled Paige’s smirk, her confidence growing as she deliberately pressed closer to Azzi, the whole scene laid out in front of Amber’s watchful eyes.

Azzi, still caught in the feeling of Paige’s touch, swallowed hard, trying to focus on the situation at hand. But Paige had effectively shifted the focus back to Amber, making sure that whatever was happening—whatever was about to happen—Amber couldn’t look away.

Paige kissed Azzi’s neck a few more times, each press of her lips making Azzi’s pulse quicken.

The soft, lingering touches felt like they were meant for no one but her, and for a moment, everything else faded. Azzi’s breath became shallow, her body leaning into Paige’s embrace, her mind clouded completely by the heat of the moment.

But then, the spell was broken.

Amber, whose eyes blazing with a mix of rage and intoxication, stormed across the room. Her movements were unsteady. Without hesitation, Amber yanked Azzi off of Paige, the movement more forceful than necessary.

Azzi stumbled slightly, the abruptness of the action catching her off guard, but before she could even regain her balance, Paige was standing up quickly, her posture stiff, her jaw clenching with anger. She stepped in front of Azzi, putting herself between them, her eyes flashing as she looked Amber up and down.

“Don’t fucking touch her like that,” Paige’s voice was low but still controlled enough.

Amber, still fuming, sneered at Paige.. “I can touch her however the fuck I want to,” she spat, her voice slurred just enough to reflect how drunk she was. She took a step toward Azzi, her hand reaching out again as if to make her point as she tried to grab Azzit.

Paige stepped between them before she could get any closer. “Yo, you needa chill,” Paige said.

Amber ignored her and reached for Azzi again, but Paige’s hand shot out, stopping her in her tracks. “Bro, she’s not going with you. You’re crashing out,” Paige said. Her eyes locked on Amber’s with a mix of warning and restraint.

Amber let out a bitter chuckle, her drunkenness masking the anger simmering beneath. “I promise you haven’t seen that yet,” she snapped.

Paige didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back. Instead, she moved closer, her jaw clenching even tighter. The air between them was thick and for a moment, it felt like the room had gone silent, everyone holding their breath to see what would happen next.

Just as the situation was about to tip over the edge, Evina appeared out of nowhere, throwing her arm around Paige’s shoulders casually.. “Yo, you good, P?” she asked, her voice light but carrying enough weight to cut through the tension.

Paige didn’t take her eyes off Amber, their gaze still locked. “Yeah, I’m good E.”

Evina, still sensing the storm brewing, gently started nudging Paige back, her arm firm around her shoulders. “Alright, then. Let’s keep it that way,” she said, her tone calm as she tried to defuse the situation before it exploded.

Paige let it happen, allowing Evina to put some space between her and Amber, though her eyes never left Amber’s face. The message was clear.

Amber’s voice cut through the heavy silence.. “Azzi this is bullshit, let’s go.”.

Azzi didn’t move from her position near Paige, her body tense, clearly caught in an internal battle. Her eyes flicked between Amber and Paige, knowing her answer but unsure of what to say. How to say it.

Amber’s frustration turned to disbelief as she took a step forward, her movements aggressive. “Azzi, are you fucking serious right now?” she snapped, her voice rising. She tried to get closer to Azzi, but Paige was there again, stepping in and blocking her path.

“She clearly doesn’t wanna go with you, just let it go,” Paige said.

Amber scoffed, glaring at Paige like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “She can speak for herself. She’s not a fucking toddler,” she shot back, her anger bubbling over.

The words seemed to snap Azzi out of her internal battle. She straightened her posture, inhaling deeply as she finally found her voice. “I’m just gonna stay with Paige tonight.”

Amber froze, her expression shifting from anger to shock as the weight of Azzi’s words sunk in. “What the fuck do you mean you’re staying with Paige tonight?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly, the disbelief clear.

Azzi’s gaze didn’t falter as she replied, her voice a little firmer this time. “You can go be with whoever you want from law class and I’m going to stay with Paige.”

The room seemed to still, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. Azzi didn’t need to elaborate further. The implication in her words was clear, and Amber understood exactly what she meant.

Amber let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked between Azzi and Paige. “Wow,” she muttered. “Almost three years of my life down the fucking drain.”

For a moment, Amber stood there, her chest rising and falling as if she wanted to say more, but no words came. With a sharp turn, she stormed toward the counter. Grabbing an empty glass, she poured herself a hefty drink, the sound of liquid hitting glass cutting through the tense silence.

Azzi exhaled shakily, her shoulders slumping as the weight of the moment settled over her. She stared at the floor, processing everything, her mind racing with emotions she couldn’t untangle.

Paige noticed. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Azzi’s back to draw her attention. Azzi glanced at her, her watery eyes betraying the calm facade she was trying to keep.

“You good?” Paige asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Azzi gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she murmured, but the slight tremor in her voice told another story.

Paige studied her carefully, reading every detail—the tenseness of her shoulders, the glossiness of her pretty brown eyes, the way her hands fidgeted. She saw it all: the hurt, the relief, and the overwhelming weight of the decision Azzi had just made.

After a moment, Paige leaned in slightly. “You wanna get outta here?”

Azzi blinked quickly, trying to chase away the tears that were trying to spill over. She looked at Paige, the question hanging in the air like an open door, a perfect escape that she desperately needed. With a small nod, she said.

“Yes. Please.”

Without another word, Paige slid her arm around Azzi’s shoulders and Azzi melted into her side, leaning her head slightly against Paige's as they made their way to the door.

Some people in the room seemed to register the moment. Heads turned the weight of their departure together a little more serious.

…

After that, it was like the universe conspired to give Azzi small, quiet signs the rest of the night, reassuring her that she’d made the right decision.

The first came in the form of Paige when they got back to the room. She didn’t push or pry for information or what this meant for them; she simply held Azzi, her arms wrapped securely around her while silent tears slipped down Azzi’s face. It wasn’t dramatic or loud—just a quiet release as Azzi processed the reality of what had happened. She wasn’t exactly sad, but the weight of ending a nearly three-year relationship pressed on her chest.

Paige didn’t say anything. She didn’t try to fill the silence with platitudes or ask if Azzi wanted to talk. She just stayed there, letting Azzi’s tears fall against her chest, dampening her chest.

That was the first sign—because Azzi didn’t know anyone else, besides sweet and gentle Paige, who would hold the girl they were in love with while she cried over her ex. It was a selfless love that Azzi hadn’t experienced before, the kind of quiet genuine love that didn’t demand gratitude or expect anything in return.

Eventually, the tears slowed, Azzi’s body growing heavier in Paige’s arms. Her breathing evened out, her exhaustion catching up to her.

Paige didn’t move, didn’t let go, even as Azzi drifted to sleep against her chest, her tears drying where they’d fallen.

The next moment the universe seemed to confirm Azzi had made the right choice came later that night. Paige hadn’t fully let herself fall asleep yet. She was hovering in that space between wakefulness and rest, a part of her instinctively still alert because she knew what might happen.

Hours later, Azzi began to stir, soft murmurs turning into restless movements as her breathing changed. The effects of a bad dream pulled her out of sleep, and she woke with a slight panic.

But Paige was there.

Within seconds, Paige tightened her arms around Azzi, pulling her back down to the mattress, whispering groggily, “It’s just a dream, Az.” Her voice was a little raspy from sleep, barely above a murmur, but it anchored Azzi.

Azzi stayed still, her breath shaky as she tried to gather herself. Paige, still half-asleep, spooned her tightly, her hold warm and reassuring, her presence a contrast for Azzi’s frayed nerves. They didn’t say anything for a while, letting the silence stretch out between them as Paige’s coconut-and-vanilla scent surrounded Azzi.

Azzi lay there, her mind racing as she processed everything—where she finally was, who she was with, and how different it felt. Finally, she whispered, “Are you awake?”

Paige squeezed her tighter, pulling her closer into the spooning position, and hummed in response, the sound low in Azzi’s ear.

After a moment, Paige’s voice, still thick with sleep, asked, “You wanna talk about your dream?”

Azzi hesitated before asking, “How’d you know it was a bad dream?”

Even in the dark, Paige smiled, though Azzi couldn’t see it. “I noticed on a few road games,” she said softly, “you tend to have nightmares when you’ve had a lot of sugar that day.” Her voice carried a teasing warmth as she continued, “Almost like your mind needs to burn off all the extra energy or something.”

Azzi couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, her heart feeling lighter in a way she hadn’t expected. The way Paige noticed things like that—small, seemingly inconsequential details—made Azzi’s chest ache in the best way.

In that moment, Azzi allowed herself to fully confirm what she’d known for a while: Paige was the right one for her. She pressed herself further into Paige, her back snug against Paige’s chest, and interlaced their fingers, her palm pressing against the back of Paige’s hand.

Paige felt the shift and whispered, “You good?”

Azzi nodded, humming her confirmation, but Paige wasn’t fully convinced. “You can’t sleep anymore?” she asked gently, her thumb brushing over Azzi’s knuckles.

“No,” Azzi admitted quietly.

Paige tilted her head slightly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s hair as she murmured, “What do you need? I can make you some tea or something.”

Azzi hesitated, her mind swirling. The weight of the day, the relief of being held by Paige, and the pull of something deeper. Finally, after a long moment, she shifted closer to Paige—though there was hardly any space left between them—and guided Paige’s hand lower, resting over her waistband, silently telling her what she wanted.

Paige stilled for a moment, processing Azzi’s request. Then, her fingers tightened slightly around Azzi’s hand. “Are you sure?” Paige whispered, making sure Azzi was fully in control of what she wanted.

Azzi turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting Paige’s in the faint light spilling in through the blinds. “Yeah,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her gaze.

Paige leaned forward, pressing a soft lingering kiss to Azzi’s lips. She then trailed a few more kisses down Azzi’s neck, her movements slow, giving Azzi time to change her mind if she wanted to. Paige’s breath brushed against Azzi’s ear as she murmured, “Are you sure, Azzi?”

She nodded softly against Paige, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Yes I’m sure,” she whispered.

Paige searched her face for another moment, wanting to be absolutely certain. When she found nothing but certainty in Azzi’s expression, she smiled back, her features softening. Her free hand brushed a strand of hair from Azzi’s face as she murmured, “Okay.”

She leaned in again, her lips trailing along Azzi’s jawline, her lips filled with nothing but care. Paige moved slowly, wanting to savor every moment and make sure Azzi felt safe after everything from earlier that night. After her lips have traced every part of Azzis neck, Paige softly grabs her jaw pulling her towards into a soft kiss. Their lips and tongues dance with one another perfectly as Paige leads them.

The kiss grew more urgent, both of them succumbing to the warmth spreading through their bodies and the slight alcohol still in their system. It was the kind of heat that made the air feel heavier, the kind that drew them closer despite the impossibleness of closing the already nonexistent gap between them.

Paige let out a low groan when Azzi nipped at her bottom lip, sending a shiver down her spine that she felt all the way to her toes. Azzi smirked against Paige’s lips at the sound, emboldened by how easily she could unravel her.

Trying to turn in Paige’s arms to face her fully, Azzi shifted, but Paige tightened her hold, her hands firm as they kept Azzi in place. “Stay like this,” Paige murmured against her lips, her voice rough and breathless.

Azzi sighed softly at the words, her body relaxing into Paige’s as she allowed herself to be guided, her hands coming up to rest on top of Paige’s that were trailing up Azzi’s stomach to palm her breast under her sports bra. Making Azzi moan quietly.

Her head tilting slightly to give Paige more space, their lips meeting again in a kiss that was softer this time but no less consuming.

The world outside their little bubble ceased to exist. There was nothing but the sound of their uneven breaths and the muffled sounds of their kisses filling the 3 a.m. silence. Paige squeezed Azzi’s chest slightly, her palm warm as it anchored Azz here and there, Azzi couldn’t help the way her chest rose and fell a little quicker, her heart racing each time Paige palmed her breast or circling her fingers, as she surrendered to the moment.

The air between them is a little sticky with heat, the silence punctuated only by the occasional gasp or hum of pleasure as Paige's hand explores more boldly. Azzi's breath hitches when Paige's lips trail lower again, brushing against the soft skin of her neck, as she sucks softly here and there. A warmth spreads through Azzi and she tilts her head to give Paige more room, her body quickly reacting in ways she hadn't expected. It usually took her so much longer.

Paige is completely lost in the moment too, her fingers grazing over Azzi's skin, exploring the curves of her body with a gentle urgency.

She can feel the quick rhythm of Azzi's heartbeat beneath her touch and the slight tremor in her movements every time she takes a deep breath. It's a silent conversation between them, that speaks of trust and longing, of desires barely held in check.

Paige pauses just for a moment, her lips hovering over Azzi's skin. "Can I leave marks?" she whispers again, her voice still soft but filled with a hint of need. Azzi reaches back as her fingers curl into Paige's hair, tugging her down to meet her lips for a moment. "Just make sure it’s below my jersey," she murmurs.

Paige nods at this as she goes back to sucking on Azzi’s neck, only sucking harshly when she angled herself enough to be near her chest. This made Azzi hum quietly each time as she grew more needy.

The tension between them thickens as Azzi, unable to hold herself back, pushes herself back against Paige with more urgency.

Paige doesn't hesitate, sensing her need, and her hand slides into Azzi’s shorts down to where Azzi's body is calling out for more. The touch alone causes a soft whimper to escape Azzi’s as Paige drags her fingers through her wetness.

Azzi's whimpers, her body reacting immediately to the feeling. Paige smiles to herself, the sound of Azzi's breathless response sending a rush of heat through her.

"How do you like it, pretty girl?" Paige whispers, her voice low and teasing Azzi a little as she continues rubbing against her, brushing her lips along Azzi's neck.

Azzi barely manages to catch her breath, her eyes fluttering closed. It's almost too much for her to process, her body demanding more but her mind clouded with desire that she never wants to end. She struggles to find her voice, a soft tremble in her response. "I don’t know... I haven’t done a lot," she breathes, her words catching.

Paige chuckles softly, her lips gently tracing the outline of Azzi's jaw, coaxing her to speak. "You still gotta tell me what you want," she murmurs, her thumb brushing Azzi's lips.

Azzi, breath hitching, whines quietly in response, the word spilling out of her before she even fully realizes it. "Rough."

A slow hum escapes Paige at the confession. There's a slight pause, a moment where she evaluates, making sure Azzi is sure. "You wanna try it?" she asks.

Azzi nods, eyes half-lidded, her voice almost a whisper. "Just a little for now."

Paige nods with a small, satisfied smile.

"Mm. Okay." She adjusts so she can tangle her fingers in Azzi’s hair to tug slightly, pulling her head back just enough to expose more of her neck. Her other hand continues its journey, her movements deliberate as she works Azzi up, feeling Azzi's pulse quicken beneath her touch.

Azzi immediately gasps as Paige yanks her hair back again and inserts her fingers at the same time. Paige keeping Azzi close as she works her fingers in and out.

Azzi, who has always prided herself on her composure, found herself straining to stay silent. Every brush of Paige’s lips, every gentle tug of her hands in Azzi’s hair and the way she was moving in and out of her with ease, sent shockwaves through Azzi that begged for release in the form of a sound. But she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, refusing to let the smallest escape.

Their situation was far too complicated for anyone to find out like this, especially not their teammates. Azzi’s mind flickered briefly to how disastrous it would be if someone heard them, but even that thought wasn’t enough to fully pull her back from the haze of desire Paige had her in.

Paige noticed the tension in Azzi’s body and the shallow rise and fall of her chest. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she trailed kisses and bites along the column of Azzi’s neck, testing just how far she could push her.

“Struggling, huh?” Paige whispered, her lips brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear.

Azzi shivered but didn’t respond, her nails digging slightly into Paige’s arm definitely leaving nail marks. She bit her lip harder, trying to focus on anything other than the way Paige’s mouth was wreaking havoc on her self-control.

Paige chuckled softly at her silence, the sound vibrating against Azzi’s skin and making it even harder for her to stay quiet. “Relax,” Paige murmured, her voice softer now, her lips pressing a kiss just below Azzi’s ear. “I’ll make sure you stay quiet.”

The reassurance helped, only a little, but it was still a battle for Azzi to keep her composure. Her heart raced as she nodded faintly, leaning back into Paige, trusting her to keep them both grounded.

They stayed just like that for some time. Paige whispering in Azzi’s ear as she worked in and out of her and Azzi biting her lip or pushing her face into the pillow to try to muffle some of the sounds slipping out of her.

Eventually Azzi starts pushing herself further into Paige trying to match her rhythm as Paige's grip tightens in Azzi's hair, pulling her head back just enough for her lips to brush against Azzi's ear. Her voice a little rough, full of her restrained desire as she mumbled, “You feel so fucking good.”

Azzi whimpered at the words, her breathing unsteady as she said, “It’s so hard to stay quiet.” Her voice cracked slightly, her desperation evident, and it made Paige’s chest tighten in the best way.

“I know,” Paige chuckled softly, her tone laced with amusement. “I can tell.” Her lips grazed Azzi’s jawline before she whispered, “You’re doing so good.”

The praise sent heat through Azzi’s legs, and before she could stop herself, she was desperately reaching back to grab Paige's head and pulling her into a desperate kiss. It was the only way she could think to quiet herself, to channel everything she was feeling without letting any more sounds escape.

Paige groaned softly into her kiss, her hands sinking deeper into Azzi, her other hand still tangled in her hair as she held her firmly in place. She met Azzi’s need with her own, kissing her deeply, almost possessively. Azzi whimpered again at the new angle, and Paige swallowed the sound, her lips and tongue moving against Azzi’s in a way that made the world around them disappear.

Azzi’s neediness grew, her hands clutching at Paige as if letting go would shatter her. The kiss deepened further, their breaths mingling as Azzi melted into Paige, unable to think of anything but the way her body responded to Paige as if it had never been touched before.

Paige pulled back just enough to murmur against Azzi’s lips, her voice breathless but teasing. “You still good on being quiet?”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed as she whispered, “Not if you keep fucking me like this.”

Paige chuckles before leaning back down to pull Assi into a kiss as she continues working her fingers in and out of Azzi. She wants to do so much more to her but she’s taking it slow for Azzi who is less experienced. Not long after, Azzi's legs are squeezing around Paige's hand as she starts to chase her release.

Paige senses Azzi's growing struggle to stay quiet, knowing just how difficult it’s going to be. So she brings her free arm under Azzi, guiding her hand to Azzi’s lips. “Bite down,” Paige whispers, her voice low.

Azzi hesitates for a moment, confusion flashing across her face before the pressure builds as Paige starts curling her fingers perfectly as she adds her thumb to Azzi’s clit. Feeling overwhelmed by this she does exactly as Paige instructed. Her teeth sinking into Paige’s hand, a sharp, almost desperate grip as her body starts trembling. Her legs squeezing Paige’s hand impossibly tight as she finishes all over her hand.

The sensation sends a wave of heat through Paige, but the bite is harsh, almost painful, as Azzi fights to stay silent. Paige, feeling the intensity of the bite, clenches her jaw but when that's not enough she quickly presses her lips to Azzi's shoulder, the sting of her own discomfort igniting a need to counter it. Her teeth graze Azzi's skin, just enough to distract from the sharp bite, as both of them are caught in the tension of the moment as Paige coaxes Azzi through her release.

As Azzi’s breathing finally began to slow, still uneven but no longer shaky as Paige pressed soft kisses to her shoulder and the back of her neck. Grounding Azzi as she murmured against her skin, “You’re so beautiful... so perfect Azzi….” Her voice was a soothing balm, wrapping Azzi in warmth.

Azzi felt herself going limp against Paige, her body almost like dead weight, but Paige didn’t let go. She held her firmly.

After some time, Azzi shifted, turning to face Paige. Her brown eyes were hazy, her lips slightly parted as she tried to process the moment. Paige reached up, her wet fingers brushing Azzi’s lips gently.

“Open,” Paige whispered, her voice soft but commanding.

Still in a daze, Azzi obeyed without hesitation, parting her lips as Paige slid her fingers into Azzi’s mouth letting her taste herself. Azzi instinctively wrapped her lips around them, her eyes fluttering as she felt the intimacy of the gesture. Paige’s eyes softened, a quiet smile gracing her lips as she watched Azzi experience something new, her thumb of her free hand brushing over Azzi’s cheek.

Paige slowly withdrew her fingers, leaning in to kiss Azzi tenderly. Their lips met in a slow kiss that felt like a question and an answer all at once. When they finally broke apart, Paige cupped Azzi’s face, her thumb grazing her jawline.

“You okay?” Paige asked, her blue eyes searching Azzi’s for any hint of hesitation or regret.

Azzi nodded, her eyes hooded, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Yeah... I’m more than okay.”

"Come here," Paige whispered softly, as she tugged Azzi closer. Azzi let herself be pulled, settling onto Paige’s chest with ease. Her head rested just over Paige’s heart, and the steady, rhythmic sound filled her ears. It wasn’t completely calm, though—it was hammering in her chest, quick and unsteady, a stark contrast to the soothing hand Paige had resting on her back.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her voice quiet. “Your heart’s beating fast.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, the vibrations against Azzi’s cheek. “Of course it is,” she admitted, but she didn’t offer any further explanation. She didn’t need to—Azzi already knew what it meant.

Azzi opened her mouth to say something, to ask if Paige was sure about all of this, but before she could, Paige leaned down and caught her lips in another kiss. It wasn’t rushed or full of heat like the others they’d shared tonight—it was grounding, a soft reassurance.

When they broke apart, Paige murmured, “Just relax Az. We can talk about it later.”

Azzi nodded, settling back into Paige’s chest as her breathing evened out. She reached down to intertwine their hands, wanting the simple connection, but she froze when her fingers brushed against Paige’s hand. Her eyes widened slightly as she felt the harsh indentations there.

She gasped softly. “Oh my God,” Azzi whispered, realizing she’d left marks.

Paige chuckled again, her tone more playful this time. “Yeah… I don’t know what the hell you’re going to do when I start doing everything else.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, letting out a small laugh as she tucked herself back against Paige’s chest. The teasing didn’t faze her at all because she knew it was lighthearted. Instead, she focused on the comforting rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat, the sound lulling her further into a state of peace she hasn’t felt in a while.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azzi allowed herself to sink into the moment fully. As she listened to Paige’s heartbeat, soothing her to sleep, the truth she’d been fighting hard to ignore surfaced in her mind. She was in love with Paige. Completely and irrevocably.

And for once, she didn’t feel the need to push it away as she kissed Paige’s neck softly before drifting in her arms.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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cherrixpie · 2 days ago

Text

NEMESIS

part four of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. Shame that he was just so irrestible.

↬ sfw; wc: 9.1k (good lord these keep getting longer); cw: violence, blood, broken bones, suggestiveness, swear words; tags: gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader, enemies to lovers

( masterlist )

The wind howled through the stands, tearing at banners of both red and green, as sheets of icy rain slashed down in relentless torrents. Over night, the weather had taken a dramatic shift, to the disfortune of any poor bloke who was on the pitch today. The pitch had turned into a mire of mud and puddles and looked more like a battlefield than the site of one of the most anticipated Quidditch matches of the season: Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Above, the players on their broomsticks were little more than blurred streaks of color, their shouts swallowed by the roaring of the storm. The sharp crack of a Bludger smashing into a broomstick echoed through the chaos, drawing gasps and cries from the diehard fans who clung stubbornly to the stands despite the weather.

Near the base of the stands, Madam Pomphrey hovered over you like an agitated owl as you sorted through the bandages and potions at hand. Ever since you'd started practical training in the Hospital wing to improve your chances to become a healer at the prestigious St. Mungos Hospital, you'd been assailing her at quidditch games. But you'd only ever had Gryffindors to look out for before.

“Playing in this weather is nothing short of lunacy,” Madam Pomphrey muttered, her words only heard over the howling wind because she stood so close to you. “The last thing I need is another student catching their death out here- or worse, ending up on one of my stretchers.”

Though you didn't say it out loud, you estimated the chances of that being close to zero. Not only the weather made this an exceptionally brutal game. It seemed as if the players translated the stress of playing in such conditions into pure violence, and the thick mist of rain only made the many fouls harder to detect. The game was turning more brutal by the minute. You did your very best to identify your friends, but only caught a glance of Harry hovering over the game, looking for the faint glint of the snitch through the fog and dodging the occasional bludger. And, of course, Ron, guarding the rings.

But your restless eyes didn't only scan the skies in search of your friends. Any time a Slytherin player passed the stands, you'd anxiously try to make out whether they were a beater, whether they were Mattheo. But he seemed to be amidst the center of the game. Sometimes you thought you spotted him when you recognized a figure with club that vaguely resembled him. Sometimes, you thought the figure looked back at you, but you couldn't be sure of anything when rain and fog clouded your vision and made it impossible to pin point anything.

Suddenly, another violent crack echoed through the stadium and the fans let out a collective gasp when the small, blurred figure of Gryffindor’s seeker slipped from his broom, having been violently hit with a bludger. Before even Madam Pomphrey could react, you, who'd been on your toes all game, cast a spell to slow his fall and took off over the field to meet him when he met the ground in a rather soft thud thanks to your spell. The nurse followed hot on your heels and together, you hoisted Harry up on your shoulders and helped him towards the sidelines as Madame Hooch signaled time-out.

The bludger must've hit Harry in the face at short distance, because it only took one look at his blood-smeared face and crooked nose to know the latter was broken. You had the vague idea it wouldn't be the last one toady. As Madam Pomphrey healed it with a flick of her wand, eliciting a crack from the nose as it sprung back in place and a pained groan from Harry, you recovered a diptam from your belt and leaned down in front of him to apply it to his face.

“That was Riddle,” said Harry bitterly as you healed the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities. The murtlap essence did wonders on his injuries, but still, your worried eyes scanned his face restlessly as Harry kept raging. “He's had his sights on me ever since we lifted off the damn ground! Dunno what's up with him, it's like he doesn't even care about the game anymore. He's a damn psychopath, he is.”

Before you had the chance to respond, three thuds announced the arrival of three other players and you turned to them as they approached. Madam Hooch lead them, she walked on large strides over to Harry to inspect the graveness of his injury. Behind her followed a highly enraged looking Malfoy, platinum hair clinging to his forehead, and Mattheo, seemingly relaxed though there was a storm brewing in his eyes that rivaled the one he and the others were facing above ground. Your eyes met and you froze mid movement when he, despite the situation, gave you a quick grin. Just like Harry and Malfoy, he was covered head to toe in mud and his hair was even more of a mess than usual, but you had to admit it suited him better than the other two.

“From such a short distance, my my,” raged Madam Hooch who was quite red in the face. As most teachers did, she directed her anger at some point over Mattheo's shoulder instead of looking him into the face. “That's a foul if I ever saw one. Gryffindor gets a penalty.”

“But Madam Hooch!” called Malfoy indignantly. “He only did his job, isn't it allowed for the beaters to use their clubs anymore?”

“On the bludgers, not on fellow players!” hissed Madam Hooch angrily. Malfoy stroke up another argument, beginning with the words "my father...", but Mattheo couldn't have cared less. So what if Gryffindor got a damn penalty, there was much more important things to be enraged about. Like the way you fussed over Potter, how worried you looked, how pretty you looked in your nurse uniform, a white dress that fell down to your knees paired with the most adorable nurse cap. Mattheo realized he liked white on you. In his world that was drowned in such darkness, you stood out amongst crowds like a glowing ember. As much as he hesitated to admit it, he felt lighter anytime he laid eyes on you.

“Mate, help me out here!” Malfoy pushed him, but he fell on deaf ears, because you had just glanced back at him. Your reproachful look almost made him smile. A few loose strands of hair fell from your nurse cap into your face and clung to your skin. Even if you were to glare at him, he'd much rather have you do that than go back to giving your attention to Potter, of all people. But alas, you turned back to him and wiped the paste off of his face, giving him a light slap on the back to get back on his broom.

If possible, the wind cut even sharper as the game went on. Even under the cover of the stands, theoretically providing protection from the rain, you were soon drenched to the bone. You'd even had to borrow a Gryffindor sweater from Dean because your uniform had started to become see-through, and the material wasn't thin. By now, everyone was just praying for one of the seekers to catch the snitch and win the game. Though Slytherin was in the lead, partially due to a newfound brutality from their beaters, if Harry caught the snitch soon, Gryffindor would still win.

Just when you dragged the box with the medical supplies further under the cover of the stands to prevent the bandages from soaking up- by the looks of the game you would need them plenty- it happened. You hadn't looked, preoccupied with your task, so the only indication that something was wrong was the shocked screams of the crowd. As you looked up to see what was going on, for the smallest split of a second, you could make out a seemingly rogue bludger rushing towards the stands, specifically, towards you. You didn't even have time to close your eyes or shield yourself from the impact when a flash of green shot through your field of vision and the crowd breathed a sigh of belief.

Rushing forwards, you gripped onto the barrier and looked up at the sky only to catch a glimpse of Mattheo's jersey until he disappeared into the mist once more. Gryffindor scored. As the red and golden covered stands to your left erupted in hollers and cheers, you were hit with the sudden realization that Mattheo had not only saved you from being hit by a bludger, but had also diverted from the Gryffindor chasers, allowing them to score. It didn't fit. He'd been playing with undeveloped ferocity the whole match and now passed up the chance to intercept Gryffindor scoring? But, you thought to yourself, heart still hammering in your chest from the shock, maybe you should just give up trying to make sense of Mattheo Riddle, when he'd so far proved to be everything you thought he wasn't.

Due to the doubled efforts of Nott’s solo runs and Mattheo's bludgers being a major hindrance to the Gryffindor chasers and messing up their formations, forcing them to scatter, Slytherin took the lead by a long shot. But still, if Harry caught the snitch now, they could still win.

You were focused on him that you didn't even catch the maneuver of the Gryffindor beaters. There was a resounding crack heard throughout the stadium, even through the splatter of rain, and one of the Slytherin beaters was slammed into one of the stand walls with such force he bounced off of it before hurling towards the ground. Seconds before the player could hit the ground, they managed to pull their broom up and towards the sky, but their face was full of blood.

Your brain needed a moment to comprehend the situation, but then you read the name on the back of the player’s jersey and the blood seemed to freeze in your veins. Oh God. It was Mattheo. Panic-stricken, you turned to Madam Hooch. Not only had this clearly been a foul, but Mattheo needed time out to get patched up. But Madam Hooch was preoccupied with overlooking the Slytherin chasers ramming through a Gryffindor formation and the endless sheets of rain seemed to obstruct her vision. The Slytherin stands roared in indignation, but Mattheo steadied his broom mid-air, wiped his sleeve over his face, which only seemed to make it worse, and got back into formation.

Even Madam Pomphrey, who had expressed her dislike of Mattheo several times, gasped worriedly. “The game needs time out! He can't play in this condition!”

Your insides felt like claws, reeling against your ribcage as a sudden assault of worry hit you. The impossible frustration of not being able to help, to have to watch Mattheo get back into the game with gritted teeth was suffocating. Past you would have been indifferent, maybe. Past you was an idiot. Your hands gripped the barrier so tightly your knuckles turned white, and you couldn't take your eyes off of Mattheo’s figure. The blood seemed to be obstructing his vision even more than the walk of downpour already did,

Why did you care so much? Why did worry over a boy like Mattheo Riddle eat you up from the inside? Though it was quite untrue, you doubted there was anyone like Mattheo Riddle. Maybe it was just easier to pretend that your concern, the fact that you cared so much, was illogical, than to admit to yourself that he wasn't just you-know-who’s son anymore. That your fear of him had subsided and given way to not only interest, but affection.

The thought scared you. You knew exactly what your friends would say if they knew that you cared for their mortal enemy. Hermoine would look at you with a mixture of disgust and worry, maybe she'd even feel betrayed. And Ron? He'd feel like you'd fratanized with the enemy, you knew he would be angry. What about Harry? He'd been so understanding yesterday, but only after you reassured him that you detested Mattheo. A lie. Mattheo was supposed to be your nemesis, too. But he wasn't anymore.

What was he to you? The question rummaged in your brain as you watched his figure anxiously, wincing any time he got too close to a bludger. In the forest, he'd been intriguing. In the kitchens, exciting. Then, in the library, and you felt almost ashamed to admit it, attractive. But that wasn't all. What you felt for Mattheo couldn't be summed up in mere interest or attraction. It was a coiled up snake in the deepest pits of your self that had raised his head slowly, before you'd even realized it. You couldn't pin-point it, you just knew you wanted to know everything about Mattheo there was to know, and, that you hated to see him hurt.

The Slytherins were now in the lead by one-hundred-and-sixty points, but you couldn't have cared less about the score. More than ever now, you hoped for the game to end so you could have a look at Mattheo. But when the whistle sounded shrilly through the stadium, it was only to announce another two penalties for Gryffindor after Malfoy had fouled Harry mid-dive, both of whom Ginny dunked.

And then, finally, Harry and Malfoy went into a dive and, under the victorious roars of the Gryffindors, Harry emerged holding the snitch over his head. The score board showed Gryffindor: 260 points - Slytherin: 250 points.

Mustering up little more than a sigh of relief, you hurried over to the cart with the bandages and healing potions, arming yourself with supplies as the players landed one after the other. More than half of them immediately made a beeline for the medical tent, to you and a very ill-tempered Madam Pomphrey who muttered something about high risk sports and student safety. It had been an exceptionally rough game, and most players were at least bruised up, at worst limping heavily and clutching their ribs. As they trailed in, your eyes frantically darted around in search of Mattheo, but you couldn't find him.

Soon, you were preoccupied with fixing up the Gryffindor chasers, but your quick, distracted glances around the tent told you that he wasn't here. But where could he be? Dread pooled in your stomach as you bandaged up Ginny’s left hand and applied murtlap essence to her fellow chaser’s cuts and bruises. Only more people seemed to trail in, but, bit by bit, you managed to send them all off again. Still, Mattheo hadn't showed. As you were just contemplating whether you could just walk into the snake’s den, aka the Slytherin changing rooms, and offer treatment, you felt someone’s hand on your shoulder.

You spun around and were faced with Theodore Nott, looking very wet and very moody. The sight of him calmed you somewhat, you knew he and Mattheo were close. Nott looked as grumpy and sinister as ever, but he didn't sound aggressive. “Are you free here?” he asked in his Italian accent and you nodded silently. His frown subsided somewhat. “Can you come with me? Mattheo’s refusing treatment.”

For a split second, you wondered whether Nott knew about Mattheo and you. Then, you mentally slapped yourself back into reality. There was nothing between Mattheo and you, other than a few late night encounters. He'd only asked for you because he didn't want to ask Madam Pomphrey, you supposed.

“Of course,” you said, a little more enthusiastically than would have been necessary, and quickly rounded up some medical supplies to stuff them into your bag. Then, you followed Nott out of the tent, through the downpour of rain and down the steps that led into the Slytherin’s changing rooms.

As you walked down the stairs, you passed a group of Slytherin players who shot you nasty, albeit unsurprised looks. Struggling to keep up with Nott’s long strides, you hurried after him and averted your eyes from the passing Slytherin's. In front of a door with the engraved words ‘changing rooms’, Nott halted his step and nodded towards it. “He's in there, make it quick.”

Nott took off after his friends and you were left standing before the door. For a few hesitant seconds, your fist hovered in the air in front of the wood, and for some silly reason, your heart was thumping like mad. Finally, you knocked. Due to your sudden surge of timidity, it was a soft, quiet sound, barely heard over the splatter on the roof. Still, a voice you recognized as Mattheo's called from inside, clearly audible. “Come in, princess.” As if it had been a command, your hand fell down to the handle, you pressed it down and the door swung open.

The first thing you noticed about the Slytherin changing rooms was that they were way tidier than the Gryffindor ones that you'd often visited after a game to fetch Harry and Ron. No empty bottles, no forgotten jerseys on the ground and it smelled surprisingly good for a sports changing room, though the distinct smell of smoke clung to the air. All seemed perfect in place- except for the a smashed-in locker on the left side and the boy that sat, smoking, on one of the benches.

Mattheo hadn't even made an effort to change yet, both his jersey and his face were seeping with blood. His nose looked broken and his lip was busted up, which didn't stop him from taking continuous drags out of his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. Wisps of smoke curled around him like ghostly shroud. His dark curls hung heavy and damp over his sharp features, framing the defiant smirk that tugged at his lips despite the pain evident in his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. His eyes, dark and unfazed, met yours with a flicker of something unreadable- half daring, half relief- as if, even now, bloodied and battered, he was too proud to let the hurt take hold. Or too used to it.

His heavy gaze felt disarming as you stood aimlessly in the doorway, faintly dripping with water falling from loose strands of your hair. Mustering up a small smile, you closed the door behind you and attempted to ignore the way his gaze burned into your back as you turned to the door. “What if I hadn't been me?” you asked in an effort to diffuse the situation of the weird tension in the air. “What if I'd been one of your friends? That would've been awkward.”

When you turned back to him, his gaze had softened almost indiscernibly. His cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes raked over your drenched and drippy figure before snapping back to your eyes with the self-assurance of a skilled predator cornering its prey. You met his eyes without blinking and the corner of his lips twitched slightly. “None of my friends knock as if they're scared somebody will hear it.”

Your lips curled. “Touché.” With slow, deliberate steps, you walked over to him and came to a halt before him, fingers closing tensely around the handle of your medical bag. Even just the parts of him you could see looked badly hurt, though he didn't show any signs of pain. Maybe he had CIPA syndrome. Or maybe he was just a masochist.

Mattheo caught your wandering gaze, blew a cloud of smoke your way and leaned back against the back of the bench expectantly, cigarette between his bloody fingers. “Well, then, I'm all yours.” A lazy grin played around his lips, in spite of the situation, and it was as attractive as it was infuriating.

Before he could react, you snatched the cigarette out of his fingers and discarded it into an ashtray near you before turning back to him. “It smells disgusting,” you let him know and he chuckled, raising his hands in faux surrender.

You felt hesitant to approach him, touch him, even though you had his consent. His dark eyes rooted you to your spot, made you unable to move. You wondered whether it was some sort of spell until he raised his brows. “Any day now, princess.”

“Don't rush me,” you whispered, averting your eyes and scrambling around in your medical kit for the right supplies. You layed out bandages and healing potions out on the bench opposite him and turned to him once more to tap your wand against his nose, murmuring “episkey” under your breath. With a disgusting cracking sound, it snapped back in place, but Mattheo didn't flinch, only continuing to stare up at you. With the same feeling of sticking your head into a snake den, you leaned down nervously to examine the wounds on his face, whether they needed stitching. The deep cut near his jaw did.

“Careful there, princess,” Mattheo murmured and your eyes snapped from the wound to his eyes, only inches away. “Someone might think you have un-pure intentions.”

You couldn't help the blush that painted your cheeks pink, more so due to his proximity than his words. Still, you brought some distance between you and searched in your bag for needle and thread. “My intentions couldn't be more pure,” you huffed and he laughed lightly from behind your back about a joke you couldn't understand. Or maybe, you did.

“That is true,” he lamented and you heard ruffling. You turned around quickly and snatched the pack of cigarettes out of his hands. He looked mildly surprised at the frown on your face.

“Come on,” you said, voice somewhere between annoyance and pleading. “are you really going to poison yourself while I try to patch you up?” Fitting the threat through the needle, you ignored his raised brows and concentrated your attention on the deep cut in his cheek. A damp towel in the other hand, you ran it over the wound to clean it and then leaned in closer. “This might hurt.”

He completely ignored the last part, but you could feel his eyes on you. Damn him, he was just so distracting. “Hm,” he hummed, as if in thought, and ignored your hiss to keep still. “One might almost think you care about me.”

“I do.”

Both you and him looked up in surprise, and you quickly looked away as his eyes stayed on you, almost hungrily. “Hold still,” you murmured, and finally, he complied, allowing you to insert the needle as gently as possible and start to surture the wound. It was almost scary how still he kept now. You desperately wished to break the silence that spread, that followed your words like a blanket of led pressing down upon the both of you. It was only the truth, you cared about him. You cared for him. You cared for Mattheo Riddle. In order to concentrate, you attempted to shut all that out, but the confession hung in the air between you, as impossible to ignore as he himself was.

Finally, you finished the last stitch and tied the suture with a surgeon’s knot off the side so it didn't touch the wound. A small part of you hoped desperately that Mattheo would overlook your slip up, maybe even forget it, but that, of course, was naive. When you put away thread and needle, grabbed the murtlap essence and walked back over to him, he looked up at you without the trace of a smile on his lips. “You care about me,” he repeated, not a question but a statement. His eyes fixed yours as he got a hold of your wrists. “More than you care about him?”

“Who?” you asked, perplexed by the severity in his tone. A hint of displeasure washed over his face, but it gave way to indifference after just a second. “Potter.”

“W- what?” you spluttered out, laughing nervously. How on earth were you supposed to answer that question? “He's my friend,” you said hesitantly and freed your wrists to dab some of the potion onto the tips of your fingers. As you leaned down, you froze mid motion when you felt hands on your waist. His hands on your waist. Large and warm and rough even through the fabric of your nurse uniform. His touch seemed to send sparks of electricity through your body that balled in your stomach and made your breath hitch.

“Go on,” he commanded quietly, and though they were trembling, you brushed your cream-smeared fingers over one of the bruises on his jaw. They travelled up over his cheek, tending to the scratches there, but you could hardly keep your attention on them when his eyes seemed to bore through your skull.

With a low voice, he muttered your name, your first name, and you were so shocked to hear him call you anything but ‘princess’ you did the smallest of double takes. “Is there anything more than that?” he asked, and he seemed more tense than before as his fingers curled into the flesh of your belly lightly. “Between you and him?”

Both the idea and the fact that you'd just been asked it by Mattheo Riddle of all people elicited a shocked little laugh from you. But he didn't laugh, only watched you with an expression that you might have mistaken for indifference if it hadn't been for the clenching of his jaw. “He's just a friend,” you clarified, your cheeks growing warm. “We're not- we've never- It's not like that,” you closed abashedly and put a bit of distance between you under the excuse of getting more murtlap. His hands fell from your waist as you walked over to the opposite bench, heat boiling in your face.

You tried to keep your expression composed as you got back to him to tend to the other side of his face, putting some murtlap over the stitches as well for good measure. This time, he didn't hold your waist, but when you were finished and brushed off the remaining essence on your skirt, he caught the hem between his fingers and his light tug caused you to stumble forwards in between his parted legs. His hand travelled upwards, tracing the curve of your hip without ever touching them and locked around the hem of your Gryffindor hoodie. There was a magnetic sort of darkness in his eyes when he looked up at you, two black holes that threatened to swallow you whole. “Take that off.”

In hindsight, you probably shouldn't ever have complied with his request. But his voice was so soft, his eyes so alluring, his whole being like a siren’s call. So you curled your fingers under your hoodie and, heart beating hard against your ribs, pulled it slowly over your head.

Mattheo's breath hitched as his gaze locked on you. The dim light of the changing room caught the soft outline of your figure beneath the thin, damp fabric, your nurse’s uniform clinging to you like a second skin, innocent in intention, but anything but now. The delicate outline of your bra was visible through the slightly see-through fabric. His throat tightened, a mix of a pang of guilt and a despicable surge of fire curling in his chest like smoke.

You looked so pure, so untouched by the edges of the world that had long since roughened him up. The contrast hit him like a bludger- your soft, careful hands that had just cleaned his wounds now pulling your hoodie over your head, oblivious to the firestorm you'd lit inside him. The urge to discard that Gryffindor hoodie and dress you in one of his jerseys, hiding the sacred sight beneath with a claim of his possession, was so overwhelming he clenched his fists, desperately trying to remind himself that you were not his, you were too good, too-

His train of thought was interrupted when you shifted slightly and folded your arms over your chest, only pressing your boobs together. He dragged his gaze away, but the weight of your unreachable warmth, your white-clad purity, lingered, carving through his battered core and leaving him feeling utterly undeserving.

When he looked away, you recoiled slightly and scolded yourself for thinking, hoping, he might react. But before you could put some distance between you, he looked up at you and his gaze locked you in place, making you freeze just as effectively as a pointed wand might have. Mattheo leaned forward and for a confused moment, you almost thought he was going to kiss you, but he only rose from his seat and walked past you.

Only when you heard shuffling behind you, you realized he was rummaging around your medical supplies. No, not rummaging, you realized when you looked over in alarm. He was cleaning up, packing all bandages and potions back into your bag.

“You don't have to do that!” you called and hastily approached to take the murtlap essence out of his hands. But he kept a firm grip on it and raised his brows at you with a mocking little smile. It seemed so out of place after the heavy tension between you in the room. “Hey, ‘m trying to do something nice here, princess!” With one glance, you assessed that Mattheo wasn't one for neatness, as he didn't assort the items in any order or symmetry whatsoever but merely threw them all into a heap and closed the lid. But still, the gesture was weirdly considerate and you couldn't help the little smile that crept onto your face.

“Thank you,” you smiled and he only nodded, averting his eyes. Right now, with your moist strands of hair sticking out of your nurse cap, your pretty little smile, the way the nurse uniform clung to your body, it was hard to withstand the urge to kiss you. Then again, what if he did? It'd all be over. It was etched into Mattheo by habit that if he got close enough to a girl to get intimate on any physical level, it was time for any strings to be cut loose as to not endanger the fragile balance that was what was left of his heart.

But it had never mattered to him, he'd kissed and fucked them anyway because he could, and it felt good, and then he was relieved when it was over. He’d never before held back. And in favor of what? Spending time in your presence? Pathetic, was what his father would call it. Mattheo couldn't explain it either, he just knew that, in this moment, his desire to be near you, to keep you, was stronger than the desire to rip your damn uniform off of you, explore the soft flesh beneath and give you the time of your fucking life right here on this bench.

You seemed hesitant as you grabbed the handle of your bag, your eyes raking over his torso. Of course, you were too good of a nurse and too smart of a woman to not guess what wounds he had to hide beneath. But for now, you couldn't see them.

“Thank you,” he said honestly, and the unfamiliar sound felt so natural when he said it to you. “For patching me up. Fine nurse you are.” He made no attempts to hide the flirty undertone and the lightest of blushes spread across your cheeks. He breathed it in like a drowning man.

With a barely concealed smirk and a “you're welcome,” you approached the door of the changing rooms.

Something like an iron fist closed around his insides as you opened the door and he couldn't hold back the words that stumbled from his lips. “Wait!” You froze and turned to him once more with an expectant look, and, as if he'd always known it, a stroke of genius found his way out of his mouth. “You know shit about muggles, right?”

A genuine grin formed on your lips. “I should hope so.”

“How ‘bout you tutor me in muggle studies then?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. With a light frown, you crossed your arms over your chest and he gave you a pleading look. “I'm gonna fail the class if I don't get my grades up asap.” Satisfied by the way he could practically see your resolve melt at the look he was giving you, his lips almost twitched but he bit down on it to hide any trace of his true intentions. In truth, he couldn't have cared less about muggle studies, but it was the perfect excuse.

“Fine,” you said, albeit begrudgingly, but you also gave him a little smile as you slipped out of the door, leaving only the vague smell of your perfume and a shaken up Mattheo behind.

Even though you had been apprehensive to the idea at first, tutoring Mattheo turned out to be something you started to look forward to every week. With every tutoring lesson, he seemed to be warming up to you more and more- and you did, too.

A few weeks into december, you found yourself laughing at his jokes and getting caught up in his brown eyes, that seemed softer than you'd ever perceived them. And you discovered that Mattheo was funny. He had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that never failed to make you chuckle, even when you probably shouldn't have. Not only that, but he was also smarter than you'd ever given him credit for.

Previously, you'd thought of him as a mix of brute force and cunning, not unintelligent but thinking more so with his fists. But he was incredibly smart, and you felt not only a growing bond but also fondness in a not-so-platonic way. It also helped that confusion looked simply adorable on him, which was not a word you thought you'd ever apply to Mattheo Riddle.

“So,” he asked in one breath as he plopped down on the seat opposite you in your secluded corner in the library one snowy tuesday evening, “what the fuck is a movie?” Taken aback by his sudden arrival, you did a double take and quickly cleared the desk of your schoolwork to make space for his books and parchment as well. As he spread them out, your eyes got stuck on a few splatters of blood on his white shirt and you frowned. He, of course, didn't miss it, you saw it in the way he shifted his jacket to cover the stains, but didn't mention it further.

“Harry or Ron?” you asked, as you knew him well enough by now to know that the only instance in which he wouldn't brag about his brawls to you was when your friends were involved. He looked almost guilty when he glanced up at you. Almost.

“Both”

Rolling your eyes, you put your books aside and crossed your arms over the table. “So, movies, huh? Where might that word come from, ‘movies’?”

“Come on, princess, you know I hate word definitions,” he whined, resting his head on the propped up palm of his hand and making his best puppy eyes at you.

You chuckled about his behavior and gave a light slap to his forehead that made the curls fall into his eyes in the most irresistible fashion. “It's supposed to come from 'moving pictures’”

“But muggle pictures don't move,” Mattheo frowned, seemingly recalling what you'd taught him just last week.

You nodded. “No, they don't. You see, when muggle pictures move, they don't call them pictures, they call them videos. And they don't move in their own, but because muggles line up an unbelievably high number of pictures and then play them in order, so they look like they're moving. Of course, today, the technology is a little more advanced. But movies often span one if not several hours and they tell stories, like books. It's kind of… as if books came to life. They have a whole range of other means to archived their ends though, like camera perspective, many also have music that can emphasize moments and influence how you see them, actor's performances, lighting-”

You fell silent suddenly and cleared your throat. As so often when you explained muggle concepts to him, you had started to ramble on with increasing passion. Now, you looked back at Mattheo to apologize, but his gaze was locked on you and a light smile graced his lips. Your heart seemed to skip a beat and you quickly averted your eyes down to your book. “Sorry, that was- I'm rambling again.”

“Do you see me complaining?” Mattheo asked with raised brows and kicked your shin lightly under the table to make you look up at him. “So, what's your favorite of these things? These movies?”

“Impossible to answer,” you laughed outright and ran a hand through your hair. “There's so many that are just so good, I could never pick one.” The smile remained in your lips as you contemplated the movies you'd maybe have chosen, but none of them were better or worse than the next.

“So, you like them? Movies?” he asked, watching your features closely. These last weeks, you'd started exposing more of your emotions to him through free expression more than words, had taken down some of the walls you still had left around him. Though he didn't say it out loud, you could tell he appreciated it, because his eyes studied every change of expression rigorously, as though he'd receive everything you gave to him of yourself with insatiable hunger, though he didn't reciprocate them in the same way.

“Yes,” you replied, fiddling with your quill.

There was a slight furrow of his brows when he locked eyes with you. “But they don't exist in our world. So, you'd give them up?”

“Why would I have to give them up?” you countered and leaned back in your seat. “I think the way we talk about the muggle world and the wizarding world is completely wrong. We talk about them as if they are different universes entirely and not part of the same word, the same country. Look at me!” You performed an awkward motion indicating yourself. “I'm part of both, and I don't feel torn, I feel more complete.”

His eyes flickered between yours as he contemplated your words. In the short silence that followed, you glanced around to make sure no one had taken notice of your little outburst. You hadn't told anyone you were tutoring Mattheo, that you were meeting you-know-who’s son two times a week in one of the more secluded corners of the library. Your friends would freak out if they knew, you could picture their aghast expressions, they wouldn't understand that an irresistible force pulled you towards the boy sitting in front of you. How the tutoring lessons had turned into a game of pretend for you, as you tried to hide your growing fondness for him while opening up parts of yourself for him to see. A fragile balance. And whether intentional or not, you'd seen parts of him you'd never known, or maybe you'd heard them through the tone of his voice or the tapping of his hands.

“There are worlds within worlds,” Mattheo broke the silence, and you frowned. His serious look indicated that he wasn't merely talking about the muggle and the wizarding world. You caught his hands tightening ever so slightly around his book and bit down on your lower lip.

“I’d have to disagree. There are just collectives within collectives. If the limits of different worlds are separating us, we can just make it simple and give each other up.”

You'd made it personal, and you scolded yourself silently, glancing up at the clock despite not really seeing the time. Both you and him knew you had slipped up. When talking about issues slightly more serious than movies or superhero comics, which had amused Mattheo greatly, it was a fine line drawn in the sand neither of you could cross, a silent agreement.

The air felt weirdly tense whenever one of you- more often you than him- threatened to bring up the fact that the unmistakable divide between the two of you went far beyond little house quarrels and teasing. That there was a world behind those protective castle walls both of you drowned out whenever you were in each others presence. The clock showed ten past nine.

“Worried that you're going to break curfew again, princess?” God, how you hated yourself for loving the way he said it, that little nickname that you used to despise, and now it was all his.

“No,” you said, tearing your eyes away from the clock and back to him. Nothing in his sharp features indicated that he recognized the tension that had lingered in the air just moments before, but he was too perceptive of a person to have been unaware. It dawned on you that he was probably trying to make you less uncomfortable and nervously tapped your quill against your lips. Mattheo Riddle being considerate was dangerous, because every time he showed his gentle side, it evoked a hunger in you to see more of it.

“You sure?” he asked, a sly, teasing smile resting comfortably on his soft lips. Only now that you found yourself looking at them closer, you realized there was a cut on them, continuously seeping small drops of blood into the corner of his mouth. You suppressed the sudden and utterly mental urge to lean over and wipe it off with your sleeve. It was not the blood that you minded, though. Maybe his craziness was rubbing off on you, because you abruptly thought that you wouldn't mind having his blood on you. Yep, he was definitely rubbing off.

Then, you realized what you were doing, staring at his lips, and fumbled to answer his question. “We still have enough time until curfew, if we leave in half an hour, we'll still have more than enough time to get back to our dorms.” You realized you were babbling on to avoid his heated stare and looked back at him almost defiantly, daring him to tease you for it.

Mattheo didn't take his eyes off you as the corner of his lips quirked upwards lightly. “Look at you, little miss perfect. I'll bet you’ve never broken a single rule in your life before I came along.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Maybe I don't feel the need to.” The ‘unlike you’ lay on the tip of your tongue, but you didn't need to say it out loud.

Mattheo grinned and shifted in his seat, his knee brushing yours under the table. “You're missing out. Breaking the rules is half the fun. The other half is not getting caught.” He watched you bite your lip, trying to conceal a little smile that threatened to creep onto your face. So, he'd been right, you had enjoyed your more risky encounters. Thinking back to the night in the library when you'd fled from madame pince, he remembered the way your breath had hitched when his hand had touched your neck. The way your soft skin had felt against his rough palms, your doe eyes glittering in the dim light.

Suddenly, there was shuffling in the shelf behind you and you shot around, holding your breath. The place you'd chosen for you tutoring lessons was hidden behind the shelf with the twelfth century economical wizarding records and every single tome in it was layered with a centimeter-thick layer of dust that had allocated there over centuries of disinterest. You'd thought it the perfect hiding spot. But after a few seconds of nervous glancing around and your heart racing as you listened into the silence, one of the school’s cats rounded the shelf and passed by you and Mattheo without a glance.

You breathed a sigh of relief who looked back at Mattheo who was watching you closely. “Dangerous, isn't it? Sitting here with me like this.” He twirled his wand around his fingers and leaned forward subtly, the motion alone making you feel as if he was cornering you against the shelf behind your back. “People would start talking.”

“About what?” you said dismissively and rummaged through your notes, just to have something to do with your hands. This tended to happen once you'd strayed from the topic at hand even slightly. Mattheo starting to tease you out of nowhere, and you struggling to keep up with his quickly changing moods that sometimes threatened to give you whiplash.

Mattheo leaned closer still and propped up his chin on his elbow, still wearing a casual grin. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe about how l've completely corrupted you with my evil charms.”

Your sighed with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Tapping your finger against your chin, you rolled around the words in your head before speaking. “You know I'm not treating this as, I don't know, something forbidden. I'm not scared of, how did you put it last week? Ah, yes, tarnishing my reputation. You're-” you hesitated, but then, your words reached out to him like a welcoming hand through cold and unfeeling fog. “You're not as bad as people think, by a far.”

A dry, almost bitter chuckle fell from his lips as he absentmindedly fiddled with the collar of his blood-stained shirt and bit down on the cut of his lip, drawing drops of red from it that trailed down to his chin without hinderance. This time, you couldn't resist the urge and leaned over the desk, extending a hesitant hand. Mattheo froze, not watching your approaching hand but you, but he didn't recoil either, so you wiped the blood from his chin with the hem of your shirt sleeve. The blood stood out prominently against the white of your shirt.

When you drew back your hand, his shot up like an attacking snake and closed around your wrist. With some sort of morbid fascination, it seemed, he stared at the tiny spot of scarlet, before his eyes snapped back up at you. His tone surprised you, you couldn't really place it, it was a mix of softness and chilling intensity. “You really think there's good in everyone, don't you?” he asked, piercing you with his brown eyes that were so unlike those of his father.

“I try to,” you said, attempting to sound humorous, but the chuckle dried on your lips and your voice swayed to softness as you held his gaze. He didn't have to ask, you could see the question burning in his eyes, so loud as if he'd screamed it. And you didn't even need to nod your head to make him understand that the answer was yes.

The winter holidays came and went. The lesson before departure day, he'd told you he'd stay in Hogwarts over Christmas, and you felt tempted to invite him over to yours for a split second before the cruel claws of reality dug into you and you merely wished him happy holidays.

There was a slight unease in you when you boarded the train, as if something was about to go horribly wrong. But when you arrived after the holidays and left the train alongside Harry, Ron and Hermoine, you spotted his shrouded figure in one corner of Hogsmeade train station, a soft curl of smoke rising from his dark profile. For a split second, you'd locked eyes with him and you couldn't help a smile of relief to see him again.

Because both of your friends started asking questions eventually, you often met up after curfew, though you still hushed around the halls nervously any time you did and earned a great deal of teasing from him for your timidity. From time to time, you managed to break into (you preferred the term sneak into) classrooms at night.

These weeks of sneaking around made you masters of discovering hidden chambers in every corner of the castles, and you were particularly careful and made sure Harry ‘forgot’ the marauders map somewhere in the common room or ‘lost’ it and found it again next morning under his bed. Frequently, you met up in the kitchens and you baked while telling Mattheo all about muggle cellphones, that he understood the concept of surprisingly quickly.

On one occasion, you even demonstrated them to him as you pretended to get lost in the sheer blizzard howling around the houses in Hogsmeade to meet him behind Madam Puddifoots and called your parents, fascinating Mattheo. This night, however, Mattheo had discovered a new room behind the entrance hall. The two of you had cozied up with blankets and candles on the couch, keeping a few inches distance at minimum. The dim candlelight was way too ripe for disaster.

“So, let me get this straight,” Mattheo said an hour and a half into your study session. “Muggles have metal, bird-shaped containers with which they can not only fly, but they actually do it.” You laughed at the incredulity in his voice, though a tad bit distracted by the shape of the record sleeve digging into your back. Because Hogwarts castle only had enchanted record players available, you'd asked your parents to send you one of your vintage vinyls you thought he might like, but you were hesitant, had told yourself that you'd just take it in case there was a record player in the chamber Mattheo had discovered. Well, there was.

“I don't really like planes either,” you said, smiling understandingly, “I even prefer brooms over them and you know how I feel about those.”

He hummed vaguely and glanced over at you. “What's got you so shifty, princess?” A sly grin spread over his features. “You got something hidden behind your back, don't you?” Infuriatingly good at reading you, he was, as ever. With a small sigh, you decided that he'd learned enough about muggle transportation for tonight and pulled the record sleeve out from out of your bag.

“Listen up,” you said, excitement and nervousness coiling in your stomach. “Do you remember when I told you about muggle music?” Though Mattheo had undoubtedly been preoccupied with watching your expression shift with passion and your hands gesticulate, drawing patterns into the air, he nodded. “Okay,” you said, nibbling on your lower lip, and held up the vinyl awkwardly. “I thought I might give you a taste of muggle music, only if you want, of course.”

He could tell you were anxious about playing him the track and raised his brows at your humming and hawing and nervously twitching fingers. “What are you waiting for, princess?” The abashed smile you gave him melted him in ways he'd never be caught admitting out loud.

Sometimes it was quite frightening how you made him feel, and more than once, he'd found himself laying awake at night, not only because of his chronic insomnia and returning nightmares but also torn between the reflexive urge to push away you and how you made him feel so utterly disarmed and vulnerable, and the irresistible desire to see you smile again and let your unconditional kindness wash over him, soothing the dark voices in his head.

By now, you'd walked over to the record player and inserted the vinyl. With a tap of your wand, it started spinning and the sounds of a guitar filled the room. The muggle guitarist played a few chords before starting to sing. When you lowered yourself down on the couch, you didn't bother with putting the usual space between the two of you. No, you seated yourself right beside him, so that he could feel the warmth of your body radiating against his like a hug. As the refrain set in, you put your head on his shoulder.

“And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die”

Mattheo froze for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as your head gently shifted against his shoulder. The simple, unspoken gesture of affection sent a rush of warmth through him that was both startling and utterly intoxicating. He glanced down at you, his a dark eyes softening as they traced over the curve of your cheek, accentuated by the flickering candlelight, and your lashes resting light as feathers against your skin. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hesitant at first, afraid to disturb the fragile moment. Slowly, very slowly, his hand shifted, fingers brushing against the fabric of the couch before finding their place beside your arm, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“Take me out tonight

Take me anywhere, I don't care,

I don't care, I don't care”

He felt like one of the mythological figures you'd told him about. Mattheo had scoffed at Icarus' idiocy, but now, he felt like he could understand where he was coming from. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and teasing, betraying none of the blazing storm raging inside him. But even still, it was edged with a sincerity he couldn't quite hide. “Getting comfortable, are we?”

You only shuffled closer in response, but Mattheo had to suppress the urge to pull you in, wrap his arms around you, drag you into his lap for all the pleasure and calm it would give him. He was a selfish creature, but at this moment, he managed to stay perfectly still, safe for his fingers barely brushing over the fabric of your sleeve. Your breathing, having come in small, hasty little puffs before, slowed as you sat in silence, leaning on each other and listening to the lyrics filling up the space in your room you didn't fill with your words, because they would never be sufficient.

“There is a light that never goes out

There is a light that never goes out

There is a light that never goes out”

The song faded into silence and you started to move again. Mattheo hid his disappointment when you stood up from the couch to walk over to the record player. As you put the vinyl back into its sleeve, you turned back to him and for a few seconds, you merely watched each other in silence. Then, Mattheo rose as well and handed you your bag, that you took without looking at it.

Could it be that you felt the same reluctance to leave this room as he did? But you had to, his gaze flickered to the clock. Other than him, you had the chance to get some sleep tonight. So he threw one quick glance around the room, the floating candles, the sleeping portraits, the empty couch, leaned down to your level and pressed the lightest of kisses to your cheek. It was warm and soft under his lips, and he could hear your breath hitch in your throat. Damn little minx you were.

“Good night,” you said, quietly, and he returned your smile before opening the door for you, the feeling of your skin against his still lingering on his lips.

Maybe you both should have known it was going a bit too well. Maybe you'd become too self-assured in your nightly adventures. In any case, neither of you had caught the portrayed woman in the frame above the couch watching you through half-closed eyes, feigning sleep. As you closed the door behind you, she rose from her false slumber with a dirty secret in her hands- and a burning desire to spread it around the castle.

taglist: @aespaslut @kricketwritesstories @catching-fire-in-the-wind @a-little-funny @thejediprincess56 @polireader @voidangxls @artsyle @nkvgt @ashrocker123 @chimchoom @onlytenkos @yvonne-dump @alwayslatetothefandoms @ravisinghs-wife @eneywey @viylikecats @darksss5516 @cocosparkel @stereading @helendeath

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle series #mattheo imagine #mattheo fluff #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo angst #mattheo

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cupidkenji · 3 days ago

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could u feed us with some nam-gyu headcanons... :3

I absolutely can, anon. I would love to 🫡

I made this about namgyu from my last post but it can definitely be read as a standalone

miscellaneous things about SD!namgyu from when you were still together (afab reader)

bf!namgyu who, as cliche as it may be, absolutely says something like “don’t run from me, honey” when you start squirming or pushing at his chest to get a break. Shushing you with a quiet “you can take it”

bf!namgyu who is constantly messing with the hem of your clothes. It’s not even a sexual thing necessarily, he just likes the way the thread feels. If you’re lying down, he’ll hold the neckline of your shirt and rub the fabric between his fingertips. Sometimes, he’ll slip underneath your shirt and go for the waistline of your pants, folding it down slightly and caressing the stitching. It’s just relaxing for him.

bf!namgyu who forces eye contact no matter the situation. Sometimes you find even causal conversations nerve racking because of how intently he focuses on you. There’s nothing he loves more than holding your chin and making you look at him when he pushes in, watching the dilation of your pupils or the way they water slightly. Will mumble “no, look at me, c’mon” if you close your eyes and won’t let you cum if you don’t open them.

bf!namgyu who gets so hard when you’re angry. Either at him or something else, the way you look when you’re mad is one of his biggest propellants. He goes fucking feral for it and it makes him desperate to fuck it out of you.

bf!namgyu who, similar to anger, loves to see you cry. Not so much to the point of being purposefully cruel just to draw it out, but when it happens he is thrilled about it. He likes to edge you because of this, deny you so much that tears are about to spill over and your lips are quivering. He’ll taunt you about it too, chuckling and uttering “you gonna cry, honey?” Apologizing when he still doesn’t let you cum and telling you that he just can’t help it, your eyes are so pretty when you cry.

bf!namgyu who gets harsher when he’s high. His hips hit yours harder as he gets as deep as he can. Still slow and methodical as he always is, but noticeably hostile. His words border on insulting in those times, a dizzying combination of ownership and degradation, all while droning on about how perfect you are. “You like it when i’m mean, huh?” He talks all condescending and quiet. “Dumb baby. Look how wet you are.”

bf!namgyu who definitely likes holding you down. Doesn’t really matter how. He’ll hold your arms or legs down a lot especially when overstimulating you. He likes the feeling even more if you’re struggling against it. He definitely thinks about asking you to be a full rope bunny. He just thinks you’d look so pretty in rope. One of the things he jerks off to the most.

#nam gyu x reader #nam gyu smut #squid game smut #cupid:NG #x reader #x reader smut #nam gyu #namgyu #namgyu x reader #namgyu smut #squid game x reader #x chubby reader #x fat reader #smut #squid game fanfiction

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that-one-anxious-mango · 3 days ago

Text

sweet negotiations

summary: terry finds himself in a series of negotiations and comforts with his wife after a key asset in their home is compromised.

pairing: terry richmond x black reader (Dallas)

content: fluff, allusions to nsfw acts, some mild crying (hormones)

a/n: hello there and welcome! after looking for some more fluffy terry fics and almost crashing out when I couldn't find them, I decided to just start writing some that will all take place in the same universe titled ' thunder and lightning', which will follow you, terry, and the antics of domestic and kinky married life. this is the first of many to come. so enjoy, like, comment, and reblog :)

" I said no." Terry, his voice soft and tired, sounded off the freshly painted sage green walls of nursery, “ Now, stop pouting and hand me the second screwdriver on the chair, please.”

But instead of moving to fulfil his request, you stay planted in your spot by the door, still pouting, possibly harder now as you looked down to inform your companion of the mistreatment.

“ You hear that, muffin? You hear how Daddy is being mean to us.” You playfully patted at your swollen stomach, while being sure to throw your husband an extra pouty expression—bottom lip puckered and all. “ Why won’t he be nice and feed us, huh?”

In this moment of time you were about five months pregnant with yours and Terry's third child. And while he absolutely adored seeing you like this, barefoot, in one of his old band shirts and low shorts, with a scarf on your head, and thick bifocals sitting neatly at the bridge of your nose as carried his baby. He could do without the sullen expression on your face as an accessory.

“ Baby, ain’t nobody being mean to you by telling you that you can’t have a half a pint of ice cream for breakfast.” Terry's eyes glance at you, before turning his attention back to the half done wooden crib he was working on. “ Now, if you want me to make you some eggs, toast, or oatmeal. I will. But you ain’t having that this early in the morning.”

“ If at all today. Need to watch what you’re eating more carefully, Mama.” He reminded you. “ Remember what Dr. Kaltura said about watching excess sugar and salt intake. This is serious.”

Quickly the words of your OB flashed through your brain after it had been found that your blood sugar had been a tad higher than she’d liked, a fate that had carried on from your previous pregnancy with your twins into this one.

And of course the minute your husband had caught wind of this, he had come out of retirement from the sugar task force as he now micromanaged and policed every and all things you consumed for the foreseeable future.

“ But Terryyyy.” You whined, “ That’s what both of us want, Poppa.”

Still despite your efforts, he wouldn’t budge.

“No. She doesn’t want that. You do’.” He pointed out, getting up to grab his needed tool,“ Besides, there isn’t anymore anyway.”

“ Yes, he absolutely does. “ You slyly corrected your husband’s wishful thinking, “ And what do you mean there isn’t anymore? Did you throw out my ice cream, Richmond?! Cause I would absolutely hope that’s not what you’re insinuating.”

He sighed, noting the way your eyes turned wild at the thought of your husband touching your beloved sweet treat.

He knew better.

Cause that would be too far and he knew it.

“ No, ma’am.” He simply said, moving back to his work, “ Not this Richmond.”

“ However, our dear Teensy Richmond may have eaten the rest of it last night after dinner for dessert when you went upstairs to take your bath.” He referred to one your soundly sleeping six year old daughters just down the hall.

Immediately a frown found a home on your face as you said, “ Wha—I thought I left out pieces of the pecan pie for ya’ll to have. Why were there cute tiny little grubby hands on my ice cream, Poppa?!!”

You huffed, recalling how you had distinctively cut and plated three different pieces of a pecan pie, one large and two small, for your little family to consume after a delicious dinner of lamb chops and smothered potatoes with smoked asparagus.

“ You did.” He confirmed your thoughts , “ But our baby requested to have her pie…a la mode. Which meant a scoop of some of your rocky road was needed as that was the only ice cream left in the freezer.”

“ And as you know, our Tiny Richmond isn’t too fond of rocky road. So she had hers plain jane with glass of milk.” He furthered his explanation.

And although you wanted to be mad at your baby’s little sweet tooth, you couldn’t be, because she got it honest. Still you couldn’t shake off this strange and sudden feeling of…well sadness…that coursed through your body at the thought of the empty ice cream container sitting downstairs in the garbage.

“ Yeah, but if you only gave Teensy a scoop of it. And Tiny didn’t have any, there should be some left.” You tried rationalizing in the same manner of if Johnny had two apples…

Until it came to you, “ Unless…”

You looked to him and as if he could really read your thoughts, he held a sheepish expression on his face, as he knew what was next to come, “Terrance seriously?!” You hadn’t meant to, but you stamped your feet lightly against the shiny hardwood floor. “ I can’t believe your big eared ass ate my ice cream.”

And just like that your brief moment of sadness has morphed into hormone filled rage.

To which your husband found oddly adorable doing his best to keep a smile off his face, remorse riddled in his tone when he said, “ I’m sorry, Precious. She didn’t wanna eat alone. And since Tiny wasn’t going to have any, I may have had a scoop…or two myself to help finish it off. But it’s okay. We can get more at the store later.” He reasoned, screwing in nut B to pole B.

By now he was expecting his thunderous woman of a wife to do what she does best, which is make noise about the fact that the rest of her brood ate the ‘ one damn thing the baby allows her to keep down’, but instead he was surprised to look over and see you standing there silent—with tears collecting just at the edge of your waterline. Frown deep. Shoulders slumped.

“ Baby….” He called out in a knowing tone, looking at the way your mouth had slightly turned down and your arms had wrapped around your body, “ C’mon now, Precious. It’s alright. ”

But almost as if it was the release words for your tears, you quickly found your fingertips becoming increasingly wet from wiping the streams away from your cheeks as you began to head toward the door. Slightly embarrassed at your lactose driven waterworks.

Getting up with a sigh, he wasted no time making his way over to you, big hands coming to cup your waist and guide you over to the creme rocking chair, moving all the tools on it to the floor.

It didn’t take long for him to sit and guide you on his lap, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while a calloused hand came to rub against the damp soft apple of your cheek.

“ C’mere, pretty baby.” He pecked your lips, tasting the salt of your tears, “ You know I don’t like it when my woman is unhappy. Especially when you’re crying.”

“ I just can’t help it.” You mutter, partially frustrated with your inability to get a hard grasp on your emotions. “ I just really wanted it. And I mean I know it’s not that serious enough for me to be crying over. And it may seem dramatic but- ”

“ But it made you upset and that’s okay. You don’t have to explain or try and justify you wanting to cry to me, Baby. It’s fine.” He affirmed, a hand coming to rub at your belly, “ I know this one has those emotions a tad high, and I’m sure Teensy and I blowing up your ice cream stash ain’t helping.”

A smile fainting at your lips, at the thought of your husband and daughters sitting at the dining room table, talking and laughing over their late night dessert.

“ So once the twins wake up and we have breakfast we can all take a family trip to the store and grab some more, alright?” He said.

“ Mmm. And some more Oreos? And Miss Vickie’s Jalapeño?” You rubbed your eyes before looking at him intently, a smirk playing on his face, “ Ya’ know for the pain and suffering caused.”

“ Hmm. I see.” A hand traveling to your thigh, “ Well for your pain and suffering I am willing to offer you a pint…not a a half baby…but a full pint of rocky road, with a bag of the chips.”

“ Mmm. But what about my Oreos.” You mused.

He shook his head, “ Nope. Not on the table, beloved. Too much sugar.”

“ Mmm. I dunno. Doesn’t sound fair. I mean I already was owed the ice cream. And while the chips are a good gesture of faith. I feel I deserve more for this indiscretion.”

He was silent, still smiling at the determination in your filled out cheeks when he said, “ Fine. Counter offer. Pint of the rocky road, bag of chips, and I’ll throw in a bubble bath and personal back massage from yours truly after dinner.” Your breath hitched, feeling a hand slip underneath your bottom to palm the bit of exposed skin you had peeking from under your night shorts.

“ Just for the record. What kind of massage would this be? ” You coyly inquired, knowing full well what kind he meant.

He moved his mouth to your ear, “ One with a guaranteed happy ending. For us both it seems.”

And how could you deny that?

“ Fine. I accept your counter offer with the added addition that oil will be used for my massage.”

“ Of course m’am. No other way I’d do it.” He assured, rubbing circles in your thighs.

“ Good.” You said.

“ Great.” He one upped, “ Now, how should we close this deal? I say with a kiss.”

“ Mmm. “ You hummed, “ I dunno. I think I may need more than a kiss to seal it. And I also think we may need to try out and see how sturdy this chair is. Ya’ know for safety reasons.”

“ And do you suggest we do that?” His voice low.

“ I dunno.” Your lips find his cheek then his ear, “ We’re already seeing how much weight it can hold, but I wonder how much…rocking or bouncing it can take.”

“ Right, safety reasons.” He mumbled across the skin of your neck, “ Well if that’s the case then—”

“ Poppa? Mommy? ” The little voice called out from the hallway.

“ WHERE ARE YOU?!” Another yelled, ceasing both yours and Terry’s movements completely , and instead invoked laughter amongst the two of you as he helped you climb off of him and shuffle to the door to collect your late night little ice cream bandit and morning hallway screamer.

#tal #terry richmond #Terry Richmond imagine #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre

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aventurineswife · 17 hours ago

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Reader has been away visiting their family members who happen to live in a different country (Modern au?). The visit was quite long, lasting for almost a month. They obviously kept in touch with their partner, sending them messages daily. Calling daily, and even fave timing and showing them what they were doing. But that didn't make the distance any harder. They missed their partners terribly and couldn't wait to be back with them. So imagine the surprise of their partner when the reader finally came back and earlier than the time they gave. That deserves a special kind of celebration, no? (Suggestive?) (Dang heng since you went crazy for him yesterday, Aventurine, Veritas, and Kaveh together, and you pick the last character!)

“Though Miles Apart, Our Hearts Were Always One”

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader x Ratio, Modern AU, Fluff, Romance, Reunion, Long-Distance Relationship, Suggestive Content, Emotional Intimacy, Established Relationship, Surprise Visit, Mild Angst (Missing Each Other), Humor (Light-Hearted Moments).

Warnings: Suggestive Themes (nothing explicit, but implied intimacy), Mild Emotional Angst (due to separation/missing their partner), Mention of alcohol (for Aventurine), Brief Depiction of Personal Insecurities(?).

A/N: SHHHH!! 🤭 I wish I could write smut...🧍‍♀️😪 Oh well

The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of rain against the windowpanes of Dan Heng's apartment. He sat in his room, surrounded by the comforting stillness he often sought after long days. His phone rested on the desk beside him, displaying your last message: "I’ll be home in a few days. Can’t wait to see you again, my love."

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. Even though you had kept in touch with daily calls and messages, the physical absence weighed heavily on him. He missed your presence—the way you brought warmth and light into his world. He didn’t like to admit how often he lingered on your texts, scrolling through your photos, cherishing the sound of your voice in his memory.

The front door creaked open. Dan Heng froze. No one else had a key to his apartment. His heart quickened as footsteps echoed in the hallway.

And then he saw you, standing there, soaked from the rain but glowing with excitement. “I’m home,” you said softly.

Dan Heng stood abruptly, his usual composed demeanor slipping as he strode toward you. He stopped just short of touching you, as if afraid this was a dream.

“You’re early,” he murmured, his voice low.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” you admitted, stepping closer.

That was all it took. Dan Heng pulled you into his arms, his spear-like restraint shattered. He buried his face in your shoulder, his grip firm but tender.

“You should’ve called,” he said softly, his breath warm against your skin.

“Wouldn’t have been a surprise then, would it?” you teased.

Dan Heng chuckled lightly—a sound you’d missed more than you realized. His hands slipped to your waist, his touch growing bolder as his lips found yours in a kiss that was all-consuming, filled with the longing of weeks apart.

The night stretched on as he showed you just how much he’d missed you, his usually reserved nature giving way to passion and tenderness in equal measure.

Aventurine lounged in his private suite, a glass of fine whiskey in one hand, his other idly twirling a poker chip. The city skyline stretched out before him, glittering like a sea of stars. His mind, however, wasn’t on his game or his drink—it was on you.

He sighed dramatically, tossing the poker chip onto the table. “What’s the point of winning if I can’t share it with my favorite lucky charm?” he muttered. Your daily calls had kept him sane during your trip, but they weren’t enough. He craved your presence, your laughter, the way you teased him for his flamboyance.

A knock on the door broke his reverie. Aventurine frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Rising with a lazy grace, he crossed the room and opened the door.

There you were, grinning like a gambler who’d just hit the jackpot.

“Surprise!” you said, throwing your arms around him.

Aventurine laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Darling, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” he teased, pulling you inside. “Do you know how dull life has been without you? My games have been off, my drinks less sweet. But now…”

He spun you around, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Now, I think it’s time we celebrated properly.”

Before you could reply, he swept you into his arms, carrying you toward the plush couch. His kisses were slow and deliberate, each one more intoxicating than the last.

“You’re not leaving me again anytime soon, are you?” he murmured against your lips.

“Not a chance,” you promised, tangling your fingers in his hair.

The shared apartment was unusually quiet. Ratio sat in the library, a book in hand, while Kaveh paced the living room, grumbling about a design flaw in one of his projects. Despite their contrasting personalities, they had settled into a comfortable rhythm during your absence. Still, both men missed you dearly, their days feeling incomplete without your presence.

Kaveh sighed, flopping onto the couch. “Do you think they’ll call tonight?”

“They always do,” Ratio replied without looking up from his book.

But tonight, your call never came. Instead, the door creaked open.

Kaveh was the first to notice, his eyes widening in surprise. “Wait… is that—”

“Miss me?” you asked, stepping into the room with a grin.

Ratio’s book snapped shut as he stood, his eyes sharp with disbelief. “You’re early,” he said, his tone calm but his expression betraying his excitement.

Kaveh was less composed, rushing forward to sweep you into a tight hug. “You have no idea how much we missed you!”

Ratio joined a moment later, his touch more reserved but no less meaningful. “You should’ve informed us. We would’ve prepared something special.”

“This is better,” you said, pulling them both close.

Kaveh chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to improvise.”

The night that followed was a mix of laughter, teasing, and tender moments. Kaveh’s kisses were fervent and emotional, while Ratio’s were measured and intense, each touch and glance revealing how much they had missed you. Together, they made sure you felt the depth of their love, the three of you reunited in a harmony that needed no words.

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probablysimpledreams · 2 days ago

Text

Another Chance (Dabi x reader)

a/n: grrrr all I can think about is Touya I just love him so so much!!! His ending and the entire LOV's endings still have me so :( and I've been imagining what it would look like if they all survived the war and got to live. Which led me to write up this fic where the reader was dating Dabi pre-war and didn't know he survived until Shoto sought you out and allow y'all to reunite!!! There's a hint of angst but overall it's very cutey because Touya deserves all the love!!!

wc: 1017

"I've killed over 30 innocent civilians. The firstborn of the Todoroki family. I am going to tell you all why I committed these heinous crimes."

Despite the words leaving the villain's mouth, you couldn't help but smile softly as you rewatched Dabi's reveal video for the fifth time. Work was slow and you were missing him a little more than usual today. Besides, it really was all you had left of him.

It had been almost three months since the war between heroes and villains went down, completely changing the world you once knew. This meant it was coming up on three months since you last saw your lover. Since the night he broke up with you, saying his time in this world was up and you should move forward. Without him.

"Excuse me," a young man says as he approaches the front desk you're seated behind. His voice snaps you out of your spiraling heartbroken thoughts. You take a deep breath, pulling yourself together and throwing on your customer service face. "Are you ______?"

"I am. How can I help you today?"

"My name is Shoto Todoroki." Your stomach drops. "Do you have a minute to talk?"

-----------------------------

For the first time in months, the week flew by. Today was finally the day you were going to reunited with Dabi. As excited as you were, anxiety was growing more and more inside your head. What if he didn't actually want to see you? What if you only make things harder for him? He was already suffering so much, maybe it would be better if you just went home and never came back and-

"He's going to be happy to see you." Shoto smiles as he places a hand on your shakey shoulder, breaking silence in the waiting room where you sat with his siblings and mother, all waiting for Touya to wake up from his nap.

"Yeah the idiot has been saying your name like every other day," Natsuo chimes in with a wide grin. "Still can't believe out of all his secrets, he had a gorgeous partner this whole time. You sure you're not some spy or something?" Fuyumi slaps his shoulder, shooting you an apologetic look before the two bicker. You chuckle at the sight, feeling your anxiety go down. You never imagined Dabi would have come from such a lively family.

"He's awake," a nurse approaches your group. You stand up with his siblings, Rei smiling softly at everyone before you all walk into his hospital room.

"Touya-nii," Shoto is the first to speak upon entering the room. "You have a guest."

"Yeah well fuck off," he grumbles, closing his eyes again despite just waking up.

"Well you heard him ______, guess we should head then," Natsuo teased loudly. Touya's eyes widen at hearing this, sitting up on the bed as his eyes scanned the room, landing on you with a shocked expression.

"________?" he asked in disbelief that you were standing here in front of him. Fuyumi and Natsuo snicker hearing his heart monitor rapidly beat, causing Touya to throw up a middle finger their way before returning his focus on you. You stood awkwardly as he sat awkwardly, unsure what to do next.

"Let's give them some privacy, yeah?" Fuyumi grabs Shoto and Natsuo before heading out the room, closing the door behind her. The silence persists until you speak up.

"Is it okay if I sit?" you ask, pointing to a spot on the large hospital bed. The size of the bed and private room must be a perk that comes with the Number One Hero's money paying for your medical bills. He nods, shakey bandaged hands smoothing out the bedsheets before you take a seat with him. "So Dabi-"

"Touya," he cuts you off. "You can call me Touya. At this point Dabi is gone." He sounded so nervous as he spoke it made your heart ache.

"Okay," you respond. "So Touya," you giggle upon hearing his heart rate monitor speed up again after saying his name. You take a shakey deep breath, collecting your thoughts. There was so much you wanted to say to him. You wanted to yell at him for leaving you. You wanted to cry, thanking the heavens and earth he was still alive. You wanted to make him promise he'd never do this to you again. Yet every time you went to open your mouth, no words would leave. Touya took notice to the conflicting emotions on your face each time you went to speak, the heavy weight of guilt tugging at his heart.

"I-I'm so sorry....." his words were quiet and it sounded like he was about to cry. He doesn't expect you to forgive me. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if you didn't love him anymore. His heart sank as he heard muffled sobs leaving your mouth. He couldn't look at you.

"Can we start over?" you smile as he finally meets your teary eyes. His bandaged hand reaches to cup your face, thumb rubbing away the tears that have fallen from your eyes. He felt didn't deserve another chance at life like this, but god he wanted it more than anything. This time it wasn't because of hatred or spite. No he wanted to live out of love. Out of love for his siblings. For his mother. For you. Especially for you.

"Yeah, I'd like that," his voice is shakey as he speaks. He feels insanely nervous as he asks his next question, as if it's the first time he's ever asked you this. "C-can I kiss you?"

"Please." You don't care how desperate you sound in your answer. You needed him to know how you've been longing for him all this time, how he hadn't left your thoughts once since the last night you saw him. He pulls you into a sweet, gentle kiss. His lips are more burnt than the last time you shared a kiss, but it doesn't matter. He still tastes the same. He's still the same man you love. And this time, neither of you were going to let the other get away.

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mysteryshoptls · 10 hours ago

Text

SSR Jack Howl - New Year's Attire Vignette

"That's how it should be."

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 1 on the job

Jack: There's a ton of people here just for the New Year's sale. I gotta put my all into this.

Jack: Based on the shift schedule… Right now, Malleus-senpai and Jamil-senpai on the other team are doing ＴＡＫＯＡＧＥ battles.

Jack: Floyd-senpai's on the floor and register. I got stocking duty.

Jack: Everything keeps flyin' off the shelves faster than I can get 'em up, so I feel like I'm not getting any breaks, but…

Jack: If there's one thing I'm good at, it's breaking a sweat. I'll set up everything up all at once as my warming-up exercise!!

Jack: I guess I'll start with fixin' up the stationary corner. I'll just pick up this box filled with that stuff, and…

Jack: Notepads, quills, ink jars… All re-stocked. Nice! That should be good enough for the stationary corner.

Jack: Guess I'll do the clothing section next. I'll go grab the stock from the backyard…

Floyd: Ah, found ya, Sea Urchin-chaaan. I was lookin' for ya～

Jack: Floyd…-senpai. You need something?

Floyd: I'm handin' this customer off to ya.

Heartslabyul Student: I wanted to try buying some protein shakes to drink after muscle training, but I don't really get the difference between whey and soy.

Floyd: 'S what he's sayin', and I don't know nothing about muscle training, since I'm not into it, soooo. Plus, I'm getting tired of lookin' after customers～

Floyd: You're all about that training stuff, right, Sea Urchin-chan? Sooo I'll leave ya to it.

Jack: I REFUSE.

Floyd/Heartslabyul Student: Huh? / Eh?

Jack: Don't "Huh?" me. I've been tasked with restocking. Dealing with customers is your gig right now.

Jack: I don't care if you don't know anything about it, or are bored, or whatever. You do whatever was assigned to you. That's how it should be.

Floyd: Ehhh, but I don't wanna help customers anymore.

Floyd: If Sea Urchin-chan's not gonna help, then just run along and pick out whatever, I guess～

[Floyd leaves]

Heartslabyul Student: Eh? Pick out whatever…? C'mon, I came all the way to the store, here…

Jack: Whew, closing time, finally… I was using every muscle in my body, so my whole body just feels stiff.

Sam: Good job, my little doggy imp. How did the work suit you?

Jack: It was just the first day, but I definitely feel like I succeeded in doing everything I was assigned.

Sam: Nyeheehee, a reliable kid.

Sam: Only… If I were to compare you to the horned imp's team, I'd say your vibes are a little off.

Jack: Huh, vibes? A little off? What does that…

Sam: Well then, I'm counting on you tomorrow, too.

Jack: Wait, Sam-san!

Jack: My vibes are off…? I don't get it, was he saying that my work wasn't as good as the other team's work?

Jack: What did I do wrong? I definitely did everything I was supposed to do…

Jack: …Nope, I can't think of anything.

Jack: It's no use to just drown in my thoughts like this. I'll go for a run and try to clear my head.

[Sports Field]

Jack: Whew. As usual, I really like running in the crisp winter air, it helps clear my head.

Jack: …But I still don't get what was wrong with what I did…

Track & Field Club Member A: Hooray! My time got better since last time!

Track & Field Club Member B: See? Just like I said would happen, right? I told you this form's better to run in!

Track & Field Club Member A: Yeah… Now I'm really looking forward to the next meet. Let's get back to it after taking a quick break!

Jack: Hm…? Those guys are in the Track & Field club. And I'm pretty sure the next event's a marathon.

Jack: Hmph. Training together, huh. Listen to 'em acting all friendly with each other.

Jack: Well, it's true that practicing's the only way to get any better. So I need to make sure I work even harder tomorrow compared to today.

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 2 on the job

Jack: I re-stocked, helped customers, and did my fair share of battles… I definitely worked twice as hard today as I did yesterday! My muscles got a crazy good workout!

Sam: Hey, doggy imp! It's break time, so make sure you rest up.

Jack: Sam-san! Thank you.

Jack: I know I did real good today. Uhh… And I think I had enough of that… what was it again…? Vibes!

Sam: Nyeheehee… You really think so? It didn't really look all that different from yesterday, to me.

Jack: HUH…!?

Jack: But I worked so hard… And there wasn't any difference from yesterday? Why's that?

Jack: Ugh, at this rate, I can say bye to that special bonus… What does that other team got that I don’t?

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: Ugh, at this rate, I can say bye to that special bonus… What does that other team got that I don’t?

[Beside Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: …......

Jamil: Oh, Jack. Are you on break? Good work out there.

Jack: Jamil-senpai, Malleus-senpai… You as well.

Malleus: What is wrong? You seem to be rather fatigued.

Malleus: I think we may sweep the special bonus if you continue in your present condition.

Jack: …Dammit, I can't even argue back, after what Sam-san said to me.

Jack: You guys look like you're doing fine enough.

Jamil: Well, yeah.

Jamil: But everything is all thanks to Malleus-senpai! I'm very thankful.

Malleus: Heh. A modest comment, Viper.

Malleus: After all, I am simply standing in front of the customers when you instruct me.

Malleus: ...Because that seems to make your life easier, does it not?

Jamil: E-Easier…? Hahaha.

Jamil: I just said that because whenever we do that, even the rowdiest customer seems to quiet down. I just presumed that we needed the right man for the right job…

Malleus: No need to explain. It is a fact that I am not accustomed to customer service. I will gladly follow your tutelage.

Malleus: You would do well to continue to make use of my presence.

Jack: Somehow I'm even starting to feel the pressure now… Ah, I need to head back work.

Malleus: Understood. Another time, Howl.

Jack: …Man… I feel like I don't see Floyd-senpai at all while we're on the floor,

Jack: But somehow those two are getting all chummy. …Oh! Wait…

Jack: Is this what Sam-san meant by "vibes"…?

Jack: Am I supposed to work together with Floyd-senpai like they do?

Jack: …No way, that'd be impossible! He's a moody guy, who knows how he'll act at any given moment.

Jack: Besides, I don't care who it is, I ain't gettin' all chummy with anyone!

Jack: Winning only matters if you can get it yourself. What's even the use of getting someone else's help to secure a victory?

Jack: But…

[FLASHBACK]

Sam: It didn't really look all that different from yesterday, to me.

Jack: …He did say that I hadn't improved at all from the day before, even though I know I worked even harder.

Jack: At this rate, I'll just be stuck walking in place. And above all…

Jack: I DEFINITELY DON'T WANT TO LOSE TO THE OTHER TEAM WITHOUT TRYING EVERYTHING!

Jack: I have to be able to do something by myself…!

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: Next customer.

[beep]

Jack: That'll be 800 Madol [8 Thaumarks]. Thanks.

Jack: Whew, finally the line for checkout's winding down. I should replace the receipt paper while I can…

Floyd: Ehhh, you want a new pair of running shoes to kick off the new year～?

Floyd: I know tons about designer and brand-name shoes, but I don't know nothin' about running shoes.

Floyd: Soooo, you should just give up on those and find some other shoes to buy.

Jack: …Looks like Floyd-senpai is working in the shoes section. I see he's not taking it seriously, like usual.

Jack: Urgh… I guess I should go and…

Floyd: What, you want some kind of recommendation since you came all this way to buy some running shoes?

Floyd: I mean, sure, we got a guy who'd know that kinda stuff working here, but he's working the register right now, so I doubt he'll help you or nothin'.

Floyd: That dude's suuuuper hard-headed and stubborn and totally inflexible, so.

Jack: …Hey, that's not me you're talking about, is it?

Floyd: Oh hey, speak of the devil. What brings the cashier to our neck of the woods?

Jack: I heard you talking about running shoes… So I thought I'd suggest something.

Floyd: Eh, seriously? You?

Jack: …Yeah.

Floyd: Nice, lucky me. If you're gonna attend to the customer, I'm gonna go on break, then.

Jack: Huh? A break? What're you talking about, get some other work done in the meantime.

Floyd: I don't have nothin' else to do, I'm already done with cleaning and re-stocking. And manning the register was your job, so.

Floyd: Orrr… What, you want my help, or somethin'? Suuuure, I'll totally do it for ya～ If. You. Beg. Me. To. ♡

Jack: NO WAY I'D WANT YOUR HELP! WHO'D BEG YOU FOR ANYTHING!?

Jack: Stop messing with me… Whatever, go on your break, whatever you want. I don't need your help at all!

Floyd: Is that so? Dang, Sea Urchin-chan, you're a boss, running the register and helping customers out all at once～ Mmkay, I'm gonna leave it all to ya then.

[Floyd leaves]

Jack: And hey! You're coming with me! I'll give you my recommendations while I work the register, so you need to stand close enough to hear it!

Scarabia Student: Man, this guy is so restless… At this rate, I shoulda just gone and picked something out myself…

[Sports Field]

Jack: [pant, pant]… AAAAAARGH! EVEN RUNNING'S NOT CLEARING MY MOOD!!

Jack: Sayin' he'll "help" me, or whatever. I swear he just says that to get on my nerves.

Jack: I get that I gotta take this gig seriously, but there's no way I'm gonna get dragged down to his pace… Hm?

Track & Field Club Member A: Geeeeez～～! That guy seriously pisses me off! Why's he gotta keep nagging me about my form each time!?

Jack: Isn't that one of the guys who was training for the marathon the other day?

Jack: Is he just finishing up his club activities? I don't see his partner from the other day… And he seems pretty frustrated.

Track & Field Club Member A: Juuuuust 'cause he's got a little more experience in running marathons doesn't mean he can look down on me like that.

Track & Field Club Member A: I thought if I just saddled up with a guy that had way more experience, I'd be able to participate in the huge meet coming up, but I'm reaching the end of my patience…

Track & Field Club Member A: He gets all snooty every time I mess up even a tiny bit! I'm seriously gonna explode…!

Jack: …Hey, woah. Wasn't he the one saying "my time got better!" last time?

Jack: They were all buddy-buddy, but he's just mouthing off now. Sounds like they were a terrible combo.

Jack: Hah. How stupid.

Track & Field Club Member A: I've already gone through so much for this. I'm gonna do whatever I can to reach my goal…!

Jack: …......

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 3 on the job

Diasomnia Student: Hey! When I dropped this plate I bought from you guys yesterday, it broke. I bet it was already cracked to begin with, wasn't it!?

Jack: HUH? DON'T BE STUP…!

Jack: …Ah, I mean, I understand. Please wait one moment.

Jack: Um. Floyd…-senpai.

Floyd: What? I'm in a pretty bad mood right now, since I gotta carry all these heavy things.

Jack: …Uhh… So, uh, can I ask… Can I ask you to help resolve a problem with a customer… Please?

Floyd: Huh?

Floyd: …What's going on, Sea Urchin-chan? You're acting pretty docile today.

Floyd: Didja eat something bad? Or didja just come cryin' to me since you can't figure out how to stop the argument on your own?

Jack: Grrrrr….!

Jack: …[breathes in, breathes out]

Jack: …Yeah. I know you're definitely better suited to deal with complaints like that. So, I'm… begging you.

Floyd: Uh-huuuh… Man, you really are being a good boy today, huh, Sea Urchin-chan.

Floyd: Well, mmkay then. I was just feelin' like I needed to let off some steam, anyway.

Floyd: So, I'll work with the customers instead now. You go and do the stuff I was doing, then.

Jack: …Got it. That'll probably be better in the long run, anyway. Thanks.

Jack: …Whew! Somehow I was able to get through that…!

Malleus: Oh, well, that was surprising. You seem to be doing much better than you were prior.

Jack: Eh!? Ack, Malleus-senpai and Jamil-senpai… Did you see that just now?

Jamil: Looks like you and Floyd are actually working better together as a team now.

Jack: WE AIN'T A TEAM!!

Jack: I was just… using Floyd-senpai!

Jamil/Malleus: USING?

Jack: So, the other day, I saw a few guys from the Track & Field club training for a marathon.

Jack: It looked like they were getting along pretty well, with one guy listening to the other's advice on changing up his form…

Jack: But once the guy who was getting the advice was all alone, he just started harping on and on about the other guy.

Jamil/Malleus: NOT SURPRISING.

Jack: When I saw that, at first, I just thought he was a spineless coward to talk about the other guy behind his back.

Jack: But as I watched him do whatever it took to try and achieve victory… I started to think about how I was going about things wrong.

Jack: I ain't doing what he says because I'm a coward, or whatever. I'm just using his strengths to snag my own victory.

Jack: You two are doing the same, right? You're using each other to bring out the best in each other.

Jack: So am I. There's no way I'd ever want to work with Floyd-senpai for any reason, but to win, I'll do what it takes.

Jack: That's all it is. So please, don't ever say something as nauseating as me being part of a team.

Malleus: Even without similar ideals, you are still able to cooperate with one another. …Wouldn't you consider that teamwork?

Jack: NO WAY!!!

Jack: I don't care to work alongside nor befriend anyone.

Jack: However, now that I've fully gotten the hang of it, I'm going to finish this gig in the best condition.

Jack: The person who'll give his all to this shop and snag that special bonus WILL BE ME!

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jack howl #floyd leech #jamil viper #malleus draconia #sam #twst jack #twst floyd #twst jamil #twst malleus #twst sam #twst translation #twst new years

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muddyorbsblr · 2 days ago

Text

a heart like yours outtake: at her side

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @lokiprompts | View request here

Placement: Years before the events of the main story

Summary: You return from a mission in Peru having been stung by a plant that causes uncontrollable itching, and Banner's antidote has a rather feverish side effect.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: steamy moments alluding to a blue-skinned red-eyed mango ride at the end, but other than that…nothing. this is mostly fluff [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: idiots in love

If anyone dared question him why he'd chosen to situate himself close to the landing bay on this particular day and implied that it was done so that he could be one of the first to see to your return after a month-long mission with his brother in Peru, Loki would have denied it until the air depleted from his lungs. Lived up to his title of 'god of lies'.

The last thing he wanted was for you to find out that he'd been harboring any form of affection for you, and risked tearing asunder what ever semblance of a friendship you two had established in the months leading up to you leaving for your mission. There was no reason for you to know that he'd spent the last month within the mission control room, practically bounding into action whenever your voice filled the room, asking for an assist.

Or the relief that ran through his entire body when you finally sent in the update that you were en route back to the Tower.

He couldn't even bring himself to pretend to read the book he held in his hand while awaiting the arrival of your aircraft, failing to remember to acknowledge the mumbled greetings from passing SHIELD agents. All he could do was stare intently at the helipad, as if concentrating harder would somehow materialize the aircraft on the spot, and you would finally be back.

However, the god's eagerness quickly dissipated into concern once you finally did arrive, and you were curled up in fetal position in Thor's arms as he carried you into the Tower. "She fell ill," his brother explained, quite lamely, once he stepped through the doors.

"What did you do?"

"I assure you, Brother, I did nothing," he answered. "We stepped into the jet, and Lady Y/N mentioned something about being scratched by a plant and started shouting at me to have her strapped down before she scratched all her skin off."

The two Asgardians made their way to the infirmary, the older of them shouting for Dr. Banner to join them so they could find a cure.

"You're overreacting, Thunder," you muttered, holding on to both sides of the narrow stretcher, your entire mortal form tense as you fought against the itch, an alarming rash blooming all over your arms and neck. And those were only the areas visible to those in the room with you.

It took Banner quite a few moments to put together a serum that would counteract the effects of the plant that you explained was called "stinging nettle".

"Alright, this should get rid of the rashes, but I have to warn you, there is a possibility that you contract one hell of a fever after. Your body's literally fighting off poison, Y/L/N," he informed you, fighting back a chuckle when you all too enthusiastically nodded, presenting your forearm and answering him with a whispered impatient 'gimme it'. He injected the serum directly into a vein, and you had a few good moments of sheer relief, a smile playing at the sides of your mouth as the itching subsided.

But then you began to writhe again, groaning in clear discomfort as you began burning up. "Yup, there it is," you hissed. A sheen of alarming crimson bloomed across your skin, sweat starting to break out on your forehead. You made a motion to stand, pushing Loki to spring into action, ready to hold you upright if you stumbled. "This isn't my first rodeo, guys, it's fine. Plenty of fluids, bed rest, should be over in a few days. Right?"

You took a step before letting out a sharp cry of pain, clutching your head and instinctively leaning on the god to keep yourself steady. "Alright, little mortal, up you go," he said, scooping you up into his arms in an effortless, fluid motion. "No more walking until you're better."

He carried you to your apartment, gently laying you on your bed before going to wet a towel, using his Jotun powers to put it at a near freezing temperature before placing it on your forehead. You let out an exhale of pure relief from the contact, murmuring a faint 'thank you'.

"Rest, darling," he said softly, fighting back the urge to press a kiss to your forehead. You weren't his; that wasn't his place. "I shall bring you something to eat."

You were much too tired to protest, offering him merely a little nod before your breathing evened out. Once he made his way to the kitchen area, he found Romanoff there with her phone in hand, a rather inquisitive look on her face as she stared down the god.

"Banner told me Y/N's got a fever," she said, tapping away at her device. "Her comfort food of choice is fried crescent dumplings from the Chinese place down the block, and they should be arriving right about--"

"Agent Romanoff, you have a delivery at the main lobby," FRIDAY announced through the floor's PA system, making the Russian agent smile as if it was right on cue. "Shall I have it sent up?"

"Now," she told the god. "Thanks, FRIDAY. Laufeyson's gonna receive it." Before he could say anything, she posed a question for him. "Why don't you just use your magic to get rid of the fever?"

The question, simple as it was, had Loki internally stumbling to find the words. There was no logical answer for why he had chosen this course of action, especially when there was a much more expedient alternative at the tips of his fingers. He selfishly chose this to spend more time with you. Because of his affections toward you.

"There is already an excess of foreign bodies in her system, Romanoff," he said slowly. "I do not wish to add to that physical stress on her."

She merely nodded, making her way out of the kitchen, presumably to her own apartment. When she was about to pass him, however, she imparted some words that nearly stopped Loki's heart in his chest. "It's not a crime to like someone, you know. And it doesn't make you any less of a man or god, whatever you wanna call yourself, if you admit it. One more thing, ginger tea with a dash of cayenne pepper powder. She hates the stuff but it should help."

He prepared a tray to hold your food and a pot of the tea that Agent Romanoff suggested, a small smile tugging at his mouth when he saw how your nose curled up when you smelled the hot beverage. "Dammit, Nat even told you about the pepper?" There was an almost endearing whining tone in your voice, your bottom lip jutting out in a little pout; the god nearly let out a chuckle when you took a sip and your whole face scrunched up from the taste.

"I know it's rather ghastly, darling. But it will help you," he said softly, placing the back of his hand on your forehead. "You're feverish again," he grumbled, making the split second decision to shift into his Jotun form, his now much colder skin helping to cool the air around you. "Is this alright? I can change back if it's too unsettling for you--"

"It's fine, Loki," you told him, warming his heart when you gave him a tiny smile. "I actually think you look badass like that. I can tell you there's even a subset of people on the Internet that find it hot." You shut your eyes, shaking your head as if you were mentally scolding yourself. "I'm sorry I talk too much my filter goes straight out the window when I'm sick."

"You need not apologize, little mortal," he assured you. There was, however, a stray thought in the back of his mind, wondering if you were among that subset of people that found his Jotun form slightly appealing. He didn't dare voice it, though.

He sat with you in silence, relieved that he was able to help your fever become a touch more bearable and that at least you weren't perspiring as much as you were when Banner's serum first worked its way through your system. You needed some mild encouragement to get through the tea though, the god having to talk you through every other sip, some rather rude and intrusive thoughts making their presence felt in his mind.

Namely in the form of saying the phrases "That's it, little mortal" and "Just a little more, darling" to you in the very same bed, only under more pleasurable circumstances.

And the more he tried to shoo the images away, the worse they persisted.

Once you were finished, the tray disappeared off the bed in a flash of green, re-materializing on the floor by your front door. "Get some sleep, darling. When you wake you will feel substantially better, I assure you."

He conjured a book from his personal library in his hand, reading you a tale from the Vanir fables to help you fall into slumber. As your breathing began to even out, you lay a feverish hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Loki," you said softly. Weakly. "You don't have to worry, I won't tell a soul."

"Tell them what, Y/N?"

"That you're actually a nice guy. You're all tough out there and you look like you don't give a fuck about anyone, but you actually show up for your friends. I know you have a whole image to keep, your secret's safe with me."

Before he could respond, your hand went slack, a peaceful look on your face as you fell asleep. That was when he used his magic to expedite your recovery, nearly all traces of your even having a fever chased out of your system with a wave of his hand.

He shifted back into his Aesir form before placing your covers over you, leaning down to whisper to your sleeping form, "It matters not to me who knows, little mortal. So long as you do."

A few years later…

"My love, do you remember when you fell ill after your mission in Peru with my brother?" Loki asked you, blissfully holding you in his arms as you both lay in bed, tracing his fingers along the length of your spine.

"Hmmm, a little," you told him, shuffling even closer to him and resting your chin on his bare chest. "I remember the stinging nettle, and the fever…and I remember you carrying me to my apartment." Your mouth stretched into a wide smile as you recalled that particular memory. "Precursor of things to come, I guess."

"Oh yes," he said in a low sexy grumble, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling him on the bed. "I look forward to carrying you out of the throne room after the ceremony…" He pulled you in for a kiss, softly moaning into your mouth as he weaved his fingers into your hair. "Straight to my bedchambers…"

A thrill shot through you just thinking of what lay ahead for the two of you in the coming months. Nat and Wanda were ecstatic getting to plan the lavish ceremony over in Asgard, and Loki's mother Queen Frigga, your soon-to-be mother-in-law, nearly tripped over her own feet volunteering to make your gown for the wedding.

"I remember you reading to me," you continued, brushing your nose against his. "And you brought me dumplings. And that god awful tea that Nat makes me drink whenever I get sick." He let out a chuckle at that last bit, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, embracing you just a bit tighter. "Why'd you ask?"

"That was the day I realized I'd fallen in love with you," he confessed, his fingers starting to play with a lock of your hair. "Tending to your recovery, and knowing full well that had it been anyone else I would not have exerted the same effort, it made me face the startling reality that what I had begun to feel for you was not simply…lust or a surface-level affection.

"But right as you fell asleep, the words you said to me? That told me why I had fallen so deeply and thoroughly in love with you. Because you saw me; you may be perhaps the only one in my centuries alive who ever truly did."

His words had you melting, feeling the unmistakable sensation of butterflies going crazy in your stomach, as they often did any time you were with him. But his words also brought a shocking question to mind. "Hang on…Peru was years before the Sin Healer. I wasn't even seeing anybody back then, why didn't you say anything?"

We could have had so much more time together, you thought to yourself, lamenting on the months…the years that you lost.

"Back then, I couldn't comprehend that there could be a world wherein you returned my love," he explained, already moving to wipe away the tear that began to fall from your eye. "I kept quiet so that I may remain in your life, even if it had been simply as a friend."

That settled it. You two really were idiots way back when. You took a deep breath, relieved to actually be able to tell your future husband the words. "Loki, I was already in love with you back then." A brilliant smile stretched across his face hearing your confession. "I didn't ever think you'd ever even be attracted to me, so I kept my mouth shut. I was just happy you even considered me a friend."

Loki flipped you onto your back, his gaze darkening as his smile morphed into that smirk that turned you into a squirming mess of a woman. "You've always been so much more, my darling mortal." He leaned down to press his lips to the base of your throat, chuckling against your skin when your breathing hitched from his attentions. "I remember another remark you made that day…about my Jotun form. Something about others perhaps finding it appealing?"

"Ohh…" you squeaked, your face flushed as you begun to recall those specific words. "What about it?"

"I'm just…rather curious, sweetheart." Your breathing became ragged and labored watching as his stormy blue eyes turned crimson, his skin becoming an icy blue, and patterned ridges rose all over his face and body. "Are you among those people?"

A/N: I can't tell y'all how happy I am that I got to write a request that ended up with me returning to the blorbos of 'a heart like yours'. This was my first finished series so it's always gonna hold a special place in my heart 🥹

There's at least one more outtake I have in mind for this couple, but I honestly don't know when I'll get to that…we'll see where the brain takes me

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#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #muddyorbs writes #fic requests #500 follower celebration

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raven-dor · 1 day ago

Text

i wanna be yours

in which gwayne hightower is entranced by his sister’s best friend

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, obliviousness, denial, delusion, slight angst, FLUFF ENDING

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

AN: sorry for how long this is!!

“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.”

“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.”

“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.”

“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow.

Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.”

Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?”

“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.”

“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.”

Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground.

Rhaenyra smiled politely. “Ser Hightower.”

Gwayne bowed, kissing Rhaenyra’s hand. “Princess.”

Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things.

Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock.

She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire.

“My lady.”

She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile-

“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.”

Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.”

Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.”

Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been?

For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor.

Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.”

Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.”

Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-”

Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!”

“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-”

“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.”

“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-”

“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra.

Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-”

“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.

Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.”

“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.”

“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”

Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.”

“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.”

“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.”

Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.”

“My lady.”

She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”

She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.

“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.”

She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?”

“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-”

“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.”

“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?”

He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.”

“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.”

Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?”

“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”

She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.”

He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I am not a-”

“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-”

“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”

“Why?”

“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”

“I would not.”

“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”

“I am sorry?” He tilted his head.

“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.”

He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?”

“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.”

He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?”

Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-”

Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”

“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”

He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”

“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.”

“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?”

Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?”

“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?”

“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?

“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.”

He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.”

“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?”

“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.”

“Well, then I shall have to thank him.”

“For?”

“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.”

He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!”

Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?”

“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.”

“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.”

“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”

“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.”

“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.”

He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.”

“Ah.”

“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.”

She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.”

“For?”

“Reliving the past.”

“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.”

“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…”

He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.”

To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.”

“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself.

His sister did the same.

Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in.

Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms.

Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?”

She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.”

“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting.

She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.”

She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.”

The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man.

Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.”

That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?”

She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.”

His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so.

His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…”

She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.”

“My friends do not call me my lord.”

She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.”

He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”

“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?”

Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.”

“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?” “I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.”

“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her.

“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.”

“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.”

“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.”

“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.”

“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.”

His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?”

She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.”

“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.”

“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.”

He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?”

“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her.

“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.”

“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.”

“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?”

Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.”

“How so?”

“She has never required that of me before.”

Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.”

“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.”

“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.”

“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”

He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand.

She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly.

“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.”

“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.”

“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.”

She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.”

He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?”

“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-”

“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?”

“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.”

He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?”

“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path.

Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?”

“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.”

He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”

“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed.

Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.”

“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.”

“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.”

“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?”

Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.”

Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes.

Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.”

A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.”

“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.”

He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?”

Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-”

He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.”

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.”

“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?”

He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.”

She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers.

Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around. “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.”

“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.”

Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment.

Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.”

“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.”

“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.”

Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-”

“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.”

“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.

Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.”

Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?”

“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?”

The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results.

Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.”

They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.”

He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.”

The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.”

Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.”

She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-”

Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.”

“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?”

“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.”

“He-”

“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.”

Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?”

“What?” Y/N whispered.

“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.”

“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.”

His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?”

She shook her head.

“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.”

She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.”

“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?”

“You are leaving soon.”

“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this.

“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.”

“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?”

“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-”

“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.”

“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.”

Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.”

Her heart stopped. “Is there?”

He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips.

Oh.

She was the reason.

Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?”

She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.”

His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-”

“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.”

“Y/N-”

She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his.

There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.

No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms.

That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne.

Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it.

“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.”

“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.

“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-”

“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.”

“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”

“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.”

“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.”

“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same.

She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way.

Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart lept when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, anything to beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-”

“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.”

Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.”

“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-”

“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.”

He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?”

“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.”

“Don’t.”

“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence.

“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-”

She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?”

He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why?”

She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-”

“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.”

Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.”

“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?”

She tilted her head. “How?”

“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?”

“Gwayne…”

“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck.

“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne it cannot happen-”

“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”

“Gwayne, your father will never approve.”

“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?”

“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-”

“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.”

“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-”

“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more.

Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.”

“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.”

“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”

“Would you like to stop?”

“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur. “I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.”

“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.”

She laughed. “As opposed to?”

“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?”

“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”

“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more.

“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.”

“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I have an appointment at half past three.”

“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?”

“It is a secret.”

“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.

“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?”

“Yes.”

Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?”

He nodded. “Deadly.”

She groaned. “Now you must tell me.”

He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.”

She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.”

He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.”

Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?”

“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.”

He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life.

“Gwayne!”

He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!”

He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”

taglist: @beebeechaos @i-padfootblack-things

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #team black #team green #alicent hightower #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #x reader #fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #fluff #hotd fluff #literature #🪩! fics

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w1w2 · 2 days ago

Text

Unsaid

Hirai Momo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: In the wake of a heart-wrenching accident, Momo is forced to confront the fragile threads of love, regret, and the words she’s left unspoken.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The dim, sterile glow of the hospital room cast an eerie shadow across the walls, amplifying the suffocating stillness that hung heavy in the air. The faint hum of machines and the steady beeping of the heart monitor were the only signs of life in the room, though even those seemed fragile, like they could falter at any moment. Y/N lay motionless on the hospital bed, her pale complexion stark against the crisp, white sheets. Bandages peeked out from beneath her gown, a stark reminder of the violence that had brought her here. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, mechanical breaths, each one controlled by the ventilator.

Momo sat in the stiff plastic chair beside the bed, leaning forward as if her presence alone could tether Y/N back to the world. Her hands gripped Y/N’s tightly, her own trembling as though they might lose their grip. The coldness of Y/N’s skin sent a chill up Momo’s spine, contrasting cruelly with the heat of her own tears that streamed unchecked down her face. Her cheeks glistened under the fluorescent light, her eyes red and swollen from hours of crying, but she barely noticed.

“Please, Y/N, wake up. Please,” Momo whispered, her voice breaking with desperation. It came out raw and hoarse, barely louder than a breath, yet it felt like she was screaming into the void. Her words cracked as they fell into the stillness of the room, swallowed by the suffocating quiet.

“You can’t leave me like this,” she continued, her voice trembling. “Not without knowing…” Her words trailed off, her throat tightening as a fresh wave of tears burned her eyes.

Her thumb moved in absent circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a rhythm she didn’t even realize she was keeping. She clung to the gesture like a lifeline, her only tangible connection to the person she had pushed away. The fragility of it all made her heart ache.

She let out a shaky breath, her gaze fixated on Y/N’s face. The girl who had always been so full of life now looked heartbreakingly small and vulnerable. The vibrant spark that once lit her expressive eyes was hidden behind closed lids, and the radiant warmth of her smile seemed like a distant memory. Momo’s fingers tightened slightly, as if she could coax Y/N’s hand to squeeze back, to show some sign that she was still there.

The memories came unbidden, vivid and relentless, like a cruel movie she couldn’t stop replaying. She saw Y/N’s face the last time they were together, tear-streaked and broken, her voice shaking with hurt as she turned away.

Momo shook her head, trying to force the image away, but it only grew sharper. The words they’d exchanged during their fight echoed in her mind, each one a jagged edge that cut her deeper every time she remembered. She had been too stubborn, too proud to stop Y/N from walking out the door.

Now, all she could do was sit here, helpless and shattered, praying for a second chance to say the words she’d been too afraid to admit.

The light flickered faintly, a small, almost imperceptible disturbance in the oppressive stillness. Momo barely noticed, her world narrowed to the lifeless hand she clung to and the silent plea in her heart. Come back to me.

She sniffled, leaning closer to Y/N, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “I’m sorry for everything I said, for everything I didn’t say. You have to wake up so I can fix this. So I can tell you…” Her voice broke again, faltering into a choked sob as her forehead came to rest against their intertwined hands. Her grip tightened as though holding Y/N harder might somehow tether her back to consciousness.

“I love you.”

The words escaped her lips, soft and broken, but once they were out, the floodgates opened. Tears fell freely now, rolling down her cheeks and landing on the hospital gown Y/N wore. The admission felt like both a release and a punishment, years of feelings she had buried finally breaking free, but far too late.

Her chest heaved as she sobbed, her heart pounding against her ribs with every suppressed memory and regret. Images of Y/N’s laughter, her playful teasing, the way she’d brush her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought, all of it collided with the last, tear-streaked look Y/N had given her that night.

Her lips quivered as a fragment of a song came to her, unbidden but painfully fitting. The words echoed in her mind like a cruel taunt, their melody a reminder of what she could never take back.

"If I could take us back, if I could just do that, And write in every empty space the words 'I love you' in replace..."

A bitter laugh bubbled up through her tears, sharp and jagged. It felt foreign, wrong, but she couldn’t hold it back. “You’d tease me if you knew I was quoting songs right now, wouldn’t you?” she murmured, her voice trembling with a hollow attempt at humor. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming, her vision swimming as guilt pressed down on her chest like an iron chain.

She glanced at Y/N again, her face so still, so quiet, and it made Momo’s breath hitch. “You always teased me about being too sentimental,” she continued, her voice cracking. “You’d say, ‘Momo, you’re such a softie.’ And you’d laugh. God, that laugh. Do you remember how you’d laugh at me?” Her words dissolved into another wave of sobs, her free hand clamping over her mouth as if it could keep the anguish contained.

She lowered her hand slowly, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’d give anything to hear you laugh at me again, even if it’s just to tell me I’m being ridiculous. Just… anything. Please, Y/N.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, broken and pleading. “Please, come back to me.”

The door creaked open, the faint sound cutting through the oppressive stillness of the room. Momo’s head snapped up, her reddened eyes wide with both hope and dread as a nurse stepped inside, clipboard in hand. The soft rustle of papers and the faint click of the pen felt deafening in the quiet.

Momo straightened in her chair, her body taut with anticipation. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed as if bracing for a tidal wave. “How is she?” The words came out barely above a whisper, her throat tight and raw.

The nurse approached with measured steps, her face calm but unreadable. She glanced down at her clipboard, then back at Momo. “Her condition is stable,” she said gently, her tone carrying a practiced kindness. “But she hasn’t shown any signs of waking up yet. It’s a waiting game for now.”

Stable. Waiting game. The words hit Momo like a physical blow, her breath catching in her chest. Stable meant Y/N was alive, but barely. Waiting game meant no promises, no guarantees. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of the answer, her fingers loosening their grip on the bed frame as her gaze returned to Y/N’s still face.

She managed a stiff nod, unable to muster any words. Her throat burned with the effort of holding back another sob.

The nurse lingered for a moment, her eyes softening as she looked at Momo. “Sometimes,” she offered gently, “hearing a loved one’s voice can help. Keep talking to her.”

Momo’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She nodded again, this time more slowly, and the nurse gave her a small, reassuring smile before turning to leave. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Momo alone once more in the suffocating silence of the room.

For a long moment, she sat motionless, staring blankly at the space where the nurse had stood. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the sound of the heart monitor filling the emptiness around her. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, the sound more like a quiet sob, and leaned forward again.

Her trembling fingers reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, tucking it carefully behind her ear. The simple act made her heart clench, a sharp pang of longing and regret twisting deep inside her. Y/N’s skin was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth Momo remembered, and it made her eyes burn with fresh tears.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly, her voice trembling as she spoke. The words felt like a vow, one she would never break. “Not until you wake up. Not until I can tell you everything I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Her voice faltered as she added, barely above a whisper, “You mean everything to me, Y/N. Everything.”

The heart monitor continued its steady rhythm, its soft beeping the only sign of life in the room. To Momo, it was a cruel backdrop to the storm raging inside her chest, a tempest of guilt, love, and desperation she couldn’t escape.

She shifted closer, resting her forehead lightly against Y/N’s arm. Her tears came again, silent but relentless, soaking the thin hospital blanket beneath her. “Do you hear me?” she murmured, her voice muffled. “I need you to hear me. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll be right here, every second, until you open your eyes.”

A deep breath shuddered through her, the sound uneven and broken. “I’ll tell you everything. No more holding back, no more running away. I promise, Y/N. I promise.”

The steady beeping of the monitor seemed to echo her words, as if silently urging her to keep going.

She closed her eyes for a moment, her lips brushing against Y/N’s hand as she whispered, “Please”.

Momo sat motionless, her fingers still clasped around Y/N’s lifeless hand. The words she had just spoken hung in the air, fragile and trembling, as though they might shatter under the weight of her guilt. She took a slow, shuddering breath, her gaze fixed on Y/N’s face.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the countless moments they had shared. Time felt meaningless here, and yet, the memories rushed in like a tide, pulling her away from the sterile reality of the hospital room and into a kaleidoscope of the life they had built together.

The first memory that surfaced was in the dance studio, where the polished floors gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, and the walls were lined with mirrors that reflected every movement back at them. It was the place where their friendship had truly begun. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and determination, and the faint thrum of bass-heavy music played from the corner speaker, setting the rhythm for their practice.

Momo had been in her element, her movements sharp and precise as she drilled the choreography over and over. The perfectionist in her wouldn’t allow anything less than flawless execution. Her brow furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat rolling down her temple as she hit each move with mechanical accuracy.

Y/N, however, was a whirlwind of spontaneity. She had stopped dancing minutes ago, leaning against the mirrored wall and watching Momo with a mischievous glint in her eye. Her laughter broke the tension in the room, light and melodic, drawing Momo’s attention away from her routine.

“Come on, Momo,” Y/N called out, her voice teasing but warm. “You’re wound so tight, you’re going to snap in half.”

Momo had rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself. “I’m practicing,” she said, her tone clipped but not unkind. “Unlike someone who decided to take a break.”

Y/N pushed off the wall with an exaggerated stretch, groaning as if she’d been carrying the weight of the world. “You can’t practice on an empty soul. Haven’t you heard of fun? It’s this revolutionary concept where you, I don’t know, enjoy yourself.”

Before Momo could respond, Y/N darted forward, her hand grabbing Momo’s mid-spin. “Let me show you!” she exclaimed, her laughter bubbling over as she twirled Momo around.

“Y/N—stop—” Momo had tried to resist, stumbling slightly as Y/N spun her like they were at a dance party instead of rehearsal.

But Y/N’s energy was infectious, her grip firm yet playful as she guided Momo across the floor. “Loosen up a little, Momo! I promise the world won’t end if you smile.”

At first, Momo had been stiff, her body unyielding in Y/N’s hands. But the sheer absurdity of the moment, the brightness in Y/N’s laugh, cracked her resolve. She let herself go, even if just for a moment. Their movements became more erratic, less structured, completely off-tempo.

When the song shifted to a slower beat, Y/N spun Momo one last time, sending them both collapsing onto the floor in a fit of giggles. They lay there, breathless and tangled, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’re impossible,” Momo had muttered, shaking her head as a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

“And yet, here you are, laughing,” Y/N shot back, her eyes sparkling.

Momo turned her head to look at her, her laughter fading as something shifted in her chest. There was a softness in Y/N’s gaze, a warmth that seemed to seep into Momo’s very being. She wanted to say something in that moment, but the words didn’t come. She didn’t know what to call this feeling, the way her heart skipped when Y/N smiled at her like that.

Those moments had been so simple, so effortless, yet they had planted the seeds of something deeper. Momo didn’t know it then, but that was the first time she realized Y/N was different.

Y/N was special.

Another memory replaced it, unfolding late at night in a cozy, run-down diner. The kind of place that never closed, where the scent of grease and coffee lingered in the air, and the flickering neon sign outside cast a soft glow through the windows. Momo and Y/N sat across from each other in a worn vinyl booth, the table between them littered with crumpled napkins, half-eaten fries, and two nearly empty milkshake glasses.

They were both exhausted from a grueling schedule, their bodies aching and their eyelids heavy, but neither of them had wanted the night to end. This had become their ritual, a late night escape from the chaos of their world, where they could just be themselves.

Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow propped on the table. The soft, yellow light from the diner’s overhead lamps bathed her face, making her eyes sparkle like they held their own tiny galaxies. She twirled a fry absentmindedly between her fingers before popping it into her mouth, chewing slowly as if lost in thought.

“You ever think about what comes next?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter than usual.

Momo glanced up from her drink, caught off guard by the question. The straw she had been idly stirring in her milkshake stilled. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Y/N paused, searching for the right words. Her fingers traced lazy circles around the rim of her glass, and her gaze grew distant. “After all this. After the spotlight fades.”

Momo frowned slightly, tilting her head. “What kind of life do you want?”

The question hung between them, uncomfortably raw. Momo wasn’t used to thinking about the future in such abstract, emotional terms. She lived in the here and now, focusing on the immediate challenges and leaving the rest for later.

“I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment, shrugging as she reached for her glass again. Her voice was measured, almost dismissive, as if downplaying the weight of the question. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, one that was equal parts amused and understanding. It wasn’t mocking, if anything, it was affectionate, like she knew Momo better than Momo knew herself. “You always say that,” Y/N murmured, her eyes meeting Momo’s with a tenderness that made Momo’s chest tighten.

The words were simple, almost playful, but they carried a depth that made Momo’s breath hitch. For a brief moment, the bustling world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth in Y/N’s gaze and the quiet vulnerability in her smile.

Momo wanted to reach across the table, to take Y/N’s hand in hers and say, I want a life with you. She wanted to tell her that the future she imagined wasn’t one of awards or accolades, but one filled with Y/N’s laughter, her presence, her love.

But she didn’t.

The words caught in her throat, tangled in the web of fear and doubt that had always held her back. Instead, she dropped her gaze to the glass in her hands, her fingers tightening around it like a lifeline.

“You’re always overthinking,” she teased lightly, forcing a small smile to her lips. “Maybe just take it one step at a time, like me.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft and breathy, her head tilting as she studied Momo for a moment longer. “Maybe,” she replied, her tone gentle but unconvinced.

The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, their banter easy and familiar. But long after they had left the diner, long after Y/N had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, her question lingered in Momo’s mind.

What kind of life do you want?

She still didn’t know how to answer.

The memories blurred, shifting to the countless nights they had spent comforting each other. One stood out more vividly than the others, etched into Momo’s mind with painful clarity.

It had been late, nearing midnight, when Momo heard the soft knock on her apartment door. She had frowned, setting aside the tea she had been sipping, and padded barefoot to the door. The sight that greeted her when she opened it made her chest tighten.

Y/N stood there, her usual bright, radiant energy replaced by something raw and fragile. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, streaks tracing the paths of tears down her cheeks. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a greeting, but no words came out.

Momo didn’t hesitate. Without a word, she stepped forward and pulled Y/N into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around her as if to shield her from the world. Y/N’s body trembled against hers, and Momo could feel the ragged, uneven breaths escaping her lips.

“It’s okay,” Momo murmured softly, her hand coming up to stroke Y/N’s hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, standing in the dimly lit hallway. Y/N’s sobs came in waves, each one tugging at Momo’s heart. She didn’t ask what had happened. She didn’t need to. Whatever had hurt Y/N, Momo would hold her together until she could stand again.

Eventually, Y/N’s breathing began to steady, her sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles. Momo guided her inside, closing the door behind them and leading her to the couch. She fetched a box of tissues, setting it on the coffee table before sitting beside her.

Y/N wiped her face with trembling hands, her fingers clutching the tissue like it was her last anchor to reality. She looked down at her lap, avoiding Momo’s gaze, her voice barely a whisper when she spoke. “Sorry for showing up like this.”

Momo shook her head immediately. “Don’t apologize,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but resolute. “You can come to me anytime, Y/N. Always.”

Y/N finally looked up at her, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. There was a vulnerability in her expression that made Momo’s throat tighten. “Thanks, Momo,” she whispered, her voice muffled as she leaned her head against Momo’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Momo’s chest ached at the words, the sincerity in them both heartwarming and heartbreaking. She wanted to say something, to tell Y/N that she would never have to find out what life without her would be like. She wanted to promise her that she would always be there, that she would catch her every time she fell.

But the words caught in her throat, weighed down by fear and uncertainty. Instead, she rested her cheek lightly against Y/N’s head, her hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re okay now,” Momo murmured. “That’s all that matters.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but her fingers tightened around Momo’s. They stayed like that, bathed in the soft glow of the living room lamp, the silence between them filled with an unspoken understanding.

"Silent days, mysteries and mistakes… Who’d be the first to break? I guess we’re alike that way."

The lyrics echoed in her mind now, a cruel reminder of the tension that had always lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. Neither of them had been brave enough to take the first step, to break the silence and risk what they had.

One memory stood out sharply, piercing through the haze like a shard of glass, the moment when everything had started to unravel. It had been a rare evening of relaxation, a casual hangout with the other TWICE members in their favorite cozy café. The atmosphere was warm and lively, the air filled with the soft hum of background music, the clatter of dishes, and bursts of laughter.

Y/N was in her element, her laughter ringing out as she regaled the group with a story about a mishap during practice. Her hands moved animatedly as she spoke, her eyes shining with excitement. Everyone hung on her every word, their giggles punctuating her tale at all the right moments.

Momo sat beside her, quietly watching. She always found herself drawn to Y/N in moments like this, when her energy lit up the room like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. But as much as she loved seeing Y/N shine, there was a small part of her, a selfish, insecure part, that wished Y/N’s attention wasn’t so freely given to everyone else.

The conversation took a playful turn when Sana leaned forward, her sly grin signaling the start of one of her teasing tirades. “So, Y/N,” she began, her voice dripping with mischief, “what’s the deal with that guy who’s been trying to get your attention lately? You interested?”

The question sent a ripple of laughter around the table, everyone chiming in with exaggerated curiosity and teasing comments. Y/N rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively as she chuckled. “What? No way. He’s just being nice. There’s nothing to it.”

But for Momo, the words felt like a punch to the gut. He’s just being nice. The idea of someone else, even casually, catching Y/N’s attention made her stomach twist. Her grip tightened on her mug as she tried to push the feeling away, but the jealousy gnawed at her, relentless and sharp.

She forced a smile, willing herself to join in the laughter, but her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. She stole a glance at Y/N, who was now playfully swatting away Sana’s follow-up questions, completely unbothered.

“Momo, you okay?” Jihyo’s voice cut through her thoughts. She turned to find Jihyo watching her with a slight frown, her sharp eyes picking up on the tension Momo thought she had hidden.

“Yeah,” Momo said quickly, her voice too high, too tight. She cleared her throat, forcing another smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow but let it slide, returning her attention to the group. The others, absorbed in their banter, didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. But Momo couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in her chest like a heavy stone.

She spent the rest of the evening quiet, smiling and nodding at the right moments but unable to focus on the conversation. Her mind churned with a storm of emotions, jealousy, frustration, and, most of all, fear. Fear that someone else might one day see in Y/N what Momo saw, that they might act on it in a way Momo never had the courage to.

The walk back to Momo’s apartment was filled with a silence that felt louder than any words. Y/N didn’t seem to notice, her voice light and cheerful as she talked about the evening. She laughed at the jokes Sana had made, mimicking her exaggerated expressions, but Momo could barely muster a smile in response. Her mind was elsewhere, the knot in her chest tightening with every step.

By the time they reached Momo’s front door, Y/N finally paused, glancing at her with a curious tilt of her head. “You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah,” Momo said quickly, fumbling with her keys. Her voice was clipped, her tone betraying the storm brewing beneath her carefully maintained façade.

Y/N frowned slightly, but let it go, stepping inside and kicking off her shoes. She flopped onto the couch, her usual easy grin in place as she stretched her arms overhead. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Sana’s relentless, though. I swear, she’ll never let me live that comment about the guy down.”

Momo froze in the doorway, the casual mention of him snapping something inside her. She shut the door with more force than necessary, her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to face Y/N.

“Do you think it’s funny?” Momo asked, her voice low and strained.

Y/N blinked, startled by the sharpness in her tone. “What?”

“All the teasing about that guy. Do you think it’s funny?” Momo repeated, stepping further into the room, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

Y/N sat up, her brows furrowing. “It’s just a joke, Momo. You know that.”

“Do I?” Momo snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Because it didn’t look like a joke to me. You didn’t seem too bothered by it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped slightly, her confusion quickly morphing into frustration. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Momo said, her voice rising, “you didn’t even try to shut it down. You just laughed and played along like it didn’t matter.”

“Because it doesn’t matter!” Y/N shot back, standing now, her voice matching Momo’s intensity. “He’s not interested in me, and even if he was, I’m not interested in him. Why are you making this a big deal?”

Momo’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, the jealousy and insecurity she had been bottling up finally spilling over. “Because I’m tired of watching you let everyone else in like they have a chance! Like they mean something to you!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious right now? You think I’m ‘letting people in’? You think I’m entertaining him?”

“You didn’t stop it, did you?” Momo shot back, her voice breaking slightly. “You just laughed it off like it’s nothing!”

“Because it is nothing!” Y/N yelled, her voice trembling. “Why can’t you trust me on that?”

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and suffocating. Y/N’s hands were balled into fists at her sides, her breathing uneven as she stared at Momo.

“You know what, Momo?” Y/N said finally, her voice quieter but no less intense. “You’re being ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re twisting this into something it’s not. You’re acting like I’ve done something wrong when all I’ve done is exist!”

Momo’s temper flared again, the storm of jealousy and frustration inside her breaking free, spilling into words she didn’t mean but couldn’t hold back. Her voice was sharp, trembling with anger and hurt. “You never take anything seriously, Y/N. Maybe that’s the problem. You treat everything like a joke, and it’s exhausting.”

The room fell silent, the words hanging in the air like a thunderclap.

Y/N froze, her expression flickering between shock and pain. It was as if Momo had struck her, the sting of the accusation cutting deeper than any physical blow. Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining from her as quickly as it had come.

Her lips parted as if to say something, but nothing came out. The tears welling in her eyes glistened in the dim light, betraying the raw vulnerability she so rarely let anyone see. She blinked rapidly, her lashes damp, refusing to let the tears fall.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was heartbreakingly quiet and trembling. “Is that what you really think of me?”

The words hit Momo like a punch to the chest. She opened her mouth, her brain scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t make things worse. But the weight of her own anger, her own bitterness, held her tongue.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean—” she started, her voice faltering.

“Save it,” Y/N cut her off, her tone brittle and breaking. She took a step back, her hand clutching her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white. The way she looked at Momo then, like she was a stranger, someone she couldn’t recognize, made Momo’s stomach churn with regret.

“I’m sorry I bothered you so much,” Y/N continued, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know I was such a burden to you.”

“Y/N, that’s not what I—” Momo tried again, her voice rising in desperation, but Y/N was already shaking her head.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” Y/N’s voice broke, a single tear slipping down her cheek despite her best efforts to hold it back. “To feel like I’m walking on eggshells around you? To care about someone so much and never know if they feel the same way? And then to hear you say this?”

Momo’s heart ached, her chest tightening painfully as the weight of Y/N’s words sank in. She wanted to reach out, to grab her hand and beg her to stay, but she was frozen in place.

Y/N turned toward the door, her movements stiff and jerky as if every step was a battle against her emotions. Her hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, her back to Momo.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the silence. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

She paused, her shoulders trembling. “You have no idea how much you mean to me,” she said, louder this time, her voice cracking under the weight of her tears. “And I guess you never will.”

The door opened with a quiet creak, then closed with a hollow, final sound that echoed in the silence of the apartment.

Momo stood rooted to the spot, her breath shallow, her heart pounding as the echoes of their fight replayed in her mind like a cruel loop. Her body screamed at her to move, to chase after Y/N, to fix this before it was too late.

But her legs wouldn’t move.

She sank onto the couch, her hands clutching her head as the tears she had been holding back spilled over. Pride and guilt rooted her in place, twisting inside her like a knife. The words she had spoken, the words she hadn’t said, they all tore at her, leaving her raw and hollow.

The storm in her chest raged on, the thunder of her regret drowning out the tiny, broken voice in her head whispering the truth. You love her. You’ve always loved her. And now you might have lost her.

Momo sat on the edge of the couch, her hands clutching the fabric as if it could anchor her. The silence of the apartment pressed down on her, suffocating and absolute. Her thoughts spiraled, the echoes of Y/N’s voice replaying in her mind.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me. And I guess you never will."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, but it only grew louder, sharper.

Few hours later Momo paced the length of her apartment, the soft thud of her socked feet on the wooden floor the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. The light in the room was dim, a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Her mind raced, replaying the fight in vivid, excruciating detail.

The words she had thrown at Y/N felt like poison now, eating away at her resolve. “You never take anything seriously,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with bitterness, toward herself this time. The look on Y/N’s face when she’d said those words was seared into her memory, the way her shoulders had sagged as if the weight of Momo’s accusations had been too much to bear.

She stopped pacing, her hand hovering over her phone on the coffee table. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at the screen, her mind battling between pride and guilt.

I should call her. I should apologize.

The thought rang loud and clear, but every time she reached for the phone, doubt pulled her back. What if Y/N didn’t answer? What if she didn’t want to hear from her? The fear of rejection froze her in place, her fingers trembling.

Momo sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the quiet, her voice cracking. But the silence didn’t respond.

She glanced at her phone again, the screen lighting up with the time. It had been hours since Y/N had walked out. Hours of agonizing over every word she’d said, every moment she had let slip away. Her mind kept circling back to Y/N’s parting words.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me. And I guess you never will."

Her chest tightened painfully, the weight of those words suffocating.

The sudden ring of her phone shattered the silence, piercing through the oppressive stillness of the apartment like a scream. Momo flinched, her breath catching as the sound jolted her out of her spiraling thoughts. Her heart leapt with a faint, desperate hope as she grabbed it instinctively, her hands trembling.

"It’s Y/N. It had to be."

But when she glanced at the screen, her stomach dropped. The name displayed there made her blood run cold. Y/N’s mom.

Her thumb hovered over the green button, frozen with dread. Her mind raced, conjuring every possible reason for the call, none of them good. Why would Y/N’s mom be calling her so late?

With a shaky breath, she answered. “Hello?”

“Momo?” The voice on the other end was frantic, rushed, and trembling with fear. “It’s Y/N. She’s—there’s been an accident. She’s at the hospital.”

The words didn’t register at first. They seemed to hang in the air, foreign and impossible, like a cruel prank. “What?” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Y/N’s mom said, her voice cracking under the strain. “But she was hit by a car. They’re working on her now. You need to come. Please, Momo.”

Momo barely heard the rest of the conversation. The phone slipped from her hand, landing on the couch with a soft thud as her body went numb. Her ears rang, the words echoing in her mind.

An accident.

The word repeated over and over, crashing against her thoughts like relentless waves. It clashed with the image burned into her memory, Y/N walking out the door, her shoulders trembling with unshed tears. Momo’s chest constricted painfully, the reality sinking in like a dagger.

She staggered to her feet, her movements mechanical as panic began to flood her veins. Her breathing quickened, coming in short, shallow gasps as her vision blurred with unshed tears. “No, no, no,” she whispered, shaking her head as if she could deny what she’d just heard.

Her coat and keys were in her hands before she even realized she’d grabbed them. Her fingers trembled so violently that it took several tries to lock the door. Each passing second felt like an eternity, her mind racing with fragmented images of Y/N, her smile, her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she was excited.

"She can’t be hurt. She can’t be…" The thought was too much to bear, and a choked sob escaped her lips as she stumbled into the car.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Momo’s hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, her nails digging into her palms. Tears streaked down her face, blurring the glow of streetlights and the dark outlines of passing cars.

Her mind was a storm of fear and regret, images of Y/N flashing behind her eyes like a cruel slideshow.

Y/N’s laughter echoing in the dance studio as she twirled Momo around like they were at a party. The softness in her gaze during their late-night diner conversations, her voice quiet but full of warmth.The way she had clung to Momo during their most vulnerable moments, her whispered gratitude still etched into Momo’s heart.

And then, the last image, the tears in Y/N’s eyes as she turned toward the door. Her voice, trembling but full of conviction: “You have no idea how much you mean to me. And I guess you never will.”

The memory struck like a physical blow, and Momo gasped, her chest heaving as a fresh wave of tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the empty car, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please be okay. Please.”

Her heart pounded, the panic in her chest building until it felt like she couldn’t breathe. The hospital came into view, its harsh fluorescent lights cutting through the night. She barely managed to park, her hands shaking so badly she fumbled with the keys before shoving them into her bag.

She ran through the automatic doors, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as her eyes darted around for any sign of Y/N. Her legs felt weak, her body on the verge of collapse, but she pushed forward, driven by a single, desperate need: to see her. To know she was alive.

“Y/N,” she said breathlessly to the receptionist. “She was just brought in an accident, where is she?”

The woman behind the desk gave her a sympathetic look, her calm demeanor a cruel contrast to the chaos raging inside Momo. “She’s in surgery,” she said gently. “Someone will come out to update you soon. Please wait in the lounge.”

Momo nodded numbly, her legs carrying her to the waiting area on autopilot. She collapsed into a chair, her hands clutching her face as sobs wracked her body.

Her mind wouldn’t stop. The images, the regrets, the things she’d never said, it all came rushing in, a relentless tide threatening to drown her.

“No time for goodbyes, Didn’t get to apologize, Pieces of a clock that lies broken.”

The lyrics played in her mind like a cruel echo, each word twisting the knife in her chest deeper. “Please,” she whispered into the empty space around her, her voice trembling. “Don’t take her from me. I’ll do anything. Just let her be okay.”

The waiting room had felt like an eternity. Time had slowed to an agonizing crawl, each tick of the clock pounding in Momo’s ears like a drumbeat of despair. She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, her head buried in her hands, her silent pleas echoing in her mind.

When the surgeon finally appeared, her heart had stopped. The words “She made it through the surgery” had been a fragile lifeline, pulling her from the abyss. Relief had coursed through her veins, but it was fleeting. Y/N wasn’t out of the woods yet, they said. It would be a waiting game now.

And so, Momo waited.

Back in the sterile quiet of the hospital room, Momo sat by Y/N’s bedside, her hand cradling Y/N’s limp one. The faint, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the space, a bittersweet comfort. Y/N lay still, her pale face framed by the stark white of the pillow. The sight twisted something deep inside Momo, a mix of guilt, love, and desperation.

“Hey,” Momo said softly, her voice trembling as she stroked Y/N’s fingers with her thumb. “It’s me.”

Her lips quivered, and she bit down hard to keep herself steady. “You probably can’t hear me, but… I need you to know something.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. And I was too scared to tell you. I thought I’d ruin what we had. I thought I wasn’t enough for you.”

The tears she had been holding back spilled over, sliding down her cheeks and splashing onto the blanket covering Y/N. Her voice cracked as she continued, her words tumbling out like a flood. “But I was wrong. So wrong. You’re everything to me. I’ve wasted so much time being afraid. Please, don’t leave me without knowing that.”

Her chest heaved with quiet sobs as she leaned closer, her forehead resting lightly against Y/N’s hand. The lyrics of a song drifted into her mind, the words painfully fitting, as if they had been written for this moment.

"If you could only know, I never let you go And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave Unsaid…"

Momo let out a shaky breath, her forehead resting briefly against their intertwined hands before lifting her gaze to Y/N’s face. Her heart ached as she took in the stillness, the pale fragility that replaced the vibrant energy she had always associated with Y/N.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of her guilt. Her thumb stroked Y/N’s knuckles as she spoke, her words faltering between sobs. “For everything. For the fight, for the things I said… and for all the things I didn’t say. God, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

Her tears came faster, blurring her vision, but she didn’t stop. “I need you to come back,” she said, her voice trembling. “Please. I need you to wake up so I can spend the rest of my life making this right. I’ll tell you everything I should’ve said a long time ago. I’ll never hold anything back again.”

The silence in the room was suffocating, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only response to her desperate plea. It pressed down on her like a physical weight, heavier with every passing second.

Momo leaned forward, clutching Y/N’s hand tighter, as if she could anchor her back to consciousness through sheer will. “You mean everything to me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Everything. And I’ve been too much of a coward to say it until now.”

Her words hung in the air, fragile and trembling, as if the truth alone could crack through the stillness. But Y/N didn’t move. Momo’s head fell, her tears soaking the blanket covering Y/N. She stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, her heart breaking all over again with each beat of the monitor.

The rhythmic hum of the heart monitor filled the silence, steady and unchanging. Outside the window, the world carried on, oblivious to the quiet war being fought in the stillness of the hospital room.

Momo’s thoughts were broken by the soft creak of the door opening. She looked up to see Y/N’s mom entering with the doctor, their expressions calm but tinged with the weight of uncertainty. Momo straightened in her chair, her heart racing as she tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand.

“Ms. Hirai,” the doctor began gently, his voice steady but measured. “I wanted to give you an update on Y/N’s condition.”

Momo nodded, her throat tightening as she tried to prepare herself for whatever he might say.

“We’ve done everything we can from a medical standpoint,” the doctor continued, his gaze shifting between Momo and Y/N’s mom. “Her body has stabilized, which is a good sign. But at this point… it’s up to her.”

Momo’s stomach sank, the words hitting her like a weight. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The doctor offered a small, sympathetic smile. “It means that we’ve done all we can to help her heal physically. Now, it’s a matter of time. Her body needs rest, and her mind needs to decide when it’s ready.”

“When… when will she wake up?” Momo’s voice cracked, the question escaping before she could stop it. Her gaze flicked to Y/N’s mom, whose face mirrored the same raw mixture of hope and fear that Momo felt.

The doctor sighed, his expression softening. “It’s hard to say. It could be days… weeks, even. There’s no way to predict.”

Momo’s chest tightened, the uncertainty clawing at her. She looked back at Y/N, her heart aching at the sight of her so still, so quiet.

“But she’s strong,” the doctor added, his voice gentle. “And the fact that she’s stable is a good sign. What she needs most now is time and support.”

Y/N’s mom nodded, her hand brushing lightly over Momo’s shoulder. “Thank you, Doctor.”

As the doctor left, Y/N’s mom lingered for a moment, her voice quiet but firm. “She’s lucky to have you, Momo.”

Momo swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m the lucky one.”

When the room fell silent again, Momo leaned closer to Y/N, her forehead resting lightly against their joined hands. “Did you hear that?” she murmured, her voice trembling. “It’s your turn now, Y/N. You can do this. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

Her gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, willing her to move, to give some small sign. But the room remained still, the only sound the steady beeping of the monitor.

Momo settled back into her chair, her grip on Y/N’s hand unwavering. The uncertainty of when Y/N might wake up loomed over her like a shadow, but she refused to let it shake her resolve.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, her voice steadying as she spoke. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

As the last rays of sunlight faded, giving way to the soft glow of the room’s overhead lights, Momo stayed at Y/N’s side, holding her hand and waiting. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear. She wouldn’t give up.

Not now. Not ever.

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