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elryuse · 2 months ago

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Seven minutes of heaven with your tomboy cousin Ryujin turns you from best friends to incestuous fuck buddies

Seven Minutes Of Heaven

Ryujin X Male Reader

Tags : Cousin-Love, Tomboy Ryujin, Sweet, Lovey-dovey, Lustful, Teasing, Lots of sex, Teens, Young and Free

Words : 6,868

Hope you guys liked it. More Requested Fics, On The Way.

You hadn’t been back here in years.

The train hissed as it pulled into the station, the countryside stretching endlessly behind it — all green and gold, the scent of pine trees and dry grass sneaking in through the open windows. Cicadas buzzed like they were trying to drown out your thoughts, and the heat pressed against your skin like a heavy blanket.

You grabbed your bag and stepped onto the platform, blinking against the sun.

And there she was. Leaning against a pole with a piece of candy in her mouth and an annoyed look on her face, Ryujin didn’t even wave. She just gave you that same look she used to give when you stole her last bite of ice cream as kids — equal parts unimpressed and vaguely amused.

“Yo.” Her voice was raspy, a little lower than you remembered, and filled with a casual confidence that hadn’t existed when you were both twelve.

You stared for a second. Ryujin had changed.

Her once bowl-cut hair was now shoulder-length and messy, tucked under a faded baseball cap turned backwards. A white tank top clung to her frame, loose and stained near the hem. Her jean shorts looked like they’d survived three wars. And her knees were bruised. Still as tomboy as ever.

And yet, there was something else now — something grown-up, something wild in her grin. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” you said.

She popped the candy out of her mouth with a click. “That’s ‘cause I got hotter.”

You snorted, shouldering your duffel. “Still annoying, I see.” She bumped her shoulder into yours. “Still slow.”

And just like that, it was like nothing had changed. The walk back to the house was filled with awkward silences and the crunch of gravel under your shoes.

“You got taller,” she muttered, stealing glances at you.

“You got more violent,” you muttered back, rubbing your shoulder from where she hit you.

Ryujin laughed, loud and unfiltered, like she wasn’t trying to be polite. “What, did you expect me to run into your arms or something? Cry tears of joy?”

You shrugged. “I expected you to at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

“Dude, I am happy,” she said, grinning sideways at you. “I just don’t do the whole emotional ‘hug me, cousin I missed you!’ crap.”

“Clearly.” The sun beat down on your back as the familiar house came into view — the same wooden gate, the same rusted wind chime that made that off-key ting whenever the wind blew.

A part of you had been scared to come back. After everything. After growing up.

But Ryujin made it feel easier. Even if she was a chaos goblin in denim shorts.

You dumped your bag in the guest room. Same futon. Same tiny fan.

Your aunt and uncle were both still at work, so it was just you and Ryujin for the afternoon.

You hadn’t even finished unpacking when she barged in without knocking.

“Come on,” she said, arms crossed. “We’re going out.”

You blinked. “Going where?”

“Anywhere but here.” She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t come all the way out here to sit around and sulk in a dusty room, did you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she was already halfway down the hall.

You sighed, grabbed your phone, and followed.

She took you to the lake. You remembered this place — vaguely. A giant reservoir hidden behind a mess of trees and tall reeds. Back when you were kids, your parents never let you swim in it. Too dangerous, they said. Too deep.

Now?

Ryujin stripped her tank top off like it was nothing, revealing a black sports bra beneath. She toed off her sneakers and stood barefoot in the grass, eyes bright.

“I swear to god, if you don’t jump in, I’m pushing you.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“Neither did I.” She took a running start and cannonballed into the water with a scream.

You cursed under your breath — but something about the way she laughed, like the world couldn’t touch her, pulled you in.

The water was cold and sharp and perfect.

You surfaced beside her, blinking water from your eyes, and she immediately splashed you in the face.

“Ryujin!”

“Come on, loser! Fight me!”. And you did. You wrestled in the water like kids again, laughing until your sides ached. Until you were both floating side by side, the sky spinning above you.

Ryujin let out a sigh. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You looked at her, water in her lashes, a soft smile on her lips.

“…Yeah. You were right.”

That night, you both lay on the roof, eating watermelon and pointing at stars.

“I thought you’d be boring,” Ryujin said, mouth full.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“It is. Boring guys make the best straight men for chaos.”

“You planned this, huh?”

She grinned. “Hell yeah I did.”

A silence settled between you — not uncomfortable, just familiar. Easy.

You glanced at her. “You’ve really grown up.”

Ryujin didn’t look at you.

“You haven’t,” she said. “Still soft. Still kind. Still trying to keep up.”

You smiled faintly. “Is that a bad thing?”

She turned her head then, just a little. Her voice was quieter when she answered. “No. It’s not.”

And under the stars, with the scent of watermelon and the cicadas screaming into the night, you felt something shift.

Something small.

But undeniable.

You wake up to a text from Ryujin.

7:03 AM wake up, slowpoke. we’re racing today. 🏁🚲💨

Your eyes squint at the screen. You’d stayed up until nearly 2 AM last night after stargazing, barely speaking but not wanting to go inside either. It was… nice. Peaceful.

This, however? This was war.

You step out into the hallway and immediately get hit by something soft — a rolled-up pair of socks smacks you right in the face.

“What the hell—”

Ryujin grins from the end of the hall, one foot planted on the wall behind her like she’s modeling for a 90s skate brand. “You looked too comfortable. Thought I’d fix that.”

You throw the socks back at her. She ducks.

“You said we’re racing?” you ask, brushing your teeth while she leans against the doorframe.

“Yeah. Bikes. Old route. You remember the one behind the rice fields?”

Your brain flashes to a dirt path cutting through green, sharp turns, dragonflies darting like missiles. “Barely.”

“Perfect,” she says, already slipping on fingerless gloves and tying her hair up. “No excuses when I destroy you.”

You end up on your uncle’s dusty old mountain bike, and Ryujin’s already two blocks ahead by the time you start pedaling.

“You absolute demon!” you shout.

She cackles over her shoulder, long legs pumping, wild hair flying out from under her cap. “You snooze, you lose!”

She cuts between trees like a local. You try to keep up, but she’s always just a little ahead. You catch glimpses of her through branches — the flex of her back muscles, her voice echoing through the woods.

It’s like she belongs to the chaos.

Eventually, you both stop at the top of the old hill overlooking the river.

She hops off, panting, and plops down in the grass.

“Told you I’d win.”

You collapse beside her. “That wasn’t a race. That was attempted murder.”

“Same thing, really.”

You’re sweating. She’s glowing.

You steal a glance at her — sun on her face, lips slightly parted as she catches her breath. Her sports bra clings to her skin, and you look away fast, heartbeat doing weird gymnastics.

“Hey,” she says suddenly.

You turn.

She grins. “You were looking at my chest just now, weren’t you?”

You sputter. “N-No!”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” she teases, leaning closer. “Just surprising. Didn’t think you had the guts.”

You nearly fall backward. She just laughs.

God, she’s trouble.

That afternoon, Ryujin drags you to the local store.

You haven’t been there in ages, but it smells the same — dusty wood, candy wrappers, and sun-warmed soda.

“Two mango sodas and those shrimp chips,” she says, tossing everything on the counter. “He’s paying.”

“Wait, what—?”

She elbows you. You shut up and pay.

On the walk back, she tears open the chips with her teeth and sticks one between your lips.

You blink at her. “I can feed myself.”

She shrugs. “I’m spoiling you. Don’t get used to it.”

That night, Ryujin barges into your room with a flashlight.

“Come on,” she says, tossing you a hoodie. “Bonfire time.”

Outside, near the riverbank, she’s already stacked twigs and paper and broken-up boxes. You help her light it.

She hands you a bottle of cheap cola. Sits close.

Too close.

The fire crackles. Her eyes shimmer orange in the glow.

“You remember that time we both fell into the koi pond?” she asks out of nowhere.

You smile. “You pushed me.”

“You pushed me first.”

“Yeah, because you cut my hair in my sleep!”

She laughs, full and loud. “It was a prank! You looked great.”

You shake your head. “You were a menace.”

“I am a menace.”

She falls silent for a beat. Then:

“But you never got mad. Not really.”

You look at her. Her expression is unreadable, the flames dancing in her eyes.

“You just… stayed.”

After the fire dies down, you lie on your backs in the grass. It’s cold. You can feel her elbow barely brushing yours.

“Truth or dare?” she whispers.

You snort. “Seriously? How old are we?”

“Pick.”

“…Truth.”

She turns to face you. “Do you like anyone right now?”

You freeze.

There’s a long pause. Then:

“…Maybe.”

She smirks. “Ooh, city boy’s got secrets.”

“Your turn.”

“Truth.”

“Same question.”

She turns away from you, staring at the stars.

Her voice is soft. “Yeah.”

You hold your breath.

She doesn’t elaborate.

Neither do you.

The next day is different.

The air feels heavier. The sky is clouded, and Ryujin’s unusually quiet. She doesn’t poke fun at your sleepy face. Doesn’t make you race her again. Just walks beside you, hands in her pockets, eyes somewhere else.

Eventually, you sit together on the porch, the sky threatening rain.

“You okay?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“You? Thinking? Must be serious.”

She laughs, but it’s a little hollow. “You ever feel like… the older you get, the more fake everything feels?”

You look at her.

She continues, “Like we’re all pretending. Pretending to be okay, pretending we know what we’re doing.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I feel that.”

She looks at you then — really looks.

“…But when I’m with you, I don’t have to pretend.”

The wind shifts. The first raindrops fall.

And for a second, you want to say something.

But she’s already standing.

“Race you to the shed,” she says, taking off.

You chase her.

Because that’s what you’ve always done.

Inside the tiny garden shed, both of you soaked, she tosses you a towel.

You dry your hair, heart pounding.

She sits on the bench, knees pulled up, watching the storm rage outside.

It’s quiet.

Then she says, “I liked you. Back then.”

You freeze.

She doesn’t look at you. “I don’t know if it was a cousin thing, or just because we were always together. But I liked you. Like, liked liked you.”

“…Ryujin.”

She finally turns.

And smiles — not her usual smug one, but something smaller. Sadder.

“I don’t think it ever went away.”

You don’t answer.

Not yet.

Because you don’t trust your voice.

Instead, you sit beside her, the rain thundering above you.

And she leans her head against your shoulder.

Just like that.

No teasing.

No jokes.

Just closeness.

And maybe — just maybe — you feel the same way.

Summer keeps going.

Days blend into nights, and the air grows thicker with each passing sunset. You fall into a rhythm with Ryujin — a rhythm of late-night bike rides, lazy mornings, watermelon slices, and quiet little wars in the form of teasing remarks.

But something’s changed.

You feel it in the way her eyes linger a second too long when you’re laughing. In the way she’ll shove you, but then her fingers curl around your wrist just to hold it there a moment longer. In how her silence now feels heavier — more charged — like there’s something always on the tip of her tongue.

And maybe you're the same.

Maybe you’ve started watching her too closely. Memorizing the lines of her smirk, the freckles on her shoulders, the way she throws her head back when she laughs like she doesn’t owe the world anything.

Maybe you’re starting to fall.

No — not starting.

You already are.

It happens on the third Thursday since you got here.

You’re helping Ryujin patch a flat tire on her bike, grease staining your fingers. She's crouched beside you, hair tied up in a haphazard bun, an ice pop dangling from her lips like some sort of bribe.

"You know," she says casually, "I don’t hate having you here."

You glance up at her.

She’s not looking at you. Just focused on the tire.

"That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week," you joke.

She shrugs. "Don’t get used to it."

But her voice is soft. The kind of soft she only uses when she means something and doesn’t want you to know she means it.

You hand her the wrench.

She takes it — and her fingers brush yours.

And she doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

That night, there’s a fireworks festival in town.

Ryujin shows up at your room in denim overalls and a sleeveless black crop top, holding two cans of soda like it’s no big deal. Her hair’s still a mess. Her nails are chipped. Her lips are cherry red from the popsicle she had earlier.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“You gonna keep staring, or are we leaving?” she says.

You don’t answer. You just walk beside her.

The festival is all noise and color — lanterns strung between trees, kids running barefoot, the smell of grilled squid and sweet syrup hanging in the air.

You and Ryujin sit on the hill above the main square, legs stretched out, shoulders almost — almost — touching.

The first firework explodes overhead.

Ryujin tilts her head back, lips parted in wonder.

You should say something. You should tell her.

Instead, you ask, “What’s your biggest fear?”

She blinks. Then laughs. “What kind of firework-date-question is that?”

“Come on,” you nudge her. “Humor me.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

Then: “I’m scared I’ll lose the people who make me feel real.”

You glance at her.

She’s not watching the sky anymore.

She’s watching you.

Later that night, you’re walking back.

The fireworks are over. The town’s lights are dim. The cicadas have returned in full force.

Ryujin reaches out and loops her pinky through yours.

She doesn’t look at you when she does it. Just keeps walking like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Your heart nearly stops.

The air between you and Ryujin feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm. Her pinky is still looped through yours, a small but undeniable connection. You don’t pull away. Neither does she. The cicadas hum in the background, their rhythm steady, almost hypnotic. The night wraps around you both, heavy and warm, and for once, there’s no teasing, no sarcasm, no chaos. Just this.

Just Ryujin.

You glance at her. Her profile is sharp in the moonlight, her jawline softened by the faintest curve of her lips. She’s not looking at you, but you can feel the weight of her presence, the way she seems to anchor the entire world around you. It’s unnerving. It’s exhilarating.

“You’re quiet,” she says suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “That’s new.”

You swallow, trying to find your voice. “Just… thinking.”

She laughs, a low, raspy sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Dangerous.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, your voice steadier than you feel. “You’re the one who started this.”

Her grin falters for a split second, and she finally turns to look at you. Her eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s something in them—something raw, something vulnerable—that makes your chest tighten.

“Maybe I did,” she says quietly. “But you’re the one who’s still here.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if you can say anything. All you know is that Ryujin’s hand is still linked with yours, and for some reason, that feels like the most important thing in the world.

She breaks the silence first, her voice lighter now, but not quite careless. “Race you back?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She smirks, the familiar mischievous glint back in her eyes. “You heard me. Last one to the house is a rotten egg.”

Before you can respond, she’s already taken off, her laughter trailing behind her like a challenge. You stare after her for a moment, stunned, before snapping out of it and sprinting to catch up.

She’s fast—faster than you remember—but you’re not about to let her win. Not tonight. Not when it feels like everything’s on the line.

You’re both breathless by the time you reach the house, Ryujin collapsing onto the porch with a triumphant laugh. “Told you I’d win.”

You lean against the railing, trying to catch your breath. “You cheated.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

You don’t miss the way her voice hesitates on the word love, the way her eyes flicker to yours for just a second before looking away. It’s subtle, but it’s there. And it’s enough to make your heart race all over again.

She stands, brushing herself off, and heads inside without another word. You follow, your mind still spinning, still trying to make sense of everything that’s happened tonight.

But when you step into the living room, Ryujin’s already there, leaning against the couch with that same unreadable expression on her face. She doesn’t say anything, just watches you, her eyes dark and intense.

You stop, feeling like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. “What?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a step closer, then another, until she’s standing right in front of you. Her presence is overwhelming, her warmth seeping into your skin, her scent—citrus and something wild, something uniquely Ryujin—filling your lungs.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding in your chest as she tilts her head slightly, studying you like you’re a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

“You’re different,” she says finally, her voice soft but firm. “Why?”

You swallow, your throat dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Yes, you do.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, you do know. You’ve always known. And now, standing here, with Ryujin so close you can feel her breath on your skin, it’s impossible to ignore.

She reaches up, her fingers brushing against your cheek, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

“Tell me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You open your eyes, meeting her gaze, and for the first time, you don’t hold back. “I’m thinking about you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes soften, her smile fading into something more serious, more intense. And then, without warning, she closes the distance between you, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both tentative and undeniable.

Your breath hitches, your hands instinctively finding her waist as she deepens the kiss, her fingers tangling in your hair. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, it’s everything Ryujin is—and it’s perfect.

When she finally pulls away, you’re both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to pull away, to laugh it off like it’s just another one of her pranks.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles—a real, genuine smile—and says, “About time.”

You laugh, a little breathless, a little dazed. “You’re impossible.”

She grins, her usual mischief back in full force. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

And the thing is, she’s right. You do. You always have.

But before you can say anything, she’s already pulling away, her hand slipping into yours as she tugs you toward the stairs. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She looks back at you, her grin widening. “You’ll see.”

And just like that, the chaos begins again—but this time, you’re ready for it.

Ryujin stops abruptly at the foot of the stairs, her fingers tightening around yours. She turns, her gaze locking with yours, and there’s a flicker of mischief that makes your stomach twist. “Actually,” she says, her voice low and teasing, “let’s go this way instead.”

Before you can even process her words, she’s pulling you toward the kitchen. The house is silent except for the sound of your footsteps and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your heart pounds as she leads you into the dimly lit room, her grip firm, almost possessive.

She stops in front of the counter, her back to the sink, and turns to face you. Her eyes are dark, intense, and they never leave yours as she steps closer—so close you can feel the heat of her body against yours. You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat, as she presses you back against the counter.

“Ryujin…” you start, but she silences you with a finger on your lips.

“Shh,” she whispers, leaning in until her lips brush against your ear. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Her hands slide down your chest, slow and deliberate, and you shiver under her touch. She smells like summer—like sunscreen and sweat and something sweet, something distinctly her. Your hands find her waist almost instinctively, anchoring yourself as she tilts her head, her lips grazing the side of your neck.

“Do what?” you manage to ask, though your voice comes out hoarse, barely audible.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. “This.”

And then she’s moving, stepping away just long enough to reach into the pantry. She pulls out a jar of honey, holding it up like it’s some kind of prize. Your brows furrow in confusion, but before you can ask, she’s already unscrewing the lid.

“Ryujin,” you say again, your voice trembling. “What are you—?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she drizzles a thin line of honey down your chest, starting just below your collarbone and letting it trail down to your stomach. The sensation is cold at first, sticky and strange, but then she sets the jar aside and leans in, her tongue following the trail.

You groan, your head falling back against the cabinet behind you as her lips and tongue move over your skin, warm and wet and electric. She takes her time, savoring every inch, her hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. Every stroke feels like fire, lighting up every nerve in your body.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your fingers tangling in her hair as she works her way down. Her tongue flicks over a sensitive spot just above your navel, and you jerk involuntarily, your hips pressing forward.

She chuckles against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “You like that, huh?”

“You’re such a menace,” you mutter, though your voice is shaky, and you’re pretty sure you’re not fooling anyone.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And yet, you’re not stopping me.”

You don’t have a response for that—mostly because you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe. She smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and then she’s back at it, her tongue tracing patterns on your skin that leave you gasping.

“Ryujin,” you manage to say, your voice strained. “This is—”

“What?” she interrupts, looking up at you with those dark, teasing eyes. “Too much?”

You shake your head, your hands tightening in her hair. “No. Just… not enough.”

Her grin widens, and she shifts closer, her body pressing against yours as she licks the last traces of honey from your skin. “Good.”

She leans in then, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow and utterly maddening. Her hands slide up your chest, sticky from the honey, and you can’t help but groan as she deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours.

You’re not sure how long it lasts—seconds, minutes, hours—but when she finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks at you with a mix of satisfaction and something else—something deeper, something that makes your heart race even faster.

“You taste sweet,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You laugh, though it’s shaky and uneven. “That’s the honey.”

She shakes her head, her smile softening. “No. It’s you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. Instead, you pull her back in, your lips crashing against hers in a kiss that’s hungry and desperate and filled with all the things you’ve both been too afraid to say.

Her hands slide down your back, gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it over your head before tossing it aside. Her own tank top follows, leaving her in just her sports bra, and you groan at the sight of her skin—smooth and golden and perfect.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your hands skating over her sides, feeling the warmth of her beneath your fingertips.

She smirks, her hands sliding up your chest again. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You laugh, but it’s cut short as she pushes you back against the counter again, her lips finding your neck as her hands explore your body. You’re helpless against her touch, your hips pressing forward as she grinds against you, her breath hot against your skin.

“Ryujin,” you gasp, your hands gripping her waist tightly. “We can’t—someone might—”

“No one’s home,” she interrupts, her voice low and filled with promise. “It’s just us.”

And just like that, any lingering hesitation evaporates. You kiss her again, hard and deep, your hands roaming over her body as she does the same to you. The kitchen falls away, the world narrows to just the two of you, and for once, everything feels right.

She pulls back just long enough to grab the jar of honey again, and this time, she drizzles it down her own chest, her eyes never leaving yours. “Your turn,” she whispers, her voice dripping with challenge.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You don’t hesitate. Your lips crash into hers with a hunger that surprises even you. Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as your tongues dance in a fiery rhythm. The taste of honey on her lips is intoxicating, sweet and sticky, and you can’t get enough.

Your hands move on their own, sliding down her back, feeling the heat of her skin beneath your fingertips. She arches into you, her body pressing against yours in a way that makes your breath hitch. You grip her hips, lifting her onto the counter with a strength you didn’t know you had. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, pulling you closer, and you can feel the urgency in the way she clings to you.

She moans softly into your mouth, a sound that sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your hands roam her body, exploring every curve, every dip, committing her to memory. Her nails dig into your back, sharp and possessive, and you groan against her lips, the mix of pain and pleasure driving you wild.

You grind against her, the friction between your bodies sending waves of heat through you both. She whimpers, her head falling back as you trail kisses down her neck. Your teeth nip at her collarbone, and she gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair. “More,” she breathes, her voice a desperate plea.

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands move to her chest, fumbling with the clasp of her sports bra. It comes undone with a soft click, and she shimmies out of it, her breasts spilling free. You take a moment to admire her, the way her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the way her nipples harden under your gaze.

Leaning down, you take one nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as she gasps and arches her back. Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails leaving faint crescent marks as you give her the attention she craves. You switch to the other nipple, your teeth grazing it gently, and she lets out a low moan that vibrates through your entire body.

“God, you’re—” she starts, but her words dissolve into a whimper as your hands slide down her sides, settling on her hips. You grip her tightly, pulling her closer as you continue to work her with your mouth.

Her legs tighten around your waist, and you can feel how much she wants you, how much she needs you. It’s intoxicating, the way she responds to you, the way she melts under your touch. You’ve never felt this kind of connection before, this kind of raw, unfiltered desire.

You pull back just enough to meet her eyes, her lips swollen from your kisses, her hair a wild mess around her face. “Ryujin,” you murmur, your voice rough with need.

She looks at you, her eyes dark with want, and smiles that mischievous smile that always drives you crazy. “What? Got something to say, city boy?” she teases, her voice a little breathless.

You smirk, your hands moving to the waistband of her shorts. “Just wondering how much trouble I’m about to get into.”

She laughs, low and throaty, and pulls you back in for another kiss. “You have no idea,” she murmurs against your lips.

You undo the button of her shorts, sliding them down her legs along with her underwear. She kicks them off, and suddenly, she’s completely bare before you, her skin glowing in the dim light of the kitchen. You step back for a moment, just to take her in, and she raises an eyebrow at you. “Like what you see?” she asks, her voice laced with amusement.

“You’re perfect,” you say, your voice hoarse with emotion. And you mean it. Every inch of her is perfection, from the way her hair falls over her shoulders to the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Enough staring. Get over here.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You step back between her legs, your hands on her hips, and she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you down for another searing kiss. Her legs tighten around you, pulling you closer, and you can feel how wet she is, how ready for you.

You reach down between your bodies, guiding yourself to her entrance, and she gasps as you press against her. “Ryujin,” you murmur, your voice thick with need.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark and filled with desire. “I’m ready,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

You push into her slowly, giving her time to adjust, and she lets out a soft moan, her nails digging into your back. She’s so tight, so warm, and it takes every ounce of self-control you have to keep from losing yourself in her completely.

“You feel amazing,” you murmur, your voice rough with need.

She laughs softly, her breath hitching as you start to move. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, her voice a little shaky.

You start to move, slow and steady at first, letting her get used to the sensation. But then she digs her nails into your back, and the sound she makes is enough to make you lose control. You start to thrust harder, deeper, and she moans, her head falling back as she arches into you.

Her hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you as you move together. Her fingers trace the muscles of your back, your shoulders, your chest, and every touch sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“Faster,” she breathes, her voice filled with need, and you oblige, picking up the pace. Her legs tighten around you, pulling you deeper, and she lets out a low moan that sends a shiver down your spine.

You can feel the tension building in her body, the way she clenches around you, and it drives you wild. You grip her hips tightly, pulling her closer as you thrust into her, and she lets out a cry, her nails digging into your shoulders.

“I’m close,” she gasps, her voice trembling with need.

You lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as you drive into her, the sound of your bodies coming together filling the kitchen. She moans into your mouth, her body trembling as she reaches her peak, and you follow her over the edge, the force of your release leaving you both breathless.

You stay like that for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling as you both come down from the high. She smiles up at you, her eyes soft and filled with something you can’t quite place.

“So…” she says, her voice teasing, “was that worth the wait?”

You laugh, pulling her closer. “Absolutely.”

She grins, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh yeah? What’s next, then?”

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear. “Let’s just say… you’re about to find out.”

And just like that, you’re pulled back into the chaos, the heat, the endless, breathless spiral of her. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her fingers tighten around your wrist as she pulls you down the hallway, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan in the kitchen, still spinning from your earlier escapade. Ryujin glances over her shoulder, her hair falling in a messy cascade, her lips curving into that familiar, mischievous grin.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, your voice low, still catching your breath.

“You’ll see,” she says, dragging you toward her bedroom. The door creaks open, and she shoves you inside, following closely and shutting it behind her with a soft click.

Her room is exactly how you remember it — chaotic in the most Ryujin way possible. Clothes are strewn across the floor, a skateboard leans against the wall, and posters of bands you’ve never heard of cover the walls. The scent of her — something sweet and wild, like strawberries and pine — fills the air.

She turns to face you, her eyes dark and playful. “You’ve been holding out on me, cousin.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How so?”

She steps closer, her hands sliding up your chest, her touch sending shivers down your spine. “You’ve been acting all innocent, like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing back in the kitchen. But I know you. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Maybe.”

She laughs, soft and low, and presses herself against you. “Good. Because so have I.”

Her lips find yours again, eager and demanding, and you sink into the kiss, your hands tangling in her hair. She tugs at your lower lip with her teeth, pulling a soft groan from you, and then she’s pushing you backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of her bed.

“Sit,” she commands, her voice thick with desire.

You obey, your heart pounding as she straddles your lap, her thighs pressing against your hips. She leans in, her breath warm against your neck, and whispers, “You’re mine now.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A claim. And you don’t argue.

Her hands roam over your chest, her touch feather-light but electric, and you can’t help but shudder under her. She kisses you again, deep and slow, her tongue teasing yours, and you lose yourself in the taste of her, in the heat of her body against yours.

“Ryujin,” you murmur against her lips, your hands gripping her hips.

“What?” she whispers back, her voice teasing.

“You’re driving me crazy.”

She smirks, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good. That’s the point.”

Before you can respond, she’s sliding off your lap and standing in front of you, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. She wiggles out of them slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked on yours, and then she’s standing there in nothing but her sports bra, her skin glowing in the dim light of the room.

You stare, unable to look away, your breath hitching in your throat.

She grins, her hands on her hips. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do,” you say, your voice rough.

She steps closer, her hands sliding up your chest again, and then she’s tugging at your shirt. “Fair’s fair, cousin.”

You pull it off, tossing it to the side, and she lets out a low whistle, her fingers tracing the lines of your abs. “Damn. You’ve been working out, huh?”

You smirk. “You’ve noticed.”

She laughs, shaking her head, and then she’s pushing you back onto the bed, climbing over you until she’s sitting on your hips. Her hands brace on your chest, and she leans down, her lips brushing against yours. “You’re not gonna be able to walk straight tomorrow.”

You groan, your hands sliding up her thighs. “Promises, promises.”

She kisses you again, hard and hungry, and you respond in kind, your hands roaming over her body, memorizing every curve, every dip. She pulls back, her breathing heavy, and reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. It falls away, and you’re left staring at her, your chest tight with want.

“Ryujin,” you say, her name a prayer on your lips.

She smiles, slow and wicked, and then she’s leaning down, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, until she reaches the waistband of your pants. Her fingers undo the button, the zipper, and then she’s pulling them off, leaving you bare before her.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “You ready?”

You nod, unable to speak, and she grins, her hands sliding up your thighs. “Good.”

Her touch is electric, and when her lips wrap around you, you swear you see stars. Your hands tangle in her hair, your hips bucking against her, and she hums in approval, her tongue teasing you in ways that make you forget your own name.

“Ryujin,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed.

She pulls back, her lips slick, and grins up at you. “Not yet.”

Before you can protest, she’s climbing back up your body, her lips finding yours again, and then she’s guiding you inside her, her breath hitching as she sinks down onto you. She moans, her head falling back, and you grip her hips, helping her move, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

“You feel so good,” she whispers, her hands braced on your chest.

“You’re incredible,” you say, your voice strained.

She picks up the pace, her movements becoming more desperate, more urgent, and you meet her thrust for thrust, your hands roaming over her body, pulling her closer, deeper. Her nails dig into your chest, and you groan, the sensation only driving you wilder.

“Close,” she gasps, her voice trembling.

“Me too,” you say, your grip on her hips tightening.

She cries out, her body tightening around you, and you follow her over the edge, the world shattering around you as you both collapse into each other, breathless and spent.

Her head falls against your chest, her breathing ragged, and you wrap your arms around her, holding her close.

“That was…” she starts, her voice muffled against your skin.

“Amazing,” you finish for her.

She laughs, soft and sleepy, and presses a kiss to your chest. “Yeah. Amazing.”

You both lie there, tangled together, the room hushed except for the sound of your breathing. After a moment, she lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours.

“You’re not gonna be able to walk straight tomorrow,” she says again, her grin returning.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Worth it.”

She leans in, her lips brushing against yours. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.”

387 notes · View notes

elleaitch22 · 28 days ago

Text

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 6: Peace, Interrupted

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Busy week this week, so I hope I'll be able to post chapter 7 by Wednesday! I hope you love it!! xx Elle

Warnings: Emotional abuse recovery and homophobia

Word Count: 3.4k

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Azzi blinked slowly, as sunlight began to peek through the curtains of her new bedroom. For a moment, she just lay there, listening to the quiet. No sirens, no shouting, no heels clicking outside her window. It was different. Peaceful.

Chicago was a city that never slept, but on the 59th floor of the Aurelia, Azzi finally could.

This was the first weekend she had been able to go to sleep before 3 a.m. since moving to Chicago. Now that she was free of Maison Noire, she would not be going back, ever. She had no more late-night shifts or weird customers, all because of Paige.

She nuzzled further into the soft, silky sheets and inhaled deeply. The lavender scented detergent lingered in the air, soothing Azzi’s nerves. She was rested now. She could think about Paige and all these handouts with a fully present mind.

A condo. A driver. Money. Too much money.

On one hand, Azzi wanted to say that it was a more acceptable form of what Grant was doing to her. But Jana’s comment from yesterday popped back into her head.

They said I’m family now.

And Paige? Paige clearly took care of her family.

Azzi decided she should wait it out.

People always show you who they are if you give them enough time.

She rolled out of bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floor to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, twisted the front of her hair into a bun, and slipped into some leggings and an oversized t-shirt from her dad. She sighed as she pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks – Azzi hated cold floors.

She sat at the table, cataloging what the apartment had and listed what she still needed. She was still doing an inventory of the refrigerator’s contents when she heard a knock on her front door.

Unlike yesterday, Azzi was fully awake – awake enough to panic. Had Grant found her?

Breathe, Azzi. No one knows you live here, except for safe people.

Peeking in the peephole, she saw Ice outside balancing a tray of coffee on top of a stack of books.

She flung the door open. “Let me take some of that for you!” She exclaimed.

Ice handed off the tray and followed her into the living room.

“No shoes inside,” Azzi added.

Ice kicked her Crocs off by the door with a playful smirk, before continuing into the apartment with a slight grimace. “I’m so happy Paige sent me,” she started, “This place is making me depressed.”

Azzi ducked her head and blushed. “Excuse me,” putting a hand to her chest dramatically. “Somebody decided to move me out of my old palace and move me into this dump with no notice!”

The women giggled, “Seriously though, I’m excited to help you make this space come to life! First things first, what kind of vibes are you wanting?”

“Oh,” she paused to think. Azzi was already indecisive, but her previous relationship did not help with that. “Um, maybe just a calm vibe?” She said, unsure.

“Well, there are many different ways we could style calm. We could do forest calm with lots of greens and browns. We could do beachy calm with blues and taupes. Or we could do a darker calm, grays, blacks, and whites. Which would you pre–”

Before Ice could finish her statement, Azzi’s front door opened. “What’s up girly pops!” KK strolled into the kitchen happily. She plopped onto the couch. “Am I late?”

“Who even invited you, Kamorea?” Ice rolled her eyes.

“Girl boo!” She turned to Azzi. “Paige said y’all were gonna meet up today, and I felt let out. I’m here to help!” She beamed.

Azzi loved the happy and lighthearted energy KK brought everywhere she went. She understood why everyone liked her so much. “Thanks for coming, KK. Do you guys want some breakfast? I was going to make an omelet before Ice came over.”

Both women put their order in with Azzi, Ice moving to the dining room to make a few sample boards for Azzi to choose from, while KK followed Azzi into the kitchen.

The next thirty minutes were filled with rapid fire questions.

Why do you work with children? Do they annoy you? What do you do when you’re mad? Do you ever lose your temper? What made you want to teach anyway? What’s your favorite food? Are you allergic to anything? Did you know Soleil is allergic to gluten too? Twins! How do you feel about the arrangement and everything? Is there anything we can do to make this easier for you? Do you know how hard it is to get into our family? You know you can always ask us for help? Am I your favorite so far? Do you have social media? Can you send me your handles? Oh, you don’t have my number, here. The most important question, what are all your favorites? Food, color, season, vacation, place, restaurant, movie, show, artist, song, book, smell, holiday.

Azzi had felt like she’d undergone an interrogation, not as aggressive as it could have been, but KK was obviously fishing for information.

She didn’t mind though. Initially, she felt almost guilty, laughing and joking with her new friends. Grant never allowed her to have girl time. During the first thirty minutes of Ice and KK’s visit, Azzi looked towards the front door every two or three minutes. She was tense, bracing herself for the angry tirade Grant would go on when he got home.

Over time, Azzi’s shoulders involuntarily loosened. Her laugh came easier. And her jokes and sarcasm flowed naturally. She could breathe deeply because she had friends. For the first time in a long time, Azzi had girlfriends again. The thought made her heart stutter in her chest.

“Shut up, KK.” Ice groaned, “Azzi, come pick a sample board before Paige murders me for wasting time.”

Ice had composed seven different options for Azzi to choose from. Which was lovely, except for the fact that Azzi hated making decisions like this. She would rather someone else chose so she didn’t have to sit there stuck on the same question for five hours. She was grateful that she was cooking, so she had something else to occupy her mind.

Azzi knew she didn’t like the ones that were mostly monochromatic, which eliminated three of the seven options. She wasn’t really a fan of the palette with only different shades of brown.

She served the ladies their omelets while she looked closer had the different sample boards. She narrowed it down to three options. Baby pinks, dark teals, and golds. Pinks, oranges, and yellows. And blues and greens.

Without vegetables to cut and omelets to make, Azzi had no more distractions.

Her hands wringed together anxiously. She didn’t want to make the wrong choice.

You can’t even pick which colors you want in your house? You’re a worthless fucking idiot.

“I kinda of like the one with the orange.” Ice said when she saw how flustered Azzi was getting. “Besides, it’s no big deal. If you don’t like it, we can always change it later.”

“Yeah, girly pop! For once, Ice is right! If you do the orange, you can do more happy colors. Like you can have those yellow pillows, and orange and pick rug, and a pink couch! You can have fun in here, and if you decide you don’t like it, fuck it!” KK’s logic made perfect sense to Azzi in that moment.

She swallowed thickly, head jerking in a nod. “S-sorry, sometimes it’s hard for me to make decisions.”

Both women looked at her, sadness in their eyes. “It’s not that bad. My ex, Grant, used to make all the decisions. He was a little controlling, and it’s just a little hard to remember he’s not in charge anymore.” Azzi finished, looking down as the empty plate.

Before either woman could answer, Azzi phone rang loudly. For a second, she was a statue. Fuck, had he found her already?

“Are you gonna get that?” Ice questioned lowly.

Jogging to her room to get the device, her brow furrowed. What the hell is her school doing calling her on a Sunday.

She waited to pick up, “Sorry guys, it’s my boss. Are you cool with waiting for a second?”

Ice nodded, gathering her things quickly. “Yeah, that’s fine. I need to get these plans to Paige so they can be finished sooner.”

KK still had half her omelet, so she stayed – and ended up hearing everything.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith. I hope you’re having a good Sunday.” Azzi’s voice was filled with false cheer. She was still salty over the meeting with Paige and Soleil.

“My day would be a lot better if one of my teachers wasn’t photographed being a harlot!” The principal sneered.

Azzi reeled back, like she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

You’re just a slut, Azzi. Not worth anything but your mouth and your cunt.

“I’ve had seventeen parents find me during the service to say their children don’t deserve to be corrupted by someone like you. You’re fired effect–”

Azzi’s eyes bug out of her head. “Fired?” She screeches.

“This can’t be surprising to you, Ms. Fudd. After I just talked to you about your behavior, you start dating your student’s parent!” Mr. Smith fusses.

“That’s not fair!” Azzi exclaims. “Mrs. Baker used–!”

Mr. Smith cut her off. “Well, Mrs. Baker isn’t a lesbian. That goes against our code of conduct. Please be here at 6 tomorrow morning to clean out your belongings.”

Click.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hit something.

Everything Grant had said to her came rushing back in.

You’ll open your legs for anyone who gives you a little attention. You’re a fucking whore. You think that guy’s gonna want you when he sees how used up you are? I’m so happy I don’t have kids because I could never leave them with you. You’re too fucking stupid to know how to teach them anything. The only thing you’re good at is sucking dick and laying on your back. You’re fucking pathetic. Worthless. Useless. You should be grateful I love you so much because no one else would put up with this shit.

Azzi was spiraling.

KK winced at the guttural sobs coming from Azzi’s room. She felt white hot rage at the things she overheard. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fix it.

So she waited.

She washed the cutting boards and pans Azzi used to make breakfast. She wiped down the sink and countertops. She made sure everything was put away.

But Azzi didn’t come out. KK still heard sniffling coming from the bedroom, and she sighed. She was about to sit on the couch and wait a little longer before a thought popped in her mind. She knew exactly who could fix this.

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

Paige smiled softly, looking at the options Azzi selected for her space. This was probably one of the best ideas she had. She got to dump out piles of money for the brunette, she was able to make sure she had a friend here, and, if KK had done what she was supposed to do, she would know a little more about Azzi Fudd.

Ice was getting to office furnishings when KK burst in.

“Azzi just got fired!”

The chatter between the two women stilled, heads snapping up. “KK what are you talking about?” Ice questioned.

“I heard it. Her principal called. He just fired her for dating Paige. Pictures were going around and parents were complaining.” Her voice was firm, face blank. KK was serious.

The best friends looked at Paige warily. “You didn’t think about that?” Ice questioned sharply.

For once, Paige stuttered. “I-I thought I covered everything.” Rubbing her temples, leg bouncing. “I told Q to bury the story. I paid her ten thousand dollars to make everything go away. She brought me the card with all the pictures on it.”

She was pissed. Obviously at the school, but also with herself. Paige Bueckers was always supposed to be ten steps ahead of everyone else. It was why she assigned Morgan to Azzi, why she moved her into her building. She went on this whole tirade about the media getting information about her, she didn’t even think about the repercussions it would have on her. A queer Black woman working at a Christian school.

Paige didn’t know how she looked at Azzi until she looked at the photos Q had dropped off. Anyone with eyes and a brain could see the hungry gaze Paige gave her. They could see the want as she looked at Azzi painting with Soleil. The heat in her blue eyes was evident during their dance. Of course the school would think they were together.

“FUCK!”

“Mommy, that’s a bad wowd.” Soleil looked up from her LEGO tower, hand extended. “You owe me ten dollaws.”

Paige sighed, forcing herself to calm down. “I’m sorry honey.” She fished a bill out from her wallet, “I was doing so well too.”

“It’s okay! Now I can get some ice cweam!” She smiled brightly.

“I’ll take her! Fire and Ice adventure time.” Ice beamed. Soleil squealed with excitement.

All the control Paige normally had was gone. For years, she’d controlled every narrative about herself. But she lost control last night – she let everyone see how much she wanted Azzi. And she got hurt because of it. She embarrassed her. Cost her everything.

Anyone could see how much Azzi loved her job. It was in the smile she wore when she saw her students. It was in the way her classroom was decorated. It was in the way she talked to children as equals, not second class citizens.

She loved that job. She needed that job. And Paige had gone and fucked it all up.

She’s going to leave. She’s going to leave Soleil.

Paige shook her head. No. Fuck no. She wouldn’t let her mistake screw with Soleil too.

She was going to fix this. She had to fix this. She would have Allie draft a lawsuit. She would buy the school if she needed. She would take all that money for the library and move Lei to a different school. A better school.

Nothing can undo what you did. Paige deflated, lifting her head from her hands.

“She really liked her job.” KK muttered, face serious. “She wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“I know,” Blue eyes traced the designs on the rug.

“Do you want me to get Nika?” Paige nodded sharply.

Nika would know what to do. It was half her job – being the COO and CMO of Kairos Equity meant that she would know how to handle scandals and negotiations. She would tell Paige what to do.

Paige pulled out her phone to text Allie, her lawyer, when Nika’s heels clacked across the polished floors.

“KK told me what happened. What are you thinking?” She cut straight to the point.

Paige ran her hands down her pale face. “Fuck, this is all my fault.” How the fuck was she supposed to prove that she would be good enough for Azzi if she couldn’t even think enough to know that she’d get fired if their “relationship” was publicized? “Nik. I need you to help me fix this. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me if she can’t keep her job.”

Nika placed a warm hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Nothing like that’s gonna happen. I’ll fix it. Everyone knows you can’t fire someone for their sexuality; there are federal laws to support her. I’ll call Allie and have her look into it. You just need to relax.”

Paige heard the things Nika was saying, but she didn’t quite believe her. Azzi was a good teacher, and Paige’s ignorance costed her a job she was very good at.

“Have you talked to her yet?” Nika asked lowly.

The blonde shood her head, “I was planning on it. Was gonna start with talking about the shit with Ice, then try to get to know her.” She muttered.

“Oh,” Nika breathed. “That’s why you care so much.”

Paige’s head shot up, “What are you talking about.”

“You like her.” She smirked. “You’re trying to woo her, and you think she’s going to be so upset that she doesn’t give you a chance.” The stupid little smirk had turned into a full-blown grin.

“Shut up.” Through clenched teeth. “You really think she’s gonna want to talk to me today? Much less share a meal with me? She should hate me.”

“Suck it up, buttercup!” Nika says, rising from the couch. “Just ask her. She’s nice, so it’s not like she’ll say no. Use your charm and you’ll be fine. Just get her to dinner and talk to her.”

Paige pouted for a little while before doing what her big sister told her to do.

First, she texted Ice and asked her to come back after ice cream so they could finish ordering things for Azzi’s apartment.

Dinner tonight? I’ll be down to get you at 7. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.

Simple. Paige launched her phone to the sofa on the opposite side of the living room. Elbows on knees, she waited for the ding of a text message.

Ding

Azzi Fudd: How fancy is this place?

Paige sighed, she should’ve known Nika was right.

It can be casual or fancy. We’re in a private room. Wear anything but sweats.

The next ding came at the same time of the elevator.

Azzi Fudd: See you at 7

Paige only had a few seconds to wipe the smile off her face before Ice walked in.

Tonight was going to be perfect. It had to be.

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

Azzi was confused.

From what she remembered, they had to do one outing a week. They had just spent the entire night at a gala. Cameras followed their every move, surely that had to be enough, right?

Maybe it’s a date? She wouldn’t mind getting to know Paige better. She was pretty, intelligent, and she had the perfect daughter. She was protective enough to make Azzi feel safe, and that is probably why she was dangerous. Grant made her feel safe too, it didn’t last long, but he did.

She knew the signs to look for now. How to differentiate between being controlling and being assertive. She wouldn’t let herself be with someone life Grant again.

Besides, Azzi knew the Paige was out of her league. She’s one of the richest women in the United States. She had seen countless articles about her being the most wanted bachelorette. She’d had girls thirsting over her since she was in high school. She could have anyone she ever wanted, and she didn’t want Azzi. No. She just pitied and appreciated her enough to adopt her into her makeshift family.

Azzi figured she should take advantage of her situation and get as much free stuff as she should. She’d be able to heal her heart later, but pretty blondes who are willing to spoil you don’t come around often.

She was grateful for the distraction the dinner would provide.

She padded to the kitchen, digging for a spoon and some ice cream, before plopping down on the couch. She set an alarm for 5:00 so she’d have enough time to get ready, opting to watch Grey’s Anatomy in the meantime.

The show still played in the background while Azzi was getting ready. She browsed her closet and landed on a burnt orange mini dress. The lightweight fabric flowed while still showing her figure. She paired it with strappy, brown sandals and a light jacket. She pulled her hair up into a tasteful puff, and after adding a light layer of makeup, she felt ready.

Paige knocked on the door promptly at 6:30. She wore an all cream Honor the Gift outfit, a pair of Nike dunk lows, and a nice Dior bracelet. Her hair was left down and in gentle waves. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and Azzi felt a little better about letting the pretty woman ruin her life.

“Hey. I should’ve asked this earlier, but are you allergic to anything?” Paige asked as they walked to the elevator.

“Just gluten, like Soleil. I miss eating things that brought me joy.” She joked.

“Perfect, the restaurant I chose has a great gluten free menu.”

Azzi let Paige lead her, waiting to see how this night would turn out.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #paige x azzi #terms of endearment

197 notes · View notes

unabashegirl · 6 months ago

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The Cover | part 4

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: Hello everyone, here is the final part of the cover. I've decided to keep the smut exclusive to my Patreon subscribers. I hope that is okay with you. Also remember that this is a shorter version of the original.

I'm trying to come up with new ideas for one shots. Pls vote! Especially if you are subscribed to Patreon! Help Decide the Next One-Shot!

I'm still trying to gather the money to continue my journey to medical school in January. I've only gotten 1% of my goal. I'll leave the link here in case you would like or are able to help me. Please I am desperate! 🥺 https://ko-fi.com/mariabernal8706

Collections on Patreon!: These are ⭐️one-time purchases⭐️ that give you access to specific stories or series, even if they’re not fully finished. 👉🏻 You’ll get all the chapters available so far and automatically receive any new chapters as they’re posted. 👈🏻No membership needed! It’s perfect for those who want to enjoy a specific story without a monthly subscription. Plus, it’s a great way to support my work while getting exactly what you’re excited to read. Head over to my Patreon, find the Collections section, and grab the one that speaks to you. Once purchased, the content is yours to enjoy as it’s updated.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the rest of the chapters, various one shots and much more :)

As the evening wore on, the rehearsal dinner turned into a carefree celebration under the soft glow of fairy lights. Laughter filled the warm air, wine glasses clinked, and the once-formal atmosphere relaxed into something more boozy and free-spirited. Most guests had trickled out, leaving behind only close family and friends, including the bride, who was barefoot and swaying on the grass.

Harry sat at the large wooden table, eyes on the makeshift dance floor where family members stumbled over each other, laughing. His blazer was discarded over his chair, the top buttons of his shirt undone, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. The summer night was humid, and the heat from earlier hung in the air, clinging to everyone like a heavy blanket. Harry ran a hand through his tousled curls, the dampness at his hairline a reminder of how sticky the night had become.

Harry leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a glass of whiskey, now mostly just melted ice. He hadn’t been drinking much since the toasts, but the buzz from earlier still lingered, making him feel a little lighter than usual. His shirt clung to his chest, damp from the heat, and he unbuttoned another button to catch some air.

Across the yard, Y/N spun in her floral dress, laughter echoing in the warm night air, blending with the upbeat music from the DJ. Her cheeks were flushed, hair wild from dancing and drinks. She was the brightest thing in the yard, a glowing figure of joy among the family still hanging around.

Harry took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving her. She was magnetic—the way her dress swayed, the way she threw her head back when she laughed. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

His shirt collar felt tight again, and Harry absentmindedly tugged at it, his eyes tracing the way Y/N’s dress hugged her in all the right places. There was something about the way she moved tonight—so free, so completely herself. It was like watching the most beautiful thing in the world, no filters, no pretenses.

He exhaled, a mix of admiration and frustration settling in. They hadn’t confessed anything yet—no love, no admissions of the truth that lingered between them. Watching her from the sidelines, it hit him just how deep he was in it.

Y/N’s cousin twirled her on the "dance floor," and for a split second, she stumbled, giggling as she caught herself. Beth, now barefoot, joined in, and the three of them—Y/N, her cousin, and Beth—started dancing in a clumsy circle, arms around each other’s shoulders.

The group’s laughter rang louder than the music, and even Y/N’s cousin—who had spent the evening showing off her fiancé and trying to impress Harry—was caught up in the happy, drunken haze of the night.

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders and sinking back into his chair, the sweat on his skin cooling in the evening air. His gaze never left Y/N as she moved, effortlessly beautiful. It struck him again how out of place she seemed here—surrounded by these people, with their petty remarks and forced conversations. She was so much more than that. Watching her dance, carefree and full of life, made his chest tighten.

Then, as Y/N spun in the circle, her eyes met his. For a moment, her smile softened, more intimate, before she waved at him playfully, inviting him to join. Harry shook his head, raising his glass in a half-teasing salute.

She pouted, narrowing her eyes at him before rolling them and letting her arms drop from her cousin and Beth. Without missing a beat, she marched toward him, the fabric of her dress brushing her legs with each step.

“You’re really just going to sit there all night?” Y/N teased, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her voice was light, but the challenge in her eyes was undeniable.

“I’m enjoying the view,” Harry replied, his voice lower than he meant to. He grinned, but there was no mistaking the heat behind his gaze.

Y/N’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “The view’s better up close,” she said, holding out her hand.

Harry stared at her outstretched hand, the challenge and playful spark in her eyes tempting him. It was impossible not to be drawn in. His heart raced, the idea of crossing that line between friendship and something more pulling him in.

For a moment, he considered brushing her off with another excuse. But something shifted. A decision settled in his chest, heavy but certain.

Without another word, he reached out, his hand taking hers. Instead of getting up, he tugged her gently toward him. Y/N gasped in surprise as he pulled her close, his grip firm but careful. She stumbled slightly, and before she could react, Harry pulled her down onto his lap.

“Harry—” she whispered, voice breathless, the protest fading before it even left her lips.

Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Y/N's legs draped over his lap as she sat sideways on him, his other hand settling on her thigh. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of her dress, the floral print fluttering slightly as she adjusted. The delicate pattern contrasted with the intimacy of the moment.

His heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. “Thought you’d look better here,” he murmured, his words laced with both playfulness and something deeper.

Y/N looked up at him, wide-eyed and speechless for a moment, her cheeks flushed from the sudden closeness. She shifted in his lap, slow and tentative, the nervous energy between them thick and palpable. Neither of them had fully acknowledged the tension before.

Her hands found his chest, fingers brushing against the open buttons of his shirt. She swallowed hard. “Harry, what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Was it a challenge? A question? Or just a way to steady herself in the chaos of emotions between them?

He smirked, though his heart felt like it might burst. "I don’t want to dance," he murmured in her ear. "I prefer being here with you."

Her breath hitched at his words. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She’d always hidden her feelings, pushed them aside, but this felt different. It felt real. The way Harry’s arms held her, the way his breath brushed against her skin—it was as if they’d always been this close, even when they hadn’t.

Y/N bit her lip, her nerves taking over for a moment. She wasn’t sure if this was just Harry being playful or if something had really changed between them. But as she sat in his lap, his hand on her thigh, the truth felt undeniable.

Harry could feel her hesitation, the tension in her posture, caught between leaning into him and pulling away. His thumb brushed over the fabric of her dress, a small, reassuring touch, silently telling her it was okay to stay.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear, his voice low and soft. “Just… stay.”

Y/N exhaled, her body melting into his as she allowed herself to give in to the moment. She leaned her head back against his chest, their breaths syncing as they sat close and quiet, the fading party around them.

The world blurred into a soft hum, the laughter and music fading into the background. All that remained was the warmth of Harry’s embrace, the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand, and the electricity of their unspoken feelings finally surfacing.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, her hand resting over Harry’s on her thigh, fingers intertwining. “What are we doing, Harry?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightened his hold on her, his lips near her temple. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, “but I don’t want to stop.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe—just a little—that maybe he felt the same way she did.

Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage she needed. The alcohol made her head spin, but it also gave her the boldness to act. She knew if anything was going to happen, it had to be now.

Suddenly, she stood up from his lap. Harry looked up at her, surprise and curiosity flashing in his eyes. Y/N reached for his glass, brushing against his fingers as she took it. Without breaking eye contact, she downed his drink in one swift motion.

Harry’s gaze was intense, a mix of desire and uncertainty in his eyes. Y/N’s heart raced, but she ignored the nerves and extended her hand to him—an invitation, a challenge, all in one.

For a moment, Harry hesitated, his eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took her hand. Y/N felt a jolt of electricity as their fingers intertwined. With a gentle tug, she pulled him up from his seat, their bodies close, the tension between them undeniable.

Without a word, Y/N led Harry away from the fading party, through the quiet halls of the house. The sounds of laughter and music drifted behind them, their footsteps echoing softly in the silence, their heartbeats quickening in sync.

They reached the door to their shared bedroom, and Y/N paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned to face Harry, her eyes searching his.

His gaze was intense, a mix of desire and something deeper. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple touch sent shivers down her spine.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N nodded, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With that, she turned the doorknob, and they stepped into the room together, closing the door behind them. The night was far from over, and whatever happened next would change everything.

Y/N woke up before Harry, her head pounding slightly from the drinks of last night. The dull throb of a hangover tugged at her, but the memories of the night before were as vivid as ever. Every touch, every whispered word, every lingering moment—it was all clear in her mind.

She lay there for a moment, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Her gaze drifted to Harry, lying beside her on his stomach, completely naked. The sheet had been kicked off during the night, leaving him uncovered. His broad back rose and fell with each slow breath, muscles relaxed, his messy curls falling across his forehead. He looked peaceful, vulnerable, and breathtakingly beautiful.

For a brief moment, Y/N let herself admire him—the smooth lines of his back, the curve of his spine, the way his body seemed perfectly at ease. A warmth spread through her chest, not just from the memories of their night together, but from the way Harry made her feel in this quiet, unspoken moment.

With a sigh, she slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. Grabbing a pair of pajamas from her suitcase, she slipped them on, the soft fabric comforting against her skin. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of the day ahead—the wedding, the ceremony, the reception.

Y/N cast one last glance at Harry before tiptoeing out of the room. She needed a moment to herself—and some breakfast—before the chaos of the day began.

Heading downstairs, she stepped into the dining room, still feeling the faint throb of a hangover, but the promise of coffee and food was enough to offer some relief. She spotted her cousin and Beth immediately. Both looked worse for wear after last night's festivities. Beth was lounging in her chair, sipping a Bloody Mary with a smug expression, while Y/N’s cousin—the bride—was nursing her headache with a cold compress pressed to her puffy face, slowly nibbling on toast.

"Morning," Y/N greeted as she made her way to the coffee pot, pouring herself a steaming cup. She sat down at the table, hoping the caffeine would kick in and help her survive the day ahead. Beth’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she took another sip of her drink.

"So," Beth said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Where did you disappear off to last night?"

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with heat, the memory of waking up next to Harry still fresh in her mind. She tried to play it cool, taking a long sip of her coffee before responding. "We just... went to bed early," she said, keeping her tone casual, hoping to brush it off. "Nothing exciting."

Beth’s grin only grew wider. "Uh-huh. Sure. You just went to sleep, huh?" She leaned in, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. "Come on, Y/N, don’t be shy. You’re a dirty girl now, aren’t you?"

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee, her face burning even hotter as she shot a glare at Beth. "Beth, seriously," she muttered, feeling more exposed than she wanted to admit. Before she could say anything else, her cousin, the bride, spoke up.

"I’m actually glad we have a moment to talk alone," her cousin said, setting down her toast and focusing her attention on Y/N. Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharpness in it that immediately put Y/N on edge. "I’ve been wanting to bring this up for a while now."

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she turned to face her cousin. "Oh?"

Her cousin smiled tightly, pressing the ice pack harder against her swollen face. "I’ve been meaning to say… I’m a bit surprised, to be honest." She gave a small, pointed shrug before continuing. "That someone like Harry would notice… well, someone like you."

Y/N’s heart sank, though she’d braced herself for comments like this. Hearing it still stung. Her cousin’s words were dripping with condescension, like she couldn’t believe Harry would even look twice at Y/N, let alone be interested.

"Someone like me?" Y/N echoed, her voice calm but guarded, forcing herself to keep her tone even.

Her cousin waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. You’ve always been so quiet, so reserved. And Harry’s... well, he’s Harry Styles. A global superstar. It’s just... unexpected, that’s all."

Y/N’s stomach twisted as insecurity rose to the surface. She’d always known Harry’s fame was a shadow that loomed over everything, especially in situations like this. But hearing it like this? It felt personal. It felt like her cousin was questioning her worth, her place beside Harry.

Before Y/N could think of a response, Beth cut in with a sharp laugh. "Oh, shut up," she said, dismissing the bride’s thinly veiled insult with a wave of her hand. "Harry doesn’t care about all that. If anything, he’s lucky Y/N even looks at him."

Y/N shot Beth a grateful glance, feeling the tension shift slightly in the room, but her cousin wasn’t done. She leaned back in her chair, sizing Y/N up with an unreadable look. "Well, I suppose we’ll see," she said, her voice laced with skepticism. "But it’s just... different. I never would've guessed."

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but her cousin’s words hung in the air like a cloud she couldn’t shake. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "Yeah," Y/N said softly. "It is different."

Beth, ever the firecracker, raised her Bloody Mary in a mock toast. "Different is good."

Y/N’s cousin’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, her next words like poison. "I mean, you’re just so... simple," she said, emphasizing the word in a way that felt anything but kind. "And that’s okay! Not everyone has to be flashy or... glamorous." She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush aside any possibility that Y/N could be more than what she was implying. "You’ve always been the quiet one, the one in the background. I suppose some people might find that... charming."

Y/N forced a tight smile, but her cousin’s words stung deeper than she expected. Doubt crept in with every backhanded comment. Was she really that unremarkable? Did everyone see her the way her cousin did—as someone who didn’t quite belong with someone like Harry?

Beth wasn’t having any of it. “Simple?” she scoffed. “You mean down-to-earth, real—not fake like some people I can name.”

Her cousin smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Look at Harry’s usual type—models, actresses. Saw him with that model in London last week? They looked so into each other.”

Y/N froze, her stomach twisting. “What model?” she barely managed to ask.

Her cousin leaned back, eyes sparkling. “You must’ve seen the pictures. They were everywhere. Harry was all over her. Thought they were dating.”

Y/N’s head spun, images of Harry with someone else filling her mind. She hadn’t seen those photos, but the thought gnawed at her.

Beth wasn’t having it. “Can you stop stirring shit? Harry’s here with Y/N, clearly doesn’t care about some random model.”

Y/N’s cousin didn’t respond, just gave a tight smile. Y/N tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

Y/N’s cousin gave her a sweet, condescending smile. “I just thought they looked so... in love. But who knows?” Her eyes glinted, clearly relishing the discomfort she was trying to stir.

Y/N felt the doubt creep in, but instead of reacting, she straightened her back. She locked eyes with her cousin and said, her tone ice-cold, “You know, I could say a lot of things right now. Things that would take that smug look off your face.”

Her cousin blinked, caught off guard. Y/N smiled, the edge never leaving her voice. “But since it’s your wedding day, I’ll keep them to myself. I’ll play the part, smile for the cameras, and make sure everything’s ‘perfect.’”

With that, Y/N turned and walked away, the weight of the moment settling in as she left her cousin speechless. No more doubts. Not today.

Y/N shot her cousin a cold smile, letting the weight of her words sink in. "After today, we’ll be strangers. I don’t plan on speaking to someone so self-absorbed and cold-hearted ever again."

Beth raised an eyebrow, impressed by Y/N's bluntness, but her cousin's face fell, her shock turning to indignation. Before she could respond, Y/N brushed off her hands nonchalantly. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, let me know when hair and makeup get here," she said casually, turning on her heel and walking out.

But as soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N’s facade cracked. The anger that had fueled her words faded, replaced by confusion and pain. Her heart raced, and doubts flooded her mind. Was her cousin right? Did she really belong in Harry’s world? Or was this all just a fantasy? The thought of facing him upstairs—of confronting everything she was feeling—felt too overwhelming. She couldn’t do it, not now.

Y/N slipped quietly through the back door into the garden, the crisp morning air doing little to ease the storm inside her. Coffee cup in hand, she made her way to a small table, steam rising from the mug, the only warmth she could feel.

Her hands shook as she took a sip, the bitter taste matching the thoughts spiraling in her mind. The garden, serene and beautiful, felt like a different world from the chaos in her head.

She had no answers, no idea what to do, or where to go. It all felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

Y/N gripped the mug tightly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. But before she could find her peace, the back door creaked open.

Her mom stormed out, face flushed with anger. Y/N didn’t need to ask why—her cousin had already run to her, no doubt twisting things to make her the villain.

"Y/N!" her mom’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding. “What did you say to your cousin?”

Y/N tensed, her heart sinking. Of course, this was coming. She didn’t even look at her mom, just stared into her coffee, hoping it would swallow her whole.

"She came to me in tears, Y/N! Tears! On her wedding day! How could you be so cruel?"

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her voice steady. She didn’t want to argue—not when she felt so broken inside. "You don’t know what she said to me," she murmured. "She’s been making snide remarks all morning—about me, about Harry. About everything."

Her mom crossed her arms, annoyed. "She’s the bride, Y/N! You could’ve let it go. It’s one day. Now look at what you’ve done. The whole family is talking about it."

Y/N’s chest tightened. "It’s always about how things look, isn’t it?" she muttered, almost to herself. "I didn’t want to make a scene, but I wasn’t going to let her tear me down, not today. Not when I’m already—" she stopped, not wanting to show just how fragile she felt. "Not when she was being completely out of line."

Y/N’s heart dropped as her mother’s words hit their mark. “Out of line?” Her mom scoffed. “She was just pointing out the obvious. Harry isn’t like us. He’s not… your type. And everyone knows it. You should’ve thought twice before bringing him into all of this.”

The sting of her mother’s words cut deep. It was like being told, once again, that she didn’t fit in. That she was too much of an outsider, even in her own life. She felt small, like everything she’d worked so hard for wasn’t enough to make her belong.

“Mom,” Y/N whispered, trying to hold back the wave of emotion building in her chest. “Why do you always make me feel like I’m not enough?”

Her mother paused, just for a second, before shaking her head, as if dismissing Y/N’s hurt. “I’m just saying you need to be realistic,” she said, voice lowering as if that would soften the blow. “Harry’s great, but he doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You need to think about what’s best for you.”

That was it. The words that would stay with Y/N for days. The ones that would echo in her mind, repeating like a broken record. She wanted to scream, to tell her mom how much it hurt, but instead, all she could do was blink back the tears. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting, not now, not with everything weighing on her.

“Just… fix this,” her mom ordered, voice soft but still holding that cold command. “Make it right before the wedding starts. You owe her that.”

Y/N felt the world close in, her heart sinking lower than she ever thought it could.

Y/N’s heart sank as her mom walked away, leaving her standing in the cold. No response. No comfort. Just the weight of her words hanging in the air. She wiped at the tears that had started to spill, her chest tight with everything she couldn’t say, everything she couldn’t change.

She dragged herself upstairs, each step heavier than the last. Her mind was a mess, full of her cousin’s cruel comments and her mom’s cold disappointment. What was she supposed to do with all of this? Where could she go?

When she opened the bedroom door, the warm steam from the shower hit her like a wave, and there he was—Harry. Freshly showered, his damp hair curling at the ends, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was toweling off, his back to her. For a moment, she stood frozen. Her heart ached, unsure of how to handle the storm brewing inside her.

Then he turned around, his face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, there you are,” he said, walking toward her with that familiar smile. But then, his expression faltered when he noticed the tear stains on her face, the redness in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his hand reaching for her. He moved toward her as if to kiss her, but stopped short, brow furrowed in concern.

Y/N opened her mouth, but no words came out. She tried to smile, to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was—everything felt too big. Her throat tightened, and the tears started all over again.

Harry’s face softened, his hands cupping her face gently as he wiped at the fresh tears. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Y/N’s heart raced in her chest. The question she didn’t want to ask, but needed to, bubbled up. “Are you seeing someone? A model?”

Harry froze. The question caught him off guard. “What? A model?”

Y/N's voice trembled, her tears barely held back. “Are you seeing a model, Harry? Please, just tell me the truth.”

Harry looked at her, confused. “What? No, I’m not seeing anyone. Where’s this coming from?”

She choked on her words. “My cousin said she saw pictures of you with someone in London last week, and—”

He immediately softened, understanding clicking. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “If I was seeing someone, you’d know. I’m not dating anyone. It’s just you and me.”

Her heart lifted with the sincerity in his voice. He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “You know how the media is—they make stories out of nothing. Those pictures? Nothing serious. Just some event.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just… everything here has me so confused.”

Y/N melted into Harry's embrace, the warmth of his words easing the ache in her chest.

Harry held her close, his hand soothing her hair. He pulled back slightly, his green eyes full of concern. "Y/N, we don't have to stay here," he said gently. "We can leave right now. You don't have to stay if it's making you feel like this."

Her heart raced as she blinked up at him. “But it’s the wedding…”

“I don’t care,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I don’t want to see you upset over something your cousin said. You don’t need to deal with that. Not another second.” He cupped her face, his eyes searching hers. “We can go. We’ll pack up, drive back to London—just you and me. Leave all this behind.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, knowing he meant it. He would drop everything for her, even for the weekend. The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, love,” Harry murmured. “If staying here means you’re miserable, then let’s go. We can make our own weekend. No pressure, no fake smiles, no cruel comments.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the idea of leaving so tempting. But she still hesitated. “Harry, I... I don’t know.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “It’s your choice. We stay if you want, but you don’t owe anyone here anything. Not even your family.”

Y/N rested her hands on Harry’s chest, leaning into his warmth. The idea of running away with him was tempting, but she couldn’t just walk away—not now, not after everything. Still, his words meant everything.

“I… I think I want to stay,” she whispered, voice steady. “I don’t want to run, Harry. Not from them.”

Harry nodded, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Alright. But if you change your mind, we’re gone. I’ll pack in a heartbeat.” His small smile made her laugh softly, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sinking back into his arms. “For everything.”

“I’ve got you, always,” Harry whispered, his breath warm against her hair. “No matter what.”

The wedding was beautiful. Y/N couldn’t deny it. Despite the tension with her cousin, the love between the bride and groom was undeniable. Her cousin’s eyes sparkled as she walked down the aisle, and the way her fiancé looked at her—like she was the only person in the world—had Y/N’s heart swelling. She even teared up a little.

Though Y/N hadn’t patched things up with her cousin, she didn’t feel the need to apologize. She knew she’d done nothing wrong. Her cousin’s hurtful words had crossed a line, and Y/N wasn’t about to apologize for standing her ground. Harry agreed, and that was all that mattered.

As for Harry? He was the star of the wedding. Eyes constantly on him, people whispering and sneaking glances, captivated by the famous face. But Harry didn’t seem to care. His focus was entirely on one person.

Y/N.

he was wearing a sky-blue silk dress that seemed to float with every step. The fabric hugged her perfectly, and her hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. Throughout the ceremony, the reception, and every moment in between, his gaze never left her—she was the most breathtaking thing in the room.

No matter how many people tried to pull him into conversation, Harry stayed focused on her. His hand found hers more than once, squeezing it under the table during speeches, or brushing her back as they weaved through the crowd.

Every time Y/N caught his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. That warm, genuine smile—just for her—made her feel like she was the only person in the world. There was an unspoken bond between them, growing stronger with every minute that passed.

As the night wore on, filled with laughter and celebration, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. Not just for standing up for herself, but for the man standing by her side.

188 notes · View notes

francixoxoxo · 21 hours ago

Text

Moon on the Rise

finnick odair x reader

You and Finnick wake up to take care of your daughter when she cries in the middle of the night.

Short post mockingjay fluff!!

When your daughter cries, Finnick presses a kiss between the plates of your back and shuffles out of bed.

Life in District 4 was a similar relief as cool water on sunburnt skin. Slow, but not dragging. Relaxed but never boring. Quiet, but comfortably so.

Not to say that having a baby was a rock in your still puddle. Anemone wasn’t anything like that. But she certainly added a little bit of spice to your day to day.

And your nights, naturally.

You groan, his shifting disturbing the perfect dip in the mattress he left. Rolling over just a bit you reach out blindly for your husband, your hand finding a healed scar on his forearm. He couldn’t see the pink as it marred his tan skin, not in the dark, but it was like he knew it was there anyway.

Finnick leans over you and presses a tender kiss to your brow. “I’ve got it, honey. Go back asleep.”

You try to, really. But something in you just won’t drift back off. It’s like the sea, lulling and toiling, crashing up against the walls of your soul, incomprehensibly strong. Something about being a mom, you guess. Even after Anemone stops crying, you feel it swirling in your chest. It pushes you up onto your arms, then off the bed.

You pad barefoot on the wooden floor, watching your step in the darkness so that you don’t trip on Finnicks messily discarded clothes or step right on a stranded pebble. Sand is and maybe forever will be swept through the fine grain of the wood, the smell of linen and sea salt clinging to the curtains and bed sheets.

You’d found a home, here. A place to not particularly forget the war, but find peace with it, you suppose. Find a kind of peace with Finnick.

The wedding was small. Closest friends only— Johanna, Katniss and Peeta, Haymitch.. It only seemed right that the people who fought alongside you to survive got to see you reap the rewards after all the strife. You’d sealed your life with Finnick under a woven and beaded canopy, the taste of saltwater on each others lips and sand caught in the train of your dress.

It was a miracle Anemone didn’t come sooner. You learned you were pregnant the winter after your wedding band found a home on your ring finger. Now that she was rounding on three months old, you certainly had your hands full. Finnick insists he wouldn’t have it any other way, and you can’t help but agree, even as you drag your weary feet down the hall.

When you peer into the nursery, flicking on the hallway light and leaning against the doorway, you see Finnick with your girl in his arms. His fingers graze gently against her round cheeks, then his pointer traces the slope of her nose. He looks up and meets your eye with the most intensely tender look you’ve seen in your life, eyes melting like ice cream on the hot boardwalk.

Finnick shakes his head, and you wonder with a smile if he’s actually choked up. “She’s so.. perfect.” He whispers, voice softer than the cotton Anemone is swaddled in.

Your feet thump quietly on the hardwood while you cross the room and lean on the armrest, Finnick shifts to wrap his free arm around your waist. His fingers find their way under the hem of your sleep tank, brushing gently over your ribs.

“She looks like you,” you murmur, admiring your baby’s long lashes brushing against her rosy cheeks. You wind your arm over your husbands shoulders. The light from the hall filters into the room, casting warm light over Finnick’s features and the side of Anemone’s nose. A soft chuckle parts his lips. “I see it.”

“Can you believe she wasn’t here a few months ago?” Finnick’s brows furrow down at the infant in the crook of his arm, taking in your words. You continue, reaching out to lay a hand over the small expanse of her forehead. “She missed everything, huh?”

Finnick snorts, laughter shining through his voice, “that’s a way to think about it.” His pointer finger runs along Anemone’s nose again, he mumbles under his breath and yet there’s an intense weight behind the soft tone. “She’ll never have her name in that bowl.”

You share a look. A huff leaves your nose.

“Why don’t we bring her to our bed,” you offer after the long stretch of silence. Finnick nods, turns his cheek to drop a kiss to your arm laying over his shoulder before standing. The movement rouses Anemone just a bit, but you’re relieved she doesn’t start crying again.

Finnick glances over his shoulder at you as he lays your daughter down, her little head just below and between your pillows. You get back under the covers but only to the waist, your nose inches away from the baby’s cheek. The mattress dips under Finnicks weight.

“I just keep wondering what she’ll be like,” you admit softly, a smile playing at your lips not exactly against your will, just without your knowledge. Finnick hums in agreement.

“If she’s as hardheaded as her mom, sweetheart, we’re in big trouble.” Finnick whispers, you try and stifle a laugh while you swat at him over Anemone. Keeping your voices down, holding back laughter like this— you feel a bit like a teenager again. Making up for lost time, you think.

“If she’s as annoying as her dad, we’re in bigger trouble!” You retort, lifting your brows as Finnick scoffs. His hand has found its way onto the slope of your hips, rising under the comforter as you lay on your side. “Rude.”

“You were first,” you remind him. He turns his lips down, lifting his brows as if to say, got me there.

Your attention shifts to Anemone as a quiet sound leaves her open mouth, her eyes wide open again. Finnick sighs, but you just hum, watching him offer his fishhook-bitten finger to clasp on to. She babbles and a heart of steel couldn’t resist the smile tugging at your lips. “Mona, Mona, Mona. What’ll we do with you?”

You can’t help but laugh at the corniness of Finnick’s musing. He already had the dad humor down, you had told him once. He had just shot you that golden smile and lifted his eyebrows like he knew it was a tease but he’d take it like a compliment.

With a soft sigh you let your eyes flutter shut again— it couldn’t be any earlier than one in the morning. The weight of Finnick’s hand on your hip is a comfort, you can hear Anemone’s soft breathing just inches away. Outside your window, the tide rolls against the sand and the moon lays on the height of its crest, its light filtering through the curtains and into the room. You wonder, faintly in the back of your mind, if you’ve ever felt this calm.

#finnick fanfic #the hunger games finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick odair #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #thg fic #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg #post mockingjay

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mykingdomforapen · 1 month ago

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things that Cheng Xiaoshi, Lu Guang, and Qiao Ling should do as normal and undignified 20 year olds

Make 5 creme brulees in pyrex containers at 11PM

body rolling competition

hide under the bed and attack someone else's ankles when they pass by

plushie sleepover

the stupidest gift exchanges alive

create a sexy pose poster to sneak into QL's bedroom as a joke, but it backfires tremendously

wade barefoot into a lake in 50F/10C to reach a rock

QL walking in on CXS and LG napping in sleeping bags on the living room floor, too lazy to go to bed

dangling on a bridge to look at an enormous rubber duck

LG and CXS wearing the exact same outfit and do NOT acknowledge it when they meet up with QL

queue a hundred meters for free ice cream

les miserables flash mob for XSS's birthday

#inspired by things that we did at 20 years old which was...a while ago #and before you ask..yes. lu guang is also earnestly involved. he's dumb too #i mean this with the utmost affection #being 20 is horrific. but sometimes it's good with the right people #i just sometimes remember how despite all the Horrors that CXS and LG go through and how serious LG is #that at the end of the day he is in fact a 20 year old dude (incurable)#link click

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kk095 · 6 months ago

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Xmas in the ER

*Hello there everyone, and merry Christmas to those who celebrate! As promised, here's my latest story. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I do, and feel free to shoot me a message, comment, or leave me asks if you have any questions! I will also be posting another story sometime on New Year's Eve.*

As the old saying goes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. The holiday is a great opportunity to spend time with loved ones, exchange gifts, and make lifelong memories. But for Dr Lindsay, this year’s Christmas was just another Wednesday where she was tasked with holding down the 7pm to 7am overnight shift in our ER. Naturally, Lindsay was bummed out about the idea of having to work on Christmas, but the emergency department is a 24/7 operation! Little did she know, she’d still have a holiday she’d never forget!

That night, the weather was awful. It was dark, freezing cold, and snowing heavily. Visibility was limited, and the roads were covered in a fresh coat of snow and ice. “Jeez… I bet we’ll have a couple of MVCs tonight.” Lindsay thought to herself shortly after she started driving, trying her best to carefully make her way to work through the frozen, wintery landscape. Fortunately for Lindsay, the roads were mostly empty, most people in the area opting to stay indoors. Even though the roads were empty, the conditions were less than ideal, so she felt the best move was to drive slowly.

Despite Lindsay doing everything in her power to arrive safely at the emergency department, fate had other plans for the cute, sporty tomboy doctor! On the highway about 10 minutes or so from her destination, Lindsay’s car slipped on a patch of ice on the road. The car almost immediately lost control, redirecting the doctor’s vehicle towards a cement barrier in the median of the highway. Lindsay’s heart raced as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, frantically attempting to regain control of the errant vehicle. But it all happened so fast! There was only so much Lindsay could do in those few seconds. Lindsay was unable to stop or change the trajectory of her car and slammed head on into the cement median.

CRUNCH! The windshield shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere inside the vehicle acting almost as little bits of shrapnel. Lindsay raised one arm to attempt to cover her face from the glass shards, but a few nicked her face and neck. The steering column was forced inwards, slamming Lindsay in her chest with tremendous force before being blown back a second or so later when the airbag deployed. “AHHH!” Dr Lindsay yelped, feeling something pop inside her chest. Even with the vehicle stopped after the impact, the momentum generated from the accident caused Lindsay to be thrown around a bit. Just like that, the roles were reversed, and now Lindsay found herself in need of assistance in the ER.

Upon arrival at the emergency department, Lindsay was awake, alert, and doing anything and everything she could to fight through the pain. While being wheeled in through the main entryway of the ER, she was laid out on a backboard atop a gurney with a c-collar around her neck. Lindsay was stripped barefoot, down to just her black sports bra and scrub pants. EKG electrodes and wires were stuck onto her torso, while IV lines were set up in each arm. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her left bicep, and a pulse oximeter was on her left index finger. The ER doc’s body was in relatively good shape, but she had some cuts and scrapes on her face and neck from the glass shards.

While being wheeled in, Dr Lindsay was experiencing a weird déjà vu of sorts. She’s walked through those same entryway doors more times than she could count, but she never saw the emergency department from that angle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of being brought in as a patient. Her pretty blue eyes scanned her surroundings, attempting to make sense of the nonsense. “33 year old female, blunt chest trauma, single car MVC. BP 60 over palp, heart rate’s 140 and climbing, pulse ox down to 90. Got IVs going on scene and started fluids, but her vitals aren’t looking too good.” Lindsay heard a female medic rattle off while wheeling the stretcher down the hall towards trauma room one. “Ok, thank you. Let’s get her over to trauma one. I’m gonna start her on the MTP and get a chest x ray.” A familiar voice replied to the medic. “who is that?” Lindsay thought to herself. “Dr Sarah maybe? I know she was supposed to work the day shift today.” Lindsay answered, still thinking to herself.

The gurney was still being wheeled towards the trauma bay. Dr Sarah leaned over, coming into Lindsay’s line of sight and lowered a stethoscope onto her chest. Sarah didn’t look down at Lindsay’s face, so she didn’t immediately realize who her next patient was. “Diminished breath sounds on the left side, we might need a chest tube.” Sarah observed, pulling her stethoscope away after a brief listen. Dr Sarah then looked down at the gurney, her eyes locking with Lindsay’s. Sarah’s eyes could be seen widening behind her glasses, absolutely stunned at what she was looking at. Sarah gasped, unable to get a word out. “Sarah….?” Lindsay whimpered, her voice weak and breathy. “OHMYGOD, Linds?! What happened?” Marveled Dr Sarah, still processing the concept of Dr Lindsay- a friend and coworker, being her next patient. Lindsay’s lip quivered, her eyes started to moisten. “my car… it just slipped… I don’t know what happened…” Lindsay explained to Sarah, her voice wobbly, now on the verge of tears. “It’s ok Linds, it’s gonna be ok! We’re gonna take a good look at you!” Consoled Sarah, gently grabbing Lindsay’s right hand, her voice a bit panicked.

Once in the trauma room, the stretcher was lined up parallel to the table, where Nurses Heather and Nancy waited. “LINDSAY?!” Heather exclaimed the instant she recognized who the patient was. “Hunny?! What happened?!” Nurse Nancy chimed in, equally surprised. Lindsay didn’t answer, but the familiar voices certainly comforted her through the terrifying uncertainty she was experiencing. “Let’s get her on the table on my count! One… Two… THREE!” Sarah barked out. The trio of beautiful ladies picked up the backboard and carefully moved their coworker onto the table while the paramedics took their stretcher back and exited the room. “Ah….” Winced Lindsay, feeling some pain inside her chest while being placed down on the table. Dr Lindsay squinted, the bright, fluorescent overhead light practically blinding her. “BPs 60 over palp and dropping. Hang 4 units of O-neg and prep Lindsay for a chest tube.” Ordered Dr Sarah, her voice urgent. “Linds? I have to put in a left chest tube. You know how bad they hurt, but be strong for me, ok? I promise I’ll be fast.” Dr Sarah kept Lindsay in the loop about her treatment. Lindsay hesitated for a moment, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she was about to endure. But the logical, doctor side of her took over, realizing that the brutal, painful procedure had to be done. Dr Lindsay’s eyes looked up at Sarah, and she nodded. “Go ahead.” Permitted Lindsay, giving Sarah the green light to begin chest tube placement.

Lindsay laid on the table in the supine position, her left arm raised above along her head. The normally calm and collected Dr Lindsay had a nervous expression on her face. The doctor turned patient’s lips were pinched tight, her forehead puckered, her icy blue-grey eyes looking in the direction of her left ribcage where the tube was to be inserted. She watched Dr Sarah insert a needle full of lidocaine to numb the skin. Lindsay felt a quick pinch, but nothing too worrisome. Sarah then sterilized the incision area with an alcohol wipe. “Ok Linds… Here we go…” The cute, nerdy redhead doctor told Lindsay, reaching for a 10 blade scalpel that sat on an equipment tray beside the trauma room table. Sarah took the scalpel and made a 1 inch cut at the intersection of the 4th intercostal space and anterior axillary line. Lindsay could feel the cold, sharp blade’s every move as it effortlessly slashed her skin apart. Lindsay saw stars, her eyes rolling back in pain. After the cut was made, Sarah attached a Kelly clamp to the proximal end of the chest tube, then bluntly inserted it into Lindsay’s chest cavity. “YAHHH!!!!” Yelped Lindsay, her eyes shooting wide open. Dr Sarah continued the procedure, guiding the tube further into Lindsay’s chest cavity into the pleural space. “AHHHH!!!” Lindsay let out a blood curdling scream, in absolute agony, her eyes tearing up, both her hands making tight fists, feeling the plastic tube forcing its way deeper inside her chest. There was a hiss of air once the tube reached the correct location from trapped air vacating Lindsay’s chest cavity. Lindsay gasped loudly and dramatically, then attempted to sit up. “whoawhoawhoa!” Nurse Heather stepped in, gently laying Lindsay back down on the table. “Stay still for us Linds. So far so good hunny.” Nancy chimed in, gently stroking Lindsay’s hair. Sarah lowered her stethoscope onto Lindsay’s chest and had a listen. “Tube’s in.” Sarah nodded.

Although Lindsay’s breathing improved following the chest tube placement, her vital signs continued to drop. Dr Sarah started another round of blood products and upped Lindsay’s meds, but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Lindsay began to shiver dramatically. Her long legs trembled and shook, and at the far end of the bed, her toes were scrunched up hard, showing off the white and red candy cane themed nail polish on her toes, along with the thin, wavy, prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 12 feet Lindsay was always so self conscious of. “Mmmmm…” Lindsay moaned. Dr Lindsay began taking rapid, shallow breaths, continuing to moan. “Shhh. It’s ok Linds. Hang in there a little longer for me…” Nurse Nancy’s calm, soothing voice told Lindsay. “I…I…” Lindsay babbled. “You what sweetie?” asked Nancy. “I just… I can’t believe I’m gonna die on Christmas…” Replied Lindsay, an impending sense of doom consuming her. The trio of caretakers in the room stood there frozen for a second, taken aback by Lindsay’s response. Nobody could believe that words like that were coming from Lindsay’s mouth. “You’re not dying hunny! We need you here New Year’s Eve! You know how we get slammed every year!” Nancy tried to encourage, her tone of voice upbeat and positive. “New Year’s Eve? Pshhh…” Lindsay scoffed, continuing to shiver. “I’m gonna be toe tagged and under a sheet in a little while…. Forget New year’s…” continued Lindsay. “No hunny, don’t say that! We’re gonna fix you up!” Nancy reassured, her voice getting a bit wobbly, upset by how Lindsay was talking about her own fate.

Before Lindsay could even answer, she started gasping loudly, taking deep, dramatic gasps. The heart monitors began beeping louder and faster, playing an almost ominous tone. “She’s crashing…” Heather announced. “linds? Stay with us hunny!” Nurse Nancy said to Lindsay, holding her right hand for a second. Again, Lindsay didn’t answer. Her frantic hyperventilating continued, her eyes WIDE open. “We need to intubate. 8.0 ET and a laryngoscope!.” Ordered Sarah, her voice roaring through the room. “Lindsay? I’m gonna intubate you, ok?” Sarah told Lindsay, moving to the head of the bed. Dr Lindsay looked up at Dr Sarah, their eyes locking for a moment. Lindsay looked like she was trying to mouth something, but couldn’t get the words out. “What’s up Linds?” asked Sarah. Lindsay didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted away from Sarah’s. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open, but became locked at the ceiling. It was like a switch was flipped. Lindsay’s shivering and gasping came to an abrupt stop. The monitors began to alarm at that point. “V-fib! Starting compressions!!!” Nurse Heather shouted out. Heather immediately began chest compressions, pushing down on Lindsay’s chest hard and fast. Nancy swooped in, snipping off Lindsay’s sports bra, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples. At the head of the bed, Sarah got right to it, beginning rapid sequence intubation. The nerdy redheaded doctor carefully navigated the flexible plastic tube into her friend’s airway. Lindsay’s head bobbed and lolled around from the residual force of Heather’s hearty compressions, creating a moving target for Sarah- nothing that Sarah couldn’t handle! The breathing tube was navigated further into Lindsay’s airway, ending up in the correct depth and location in a matter of seconds. “I’m in!” Sarah confidently announced, taping the tube in place.

Post-intubation, the trauma team decided to shock Lindsay. The defibrillator paddles were charged to 200 joules, gelled, and pressed up against Lindsay’s bare, flat chest. “Alright! Everyone…CLEAR!” Sarah shouted, sending the first shock into the patient once everyone backed away. “MMMPH!” Lindsay moaned, as if she felt the shock. The first defibrillation didn’t do the trick, onto the second one! The defibs were recharged to 250 joules, and shock #2 was promptly delivered. “Mmm….” Moaned Lindsay, again, almost as if she knew what was being done to her. Shocks one and two didn’t do the trick, but third time’s the charm, right? The paddles were charged up to 300, and Lindsay was shocked. Her chest shot up and her back arched. She held that position for a second or two before plopping down onto the orange backboard. “Damn it, no change! Shocking again at 360. Everyone… CLEAR!” Barked Dr Sarah. KA-THUNK! Lindsay’s 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly by the stronger shock, but like before, v-fib persisted. With the paddles still pressed up against Lindsay’s bare chest, Sarah shocked Dr Lindsay again at 360 joules. At the far end of the table, Lindsay’s feet kicked up, slamming back down hard half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her big feet once again.

Following the fifth shock, the trauma team switched gears, giving CPR and ambu bagging another try. Heather placed the heel of her gloved hand on the middle of Lindsay’s chest and began pumping away hard and fast. Lindsay’s chest caved in, and her toned belly with abs rippled and jiggled out from the sheer force of the chest compressions. Heather felt Lindsay’s ribs break, but nonetheless, she kept up her life saving efforts. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy attached the ambu bag to the ET tube, puffing the light blue bag every few seconds or so, sending critically needed oxygen directly into the coding doctor’s lungs. Dr Sarah stood off to the side of the table injecting the first doses of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay’s IV line in hopes of stimulating positive cardiac activity. While waiting for the meds to kick in, Heather kept at it, brutally going to town on her coworker (now patient’s) chest. Heather looked down at Lindsay’s face while continuing CPR. Lindsay’s head bobbed and bounced around in sync with each individual compression. Her eyes were WIDE open, her face locked in a full-blown death stare. The ET tube hung out the side of Lindsay’s mouth, taped in place, hugging her pale lips. Heather couldn’t believe a familiar face was in such dire shape. “The ones with their eyes open never make it…” Heather thought to herself. Back at the head of the table, Nancy continued ambu bagging. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you… We all love you and need you here Linds…” Nancy whispered into Lindsay’s ear, as if she was trying to convince Lindsay to not die.

Over the coming minutes, Lindsay’s chest began to take an absolute beating. A nasty bruise started to form in the center of her chest on top of the breastbone. Mid code, Lindsay’s chest tube began to drain a substantial amount of blood seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell?...” A surprised Dr Sarah thought out loud. In the blink of an eye, a couple liters of blood drained through the tube. “She’s bleeding somewhere in her chest. Maybe a cardiac chamber or great vessel injury.” Speculated Sarah, trying to explain away what she was seeing. “I’m gonna do an echo. Let’s see what her heart’s doing. Maybe that’ll give me something to work with.” Sarah went on. With CPR ongoing, Sarah squirted a little bit of clear, conductive ultrasound gel onto Lindsay’s bare chest. She turned on the ultrasound monitor screen and lowered the wand onto the portion of Lindsay’s chest where the gel was and began moving it around for a second or two to spread it out a bit. Sarah then moved the ultrasound wand over Lindsay’s heart and eyes the monitor screen. “….oh Lord…what a mess in there…” Uttered Sarah. “Hmm?” Heather overheard. “Massive tamponade.” Sarah shook her head. “Pericardiocentesis?” asked Heather, wondering what the next step was. “I don’t think that’ll do the trick. We need to crack her chest and see what’s really going on in there. I’m gonna set up a thoracotomy tray.” Sarah explained to Nurse Heather. Nurse Heather’s eyes went wide once she heard the word “thoracotomy.” That was a last ditch effort, hail Mary procedure used in the most critical patients. Heather has seen many patients get their chest cracked during her time as a nurse in our ER, but the idea of a friend, coworker, and familiar face being the recipient of such a procedure really bothered Heather at a deeper level.

Betadine was splashed across the left half of Lindsay’s chest. The strong, chemical scent of antiseptic hit everyone’s nostrils in less than a second. Sarah picked up the scalpel, making a crude, but decisive incision. The cut started just to the left of Lindsay’s sternum, extended laterally across her chest, underneath her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Heather halted CPR while Sarah worked to separate the underlying tissue and muscle to make way for the rib spreader. With an adequate space created, the metal rib retractor was placed, and Lindsay’s chest was forcefully pried open. A loud popping and cracking sound echoed around the room while Sarah turned the knobs on the spreader. Upon entry to Lindsay’s chest cavity, there was a massive rush of blood. “Suction! SUCTION!” Shouted Sarah, packing handfuls of surgical sponges into the fresh incision area. Heather lowered a suction tube into Lindsay’s chest cavity and began removing the excess blood to create a good line of sight for Sarah. The suction tube made a wet slurping sound as it removed the blood. Meanwhile, Sarah incised the fibrous lining of the pericardium to relieve the tamponade and placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect blood flow and quell any arterial bleeding- at least temporarily. Heather continued to apply suction every few seconds or so, the line of sight clogging up with blood like clockwork. “Starting cardiac massage.” Announced Sarah, reaching into Lindsay’s chest, beginning to vigorously massage away at Lindsay’s strong, athletic heart. Sarah’s gloved hands were wrapped firmly around the beautiful tomboy doctor’s heart, squeezing much needed blood to the rest of her body. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Dr Sarah’s internal resus efforts. “Come on… come on Linds…” uttered Sarah under her breath.

Sarah squeezed and squeezed, but her multiple cycles of cardiac massage failed to restart Dr Lindsay’s heart. Next up, the team opted to give the internal paddles a try. The internal paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into Lindsay’s chest around her erratically twitching heart. THWACK! Lindsay’s heart tensed up for a second before going right back to v-fib. Sarah sighed. “No change, going again at 30. Everyone… CLEAR!” Sarah shocked again. Lindsay’s torso jolted sharply in response to the shock, but v-fib remained. “Hitting her again at 40!..... CLEAR!” Sarah’s voice surged. “Mmm….” Lindsay moaned in reaction to the shock. “she’s still in v-fib, let’s go again…. CLEAR!” Sarah yelled out passionately. A dull, wet thump was heard, however, Lindsay’s heart still couldn’t be shocked out of v-fib. “AGAIN!... CLEAR!” Yelled Sarah, lowering the blood soaked internal paddles back onto Lindsay’s cracked open chest. “Still nothing. Recharging the internal paddles to 40!” Sarah announced, her tone of voice growing more and panicked. The high pitched, electrical whirring sound of the paddles recharging bounced around the room. “Ok…. CLEAR!” Sarah defibbed Lindsay again. Almost instantly after the shock, the heart monitors flatlined. Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless in plain sight. Dr Sarah removed the large, spoon shaped paddles and gently set them back on the crash cart. Sarah began removing her gloves and eyeing the clock on the wall. “It’s over. Time of death, 19:35.” Sarah called out, abruptly terminating the code.

The trio of caretakers stood there shell shocked for a moment while the high pitched hum of the flatlined monitors droned around the room. Nancy removed the ambu bag, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. Heather switched off the monitors, making the once loud, chaotic room eerily silent. Nobody said a word, but knew exactly what to do next. The IV lines were taken out of each arm. The EKG electrodes were disconnected. The BP cuff was taken off Lindsay’s left bicep. The pulse oximeter was taken off her left index finger. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the thoracotomy site. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open as her body was covered, appearing as if she watched the sheet get pulled over her head. Last but not least, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled in front of Lindsay’s hot, wrinkly soles, serving as a harsh reminder that no Christmas miracles would be taking place that night. In this alternate reality, Lindsay was now the latest beauty who found herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

#resus community #resus #resus writing #cpr resus #cpr #cpr female #medfet

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mjsfawn · 1 month ago

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Silence surrounded me.

I looked around, trying to understand where I was. It seemed like the entrance of a mansion owned by a wealthy businessman. On my left, a beautiful white marble staircase with a black-painted iron railing. My first instinct was to go up—and so I did.

I climbed slowly, step by step, heart pounding so loudly that I could hear each beat echoing through the silence. I didn’t dare say a word—not even to check if someone was there.

At the top of the stairs, I felt something soft under my feet. I looked down: I was barefoot, walking on a Persian rug that covered the entire corridor. Suddenly, I heard a noise. It sounded like a heart monitor from a hospital. Curious but terrified, I crept toward the illuminated room.

Standing at the doorway, I froze.

A man lay motionless in the bed. I couldn't see his face clearly, but I saw oxygen tanks by the bed and a Black man fiddling with a needle and a vial beside him. For a second, I didn’t understand—but then realization struck: I knew that man.

Conrad Murray.

What the hell…

Before I could react, I felt a hand grabbing my wrist. I turned sharply. Two deep, dark eyes stared at me, solemnly.

Michael.

I stared at him in disbelief, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned his gaze to the scene before us. I couldn’t help but observe him: his serious face, his empty, lifeless eyes, his body… too thin, his skin marked by vitiligo and lupus. I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist—it was ice cold.

It hit me: This was a dream. A nightmare.

I felt my cheeks wet. I wiped away the tears streaming down my face. I was witnessing his death.

I turned back toward Murray. He was now frantically stuffing vials into a bag. Michael’s body lay lifeless in the bed; the monitor emitted the long beep of death.

I looked at Michael beside me; panic rose in my chest. I had to save him. Bastard, I thought, watching Murray hide the evidence. I screamed—but no sound came out. No.

« MICHAEL! »

Nobody could hear me. I was screaming voicelessly, utterly powerless. « Please, NO! » Michael’s grip on my wrist remained firm. I struggled to break free—to reach the dying figure on the bed. « NO, PLEASE, LET ME GO! »

"Save me."

I froze. In one swift motion, I turned to him. He was looking at me, his eyes brimming with tears never shed, pleading silently. And then—in a blink—he vanished. I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat and trembling. It had been 13 years since I last had that dream. But this time, something felt different. I got up, splashed water on my face, and took deep breaths to calm my pounding heart. I looked at myself in the mirror. Once I managed to calm down, I returned to bed, knowing that sleep would not come easily. That dream would haunt me for days to come.

Extract from the story "Hold My Hand - a Michael Jackson story" written by me and published on Wattpad in Italia, but I'm currently translating to english and you can read the prologue here.

#michael jackson #michaeljackson #mjj #moonwalker #michael jackson fanfic #michael jackson x reader #hold my hand #my writing

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m0chisenpai · 5 months ago

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some sunny day

˚｡⋆platonic! emperor geta x black fem!reader x platonic!caracalla

in which you find a way to survive the heat of Rome without the 21st century comforts

Gods above it is HOT. You sit in the gardens along the more shaded parts of the private gardens. Cushioned by the long chaise while your handmaidens fan you slowly with leaves. You wear lighter robes, though if it were up to you, you’d be completely nude. There is no central air in Rome.

Suddenly the 21st century doesn’t seem to suck.

There’s no ice cream. No swimming pools. So you make do with camping outside in the shade, the breeze that comes every few minutes provides very little relief.

It was too much of a hassle to get into the baths, you didn’t need to bathe you already did in the morning. And the waters were lukewarm offering no relief. The moment you got in you begged to be clean as quickly so that you could get out the humid baths. You felt ill by the time you were dressed as you ladies suggested the fresh air.

When your eyes settled on the beautiful fountain during your walks, you felt a plan formulate. It could be likened to a children’s pool, shallow and with a statue in the middle and engravings along the sides. But the waters you were certain, were cold.

You informed your maidens you would spend your early afternoon in the gardens. They quickly set you up with something close to a chaise. It’s low to the ground and cushioned with soft pillows. Now all you needed was to get in the water, but you are instantly told no.

You tried slowly sneaking over but your maidens herd you like a sheep back to your cushions beneath the shade.

You tilt your head back, and catch the gaze of your personal handmaiden, Livia. She was old enough probably to be an aunt, and when she isn’t in the presence of your brothers she speaks more freely. And she was the one who was highly aware of your schemes, as was the beautiful General Acacius who stands beside her.

The two roadblocks to your little scheme.

“Marcus,” you coo rolling over to lay on your stomach and look up at the older general. He stiffens at that tone, it’s the same tone you use on your brothers, the same tone that leads to mischief. And he feels your eyes on him, when you call him again. But he keeps his gaze outward, not falling prey to your mischief.

“Yes, my lady?”

You push yourself to sit up, curling your legs beneath. “My brothers, they will be spending this day with the Senate,” and by now you have Marcus’ full attention as you reach down to unstrap your sandals. You then begin to work on the bands on your arms and your earrings.

“My lady?” You place the last piece on the cushions Beside your golden laurels.

“And if I am correct, they will be there for quite some time. You were tasked to be by my side the entire day yes?” When you look up at him you are free of your jewels and gold and stand barefoot in the grasses.

“Yes my lady.”

You grin bunching up your robes in both your hands, “very well. Then that gives us more than enough time.”

You break off into a sprint toward the stone fountains. And Marcus along with your handmaidens can only watch until they see your target and they quickly bolt after you, helplessly calling. “My lady no! If you wish to bathe we can return to your chambers!“

“Oh none of the formalities! The gods bless us with cool waters here, who are we to ignore such a refreshing gift my dear ladies” you sing as you lift your robes more as to not let the bottoms wet. You quickly wade into the waters just barely avoiding their reaching hands. And a pleasant shiver racks your body. This was what you needed, you sigh reaching one hand down to dip your hand into the water.

Livia leans as far as she can with an arm held out to you, “my lady please come you’ll catch a cold!”

“In this heat? Hardly!” You playfully flick the water at her and the general drags a tired hand down his face, “The water feels sooooo nice. I think you all would find it quite soothing,” as you trail off you wade deeper into the fountain. Livia can only huff and reach down to shuck off her own sandals not missing Marcus’ shock.

“Our imperators insisted we remain where her majesty is, and if she is in the waters then so shall we!” One by one each of your maidens ease in and try circling you like a lost sheep out of the water. Little do they know this was all part of your plan.

You could see the exhaustion of those who were tasked with caring for you, the very least you could was offer them the same relief for having to follow at your heels every single day. And slowly they forget their task and sit on the edges or splash one another in the waters with your boisterous laughter leading to their own.

It feels like you are in one of those giant old paintings at the museum. As you sit beside Livia she begins to braid your hair into a crown.

“Just for today my lady and then it is off to the baths with you.”

“Yes mother,” you playfully reply and from the corner of your eye you see her shake her head with the smallest of smiles.

As soon as they release the Senate, Caracalla shoots out of his seat toward the private gardens. It has become your secret sanctuary for the three of you and he knows it better than his twin. Geta follows behind at a more leisurely pace, though his excitement is more silent to see you.

Their days are spent planning festivities and the upcoming campaign. All of it brings nothing but a dull ache to his mind and makes his nights tiresome. Fittings for ceremonial robes, the fights, the aquatic games, it all piles up and leaves him weary. But you are the sweet soothing balm to the headaches of these meetings.

So he will sit through long meetings, will speak of politics and negotiations and plundering if it brings him closer to the days of celebrations and festivals that allow them both to soak up your presence.

Geta and Caracalla don’t know whether to scold or coo at the sight of you lying in the grass atop linen sheets. Your head is lying atop the folded legs of Livia while the others seem to be setting food up with drink for the three of you.

At the sight of the two emperors they all stop to bow before both rulers.

Marcus looks nearly as exhausted as you are, and just as soaked from the way his hair is pushed back out of this face. “Dear sister! You have gotten into great mischief once again without me.”

“Calla!” You squeal back holding your hands out to the younger twins who is quick to dive into your outstretched arms. You squeeze him close and he returns the sentiment. Geta flicks a hand back and his guards tuck themselves far enough to give you the space, but close enough to see any impending threats.

“Did you get into the fountain?” Geta’s lip turns up as he takes note of how the fabric clings to you. And when you shrug he can only tut and cross his arms like a mother.

“It was hot! And the both of you were taking much too long.”

“Then why not return to the baths, I am sure your ladies are more than capable of assisting the empress?” The women shrink beneath his stare but you quickly break the ice that begins to form between you all.

“Oh ignore him, he is the lesser of us two when it comes to the enjoyments of things.” You giggle with Caracalla and Geta can only roll his eyes and sit in front of you both atop the chaise. Caracalla looks peaceful, he has been more often these days since you entered their lives. Your idle chatter and small giggles warm his own heart.

You were truly the missing piece they needed. So nurturing and loving. Looking past the younger twins ailment and his moments of confusion and rage. Geta felt he could lay his crown and title as emperor and eldest down with you.

You are odd and uncaring and have no problem being unladylike. You walk around the grounds barefoot often, your make up oftrn applied quite dramatic, your hair wild and free when it is not braided. You prefer the sweet breads and fruits at every meal and you are adored by your maidens.

As Geta rests his head on his fist, he takes a quick sip of wine.

He would do anything to shield you against the vipers of Rome. he knew politicians, he knew of rulers. How quick they were to move the pieces to turn the tides for their own favor, and he’d be damned if any try to use you as a ploy for their throne.

Caracalla’s concubine has taken a similar position as your handmaidens. He looks picturesque as the young woman strokes the younger twin fiery locks. Slowly he is lulled into a sleep and your idle chatter goes silent. You lay on your side, watching his eyes fall shut and Dondus cuddled against the sleeping twin.

You wish you had your phone now to get a picture, so for now you’ll drink in this moment. When you tilt your head you catch Geta’s gaze. His eyebrows are still pinched, and you can tell he is doing anything but relaxing.

So you stand, stretch your arms over head and hold a hand in front of him, “Geta come.”

“No.”

“Getaaaaa.”

“Never, come and eat.”

“At least just your feet! Then I will share a meal with you,” and with a childish groan he stands lifting his laurels to sit on the cushions and his own servants unstraps his sandals. He hates to admit the water does feel good when you pull him in.

You slowly walk to stare up at the statue. And while Geta wants to fuss at your robes being soaked, he can’t bring himself to bring your mind back down.

“Do you think we will find one another in another life?”

Geta was no pious man, but he believed the gods to be real and true. The glory of his empire, the riches and comfort he and his twin share, and now your return. How could one not believe the existence of their beloved deities? “If the gods brought us back together in this one then surely we shall be reunited in the next.”

“Who knew you could be so charming,” you smirk and Geta rolls his eyes kicking a wave of water at you.

“Oh! Do not start- Marcus!”

“Marcus ignore her! This is to be a fair fight!”

#geta x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #caracalla x reader

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maybe-im-dark · 7 months ago

Text

Ice claws

Based on this post

(Image drawn by: @shortkinglogan)

The ice rink was nearly empty that night, the soft hum of the cooling machines filling the silence. Wade had rented the entire place out, determined to give Logan a rare moment of peace.

Logan stood at the edge of the rink, his arms crossed and a frown etched deep into his face. The skates Wade had rented dangled uselessly from his hand.

“I’m not doin’ it,” Logan growled, tossing the skates onto a nearby bench.

Wade, already laced up and gliding around the ice with the grace of a drunken deer, spun to face him. “Aw, come on, peanut! I went through all the trouble of bribing the rink guys with free merc-jobs! And what’s the point of being Canadian if you don’t ice skate?”

Logan’s frown deepened. “I used to. Before the adamantium. Now? I’m probably too damn heavy. Ice isn’t gonna hold me.”

Wade skated up to the edge, his mask slightly skewed to reveal a cocky grin. “Oh, but this ice isn’t just any ice! This baby’s reinforced with cooling machines that can handle, like, a semi-truck. I checked. You’ll be fine.”

Logan glanced at the rink, his hesitation written all over his face.

Wade tilted his head, suddenly serious. “I get it. You don’t trust it. And that’s okay. But I promise, it’s safe. You’ve faced worse than a frozen pond, Logan.”

After a long silence, Logan finally sighed and crouched down. Wade assumed he was grabbing the skates, but instead, Logan pulled off his boots and socks.

Wade blinked. “Uh, are we going barefoot now? ‘Cause I am all for naked ice skating, but this wasn’t the plan—oh.”

Wade’s words faltered as Logan stepped onto the ice, his bare feet spreading slightly with each step. Wade noticed how his feet adjusted naturally, the broad surface allowing him to distribute his weight evenly.

“Mutation,” Logan muttered, noticing Wade’s stare. “Makes it so I don’t sink in snow. Guess it works on ice too.”

Before Wade could reply, Logan crouched lower, his knees bent, and his claws popped out with their signature snikt. Then, without warning, Logan dropped to all fours and propelled himself forward.

The sound of claws scraping against the ice echoed through the rink as Logan glided effortlessly, his movements smooth and calculated. His feet and claws worked in perfect sync, pushing him forward in sharp, precise strokes. He made a wide loop around the rink, faster than Wade had ever seen anyone skate.

Wade’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit, Logan! You’re like a freaking ice-wolf! Ice-wolverine? Whatever, it’s badass.”

Logan stopped mid-glide, his claws sinking into the ice to steady himself.

“It ain’t exactly traditional skating,” he muttered, standing upright.

Wade skated over, a goofy grin plastered on his face. “Are you kidding? This is so much better than traditional skating. You’re like the Tony Hawk of ice claws! Tony Paw? Whatever, it’s amazing.”

Logan huffed but couldn’t entirely hide the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to do any fancy tricks.”

Wade clapped his hands. “Oh, but you will. Trust me, I’m already planning our ice-dancing debut. Deadpool and Wolverine: The Skating Saga.”

“Not a chance.”

"Too late, I’m calling NBC as we speak.”

Despite himself, Logan laughed—a low, genuine sound that Wade lived for. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re incredible,” Wade shot back, skating alongside him. “Now, come on, do that glide thing again. I gotta get this on camera.”

Logan rolled his eyes but dropped back down to all fours, his claws digging into the ice. As he launched forward, Wade cheered, his voice echoing through the rink.

For the first time in a long while, Logan felt free—his movements unhindered, his instincts guiding him as he raced across the ice. And with Wade’s ridiculous commentary keeping pace beside him, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could enjoy this after all.

#wolverine #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #ryan reynolds #poolverine #deadclaws #thank you for drawing this @shortkinglogan #ice skating #logan tony hawk of the ice howlett #fanfiction #fanart #artists on tumblr

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sleeps-au-bag · 6 months ago

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i have to throw this into the all consuming void

hsr roleswap where clara, yanqing, and misha take the place of our favorite nameless trio while march 7th, dan heng, and the trailblazer take their places. it doesn't matter that i'm still in the beginning of the 2.0 main quest, i needed to get this out. no spoilers please.

clara is now the host of a stellaron. she was left behind on the herta space station to be found by the astral express. she's incredibly talented when it comes to machines, has a strange habit of going around barefoot, and possibly the most normal one on the express.

yanqing is now the amnesiac swordsman of the express. he was found as a block of six-phased ice floating through space on april 4th, which is now his name. he's crazy talented with a sword, a wonderful photographer, and has quite the adventurous spirit.

misha is now the mysterious loner of the express. he was the first of the trio to be invited on by himeko and welt and has stayed since. his customer service face is unrivaled, he cares quite a bit for his fellow trailblazers, and tries to keep them as far away as possible from finding out his past.

march 7th, now called marcy, is the daughter of svarog. she was taken in by the robot and was raised by him ever since. she's very hyperactive, interacts with everyone in the underground a lot, and charges into a lot of problems without thinking of solutions.

dan heng is now a lieutenant of the cloud knights and the retainer of jing yuan. he doesn't care that much about his past since he now has a duty to the general who raised him. he's not that well liked by the vidyadhara, he keeps getting strange visions about something, and the general has been getting distant recently.

the trailblazer is now the bellboy of the reverie hotel. they're constantly switching between male and female. they have a weird obsessions with clocks, often carry around a baseball bat, and can be found collecting trash in their free time.

#astral rail switch au #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr au #yanqing #hsr yanqing #clara #hsr clara #misha #hsr misha #march 7th #dan heng #trailblazer #hsr trailblazer #i've had this idea all morning and it needs to be released into the world #there will be some stuff that stays the same such as dan heng being dan fengs reincarnation along with bailu #but there will be a lot that's different #once again no spoilers please

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alwritey-aphrodite · 1 month ago

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We're back, yet again!! Happy summer! To celebrate all things summery, here are the rules: pick a prompt and a character, send them to in inbox, and I'll write a little blurb for you! I'll start posting these in June, and hopefully post one a day for the whole month! Remember, I only write each prompt once, so if it's crossed out it's gone for good, and please feel free to send as many requests as you'd like but I just ask that it's limited to one request per ask just for ease of posting <3

Sleeping In

Fresh Fruit (Sirius Black)

Farmer’s Market (TASM!Peter Parker)

Sun-Soaked Floors (Remus Lupin)

Cool Night Breeze

Eating On The Back Porch (Joel Miller)

Bonfire and S'mores

Walking Barefoot (Remus Lupin)

Ice Cream (Eggsy Unwin)

Lake Trip

Barbecues

Sunbathing (Oberyn Martell)

Lazy Afternoons (Sirius Black)

Lemonade (TASM!Peter Parker)

Road Trips

Picnics (Joel Miller)

Tropical Drinks

Heatwave (TASM!Peter Parker)

Wildflowers and Clover

Coolers and Ice

Beach Sandwich (Carmy Berzatto)

Late Night Snack Run (Poe Dameron)

Crickets

Pool Day

Sunsets on the Beach

Unexpected Rainstorm (James Potter)

Salty Air (Finnick Odair)

Early Mornings

Freshly Cut Grass

Melting Popsicles (TASM!Peter Parker)

Characters:

Go wild! - but please understand that if I pass on your request or a specific character, it has absolutely nothing to do with you and everything to do with my motivation/inspiration levels <3

Tagging a few lovely friends: @katsu28 @sweetsuburbanlegends @veryprairieberry @eyelessfaces @onceuponaoneshotfanfic

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfiction #young remus lupin #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #young sirius black #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #young james potter #young marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 9 months ago

Note

This is what it felt like getting the notification that Wade found out about Logan being the baby daddy 😭

Logan let the first punch land, more out of courtesy than anything. Wade was pissed- rightfully so. "You fucking asshole-"

'Listen bub-"

"Fuck you," Wade spat. "I told you not to do it and what did you do?"

"It's not like I forced-"

Stab. Okay that was still fair. "Did you tell her to say it wasn't yours? Huh?"

Stab Stab

"No," he growled, pulling the knives out and sinking his claws into Wade's arm far enough that he's stop fucking stabbing him for a second. "That was her doing. After I broke it off with her-"

Wade cracked him in the jaw with his free hand and barred his teeth, "And what? Now you wanna play daddy? Wanted to see if she'd fall apart without you? See what the fuck was going to happen? Took you this long to Do. The. Math?"

The fighting hadn't stopped. Blood spattered the street like garnets. Bits of torn clothing and smashed glass. Wade Hade Logan pinned to the ground, a handgun against his forehead. Infuriated. For weeks he'd watched you put up a front and try to make it seem like you were fine. Like you weren't wallowing. Like you weren't petrified. And now that he could put the piece together the fury that gripped him was palpable.

"Wade!"

The panic in your voice made both men turn to look. You looked distraught and as you ran out into the street, barefoot, still in your pajamas, Wade flipped the safety back on.

"Wade don't-" You shove uselessly at him, trying to get him off of Logan and swallow hard. "Don't-"

"There's glass everywhere, Christ," he said, getting off of Logan and pulling you into a bone-crunching hug. "Fucking-" He broke off and tucked your head against his shoulder. "Fine. I won't shoot him."

"I told her to stay inside," Logan groaned, getting up.

"You're still on thin ice," Wade snapped, hefting you up to take you inside. But he looked at you and kissed your forehead, "C'mon butterbean. No Hyperviolence for you and Jelly Bean today."

Are you both-"

"We're fine, Princess," Logan answered, coughing. "And no. I didn't stab him in the head."

#ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #wolverine x reader #wolverine #writer!reader

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sharpiestools · 1 month ago

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Reader x Riccardo Calafiori - Series Masterlist

Chapter Eleven - I Know a Place

The next morning moved slowly. She was alone in her brother’s apartment, sunlight starting to pour in through the massive windows and hitting the hardwood floors in golden patches. The place was quiet, his style more minimal than hers, but still warm, lived-in. She liked how temporary it felt. No pressure to be in her usual persona here.

She had just finished her morning tea and was leaning against the kitchen island, dressed in soft linen pants and a fitted tank top, when her phone lit up.

Riccardo: Chapter two starts with coffee or chaos?

She smiled before she even finished reading it. Typical.

Her: Is “chaos” your way of asking if I’m free?

Riccardo: It’s my way of asking if I can see you again.

She didn’t answer immediately. She walked over to the window, coffee in hand, watching the early London haze slowly lift. Then, fingers flying:

Her: You already know where I am.

Another pause.

Riccardo: Guess I’ll take the elevator then.

Five minutes later, she heard the soft knock. She opened the door barefoot, her hair still slightly messy, face makeup-free and glowing from her skincare. Riccardo stood there with two iced coffees in hand and a faint smile pulling at his lips.

— I figured it was safer to bring both — he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

— In case one of us needed extra caffeine?

— In case one of us chickened out — he said, glancing around. — Your brother’s not home?

She shook her head. — Meetings all day.

— Good — he said simply, setting the coffees on the counter. — I didn’t want to share you.

She let that sit between them for a beat too long, then breezed past it. — We’re not sharing coffee either. The vanilla one’s mine.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. — Wouldn’t dream of it.

They made their way to the small couch in the open-plan living room. She sat cross-legged, posture relaxed, while Riccardo dropped beside her with that casual, comfortable way of his—like the space was already familiar.

— Feels like we’ve done this a thousand times — she murmured.

— Maybe we just skipped ahead — he offered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She gave him a sideways look. — I wasn’t going to bring that up.

He smirked, leaning back against the cushions. — Then let’s pretend we never met.

— Impossible.

— Why?

— Because I still remember what you said in Milan — she said, gaze flicking toward him. — And I definitely remember what you did.

He let out a low laugh, then turned serious. — Okay, then maybe we don’t start from scratch. But we don’t rush this either.

She nodded. — No pressure.

They sat in companionable silence again. Her knee brushed against his. He didn’t move. Neither did she.

— Where are we going later? — she asked.

— I thought we’d drive out somewhere.

— You’re driving? — she teased, mock surprise in her tone.

He gave her a look. — I drove us last night.

She smiled behind her coffee. — Right. Just making sure it wasn’t a fluke.

He leaned in just slightly. — I drive. You’ll see.

She pretended to consider it. — Fine. As long as I get to control the playlist.

Riccardo tapped the lid of his cup. — Deal.

And just like that, the morning stretched with a subtle current of anticipation between them—unspoken, but understood. By the time she went to get ready, the mood had shifted—warmer, lighter. Riccardo stayed behind in the living room, scrolling on his phone while she moved into the guest room. She didn’t overthink the outfit, just throwing on a open striped button-down over what she was already wearing and putting on her sneakers, cool and a little undone.

When she came back, slipping her phone and a lip balm into her small shoulder bag, he opened the door for her like it was second nature. They walked down the hall side by side and took the elevator down together—quiet. Outside, the sky was clear. London was unusually generous today, all soft light and dry air.

When they stepped out into the lobby, she pulled her sunglasses from her bag and slipped them on, even though the spring sun wasn’t exactly blinding. He looked over, amused.

— Disguise? — he teased, unlocking the car with a quiet click.

— Habit — she said, sliding into the passenger seat. — And I’m wearing no makeup. Don’t make it weird.

He laughed under his breath, starting the engine. —You look good without it.

She glanced at him from beneath her frames, not smiling, but not not-smiling either.

— Flattery. Dangerous game.

— I’m not playing — he said. — Yet.

The tension in the car was different from the night before—less electric, more weighted. Like the shift had already happened, and they were both just carefully adjusting to the new energy between them. Not rushing. Not resisting it either.

As he drove, one hand steady on the wheel, she let herself turn slightly toward him. Her knee bumped gently against his leg, and she didn’t move it.

— You always drive? — she asked. — No driver, no blacked-out cars?

He glanced at her, smirking. — I like the quiet. And the control, I guess.

She made a soft sound, almost a hum. — Control. That tracks.

He arched a brow. — You don’t?

— I like being driven — she said, eyes still on the road ahead. — But I don’t mind giving directions.

Riccardo’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile too much at that. — Right. Very collaborative of you.

She shrugged. — I’m generous that way.

The corner of his hand brushed hers on the center console when he shifted gears, and neither of them pulled away. Just that brief graze of skin, a little spark lodged between two otherwise casual movements.

They drove a few more minutes like that, the air between them pulsing with all the things that didn’t need to be said yet. She reached for her phone to switch the song, scrolling until she found something mellow—Lauryn Hill humming through the speakers a second later, soft and golden like the light outside.

— Good choice — Riccardo said.

— I know. — She reclined back a little in the seat, glancing out the window again. — It’s a playlist I made for drives I don’t want to end.

That made him glance at her, for real this time. Something in his expression softened just a little too much, and he looked back at the road quickly, but not before she saw it.

Neither of them said anything after that. There was no need.

There was a beat of stillness between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, she reached across the console and brushed a curl away from his forehead without thinking—soft, unhurried. Her fingers lingered at his temple for a moment too long before falling back to her lap.

He swallowed once, almost imperceptibly. — You keep doing that — he said under his breath.

She raised an eyebrow. — Doing what?

— Making it hard to think straight.

The light changed. He turned the wheel, a little tighter than necessary.

Her voice was light again when she replied. — Then maybe don’t think. Just drive.

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth curved again. She looked back out the window, trying to hide the quiet satisfaction blooming across her face.

A few more minutes passed in silence—comfortable, suspended. The kind of silence only possible with someone you trust without realizing when it started.

— Are we almost there? — she asked after a while.

— Getting close — he said, and something about the way he said it made her pulse flicker. He wasn’t just talking about the location.

She shifted again, this time turning her head to look at him fully. — So where exactly are you taking me, Calafiori?

He gave her a sideways glance, slow and deliberate. — Getting impatient?

— I’m curious.

— You’ll like it — he said simply. — And no, I’m not telling you.

She leaned back in her seat, eyeing him with mock suspicion. — You don’t strike me as the type who likes planning dates.

— I’m not. Not usually.

— But you did this time.

He smiled without looking at her. — You didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d go for anything half-assed.

That made her lips twitch. — You’re right. I wouldn’t.

They fell into a gentle silence. The song shifted. Now it was Frank Ocean—Ivy—and her eyes lit up, just a little.

He caught it. — You love him, don’t you?

— I’m obsessed with him — she admitted. — Frank is like… a whole language.

— I feel like I missed that train — he said. — Everyone talks about Blonde like it changed their life.

— It did — she said, dead serious. — Mine, at least. It’s not an album, it’s an ache. You can’t listen to it and come out the same, I swear, I’d run into a fire for that album.

— I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything I’d run into a fire for — he said lightly.

She looked over at him, playful. — You don’t have a single album like that?

— Maybe a few FIFA soundtracks — he teased, then laughed. — No, I’m kidding. I like older stuff too. 80s rock. Some Italian classics. I like music that makes me feel like I’m somewhere else.

She nodded. — I like music that makes me feel like I’m exactly where I am.

The trees thinned out as the road straightened, curling past stone cottages and delicate fences covered in blooming wisteria. Morning light filtered through the branches overhead, the kind that made everything feel a little more cinematic. Riccardo slowed the car as they entered the village—quiet streets, soft hills in the distance, and a handful of people already out walking dogs or browsing shop windows.

She leaned forward slightly, watching it unfold through the windshield. — This is… not what I expected — she said quietly.

He glanced over at her, one hand still on the steering wheel. — Good or bad?

She smiled without looking at him. — Good. It’s peaceful.

— Yeah. I figured you get enough of everything else.

She nodded. — Let’s park and just walk around. Brunch will find us.

— Is that a spiritual belief?

She smirked. — Almost all of mine are.

He parked near the edge of a little square, where a café sat beneath a line of trees, already putting out tables. The air was cool and fresh, the kind of air that made everything feel slower. Lighter. They got out of the car without rushing, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled sitting easily between them. He locked the door with a soft beep, and without thinking, she looped her arm through his as they started down the street.

— You really don’t mind walking around aimlessly? — she asked, teasing.

— I think that’s the point — he replied, eyes straight ahead. — Just wandering.

She laughed, nudging him slightly with her shoulder. — You don’t seem like someone who wanders.

— No?

— No — she said, glancing up at him. — You seem very… deliberate.

He looked down at her. — I am. That’s why I’m here.

Her gaze lingered for a second, then she let it go, tugging him gently toward a narrow lane where vines climbed up brick walls and there were small shops with hand-painted signs. The kind of place that felt like time moved differently.

— You hungry? — he asked.

She looked at him like he was ridiculous. — You brought me all the way here and you’re just now asking that?

Riccardo grinned. — I wanted to give you a reason to complain. Seems like you enjoy it.

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again.

They didn’t pick the place for any particular reason—it was just there, past a crooked brick building with sun-faded window panes and a little handwritten sign that read “brunch served all day.” There were potted herbs along the front steps and two mismatched chairs outside. It was charming in the sort of way you don’t even try to describe out loud. She slowed when they passed it, drawn by the smell more than anything.

— This one? — Riccardo asked, already turning toward the door.

— Yeah — she said, eyes scanning the menu chalked on the board out front. — Looks good enough.

He held the door open, the tiny bell above it chiming as they stepped inside. The place was small and old in the best way—wooden floors, mismatched chairs, and a counter with cakes under glass domes. A soft jazz record crackled somewhere behind the noise of the espresso machine. They took a table by the window without needing to ask, sun pouring in and lighting up the fine dust in the air. She slid her sunglasses off and rested them on the table, glancing out briefly before looking back at him.

— Good pick.

— I didn’t pick this — he said, leaning back in his chair. — You stopped walking.

— Right — she murmured, almost amused, and picked up the menu.

They ordered quickly, something warm and savory for both of them. When the server walked away, he watched her stretch slightly in her chair, tucking one leg underneath her and tilting her head, eyes lazily tracing the street outside. When their food arrived—steaming plates. She reached over to steal a bite from his plate without asking.

He blinked. — Seriously?

— You ordered better — she said, chewing slowly. —Get used to it.

His jaw tightened for a beat, like he was trying not to laugh. — I will literally never order first again.

— Smart.

He watched her for a moment, her fingers delicately adjusting her bracelet before she took a sip of her matcha latte. They didn’t rush. There was no need to. The morning had slipped comfortably into noon, the light warming to a golden tone that made everything outside look softer. The café had begun to fill, but their table by the window still felt like a world of its own.

She leaned back slightly, sipping her cup as if it might help her decide whether to speak or stay quiet. Riccardo watched her, elbow propped against the table, fingers loosely holding his fork. Not really eating anymore. Just watching.

— You always this quiet? — she asked suddenly, setting her cup down with a soft clink.

— Only when I’m paying attention — he said, shrugging one shoulder.

— To what?

He took a beat. — The way you eat exactly two bites of everything and then get bored.

She narrowed her eyes. — I do not.

He raised both eyebrows, then nodded toward her plate—barely touched. She glanced at it, then back at him with mock offense.

— I’m a sampler. It’s sophisticated — she said. — You should try it sometime.

Riccardo grinned. — I’m Italian. I finish my plate. It’s called respect.

She laughed, tilting her face toward the window like she was trying to hide it, even as the sound spilled freely. It came so naturally around him, that ease, like they’d already figured out the rhythm of each other without meaning to.

— You’re annoyingly charming, you know that? —she muttered.

— You’re the first person who’s ever said that.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. — Liar.

Riccardo watched her like he was watching a scene unfold. Not performing, just observing.

— What? — she asked, meeting his eyes again.

He shook his head slightly, lips curving into something softer. — I’m just… glad you said yes.

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped, smile tucked into the corner of her mouth as she reached for her water.

— It’s a good day — she said finally. — I’m glad I said yes too.

They fell into conversation easily after that, somewhere between people-watching and letting themselves unwind. He talked about the pressure of moving to London, how different it felt from Italy, and she listened carefully. In turn, he asked her—quietly, without prying—if she ever felt tired of being known everywhere she went.

—Not tired — she said eventually. — But sometimes… I wish I could be a mystery again.

He studied her for a long moment before replying. — You still are — he said simply.

She blinked, then looked away with a soft smile, the kind that didn’t quite know where to land.

— Do you ever get tired of it? — she asked after a beat.

— What?

— The noise. The attention. All the… expectations?

Riccardo took a moment. — Sometimes. But I don’t think I’d trade it.

— No?

He shook his head. — You work so hard for something. And when you get it… there’s pressure, sure. But also—pride. You feel like the kid version of yourself would be proud.

Her gaze softened, and she nodded slowly, as if she knew exactly what he meant. — I think about legacy a lot — she said. — How I want to be remembered.

— You already will be — he said quietly.

She gave him a look that held both disbelief and something else—something unsaid. Then, in a lighter tone, she said — Okay. Let’s change the subject before I start quoting poetry or something.

He grinned. — I’d actually pay to see that.

— Of course you would — she muttered, biting back a smile.

Their plates were mostly cleared now, but neither of them moved. He reached out and gently pushed one of her rings back into place—it had shifted while she played with her napkin. The touch was brief, barely anything at all, but it made her still for a moment. When she looked at him again, there was something quieter in her eyes. Not uncertainty—just the weight of meaning, of having someone near who didn’t try to fill silence with noise.

— Where to now? — he asked eventually, voice low.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers loosely laced. — You’re the one who drove. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?

Riccardo smirked. — You trust me that much already?

— Don’t make it weird — she said, standing up, her chair scraping gently against the floor. — Come on.

When they stepped back into the sunlight, the day felt wide open, like the kind of day that could stretch as long as they let it, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to get home. She slipped on her sunglasses, and Riccardo tucked his hands into his pockets. Their steps matched easily, unhurried.

He glanced over at her as they turned a corner, where the street dipped slightly. There were storefronts with iron-framed windows and peeling paint—bakeries, second-hand bookstores, a florist with buckets spilling blooms onto the sidewalk. The breeze lifted a lock of her hair, and she tucked it behind her ear without thinking.

— Wait — she said suddenly, stopping mid-step.

He followed her gaze.

There it was. A record shop—small and narrow, tucked between a frame store and a dusty old tailor. Its window was cluttered with vinyls, posters, and a little turntable turning lazily, like it had been waiting for them.

— You wanna…? — she asked, already stepping toward it.

— I mean, we kind of have to now — he said, grinning.

A little brass bell jingled as they stepped inside. The air changed immediately—cooler, quieter, infused with that perfect, musty warmth of worn cardboard sleeves and old wood. Jazz played softly in the background. The walls were covered in shelves stacked with vinyls like a library of lives.

She lit up.

— I’m going to lose all my money in here. — she murmured, trailing her fingers along the spine of a crate.

Riccardo watched her like she was part of the display—delicate, reverent, glowing with the kind of joy that was rare and unfiltered.

— Is it weird that I feel like I’m in your version of church? — he asked.

She laughed. — It kind of is.

— I want to see your collection one day — he said, more quietly now.

She glanced at him, then knelt to flip through a crate labeled ‘soul & r&b classics.’

— You will — she said casually, but it was a promise tucked into her voice.

He moved beside her, picking up a record at random. — What’s the test? — he asked.

— What do you mean?

— The vinyl test. Like… what makes one worth taking home?

She smiled without looking up. — It has to feel like it would soundtrack a moment I haven't lived yet.

He blinked, surprised by the answer. — That’s… — He paused. — That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard about a record.

She finally looked up at him, a teasing smile playing at her lips. — That’s because you’ve never heard White Ferrari on vinyl after midnight.

— Maybe it is.

They lingered like that, side by side, flipping through decades of sound, their shoulders brushing occasionally, their conversation slowing. Everything else outside the shop faded into quiet.

— Okay — he said, turning to look at her. — Tell me your most prized vinyl. Don’t think—just say it.

She didn’t hesitate. — Songs in the Key of Life. Stevie Wonder.

— Classic.

— It’s the heart of the collection — she said seriously. — I treat it like a living thing.

He was flipping through a crate labeled "Miscellaneous – Imports & Rare Pressings” when she let out a soft gasp. Not dramatic, but enough to make him look up.

She was holding something gently, like it was a secret: The Stranger by Billy Joel.

— Oh wow — he said, stepping closer. — That’s the one?

She nodded slowly, her thumb brushing the worn edge of the sleeve. — One of my favorites at home. But this — she turned it slightly, — this is a European pressing. I’ve only seen it once before, and it wasn’t in good condition. This one’s… pristine.

Riccardo studied her expression—wide-eyed, reverent. The way she looked at that record, it was like it held something holy.

— You should get it. This one’s part of this moment now. You can’t not take it home.

She looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifting slowly, like she couldn’t help it.

— Fine — she said. — But only if we listen to it together.

He smiled, soft and certain. — Deal.

As she brought it to the counter, he wandered a few steps behind, half-looking through the r&b section when another sleeve caught his eye. He picked it up slowly, curious—and then grinned.

When she turned from the counter, bag in hand, he held up the record he’d found: Blonde.

Her heart skipped without warning. — My favorite — she murmured.

— I know — He held her gaze. — That’s why I’m getting it. Maybe now I'll know how hearing White Ferrari on vinyl after midnight feels like.

They stepped back into the street, paper sleeves tucked under their arms. The light had shifted again—late afternoon now, golden and slow. Neither of them said anything for a few beats. Then she murmured, without looking at him:

— I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me.

Riccardo looked at her, smiling faintly. — You really do soundtrack your life.

She just hummed. — Doesn’t everybody?

But the truth was—only some people did. The kind of people who felt everything, deeply and quietly. Who saw meaning everywhere, and weren’t afraid to call it beautiful. And he was starting to realize she was one of them.

— You know — Riccardo said, after they turned the corner — I think you might be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.

— That sounds like a line.

— It’s not. I mean it.

— Then you need to meet more people.

He laughed, but she reached out—just briefly—and tugged at his jacket, like she was teasing and anchoring him at once. — But thank you.

The sun was dipping lower now. A few lights flickered on in cafés and bookstores. Their city stroll felt like something stolen from a Sunday afternoon—unhurried, unplanned, golden.

— I still can’t believe we found that vinyl —she said, gesturing to the bag.

— I thought you were going to cry in the store.

— I almost did — she admitted with a dramatic sigh. — It’s like it was waiting for me. That’s fate.

— I thought you didn’t believe in fate.

— I don’t — she replied, lips curving. — But I do believe in divine timing… and excellent curation.

He grinned. — You speak like a woman who has very expensive taste.

— I speak like a woman who knows what she wants.

Riccardo raised an eyebrow. — Is that a warning?

— A promise.

That made him chuckle, deep and low, as they rounded the corner toward the small parking lot. His car sat there gleaming, casually parked like it belonged in a film still.

— So — she asked as they approached, — was this part of your grand seduction plan? Lure me with carbs and then take me to hunt vinyls like it’s nothing?

— Would it work if it was?

She tilted her head, pausing right before he opened the door for her.

— I think it might’ve.

He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, then reached for the handle and opened it.

— Get in before I kiss you right here in the street.

She blinked—just once—and slid in with a composed, amused smile, as if her heart hadn’t skipped a full beat. He closed the door behind her with a soft thud.

As he rounded the front of the car, she watched him through the windshield. Her reflection stared back faintly in the glass—messy hair, flushed cheeks, something quietly alight in her eyes. As they pull out of the quiet town and into the winding countryside roads, she rests her head lightly against the window, watching trees blur by. — Don’t let me fall asleep, — she murmurs.

He glances at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. — If you do, I’ll let you. But I’m stealing one of your records.

She groans. — You're lucky I like you.

— I know.

They drive back in a silence that's not really silent at all—filled with the quiet rhythm of tires on the road, soft music, and the unspoken ease that’s settled between them like it’s been there for years.

— You okay? — he asks, watching her.

She nods slowly. — Yeah. Just… kind of wishing we didn’t have to go back yet.

— Then we’ll stay a little longer next time — he replies simply, like it’s not even a question.

She looks at him, surprised at how easily he says it. Like he’s already decided there will be a next time.

— Are you hungry again? — he asked suddenly.

She looked at him. — Always.

— Good — he said. — I know a place.

The pizzeria was tucked between two quiet streets in London—tiny, candlelit, with handwritten menus and the smell of baked cheese spilling out the door. Riccardo opened it for her with a flourish.

— After you — he said.

She stepped in, nose already in the air. — If this place is terrible, I’m blaming your taste in pizza and Frank Ocean.

He grinned. — No pressure.

They slid into a small booth by the window, the city glowing outside like a film set. The waiter barely handed them menus before she pointed to something.

— Pesto sourdough focaccia. That’s what we’re getting. And olives. And maybe this spicy little something here.

The waiter returned, took their order, and left them bathed in the warm clink and hum of the place. Someone in the back was playing a mellow rock record that sounded warped and perfect.

— You really have a superpower for finding romantic little corners — she said.

— I just roam the city and hope something good happens.

— And here I was thinking it was part of some elaborate master plan.

Riccardo leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. — It is. I’m trying to impress a certain woman with impeccable taste and intimidating musical knowledge.

She raised an eyebrow. — Sounds like a nightmare.

— She’s terrifying.

— Stunning, though.

He nodded. — And possibly a witch.

She let out a laugh—loud, real, unguarded.

— I am a little witchy — she admitted. — You should see me during Mercury retrograde.

— Noted. I’ll wear protection.

She mimed casting a spell across the table. — Too late. You’ve been charmed.

He didn’t say anything to that—just gave her a look that was half amusement, half something heavier.

Their food arrived then, hot and golden, and they broke off pieces of focaccia like they’d done this a hundred times before. She stole one of the spicy olives from his plate without asking. He let her.

— So — he said, mouth full, — what would teenage-you say about your life right now?

She paused, chewing. — Probably: what the hell is happening and why are you dating football players instead of fictional poets?

He laughed again, then shook his head. — Teenage-me would definitely think I peaked.

She tilted her head, genuinely curious. — You think you peaked?

He shrugged, grinning. — Nah. But he would. He thought being 25 meant marriage and a villa by the sea, he would thrive knowing that we're on FIFA”

— Don't you want a villa by the sea?

— I’d rather have someone who sings along badly to the vinyls we bought earlier.

That made her look down, smiling into her drink.

And just like that, the air changed—not heavier, but warmer. Comfortable. Familiar in a way that snuck up on them both. It’s easy, the way the conversation flows. The jokes. The rhythm. There’s a comfort that surprises both of them, like they skipped a few steps somewhere and landed in that golden space where nothing has to be earned.

After a quiet beat, he looks at her. — You know what I was thinking earlier?

— What?

— That this didn’t feel like a first day hanging out. Not really.

She tilts her head, amused. — What does it feel like then?

He shrugs, eyes never leaving hers. — Like something we’ve done before. Like I already knew what your laugh sounded like before I heard it.

She doesn't answer right away. Her fingers toy lightly with the stem of her glass. Then, softly, — That’s the kind of thing you say when you want to ruin a girl’s life.

He laughs, leaning back, — So dramatic.

— You’ve met me — she says, raising her brows.

— Yeah — he says. — And I still said it.

The food keeps coming. They keep talking. By the time they leave, her stomach hurts from laughing, and her cheeks are warm from wine. As they step out into the cool London air, he pulls his jacket off without a word and drapes it over her shoulders.

She doesn’t protest. Just slips her arms into the sleeves and says, quietly, — Thank you.

They stepped into the building side by side, the doors sliding shut behind them with a soft swoosh. It was quiet in the lobby, save for the soft echo of their footsteps across the marble. Riccardo hit the elevator button and glanced at her, one hand still tucked in his pocket, the other brushing back his hair.

– You’ve walked more in one day than most people do in a week – he teased, voice low and amused. – I’m impressed.

She shot him a grin, the corners of her mouth curving with mischief. – You act like I’m not a trained dancer. I could go another ten miles if you asked.

– Tempting – he said, half under his breath.

The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. It was just the two of them. Again. She leaned casually against the mirrored wall, watching him through her lashes.

– You’re quiet all of a sudden – she said, tilting her head slightly. – Running out of clever lines?

He smirked, eyes flicking to hers. – Just trying not to say something I’ll regret.

– Like what?

The elevator hummed as it began its ascent.

– I don’t know… Like suggesting we skip tomorrow’s plans and do this again instead.

She arched an eyebrow. – You think I’d say no to that?

He looked at her then, fully, and she felt it—an unspoken thing charging the air.

The elevator dinged. Her floor. She stepped out slowly, turning halfway to face him as he remained inside.

– Goodnight, Riccardo – she said, still smiling. – Thanks for the walking tour.

– Anytime – he replied, eyes not leaving her. – Sleep well.

She waited until the doors began to close, then called out, – Try not to miss me.

He huffed a soft laugh as the metal slid shut.

She stepped inside, shrugging off her coat as the door clicked shut behind her. The lights in the living room were warm and soft, casting that cozy late-night glow over the apartment she’d grown to find comforting in the past weeks.

– Finally – her brother called from the kitchen, half-amused. – I thought you got recruited into a cult or something.

She rolled her eyes, dropping her bag by the couch. – I just went out, not on a pilgrimage.

He leaned against the counter with a drink in hand, his expression smug. – Out, huh? That what we’re calling it now?

She smirked, walking toward him. – Yes. Out. As in brunch. Records. A little roaming around.

He handed her a glass of water, eyeing her knowingly. – Brunch that turned into dusk. Sounds promising.

She took a sip, letting the glass linger at her lips. – You’re annoying.

– And you’re glowing – he nudged her shoulder. – So. Calafiori.

She tried not to smile, but her eyes gave her away. – He’s sweet. He’s… fun.

Her brother raised his brows. – Fun? That’s a new one.

She laughed softly. – He’s nice, okay? And surprisingly thoughtful.

– And hot. Don’t forget hot.

– Jesus – she muttered, smiling into her cup.

Her brother gave a knowing nod. – Yeah, you’ve needed someone like that.

She nudged him with her shoulder. – Don’t get soft on me.

– I’m not – he said, though his tone was gentle. – I’m just saying. If you like him, I hope he’s smart enough to like you back the right way.

She was quiet for a moment, then said, – It’s nothing serious.

– Yet – he added casually.

She shook her head, laughing softly. – Stop. We’re just hanging out.

– You literally came home high on music and holding a baguette.

– It’s focaccia.

– Even worse. That’s wife behavior.

She groaned, hiding her smile behind her glass. – You’re impossible.

– Just doing my brotherly duties.

They stood in companionable silence for a second before he added, a little more softly, – You know you can stay here as long as you need, right?

She nodded, her expression sincere. – I know.

He looked at her, something fond in his expression. – Good. Because you’re terrible at picking up your clothes from the bathroom, and I need to mentally prepare if you’re extending your stay.

– Shut up – she said, laughing again, and bumped his arm.

– Night, trouble.

– Night.

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