#but in the end I'm happy with what we had

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

[str4wbstudy]

It's the first day of school eve! We had snow that canceled the first day of the semester and I spent it folding clothes, making blueberry walnut bread, and playing minecraft. I'm trying to fix my sleep schedule. I was tired all day, now I'm pretty awake at an inconvenient time after crashing with my sleepy meds for a few hours.

Winter break was really nice. My school has a really short one compared to the major university in town that has like 3 more weeks to go. I didn't travel or anything as I wanted to stay home, sleep a lot and play games and watch YouTube and it made my sweet cat very happy! I partook in a hibernation like state for like 3 weeks and I wish it could be normal for humans to do that if they want.

This next semester will include grad school applications and REU applications. However, I'm not planning on getting accepted by and REU programs because 1. They're very competitive and 2. I'm planning a trip in summer and I'm registered for classes as well but I am encouraged to try.

My goal for this blog is a post a week for the next 16 weeks! They might look very different from week to week and just include my thoughts on what I'm working on, highlights of the week to remain focused, and keep positive. I was really stressed and annoyed at the end of last semester, but I got the highest marks possible, which is a relief and reassurance. I do want to enjoy myself despite the hard work!

Happy 2025!

[uconnwbbcrashout]

last winter break

chapter iii: “i think i’m gonna kiss you”

paige x azzi

word count: 6.5k

content: swearing, some fluffy banter, and a healthy dose of angst

chapter list: here

author’s notes: after a long wait, it’s finally here!! i wanna apologize for the 100th time for how long this took me to write. as you can tell by the word count compared to chapters i & ii, this one kinda got out of hand. but i'm happy w/ how it turned out and i hope it's worth the wait!! :) enjoy!

Winter 2022-2023

AZ: hey, i saw the news

AZ: about your acl i mean

AZ: i hope you’re doing okay p

p (IGNORE): thanks. good as i can be yk

p (IGNORE): surgery went well and all

p (IGNORE): but hey

p (IGNORE): delayed not denied right ?

changed user’s contact name to “p”

AZ: right

AZ: you’ll be okay

AZ: i know it

p: i hope youre right

*****

p: did you see the schedule

p: we play you guys

p: dec 11

p: well i wont be but

AZ: i did!!

AZ: you guys don’t stand a chance btw

p: damn way to kick a girl while shes down az

AZ: sorry?

*****

AZ: happy birthday paige

AZ: you’re so old

p: shut up

p: thank you azzi

*****

p: happy bday az

p: yOu’Re sO oLd

AZ: ok i had that coming

AZ: but thank you :)

*****

p: just saw the clip

p: hope you and your knee are ok <3

p: rest up azzi

AZ: thanks p

AZ: looks like we’re both gonna be on the bench next week

AZ: we’re still beating you guys though

p: well see bout that

*****

AZ: told you so

p: i couldnt even play bro

AZ: and i could??

p: whatever

p: we beatin you in march idc

AZ: sure p sure

*****

Azzi sighs, stretching her thumbs again where they hover over the keyboard on her phone. She’s laid out on her parents’ couch, legs propped up on a pillow, feeling utterly ridiculous as she tries to muster up the courage to send a text to Paige. She scrolls back up through their conversations from the past few months for what must be the eighth time today, overanalyzing every word.

It shouldn’t be this difficult, really—it’s hardly the first time this year that she’s been the one to reach out and text Paige. And she’s literally just trying to ask her if she’s going to a party. It’s an extremely low stakes conversation topic.

And yet here she is, practically ripping her hair out at the thought of pressing "send."

In all honesty, it’s a pretty good way to sum up what this year has been—so much more difficult than it ever needed to be.

And to say it’s been a weird fucking year would be an understatement.

After a disappointing tournament run in March, Maryland’s team changes significantly, so much so that Azzi has a hard time keeping track of it all. Graduations, transfers out, transfers in, new freshman—they're basically an entirely new team by the time the season starts up again in the fall.

And then she meets a girl, Maya, late one night in February when she’s cramming for an exam in the student union. She’s on the track team—a sprinter—tall, and devastatingly pretty. She’s unwaveringly confident, too, sitting across the empty table from Azzi and striking up a conversation with her easily. They end up talking for so long that night that the cleaning staff have to kick them out.

Things just click after that.

It's nice. It’s safe. It’s fun.

It’s sneaking into team housing well past curfew. It’s study dates at their favorite coffee shop on campus. It’s stolen hoodies and cold winter nights, huddled together for heat. It’s good luck kisses and lingering hugs before away games or meets. It’s late-night FaceTimes when there’s hundreds of miles separating them. It’s flower bouquets and greeting cards left on kitchen counters.

It’s something that feels a lot like the beginning stages of love.

And, above all, it makes Azzi happy.

There’s just one persistent, unavoidable problem—there's never enough time. Differing practice schedules. Basketball games and track meets. Press conferences and weight training. Midterms and March Madness. Conference championships and long flights across the country.

And it’s unfortunate, really, because a big part of Azzi thinks things could’ve been different. That maybe in another life—one where they met at a different time—things might have stuck. Things might have been long-term, could have worked out.

But in this life, they don’t.

After that it’s fairly quiet. Some random hookups here and there over the summer. A couple dates that fizzle out by the end of the night.

In the end, nothing she really regrets, but nothing that's as real as those few months were with Maya.

And then she reinjures her knee in December, forcing her to be sidelined. An unfortunately familiar seat on the bench with her name on it.

And then, of course, there's this weird situation with Paige. One that Azzi herself more or less created when she first reached out in August after Paige tore her ACL. It isn't like texting a stranger, but it also isn't like texting the old best friend she once knew. It's something in between, some strange acquaintance-like relationship that leaves Azzi entirely confused as to what she should or shouldn’t say.

Even if it is a bit strange, and maybe not quite ideal, she has to admit that it's still nice to have Paige back in some capacity. And enough time has passed, enough people have come and gone, that Azzi's just starting to warm up to the idea of someday calling Paige her friend again. Just a little bit.

Oh, and maybe Azzi also still finds her to be incredibly attractive.

But that's hardly relevant.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, catching her so off guard that she nearly drops it on her face. Her heart starts pounding in her ears, her stomach fluttering with anticipation—

Damn, it’s just from Diamond.

Azzi groans, clicking the notification.

d💎: you text her yet

Azzi rolls her eyes at her friend’s impatience.

AZ: almost

d💎: you’re actually killing me here

d💎: gimme her number

d💎: i'm gonna text her if you don’t

AZ: absolutely not

AZ: i regret telling you anything

d💎: no you don’t

d💎: now quit stalling and text. her.

AZ: oh my god FINE

Azzi swipes out of their conversation and taps back into her one with Paige.

Here goes nothing.

AZ: hey, you going to that stupid party again this year?

She turns her phone off immediately and slams it face down into the couch cushions, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

Her phone chimes not more than 30 seconds later, and Azzi half expects it to be another text from Diamond asking for updates.

But it isn’t.

p: yo

p: the one at that football players house??

p: maybe. ion know yet

“Oh my God,” she mutters, fingers already flying over her keyboard.

AZ: dude

AZ: it’s literally tomorrow

AZ: how do you not know

p: dude

p: ima busy person

p: my time is valuable yk

p: wbu tho

Azzi tries to fight the smile that’s forming on her face. She thinks for a minute, deciding to answer honestly.

AZ: i was thinking about it

Azzi watches with bated breath as the three dots on the screen disappear and reappear several times.

p: then maybe i will

Azzi sighs, closing her eyes and pressing the side of her phone into her forehead.

I’m never getting a straight answer out of her, she concedes.

*****

If anyone were to ask Azzi, she would argue that a cropped cami tank top with a pair of ripped jeans is perfectly reasonable attire for a casual house party in early January. The below-freezing temperatures are simply irrelevant.

It, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Paige is likely to show up tonight. Azzi doesn’t think about how Paige had hugged her from behind and mumbled, “Looks so good, baby,” the last time she wore this shirt in front of her. She also doesn’t think about how Paige always seems especially distracted when she wears her hair up in a bun like this, blue eyes constantly straying to the lines of Azzi’s neck and collarbones.

She absolutely does not, under any circumstances, think about that. At all.

Azzi just likes to feel and look good is all. She’s got the former down easily, and she thinks she’s managed the latter, too, if the number of people who have come up to her tonight is any indication. Guys, girls, people she recognized and people she didn’t—it didn’t really seem to matter. It felt like there was an endless stream of drinks being offered, numbers trying to be given out, and suggestive conversations directed at her. It was flattering, sure, but none of them had the right tint of blonde hair, the exact shade of blue eyes, the correct build of muscle she had been searching for all night.

She downs the last of her drink, crushing the plastic cup in her hands and tossing it in the trash can behind her. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. No texts.

Lifting a hand up to rub at her eye, she yawns and scans the room one more time, debating whether she should just call it a night at this point.

And then she feels it—the soft graze of fingers along her lower back, just above the waistband of her jeans. A warm, featherlight touch, then the familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood and a low voice in her ear.

“Azzi.”

She spins towards her quickly, her breath catching in her throat at the proximity of Paige’s face to hers, just inches away. Azzi leans back a bit, mostly to give herself a chance to breathe, and feels the hand on her lower back slide to lightly press on the side of her hip.

Azzi drags her eyes over Paige then, unable to help herself, taking in the tech fleece pants hanging low on her hips and the black fitted T-shirt straining against the muscles in her arms. Azzi’s a bit surprised to see that she’s wearing her glasses—it’s not something she does very often. Paige is smirking, her blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and Azzi swears she must have gotten taller since the last time she saw her.

She manages to catch her breath for a moment, flashing a smile that she hopes doesn’t reveal the nerves that she’s feeling. “Hi, Paige.”

Neither of them seems to know what to do after that because, honestly, what are you supposed to do in this type of situation?

To Azzi’s surprise, Paige makes the first move, stepping into Azzi’s space and snaking her other arm gently around Azzi’s waist. It takes Azzi a few seconds to respond before she leans into Paige and circles her arms around her shoulders. Azzi’s heart rate picks up even more when she feels Paige’s breath being released heavily against her, the tension leaving her shoulders.

“This okay?” Paige asks, her breath hot against the outside of Azzi’s ear. Azzi hums in agreement, settling her head to rest on Paige’s shoulder.

It probably should be awkward, and it is for just a second or two, but muscle memory kicks in and it ends up being more comforting than anything. It’s a hug after all, something they’ve done probably hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the years.

They could be there for a few seconds or a few minutes—Azzi really isn’t sure. At some point she feels someone bump into her as they walk by and that snaps her out of it, makes her realize that they are still at this party and people are definitely looking. She takes a step back and clears her throat, patting Paige’s shoulder once before dropping her arms to her sides.

“You look good, P,” Azzi admits, smiling softly.

Paige coughs and looks over her shoulder for a second before turning back to face her and—

Is she blushing?

She coughs again before saying, “Thanks. You do too, Az.”

Azzi smiles appreciatively, looking down at her hands. “Couple people here seemed to think so, too.”

Paige chuckles. “Yeah, saw ‘em all lined up for you.”

“You been talking to anyone else here?”

“Nah, not really,” Paige replies, waving her hand, and Azzi glances up to meet her eyes. Paige shrugs. “Only really came here for one person, you know?”

Azzi doesn’t have to ask her who that person is—the way Paige’s eyes are trailing across her face tells her everything she needs to know.

“Is that so?” Azzi crosses her arms in front of her, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Mhm.” Paige glances around the room before leaning into Azzi’s space again. “Hey, wanna get outta here? We can go somewhere else or somethin’.”

“I guess I can swing that,” Azzi agrees, hoping she comes across as indifferent as possible.

“Aight, cool.” Paige pats her pockets, searching for her keys. “You take your car here?”

Azzi shakes her head. “No, I walked.”

Paige raises an eyebrow at her, an incredulous look on her face. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” Azzi tries again, patting her own pockets to prove that they're empty.

“You walked here,” Paige repeats, still disbelieving. “In this weather.”

“It was only, like, 20 minutes.”

“There’s no way.”

“It’s better for the environment!”

“You’re insane.”

“Oh my God, can we just take your car or not?” Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Always the passenger princess.” Paige remarks, looking smug. “But, yeah, let’s go.” Paige beckons for Azzi to follow her to the coatrack. Paige holds the door open as they pull on their coats, both of the waving their hands over their shoulders as some people call out to them.

The short walk to Paige’s car is quiet, the occasional crunch of footsteps on snow the only sound. Azzi slips into the passenger seat and clicks her seat belt on, watching as Paige does the same in the driver’s seat. Paige drums her fingers quietly on the steering wheel, and Azzi glances out the window to look back at the house they just came from.

“So, uh, where to?” Paige asks, breaking the silence.

Azzi thinks for a moment before turning to Paige with a grin.

“Slushies?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

*****

“There’s just no way he said that,” Azzi giggles, readjusting her feet where they rest on Paige’s dashboard. They’re parked outside of Azzi’s parents’ house, heat blasting through the vents, SZA playing softly through the speakers, conversation flowing freely, half-drunken slushies melted and abandoned in the cupholders between them.

“I swear it’s true!” Paige promises.

“He for real told you that you have ‘the shittiest shooting form he’s ever fucking seen’?”

“On God, he did,” Paige laughs, running a hand through her hair. “Coach can be ruthless when he’s pissed off, man.”

“And you wanted me to come to UConn because?”

“Oh, c'mon, Az. You know no one can stay mad at you.” Paige reaches out and pokes at Azzi’s cheek. “Not with that face.”

Azzi pushes her hand away, flustered. “Shut up, P.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Whatever.”

A comfortable silence stretches on then, the two of them taking a moment to enjoy each other’s presence.

Azzi glances down at her watch. “I should probably get going,” she admits regretfully, turning around and rummaging in the backseat for her coat.

“Lemme pull up for you,” Paige insists, putting the car in drive and turning into the driveway.

She feels Paige put the car in park again just as she manages to find her jacket. “Thanks,” Azzi starts, pulling the door handle—

It’s locked.

What the hell?

Azzi yanks on it twice to be sure before turning to level her a stare. There’s a mischievous glint in Paige's eye that she doesn't trust. “So, are you letting me out or what?”

Paige keeps smiling widely at her, not moving or saying anything.

“Paige.”

Azzi watches Paige nod her head towards the front of the house, and Azzi follows the motion to see Curry and Stewie poking their heads through the curtains, their barks echoing off the window. Azzi shakes her head and glances back at Paige. “What is it?”

Paige shrugs, bringing her hands up to rest on the wheel again. “You gotta at least let me see my kids, Azzi.”

“Are you inviting yourself inside my house?” Azzi feels her eye twitching.

“Please,” Paige begs, and then she honest to God pouts at Azzi. “Think I’m due a visitation.”

“You are actually so annoying.” Azzi leans her head against the cool glass of the car window, closing her eyes.

“Is that a yes?” Paige asks, her voice lifting excitedly.

“It will be if you unlock this.” Azzi pulls on the door handle repeatedly.

“Ha, let’s go!” Paige exclaims, pressing the "unlock" button immediately and sprinting out of the car. She’s on the front porch and jumping in place before Azzi even has the chance to close the car door behind her.

“Alright, chill out,” Azzi mutters, brushing past her and turning the key into the lock. Paige pushes the door open the rest of the way and stumbles through the doorframe, kicking her shoes off. She makes it about five feet into the house before she drops to her knees and starts petting and hugging the two dogs racing around her.

Azzi locks the door behind her, and she can’t help the smile that overtakes her face when she sees Paige laid out on the ground, Stewie and Curry clambering over her to lick her face.

“My kids,” Paige coos, cradling Stewie in one arm and scratching Curry’s chin with her other hand. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s home now.”

Shaking her head, Azzi tears her eyes away from the scene and flops onto the couch. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and makes herself comfortable.

Paige stands up after a few minutes and stretches her arms above her head, groaning dramatically. Azzi catches a glimpse of her shirt riding up and her boxers peeking out before she pulls her phone closer to her face, fighting the heat creeping up on her cheeks. Paige doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she luckily doesn’t say anything about it. She moves to peek her head in the kitchen and the hallway before she reenters the living room.

“Nobody home?” Paige asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Azzi grabs a throw pillow off the couch and hurls it at her, but Paige catches it easily. “Stop. They went to a family holiday party thing I think.”

“And how the hell did you get outta goin’ to that?” Azzi feels the couch shake as Paige hops over the back of it and settles in across from her.

She puts her phone down and looks at Paige more fully then. “Like you said, no one can say no to this,” she explains, flashing her signature dimpled smile and pointing at it with both hands.

“I was jokin’ when I said that,” Azzi thinks she hears Paige grumble as she hugs the pillow she’s still holding to her chest.

Azzi goes back to scrolling on her phone, and she sees Paige throw the pillow up in the air and catch it a few times in her periphery.

She hears a heavy sigh, but she ignores it, opting to respond to a few texts from her teammates instead.

Then there’s another sigh, somehow more emphatic than the last, and the push of a foot against her own.

“Azzi.”

Maybe if I ignore her for long enough, she’ll stop, Azzi considers.

“Azzi.”

Just pretend you don’t hear her.

“Azzi Fudd.”

When has that ever actually worked, though?

“Azzi, please.”

Oh my fucking God, why did I let her in my house?

She clicks her phone off and drops it at her side, glaring daggers at Paige. “What?”

“Dude, I’m bored,” Paige complains.

“Dude, you literally do not have to be here,” Azzi points out.

“Entertain me, please.” Paige is practically begging now. “Aren’t you supposed to do that for your guests?”

Azzi closes her eyes and throws an arm over her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely annoying?”

“Yeah, you. Multiple times today, actually.”

“I was so right about that.”

“Okay, but can we do somethin’?” Paige asks again, kicking at her foot. Azzi kicks back, sliding her arm off her face.

“2K?” she suggests, gesturing to the controllers on the coffee table.

Paige’s eyes light up and she’s up in a flash, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on. “Fuck yes. Imma be the Lynx, though.”

“Whatever you want.”

*****

“Damn, you letting me win now, Paige?”

“Bro, ‘course not.”

“What’s your excuse this time?”

“Not my fault you keep distractin’ me, Az.”

“Not my fault you can’t keep your eyes off me, P.”

“Shut up. One more, I swear. Then we can quit.”

“Only if you win though, right?”

“Bro, just play.”

“Fine.”

*****

It’s many, many, games later—the clock on the wall having ticked over to the A.M. hours long ago—before Azzi has to tap out, eyes bleary and energy drained.

“Alright, I’m done,” Azzi sighs, tossing the controller on the coffee table and standing up slowly to stretch her back.

“Finally givin’ up?” Paige challenges, raising her eyebrows at her. Amazingly, somehow, she doesn’t look tired in the slightest.

“No, I’m not 'giving up.' I’ll literally fall asleep if we play one more.”

“If you say so.”

“Paige,” Azzi whines, pouting at her. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Aight, let’s be done then,” Paige agrees, setting her controller aside and standing up to stretch out.

“Are you awake enough to drive home?” Azzi questions.

“Me? Imma be just fine,” Paige assures her, moving toward the door. She bends down to pick up her shoes and pulls the curtain aside with a finger to peer outside. “Yeah, it’s no problem—oh, shit.”

Azzi strides over, reaching for the curtain to open it. “What is it?”

“Uh, well,” Paige starts, voice slightly muffled behind the thick fabric. “There’s a—”

Azzi grabs hold of the curtains, yanking them away to reveal the scene outside. Her jaw drops.

“—blizzard,” Paige finishes.

A fresh layer of snow, several inches deep, covers the ground. The wind lifts it up, blowing it around wildly, creating near whiteout conditions. Azzi can barely see Paige’s car parked in the driveway, a mere ten feet away.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Azzi mutters, staring disbelievingly out the window.

Paige furrows her brow, seeming to think something over for a minute. “Nah, I’ll still drive home.” She sits down on the recliner, untying the laces on her shoe.

“Like hell you will,” Azzi scoffs.

Paige looks up at her, pausing her movements. “Bro, chill. It’s, like, a couple blocks.”

But Azzi is persistent, moving to guard the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not letting you go out in that.”

“I can drive slow.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of that,” Azzi retorts, readjusting her arms. “Just stay, please. It’s too dangerous.”

“If you’re sure,” Paige concedes, tossing her sneakers behind her.

“I am.”

“Cool,” Paige stands, stretching her arms again. “I got the couch then.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, punches Paige’s shoulder playfully. “Don’t be stupid, P.”

Paige brings up a hand to rub at the spot Azzi hit, wincing in mock hurt. “Ow. Stupid ‘bout what?”

“You can just sleep in my bed. You are a guest after all,” Azzi points out, referring back to what Paige had said earlier.

Paige wiggles her eyebrows for the second time tonight, and Azzi considers punching her again, harder this time. “You want me that bad, huh?”

“Oh my God, stop. Look, I’ll take the couch, you take the bed? That fine?” Azzi offers, rubbing at her eyes.

“That’s dumb. You’re not gonna sleep in your own bed?”

Azzi throws her arms up in the air exasperatedly. “What do you suggest then?”

“I’on see why we can’t both just sleep in the bed,” Paige shrugs, not really meeting Azzi’s eyes.

How the hell did we get here?

“Whatever, sure,” Azzi relents, even though every fiber of her being is urging her to do the exact opposite. “I’m too tired for this. My family is gonna be home soon and I wanna sleep at least a little before they barge in.” She turns away and starts dragging her feet down the hallway to her room, hearing Paige padding quietly behind her. She pushes the door open with her shoulder and immediately goes to her closet, searching for something more comfortable to change into.

In the corner of her eye she spots Paige, shuffling about the room, eyes roaming over her pink bed sheets, the assortment of unicorn stuffed animals on her desk, the rainbow decals on her mirror. “Haven’t really changed much, huh?

Azzi grabs a pair of fleece pajama pants and a T-shirt, chuckling. “I don’t exactly live here anymore.”

“Good point.” Paige nods her head, running a finger along Azzi’s trophy shelf. Her eyes spot one item in particular and she takes it off the shelf. She flips the medal over to study the engraving on the back. “‘2018 Minnesota State Tournament: Class AAAA Champions’,” she reads with a scowl on her face. “Still can’t believe you guys beat us.”

Azzi walks up to her and snatches the medal from her, setting it back in its place. “Still can’t believe you’re not over it. This was, like, five years ago.”

“Aw, c’mon now. That last foul call was bullshit and you know it,” Paige grumbles.

“I think you’re just mad I dropped 30 points on your ass,” Azzi teases.

Paige frowns, crossing her arms. “No one was helpin’ me on defense.”

“Uh huh. Look, I’m gonna get dressed and stuff,” Azzi calls over her shoulder on her way to the bathroom. She pauses in the doorway and points a finger at Paige accusingly. “No touching anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paige promises with a mock salute.

Azzi changes into her pajamas and gets ready for bed as quickly as her fatigued body will allow, which is to say not very quickly at all. By the time she’s done, she’s so drained that she’s sluggishly dragging her body back to her room.

She’s rounding the corner into her room, dirty clothes from the party in hand, when she happens to look up. She chokes on air, clothing falling out of her hands, and stumbles to regain her balance.

Paige is sprawled out on her bed, hair splaying across her pillows, the light of her phone screen lighting up her face.

But none of that is the issue here.

The issue here is that Paige is wearing a sports bra and pair of boxers and that’s it.

The lines of her hips are visible, her abs pulled taut, and Azzi suddenly feels like she needs to cover her eyes, unless she wants to start choking on air again. “What the fuck are you doing?” she squeaks out, hands covering her face.

She hears Paige laugh. “It’s hot as hell in here. I’on know why you keep the temp at, like, 75 degrees all the time.”

“So you had to take your clothes off?”

“It’s nothin’ you haven’t seen before anyways.”

“Paige.”

“Azzi.”

Azzi leans against the wall, dropping her hands from her face but keeping her eyes screwed tightly shut. “Can you—God, can you at least put a shirt on or something?”

I’m not sleeping a wink tonight if she doesn’t.

She hears the bed creak slightly and assumes Paige must be sitting up now. “If I gotta.”

Azzi takes that as agreement and blindly feels her way to her closet, searching for the closest T-shirt she can find and pulling it off the hanger. She tosses it behind her in the direction of the bed.

“Okay, Imma get ready too then, I guess,” Paige is saying, the sound of her footsteps becoming more distant as she exits the room.

Azzi expels all the air out of her lungs, finally allowing herself to open her eyes. With shaky legs she makes her way to the bed, tucking herself under the covers. She takes a few more steadying breaths.

Pull it together, Fudd.

Paige is back sooner than Azzi is ready for her to be, but she stops a few feet into the room and gestures at her shirt. “This funny to you or somethin’?”

Azzi takes a moment to actually look at the shirt she unknowingly picked out for Paige and barks out a laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

The shirt has "St. John’s – State Champs" written across the chest in bold letters, her old high school’s logo below it.

“Okay, I promise I didn’t mean to pick that one,” Azzi swears, unable to contain her laughter.

“I’on believe you,” Paige grunts, sliding into the empty side of the bed. “You know I’d get beat up if anyone saw me wearin’ this, right?”

“Good thing it’s just me then, huh?”

“Guess so,” Paige grumbles, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

“Don’t worry,” Azzi says, smirking. “Your secret is safe with me, Cadet.”

Paige glares at her before rolling over and turning her back to Azzi. “I’m actually done talkin’ to you. Night.”

Azzi turns her bedside lamp off, encasing the room in darkness, save for a few bands of a dim streetlight poking through her blinds. “Night,” she echoes, settling to lay on her back.

She wills herself to sleep then, waiting for the exhaustion she’s been feeling for the past few hours to finally take over.

It doesn’t come.

It shouldn’t be this difficult.

But Azzi’s mind is racing, all thoughts on her former best friend stretched out beside her. Paige, lying in her childhood bed, clad in one of Azzi’s old basketball T-shirts and a pair of boxers, the warmth radiating from her enough to scorch Azzi’s skin even from half a foot away.

“Hey, P?” Azzi whispers, her gaze still glued to the ceiling.

She sees movement in her periphery, Paige angling her head back slightly in her direction. “Hm?”

Azzi swallows hard, attempting to dislodge the lump forming in her throat.

There’s been one question turning itself over and over in her mind all day. A thought that wouldn’t leave her head no matter how hard she tried to shake it out.

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Did you have a New Year’s kiss this year?” she hears herself ask.

Everything is silent then, and Azzi can’t think of many other times in her life where she’s felt as vulnerable as she does now.

The quietness stretches on for an agonizingly long amount of time. It lasts for so long, in fact, that part of Azzi begins to wonder if Paige might have fallen asleep.

“Nah,” Paige mumbles, breaking the silence. She turns fully back onto her side to face Azzi, resting her hands together underneath her head. Azzi feels her heavy stare piercing through the darkness and shivers. “You?”

Azzi shakes her head, sighs, “Me neither.”

She moves to face Paige, mirroring her position, her heartbeat thumping wildly in her ears.

Azzi wets her lips, locks her eyes onto Paige’s.

Fuck it.

“Did you want to have one?” she breathes out.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting. Maybe for Paige to shove her playfully or smile at her or something like that.

But Paige brings her bottom lip into her mouth, waits a beat, then nods her head.

Oh.

She wants this, too.

Azzi isn’t sure which of them is leaning in, but suddenly Paige’s face is just inches from her own, her breath warm against Azzi’s lips.

“Are you sure?” Paige whispers.

Am I sure I want this?

Absolutely.

Am I sure we should be doing this?

Well...

Despite her doubts, Azzi swallows and nods her head.

Paige is the one to close the gap between them, hesitant, at first, and gentle, just the soft press of her lips against Azzi’s own. A tentative reunion, two aching souls finally coming back home to each other.

And then the kiss turns needy, hungry, and Paige is bringing a hand up to cup her face, sliding the other down to Azzi’s waist. Azzi does the same, tugs slightly to bring Paige to hover slightly over her. Paige is kissing her hard now, pressing her into the bed, exhaling heavily, making Azzi’s heart flutter uncontrollably.

Azzi makes a decision then, pulls back just slightly and uses her tongue to part Paige’s lips, shivering when she feels Paige sigh against her mouth. The action seems to spur Paige on further because she’s shifting again, slipping her leg in between Azzi’s, applying just a hint of pressure, building up a low heat there.

Paige is relentless, kissing her with such fervor that it makes her head spin. Azzi feels a thumb dip below the waistband of her pants, caressing against her hip, and for some reason that snaps Azzi out of the dizzy haze she's found herself trapped in.

Azzi breaks the kiss, lightheaded, because if she doesn't do it now she thinks they might never stop.

Paige rests their foreheads together for a moment. She leans back, shifts her body off Azzi’s, her pupils blown out and her chest heaving.

“There,” Azzi hears herself say, breath uneven. “Happy New Year.” Then she rolls away from Paige, heartbeat still erratic in her ears, shaking hands pulling the covers back over herself.

She feels the bed shift a minute later as Paige wordlessly turns away from her.

Azzi brings her fingers up to touch her mouth, the sensation still lingering there.

It’s hours before sleep finally finds her.

*****

Azzi wakes to the afternoon sunlight hitting her square in the face, and she pulls a pillow over her head to block it out. Groaning, she blindly sticks an arm out beside her, feeling for a warm body next to her to shake awake.

Her hand comes up empty.

She shoots up in her bed, panic swarming her as she scans across the empty room. Her chest tightens, her throat constricts.

Fuck, she’s gone.

Tears are just starting to prick at the corner of her eyes when the sound of boisterous laughter bounces off the walls of the hallway.

Curious, Azzi follows the sound, finding its source relatively quickly.

The sight is strange enough to raise Azzi’s eyebrows—her dad and Paige, seated on opposite sides of the dining table, laughing over empty breakfast plates.

Paige notices her first, nodding her chin towards her in acknowledgement. “Hey, Az.” She pats the chair next to her. “Sit.”

Azzi doesn’t move, eyes moving skeptically between her dad and Paige. “Hi. What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” her dad says, but the snickering between the two of them afterwards is saying something completely different.

“This.” Azzi points a finger back and forth between the two of them. “This I don’t like.”

“C’mon, we’re just messin’,” Paige assures, still grinning devilishly.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Azzi responds sarcastically, opening the fridge door and sticking her head in it, searching for something to settle her rumbling stomach. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Packing, I guess?” Paige replies.

Azzi picks her head up at that and closes the fridge. “Huh, why?”

“Got a flight to Connecticut in the mornin',” Paige shrugs, and Azzi’s heart drops to her stomach.

“You do?” she asks, failing to keep the sadness from creeping into her voice.

Paige looks apologetic, casting her eyes downward. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Forgot to mention it. Speakin’ of, I should head on out soon.” She stands, putting her dishes in the sink before clapping Azzi’s dad on the back. “Good to see you as always, Tim.”

He smiles up at her fondly. “You too, Paige.”

“Imma grab my stuff,” Paige says, brushing past Azzi into the living room. Azzi moves on autopilot, trailing behind her.

It takes Paige all of three seconds to get ready, having only really come here with her phone and the clothes she wore yesterday, which she must have changed back into at some point. Azzi watches her pull her sneakers on, shrug into her jacket.

“Guess this it then,” Paige starts, eyes looking anywhere but at Azzi.

Azzi wrings her hands together, trying to figure out where to go from here. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll see you around then, P.”

Azzi is going to leave it at that, moving her arms to give Paige a quick hug, but then Paige is grabbing her arm and pulling her in closer, lowering her voice. “Don't we need to talk 'bout somethin'?”

“Last time you said that you broke up with me.” Azzi pries Paige’s fingers off her arm.

Paige bristles at that, rubbing at the back of her neck nervously. “Okay, but still. We need to talk.”

“About?” Azzi asks, even though she already knows where this conversation is going. She looks at Paige expectantly.

“We kissed, Azzi. You don’t think we should talk ‘bout that?” There’s a crease between her eyebrows. “I mean, like, what does it mean, you know?”

There are two ways Azzi can play this. She can be honest, tell Paige that she lost hours of sleep over it, that it’s the only thing she’s thought about since she woke up, that it shifted her world off its axis. Can tell her that all those feelings she tried to push down have risen rapidly back to the surface, demanding all of her attention. Can lay it all out in front of them, knowing it could be months before the next time they see each other again.

And then there’s a second option.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Azzi is saying, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

Maybe it's time for the ball to be in Paige's court now.

Paige shakes her head exaggeratedly, her face screwed up in utter confusion. “It doesn’t?”

“Not unless we want it to,” Azzi continues, making her expression as unreadable as possible.

“Well, do you?”

Azzi hums noncommittally, looking down at her nails. “Probably easier if we just forget about it, right? I mean, it was only one kiss.”

There’s conflict painted clear across Paige’s face, her mouth opening and closing several times like she can’t quite figure out how she’s supposed to respond to that. She bites her lip hard, so hard that Azzi is a little concerned that she’s about to draw blood.

“I—I, uh,” she stutters, and Azzi can’t remember the last time she saw her look this flustered. “No, yeah. For sure. Just a kiss.” She nods her head once, like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Azzi replies, even if she doesn’t really mean it.

Paige scratches at the back of her neck again, clearly not anticipating the conversation to go like this. “Yeah. So...maybe I’ll see you in March or somethin’?” She offers a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

Azzi shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

*****

She doesn’t.

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 4 | l.n

summary: as taylor swift once said: 'in a world of boys, he's a gentleman'.

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, unedited, some filler stuff this chapter, a hint of fluff here and there, and are we finally getting somewhere with this??? idk????

message from jordan: happy new year, everyone! i hope you all had a fun and safe holiday season, and i hope this year is kinder to you than previous ones <3 thank you for being so patient with me on getting something out for you guys. i'm struggling a bit with writer's block, but hopefully i can push through and some more writing done by the end of this week :) again, thank you for being so patient. sending you all my love, always <33

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

the sunlight pouring into your bedroom windows made you open your eyes. however, you immediately regretted it. a pounding sensation filling your head the minute your eyes met the light. you let out a groan, your hand coming up to your temples as you buried yourself back into your pillows. 

“here,” a voice said from next to you, “take this.”

your eyes flew open again, lando’s figure coming into frame as he held out the bottle of advil and a glass of water towards you. you blinked at him as he softly smiled, nodding back towards the medicine bottle. 

“thanks,” you mumbled, looking around the room for any signs of what could’ve happened last night. you swallowed the pills down with the glass of water that he had in his other hand. he took the glass back from you, leaning off the foot of the bed to place it on your desk. 

“did we…?” you trailed off, sitting up. you had on a pair of pajama pants and an unfamiliar hoodie, a pair of clothes you don’t remember changing into. 

he shook his head, a soft smile on his face, “no,”

“thank god,” you sighed, placing your pounding head on your knees.

“did have to carry you out of the party though,” he said, “lily’s the one who got you changed. hoodie is mine, though. you were shivering on the walk back here last night. i slept on the floor, don’t worry.”

you looked over at the floor next to the bed, now noticing the folded up blanket and pillow on the carpet. you ignored how your heart tightened in your chest as his gesture, maybe he was a gentleman.

“i don’t even remember having that much to drink,” you said, “was it really that bad?”

“the guys convinced you to play a few rounds of beer pong,” he chuckled softly, “you suck, by the way.”

you let out a soft laugh, “yeah, need to work on my skills, i guess.”

“yeah, you can say that,” he laughed softly, “you hungry? there’s this really great spot off campus if you want something to eat.”

you nodded, “yeah, just let me change and brush my teeth and stuff.”

he nodded, biting his lip a bit to hold back the smile threatening to break out on his face, “yeah, sure! i’ll uhm.. wait for you out here.”

he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder towards the door as you nodded. when he closed the bedroom door behind him, you couldn’t help the smile on your face. you weren’t sure what had flipped, but suddenly he was making you giddy like a high school girl with a crush. and honestly, you weren’t sure if you were that mad about it. 

you moved as quickly as your hungover state let you, throwing on a pair of jeans and shoes before brushing your teeth quickly and grabbing your things. 

you walked out to the living room, spotting him on the couch as he scrolled on his phone. you smiled when he looked up at you, putting his phone in the pocket of his hoodie as he stood up. 

“ready?

you nodded, the two of you walking out of the apartment and towards the parking lot where he kept his car. you watched as he unlocked the doors, opening the passenger side door for you. you thanked him, smiling softly before he shut the door gently behind you. he jogged around to his side before getting in. 

“here,” he said, handing you his phone, “play whatever music you want.”

you held his phone in your hand, “do you want me to put in your passcode or do you..?”

“oh, it’s 4444.” he said, backing out of the parking space as you snickered. he looked over at you with a soft laugh as you shook your head, scrolling through his spotify.

“what?”

“your passcode is a bunch of 4s?”

he shrugged, “it’s easy to remember,”

“also easy for someone to get into your phone.” you said and he shrugged, making a right out of the school campus. 

you shuffled one of his recently played playlists, humming along to the songs you knew. you watched the view of the town out the window, thankful that your headache had slowly started to go away. 

you didn’t notice, too wrapped up in the beauty of england to see the way he looked over at you occasionally. he smiled to himself, wondering if you knew how gorgeous you were when you were in your own world. he had seen it in you before, especially when you’d lose yourself talking about art or working on the project. something about you being so unaware of your beauty made his heart rate pick up. 

he pulled into the lot of the diner, finding a parking spot before putting the car in park. he made it a mission to open all the doors for you, making you softly laugh and thank him every time before the hostess led you to the booth seat in the corner of the small diner. 

you flipped through the menu, “how’d you find this place?”

“i’ve been coming here since my first year,” he said, “they have the best pancakes in my opinion. food’s definitely better than the cafeteria on campus.”

“anything’s better than that place,” you said, “not hard to beat.”

he nodded with a soft laugh, “very true.”

after ordering your food, you ended up finding yourselves in conversation, talking about anything and everything.

“are you heading back home for the holidays?” he asked, taking a bite of his food as you shrugged your shoulders.

“probably not,” you said, “let’s just say things with my family haven’t always been…” “picture perfect?” he asked, finishing the sentence for you.

“yeah,” you said, “i normally just head back home with lily for the holidays, but with her new secret man, i don’t want to intrude if she’s planning on bringing him.”

“still haven’t met him yet?”

you shook your head, “surprisingly no. i don’t want to push her, but i really wanna know who the guy is.”

he nodded, “yeah, i’m in the same boat. oscar’s been talking about this girl, but i haven’t seen her around.”

“yeah, i texted him the other day and he said he had plans with her,” you said, “haven’t had our usual study sessions in a while.”

“hold on,” he said, “you don’t think…”

you furrowed your eyebrows, confused at what he was getting at until it clicked. you looked at him with wide eyes, “oh, god. i don’t know.”

“surely she’d say something to you, right?”

“i’d think so,” you shrugged, “unless she wasn’t sure it was going to be a serious thing, then i’m not sure.”

“i’ll try to get more out of him the next time i see him,” he said, finishing off the last few bites of his breakfast, “now i’m curious.”

you nodded, finishing your food as well, “me too,”

the waitress came back with the check, you fishing your wallet from your bag, but he was quicker in getting his card out. 

you sent him a look as he smiled at the girl, thanking her before his eyes landed back on you. his smile only got wider at the look you were sending him, “what?”

“how much do i owe you?”

he shook his head, “don’t worry about it.”

“lando-”

“nope, it was my idea,” he chuckled back at you, “you can get it next time if you really want to.”

next time?

you sighed softly before giving into him, watching as he signed his name on the receipt, “i guess i can live with that. thank you, by the way.”

he nodded, the two of you making your way out of the small diner, “anytime.”

“probably a long shot and you totally don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you said, walking towards his car, “but did you wanna watch a movie or something when we get back?”

he smiled as he opened the car door for you, “yeah, sure,”

you sent him another smile as you got in the car, feeling the same giddy feeling you felt earlier. 

whatever this feeling was, you really didn’t want it to go away.

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari listened to Hawks and giggled. "I should be thanking you! You picked me up off the streets and gave me food to eat and a place to call home." The child blushed a bit, leaning into Hawks. "You also helped me get something back I never thought I would have again. A family." She muttered softly. "And even though it isn't the same one I had and even though we aren't related, it still feels nice. It still feels like I'm apart of a family again." She hummed happily, looking up at Hawks with genuinely happy eyes.

"I wasn't lying when I said you saved me in the card." She muttered softly, letting out a soft sigh. "I was super hungry when you found me. I hadn't eaten in days. I was nearing the end of my rope. If you didn't find me when you did, I surly would've starved to death with in a day or so." Kari nuzzled into Hawks. "So thank you. Thank you for saving me and helping me feel happy again and for giving me a place to stay and--and for being my Papa." Kari's hands tightened into fists, gripping onto Hawks shirt a bot as she spilled out her feelings.

"You've done so much for me, and I'm so happy again because of it. I'm so lucky that you found me Papa." Kari sniffled, trying not to cry but danm it spilling all this information out was making her emotional.

The child managed to collect herself, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "So, what do you wanna do today to celebrate, Papa? It's your big day and we just had pancakes for breakfast and cake. We have a whole day all about you, what do you wanna do?"

Hawks chuckled, watching Kari’s determination as she spoke. “You’re really something, Sugarbird,” he said warmly, leaning back in his chair as he let her handle the plates. “You’ve got this whole ‘making people feel special’ thing down to a science. It’s impressive.”

When she came back and wrapped him in a side hug, Hawks smiled down at her, draping one of his wings lightly over her shoulders like a feathery blanket. “You know, I think you might be my good luck charm,” he teased, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Ever since you came along, everything feels a little brighter. So I guess I should thank you for more than just today.”

He tilted his head slightly, grinning down at her. “How’d I get so lucky, huh? Having my very own Sugarbird to make my life this awesome?”

[kyri45]

So, how does it feel like to have your page blown up by people who love your Monkie Kid Bio Parents AU? Did you start it with the idea of making more drawings of the AU or was it more of a "Oh, shit, this blew up, guess the people wanna see more!"? Do you have the story planned out, or when you upload it you're like "Aight, now how the hell am I gonna continue with this?"?

Sorry for the questions, I'm just very curious about the process! Also, Happy New Year! ❤

I never continued the comic for the boom it received.

This was the second ever project I did where I swore myself I would only do what I wanted, without ever thinking of how much or little engagement it would create.

I had made art on my IG with always the thought of growing my page, because I needed the traction for commissions during college.

I never had a moment where I was like "how will I continue this?" Because the story just kept flowing naturally to me. Like, from the beginning: the two of them discovered he is their son? Well then they would discuss about it and check if he had Macaque powers as well. But doesn't he have also Macaque appareance somewhere? Well then we got to show a way for why his extra ears was hidden. But wait, he will notice and discover this eventually, no? Well yeah, then let's use the discovery to make some good old hurt and comfort. Does it mean they will co-mentor MK? Then there shpuld be a training arc of sort. Wait but if Macaque and Wukong so much time together, then they are bound to discuss what happened between them.

And so on.

After maybe 1 week of posting the first page, in my mind I already planned the whole story until the end. But in the middle it ended up being longer then I initially planned because I came up with new ideas on the way.

[captain-huggy-bear]

"Can- Can you come over please?" (I believe prompt list 1 number 80?) with whoever you're inspired for please 😊 thank you! - em

Em, it was giving soft boy Luke who's maybe feeling shitty after a bad game, so I hope you like it. First time writing Luke so I'm super sorry if it doesn't feel right for him (as we think of him because obvs we don't know him but still) Also I like how I was like let's write something short and then...just kept writing...😂 Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You'd been friends with Luke Hughes for almost as long as he'd been in New Jersey, both of you new to the city at the time had stumbled into each other quite literally one wintery afternoon. Your coffee going all over his hoodie, his doughnut squishing chocolate icing over your sweater. You'd expected him to yell, instead you learnt that day how utterly sweet and kind Luke Hughes was. He replaced your coffee and refused to let you buy him a new doughnut, but did let you invite him over so you could put some stain remover on his hoodie.

You might be thinking, 'are you crazy? Inviting a strange man to your apartment?', but you can only explain your risk through two pieces of information: 1) You knew roughly who he was. You weren't a fan of his by any means but you followed Hockey and had heard about the newest addition to the Devils, so you at least knew he wasn't a criminal, 2) Luke Hughes had been wearing snoopy socks and something about that had screamed 'non-threatening'.

Looking back it was probably slightly insane on your part, but it bagged you a close friend who you may or may not have had a massive crush on, so you couldn't really say you regretted risking it.

It wasn't unusual for Luke to phone you after a game, more often than not you got a quick phone call or a few texts sent through while he was out celebrating or commisserating with the team, often being invited out even when he knew you weren't much for late nights out on the town.

It was unusual though for that phone call to come in at 1 in the morning while you were sleeping.

You're groggy and half awake, hand patting the bedside table until you grip your phone, Luke's ringtone blarring through the speakers only because he was one of your few exceptions. One of a handful of people who could call you after 11pm without being sent straight to voicemail, the others being your family.

"Lukey? It's..." You stop to squint at your alarm clock, "1:41 in the morning, what's wrong?" You knew the game had ended late, but Luke should have been in bed by now or he should have been out partying with Jack and the boys, definitely not phoning you. You half expected him to be drunk on the other end of the line, maybe having phoned you while out with the team.

Instead his breath is shaky on the other end of the line, voice raspy like he's been crying and that's what has you sitting upright and swinging your legs out of bed before he even finishes his question.

"Can- Can you come over please?" His voice is scratchy and strained, a rasp that sounds defeated. You don't even considering getting changed from your pajamas, you just throw a jacket on from your closet.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, what's wrong?"

"Just...just come over please, angel" You're quick timing it as you shove your feet in a pair of shoes and grab your keys off the side, locking your apartment door behind you. It didn't matter to you that it was nearly 2am or that you hadn't brushed your hair or that you were half-asleep, all that mattered was Luke and the way he sounded like the world might be just a little too much for him right now.

"Okay, okay, want me to stay on the line?"

"No, just...drive safe?" You pause in the hallway, heart hurting at his concern, that even now when he's begging for your help he cares that you're safe.

"Yeah, course, Lu, i'm leaving right now, sweetheart." He lets out a shuddering breath on the line, right before he hangs up and you're certain you might cry because God, Luke shouldn't sound like that, so utterly defeated, so fragile.

You do your best to honour his request on the drive to his and Jack's apartment, even as you want to break a hundred traffic laws just to get there sooner, but you don't. It doesn't take long, but ten minutes feels like one hundred when all you want is to be see Luke and make sure he's okay.

He's at the door from the first knock and you don't say anything, just take him in. His tall form hunched at the shoulders like he's trying to hide within his hoodie, hood pulled over his head and eyes red rimmed, blotchy. There are dark, deep circles beneath his eyes and his lip is bruised and split, a few neatly placed stitches holding it together.

You don't say anything, just step forward and wrap him in your arms as best you can, tiptoeing to press your chin to his shoulder, arms tight around him as if you can protect him from whatever is going on in his head.

He grasps as you like you're a lifeline, fingers digging into your jacket, face pressed so tight to the crook of your neck that you're certain he'll fuse there.

He doesn't protest when you pull him into his apartment, door slamming shut. Doesn't protest when you pull him to his room, asking where Jack is, only to get a short clipped reply of 'club'. Doesn't protest when you sit him on his bed and join him, shoes being kicked off. It's not until you try to pull away from him that he really seems to come to life, hands grasping you firmer, pulling you back, "Don't go, please don't go..."

"'m not going anywhere, Lu, it's okay..." You pull back just enough that you can pull his hood back, fingers carding through his brown curls gently like he might break. "What happened?"

"Just needed you..." His face presses back into your shoulder as your fingers work through his hair like it's a perfectly normal thing to say to your best friend, like he didn't call because he had a shit game, because he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Lu...talk to me, baby"

There's a stark silence, broken only by a shaky breathe that comes from Luke as if the idea of talking is enough to make him cry for the second time that night. "I'm...i'm not good enough for the team, did a shit job tonight and we lost...it's my fault. Played like shit."

"What did Jack say?" You're gentle with it, soft voice, soft fingers on the nape of his neck. It's silly, he knows he's being dramatic, he also knows that it's not a friend thing to do. Knows he wouldn't call any of his other friends at near 2am because he needs them, knows he wouldn't beg for their fingers in his hair to sooth him or feel better just by the smell of their laundry detergent and shampoo. Luke knows he called you because he loves you, pretty sure he loved you the moment you excitedly showed him you'd gotten the coffee stain out of his UMIC hoodie.

"I was being too hard on myself, that it wasn't the 'Luke Hughes show'." He immitates Jack's voice, a pouty sort of tone riding his voice because he knows his brother is right even if he refused to sit moping with him and went out drinking instead.

"He's right. Hockey is a team sport, Luke, you aren't even on the ice the entire time! You do not get to decide that you're the reason a game is won or lost, you don't get to shoulder that."

"But.." Your palms cup his face, pulling him up to look at you. Your face is dead serious brows furrowed, lips pursed.

"No, you're a good hockey player. They picked you to play for them because of what you bring to the table and maybe you didn't play your best tonight , but you deserve to be on the team. You can't always be at 100." Your thumbs brush his cheeks under his eyes, like you might be able to wipe away the dark bags there. He looks worn, exhausted, tears just welling in those green eyes of his.

You're not entirely sure he believes you, "If I said I wasn't good enough because I had a bad day at work, what would you say to me?"

"To shut up and stop being mean to yourself..." Luke frowns at you like you're insane for even suggesting something like that, and it's what makes you smile for the first time that night, as if to say I told you so.

"Exactly, so stop being mean to yourself, Lu. You're amazing, i'm always in awe of how you skate..." You brush a curl from his eyes and watch them flutter closed slightly, throat tightening a little because you know this isn't the way you're supposed to feel about your best friend.

"Really?"

"Really..." You watch him carefully, the way he just leans more into your hands like he trusts you entirely to hold him up, the deep swelling of his lip, the beauty marks across his cheeks. "What do you need from me, right now?"

He takes a moment, like the words are stuck on the tip of his tongue whether unsure of how to ask or worried to make things weird. Both of you always toeing the line between friends and something decidedly more romantic.

"Can...can you just hold me? Just stay the night?" He blinks up at you with such big sweet eyes that you're not sure anyone would be able to refuse him, so you don't.

"I can do that."

You treat him delicately, like he's not a nearly 200 pound hockey player that regularly gets body slammed against boards and ice, who's covered in bruises and currently sporting a split lip. You pull him to lie down with you, curling around him like a protective blanket, pulling his face back into the crook of your neck, legs twisting with his. It's definitely not what friends do, but it's what he needs, so he grips you back tight, presses his face firmly into your neck and pulls your leg over his hip to be as close as possible.

You don't move more than the brush of fingers through his hair or down his arm, across his back. Even when you can hear soft snores, the sign of him having fallen asleep, you don't move because as much as Luke said he need this, you kind of need this too.

[noxitsnox]

if we get too closе, would it be okay?

hyun-ju x gn!reader - highschool au

summery: hyun-ju came out to her- now ex- girlfriend who spread the rumor around the whole school.

tags: trans/homophobia (the word tr**ny is used one (1) time), bullying, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff i promise, let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: i am obsessed it's not fair. this is pre-t but i'm still going to use she/her pronouns for hyun-ju <3 also english is not my first language and this isn't proof read, so i apologize for any mistake. @exactlyinfp

hyun-ju didn't want to go to school that day. her girlfriend, ex girlfriend now, broke up with her just because she trusted her, because she didn't want to hide anymore and she believed that her girlfriend of almost two years would understand. but she didn't. she called her all kind of names and blocked her everywhere.

she hoped this was where it ended. that they could just ignore each other and keep living life as it is. it would have been so much easier that way. but the moment she entered the school hallway she knew something happened. the looks she was getting were strange, full of hate. definitely not the looks you receive when you just broke up. she tried to ignore it and walked to her class with her head down.

it was early. a lot of time passed before some of her classmates entered the room. maybe it was better if they stayed outside. their chatter died down as soon as they saw her. one of them, who was seated next to her, took his desk and dragged it as far away from her as possible. “you're sick”, he said under his breath. “stay away from me.”

she stayed silent as the realization hit her. if he knew, everyone else did too. fighting tears, she forced herself to keep cool.

slowly people filled the room. everyone ignored her, even her so called friends looked at her with disgust. only y/n seemed to be acting as if nothing happened. maybe they didn't know about it yet. they’ll turn their back to you like everyone else, she thought.

“oh hyun-ju, how are you?”

y/n waited for an answer that never arrived. so, with a sad smile, they spoke again. “it's fine. you don't have to talk with me. you have my number in case you change your mind.”

———

for the rest of the week she ignored everyone. she was barely alive.

every morning she entered school feeling like a criminal. her locker in the changing rooms was filled with insults. some guys even tried to push her on the ground. that was the only moment she reacted. she could ignore words, but physical aggression was were she drew the line.

every night she cried herself to sleep, wishing she had someone on her side, someone to talk to. her family didn't know about what was happening in school and she hoped for it to stay that way or she wouldn't even have a home anymore.

it was on saturday afternoon that she lost it. she was out, getting some groceries for her mother at the local market, and she saw her ex with her friends. she tried to hide before they could notice her, but she wasn't fast enough.

"oh god, isn't that that tranny you used to date?", one said pointing at her.

"don't say that out loud, please. what will people think of me?"

hyun-ju ran away without even taking food from the market stall. she kept running until their voice became indistinguishable echoes.

she sat on the side walk and took out her phone, looking for y/n contact. she started crying, the tears blurring her vision.

their words came back to her. you have my number in case you change your mind. were they serious? she hesitantly called them, hoping for the best.

y/n didn't take long to answer and for that she was grateful.

"hey, you called!"

"i- yes... listen can you, can you come here?"

"oh hyun-ju, you're crying? is everything okay?"

"i don't even know anymore. please, just come here." and with that she hung up the phone, quickly shared the position with them.

she hugged her knees as she waited.

———

y/n was happy that hyun-ju called, even if the situation wasn't ideal. even though they weren't intimate, they cared about her and it made them sad to see her suffer. especially if she was being ridiculed for something beyond her control.

y/n tried to get to her as fast as possible. they went out in their sweats without bothering to put on something nicer. they didn't like the idea of hyun-ju seeing them in that state, but they also realized that they had to put vanity aside at the moment.

as soon as she saw y/n she got up and hugged. they remained in that position for a while. hyun-ju cried and cried while y/n rubbed her back, doing what they could to comfort her.

"sorry... i don't know why i did that", she said as she let go of them.

"you don't have to apologize. do you feel better now?"

"i do, thanks."

an awkward silence fell until y/n suggested they start walking with a wave of their hand, "do you wanna talk about what's happening?"

"i just want to forget about it. can we talk about something else?"

"oh sure", y/n looked at her and smiled. "do you wanna hear about this manga i'm reading?"

a/n: i realize that for an xreader the reader is barely there 😬 sorry. let me now if you liked it!!

[princess-of-purple-prose]

[ID: A collection of tweets by bobby 🐀 #BENIGN DEVI… @/bobby_speeds that read:

"the System really convinced Shen Qingqiu that the Jade Guanyin token could be used to save his life later, so he held onto it despite wanting to return it, and then when the time finally came to use it, the System withheld it until it was too late to actually save his life

"I know I'm just theorising but like, it's SUCH bullshit that it had to "load" the item. That had literally never happened before, but it just soo conveniently meant that SQQ had no choice but to choose another "scenario pusher"

"It wasn't enough for SQQ to just pull out the token, calm Binghe down and let them talk about their feelings, which by ALL rights should have been what happened, if SQQ and Binghe had just been people in a real world instead of characters in a narrative

"but it just doesn't make for an interesting climax, so it couldn't be allowed to happen. the audience (the in-universe readers of the revised PIDW, but also, like, us) would have found it underwhelming, so who cares how badly it traumatised the people involved??

"The System is just so fucking horrifying when you look past the cutesy emoticons. It acts cheerful and silly all while threatening SQQ with death or punishment and will happily make anyone suffer in the interests of "the narrative"

"I won't ascribe malicious intent to the System. It's an unfeeling entity that exists for no other purpose than to create an interesting story without regard to its characters' lives, but that in itself is way more scary.

"people LOVE watching characters suffer. I love it!! I like happy endings but I NEED an interesting middle. reading it, analysing it, thinking about it. the maigu ridge scene is horrific, but I'm literally deriving entertainment from it right now!! I'm having fun writing this!!

"and I hate the system so much, but what would this story be without it?? can any of us honestly say we'd enjoy this story half as much if SY had woken up in PIDW and lived a peaceful life of spoiling his disciples with no abyss and none of the major conflicts that resulted?

"The System is just the most incredible villain. It's terrifying and uncomfortable but it's us!! it did those things for US!! for our enjoyment as readers!! and we ate it up. we loved it. WE did that to them.

"The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System (Image of a Tumblr post that says: “Based on my obsession with the concept of The Narrative I think we should invent a new kind of tumblr/twitter discourse where we argue that it's inherently immoral to write fiction because its prevents characters from exercising free will” / “'girl help my characters are unionizing'”)" End ID]

[aurorangen]

After two weeks in Tomarang, Robbie's mind was clearer from all of his previous distress. Since the climate in Tomarang was close to home, he ended up reminiscing about Sulani with Jayleen then expressing his love for her.

Transcript:

Jayleen: Do you miss Sulani? Robbie: [ponders for a bit] I do. I miss home but I'm glad to have moved away. You feel there's not a lot of opportunities there, unlike in the city…geez I'm sounding like a sentimental old man right now.

Jayleen: Carry on! It's nice to reflect and all. What else don't you miss? Robbie: That is high school for sure. My god you annoyed the hell out of me then. Jayleen: H-HEY! I was only trying to be nice and it worked.

Robbie: Ok, you annoyed me a little bit [smiles] Jayleen: Yeah, we all had that dream of seeing the world growing up, to finally get out of Sulani [pokes cheeks] and seeing it with you, my cold-hearted crush turned beautiful boyfriend, it is a dream come true!

Robbie: [secretly happy] Oh stop it. That's cringe. Jayleen: Robbie my darlinggggg~ Robbie: Not that tone. I swear to god Jaylee-

Jayleen: [kisses Robbie before he finishes] You know I love you! Robbie: I love you too…you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.

[inkmonster21]

Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Part 20

Series Masterlist

Don’t Cry Because It Happened Baby, Cry Because It’s Over

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

The phone rang urgently, and Megan's voice rushed and tinged with concern. You could hear the stress in her tone as she spoke as if something was amiss. "Where are you?" she asked, her words hasty and filled with urgency.

You responded, your voice sounding heavy with the weight of your emotions. "On the bus," you replied, your words laced with sadness. The tears streaming down your cheeks remained unseen by the others as you were tucked away in the privacy of your bunk.

Megan's voice held concern as she asked, "Are you crying?" She could probably sense the vulnerability and fragility in your tone, catching the hint of hurt in your voice that betrayed your emotional state.

The phone call suddenly ended, and mere moments later, you could hear the sound of Megan's chunky heeled boots echoing as she hurriedly approached the bus. Megan burst through the door, her concern evident in her urgent movements. She flung open the curtain of your bunk, startling you. The worry and concern etched on her face were palpable as she asked the question, her voice filling the small space, "What happened?"

Another tear slipped from your eye, and you rolled your eyes, trying to compose yourself. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you unlocked it. The screen lit up, and you navigated to TikTok.

As you scrolled, the videos of Debora and Hugh filled your feed, taunting you with their seemingly happy life. The drama channels claimed that their marriage was healed and they had never been happier. Each new image and caption felt like a blow to your already fragile state, and the pain within you intensified.

Megan looked at the screen with a sympathetic frown, her eyes expressing her genuine concern and empathy. Her words carried a blend of sadness and support.

"I'm sorry, girl," she expressed, her voice carrying a gentle tone. She was there for you, offering her presence and understanding in your moment of distress.

You expressed your frustration, tears brimming in your eyes as you spoke with palpable anger and hurt.

"He should be thinking of me! Not taking that vulture out to dinner! But no, he's out there looking fine as hell, holding her instead!" your words tumbled out, your emotions swirling in a chaotic whirlwind. The thought of Hugh being with someone else, looking so well and appearing happy with Debora, ignited a deep sense of jealousy and betrayal.

Despite your emotional turmoil, Megan couldn't help but let out a gentle giggle at your heated remark. It was a bittersweet moment, a brief respite from the heaviness that had settled in the air. Despite the situation, Megan's laughter carried an understanding and a touch of lightheartedness, a small glimmer of humor amidst the emotional chaos.

Megan's tone shifted, and she offered a smile, her words carrying a hint of a devilishly mischievous note.

"You know what we should do?" she asked you, her smile widening, clearly eager to share her idea.

The mischievous glint in her eyes and the smile on her face indicated that she had something in mind, something intended to lift your spirits or perhaps even provide some solace.

"What?" you responded, a hint of curiosity mingling with your sadness, as you looked at her with a glimmer of anticipation.

Megan's words carried a touch of boldness, a suggestion for you to shift your focus from the pain and heartbreak you were experiencing. She proposed a night out with drinks and friends, offering a temporary distraction from the memories of Hugh.

"We should go out," she proposed, her voice filled with determination. "Have some drinks with our friends and maybe, just maybe, you'll see some guy to take your attention away from the guy who convinced everyone he's got claws for hands." With a smirk, she hoped her suggestion would spark a moment of solace and lightness in your troubled heart.

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you considered Megan's suggestion. The thought of going out and having a break from it all seemed both appealing and necessary. Your heart was heavy, and the tension you had been carrying needed a release. Megan's words resonated with you, and the idea of being surrounded by friends and a few drinks felt like a much-needed respite.

With a mix of determination and resignation in your voice, you responded, "Fine," agreeing to her proposal. The word left your lips, and you knew deep down it would be good to step away from the emotional toll you had been carrying, even if only for a night.

Megan wasted no time in making the calls, reaching out to your close friends one by one. Her enthusiasm and determination were evident in her voice as she demanded a drama-free night. As expected, they were happy to come together and support you. In response, your friends responded positively, eager to join in and contribute to making the night a memorable one.

You slipped into your black dress, the fabric hugging your form, and paired it with matching chunky heels. The Versace sunglasses and bag added a touch of class and elegance to your outfit. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, making sure everything was in place, and adjusted your sunglasses, feeling ready to leave the drama and heartache behind for just one night.

You and your friends gathered together in the rooftop bar to enjoy dinner. The waiter led you all to the reserved section, offering you a space to enjoy the evening. The ambiance, lighting, and beautiful views created a comfortable atmosphere, perfect for a night out with good company to distract you from your troubles.

Megan leaned in with her wine glass, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She announced cheerfully, "TikTok time, everyone!"

You positioned yourself at the bar, a drink in hand, as Megan prepared to film you. She counted down, "Three, two, one..."

The music started, and a smile tugged at your lips as you waited for the cue. Once the music began, you turned to the camera and lip-synced to the lyrics, infusing it with emotion. As you sang, "Never waste Friday night on a first date," your words held a blend of resilience and determination, a subtle hint of past pain peeking through.

Megan shifted her camera's focus to another friend who joined in on the TikTok fun. With a playful smile on her face, she declared, "But there I was, with my hair straight!" The words carried a hint of sarcasm and humor, adding a touch of lightness and relatability to their collaborative TikTok.

Megan took the spotlight, turning the camera on herself and speaking with conviction. "So I take him to his bar, and this man wouldn't dance, wouldn't drink," she said, her voice filled with theatrical flair. "He didn't ask a single question!" Her words echoed with a mix of disappointment and disbelief, as she shared her experience in a way that was both relatable and entertaining.

Your fourth friend joined in, their voice filled with humor and wit. They chimed in, "And he was wearing these fugly jeans!" Their contribution added a touch of laughter to TikTok, a lighthearted moment that brought a smile to the group's faces.

The camera panned back to you, and you smirked confidently, your voice filled with a mix of sass and self-assurance. "It doesn't matter though. He doesn't have what it takes to be with a girl like me," you stated, your words carrying a sense of self-empowerment and resilience. You delivered the line with a hint of defiance and pride, the words serving as a reminder that you knew your worth.

As you spent time with your friends, laughing, sipping your drinks, and sharing stories, the warmth of their company seemed to wash away the heaviness weighing on you. The TikTok video, with your friend's added humor and your confident delivery, had been a fun and light-hearted distraction from the pain you had felt. It was a reminder that you had people in your life who cared for you and would be there to lift your spirits.

As you sit on the couch of the bus in the early hours of the morning, your mind couldn't help but drift towards Hugh. The images of him with Debora, his happiness, and their newfound closeness lingered in your thoughts, casting a shadow on your otherwise lighter mood. Memories of the TikTok video and the laughter with your friends couldn't completely dispel the pang of jealousy and bittersweet nostalgia that tugged at your heart. You sigh, feeling the weight of the past creep back into your mind as you lay on the couch, the darkness of the night only magnifying the ache within.

With a heavy heart, you reached for your notebook, seeking solace in the words you poured onto the pages. The act of writing felt like a release, allowing you to channel your emotions into something tangible, a means of expressing the thoughts and feelings that had been building inside you. As you began to write, the words flowed out effortlessly, as if they were a direct connection to your heart and soul. The song you were crafting served as a catharsis, a way to confront the lingering memories of Hugh and the pain that accompanied them.

With a melancholic smile, you closed the notebook, the words you had written serving as a bittersweet reminder of your emotions. As the bus rolled along the road, eventually lulling you into slumber, your mind found some solace in the temporary escape sleep provided. Your thoughts and feelings temporarily faded into the background as you slipped into a restful slumber.

The morning arrived early, and the day's schedule kicked into gear. You were ushered into the venue, and the hustle and bustle of the preparations began. You joined the sound engineers and crew members in checking the sounds and rehearsing. It was a chaotic yet exhilarating environment, with the hum of activity filling the air as everyone prepared for the evening's performance. The familiar routine and the focus on the performance served as a distraction from the tumultuous emotions you had been grappling with.

You approached the band with a warm smile, excitement, and anticipation evident in your voice.

"Hey, can I work with you guys on a new number?"

The band members turned to you, curious expressions on their faces. They exchanged glances, intrigued by your sudden request.

"Sure!" they agreed, their enthusiasm clear in their voices. "What do you have in mind?"

With anticipation, you presented your new song idea to the band, sharing the lyrics and the concept in your mind. As you spoke, the band members listened with interest, their expressions showing that they were intrigued and curious to hear the new direction you wanted to take.

"It's a slow, sorrowful tune," you told them, your voice conveying the emotional depth you hoped to capture in the song. "I think it's different from what we've done before, but it feels necessary. What do you think?"

The band members beamed with enthusiasm, their expressions lighting up at the idea of working on a new song.

"I love it!" they exclaimed, their excitement palpable. "Anything for you!" Their support and enthusiasm filled you with gratitude. They were ready to collaborate and create something special together, ready to bring your vision to life on stage. It was a glimmer of joy and excitement amidst the emotional turmoil you had been experiencing.

The whirlwind of the day flew by, each task ticking off on your mental checklist. Lunch, hair, makeup, and now, you stood in your costume, the final touch before the show began. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered with anticipation. The day had flown by, and it felt like the moment had come far too soon. The countdown to the show had begun.

Despite having performed the show countless times, the pre-concert nerves persisted, a subtle undercurrent of anticipation and excitement coursing through your veins. Every time you stepped onto the stage, the familiar mix of adrenaline and nervousness washed over you. It was a strange paradox, knowing deep down that you could deliver a flawless performance, yet always experiencing that flutter of butterflies before the show began.

With a burst of energy, you ran out onto the stage, the roar of the crowd washing over you like a wave. The screams and cheers filled your ears, their collective energy fueling your own. The anticipation and nerves dissolved, replaced by a rush of adrenaline and a sense of purpose. The stage lights shone bright, illuminating your presence as you prepared to captivate the audience.

As the show progressed, the setlist unfolded, and with each song, the crowd roared in unison, their voices blending together in a symphony of adulation. It was a tangible testament to the connection you shared with your fans, a bond forged through your music that filled the air with emotion. Your heart swelled with gratitude as their voices echoed throughout the venue, their passion and enthusiasm fueling your performance even further.

With a shift in tone, you addressed the audience, your voice carrying a hint of sincerity and anticipation.

"Okay, let's get real for a second. Some hot tea for you," you shared with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The crowd's attention was fully invested, eager to hear the "tea" you were about to share. A collective cheer went through the crowd as you settled onto the couch, the plush fabric beneath you. You met the audience's eyes, a faint smile playing on your lips despite the sadness in your voice.

"You all know I was dating this guy," you began, the crowd's collective response echoing through the venue. You paused momentarily. "Good things end all the time, right?" you continued, a hint of resignation and pain lacing your words.

The gentle, melancholic tune filled the air, and your voice carried the weight of heartache and longing as you sang, "Don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over." Your words were tinged with a raw vulnerability, your voice carrying the weight of the pain you felt. You paused, a moment of hesitation before delivering the next line.

"You're supposed to think about me every time you hold her," you sang, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and hope. Each syllable was a dagger, a reminder of the love lost and the memories that lingered.

As you sang, the words poured out of you, the raw emotions seeping through. Your voice trembled with vulnerability, the tears cascading down your cheeks, a physical manifestation of the heartache you felt. The song became a catharsis, a way to release the pent-up pain you had been carrying. Each note was infused with an aching honesty that resonated with the depth of your emotions.

Tears continued to stream down your face as you poured your heart into the words, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow, longing, and a hint of defiance. The raw emotion in your voice was palpable, as the lyrics spilled out in a heart-wrenching plea.

"I want you to miss me," you sang, the words a combination of an aching plea and a subtle act of desperation.

Hugh sat in the darkness of this living room and listened intently as you sang the new song, the lyrics resonating deep within him. He couldn't help but seek out the video, the curiosity and longing pulling him towards the performance. Each word you sang felt like a direct stab to his heart, the lyrics mirroring his pain and remorse. He knew he shouldn't be watching, but he couldn't tear himself away either.

Hugh picked up on the glimmer of hope within your words, the underlying emotions beneath the pain. He recognized that you still wanted him, that you still desired him to think about you. The realization sent a jolt through his chest, a glimmer of hope and vulnerability that echoed within him. The connection you had shared still lingered, and it both comforted and tortured him in equal measure.

It was at that exact moment Hugh began formulating a plan of sorts, determined to speak with Debora and convince her that they shouldn't be together. The thought echoed in his mind, reminding him of the reasons that had led to their divorce in the first place. He was resolute, determined to communicate his feelings and make her understand the unhealthy nature of their relationship.

Hugh's voice was serious, his tone heavy with the weight of emotions as he spoke.

"I need to speak with you," he said as Debora walked through the door, his words filled with a sense of urgency and importance. He stood there, waiting for her to acknowledge him, to give him a chance to express what he needed to say.

Hugh watched as Debora held up her hand, “hold on,” her focus on her phone call rather than on him. Hugh's voice was firm, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. “This is important," he repeated, his words carrying a sense of urgency and insistence. He wanted her to understand the significance of what he needed to discuss, the weight of the matter that couldn't be ignored or brushed aside.

Debora retorted, her voice tinged with attitude and a sense of frustration.

"So is this," she hissed, dismissively rolling her eyes. Her response was defensive, indicating that she was unwilling to prioritize Hugh's concerns and preferred to focus on her phone call instead.

Hugh's patience had reached its limit, and his annoyance and distaste were evident in his gaze. His words came out bluntly, leaving no room for ambiguity.

"This isn't working, Debora. I want you to move out," he stated firmly, his tone holding a mixture of frustration and determination.

Debora looked at Hugh with a mix of disbelief and frustration, the glare in her eyes evident. She ended her phone call and turned her attention to him fully, her eyes narrowing. She responded, her voice filled with defensiveness, "What did you just say?"

Hugh's gaze met hers, his determination evident in the way he held her gaze. He repeated his words, his voice holding a sense of resoluteness.

"I said I want you to move out," he said calmly yet firmly, not backing down from his stance.

Debora's response was immediate, her voice rising with emotion.

"You want me to move out?? After everything we've been through? After all the good times we had?" she retorted, her tone defensive and incredulous. The conversation was heating up quickly, as the underlying tension between them intensified.

Hugh's expression turned more cynical, and his voice carried a hint of sarcasm.

"What good times?" he retorted, his words dripping with sarcasm. "When were those good times, Debora? Because I can't recall any lately."

Hugh's voice was strained with frustration, and his words came out in a blunt, direct tone.

"Just... pack your things please, and get the f*** out," he said, his words cutting through the air with a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. He was at the end of his patience, and the tension between them had reached a boiling point.

Debora responded with an angry huff, her words filled with frustration and resentment.

"Fine! Fine!" she spat, her tone seething. She stormed down the hallway, cursing Hugh to the core, promising to make his life miserable. "You think you're struggling now? Just wait until I'm done with you!" Her threat hung in the air, adding to the already tense atmosphere.

Hugh didn't bother to respond, his gaze steady and his determination unwavering. He simply turned away, walking out the door and firmly shutting it behind him. The echo of the door closing resonated, symbolizing the end of the intense exchange.

Hugh stepped outside, the fresh air greeting him as he strolled through the streets, letting his thoughts wander. The weight of the conversation with Debora lingered in his mind, and he needed some space to clear his head. The cool breeze and the rhythm of his steps provided a temporary respite from the tumultuous emotions.

Despite the ongoing tension and frustration with Debora, Hugh found a sense of lightness within him as he continued walking. The momentary escape from their tumultuous relationship and the fresh air had lifted a weight that he hadn't realized had been weighing him down. It was as if his steps were carrying him away from the chaos, bringing a glimmer of clarity amid the emotional turmoil.

As Hugh walked, his thoughts wandered to you, the memories of your relationship and the thoughts of your well-being taking root in his mind. He couldn't help but wonder if you were safe if you were enjoying your tour, and if you were managing to find some peace amidst the chaos. These thoughts created a strange mix of concern and curiosity, the image of you never completely leaving his mind.

The thought of contacting you crossed Hugh's mind, a mix of longing and hesitation in his heart. He longed to reach out, to hear your voice, to reconnect with the passionate relationship you shared. However, there was also a sense of uncertainty. He doubted if you would even answer his call, considering the nature of your last encounter.

Hugh's mind continued to wander, his thoughts shifting from you to Debora. He couldn't help but criticize himself for allowing Debora back into his life, for thinking that the vacation would be innocent and free from drama. He cursed himself for being so naive, for not seeing the signs.

Hugh's contemplation was momentarily interrupted by Ryan's cheerful greeting. He looked up to see Ryan approaching, his carefree demeanor contrasting with the heaviness of Hugh's thoughts. The distraction was a welcome reprieve, albeit a temporary one.

As Ryan and Blake approached him, Hugh couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude for the distraction but also a sense of internal conflict.

As Hugh engaged in conversation with Ryan, there was an unspoken understanding between them. Ryan didn't bring up the topic of you, and Hugh didn't want to open that can of worms either, even though he couldn't deny the nagging thought that lingered in the back of his mind. Part of him hoped that he could have the chance to reconnect with you, given the chance.

Hugh couldn't help but let curiosity get the better of him. Despite his attempts to push aside thoughts of you, he found himself asking, "How's (y/n)?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He knew he shouldn't be asking, but the question lingered in his mind, and he couldn't help but be curious about your well-being.

Ryan, being aware of your heartbroken state, opted to keep the truth to himself. He knew that you were still carrying the pain of your split from Hugh, that you were pouring your emotions into your music and finding solace in your performances.

“She’s great!” Blake's response was filled with a forced cheerfulness, masking the underlying truth. She knew the depth of your pain, the heartbreak that you were still grappling with. However, she maintained her smile, not wanting to reveal too much to Hugh.

Hugh's response was a mix of conflicting emotions. He forced a smile, trying to push away the thought of you moving on, finding someone better, someone younger. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, which he quickly tried to conceal. His nod was a strained gesture, the smile forced and unnatural.

"That's good...great," he echoed, the words feeling hollow but necessary to maintain the facade. Hugh felt the need to exit, the weight of his emotions becoming too overwhelming. He apologized, making an excuse to leave. "Sorry to keep you two. I'll be on my way," he said, his voice betraying a hint of exhaustion.

Ryan grabbed Hugh's shoulder, his touch a comforting gesture amidst the emotional turmoil. He offered him a supportive smile and added, "Give me a call sometime, bud." Ryan knew his friend was struggling, and the casual invitation was a subtle attempt to let Hugh know he was there for him whenever needed no matter if you were his sister.

With each step, Hugh felt the weight of longing for you weighing heavily on his heart. The memories of your shared moments together replayed in his mind, making the ache even more pronounced. The walk seemed to drag on, his thoughts consumed by the void left by your absence.

In a moment of impulse, Hugh took out his phone and pulled up your number. He stared at it for a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. Finally, without giving himself time to second-guess himself, he pressed the call button, his heart pounding in his chest.

You were in the midst of the routine process of removing your makeup and changing out of your intricate costume when your phone rang. You called out to Meg, requesting her assistance. Her eyes widened as she looked at the caller ID.

"It's just Ryan," Meg replied smoothly, her quick response, not quite a lie but not the entire truth either. You scoffed, expressing your frustration with her answer. "I just talked to him before the show. Can you take it?" you asked, your closed eyes not quite hiding the irritation in your voice. Meg, ever quick on her feet, continued her half-truth, "I'll handle it, don't worry."

Meg stepped outside the dressing room, her voice slightly changed as she answered, "Hello?" She tried to sound as casual as possible, though her voice carried a hint of tension, aware that the person on the other end was someone she didn't expect.

Hugh felt a pang of disappointment, hearing Meg's voice on the other end of the phone instead of yours. His heart sank, and his brows furrowed in confusion and disappointment. "Megan?" he repeated, the name feeling like a cruel joke. "Is (y/n) there?"

"She is, but she's getting cleaned up. I can take a message," Meg's voice carried a mix of professionalism and hesitation. Hugh felt a pang of frustration at her words, his hopes suddenly dashed. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to leave a message for you or not.

With a sigh, Hugh's disappointment washed over him. "No, I just... I don't even know why I called… I miss her," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration and resignation. He couldn't help but feel foolish for making the impulsive call, now facing the reality that he wouldn't be speaking directly to you.

Megan sighed, a mix of sympathy and concern evident in her voice. She couldn't help but let a hint of truth slip through her words, "She misses you, but you didn't hear that from me." The words carried a sense of worry and concern for her friend, knowing how deeply the situation had affected you.

Hugh's tone betrayed a hint of hope, his voice tinged with a touch of disbelief. "She does?" he asked, his tone filled with a mix of cautious optimism. The prospect of you missing him, combined with Megan's words, sparked a glimmer of hope in his heart, despite his attempts to push away such feelings.

Megan's simple affirmation carried weight, and Hugh couldn't help but feel a mix of joy and confusion. "Yeah, she does," she confirmed, her words echoing in his ears. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe it, a flicker of hope blooming within him.

Hugh's tone became more decisive as he shared his news. "I left Debora," he stated, a mix of determination and hope resonating in his voice. The statement carried the weight of his decision, a moment of clarity amid his tumultuous emotions.

Megan's suggestion carried a tone of honesty and concern. "You should tell her that," she advised. Her words echoed in Hugh's mind, the truth of her statement sinking in. He knew that he needed to tell you, but he also feared the response. "In person preferably," Megan added, emphasizing the importance of a face-to-face conversation. She knew the weight of the moment, the significance of Hugh's decision, and the impact it would have both on you and his own emotions.

Hugh agreed, realizing the importance of what Megan was saying. "Right, right," he said, affirming he understood the significance of speaking to you in person. His heart skipped a beat, both nervous and hopeful at the prospect of finally seeing you after all this time.

Hugh's voice conveyed a mix of vulnerability and hope. "Maybe, just don't tell I called then," he whispered, his words tinged with a hint of embarrassment and desperation. The thought of you learning about his attempt to reach out through Megan stung, and he wanted to ensure that you didn't find out.

"Sure," Megan replied, her tone warm and reassuring. She was aware of the delicate situation and wanted to support Hugh in any way she could. However, she also understood the need for discretion and the potential implications of Hugh's words. The call ended with a sense of unresolved tension, the conversation leaving both Megan and Hugh with mixed emotions.

As Megan returned to the dressing room, she swiftly deleted the call from your phone's history. She made sure to maintain her composure, acting as if nothing had happened, pretending that the conversation had never taken place. Her actions were done out of a sense of protection, trying to maintain a facade of normalcy in the face of the emotional revelations that had just occurred.

Hugh's thoughts were still buzzing, his heart heavy with both hope and uncertainty. Without hesitation, he dialed Ryan's number, the desire to confide in his friend overwhelming. The phone rang, its sound echoing in Hugh's ear, his anticipation growing with each passing moment.

"Ryan, I need to talk to you," Hugh's voice was filled with a mix of urgency and vulnerability. The weight of his recent decisions and emotions had reached a boiling point and he needed to confide in his friend.

Ryan's light-hearted response brought a slight smile to Hugh's face, momentarily easing the tension he carried. Despite the seriousness of his emotions, he couldn't help but appreciate Ryan's ability to bring a touch of humor into the situation.

"Yeah, well, sometimes an hour is all I've got," Hugh replied, a hint of humor laced in his tone, trying to match Ryan's casual demeanor. Hugh's words poured out in a rush, his voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and desperation. He recounted the events that led to his decision to break things off with Debora, how he had finally put his foot down, and how he felt a deep, aching longing for you. There was a sense of longing and regret in his voice as he explained his desperation to have you back in his life.

Ryan sighed, “We’re going to the LA show on Saturday. You can tag along if you want.” Ryan's offer surprised Hugh, but it also sparked a glimmer of hope within him. The prospect of attending an LA show and getting the chance to see you again filled him with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He tried to compose himself, attempting to sound casual despite the emotions raging within him.

Hugh's gratitude was heartfelt, his voice carrying a mix of relief and appreciation. The offer of a chance to see you again, even if it was a simple gesture, meant the world to him. He couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for Ryan's support and understanding. "Thank you, mate. Really," he replied, the words echoing his genuine appreciation.

Hugh ended the call, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The thought of seeing you at the LA show filled him with both excitement and anxiety. He knew he needed to proceed cautiously, yet he couldn't help but feel the hopefulness that came with the possibility of reconnecting.

As the day of the LA show approached, both Ryan and Hugh were visibly anxious. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, each of them grappling with their fears and concerns. Ryan was anxious about how you might react, fearing your anger or disappointment. Hugh, on the other hand, was consumed by the fear of being rejected, his hopes riding on the possibility of rebuilding your bond.

As Hugh, Ryan, and the group entered the building, they were immediately greeted by a swarm of fans. Cameras flashed, and the shouts and screams filled the air. Hugh tried to keep his composure, managing a smile and waving to the fans, but his thoughts were consumed by you.

As the show commenced, Hugh watched you as you ran out on stage, a mix of emotions coursing through him. The sight of you in the iconic towel and the bejeweled bodysuit stirred a mix of admiration and longing within him. He found himself clenching his fists, the weight of emotions overwhelming him. Despite the crowded arena, his focus was solely fixed on you.

As the Juno arrest segment of the show began, you walked near the VIP area, closer to the stage. The bright lights illuminated the faces of the audience members, including the celebrities seated in the front rows. While scanning the floor, you heard your name called out, and you turned to see none other than Marcello Hernández playing the role of his iconic character, 'Domingo,' from 'SNL.'

You couldn't help but widen your eyes and break into a knowing smile. "Oh my god! Hi," you replied, your tone filled with genuine delight. "What's your name?" you asked playfully, acknowledging his iconic character and accepting the unexpected moment.

Marcello beamed with enthusiasm, the character of 'Domingo' fully embodying his energetic and over-the-top nature. "What's my name?" Marcello chuckled, feigning slight offense. "My name’s Domingo."

With a radiant smile, you playfully engaged with Domingo, embracing his character and the lighthearted banter.

"Oh," you responded, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and playfulness, "Is there anything you want to say before I arrest you, Domingo?" You mimicked his dramatic behavior, emphasizing the fun aspect of the encounter.

Marcello, fully immersed in his 'Domingo' character, beamed with a smile as he began his skit. The words came out with a combination of humor and mock embarrassment.

"Came all this way, had to explain, direct from Domingo," he stated, his voice filled with an over-the-top flair. "(Y/n)’s my friend. She's like my sis," he continued, "but we did hook up, though!" There was a mix of theatrical exaggeration in his words, adding an element of humor and lightheartedness to the conversation.

You fanned yourself dramatically, adding to the humor of the situation. As your skirt fell off, you played along, allowing the moment to unfold, and the audience to laugh, thoroughly entertained by the comedic exchange between you and Marcello.

As you smiled at Marcello, playing along with the skit, you bent down with the handcuffs in hand. "Like now?" you asked, your voice tinged with amusement and a playful tone.

As you handed the handcuffs to Marcello, your eyes caught a glimpse of something—someone familiar standing behind him. The sight of Hugh, watching you from the VIP area, momentarily caught your attention. Your expression might have briefly revealed a flicker of surprise or a mix of emotions, even as you remained locked in the skit.

As the music started, your eyes lingered on Hugh, taking in the sight of him standing in the VIP area. Despite the performance in progress, your eyes seemed fixated on Hugh for a moment longer than intended. The weight of his presence, the memories flooding back, and the lingering feelings made it challenging to focus solely on the show.

As the performance continued, the sight of Hugh in the audience added an extra layer of surprise and uncertainty to the moment. The question lingered in your mind, 'Why was he here?' It was impossible not to wonder about his presence.

As the show went on, your attention was constantly drawn to Hugh's presence, your gaze seeking him out at every possible opportunity. The act of searching for him amidst the crowd became distracting, even as you tried to focus on the performance. No matter how much you attempted to stay in character, your mind remained divided, pulled between the show and the reality of Hugh watching from the VIP section.

The performance reached its final moments, and you were lowered down from the center of the stage. As you descended, the lights dimmed, signaling the conclusion of the skit, but the weight of Hugh's presence remained on your mind. You couldn't shake off the feeling of his gaze on you, the emotions that swirled within you, and the lingering questions that surfaced about his unexpected appearance.

As you rushed to the dressing room, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, you burst through the door, seeking the safe space of the dressing room. You were ready to vent, to express the emotions that were threatening to consume you. The sight of Megan, your longtime friend and confidante, brought a sense of relief, a familiar face in a moment of uncertainty and vulnerability.

The words tumbled out of your mouth as you rushed in, your voice filled with emotion and intensity. "He's here!" you exclaimed, the words carrying a mix of surprise, uncertainty, and a tinge of fear as if the mere presence of Hugh had sent a shockwave through your entire being.

Megan, who was in the dressing room waiting for you, immediately understood the significance of your words, her eyes widening with a mix of surprise and concern.

Ryan stood outside the dressing room, his casual attitude contrasting with the whirlwind of emotions inside. He called out to Hugh, "You coming in or what?"

Hugh's gaze lingered on your door, his mind still consumed by thoughts of you. It took him a moment to compose himself before he turned away, responding, "Yeah, I'm coming." The decision to join Ryan, the uncertainty of the moment, and the desire to be near you all weighed heavily on his mind. He knew he couldn't stay away.

There was a gentle knock on the dressing room door, a familiar sound that interrupted the whirlwind of emotions inside. As Megan opened the door, her eyes widened, seeing Ryan and Hugh standing there, their unexpected presence setting her on edge. She looked at them with a mix of surprise and concern, "What are you two doing here?" The question hung in the air, and Megan's expression betrayed her curiosity and slight annoyance.

Your voice called out from within the dressing room, your curiosity tinged with a hint of concern. "Who is it?" you asked, your tone filled with uncertainty. From behind the closed door, you waited for answers, the tension in the air palpable as you tried to discern the identity of the unexpected visitors.

Megan, standing at the door, froze, caught in the awkward and uncertain situation. Her mind raced, searching for the right words to say, but they seemed to elude her. She looked at Ryan and Hugh, her expression a mix of hesitation and worry, unsure how to handle the situation at hand.

As you stood up from the couch, the weight of the situation felt heavier than ever. With each step closer to the door, your heartbeat quickened, anticipation and uncertainty filling the air. Your mind was a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, your mind racing with questions about what might await you on the other side of the dressing room door.

Your eyes met the familiar gaze, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The world around you faded away, and your heart pounded in your chest as you froze in place. The mix of emotions surged through you, a rush of surprise, confusion, and a hint of a familiar warmth that you couldn't deny. The weight of the moment was palpable, filling the air with a mix of tension and unspoken emotions.

Ryan's voice broke the silence, his friendly smile trying to dissipate the tension in the air. "Hey!" he said, his tone casual yet carrying a hint of anticipation. "We just wanted to stop by." The words seemed innocent enough, but the underlying intentions were not lost on anyone present.

Despite the conflicting emotions within you—the desire to slam the door shut and the pull of your heart—your words slipped out, softly inviting, "Come in." The words carried a mix of resignation and curiosity as if a part of your heart couldn't help but grant them entry into your space.

Ryan, in his typical playful manner, wasted no time in claiming the bean bag chair, diving into it with a gleeful grin. "Dibs!" he declared, his voice filled with a mix of cheer and possessiveness as he settled into the cozy seat, making himself at home.

As Hugh passed you, a pang of longing stirred within him, the urge to reach out and touch you almost overwhelming. But he held back, the intensity of the moment and the audience of Ryan preventing him from acting upon his desires.

With a touch of sincerity in his voice, he said, "You were amazing." The words were meant to convey his genuine admiration and appreciation for your performance, but they were tinged with the unspoken feelings that lingered beneath the surface.

You were momentarily speechless, still caught off guard by Hugh's presence and his words of praise. The mix of emotions consumed your thoughts, making it difficult to form a coherent response. All you could muster was a simple, "Thanks, Hugh." Your voice was soft but tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of warmth, as if your tongue was tied, unable to fully express the feelings stirred inside.

Ryan, observing the awkward silence that hung in the air, decided to broach the subject. He chuckled lightly, his voice breaking the tension, "Shit. The tension here, huh?" His words hung in the air, acknowledging the palpable tension that lingered between you and Hugh, bringing it to the surface. The moment was heavy, the unspoken words and emotions creating an undeniable atmosphere of unease.

As the door opened, the photographer along with Marcello, and a few additional individuals entered the dressing room, adding to the already crowded space. The chaos of the moment intensified, with the room buzzing with activity and the weight of the tension between you and Hugh becoming more pronounced.

You greeted the intruders with a warm smile, putting on your charming demeanor, and welcomed them into the already crowded dressing room. "Hey! Come in!" you said, the words carrying a sense of enthusiasm despite the tension in the air. As you stood up to hug Marcello, you praised him warmly, "That was so fun. Everyone loved it!" Your words were a mix of genuine praise for the skit and a cover for the tense atmosphere.

The photographer requested a photo of you and Marcello together, and you obliged, deliberately choosing to sit close to him. With a sultry smirk, you draped yourself playfully over him, perhaps a subtle act of pettiness aimed at Hugh. The moment felt charged, filled with a mix of banter and unspoken emotions.

Your actions were not lost on Hugh. Your subtle act of pettiness was not lost on him, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. The sight of you so close to Marcello, the playful banter and your smirk fueled the emotions burning within him.

Ryan, seizing the opportunity to leave Hugh and you alone, grabbed Megan's arm, pulling her along. He played it off as a request to see your shoes, asking her to show him where they were. "Say, show me where they keep her shoes. I want to see if I can run in them," he chuckled, his tone playful, but his intentions clear. With a swift push, he ushered Megan out of the room, leaving you and Hugh alone together.

The silence between you and Hugh stretched on for what felt like an eternity, the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife. The weight of his presence, the longing for you, and the unspoken words all hung between you, creating a palpable and uncomfortable atmosphere. Neither of you knew how to break the silence, the tension so palpable it seemed to consume the very air around them.

As you stood up and moved to the mirror, applying a touch of lipstick, the question, "How's Debora?" slipped from your lips, laced with a subtle jab.

Hugh watched you with a mix of emotions, his gaze filled with longing and a hint of intensity. As you turned to look at him, your furrowed brows revealing your confusion, he answered, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and hurt. "Pretty pissed. She moved out a few days ago." The words hung in the air.

"Sorry to hear that," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of genuine sympathy. Hugh stood, shaking his head as he admitted, "Don't be. I asked her to." His words hung heavily in the air, a mixture of regret and resolution filling him. There was a mix of conflicting emotions within him, a blend of sadness and a sense of determination. The weight of his decision, the end of his relationship, and the uncertainty of his future weighed heavily on his mind, making the silence between you and him feel even heavier.

As you asked, "Why'd you do that?" your voice was filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. The question hung in the air, seeking an answer to the turmoil that Hugh was feeling.

The weight of Hugh's confession hung heavy in the air, and the vulnerability in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. "Because I was a complete idiot," he admitted, the words tinged with regret and self-awareness. "Because I miss you. Because I love you, (y/n)." The intensity of his words left no room for doubt, his love and feelings laid bare, a direct and vulnerable admission that shook the very foundation of your connection.

As Hugh bared his soul, his raw and honest confession hanging in the air, you felt a mix of emotions coursing through you. There was a part of you that yearned to throw your arms around him, to embrace him and give in to the love and feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface. But a sense of uncertainty held you back, the nagging doubts and concerns making it difficult to act on the impulse.

Hugh's gaze met yours, the weight of his confession still lingering in his eyes. He understood your hesitation and the pain he had caused you. With a hushed voice, you expressed your uncertainty, "I don't know what to say, Hugh. You broke my heart." The words slipped from your lips, filled with a mix of pain and confusion. The raw vulnerability in your voice echoed throughout the room, revealing the depths of the hurt that his actions had inflicted.

Hugh, unable to contain his emotions, closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His strong arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your bodysuit. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart, in sync with your own, the connection between you was electric and undeniable.

Hugh whispered, his voice filled with genuine remorse and a mix of vulnerability, "I'm sorry, baby. I was a fool to let you go. Please," his words filled with a pleading tone as his warm breath brushed against your skin. There was a raw honesty in his voice, a heartfelt plea that echoed through the room, as he begged for a chance to make things right.

Your resistance melted away as his lips found your neck, planting soft, feather-light kisses. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist. You moaned softly, unable to deny the pleasure his touch ignited.

"I've fantasized about this moment, about having you again," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let's make up for lost time, right here, right now."

The thought of being intimate with Hugh in your dressing room sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. With a swift motion, you unzipped the bodysuit, letting it slide off your shoulders, revealing your body beneath.

Hugh's eyes widened at the sight of you. He couldn't resist any longer. In a swift motion, he lifted you onto the vanity, the cool marble contrasting with your heated bodies. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Your lips met in a passionate kiss, tongues dancing and exploring, tasting each other's hunger.

Hugh's hands cupped your breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. He teased your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, causing you to arch your back and moan. You ran your hands through his hair, urging him on. "I want you to fuck me, Hugh," you whispered between kisses. "I need you inside me."

Hugh didn't need to be told twice. He undid his pants with haste and positioned himself at your entrance, his hard cock throbbing with anticipation. With one swift thrust, he buried himself deep within your pussy.

The vanity trembled with each powerful stroke, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the dressing room. Your hands gripped the edge of the vanity, your nails digging into the marble as Hugh pounded into your cunt, hitting all the right spots.

"Oh, God, yes! Right there, Hugh!" You cried out, your body on the brink of ecstasy.

Hugh's hips moved in a relentless rhythm, his balls slapping with each thrust. He leaned forward, capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," he growled between thrusts. "I've missed this, missed you."

Your moans filled the room as you neared your climax. Hugh's name escaped your lips in a desperate plea for release. He obliged, increasing his pace, driving her over the edge.

"Cum for me, baby!" he commanded, his voice thick with desire.

Your body shook, pussy clenching around his shaft as you came, screaming his name. Hugh held you tightly, his orgasm building as he felt your tight grip on his cock.

With one final, powerful thrust, Hugh unleashed his load deep inside you, filling you with his hot cum. You both clung to each other, your hearts racing and bodies slick with sweat. As their breathing slowed, Hugh gently lowered you onto the couch, your bodies still intertwined. He kissed you softly, his hands caressing your face.

"I love you, (y/n). I want to make this right, to be with you again," he whispered, his eyes filled with sincerity. Your heart softened at his words. You had never stopped loving him, despite the pain he had caused. You knew this reunion was fueled by passion and revenge, but in that moment, you couldn't deny the connection you both shared.

"We started off so fast. Let's take this one step at a time, Hugh. We have a lot to work through," you replied, voice laced with desire and caution. Hugh smiled, his eyes sparkling with determination. "I'm not giving up on us, not this time. I'll prove to you that we can make it work." As you two lay entangled on the couch, your bodies still buzzing from the intense encounter, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of a new chapter or a fleeting moment of passion.

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

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[fatliberation]

Sorry for leaving this in your inbox, but I need to vent and ask for advice in a place where people won't mock me. What do you do when sex is super difficult because of your fat? I've recently gotten into my first relationship and. I thought I had a handle on my internalized fatphobia and self hate but this has made it worse than ever. We can't have satisfying penetrative sex (we've tried all the tips and workarounds. Nothing works. I'm larger than most of the FA community.), and recieving oral sex is also difficult for me. I also get tired and sweaty extremely quickly if I have to like hold up myself on mostly my arms or something, so he has to do most of the work. So sex is just. Mostly the one that works on repeat, and we don't have it very often because it isn't that fun for either of us, and it also makes me cry afterwards sometimes because of how disappointing it is & me beating myself up over it.

I'm genuinely worried my boyfriend is going to leave me for this. He's clearly very frustrated with the situation, even though he tries to be nice about it most of the time. Earlier today I tried to like be flirty and hint at stuff and he just. got a bit sad. and then said that clearly neither of us enjoy the sex we're having and that he has a lot of trouble staying hard.and that he doesn't see the point when we're both forcing it for no reason. I think he's going to break up with me soon. His ex is way lighter than me, so he's probably comparing the normal sex he had with her with whatever the fuck this abnormal shitshow is :/

All the work I've done on myself to be happy with being fat (including working up the courage to date, what a mistake that was lmao) is all gone. This has ruined my self-esteem so much. I feel like one of those fatphobic jokes but a person.

first and foremost, please try your best to remember this: your body is not the problem. one more time. your body is not the problem. I'm so very sorry you're concerned that your boyfriend would leave you over this. it sounds like he has a lot of preconceived ideas about how sex is supposed to go. I promise you that it doesn't have to be this way. if this is something that could really end the relationship, know that this person is not compatible or open to exploring your needs, rather than your needs being "too difficult." I promise it's him, not you. I know folks who are 600+ pounds who have excellent sex lives and partners who satisfy them and enjoy satisfying them. when someone starts treating your pleasure like a chore, that's just shitty. I know how much it hurts. it also does damage to your own openness to pleasure. when you're caught up in feeling like sex/your body is something that needs to be "fixed," nothing is going to feel sexy, because all that pressure puts stress on and takes you out of the mental state where you're able to experience pleasure. does that make sense? so many couples get stuck in this cycle.

there are so many ways to engage in pleasure without penetration or orgasm. there's a lot that goes into foreplay, setting a mood, making your partner feel appreciated and attractive. words and touch play a huge part in this. something as simple as exploring each other's bodies, not with the intention of reaching climax, but simply to be vulnerable and engage each others' senses. have your partner give you a massage. play with your hair. tickle your back with a feather. shower together. kiss you. compliment you. if either of you are into any kinks or dirty talk, that could be a great way to engage each other sexually without the pressure of "achieving" a goal. the goal here is just to feel good, close, and connected. societal messaging about sex has placed so much importance on orgasm instead of pleasure - when taking the time and space to relax and receive attention, is key.

feel free to check out my other posts on fat sex ed, there's lots of assistive toys that can make pleasure more accessible, but I think that should be a tool for later, since the biggest issue here is the pressure to perform. know that pleasurable sex can exist for you! but for now, I would recommend taking a break from sex altogether since it is not pleasurable for you right now. because pleasure is the whole point. forcing it is only going to feel worse. you do not owe it to your boyfriend, especially if it doesn't feel good and is taking an emotional toll. I hope you both are able to take a step back, reassess and communicate, and are able to reconnect and create a safe space to explore.

I understand why you're beating yourself up over this, I've been there too. but also know that it's just another societal standard that's been internalized (and it doesn't sound like your boyfriend is helping). like you said, you've done a lot to unlearn fatphobia. there's a lot of internalized beliefs we absorb from society surrounding sex, just like body image. I promise that there is nothing wrong with you. If your boyfriend takes his frustration out on you instead of making you feel safe to express your needs, then he's not a supportive partner. you deserve someone who takes delight in your pleasure and your body. believe me, we're out there.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Looks like I haven't. Okay, well, let's see. I'll just give highlights, but it'll be long, so let's do a readmore.

So, in mid-2022, I dared to age past about 35 and therefore started withering bodily. Of course, this is partly my fault, because I do not get enough exercise, but also (shakes fist at uncaring universe, pulls muscle in fist) Life Hates Me

So, I started getting muscle pain between the shoulder blades. In my case, this is actually one of those annoying to-avoid-one-disability-you-created-another things, because I've had problems with my lower back since I was in my mid-20s thanks to never using proper lumbar support. Therefore, my standard spot to be in my living room became the sofa that stretches away from the TV, because then I could lie on the sofa and prop my head up on the arm to watch, but that means I spent several years as a recreational candy cane and NOW HERE WE ARE. I remember desperately trying to find a massage therapist that could see me that day before I went away to Edinburgh in August that year, and there was nowhere at all available. I had to get one in Edinburgh when I arrived, which was lovely, but also about £20 more expensive, because Edinburgh.

And then! In November! Of 2022!

I must have wished really hard. Because around the corner from my house - so close I could forward roll that distance, if it weren't for, you know (gestures at body, pulls muscle in arm)... a massage parlour opened.

Except. Here's the thing.

It had a name like "Swansea Oriental Massage" or "Thai Lotus Massage" or what have you (real name not given for privacy reasons.) The kind of name that makes you go "Ah. An independent business, likely staffed by workers fresh from abroad, with a name that implies exotic women to a certain type of client. This may be entirely what it claims, but it definitely Fits a Profile."

And to be clear, I have no issues at all with it being a brothel! I truly, genuinely don't. But for obvious reasons, I do want to know if I'm booking a session with a masseuse or a sex worker, because those are very different types of happy endings.

So Steff and I tried looking them up, which became almost a game in itself. We were like "Right. It has a legitimate-looking website that offers three different types of massage: Swedish, Chinese and deep tissue, complete with a disclaimer that deep tissue is not recommended unless you have good pain tolerance. A brothel would probably use more euphemisms, right? Intimate massage, full personal, that sort of thing. But maybe those are euphemisms?"

And then we'd be like "We have found a review. It says 'Very relaxing, beautiful girl.' That could either be a clumsily worded review from a gross orientalist marvelling about the massage, or it could be a subtle nod to them being sex workers."

And we went back and forth for weeks, until in the end I was like, no, enough. I am in pain. There must be someone, in any brothel, who can give a genuine massage - if you hide behind the phrase 'massage parlour', you MUST get people turning up occasionally looking for a back, neck and shoulders. It's the seamstress/needlewoman thing in Pratchett. They must be able to go 'Tracy, this one's for you.' That's who I need. I need Tracy. I need to be able to enter and go "Trace, what it is, it's my neck - no, no, Trace, leave your clothes on. Or, don't, I don't know your process. At this point I don't care. You know what? You do you. Mash my neck, don't worry about the happy ending."

(Well, unless it's reasonably priced as an add-on. I'm bisexual and I love a bargain.)

So one particularly painful day I thought fuck it, and I rang to book.

It did not clear anything up.

"Hello!" I said, when the lovely woman on the phone answered. In the interests of avoiding embarrassment on all sides, I decided to be Very Clear. "I currently have pain in my neck and shoulders, so I'm after a massage."

"Of course!" said the nice lady. "When would you like?"

"Tonight?" I asked. "About seven? If you can fit me -"

"Of course!" she beamed. "We will see you at seven!"

And she hung up. That was it. She did not take my name, or anything further; there was no indication as to how I would make sure I could, you know, actually claim the appointment on arrival. That was it.

"Hmm," I thought.

And then the phone rang. I picked up.

"I forgot to ask!" said the woman. "Do you want a male or a female?"

This, I thought, could still very much go either way.

"Well," I said. "I don't mind. As it's for getting knots out, I suppose -"

"Ah!" she said delightedly. "A male! See you later!"

And she hung up again.

"Hmm," I thought.

And so it was that I went to the massage parlour that evening, still none the wiser, waved off by my husband telling me to take the happy ending if it's offered, because he didn't mind at all and didn't want me to feel unsatisfied. This was very kind, but also qualifies for a "He's a little confused but he's got the spirit" meme, because I cannot tell you how little I was thinking about sex and how much I was thinking about the Gordian situation in my trapezoids and the way it was making me move like a T-rex.

Anyway. I was met by a lovely man who took me to a private room, gave me a towel, and told me to call him in once I was undressed and settled on the bed. This I duly did.

And then, what followed ended up being an hour and a quarter of the best massage I have ever had in my entire fucking LIFE.

I paid for an hour, to be clear. But this guy put his hands on my shoulders, frowned, said "Hmm," and then proceeded to work me over like I was meat for a tenderiser. It wasn't sexual. I just ceased being a person in his eyes. I was just muscles to him. Flesh to sculpt. I became a personal challenge. I watched as he passed into a state of intensive hyperfocus, time slipping away from us. He was like a fucking truffle pig after those knots, Tumblrs. He found every one. I could literally hear them clicking as he pressed them.

It was also, and I cannot stress this enough, the closest I have ever come to achieving enlightenment. There were points where I thought I was no longer in residence. I think I purred.

Eventually, he remembered the time, and left so I could get dressed. Then he sat me down in a chair and spent a final bonus ten minutes on my neck and shoulders, during which we chatted. His UK name is Chris (it's not, but both his real UK and Chinese names are here redacted for obvious privacy reasons), and he told me all about how he wanted to be an architect, and how his parents were hoping he would go back to China but he likes Wales and wants to stay, and which is the best Cantonese restaurant in Swansea. It was great. Transcendent experience. I walked out pain-free for the first time in months. He told me to drink water because it would remove the toxins the massage might have unleashed, and I thought that is not true, Chris, but I will do it for you.

I got home. "It's not a brothel!" I told my waiting husband and friends. "It's a legitimate massage parlour!"

"Hurrah!" they all said. "Perhaps we should get massages too."

And so, I went weekly. One time he had to reschedule, and so I received a message saying "Hello, this is Chris the massage boy", which is the most endearing sentence anyone has ever said to me, just absolutely delightful. Such a nice guy.

And then, one day, Steff thought maybe he'd go and get a massage.

And; well.

It turns out, Tumblrs, I had drawn a conclusion from too few datapoints; it turns out, Tumblrs, if you are male, in addition to the Swedish/Chinese/deep tissue options, you also get to order off the Forbidden Menu.

I had been ushered into a room where I was given a towel, and Chris would leave and only return once I was under the towel on the bed, so that he never saw a thing. But the first major difference we discovered was that, when Steff arrived, he was taken to a room and the woman who took him in then watched him expectantly until he stripped naked in front of her.

He did so, and got on the bed. She said, "Do you want two hands? Four hands? I can bring someone in."

"Oh," said Steff. "Um. Just a massage, please."

She stared at him.

"But," she said. "You don't want...?"

She mimed, very graphically, the act of wanking him off.

"No thanks," said Steff, voice getting higher.

"No??" she said, dumbstruck.

"Just a massage, please!" squeaked Steff.

They stared at each other.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Okay."

She gave him the massage. It was very good. He's been back a few times. He's offered the menu every time. Every time, they are baffled by his refusal.

And then tragedy struck after almost a year - Chris the massage boy became Chris the no-longer-massage boy and moved away to Cardiff. Devastating. Horrifying. I was inconsolable for months. Why do bad things happen to good people.

Which meant I started seeing the other workers there. I don't think I've ever seen the same one twice, so immediately, there's an issue of never getting to a point with anyone where they know how much pressure I like/can take or anything like that; but also, every damn one of them has been a waif of a girl I could bench press with one hand with no ability to do a proper deep tissue massage.

Mostly, this has not been a problem. They do very nice massages regardless, though it turns out they really do just wait for you to get naked in front of them, and Chris was very much an outlier in that regard. But a few months back I did get one who checked the file they apparently had on me, and got out her language translation app on her phone, and spoke into it. In English it read, "You want me to go hard? Deep?"

"Well," I said. "Just on my back, if possible?"

Her phone translated what I said into Chinese, for her to read. She nodded, and said something back, and held up the phone.

"My me is very small," it read. "But I will try."

And then what she did, Tumblrs, was channel every ounce of rage and hatred and inter-generational trauma for the British that she possessed in her heart straight into into her hands and, by extension, my me. Have you ever seen someone, like, scrub at a bloodstain that won't come out, and is going to send them to prison? Ever seen someone scrub so hard and so fast and so desperately that they start grating off their own fingertips, and yet they just keep scrubbing? Ever seen someone scrub like their life might literally be depending on it?

How I still have skin baffles me. I'm astonished she didn't buff off every mole on my back. She fucking pummelled me. And the worst part was, she didn't let up once she moved away from my back and down my legs, and I couldn't communicate that she was now going far too hard, because she didn't speak English and her magic phone app was put away, and also I'm a wimp who never tells tradespeople when I'm unhappy. It was an endurance session. I paid her £30 for it, and thanked her once she was done.

Anyway. All this brings me to today.

So I managed to jar my back by falling off a Ninja Warrior cheese-shaped board just before New Year, which, naturally, jarred right between my shoulder blades. Super painful, now passed, but the stiffness has remained and seems reluctant to leave; so, I thought, it's massage time.

And

Well

I think that was the worst massage I've ever had from that brothel.

Not bad as in painful! It was not bad as in "This is actively painful." But it has never been clearer that this girl was a sex worker cosplaying as a massage therapist, and was sort of guessing at what to do.

Like, she started on my back, and normally that's the focus of a massage. I would say you normally get about two thirds of the session on your back. Not so today. Today, in a half hour session, she spent maybe five minutes, if that, just loosely running her hands up and down my back. Just loosely. Sort of skimming her hands over the skin, if you will. A sort of extended stroke, like I was a flighty Thoroughbred.

Then she moved on, whereupon she she spent, conservatively, about TEN FULL MINUTES on the backs of my legs. Some of that was doing a sort of pressing pinch, where she was squeezing big handfuls of flesh. Some of it was a massage stroke. And the rest of it - quite a lot of it, actually - was her attempting that thing where massage therapists do the smacking with the sides of their hands, but she hadn't understood it, so it was actually about ten minutes of being softly but rigorously karate chopped on the thighs and calves.

(No overlapping strokes, mind. I appreciated the transferrable skills on display.)

Next, she told me to turn over, so I did. At this point, she attempted to put a towel over me. I'm unsure why, since I was bollock naked and had been the whole time; perhaps she wanted me to stay warm? I don't think it can have been for modesty, though, at least not entirely, because I KNOW the kitty cat was not wholly covered. I think there was a good centimetre or two of labia poking out the base, two happy little hills, peeping out at the room as the session progressed.

And progress it did, but with one change - she used absolutely zero oil to do my front. From this point onwards, this encounter was was done dry. That is probably making some of you wince, but honestly, it actually wasn't that bad, for reasons of there was very little massaging that actually required it from here on out.

She sort of pulled on my fingers first of all. Really very firmly too, one of them clicked. She started with my left arm, and pulled every finger in turn; then she raised my hand up above my elbow, pressed her thumbs into the centre, and then quite literally punched my palm. Then she laid the arm back down, held my shoulder down with one hand, and then used her other hand to grab my arm at different points to sort of half squish it, half grind it into the bed. And then she yanked on my shoulder, karate chopped a bit more on my forearm, and then that was it for Arm 1. Arm 2 was much of the same, except she added in a fun lil move where she sort of waved it about a bit from the shoulder a couple of times.

Then she went back to my legs. No more oil, so she sort of half-heartedly prodded and karate chopped my shins a bit, but to be honest I don't think her heart was in it by then.

But THEN she had a brainwave, so the last five to ten minutes were an attempt at a face massage.

Except when I say a face massage, I mean:

Well; she started well?

She did the fingertips on the temples, thumbs on the forehead, rotate gently thing, which lasted maybe 15 to 20 seconds. But then she got bored, I suspect, so she smooshed my cheeks a bit and rotated them vigorously like a cartoon character. And then she decided that I carry my stress in my forehead, so she started gently pinching my eyebrows and spider walking her fingertips left and right across them. And then she massaged my forehead for a moment

and then

she went back to karate chopping. On my forehead. Where my skull is. Repeatedly.

And like, don't get me wrong - it didn't hurt. But there's only so pleasurable and relaxing you can find "softly yet rapidly struck on the head in a rain of blows for two minutes straight."

Also, and I probably should have led with this, but she had her tits out the whole time.

Anyway it's my favourite place to go for a massage. I mean I now have to go somewhere else tonight to get my back sorted, admittedly, because I in fact carry my stress in the shoulders and not the eyebrows and they were the least attended part of me. But absolutely 10 out of 10 experience, no regrets.

Search is turning up nothing, but that's Tumblr even if there is something, so:

Have I told you guys about my many adventures with the brothel massage parlour around the corner from my house yet?

[ohsugar-honey-iced-tea]

Hi!

I wanted to send you this request: could you please write something with pregnant!wanda being very insecure about her body, and reader shows her that she loves her no matter what??

It can be fluff, smut. It’s up to you!!

All I will ever need

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

A/n: I have missed writing so much and I am so happy to finally put all my thoughts and ideas on here again

Summary: where Wanda is being haunted by thoughts and memories of her past

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Ugly. Fat. Hideous. Stupid. Loser.

Wanda remembers each and every word that was thrown to her growing up.

The names, the mean pranks, the cruel beatings. Wanda remembers them all like it was yesterday. Day in day out, high school felt like a true horror every day she went.

Maybe they were right. Maybe she was indeed ugly and hideous. Why else would they feel the need to say this to Wanda every moment of every day?

Hot tears rolled over her reddened cheeks as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Wanda is around 14 weeks pregnant now, and she could see. She could see how her belly was growing a little more every day.

She remembered how happy you were the day she told you she was pregnant. And although there was happiness, her thoughts soon filled with doubt. Would she be good enough? Would you still find her attractive whilst her body would change? Would you get bored of her? Would you leave?

Harsh words and anxiety filled her thoughts, and she could feel panic settling into her body.

As Wanda's heart started racing and her breathing quickened, you came home from work.

You had brought Wanda her favorite flowers, white lilies. The same ones you gave her on your first date, and which ones she held on your wedding day.

"Hey Wands, I'm home!"

Silence.

Usually you would be greeted warmly by your wife or find her in the livingroom, painting, reading or cooking. As much as you wanted her to relax for her and the baby, Wanda wanted to stay busy. It helped keep her mind quiet.

"Wanda?"

A cold feeling came over you as you saw the bathroom lights on. As you rushed on the stairs to get to her you could hear fast breathing coming from the bathroom.

You quickly opened the door and there she was. The second you saw her you rushed to her, and Wanda immediately fell in your arms, making both of you tumble to the floor. As you held her close you felt Wanda shake, as she sobbed into your shoulder.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please stop, I promise I'll be good!"

All you could do was hold her as Wanda was deep into reliving her horrible nightmares from the past.

"It's okay, Wanda. You're okay. I am right here, I promise. Let it all out, we are here together. It's okay, you are safe"

Wanda cried and cried and you silently cried with her. It was in that moment you swore to yourself you wouldn't ever let anything or anyone hurt Wanda again.

After a good ten minutes, Wanda looked at you, tears swimming in her eyes and voice shaking with sobs.

"Please don't leave me"

Your heart broke for the frail little girl you suddently saw in Wanda. A girl who loved so much and wanted to give so much, and got so much she didn't deserve.

Giving her a little smile, you softly stroked her tear stained cheek.

"Oh my love, I wouldn't ever leave you. Don't you know you are stuck with me? You are all I will ever need. Past, present and future"

You moved your hand to her pregnant belly.

"You and our little peanut, of course"

Wanda smiled a little, but it quickly turned into a frown.

"But my stomach is getting so big, and I am getting more tired. What if we end up arguing a lot? And what if I get so big by the end that you won't love me anymore? And what if-"

You cut her off with a kiss as you held her hands.

"All I heard in that sentence was 'we', Wanda. We are in this together. Now and forever"

You pressed little kisses to each of Wanda's fingertips, earning you a watery giggle.

"And I wouldn't mind forever with you"

Wanda's smile brightened, and she leaned into you, cuddling her head on your shoulder.

"It's actually not one, but two peanuts"

You looked at her with wide eyes and you4 mouth open.

"You mean...?"

"Twins"

"Twins?"

"We are having two little boys, detka"

You suddently picked her up, and swirled the both of you around in the tiny bathroom, smiling widely.

"We are having twins!"

You spent the rest of the day celebrating, just the two of you.

Bad feelings come and go, and difficult memories will always be there, but when you're with the right person there is nothing in the world you can't conquer.

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

Let me know if you want to be added to the Wanda taglist! If you have any requests, send them! Reblogs are much appreciated :)

Taglist: @wandanats-goodgirl

[loveandleases]

Hi hi~ It's my birthday and I'm running on fumes. So- How would the Ro's celebrate MC's birthday with them if the MC doesn't mind doing whatever/doesn't plan to do anything special? I'm desperate for Ardent... WHO SAID THAT??

Happy Birthday!!!! 🎂🎈🎉 I hope you've had a good one. I'm going to throw it under a cut because it somehow ended up being almost 2k words! Ardent is just as desperate, he's just in denial!

❤️ Cam - First off, would MC mind getting a piercing? Cam would be thrilled to get matching ear piercings with them. But if that’s not their thing, he’d suggest something more subtle, like matching jewelry. Maybe one of those permanent bracelets that are soldered on—a small but meaningful reminder of their bond.

Cam is up for anything, truly. If MC wants to stay in and have a cozy night watching movies, he’s already pulling up his favorite food apps and ordering takeout from three different places. But if MC feels adventurous, he’s all in. One of those indoor trampoline parks? Perfect—just give him a second to grab some Dramamine first. Whatever the plan, he’s ready to make the day unforgettable.

And at the end of the night, Cam has one last surprise: a scrapbook. “Old school, I know,” he says with a sheepish grin as he hands it over.

The pages are filled with his favorite memories. Photos from his point of view, capturing the little moments that mattered most to him over the years. There’s a whole section dedicated to the doggo (because, of course), and even a page or two with G, reflecting the years of shared friendship. And yes, there are even photos of MC with Chris—but Chris has been carefully, and a little dramatically, cut out of every one.

Cam shrugs, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he fidgets with the edge of one of the photos. “I couldn’t just throw them out,” he murmurs, running his fingers along the edges of the picture. His voice softens as he glances at MC, the corners of his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile. “You looked too good.”

💙 G - They never truly enjoyed their birthday, especially since it’s on Valentine’s Day. But MC changed that for them. Even when they weren’t together, MC still made sure to bake G a cake, showing how much they cared and G wants to do the same.

This year, G had been planning it for a while. They wanted everything to be just right—a nice dinner out on the town, the kind of place that serves those tiny, fancy portions. But when they hear MC’s stomach growling later that night, G would laugh and take them back to the kitchen to whip up a big, hearty meal, just the way they like it.

Afterward, they’d take MC on a walk, retracing steps to places they’d always wanted to show them back when they weren’t speaking. They would begin reminiscing about those late-night strolls they used to share in school.

G would have two gifts for MC. The first is something they’ve kept all this time (spoiler, i can't say what it is since you will be able to receive this item and place it in your MC's room). The second is a sweater. Not to replace the one they absolutely stole, by the way—no, of course not. This one is different. It’s a sweater G has worn over the years, one they’ve thought about MC wearing, imagining them wrapped up in its warmth.

And to end the night, G would surprise MC with a homemade cake, the icing meticulously decorated with the image of their dog. It’s not perfect, a tad lopsided, the color a little off.

💚 Kara - Oh, MC is getting spoiled. If they’re down for pampering, then Kara is going all out. First up, the best massage money can buy—only the best for MC. Kara will even attempt to bake them cookies… and we all know how that is going to go. When that inevitably doesn’t pan out, she’ll pivot to taking MC out for dinner. Fine dining, of course. Is a seven-course meal too much? Probably. Should she have asked beforehand? Definitely.

Kara doesn’t have the shared history with MC that Cam and G do, and she knows it. So, in a rare moment of thoughtfulness, she’ll invite Em along, intent on building a better relationship with MC and making the night truly special.

To top it off, Kara would rent a luxurious hotel for the night. Yes, MC can eat the snacks in the minibar—she’s paying. She’d try to whisk MC out of the country for a weekend getaway, but when their schedule doesn’t allow it, she’ll opt for the next best thing: a staycation. A weekend of indulgence, relaxation, and Kara-style bonding.

Her real gift, though, is far more personal: a key to her place, accompanied by a bouquet of flowers. The same flowers she once gave MC years ago—though back then, Chris had claimed the credit. This time, Kara makes sure there’s no doubt where they came from.

💛 M - One thing about Mar: they really like to have a plan. Whether it’s outlining their novel or taking MC out on a date, having a plan helps them prepare for what’s to come. So, if you happen to look through M’s search history, don’t be surprised if you come across things like:

"How to give your partner the best birthday"

"How much tongue is too much tongue? Techniques for French kissing"

And last but certainly not least, “What exactly is Netflix and chill?” (Had to include that, especially with a planned snippet!)

The first thing M can think to do is take MC somewhere special. Not to an anime convention (though they already bought tickets and even wanted to plan couple costumes—they had to talk themselves down from that). Instead, M decides on a place they don’t get to visit often, a place they love: home. And not their apartment, but their childhood home, the house their mothers still own.

M doesn’t get much time away from work or book tours, so this will be one of the few opportunities they can actually take MC. Since MC is up for anything, it doesn’t dawn on M until later that they’re essentially taking MC to meet the parents. Truthfully, M is more nervous than MC. At home, though, M is much more confident—they know what they’re doing and where to go. It’s one of the few times M feels completely sure of themselves. The trip is a success. M had already told their mothers about MC so of course they end up adoring MC even more.

As for a gift, M isn’t sure what to give. They hope that their presence—their trust, adoration, and love—will be enough. But just in case, M has a backup. They pull out their finished novel, ready for store shelves. Normally, M keeps the first published copy for themselves, but this time, they don’t. They want MC to see the first page after opening the cover—a heartfelt dedication, to none other than MC.

💜 Isaac - Isaac has never gotten this far with a partner since their ex. They’ve never allowed themselves to care for someone that deeply, not until MC. So when Isaac finally allows themselves to openly care for MC, they want to make it count. They want to do for MC what their mother used to do for them, even going so far as to bake their mother’s cake recipe. Listen, Isaac can cook—baking, though, is a little iffy. So it won’t be perfect, but it will be made from the heart. Just like the day Isaac has planned: something as simple as running errands, spending time together, sharing quiet moments. It’s something Isaac, admittedly, took for granted early on in their relationship.

Now, they don’t hold back as much. Isaac openly tells MC how they feel, how much they care for them, and shows it as well. The list of people who care about Isaac is minuscule, and they don’t take that for granted. They’re open to any thoughts MC has for the day, any question about Isaac’s past, or their job that they’d kept hidden for so long. Isaac’s willing to share even the details about their parents.

The gift is simple. No, it’s not free reign over Isaac’s car—nice try. It’s a plant, a cat-safe flower because Isaac knows Cupid likes to visit. They’ve taken care of it for a while, making sure it’ll survive before giving it to MC. But the flower itself isn’t what’s important. What matters is the sentiment behind it—the idea of nurturing something so it can grow.

It’s a promise from Isaac, a vow that they won’t stop working on themselves, that they won’t stop fighting for their relationship with MC. It’s the promise of being honest, with MC, with themselves, and accepting just how much they care for one another.

🖤 Ardent - MC would wake up gently, kissed softly on the lips, greeted with breakfast in bed. He’d actually been prepping it since the day before, and when Ardent cooks, he really goes all out. He doesn’t mess around. That means MC’s day isn’t just about breakfast—it’s also lunch, dinner, and his special baklava. There are so many ways the day can go, especially if his uncle tries to rope him into helping close the bar (he won’t, because today is all about MC).

Though MC insists they don’t care what they do for the day, Ardent can’t accept that. He wants nothing more than to make it special for them. Ardent’s life has changed so much since MC came into it. They’ve helped him understand just how important it is to open up, to stop keeping people at arm’s length. He would be lost without them, and he wants to show his appreciation for all they’ve done for him.

He never expected his mom to fly in when he told her it was MC’s birthday, nor did he plan for his cousins or his uncle to join in. He wasn’t surprised when his niece showed up with a handmade gift, though she lied and claimed Ardent got it for MC, afraid that he’d forgotten. He could never forget.

MC gets a big party, and while he knows it might not be their ideal, he apologizes later in the day. There’s one thing Ardent has always wanted to do with MC, ever since that day they rushed Cupid to the emergency vet. He’s a bit sentimental, sure. But he can’t help it, especially when he ties a little note to Cupid’s collar for MC to find late at night, when she curls up next to them.

Who would’ve imagined that Ardent Pine writes love notes? Even worse, he doodles hearts. Yeah, he won’t live that down, but it’s something he’s come to accept. And he’s hoping his gift will be something MC can accept, too. An invitation to become a bigger part of his life and of Cupid’s. The note includes a crude drawing of a cat and a message:

As much as I love Cupid, I never could’ve imagined you’d love her too. That you’d care for her when I was such an as- (the swear is scribbled out) jerk. I never could’ve imagined you’d worm your way into my heart—and hers. So, whaddya say, trouble? Will you have us?

Ardent takes a deep breath, his face looking calm as ever. But MC notices the slight twitch of his fingers in his pockets—something he does when he’s nervous. His eyes meet theirs for a moment, and then he simply says, “Move in with me.”

[iamstillovingyou]

Under the cherry blossom

Kang Dae-ho x reader fluff, comfort Summary: Realizing how important Dae-ho has been to you throughout the games and providing comfort to each other Warnings: PTSD, panic attack, anxiety etc. spoilers for squid game s2

hey guys, this is my first ever try at writing something on here, so please be kind! I can't stop thinking about Dae-ho from Squid Game and my daydreams gave me this idea, so I thought it might be good to write about it. I incorporated some of the events from s2 as well as the ending, inserting reader as part of the group with Dae-ho. I used 'you' throughout the whole fic. Hope you enjoy it! Word count: 1k As the lights went out and everyone retired to their beds with just a few voices chattering away or snoring around the hall, your anxiety started spiking up. You had tried to keep your cool during the games, but one harrowing experience after another left you disturbed. Thinking about the most recent game 'Mingle' left your mind in a whirl. You were wondering how you managed to survive every single round of it. The fact that you were a part of a group of people who became your friends and protectors definitely helped you stay alive so long. But, one particular person you kept thinking of was Dae-ho, who kept close to you throughout the whole game. As soon as they'd announce the number, Dae-ho would grab your hand and run for your lives, hoping to secure the number of people and a room. In the last round, as you were considering the possibility of the number two being announced, you felt a tight grip on arm and turned back to look Dae-ho in the eyes. He gave you a nod of reassurance. You held on to him for dear life. Now that you were alive for the ordeal of the next game, your mind focused on Dae-ho. Ever since you joined their group, he was always looking out for you, making sure you're okay and making little jokes to ensure you keep your mind off the horrifying reality that any of you might not be there the next day. You had got used to him and found his presence soothing and his concern for you during the last game intrigued you.

You started worrying about the next game and felt an oncoming panic attack. You had to talk to someone. You turned your head to the right, to the bed where Dae-ho was sleeping. Hesitatingly, you whispered into the darkness: 'Dae-ho', not hoping for answer. After just a second you heard a quiet 'Yes?' 'Dae-ho, are you sleeping?' Then followed silence. You had almost started regretting calling out his name, especially as you didn't like asking for help. But your thoughts were interrupted by Dae-ho shuffling from his bed and kneeling next to yours. 'Are you okay? Is something wrong?' You tried to make out his face in the faint light, his eyes only two dots shining. 'Dae-ho, I'm scared' you blurted out. You had been scared since the beginning, but managed to keep fear at bay. Now it overwhelmed you completely. Dae-ho kept his voice low 'I know. This place is a nightmare, but we are strong, right?, he said as he took your hand in his, 'We've made it so far, we just have to stick together, okay?'. As he said this he sat down on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his. You sat up, feeling the warmth of his hand. You nodded, but tears started swelling in your eyes. 'Dae-ho, what if we do not make it out of here?' you asked as a hot tear rolled down your cheek, you trying to hold in the sobs bubbling in your throat. 'Remember the bridge you were telling me about? With the cherry blossoms and the pond? How magical it is in the springtime?' You nodded. 'Well, picture it. Imagine us there, walking over it on a sunny day, the breeze blowing the petals softly around us. We're safe and happy. You'll take me there when we get out of here, right?', he flashed his charming smile, wiping away the tear from your cheek. You let out a quiet chuckle, trying not to burst out crying. You had told him about your hometown and how you loved that spot in the springtime and how you longed to see it again. He had listened. 'I promise' you whispered as he kissed your hand. 'Now try to get some sleep, we need to be ready for whatever is coming tomorrow', he said and retreated to his bed.

The next day brought its own challenges. Gi-hun's knowledge of the system had helped your group stay alive thus far. His next proposal was to organize an attack on the guards and their leader. You knew it was a great risk and tried to hide your concern for Dae-ho who was determined to be a part of it. He kept glancing at you as they were making the plan. He knew the danger he was exposing himself to, but he was ready to do anything to make sure you two to walk out of there alive. Before they headed out the door, you ran up to him. 'Dae-ho!' He turned to look at you with his soft gaze, his lips thinning into a line. You took a deep breath. 'I'll be waiting for you", you said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

... All you could hear were shots being fired. You had just managed to calm yourself a bit, when you saw Dae-ho entering through the door, your face lighting up at the relief. He was back. You ran up to him, smiling on the verge of tears. He looked terrified and went straight to the dead guards on the floor fumbling around in their pockets taking the ammo. You tried talking to him but he wasn't responding, focused on collecting all the charges. You noticed what he was doing and helped him, piling them up in a bundle in the green hoodie. 'Stay here' he said and ran out the door. Confused, you went back to the beds, praying everything was going to turn out alright. Several minutes later, you saw Dae-ho reentering and hiding himself away in one of the beds, holding his palms over his ears, visibly shaking. A second later, player 120 came after him, you could see them talking about something. You ran up to them and found out what had happened. As you put your arms around Dae-ho and he laid his head against your chest, new guards entered and started shooting at the ceiling. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry', he kept repeating. You held him tightly, bracing yourself for whatever was coming next. 'Remember the cherry blossoms, we're safe and happy'.