#but thinking of the answer gave me Thoughts and Feelings

[sonarspace]

✩ content. 18+, coworker! nanami x fem! reader, protected sex, office sex.

coworker!nanami wasn’t the type to rush things. he was careful, thoughtful in every move he made—like he had all the time in the world. you noticed it the first time he held the elevator door open for you, stepping aside to let you in first with that soft nod he always gave.

he wasn’t flashy or loud like some of the others in the office. no lingering stares or playful flirting. just small gestures—offering you the last coffee pod in the break room, pulling your chair out during meetings, and always walking you to your car when you worked late.

when he asked you out, it wasn’t over text or with some elaborate gesture. it was simple, catching you by surprise at the end of a long day. you were gathering your things, half-distracted, when his voice cut through the soft hum of the empty office.

“would you like to have dinner with me this weekend?”

the words hung in the air, calm but sure, making your heart stutter unexpectedly. you blinked up at him, thrown by how casual he made it sound, as if it wasn’t making your pulse flutter faster.

“i’d like that,” you answered, tucking your hair behind your ear.

he nodded, a faint pull at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll pick you up at seven.”

and he did—right on time, standing at your door with a bouquet of fresh flowers, not the kind you grab last minute at the store, but ones carefully picked out like he’d put thought into it.

dinner was easy. the conversation flowed, soft and unrushed, as if he was content just being there with you. he listened more than he spoke, asking questions in a way that made you feel like he really wanted to know you, not just pass the time.

when he walked you back to your apartment, he didn’t ask to come inside. instead, he paused at the door, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, soft and warm but not lingering.

“thank you for tonight,” he said, the weight of his hand brushing lightly against your arm before he stepped back.

the second date mirrored the first—calm, unhurried. but this time, when he kissed you, it was on the lips, soft and gentle, like he was testing the waters but not diving in. his lips lingered just enough to make you chase the taste of him with your tongue, even after he pulled away.

it left you touching your lips as you unlocked your door, feeling the ghost of his mouth long after he was gone.

what you didn’t know was how he spent the rest of that night thinking about it too—replaying the softness of your kiss, wondering if he should’ve stayed just a little longer.

it wasn’t until the third date that the pace shifted.

when he invited you over for dinner, his apartment was exactly what you expected—minimal, clean, but still warm, like the person who lived there took care to make it feel like home.

there was a faint smell of coffee lingering in the air, rich and earthy, as if he brewed it often enough for it to soak into the walls. a small stack of books sat neatly on his coffee table, their covers worn but well-loved. near the corner of the room was a collection of vinyl records, carefully arranged alongside a vintage turntable.

as he moved through the kitchen, pouring you a glass of wine, he pulled one of the records from the stack, setting it onto the turntable with the same careful ease he seemed to apply to everything he did.

the room filled with the low hum of music—something old, sensual and smooth, the kind of love song that felt like it belonged to another time. the soft crackle of the vinyl filled the spaces between your words as you ate, the melody winding around the edges of the room like a quiet invitation.

when his hand brushed your thigh, it felt natural, like the warmth of the song had melted the space between you.

later, when his lips pressed against yours, he left the record spinning, the music still drifting softly in the background as he kissed his way down your body.

as he sank between your legs, the song shifted to something slower—french, maybe, the words breathy and delicate, curling through the air like smoke.

he moved with the same rhythm, slow and unhurried, his mouth warm against you, every flick of his tongue drawing out the softest gasps as he held you down, savoring every sound you made.

when he finally slid inside you, the music swelled, the deep hum of the singer’s voice threading through the haze of your breathless moans, filling the room with something tender and electric.

nanami’s pace matched the song—steady, sensual, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered your name, his hands cradling your hips as if he didn’t want to miss a single moment.

the vinyl spun on, crackling softly beneath the weight of your shared breaths, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy that stretched between each note.

by the time monday came, the memory lingered, warm and heavy between you. the space between your desks felt smaller somehow, the air charged with something unspoken but understood.

nanami never acted any differently—still the epitome of professionalism, his touch light and fleeting whenever it crossed yours. but there were small moments where his gaze dipped lower, lingering a second too long on the way your skirt hugged your legs, the faintest twitch of his jaw when you brushed too close.

the tension simmered beneath the surface, winding tighter each day, like the faint static hum of a record waiting to skip.

you felt it most when his hand slid lightly against the small of your back as you leaned over the printer, his palm warm through the thin fabric of your blouse.

“you’ve been distracting me,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, his lips hovering by your ear.

the words were calm, but the weight behind them made your stomach twist, heat coiling low in your abdomen.

you swallowed, straightening under his gaze as your eyes flickered to the glass walls of his office, thankful for the empty hallway.

it wasn’t until later, when the office thinned out and the sun dipped low behind the skyline, that the tension snapped.

you’d been passing by his office when his hand caught your wrist, thumb brushing lazily over your pulse.

“come in,” nanami said softly, guiding you into his office with that same steady calm that never seemed to waver.

the door clicked behind you, but you barely had a second to register it before he was pressing you back against the solid edge of his desk, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

the kiss was slow, controlled—but there was something heavier beneath it, the faint groan vibrating in his chest as his hands skimmed the length of your thighs, pushing your skirt up until it bunched around your waist.

“you’ve been driving me insane all week,” he whispered, lips trailing along your jaw as his fingers slid beneath the lace of your panties, pulling them aside with ease.

your breath hitched as his hands gripped your hips, guiding you to bend over the desk with a softness that didn’t match the heat pooling in his gaze.

nanami took his time, as he always did—his touch careful, even as he freed himself from his slacks, the thick weight of him pressing hot against your entrance.

the stretch of him was dizzying, a soft gasp spilling from your lips as he pushed inside inch by inch, his hand steadying against the small of your back as he bottomed out.

“fuck—” the word rasped against your skin, his forehead dropping to the curve of your shoulder, his hips pulling back just enough to snap forward again.

the desk creaked beneath the weight of his movements, his pace unrelenting, the quiet hum of the empty office amplifying every soft moan that slipped from your mouth.

by the time he pulled out, breath ragged and forehead damp, nanami was already tugging your skirt back down, smoothing out the creases with careful hands.

he helped you clean up, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, tucking you beneath his arm as he led you to the door.

as the elevator doors slid open, nanami’s thumb traced the inside of your wrist, grounding but teasing.

“i should soundproof my office,” he murmured, voice low and amused.

your breath hitched, heat blooming in your cheeks. “i wasn’t that loud.”

nanami’s brow arched, lips ghosting your ear. “you were.”

the elevator chimed softly. he lingered close, smirking as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

“i didn’t mind,” he added, his palm warm against the small of your back. “but let’s see how much louder you can get next time.”

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (2/4) | CS55

summary : You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch. But no. Apparently, it’s real. You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is. But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?

or: Carlos proposes a deal to counter your argument that no he cannot catch a two-hour plane ride for a bootycall— phone sex.

wc : 7.5k

an : uh.. hi again 🫶 this was super fun to write!! :> im so glad ppl seemed to enjoy pt 1

He’s hyperaware of the heat radiating from your skin, the faint sheen of sweat glistening against the dim light, and the way your fingers lazily trace patterns across his chest.

When it’s over, Carlos feels the weight of you collapse onto his chest, your soft breaths mingling with his own as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.

He knows this should be the part where he gets up, grabs a drink, maybe offers you a towel.

Instead, his hands wander down your back, his fingertips finding those tiny dimples near the base of your spine. He traces slow, absentminded circles, grinning when you squirm against him with a halfhearted giggle that bubbles up like a melody he didn’t know he liked.

“Ticklish, huh?” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though it lacks the sharpness he usually reserves for these fleeting encounters.

“Maybe,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled and sleepy.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t normally do.

Too intimate, too dangerous. But with you, it feels natural, easy.

And therein lies the problem.

He pulls out, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead when you let out a quiet whine.

With a practiced motion, he removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it into the bin before slipping back into bed beside you, not even a minute later.

The two of you lie there in the quiet, the air between you filled with the soft sound of your breathing.

Carlos stares at the ceiling, his mind racing even as his body feels like it’s sinking into the mattress.

This was supposed to be simple.

One night. No strings.

But you’re fun. Too fun, really.

It's not that he’s never met women who are funny, or ones who’ve turned an evening into something more than just a tangle of bodies.

It’s just that, for the most part, that’s all it is. An unspoken agreement that they'll share the night, and then part ways. A blank, if not lustful, exchange.

You, on the other hand, have spent the whole night surprising him, throwing him off-kilter in a way he didn’t think he’d enjoy.

The banter, the teasing, the way you’d wrinkle your nose at him when you didn’t believe his answers.

It all stuck with him in a way he knows it shouldn’t.

“You want tiramisu?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

You lift your head, your sleepy eyes meeting his with a confused smile. “What?”

“Tiramisu,” he repeats, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Do you still want some?”

Your laugh is so unexpected and genuine that it catches him off guard. It’s light, carefree, and the way your nose scrunches in that way he's becoming to fond makes his chest tighten.

“I just… gave you the best sex of your life,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow, your grin mischievous. “And you’re offering me dessert?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What can I say? I’m a man of priorities.”

“Priorities, huh?” You snort, shaking your head. “So what, tiramisu’s your way of saying ‘thanks for the good time’?”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, though the glint in his eyes betray his amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real malice in your gaze. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he counters without missing a beat, his grin turning cocky.

You roll your eyes, but the way you settle back against his chest tells him you’re not as annoyed as you pretend to be.

And that’s when it hits him, the thought sinking like a stone in his gut.

He likes this. Likes you.

Maybe not romantically. Not yet at least. But definitely more than he should.

The realization is unwelcome, gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed rules.

This is a one-night stand. That’s all it’s supposed to be.

But here you are, lying on his chest like you belong there, laughing at his dumb jokes and making his heart flip in a way that feels too good to ignore.

The thought itself makes him sick.

“Alright,” you say suddenly, breaking him out of his spiral. “Fine. Let’s get tiramisu.”

He blinks at you, startled by your casual agreement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, grinning. “But only if you admit I was better than you.”

Carlos groans, his head tipping back against the pillow. “I’m never admitting that.”

You laugh again, soft and sweet, and Carlos knows, despite himself, that he’s in trouble.

He places the order moments later.

You’re still sprawled on the bed, a lazy grin playing on your lips.

“Do you always use tiramisu as a post-sex strategy?” you ask, your voice light but curious.

He smirks, sitting on the edge of the bed and tossing his phone onto the nightstand. “Only for people who deserve it.”

You snort, rolling onto your stomach to prop your chin on your hands. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky me,” he counters, glancing over his shoulder at you. The way your hair falls across your face, messy and untamed, makes his chest tighten.

When the dessert arrives, Carlos grabs it from the door, careful not to let the guy bringing it up see the faint red marks on his neck.

He returns with the elaborate cloche, holding it up triumphantly. “Food is served.”

You both sit cross-legged on the bed, the plate between you.

Carlos hands you a fork, watching as you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in exaggerated delight.

“Wow. This might be better than sex,” you joke, though the mischievous glint in your eye says otherwise.

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me again.”

“Well, maybe if you’d ordered two...” you tease, but your tone softens as you gesture for him to take his own bite.

The tiramisu is good. Great, even. But Carlos barely notices.

He’s too focused on the way you laugh when you get a bit of cream on your nose, or how your lips curve as you savor each bite.

You’re funny, in a way that feels effortless. It’s not just the jokes or the teasing; it’s the way you bring a lightness to the room, the way you make him feel like this moment is the only thing that matters.

And there's that thought again.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He barely even knows you.

Carlos watches you scrape the last bit of tiramisu from the plate, your eyes gleaming with triumph as you lick the fork clean.

He leans back against the headboard, arms crossed, a mock glare plastered across his face.

“Didn’t even save me the last bite,” he says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“You snooze, you lose,” you reply smugly, placing the empty plate on the nightstand with a flourish.

“I was letting you enjoy it,” Carlos argues, sitting up straighter. “It’s called being a gentleman. Look it up.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “A gentleman wouldn’t sulk over dessert.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t have to sulk if someone had manners,” he shoots back, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

You throw your head back, laughing, and Carlos feels a strange pang in his chest.

He quickly smothers it, keeping his expression light, his tone teasing.

“Don’t worry,” you say between giggles. “I’ll order you a second one. You’ll survive.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, waving you off dramatically. “I’ll just starve. Waste away. Die in this very bed.”

“Oh, stop it,” you say, swatting his arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me?” He feigns shock, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “I’m the picture of restraint.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Restraint? Coming from the guy who ate my pussy out earlier like a starved man?”

“That’s called quality service,” he says, completely deadpan. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Quality service,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He smiles, nodding.

This is what you deserve.

Lighthearted fun, no heavy emotions weighing you down.

He’s an expert at keeping things that way, at making sure there’s nothing to hold onto when the moment ends.

It’s what he promised you. And it’s what he’s going to give you.

Because anything more would be unfair.

Carlos slides out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb you as you stretch languidly under the covers.

His shirt, now crumpled, is pulled over his head in one swift motion, followed by his jeans.

He pauses for a moment, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the night settling on him like a second skin.

You watch him with a raised brow, propped up on your elbow. “I thought I was supposed to be the one getting kicked out?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he glances at you, shaking his head. “It’s a hotel, not my permanent residence,” he retorts, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ll go.”

The playfulness in your tone doesn’t escape him, and he can’t help but snort softly. “Besides, you look too comfortable to be evicted.”

You laugh, tucking the sheets around you. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”

“Not tonight,” he quips, grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The weight of reality hangs in the air, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you watch as he slips on his shoes, movements practiced and deliberate.

“You don’t have to, you know,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “Leave, I mean.”

He pauses at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “I do,” he replies, looking back at you with a small, almost sad smile. “But thanks for making tonight worth it.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth to your expression. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

“Guilty,” he says, offering you a mock tip-of-the-hat, before stepping out.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Carlos exhales, the cool night air hitting him as he makes his way down the hall.

His chest feels tight, but he pushes the feeling aside, forcing himself to focus on the sound of his footsteps echoing against the hotel’s tiled floor.

It’s better this way, he tells himself. Simple. Clean. No messy feelings to untangle in the morning.

—-

The next morning, Carlos slowly stirs awake, groaning as the sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room.

His muscles feel heavy, his head a little foggy.

Last night is a blur, but the warmth of it lingers. The weight of your presence, the quiet moments between laughs, the way your eyes shone...

He stretches, cracking his back, but then, like a sudden punch to the gut, it hits him.

The NDA.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up so fast it makes his head spin.

He runs a hand over his face, the realization sinking in.

How could he forget that?

He’s been drilled on it, the legal side of things, the contracts, all of it.

He tries to calm himself, taking a deep breath.

You wouldn’t talk. You wouldn’t risk your own career for some tabloid fodder. You’re famous too, after all. Not in the same way, but enough that the press would chew you up if you decided to spill anything.

But still. His PR team would rip him apart.

His manager? Worse. And the worst part? He’d promised—promised—to behave for at least a month. A month.

And if Carlos is anything, he’s a man of his word.

“Dios mío,” he groans, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

He scrolls through his messages, finding your number quickly. The last text exchange, brief and teasing, makes him pause.

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if texting you about this will only make things worse. Then again, what could be worse than his manager screaming in his ear while tabloids run wild?

His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types out:

carlos Hey. So... I realized I forgot to make you sign an NDA last night. My bad.

He deletes it immediately. Too casual.

carlos Morning. Hope you slept well. Quick thing, meant to get an NDA signed last night. Oops.

carlos Don’t think you’d spill, but PR would freak. Let me know if you’re alright with me sending one over?

Carlos hesitates for a moment before adding:

carlos Also, thanks again for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.

He hits send before he can second-guess himself, tossing his phone onto the bed with a resigned sigh.

Now all he could do was wait and hope that:

1. You wouldn’t be offended.

2. His manager wouldn’t find out about this oversight.

—-

You blink into the morning light, squinting at the phone buzzing on the nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off the table.

You groggily grab it, seeing Carlos' name pop up with a new message.

You stretch, still half asleep, and glance over the message.

The first thing that hits you is the casual tone of it, which instantly makes you raise an eyebrow. NDA?

You don’t exactly need one, at least, you didn’t think you did. But then again, it makes sense. It’s a weird industry, and it’s not like you haven’t signed your fair share of these ridiculous things before.

You laugh a little at the thought, recalling the night before. The way everything felt so effortless, so easy, and now, here he is, texting you about NDAs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You picture him sitting in a hotel room, pacing, maybe even nervously fidgeting with his phone like some kind of over-caffeinated, nervous wreck.

You click on his message again, rereading it.

It’s... kind of adorable, the way he’s trying to play it cool about the whole thing. You grin.

And then you spot the part where he thanks you for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.

That makes you smile, your cheeks warming a little.

You know what he's trying to do, being all casual and kind of sweet. But you can’t help it; it’s working.

You were just teasing him for fun, but hearing him say that? Well, it kind of feels nice.

But you don’t let it linger for long.

You know the drill. You’ve signed NDAs more times than you care to count, and it’s not like you’d ever be stupid enough to leak anything. That’s not even on the table.

Sure, there are some ridiculous tabloid stories out there, but you’re not about to give them the satisfaction.

Your career and reputation are worth more than any cheap headline.

You’re not the kind of person who’d throw away your dignity for a bit of gossip, not to mention that Carlos probably wouldn’t either.

He may be a little reckless, but you get it. Both of you have something to protect, and you respect that.

You stare at your phone, a little smile tugging at your lips. You decide to just keep it simple. He’s worrying, but you’re not about to make things more complicated.

You type out your reply:

you Don't worry about it. They're not getting anything out of me.

you I’ve signed worse things than an NDA, and I’m not about to be the person to ruin your career. If it can even be ruined at this point

you Go ahead and send it over. I’ve got you

By the time afternoon rolls around, you've handled the whole NDA situation with surprising ease.

The paperwork is signed, sealed, and done in record time.

You would have expected more back-and-forth, but Carlos kept it simple. Sent the document, answered your questions, and now it’s behind you.

No drama, no complications.

You step out of the hotel with a relieved breath, feeling like the morning's oddities are finally behind you.

But then there's that nagging little detail: Charles.

Charles, who always has a million questions when you don’t stick to your usual routine.

You grab a coffee on your way back to your room, the scent a comforting excuse for your absence.

It's just something simple. Something that won’t trigger his radar.

You know Charles too well.

A well-timed story about running out for caffeine sounds harmless enough.

And if not, well..

You’ll make it work.

—-

The next week, you’re nursing a mild headache, the kind that makes the sound of your alarm feel like a personal betrayal.

As you peel your face off the pillow, the regret for every sip of alcohol you’d had the night before hits you with the force of a freight train.

You really should stop letting Daniel and Landon drag you to every club under the sun.

Your hair’s a mess, your pajamas are a little too wrinkled for comfort, and you move with the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie who’s been deprived of both sleep and caffeine.

First stop? Coffee. Always coffee.

You shuffle into the kitchen, eyes half-lidded, and reach for your favorite mug, the one that’s seen better days. The faded design, "World's Okayest Sister," is probably more fitting this morning than ever before.

You measure the coffee grounds with mechanical precision, almost like your body’s running on autopilot.

The machine hums to life, and you watch it, waiting impatiently as the rich aroma of coffee fills the kitchen.

If you stare hard enough, maybe it'll brew faster.

Once the mug is filled, you lift it to your lips and take a long, heavenly sip.

The warmth radiates through you like a tiny, much-needed hug. It's not perfect, but it’s coffee, and that’s all that matters right now.

With the cup cradled in your hands, you shuffle back to your phone, which is still sitting on the counter from last night.

Scrolling through the notifications, you pause, your thumb hovering over the screen.

And then you see it.

carlossainz55 followed you.

Your coffee mug pauses midair, precariously balanced as you blink once, twice, trying to process what you’re seeing.

No, surely you’re still asleep.

That has to be it.

You’re dreaming. It’s the only logical explanation.

But no, the notification doesn’t disappear when you squint at it. It stays there, glaring at you, daring you to react.

Carlos’ profile pops up on your screen.

His name. His profile picture, all charm and confidence. His grid, filled with race shots, candid moments, sponsoring deals and that annoyingly perfect smile.

And there it is, glaringly obvious: “Follows you.”

You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch.

But no.

Apparently, it’s real.

You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is.

But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?

You stare back at the notification, still processing it, still waiting for something to make sense of this.

The world feels like it's moving at half speed as you squint at the screen.

Maybe it’s a mistake, you think. Some part of you wants to just close the app and forget it.

But the notification doesn’t disappear.

It lingers. Mocking you.

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about him.

Hell, how could you not? The night had been... well, amazing. The chemistry, the way everything just clicked, the way he made you laugh, how easy it all felt, like you’d known each other far longer than you really had.

The sex? Stellar. Absolutely 10/10. Probably something you'd brag about to your friends in a very classy, not-at-all-suggestive way if you hadn’t signed that NDA.

But now... this.

Him following you on Instagram?

It's like getting slapped in the face with a wet fish that had somehow been lit on fire.

What does this even mean? Are you supposed to act like it’s totally normal? Like you didn’t just have a mind-blowing night that now, suddenly, has an Instagram follow attached to it like a weird souvenir?

Is this how Carlos tells people he’s into them? Like, “Hey, I’ll follow you on Instagram, but let’s keep it low-key, like how I casually post sponsored content about luxury watches that cost more than your rent.”

Maybe he follows everyone he hooks up with?

But no, he’s Carlos Sainz Jr.

This is a guy who gets paid in gold bars, signs contracts that come with their own zip code, and has a fanbase that could start a small country. He's the type who has a personal assistant for his personal assistant.

The fact that he’s following you feels like finding out that Beyoncé follows you. It’s just.. weird.

You inhale sharply, suddenly remembering how to breathe, and glance at the clock.

It’s way too early for this kind of chaos.

You take another sip of coffee, as though caffeine might somehow help you process what’s unfolding.

Your thumb hovers over the follow-back button. Do you? Should you?

Of course, you do.

You tap the button before you can overthink it, and the little blue “Follow” turns into a subdued grey “Following.”

You sit there for a moment, staring at your phone, waiting for… something.

A notification.

A message.

Maybe a rogue pigeon delivering a note written in Carlos’ annoyingly neat handwriting. But nothing happens.

Nada.

“Cool,” you mutter to yourself, setting the phone down as if you’re trying to pretend nothing happened.

You take a deep breath, forcing your mind to focus on literally anything else. Like taxes. Or organizing your sock drawer. Anything but the lingering feeling of weirdness in your gut.

For the rest of the day, you pretend to be busy.

You check your notifications like a paranoid criminal every hour, convinced that your phone is holding some secret conversation you’ve missed.

But no. Nothing. Just the usual nonsense. Some ads, a message from your mom about dinner, a reminder to wash your laundry.

One day turns into two. Then three. The silence becomes more deafening, and you start to wonder if you imagined the whole thing.

Did Carlos actually follow you? Did you dream the entire sequence?

By the end of the week, your life is back to normal. The frantic phone-checking ceases. It's forgotten, a memory that’s faded to black like an expired coupon.

Then, seven days later, your phone lights up, the notification banner buzzing with the energy of a surprise party that you didn’t ask for.

carlossainz55 So, do you always follow people and then pretend they don’t exist?

You blink.

Twice.

Maybe you missed something?

You almost drop your phone because you’re so unprepared for whatever this is.

It feels like being tackled by a puppy while holding a glass of wine. You were doing fine, and then suddenly, everything’s upside down.

yourhandle Excuse me? You followed me first

carlossainz55 Details. The silence was deafening

yourhandle I figured you were busy being, you know, a world-famous rally driver. No time for little people like me

carlossainz55 I make time for the important things

You snort into your coffee, half-amused, half-annoyed. The casual way he says it makes you want to roll your eyes, but you're also weirdly charmed.

yourhandle So, what prompted this sudden message? Lose a bet?

carlossainz55 I was cleaning out my DMs and remembered there was one person I forgot to annoy

yourhandle Wow. I’m honored

carlossainz55 You should be

carlossainz55 By the way, how’s your brother? Still glaring at pictures of me?

yourhandle Probably. I think he keeps a dartboard somewhere with your face on it

carlossainz55 Tell him he needs better aim. I’m still standing

yourhandle He's practicing

carlossainz55 If he needs lessons, tell him I’m available

yourhandle Yeah, I’ll let him know. I’m sure he’d love some quality bonding time with you

The conversation flows easily, light and teasing, like you’re two middle schoolers passing notes in class.

Except the notes are digital, and the subject isn’t Mrs. Henderson’s questionable choice in socks but rather the unspoken elephant in the room.

You both dance around it like you’re in twelve-year-olds, neither of you brave, or stupid, enough to confront it head-on.

At least not until Carlos, true to form, decides that subtlety is for mortals.

carlossainz55 So… about that night…

You freeze, suddenly less comforted and more “oh no, where is this going?”

yourhandle What about it?

carlossainz55 I was just thinking...

yourhandle Dangerous start

carlossainz55 ...we should do it again.

Your jaw drops. This man. This actual man.

Subtle as a brick to the face.

Your brain short-circuits for a moment, staring at your phone like it just insulted your family.

yourhandle Excuse me?

carlossainz55 You heard me. Round two. Let’s make it happen

yourhandle Carlos, you don’t just text someone a week later and propose a sequel. That’s not how this works

carlossainz55 Why not? It’s efficient. I’m a very busy man

yourhandle Busy doing what? Posing with expensive cars and pretending to care about energy drinks?

carlossainz55 Exactly. It’s a tough life

You snort, shaking your head.

He’s absolutely ridiculous, and yet you can’t stop yourself from responding.

yourhandle And what makes you think I’d even say yes?

carlossainz55 Because the first round was great. Admit it.

You hesitate, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

But he’s not wrong.

yourhandle Okay, fine. It was great. But that doesn’t mean I’m jumping at the chance for a repeat performance.

carlossainz55 Come on, live a little. I’ll even let you pick the time and place

yourhandle Oh, how generous of you

carlossainz55 I try my best

You roll your eyes so hard they practically fall out of your head.

But deep down, you’re kind of enjoying this absurd back-and-forth.

He’s bold, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his audacity.

yourhandle I’ll think about it

carlossainz55 That’s a yes. I’ll pencil you in

yourhandle Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz

carlossainz55 Too late

The next day, your phone pings with a message. It’s too early for coherent thoughts, but you know it’s him.

You squint at the screen, and sure enough:

carlossainz55 So… have you decided? Sex?

You blink. Twice. Is he serious? Of course, he is. It’s Carlos.

yourhandle Wow. No preamble? No “How are you?” Just straight to it?

carlossainz55 I’m efficient

yourhandle I think the word you're looking for is shameless

carlossainz55 That too. So? Are you free?

yourhandle Oh, totally free. Let me just clear my very busy schedule of pretending to have my life together. Where are you, anyway?

carlossainz55 Mallorca. Family stuff. You?

yourhandle Monaco. Basically living in Charles’ yacht at this point. You know, as one does. Mostly trying to avoid being swallowed by the summer rumor mill

There’s a long pause. You can practically hear him doing the mental math.

carlossainz55 Okay, so… two-hour flight? That’s nothing. I can be there by dinner

yourhandle Carlos, are you seriously suggesting flying across countries for a booty call?

carlossainz55 I’ve done more for less

yourhandle This is why the planet’s dying

carlossainz55 Okay, okay. Saving the dolphins. What’s the eco-friendly option here?

You roll your eyes, fully expecting the next message to be ridiculous.

And, of course, it doesn’t disappoint.

carlossainz55 Phone sex

yourhandle I’m sorry, what?

carlossainz55 Efficient. Sustainable. Zero emissions. It’s the responsible choice

yourhandle Carlos, do you even know how phone sex works?

carlossainz55 No, but I’m adaptable. Like learning a new track. Same principles

yourhandle You did NOT just compare dirty talk to racing strategies

carlossainz55 Why not? Both require focus, timing, and precision. And confidence, of course

You groan, half in disbelief, half because you’re genuinely entertained.

yourhandle Carlos, this is absurd. You’re absurd

carlossainz55 Absurdly charming

yourhandle Absurdly something, that’s for sure

carlossainz55 So? Are we doing this? Or are you too chicken?

You laugh, shaking your head, still not sure how you ended up here— bantering with a world-famous driver about... phone sex.

You’re almost impressed by how persistent he is.

yourhandle Carlos, I swear, you’re something else.

carlossainz55 I know. It’s a gift

---

Carlos is nervous.

He shouldn’t be.

He’s Carlos Sainz Jr—cool under pressure, smooth behind the wheel, and cocky enough to make people swoon without lifting a finger.

Yet here he is, pacing his room like a lovesick teenager, nerves coiling tighter with each passing second.

Why is he nervous?

He already knows the answer— Because it’s you.

Because for the past week, you’ve been haunting his every waking thought.

Every stolen moment has been spent thinking about the way your lips had parted for him, the way your eyes had rolled back when he sank deep inside you, the way your voice, breathless and wrecked, had gasped his name like it was your favorite prayer.

He’s pathetic, really.

Fisting his cock every night like some horny rookie, chasing memories of you that refuse to fade.

He remembers every little detail too vividly.

Your soft whimpers, the flush of your cheeks, the dazed way you’d looked up at him with a mixture of awe and need.

It’s seven minutes until your scheduled call.

Scheduled.

Like this is some professional meeting and not an invitation to lose his mind over you through a goddamn phone.

He swears under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he feels the familiar heat pooling low in his belly.

“Joder,” he mutters, already hard just thinking about you.

He sits back against the headboard, sliding his boxers down his thighs.

His cock springs free, aching and flushed, already leaking like he’s some desperate virgin. He swears again, low and guttural, wrapping his hand around the base as if it’ll calm him down.

It doesn’t.

Carlos spits into his palm, slicking himself up with a firm grip.

His hips twitch at the first stroke, and he hisses through his teeth, already so sensitive he’s on the edge of losing it.

He shuts his eyes, letting his mind drift to you. Fuck. Your pretty little cunt, so tight and wet around him, gripping him like you never wanted to let go.

He can still hear the way you’d moaned his name, sweet and broken, like you couldn’t get enough of him.

He strokes himself harder, his fist moving in slick, desperate pumps.

His breathing grows heavier, each exhale mingled with a groan as his hips lift to meet his hand.

“Good girl,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words slipping out without thought.

His mind is full of you.

How perfect you’d looked when he’d buried his face between your thighs, your legs trembling as he devoured you.

He remembers the way you’d begged for him, the way your fingers had tugged at his hair as he licked and sucked until you fell apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, his pace quickening. His free hand grips the sheets, knuckles white as he imagines your face again.

Your lips parted, your expression blissful and wrecked as he pushed you over the edge.

He’s close, teetering on the edge of release, his cock throbbing in his fist.

“Such a good girl,” he slurs, his hips bucking uncontrollably. “Taking me so well—mierda—just like that...”

The thought of your cunt fluttering around him, your breathy cries echoing in his ears, pushes him over.

With a guttural groan, he spills over his hand, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach as he rides out his high.

His chest heaves as he comes down, the pleasure fading and leaving behind a warm haze and just a little shame.

He stares at the mess he’s made, breathing heavily as he mutters a soft curse.

And then the phone buzzes. Your name lights up the screen.

Carlos firmly believes that every man has a refractory period, it's simple biology.

But as his cock twitches at the sight of your name lighting up his phone screen, he starts to question everything he’s ever known.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he hardens again, his body responding to you like you’ve got some magical hold over him.

He huffs out a breath, staring down at the mess he’s made on his stomach, the sticky evidence of how utterly gone he is for you.

With a shaky hand, he answers the call.

His voice comes out softer, more composed than he feels. “Hey.”

Your reply is immediate, and the sound of your voice sends another jolt straight to his cock. “Hey.”

Carlos clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to whine. His body’s so sensitive it aches.

“You nervous?” he asks, his tone laced with a teasing edge to hide how wrecked he feels.

“A little,” you admit, your voice breathy.

He exhales through his nose, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Then let’s fix that, shall we?”

—

There’s a pause, and then he murmurs, “Do you mind if I take the lead, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly at the pet name. “No, Carlos.”

“Good girl.” The words roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate, and you feel the throb of need between your legs intensify.

“Are you in your underwear right now?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

You glance down at yourself, cheeks flushing. “Mhm...”

“Tell me what they look like.”

“They’re red,” you whisper, your voice shy.

Carlos grins, his tone playful. “My favorite color. Take them off for me, baby.”

Your breath hitches, and you slip them off, letting them fall to the floor.

“Are you wet for me?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Very,” you admit, your cheeks burning.

“Let me hear.”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond. “How do I-?”

Carlos chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Slip a finger in, baby. Let me hear how soaked you are for me.”

You inhale shakily, doing as he says.

The moment your finger slides in, you let out a soft whimper.

It’s not enough.

It’s nowhere near enough.

“Fuck,” Carlos groans, the sound making your pussy clench. “You are wet. God, baby, I’d kill to be there right now. All those pretty juices going to waste... I’d lick you clean.”

You whine at his words, your hips shifting against your hand as you try to chase the feeling.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, though his voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back. “Start moving that finger, sweet girl.”

You obey, your breath hitching as you pump your finger slowly. It’s good, but it’s not enough. Not compared to Carlos.

“Carlos,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “Please...”

His laugh is soft, teasing. “Need more?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips bucking into your hand. “Yes, please-”

“Okay, baby. Add another finger for me.”

You do, slipping in another finger with a hiss. The stretch feels better, but it still pales in comparison to what you really want.

“Thank you,” you mewl, your head tipping back against the pillow as you fuck yourself slowly.

Carlos groans, his hand wrapping around his cock again, unable to stop himself. “That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds.”

Your thighs tremble as you press your palm harder against your aching clit, your hips rolling instinctively.

The heat pooling low in your belly is unbearable, and every tiny movement sends sparks racing across your skin.

On the other end of the phone, Carlos has been quiet, but you can hear it, his uneven breathing, the faint hitch in his breath that tells you he’s not unaffected.

You let out a soft, broken moan, unable to keep quiet, and his breath catches audibly.

“Are you…” Your voice is trembling, slurred with need as you choke out the words, “…are you touching yourself?”

“Of course I am,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “How could I not? Fuck, you’ve got me so hard I can’t think straight.”

The image of him stroking himself, his cock slick and swollen, his jaw clenched as his chest heaves, sends a rush of heat to your core.

You grind your hips against your palm, pressing harder against your clit as your thighs tremble.

“I wish you were here,” you whimper, your voice breathless. “Wish I could feel you. I’d be so full, Carlos. I’d clench around you so tight, just like this-”

The sound of your stuttered moan nearly sends him over the edge right there.

Each gasp, each whimper, each broken sob of his name over the line is another jolt to his already oversensitive cock.

He’s gripping himself tightly, too tightly, the pain blending with pleasure until he can’t tell where one starts and the other ends.

His grip falters for a moment before he picks up the pace, stroking himself mercilessly despite the ache in his stomach and the burn of overstimulation.

“You sound so fucking good,” he rasps, his voice cracking slightly as he fights to keep it together. “God, I wish I could see you right now- wish I could spread those legs and watch you touch yourself for me.”

Your shaky whimpers only spur him on. “Carlos… I-I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” His tone dips, almost desperate. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Gonna make those pretty little noises when you fall apart?”

You grind your clit against your palm, your back arching as you nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yes- yes, Carlos-”

He groans, his hand faltering slightly as his cock twitches in his grip.

He’s so fucking close, but it’s almost unbearable now, every stroke of his hand sending shocks through his overstimulated body.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” he grits out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stop the whines threatening to spill out.

“Wish I could taste you. God, I’d bury my face in that pussy and never come up for air.”

You gasp, the sound high-pitched and desperate, and he knows you’re right on the edge.

You can hear the faint, wet sound of his hand moving faster, matching your pace.

“Think about me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding. “Think about how good I’d feel inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? So tight, so wet for me.”

The filthy words rip a broken moan from your throat, your hips bucking wildly as you grind against your palm.

“Carlos,” you gasp again, your voice high-pitched and desperate.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice wrecked and raw. “Be a good girl and let me hear you fall apart. Let me hear how much you fucking need me.”

The moment your cries reach their peak, his hips buck involuntarily, his cock pulsing painfully in his hand.

“Carlos!” you scream, your voice cracking as you tumble over the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips like that almost breaks him. His body is trembling, his stomach tight, and the overstimulation is nearly unbearable.

He grits his teeth, his hand still moving as he chases his own release. “Fuck- fuck, baby, you sound so good- so perfect-”

Carlos can barely breathe now. His hand is slick with his own cum from earlier, and every stroke feels like fire, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his voice shaking. “I’m so fucking close- fuck, I can’t-”

His words cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, his vision going white as his cock pulses in his hand.

It’s too much, way too much, but he strokes himself through it anyway, biting back the sobs of pleasure-pain threatening to escape.

When he finally collapses back against the pillows, utterly wrecked, he hears your soft, breathy laughter on the other end of the line. "Are you okay?"

Carlos exhales shakily, his chest still heaving as the aftershocks ripple through him. He wipes a hand over his face, his body buzzing and completely wrecked, but he manages to keep his voice even as he speaks.

"Yeah," he lies, his tone almost too casual. "Just… pent up, I guess."

The truth, though, is that he’s fried. His hand aches, his cock is oversensitive, and his nerves feel like they’ve been set on fire.

But he’d go through it all again, every unbearable second, just to hear the way you came undone for him.

“So,” he asks after a beat, breaking the heavy silence. “How’d I do? Be honest. I can take it.”

There’s a pause on your end, followed by a soft laugh that makes his chest tighten. “Was that really your first time?”

He snorts, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “I mean, yeah. First time on the phone, anyway. Not my first time… y’know.”

“Uh-huh,” you tease, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. “Because you sounded like a pro. Like, suspiciously good.”

“Suspiciously good?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’m just naturally talented, thank you very much.”

“You’re definitely talented,” you admit, your voice soft and warm. “Very good.”

He grins, letting the compliment settle into his chest like a warm weight. “Thank you,” he says, a little smug.

Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “Now, clean yourself up and drink some water.”

“Bossy,” you shoot back, laughing.

“Always,” he quips, his grin widening. “And I’ll keep saying it because I care. Hydrate, or I’ll call you again just to nag.”

“Fine, fine,” you relent, your tone playful. “I’ll get some water, but only because you’re so convincing.”

He chuckles, wishing he could actually take care of you.

He imagines bringing you a glass of water, wiping you down gently, maybe even cooking you something if you were hungry.

But he can’t. Not tonight, anyway.

“So,” he says, shifting the conversation, “how’s everything else? What’s new with you?”

You hum, and he listens as you shuffle around, likely cleaning yourself up as instructed. “Not much. Work’s been… chaotic. But in a good way, I guess? Keeps me busy.”

"I know that feeling," he says, grabbing a handful of tissues and grimacing as he cleans up the ridiculous mess pooling on his stomach. He swipes at it with quick, efficient movements, though the sheer volume makes him pause for a second.

"Dios mío," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“The season’s kicking back up soon, and summer training’s been brutal,” he continues, his voice a little strained as he carefully wipes himself clean.

When he reaches lower, the sensitivity makes him wince, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

His body’s wrecked, his nerves shot, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or pain anymore.

You are definitely not good for his health.

“Brutal, huh?” you tease. “Poor baby. All that fame and fortune must make it so hard to be you.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” he retorts, laughing. “I’ve got to stay in top shape so I can keep looking good for you.”

“Oh, that’s why?” you shoot back, giggling. “Not, like, for the whole racing thing?”

“That’s just a side gig,” he jokes. “The real goal is impressing you. Obviously.”

You both laugh, the conversation easing into a comfortable rhythm.

He listens to you talk about your day, chiming in with little quips and teasing remarks that make you laugh.

It’s easy, natural, and he almost forgets that you’re miles apart.

Eventually, you yawn softly, and he can hear the tiredness in your voice. “I should let you go,” you say reluctantly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though the thought of ending the call makes him a little regretful. “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you reply softly. “And Carlos?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For… tonight. For everything.”

His voice softens. “Anytime, baby.”

When the call ends, he stares at the ceiling for a long moment, the silence of his room pressing in around him.

He sighs, running a hand over his face, and mutters to himself, “You’re so fucked, Sainz.”

—-

series taglist :

@5sospenguinqueen @wadupppp @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting

[rafeskai]

Not Now, Not Ever | Rafe Cameron

Summary: After a tense run-in with the cops, reader is injured while trying to escape, and Rafe reluctantly steps in to help. Though initially distant, Rafe's care and honesty break through the reader's defenses, revealing a vulnerability neither of them expected. As they face the aftermath together, the tension between them intensifies.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings: Profanities

Author's Note: Requested by Anon! 

The thing about Rafe Cameron was that he always seemed untouchable. Born into privilege, raised on Figure Eight with a golden spoon in his mouth and a name that opened doors, he was the embodiment of everything you didn’t have. And yet, he was the storm you could never quite outrun.

You hadn’t meant to cross paths with him. Your world—chaotic, messy, and a little too close to the edge—didn’t belong anywhere near his. But life in Kildare had a way of throwing people together, whether they fit or not.

It started months ago, on a humid summer night at one of those wild beach parties you swore you’d stop going to. The sand was packed with bodies, the air heavy with the scent of salt and cheap beer. You were nursing your third drink of the night, watching the waves crash against the shore, when Rafe stumbled into your line of sight.

He looked like trouble—disheveled blond hair, a cocky smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and an energy that screamed recklessness. You’d heard the stories about him, the whispered warnings. Stay away from Rafe Cameron. He’s bad news.

You should have listened.

But when his sharp blue eyes locked onto yours across the bonfire, something shifted. It wasn’t a spark; it was a collision—two opposing forces drawn together by some unseen magnetism. He swaggered over, drink in hand, and before you knew it, you were trading barbs and sidelong glances, the tension between you electric.

“You don’t belong here,” he’d said, his tone teasing but laced with something darker.

“And you do?” you shot back, refusing to back down.

That was the first of many encounters. Somehow, despite your better judgment, you kept running into him. At parties, in the middle of town, even at the gas station late one night when you were buying snacks to fuel another all-night gaming session.

The dynamic between you was always the same: sharp words and stolen glances, a push and pull that left you dizzy. He got under your skin in a way no one else could, peeling back your defenses with a smirk or a well-placed comment. And yet, there was something about him—something vulnerable beneath the bravado—that kept you from walking away.

Rafe, for all his arrogance, seemed fascinated by you too. He’d ask questions he had no right to ask, dig into your life like he was trying to understand what made you tick. You never gave him straight answers, but you had a feeling he saw through your deflections.

One night, after too many drinks and an argument that left you both seething, he’d grabbed your arm as you turned to leave. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he’d spat, his voice low and dangerous.

You’d stared at him, something raw and unspoken passing between you. “No,” you’d said quietly. “I think we’re both just really, really fucked up.”

He hadn’t let go right away. And in the silence that followed, something unspoken settled between you—a fragile truce, an understanding that you were both running from something neither of you wanted to name.

But your worlds were still too different. While you spent your days trying to keep your life from spiraling further out of control, Rafe seemed to thrive in the chaos. He was fire to your gasoline, and every time you got too close, you felt the heat.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That the stolen glances and lingering touches were just part of the game he liked to play. But late at night, when the world was quiet and you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop wondering: What would happen if you let yourself fall?

You never got the chance to find out.

The months passed, and the tension between you remained unresolved. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery glow casting eerie shadows across the tangled maze of Kildare’s backstreets. You had been here before—ducking between alleyways, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. But tonight was different. Tonight, you weren’t just out of luck. You were out of time.

The piercing sound of sirens grew louder, echoing through the quiet night, chasing you like a predator. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was the only thing keeping you upright. Your knees ached from the sprint, but you couldn’t stop now. Not when the alternative was cuffs and a mugshot.

You cursed under your breath, your mind racing as you turned a sharp corner and slipped into a narrow alleyway. It was dark and cramped, but it gave you a moment to catch your breath. Pressing your back against the cold, damp wall, you counted the seconds, hoping—praying—that the cops would pass you by.

Then, the unmistakable sound of heavy boots crunching gravel reached your ears.

Damn it.

Panic clawed at your chest as you scrambled to move, but in your haste, your foot caught on a loose brick. The ground rushed up to meet you, and you landed hard, pain flaring through your ankle and shoulder. You bit back a cry, clutching your injured arm as you tried to push yourself upright.

"Shit," you hissed, blinking back tears of frustration. There was no way you could outrun them now.

“Having fun down there?”

The voice came from above you, sharp and dripping with sarcasm. You looked up, squinting through the darkness, and your stomach sank when you recognized the silhouette. Rafe Cameron stood at the end of the alley, arms crossed, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. His piercing blue eyes practically glowed in the dim light, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth made your blood boil.

Of all the people to stumble across you in this mess, it had to be him.

“Great. Just my luck,” you muttered, dragging yourself to your feet with a wince.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to your injured arm. “Looks like you’ve had a rough night.”

“No shit,” you snapped, brushing dirt off your jeans. You glanced nervously toward the street, where the sirens seemed to be growing louder. “And I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got places to be.”

He didn’t move. Just leaned against the wall, watching you with that infuriatingly smug expression. “You’re not going anywhere like that.”

“I’ll manage.” You tried to take a step, but your ankle buckled beneath you, sending you stumbling forward. Before you could hit the ground again, a strong hand shot out to catch you.

You stared up at him, startled, as he steadied you. His grip was firm but careful, and for a moment, his usual arrogance was replaced by something almost… concerned.

“Careful,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “You’re gonna hurt yourself worse.”

You jerked away from him, your cheeks burning. “I don’t need your help.”

“Right,” he drawled, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Because limping around on a busted ankle is working out so well for you.”

“Why do you care, anyway?” you shot back, glaring at him. “Last I checked, you weren’t exactly the Good Samaritan type.”

He shrugged, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and tucking it behind his ear. “Maybe I’m bored. Or maybe I just don’t feel like watching you get arrested.”

“Touching,” you said dryly, but the truth was, you were too exhausted—and too hurt—to argue. The pain in your ankle was unbearable, and your shoulder wasn’t much better. If you didn’t get out of here soon, you’d be spending the night in a cell.

Rafe must have seen the resignation in your eyes because he sighed, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “Come on. My truck’s around the corner. I’ll get you out of here.”

You hesitated, staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Why would you do that?”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Let’s just say I’ve been in your shoes before.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting, but it wasn’t like you had any better options. With a reluctant nod, you let him drape your arm over his shoulders, his other hand sliding around your waist to support you. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and despite everything, a strange warmth spread through you.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he muttered as he helped you limp toward his truck.

By the time you reached it, the sirens had faded into the distance, leaving the night eerily quiet. Rafe opened the passenger door and helped you climb in, his hands lingering a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back.

As he started the engine, you leaned your head against the window, exhaustion overtaking you. You didn’t trust him—probably never would—but for now, you were grateful.

“Where are we going?” you asked softly.

“Somewhere safe,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

The rumble of the truck's engine filled the silence as Rafe drove through the dark, deserted streets. You fought to keep your eyes open, the adrenaline of the chase fading and leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of pain through your injured shoulder and ankle, but you bit your lip to keep from making a sound.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though the sharp sting in your shoulder said otherwise.

“Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Well, we’re almost there.”

You didn’t bother asking where “there” was. Arguing with Rafe Cameron was like shouting into the void—completely pointless. Instead, you stared out the window, watching the familiar streets give way to the isolated backroads of Figure Eight. The trees grew thicker, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, and the only light came from the truck’s headlights slicing through the darkness.

When Rafe finally pulled into the driveway of a small, secluded cabin, you frowned. “This… isn’t your house.”

“Nope,” he said, cutting the engine. “It’s a place I use when I need to get away. No one’s gonna find us here.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or relief. You didn’t exactly trust him, but you were too tired to care. If this was some kind of elaborate trap, you’d deal with it later.

Rafe came around to your side of the truck and opened the door. “Come on,” he said, his tone softer than before. “Let’s get you inside.”

You didn’t argue as he helped you out of the truck, his arm steadying you as you limped toward the cabin. The interior was surprisingly cozy, with worn furniture and a stone fireplace that cast a warm glow across the room. It felt lived-in, though you doubted anyone else knew about this place.

“Sit,” Rafe ordered, guiding you to the couch. “I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

You sank into the cushions, wincing as the movement jostled your shoulder. The pain was worse now, no longer dulled by the adrenaline. When Rafe returned, he carried a small, battered kit and a bottle of water. He crouched in front of you, his expression unreadable as he set the supplies on the coffee table.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, pulling a pair of gloves from the kit.

“Great,” you muttered, but you didn’t stop him as he carefully peeled back your sleeve to examine your shoulder. His fingers were warm against your skin, and you cursed the way your breath hitched when he touched you.

“You dislocated it,” he said after a moment. “I’ll have to pop it back in.”

Your stomach flipped. “Can’t we just… leave it for now?”

Rafe gave you a look that said he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “If we don’t fix it, it’ll get worse. Trust me, you don’t want that.”

Trust him. The words felt foreign, almost laughable. But as he positioned himself beside you, his hand bracing your arm, you realized you didn’t have much of a choice.

“On three,” he said, his voice low and steady. “One—”

Before he even got to two, he pushed. Pain exploded in your shoulder, sharp and blinding, and you let out a strangled cry. Tears blurred your vision as you gasped for breath, the pain slowly ebbing to a dull throb.

“You okay?” Rafe asked, his tone softer now.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I hate you.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the cleanup was quieter. He wrapped your ankle with surprising care, his touch almost gentle as he worked. You watched him in silence, noting the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. It was strange, seeing him like this—focused, almost… kind.

When he finished, he leaned back, wiping his hands on a towel. “There. You’ll live.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling awkward under his gaze. “For… everything.”

Rafe didn’t respond right away. He just stared at you, his blue eyes searching yours as if he was trying to figure out what to say. The air between you grew heavy, charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle.

“You’re a mess, you know that?” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

You bristled, narrowing your eyes. “Gee, thanks. Glad to know you’re still a jerk.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, his expression softening. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground, getting into all this trouble, and for what? You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling over you. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and for once, there was no edge to his voice. “But I do.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unexpected. You turned back to him, your heart racing as you searched his face for any hint of a joke. But there was none. Just the truth, laid bare between you.

“Rafe—”

“I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “But I can’t stand seeing you like this. You drive me insane, and half the time I don’t even know why I bother, but… I care about you. More than I should.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to a confession you’d never expected. But as you looked at him, his usual mask of arrogance stripped away, you realized something else.

You cared about him too.

The tension between you crackled like a live wire, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left. His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might close the gap.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back, running a hand over his face as if to steady himself.

“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice rough. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The cabin felt different in the light of day. The warmth from the fire was gone, replaced by a cold chill that seeped into your bones. You hadn’t slept at all the night before—your mind too restless, too tangled with the memory of Rafe’s confession. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself it didn’t mean anything. But the truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Rafe’s voice echoed in your mind, his words hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence. “I care about you. More than I should.”

The way he’d said it—quiet, raw, and unguarded—had unsettled you. You weren’t used to that kind of honesty, especially not from him. Rafe Cameron wasn’t supposed to care. Not about you. He was supposed to be the reckless, untouchable bad boy that everyone warned you to stay away from.

So why couldn’t you shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as untouchable as you thought?

You stretched out on the couch, the pain from your injuries still a dull throb in the background, but nothing compared to the weight of your thoughts. The first light of dawn had barely crept through the curtains when Rafe appeared in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft glow.

“Morning,” he said gruffly, his voice rough with sleep.

You barely acknowledged him, your gaze fixed on the floor. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do what?” he asked, stepping into the room. He’d changed into a worn flannel shirt and jeans, looking as effortlessly put together as always, despite the tension between you.

“Act like nothing happened,” you muttered. You pushed yourself upright on the couch, wincing as you adjusted your shoulder. “We both know that you didn’t mean what you said last night.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made your stomach flip. “You think I lied?”

“No,” you said quickly, though it didn’t feel entirely true. “I think you said it in the heat of the moment. Maybe you were trying to fix things or—”

“Or what?” Rafe cut you off, his voice sharper than usual. “You think I can’t feel things just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve?” His jaw tightened as he took a step closer, eyes never leaving yours. “I didn’t lie. I said it because I meant it.”

The air between you thickened, the words hanging heavily in the space between you. You could feel the pull, the electric tension that seemed to coil tighter with every breath you took. But you were too stubborn to admit it—too scared to believe it was real.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it. But I can’t pretend like I don’t care. Not anymore.”

You stood up, a rush of emotions flooding through you. “This isn’t a fairy tale, Rafe. People like us don’t get to have happy endings.”

His eyes softened for a moment, the hardness in his expression giving way to something more vulnerable. “Maybe we don’t need a happy ending. Maybe we just need to get through the mess we’ve made together.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His words hung in the air, leaving you caught between something you couldn’t quite define and something you were terrified to face.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed.

He stepped closer, his presence almost overwhelming now. “I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to trust yourself. You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

His words struck a chord deep within you. You’d always prided yourself on being independent, on handling everything on your own. But the truth was, you were tired—tired of running, tired of pretending you didn’t need someone. And maybe, just maybe, Rafe was the person who could help you put the pieces back together.

But you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest in a protective gesture. “I need space, Rafe. I’m not ready for this.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he simply nodded, a hint of understanding flickering in his eyes. “I’ll give you space. But don’t think for a second that I’m going anywhere.”

The words were both comforting and suffocating all at once. You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore, but you knew you couldn’t keep pretending like this—like nothing had changed between you.

“I don’t need saving,” you said quietly, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

Rafe didn’t flinch. His eyes softened as he took a step back. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help.”

There was a long, heavy silence between you, the weight of his words pressing down on you. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t have to do everything on your own.

“I’ll be outside,” Rafe said after a moment, his voice low but steady. “If you need anything.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze already drifting to the window. As he walked out of the cabin, you sank back down onto the couch, your mind swirling with a thousand thoughts, none of which made sense.

But one thing was clear—no matter how hard you tried to push him away, Rafe wasn’t going anywhere.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A few hours later, you were sitting at the kitchen table, absently staring out at the woods surrounding the cabin. You hadn’t heard Rafe move around, but when you looked up, he was standing in the doorway again, his gaze gentle.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice tentative. “You’re in a lot of trouble right now, and I can help. My family... well, they know people. Good people. I can have my lawyers handle everything, get you out of this mess. You won’t have to run anymore.”

The offer hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his sincerity. You hadn’t expected him to offer something so personal—so vulnerable.

You blinked, still processing the offer. “You’d really do that? For me?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his gaze softening. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

You hesitated. The idea of being free from the constant fear of being caught was tempting, but something inside you still resisted. “But... why? Why help me, after everything?”

Rafe’s expression shifted, vulnerability flashing through his eyes. “Because I don’t want to see you suffer. I don’t want you to keep running, thinking you’re alone in all of this.” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “And because, despite all the chaos, I care about you. More than I ever thought I would.”

The silence between you was thick, but this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like something fragile and real, the kind of thing that could grow if you let it.

You met his eyes, the weight of his words settling over you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to be as messed up as you’d convinced yourself they were.

“I don’t want to keep running either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe gave you a soft smile, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of you. “Then let me help you. Let me fix this. You don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, you just stood there, looking at him, the air between you warmer than it had been in a long time. You didn’t have all the answers, and maybe things weren’t perfect, but for once, it felt like you were on the edge of something real.

“I’ll take your help,” you said, your voice steady but filled with a hesitant warmth. “But only if you promise not to bail when things get messy.”

Rafe chuckled, that familiar spark in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

And just like that, the walls between you crumbled, replaced with something new—something uncertain, but full of promise. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe in a future where you weren’t alone. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

© 2025 rafeskai | All rights reserved. My work is a work of fiction inspired by different characters, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART NINE

paige x azzi

word count: 6.4k

A/N: Alright I’m feeling much better and I’m no longer losing my shit after CD said she wouldn’t call it an injury 🙂‍↕️. Here’s the next chapter! It’s a little rough at the beginning but just get through it trust me . Please leave live reacts if you can, I need a little extra motivation today 😭

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October 2022

For weeks after their argument, Paige kept her word. She stayed true to her role as Azzi’s best friend and was there anytime the younger girl needed her, it didn’t matter what she was doing, she was there. She did make Azzi stop coming with her to physical therapy though, and Nika had stepped in to take her place. Physical therapy always got a little too intimate when they’d ask whoever accompanied Paige to push on her knee and Paige knew that she and Azzi couldn’t handle that right now. They still spent time together–Paige helping Azzi in the gym here and there, texting during the day, hanging out sporadically, studying–but everything had changed. There were clear lines now. They didn’t flirt, they didn’t touch in ways that meant anything more than friendship. It was as though they were back to where they started, but it was painfully different.

Paige had started hanging out more with Ice, the freshman who quickly became a source of amusement for her. Ice's humor was dry and a little corny, and Paige found herself genuinely laughing more than she had since her and Azzi ended things. If that’s what you would call it. But even with Ice’s company, there were still moments when she couldn’t help but think about Azzi. It wasn’t that she didn’t love their friendship now, but it didn’t fill the large space Azzi once occupied when they were clearly more than friends.

Ice leaned back in her chair, her expression one of pure disbelief. “That’s bullshit. I refuse to believe there was a point when you and Azzi didn’t like each other.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “I swear, we couldn’t stand each other. Every little thing she did annoyed me and she hated me honestly.”

Ice raised an eyebrow, smirking. “And now look at you, a full-blown simp. How the tables have turned.”

Paige rolled her eyes, though a grin tugged at her lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“So how’d you two even get past that?” Ice asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. “Like, how’d you go from ‘can’t stand each other’ to…” she gestured vaguely, “this?”

Paige’s laugh softened, and she shrugged. “The gym, mostly. We kinda connected over basketball first. That was the one thing we could agree on. At first, we only talked about basketball—nothing else. But once we built a decent foundation of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds, we started hanging out more. It just…happened from there.”

Ice nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Why don’t you just do that again this time then?”

Paige gave her a look. “We don’t need to build a foundation, Ice. She’s still my best friend.”

“Righttt,” Ice said, dragging out the word with heavy sarcasm. “Your best friend that you’re in love with, and you haven’t seen in like five days.”

Paige rolled her eyes again, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “We text.”

Ice snorted. “That’s not the same, and you know it.”

Paige shrugged again, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s just… a little hard to be around each other sometimes now.”

Ice narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

Paige didn’t answer, but the grin on her face grew wider, her expression practically glowing with unspoken thoughts.

Ice groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Ew, dude. You’re disgusting.”

Paige just laughed, grabbing a basketball nearby and bouncing it lightly off Ice’s arm. “Shut up.”

But as the laughter faded, Paige’s expression softened, her smile dimming into something more thoughtful. “Honestly though, Azzi just needs some space from me to figure things out, and I’m trying to give her that.”

Ice tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Space for what?”

Paige hesitated, her fingers idly spinning the basketball in her lap. She glanced away briefly before answering, her tone careful and measured. “She has a lot of internal things to figure out before she can even think about being with me. I realized it a while ago but I don’t know if she has.”

Ice’s brow furrowed, but she nodded slowly. “That sounds… rough.”

“It is,” Paige admitted, her voice quieter now. “But she’s worth it. So I’m giving her what she needs.”

Ice studied her for a moment, then leaned back with a small smile. “Damn P, you really love her, huh?”

Paige didn’t even flinch. She met Ice’s gaze, a soft but unwavering certainty in her eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

Ice smirked, her teasing tone returning. “You’re still a simp, though.”

Paige groaned, chucking the basketball at her again, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Shut up, Ice.”

November 2022

The next month was much harder than Paige thought it would be. Between missing Azzi and being sidelined by her injury and not being able to start the season with the team, she felt like she was drowning most days. Basketball, her usual escape, was no longer an option. Instead, she found herself in the gym, not to work out but to just sit in the silence, wishing she could push her body for hours on end. But eventually she’d get too frustrated when all she could do was shoot a few flat footed shots and she'd just let herself cry in the empty gym until she didn’t have any more energy. Other times, she’d just sit in her car, staring ahead, trying to calm her thoughts. More than once, she ended up sick at the sight of the back seat—a painful reminder of what, and who, was missing.

Azzi wasn’t doing much better. She’d become a mirror of who Paige used to be, burying herself in the gym day and night, trying to outrun her thoughts. Paige was still there for her, though, which made Azzi feel like even more of an ass, having somebody as sweet as Paige, just waiting for her to get her shit together. When things were a little too hard and Azzi would come to her door with tear stained eyes in the middle of the night Paige always let her in, let her talk about whatever she needed to or just sleep. The first time it happened was a random Tuesday at 3am.

Azzi’s knocks were gentle and tentative at first but it was enough for Paige to stir, her mind still fuzzy from sleep as the knock came again, a little louder this time. She groggily threw off her blanket and shuffled to the door, blinking against the dim hallway light cascading from the bottom of the door.

When she opened it, Azzi stood there, her mascara streaked down her cheeks, her eyes red and swollen, as though the weight of the world had poured out of her. There were no words, no explanations, just a look that said everything, Paige didn’t ask, she just stepped aside, letting Azzi into the warmth of the room. Azzi’s shoulders were trembling, but she didn’t speak, her chest rising and falling in slow uneven breaths. Paige closed the door softly behind her, then walked back to her bed, sinking back into the mattress where Azzi now laid, holding one of Paige’s pillows close.

Paige reached over, draping her arm against Azzi’s torso as she pulled her closer but not quite cuddling her. Just enough to let Azzi know she wasn’t alone as Paige’s eyes fluttered shut drifting back to sleep.

After that night Paige couldn’t imagine not being there for Azzi, knowing what she was struggling with. But things weren’t the same. They didn’t text everyday anymore, and their hangouts had all but stopped after it became clear that they didn’t really know how to be just friends anymore. The space between them, once so easy to close, now felt like an endless stretch.

Azzi blamed herself for what happened between them. She was constantly fighting an internal battle that seemed like a losing game. One part of her knew exactly how she felt about Paige, knew she wanted the older girl more than anything. The other half was a constant pull against this thought process. The part of her brain that was telling her she wasn’t the type of person who takes risks like this, she didn’t gamble her future that she had worked so hard for. Constantly in her own ear telling herself she had every right to be scared.

Now, Paige sat alone in the empty gym, her legs stretched out in front of her, a basketball resting at her feet. She knew she couldn’t play much, just dribble around and shoot here and there, so she came here to think, to feel some semblance of peace. The quiet of the gym was comforting, even if it couldn’t heal what was broken, only Azzi could do that.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence. Paige glanced up to see Azzi standing there, her figure framed by the dim gym lights. Azzi paused, stuck in the doorway. The sight of Paige, lost in thought, felt all too familiar, stirring memories of another time they’d both hesitated to bridge the distance between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, both caught in a whirlwind of emotions and memories. Paige chuckled softly at the irony, breaking the tension, and nudged the ball with her foot, sending it rolling toward Azzi.

Azzi’s lips curved into a small smile as she stepped inside, picking up the ball. She hesitated again, glancing at Paige, before making her way over. She sat down beside her but left enough space between them to keep the air light, uncertain. Neither of them spoke right away, the quiet wrapping around them like a truce.

Paige was the first to break the silence, her voice cutting through the stillness. “You played like shit last game.”

Azzi blinked, then burst out laughing, the unexpectedness of Paige’s comment catching her off guard. “Shit is an understatement,” she admitted, shaking her head.

Paige smirked, leaning back slightly. “What’d you come here to work on?”

Azzi shrugged, a noncommittal gesture. “Anything, I guess.”

Paige hummed thoughtfully as she got to her feet, grabbing the ball. Ice’s words from October echoing in her mind now. She spun the ball between her hands, glancing at Azzi. “Why you been taking so long to shoot lately?”

Azzi crossed her arms, tilting her head. “The passes are all over the place,” she said simply. “I got used to you hitting me in stride so it’s a big adjustment.”

Paige paused, nodding as she processed Azzi’s words. There was a quiet understanding in the air—an acknowledgment of how much they relied on each other, on and off the court.

By now, Azzi had stood up, her eyes tracking the ball as Paige passed it casually between her hands. Paige grinned. “Let’s work on it.”

Azzi raised a brow, confused. “Work on what?”

Paige laughed, her grin widening. “I’m about to throw you some of the worst passes of your life, and you’re gonna work on shooting without taking too much time to adjust the ball.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her feet were already carrying her toward the court.

Before they began, Azzi paused and looked at Paige. “I miss you,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

Paige’s expression softened, and a small, genuine smile spread across her face. “I miss you too, Az,” she replied, her tone equally tender. Then, without missing a beat, she threw Azzi an intentionally terrible pass, the ball veering off to the side.

Azzi barely managed to catch it, quickly gathering herself for the shot, but the ball clanged off the rim.

Paige smirked. “Not bad. Now do it faster and try making it next time.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. They fell into an easy rhythm after that, Paige throwing increasingly awful passes, and Azzi working to shoot without hesitation. Laughter echoed through the gym when the passes were too bad to catch, blending with the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the hardwood.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like they were back in sync—no words needed, just the game and each other.

The rhythm they had fallen into was effortless, the sound of Azzi’s playlist flowing through the speakers now as they worked on her shot. Laughter occasionally filled the gym, the tension from the past weeks melting away with every pass and shot.

That is, until the music cut off, replaced by the ring of an incoming call.

Azzi, mid-dribble, glanced toward her phone sitting on the floor. “Can you check who it is?” she asked Paige, who was closer.

Paige hesitated for a moment before walking over. She glanced at the screen, the name flashing boldly. Her jaw tightened ever so slightly, but it was enough for Azzi to notice. Paige cleared her throat. “Somebody named Elle,” she said, her tone a little too neutral.

Azzi didn’t miss the shift in Paige’s posture or the way her eyes flicked away from the phone. She didn’t need Paige to say anything; she could see the wheels turning in her head.

“It’s not what you think, Paige,” Azzi said, her voice firm but gentle.

Paige shook her head, brushing it off with a forced smile. “No, Azzi, you don’t have to explain—”

“Paige,” Azzi cut her off, stepping closer. “She’s my partner for a project. That’s it.”

Paige looked down, her fingers grazing the edge of her shirt. “It’s fine if it was something else you know,” she said softly, though the words felt hollow even to her.

“No, it isn’t,” Azzi said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt in Paige’s mind. “It isn’t fine because I don’t want anybody else. I only want you, Paige. I’ve told you that, and I mean it.”

Paige’s shoulders sagged slightly, guilt flashing across her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know it’s not really my place.”

Azzi stepped even closer, her eyes searching Paige’s. “It is your place,” she said, her voice softer now. “So you don’t need to apologize.”

Paige glanced at her, caught in the sincerity of Azzi’s gaze. The tension in the air softened, the weight between them shifting back into something warm and steady.

“Okay,” Paige finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, giving her a small smile. “Good. Now come back over here—I’m not done getting used to these terrible passes.”

Paige chuckled despite herself, picking up the ball. And just like that, they found their rhythm again, though the words exchanged lingered, a quiet reassurance binding them closer.

After finishing up in the gym, both of them grabbed their things and headed out. Paige made her way toward her car, expecting Azzi to follow. But when she glanced over her shoulder, she noticed Azzi strolling casually along the sidewalk.

Paige frowned, stopping in her tracks. “What are you doing?” she called out.

Azzi glanced back with a small shrug. “I didn’t drive.”

Paige’s eyes widened in disbelief, a mix of offense and exasperation flashing across her face. “You thought I was going to let you walk?��� she said, her tone incredulous.

Azzi chuckled but didn’t respond, her smile widening as Paige simply muttered, “Unbelievable.”

With a grin, Azzi turned and walked toward Paige’s car. Paige muttered under her breath the whole time, just loud enough for Azzi to hear. “She’s gotta be crazy. Can’t believe she thought I’d let her walk. Who does she think I am?”

When they reached the car, Paige yanked open the passenger door, motioning for Azzi to get in. Azzi stepped in with a laugh, and Paige shut the door with more force than necessary, her irritation over something so small almost comical.

By the time Paige slid into the driver’s seat, Azzi was grinning at her. “I miss how dramatic you are,” she teased, still laughing softly.

Paige shot her a glare as she started the car. “You give me a fucking headache Azzi,” she said, but there was no bite to her words.

When they arrived back at the dorms, Paige’s suite came up first. She slowed to a stop, slinging her bag over her shoulder and turning toward Azzi.

“Night,” Paige said, already halfway to the door.

Azzi nodded but didn’t keep walking. “Paige,” she called, her voice stopping Paige in her tracks.

Paige turned back, raising an eyebrow slightly, her curiosity piqued. “Yeah?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, then smiled softly. “I’ve been thinking…can we maybe talk tomorrow?”

Paige blinked, her confusion evident, but she nodded. “Yeah… of course,” she said, her tone cautious.

Azzi’s smile widened a little , though she didn’t offer any explanation. “I’ll text you,” she said simply.

Paige gave her a small smile in return. “Okay. Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, P,” Azzi replied, her voice quiet but warm as she turned to walk toward her own suite.

Paige lingered for a second, watching Azzi’s retreating figure, her mind swirling with questions. Finally, she shook her head and headed inside, her thoughts lingering on the way Azzi had looked at her just now.

…

The next day, around 1 PM, Paige’s phone buzzed with a text from Azzi.

💗: You hungry? Let’s grab some food

Paige smiled at the message, typing a quick reply.

P 💗: Yeah that works for me

It didn’t take long for Azzi to reply.

💗: We’re taking my car.

Paige frowned slightly, shooting back a quick question mark.

P 💗: ?

The response came almost immediately.

💗: I almost threw up in your car yesterday when Steve Lacy came on

Paige let out a loud laugh, immediately understanding what Azzi was referring to as she had her own struggles being in there sometimes. She shook her head, typing back with a smirk.

P 💗: That’s dramatic, even for you

Azzi’s reply was short but effective.

💗: Not taking any chances

Still chuckling, Paige grabbed her things, her mood lighter than it had been in days. Azzi always had a way of pulling her out of her head, even with something as simple as sending a few texts.

They sat down at a corner table, the comforting hum of the restaurant around them as they ate their Chipotle bowls. The familiar, easy chatter filled the space between them yesterday being what they needed to return to the natural rhythm of their friendship, the laughter, and the simple joy of each other's company.

But, as the conversation slowly died down, Azzi looked at Paige, her expression shifting slightly.

“I want us to start over,” Azzi said quietly, her voice soft but serious.

Paige blinked, furrowing her brow. “Start over? What do you mean?”

Azzi took a deep breath, clearly trying to find the right words. “I want us to try this again, but—” she paused, trying to make sure she found the right words. “I want us to do it the right way this time.”

Paige tilted her head, her confusion evident but her tone gentle with Azzi like always. “Azzi, what are you saying?”

Azzi’s gaze was unwavering as she leaned forward slightly, the space between them feeling more intimate. “I want us to date, Paige,” she said, her voice steady.

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment before a soft, teasing smile tugged at her lips. “So... you want to be my girlfriend now?”

Azzi hesitated, her fingers tapping gently against the edge of the table. “No…at least not yet,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I want us to go on dates and test the waters. We did things the wrong way, and I want to fix it.”

Paige’s eyes softened as a slow smile began to form on her lips. She leaned forward slightly, clearly proud of Azzi. “Tell me more about it.”

Azzi smiled at the shift in Paige’s expression, the spark of curiosity now in her eyes. “We can go on dates,” Azzi continued, her voice steady as she outlined her plan she thought a lot about. “But I’m not going to let you kiss me until we have a few dates. And we’re not going to have sex for a while, or we’re going to at least try really hard not to. I want us to get to know each other as two people dating, not just best friends who happen to be doing this.”

Paige nodded, as she listened to her. She hadn’t expected Azzi to say something like this when she asked her to lunch today, but it made sense for her. It was a different approach, one that felt like it had the potential to be something more controlled. Something more grounded. Which is exactly what Azzi needed.

“So, where’s this coming from?” Paige asked, her voice low with curiosity but also a touch of tenderness. “I thought you were—”

Azzi cut her off, her gaze soft but unwavering. “Despite what you think, Paige,” she said quietly, “I’m in love with you. These past few weeks have done nothing but show me that. I’m still scared as hell, but I want to at least try.”

Paige swallowed, her heart beating a little faster at the sincerity in Azzi’s voice. She really hadn’t expected this, she expected Azzi to try to mend their friendship, try to get back to their usual routine of hanging out. But the more Paige thought about it she understood. Azzi was always so detailed and plan oriented. She always needed steps and checkpoints to ease her mind, to let her see the progress she was making.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Azzi continued, her voice a little shaky now that Paige hadn’t said much. “I just want to start fresh. I want us to really try.”

Paige leaned back slightly, her arms folded across her chest as she processed Azzi’s words. The weight of everything that had been said, everything that had been left unsaid, hung heavily in the air. She couldn’t help but hesitate, uncertainty creeping in despite the hope in her chest.

“How do I know you’re not just going to change your mind again?” Paige asked, her voice quiet. She wanted to believe Azzi, wanted to dive into this with her, but it was hard to shake that lingering fear of being hurt again.

Azzi didn’t flinch at the question. She just looked at Paige, with a calmness that her voice conveyed when she answered. “You don’t,” she said simply. “That’s the thing I had to get over. We don’t really know what’s going to happen. That’s been my fear this whole time. Not knowing. Not being in control of it. But we never know what’s going to happen at any point in life so.”

Paige’s gaze softened, and she nodded slowly, taking in what Azzi was saying. But Azzi wasn’t done, and she shifted slightly, her hands in her lap as she continued.

“I was talking to my mom the other day,” Azzi began, her voice quieter now, but still with a hint of vulnerability. “And she tried to make me laugh by asking who shat in my breakfast. But honestly, it just made me cry more than anything.”

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing exactly how Katie could be. “Figures,” she said with a soft smile, her heart lifting slightly at the mention of Azzi’s mom.

Azzi smiled too, but the smile was fleeting, and the seriousness returned quickly. “Yeah. But... I told her everything that’s been going on. All of it. How I feel about you. About us.” She paused, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. “Some parts of the story shocked her, honestly. I thought she was going to yell at me, but she didn’t. She just listened.”

Paige’s eyes widened a little, a surprise settling in her chest. She hadn’t expected that. For Azzi to talk to her mom about them already? It was a huge step. It made her heart skip a little—an odd mix of pride and tenderness swelling inside her knowing Azzi had come out to her mom.

“How... how did it go?” Paige asked softly, unsure of how to phrase the question but needing to know. She could sense how much this conversation had meant to Azzi.

Azzi’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “It was fine. Perfectly fine, actually,” she said, her voice steady now. “I thought it was going to be hard, but... she already kind of knew. I mean, she’s not blind. She said she could tell something was going on, especially with how much time you spend at our place whenever we’re on break. She thought it was pretty obvious.”

Paige blinked in surprise. She hadn’t thought Katie would pick up on that. “Really?”

Azzi nodded, her gaze soft but thoughtful. “Yeah. She’s always been good at reading me, even when I’m not saying anything. We were talking for a while after I explained everything... she said something that kinda struck a nerve.” Azzi’s voice lowered again, a little more humor to it. “She was explaining some stupid metaphor that I could never understand, and she said life is all about taking chances. Usually, the best ones—the ones that really matter—are the ones that scare us the most.”

Azzi’s eyes met Paige’s, and there was something raw, something real, in the way she looked at her. “And you scare the hell out of me, Paige,” she said quietly, her words filled with sincerity. “So that’s exactly why I can’t just let us pass by. I can’t keep living in the ‘what ifs.’ I’ve been too afraid, and I’m tired of being afraid.”

Finally, Paige let out a deep breath and reached across the table, her hand finding Azzi’s with a gentle squeeze. “I’m scared too,” Paige admitted softly.

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she squeezed Paige’s hand in return, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not asking for anything more than what I said. I just want to try, Paige. I want us to take it slow, to get to know each other again and see where it goes.”

Paige’s smile was small but genuine, her heart fluttering at the thought of what could be. “Okay. We’ll try,” she said, the words feeling right. “We’ll take it slow.”

Azzi’s smile mirrored hers, though it was still laced with vulnerability.

…

This is how, a few days later, Paige and Azzi were on their first date.

Azzi had initially tried to take the reins, attempting to plan every detail, but Paige quickly vetoed the idea, claiming she’d been waiting for months to make this happen. Azzi didn’t even try to argue with that logic.

Now, they were on their way to a mystery destination Paige refused to disclose, with music filling the car. The ride was easy, lighthearted, and full of laughter—until Azzi reached out and skipped another Steve Lacy song.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh, glancing over at her. “What? Are we never listening to the album again?”

Azzi shot her a glare but couldn’t entirely hide the amused glint in her eyes. “Not for a long time, we’re not,” she retorted firmly, her voice dripping with mocking distress.

Paige only chuckled as they pulled into a parking lot. Azzi’s curiosity grew as she turned her attention ahead, her brow furrowing slightly until recognition dawned. Her lips curved into a wide grin.

“You brought me to the fair?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Paige glanced at her, her own smile soft but proud. “Yeah. Dinner’s boring,” she said simply, shrugging as if it was the most obvious decision in the world.

Azzi laughed, her eyes sparkling as she shook her head. “Of course you’d think that.”

Paige leaned back in her seat, looking out at the glowing lights of the fairground. “Come on, big head,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

…

Their date was going amazingly. Azzi, naturally, made Paige get her a funnel cake, ignoring Paige’s protests as she tore off a piece and practically forced it into Paige’s mouth. Paige grumbled but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

As the night went on, it became obvious that Paige was annoyingly good at everything. Every time Azzi swore Paige was about to lose a game, Paige proved her wrong. Neither of them wanted any of the prizes, so Paige made a habit of giving them away, handing stuffed animals and trinkets to random kids. The two of them would watch as the kids ran off, bouncing with excitement, leaving Azzi shaking her head at how effortlessly charming Paige could be with all ages.

Now, they were strolling through the fair, Paige’s arm casually draped over Azzi’s shoulder while Azzi leaned into her side, the warmth of the moment wrapping around them like the glowing lights of the fairground. But their quiet bubble burst when a small fan recognized Paige.

The fan approached cautiously, smiling nervously. “Hey, Paige, can I get a quick picture?”

Paige offered a warm smile. “Of course.”

After the fan snapped a picture with Paige, they hesitated before turning to Azzi. “Um, can I get one with you too Azzi?”

Azzi blinked in surprise before smiling and nodding. “Sure.”

Once the pictures were taken and the fan left with a cheerful wave, Paige’s attention shifted, her eyes catching sight of something in the distance. “Oh my god,” she muttered, her face lighting up as she grabbed Azzi’s hand.

“What?” Azzi asked, laughing at Paige’s sudden enthusiasm.

Paige didn’t answer, pulling her toward the basketball booth, where a massive Olaf stuffed animal sat on display. “It’s too good to be true,” she said, practically bouncing with excitement.

When they reached the booth, Paige handed the worker some tickets. He explained the rules, telling her she needed to make three out of five shots to win. Paige nodded and stepped up to the line drawn on the concrete.

But the worker held up a hand. “Nah, I know who you are. You gotta scoot back,” he said with a grin.

Paige laughed, stepping back as Azzi chuckled beside her. “Uh oh, the pressures on now,” Azzi teased.

Paige made the first four shots with ridiculous ease, defying the odds of the notoriously rigged carnival game. As she took her time with each shot a small crowd had gathered to watch her, but Paige was unfazed.

The worker let her take the fifth shot just for fun, even though she’d already won. Azzi, standing to the side, couldn’t resist teasing her. “You’re such a show-off,” she said, crossing her arms with a smirk.

Paige, knowing full well Azzi secretly loved it, grinned as she lined up the last shot. Without breaking eye contact with Azzi, she released the ball. The ball going in.

Azzi rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a laugh. “You’re irritating.”

Paige strolled over to the worker, who handed her the massive Olaf. Without hesitation, Paige turned and placed it into Azzi’s arms.

“This one’s yours,” Paige said with a confident grin.

Azzi looked down at the stuffed Olaf and then back at Paige, her expression softening. “You’re cute, you know that?”

Paige just smiled at her, as she felt a tap on her lower back seeing a little girl with a huge smile on her face.

After Paige and Azzi finished taking pictures with a few fans who had crowded around to watch Paige play the game, she and Azzi resumed walking through the fairground, their steps in sync. Paige’s arm once again draped casually over Azzi’s shoulder, the familiar, comforting ease of their connection returning.

They walked in silence for a few moments, but the air between them was full of understanding. They didn’t need to fill every moment with words—just the presence of each other was enough.

When they reached the car, Paige opened the door for Azzi like always. Azzi smiled, appreciating the gesture every time Paige does it, before sliding into the passenger seat. Paige walked around the front of the car, slipping into the driver’s side. She took a moment to glance over at Azzi, who was still holding the Olaf stuffie, her eyes soft but smiling.

Paige gave a small smirk as she started the engine, teasing, “You’re actually keeping it, huh?”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully, adjusting the stuffed Olaf on her lap. “Yes, it’s Olaf. I’m keeping it.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she pulled out of the parking lot. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between them as they drove off towards UConn, the glow of the fair behind them, leaving only the warmth of the moment to hold onto.

…

Long after Paige had “dropped” Azzi off following their first date, she found herself wandering into the gym. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about the court always drew her in. Spotting Azzi on the court dribbling, Paige couldn’t help but chuckle softly to herself.

Azzi noticed her almost immediately, stopping mid-dribble with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

Paige smirked, walking further onto the court. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Azzi shrugged as Paige closed the distance, casually swatting the ball out of her hand. Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Ah, there’s my annoying best friend.”

Paige laughed along, saying. “Ahh, so I’m ‘best friend Paige’ right now, huh?”

Azzi nodded, still grinning.

Paige raised an eyebrow, tilting her head dramatically. “Okay then, tell me something. I heard you went on a date tonight.”

Azzi chuckled at Paige’s antics, her laughter light and easy. “I did.”

Paige dribbled the ball a few times, casually lining up a close-range shot. “How was it?”

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Ehh I was a little nervous at first, but I actually loved it.”

Paige glanced at her with a playful smirk. “Nervous? Why were you nervous?”

Azzi’s gaze softened as she shrugged, her voice quieter. “You know why.”

Paige arched an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “Humor me.”

Instead of answering directly, Azzi pivoted the conversation. “I went on some dates when we weren’t talking, like you suggested.”

Paige paused mid-dribble, her curiosity piqued. “You did?”

Azzi nodded, fidgeting with her hands. “Yeah... with girls.”

Paige hummed at this as she resumed dribbling, her voice casual but interested. “How were they?”

Azzi shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “They were okay. It’s not like I was trying to figure out feelings for them... more so to figure out myself.”

Paige nodded, her gaze softening with a soft smile. “And?”

Azzi smiled faintly, her tone more serious now. “They helped. The conversation with my mom I was telling you about? A whole lot easier after that.”

Paige paused her dribbling to smile at Azzi, her voice full of warmth. “I’m proud of you, Az.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a small, grateful smile, the sincerity of Paige’s words lingering in the air.

Azzi met Paige’s gaze, her tone playful yet sincere. “There’s a little more attention that comes with going on a date with Connecticut’s version of Jesus though.”

Paige burst out laughing, tossing the ball softly at Azzi, who caught it with a grin.

Azzi continued, her voice shifting to something more serious. “I was nervous at first because I knew people would recognize us—mostly you. It’s a lot of extra attention.”

Paige nodded, her grin slowly growing as she listened.

Azzi tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “What? Why are you smiling like that?”

Paige leaned casually against the wall, her grin turning a bit smug. “You know I picked the fair on purpose, right?”

Azzi’s brows furrowed. “No...”

Paige smirked, folding her arms. “It’s far enough from campus that we wouldn’t be recognized as much, but it’s also a Thursday, which means there weren’t going to be a lot of teenagers or people our age there. Just a bunch of kids with their parents or older people. People our age would usually go on Fridays or Saturdays.”

Azzi blinked, processing the thoughtfulness behind Paige’s planning.

Paige stepped closer, her voice softening. “I picked today because I knew anyone who approached us would either be a super-excited kid or an old-school basketball fan who wouldn’t care why it was just the two of us there together. I wanted it to be... easier for you.”

Azzi was stunned, her lips parting slightly as she stared at Paige. “You really thought that far ahead?”

Paige shrugged with a casual air, though her gaze was warm. “I know you, Az. I know how hard this is for you.”

Azzi laughed, her tone light again as she tried to hide how much Paige’s words meant to her. “If you knew what I was struggling with the whole time, why’d you let me make it seem like basketball was the only thing stopping me?”

Paige’s smile softened, her voice dropping just enough to convey her sincerity. “Because I needed to give you time. It’s not a realization someone else can process for you.”

The air between them shifted as Paige leaned casually against the wall, her height slightly towering over Azzi with the way they were standing. The space between them grew smaller without either of them noticing.

Azzi tilted her head up to look at Paige, her expression soft. “I miss your eyes,” she said quietly, almost as if the words slipped out without her permission.

Paige chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “That’s always the first thing you say to me.” Her grin widened, teasing but fond.

Azzi didn’t bother denying it, her gaze unwavering. The weight of her words lingered in the air, pulling them closer in a way that had nothing to do with proximity.

After a moment, Azzi whispered, her tone playful but with a hint of nervousness, “I’m not letting you kiss me.”

Paige’s toothy grin grew, her confidence shining through. “That’s fine.” Her voice was low, carrying just enough to make Azzi’s breath hitch.

But Paige didn’t move away. She stayed close, her presence overwhelming yet comforting, as she just took in Azzi standing in front of her.

Azzi didn’t respond, her lips quirking up just slightly. Instead, she shook her head with a quiet laugh, looking away but refusing to step back.

Paige finally stepped back, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. The sound lingered in the air, as she picked up a basketball and started dribbling casually.

Azzi rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag muttering, “I’m leaving.”

Paige’s laugh grew louder as she called after her, “See you later, princess!”

Azzi didn’t stop or turn around, but a faint smile spread across her face. She lifted her hand and stuck her middle finger up in response, a playful gesture that made Paige laugh even harder as Azzi walked out of the gym.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Mo' Money Mo' Problems

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Asking for help has always been hard for you, but when you aren't left with another option, your recently drafted NFL boyfriend comes to your rescue

Pairing: Boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested: by a gorgeous anon 😍

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Erin looked at you as you sat down across from her and sighed. This had been going on for the past week and you had now given yourself a headache trying to figure out what you were going to do.

“Call your boyfriend.” Erin told you as she threw your phone for you to catch it, but you quickly shook your head no as you caught it before it hit the floor.

“I am not calling him.”

“And why NOT?” She exclaimed and looked at you as if you were crazy.

“Because this is my problem and I'm going to deal with it. I don't have to run to him for every little thing.”

“YOUR BOYFRIEND PLAYS IN THE NFL! AS A QUARTERBACK! Or did you suddenly forget?”

“Just because he plays in the NFL doesn't mean I’m going to take advantage of that.” You said as you crossed your arms.

“Bestie, I love you but you fucking annoy me so much sometimes. So let me ask you this, Joe doesn't have a problem asking you for sex correct?”

“What in the world are you getting at?”

“Answer my question.”

“No, he doesn't.”

“And he fucks you raw simply because you had a fucking pregnancy scare two semesters ago when he won the Heisman.”

“Erin, get to the point already. I was scared out of my damn mind.” You replied as you rolled your eyes.

“My point is that you shouldn't have a problem asking your boyfriend who fucks you raw for money. At the very LEAST like bare minimum he can give you a little cash.”

“I get it but..”

“Uh no you obviously don't. And you know how he is. First thing out of his mouth is going to be why didn't you tell him. I'm convinced that man would drink your bath water if you let him.”

“I swear you get on my nerves.”

“Welp been doing that since we were three and that's not changing any time soon.”

“I don't know. I feel kind of weird asking people for anything. Like not just him and I’ve always been like that.” You said as you got up to go into your kitchen with Erin following close behind.

“It's not like he's going to want you to pay him back. I guarantee you that he'll give it to you without a second thought. You never know unless you try. Surprised he hasn't put your name on the bank account yet.”

“Something is wrong with you.”

“Bitch, don't act like he's not going to put a ring on your finger. Surprised he didn't do it our first semester.” Erin told you as you turned to look in the freezer for ground turkey to make homemade burgers for the two of you.

“Yes, obviously but not yet.”

“He is literally just waiting for you to graduate to do it.”

“And how do you know all this?” You asked as you began to cut up red onion along with some green bell peppers.

“I just do and like I said, he would drink your bath water.”

“Ew, Erin that's nasty.”

“Just calling it like I see it. But if you don't fix this in 48 hours when your rent is due, I'm calling Joe.”

Twenty four hours later you were finally lying down in your bed after a long and exhausting day, your phone rang indicating a facetime call coming through and you rolled over onto the other side to answer it. When your boyfriend's face came into view, you instantly smiled.

“Hi my love.” You quietly said and wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets that were covering you while propping up your phone.

“Hey baby doll. How was your day?” He asked while it looked like he was sitting up against the headboard.

“Hmm, long. I've been up since 4 in the morning. But you know I never pass up an opportunity to talk to you. I miss you.”

“I miss you too and Erin called me.”

“What? Why?”

She literally only gave you 24 hours and not 48 like she promised.

“You tell me. Something going on that I should know about?” Joe asked and you continued to look at him confused.

“Uh, not that I can think of.”

“Let me ask you this then. Have you paid your rent this month for your condo?”

“No and I have no idea why she called you. I told her I would take care of it.”

“Because you miscalculated your bills for this month and they added a whole bunch of fees and you decided to suffer instead of calling your boyfriend for help.”

“I…”

“Is that it?”

“I didn't want to bother you.” You quietly said and Joe just looked at you.

“Seriously? When are you ever bothering me? I have another question for you.”

“Yes?”

“You plan on being with me for a long time, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you know that I'm going to take care of you right? Especially when you graduate and move up here.”

“Yes.”

“So, why wouldn't I take care of you now?”

“I know you will, but if I can do it on my own, I'm going to try to.”

“But I'm here and you don't have to. Aren't you a WAG now?” Joe asked as he smiled at you.

“I want to be the W and not the G.” You replied without skipping a beat.

“Who’s to say that I don't already have your ring?”

“Well, my finger is still bare so? What does that do for me?” You told him as you held it up so he could see your hand.

“Touché, princess.” Joe told you as he smirked.

“Mm hmm, that's what I thought.”

“But next time you come up here we're picking out a house.”

“I…”

“Me and my future wife along with my future kids need a place to live so we can start looking. Or we can have it built, your choice."

“And a new car, mine is on its last leg.”

“Name it and it's yours. That goes for whatever else you want to.”

“NO! I'm going to get it! You are not going bankrupt buying someone who is not even your wife expensive things.”

“You ARE my wife; it's just not on paper yet.” He told you as he shrugged while your cheeks began to heat up.

“Babeeeee.”

“What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true. And besides, I'm not spending any money from my contract. Just my endorsement deals. But back to our original problem, you're good for the rest of the year.”

“I… JOEY! That was like 4,000 dollars!”

“Money is not a factor when it comes to you. If you need it, I'm getting it. So can we move on?”

"Fine, while I have you in a giving mood, I want an elephant." You replied and Joe simply gave you a blank stare.

"Best I can do is the Cincinatti Zoo, you gotta work with me here."

"Well, you said 'name it and it's yours'."

"Baby, I meant within reason and an elephant is not within reason."

[entitled-fangirl]

Bike problems.

Jason Todd x mechanic!reader

Summary: Jason Todd keeps having problems with his motorcycle. The man has known vehicles in and out since he was nine. So, why is he now taking it to the mechanic shop?

A/n: Jay has the white streak in his hair for context :))

Masterlist

No.

No, Jason didn't like her.

Did he?

Suddenly, knelt down next to her as she explained something she had fixed on his bike, he realized it.

He truly liked her.

It was a frightening thought. It felt scary to grow feelings for anyone- much less romantic ones for a mechanic at the shop down the road from his apartment.

After all, why else would he bring his beloved bike to a mechanic shop when he knew exactly how to fix it?

He nodded along, his eyes solely focused on the light glimmer of her chapstick and the grease that somehow managed to get on her cheek. There's no way he'd be able to remember anything she said.

Finally, he snapped to when she hit the seat of the bike twice in a finishing fashion and stood. "Should be good to go now, though. That part was tough to find but I got it cheap once I found it. C'mon." She ticked her head to the side, encouraging him back to the small front counter in their office/waiting room. 

"Wally's usually here to help at the counter, ya know. But… something came up." She wiped her hands off harshly on the rag tucked into her pocket and grabbed a pen, writing some things down the old-fashioned way for a receipt. 

Jason didn't care about how much it was. Still tied to Bruce in some fashions, he'd drain the old man's money if it meant being here with her everyday. He handed her a credit card and watched as she completed the transition on the old register that should have retired long ago.

Once the card was put back into his wallet, he leaned against the counter, broad arms holding him steady. "Can I-"

"-Yes!" She answered immediately like she was anticipating a question from him. Her face flushed in embarrassment. "I mean… sorry. What was your question?"

Jason couldn't help his lips quirking up in an amused smile. A nervous hand absentmindedly scratched at his chin. "Was just gonna ask for a second receipt."

He didn't even need a second receipt.

"Oh," she answered. Was that a hint of disappointment? "Yeah. Yeah, of course." 

He watched her scribble away at a new sheet. A sense of determination swept over him at her flushed expression.

She tossed the pen aside, ripping the paper from the pad and folding it neatly to hand to him. "Sorry 'bout that."

Jason gave her a look, dramatically unfolding the receipt and inspecting it. His brows pulled together and he squinted as he read it. "You forgot something here."

"Hm?" She asked worriedly. "Did I?"

"Yeah…," he droned out in a confused manner. "Don't see your number on this anywhere."

God, he loved watching her turn red. He wanted it to be a regular occurrence. 

"W-What?" She squeaked out.

"Your number. I don't see it anywhere." He flipped it over, pretending to look for it. He set it down gently and slid it to her. "I mean… How else would I call you? Seemed like you wanted me to ask." Now, he was milking it, and he knew it.

"I just thought… I-"

He leaned further over the counter, his voice growing softer. "Don't gotta. Just thought that was the question we were both waiting for. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He nodded, eyes roaming over her face now that she was closer. "Great. Paper's right there."

She couldn't stop the bright smile from her lips when the pen made it to her hand.

"Don't know why you like me," Jason teased. 

"I just think you're cute," she spoke, eyes still glued to the paper as she left a small heart next to her number. "Even if you're greying and all."

His head tilted.

When her head snapped back up, a teasing smile was there. She gestured to his hair with her pen. "I actually think the white hair is nice."

Jason had always hated that white patch of hair. 

She looked back to the paper again. "I like it even better when they're clueless. Seems you're the whole package, Jason."

This girl was just confusing him, one sentence after another.

She folded the paper again and held it out to him. "Next time your bike needs fixed, why don't you fix it and I get to watch for once? You're smart, Jason. You already know how to do all of this. Lot cheaper visit that way."

He blinked. A warm feeling crept up his spine. He pocketed the paper as if keeping a treasure and he coughed awkwardly. "Yeah. Yeah. Will do."

…

When the problems with his bike dwindled from a weekly appearance in the shop to one night in the garage of Wayne Manor every few months, she knew just how much he liked her.

Especially when the bike problems declined and the regular apartment visits multiplied.

Red Hood. Smitten.

What an odd thought.

Divider by: @super-marvel-dc 

[sirxlla]

Laying Hoes Hose 😉

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

Warnings: NSFW, fluff

Prompt: getting interrupted while having sex with Buck

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

When it came to Buck his entire apartment was up for grabs when he had sex with you. The shower, the kitchen table, the couch, the hallway. You get it, the whole lot was up for grabs. No one could see in due to the tint on the windows so in his mind there was no reason to not push your face against the window and screw you from behind.

You'd never be upset for anyone cause of their body count, you knew his was high but holy fuck did it give him experience. This man could rearrange your insides multiple times over for what felt like hours before even thinking about finishing. His stamina was unreal, of course that came from the fire department but also his experience, he knew how to pace himself.

You threw your head back with a moan as you panted, him expertly hitting right where you needed him to over and over. Buck's hips clapped against your ass causing the sound echoed across the apartment. He smirked as you whined and reached behind you for him.

Buck's apartment was like a goddamn merry go round and people came and went as they pleased so getting alone time like this was rare but when it happened? God, was he good at this.

He grabbed a handfull of you hair with a small tug to bring your head back and your lips to his so you both could share a very sloppy/steamy kiss as you panted in his mouth.

You were so fucking close and it felt like cloud nine when there was a knock on the door. He ignored it and kept his pace against you, bringing you both to a climax was more important to him right than whatever was at the door. His lips kissed and bit at your neck and shoulders.

"Baby, I'm gonna-" You whined before the door was banged on again and again.

"We know you're in there, Evan!" Chimney yelled.

"Open the door, we brought refreshments!" Eddie added before they kept knocking over and over. Buck was annoyed and groan as he pulled away slowly which caused you to make the same noise.

"Baby, I-" He started and apology as he quickly pulled his sweatpants back on to answer the door.

"I know." You panted out, a complete mess for him and he'd've know than more than he already did if his friends weren't so annoyingly persistant.

"Give me a minute, Guys. It's a mess, I-" He gave you a moment as he stalled his friends.

"We don't care about what it looks like!" Eddie responed with a laugh almost on hos tongue.

"Come on, the beers getting cold!" Chimney yelled after, Buck looked back at you as you cleaned up the pair of your clothes before getting some clothes to go shower. Once you were in the shower, he let them in.

"Finally, my Grandma moves faster than you...and she's dead." Chimney joked before hearing the shower.

"Oh, you got company?" Eddie smirked as he spoke but it falls as he sees Chimney's face.

"Oh- Oh, Dude, I'm so sorry. Maddie told me to not come over, I didn't think it was cause you were spending time with your girl, should we go?" Chimney asked feeling a bit shitty.

"No, it's fine. You're already here. We were just wrapping up anyways." Buck added with a kind and reassuring smile, of course he would've liked to continue with you but he knew that ship had sailed and he knew you knew that too. You two had been interrupted countless times via emergencies and such.

"Did we interrupt anything?" Eddie asks a bit teasing but a bit guilty.

"Yeah but it's nothing." Buck tried to reassure his friends more.

"Nah, thats not nothing. I knew when Maddie and I get interrupted-"

"I don't really wanna hear about you banging my sister." Buck replied to make them laugh and tease the tension with tge very true statement.

You cleaned yourself up, showered and every other thing you needed to do. It was hard to get out of the shower once you were in there sometimes, like it was just so calming and serene but all good thing come to an end.

Once you had got dressed in one of Buck's graphic tees that he usually only wore at home. You hadn't bothered to look at the shirt when you hastily grabbed it earlier to get into the shower. You had pulled it on before reading it and now you had to stiffle a laugh.

"Laying hoes hose." It says with a pinup female firefighter winking on it, the word hoes crossed out to spell hose like a fire hose.

"Oh, my god." You laughed, you didn't even know he had this in his dresser. There was only that shirt and it wasnt like Chimney and Eddie didnt know you or your humor and in their minds they'd probably think it was yours or something you bought for Evan.

You came out and sat next to Buck, you know that Buck would make it up to you later so it sucked but it was what it was.

"Evening, N/N. We're sorry if we-" Chimney still felt the need to apologize.

"It's okay, I'm used to it." Acting like it was nothing because at this point you had started to try to accept it.

"No, you shouldnt have to. I kinda feel really bad. I know you and Buck are super busy with work and babysitting Jee..." Chimney continues.

"It's alright, Buck'll make it up to me later, Right?"

"Right." Buck blushed a bit and smiled and squeezed your thigh, he looks down and sees your shirt before laughing, he'd forgot about that shirt. The other guys look at it as well and start laughing, the tension was once again evaporated into thin air.

-> Masterlist <-

[456-is-the-way]

haiii so i was wondering if i could request a fic abt reader x frontman cs ive had this idea for s while now i just cant write it😓😓

so the idea is reader is a daughter of one of the vips and one day reader's father decideds to fund the game by marrying her to frontman if that make sense?? or reader's father made some sort of deal with ilnam (up to you) , and reader is just totally against it at first bcs she thinks the games are cruel but once she spends more time around inho she warms up more and grows to really him and he also warms up to her😣😣🙏🙏 (so its like an arranged marriage, enemies to lovers type shi🤞🤞)

A/n: I LOVE ALL BLOWING UP MY ASK BOX!!! FIRST OFF I LOVE THIS IDEA. So imma write it lmao as stated before I am taking requests in my ask box first! So here is another one. Please let me know if you want to ask for a character from season 1 or 2! NGL needs more Gi-hun requests yall lol!

Trigger warning: N/A

Squid Game Masterlist

In-ho x Reader

The Arrangement

It was no secret to (Y/n) (L/n) of her father's wicked deeds. Since birth, she knew they were in one of the most elite families who not only watched what they called the ‘Squid Game’ but actively held their version of the games. It was a horrid curse (Y/n) from which she could not escape. For many years her father hosted, sponsored, and even made active bets in several games held worldwide. But none of those topped the Korean games is what her father stated for several years. She even had the chance to meet the original creator of the games, an older man named Il-nam. After all the gambling, (Y/n)’s father made one of the most unbelievable bets with the old man. He decided to place the ultimate wager on player 456: his daughter could marry anyone of Il-mans choice.

(Y/n) sat in the room with the other VIPs and her father as the final battle commenced between players 456 and 218. She closed her eyes not able to watch this. (Y/n) understood the tense feelings between the players as she was forced to watch the entire game season unfold. She could not imagine what they both felt, best friends turned against each other. She took a deep breath as her father made her watch. Despite her fate, she honestly hoped 456 won. It almost disgusted (Y/n) how her inner thoughts had rooted for the players. She had favorites just like the VIPS. At the end of the battle the underdog, Gi-hun prevailed.

It was the same day Il-man and her father introduced her to the special man she would be wedded to. “Meet the most important man here. Someone I entrust everything to. You may remove your mask.” Il-man said. (Y/n) had met The Front Man several times before. He had been very attentive to the VIPs but it was obvious (Y/n) had his personal attention. She never thought anything of it because most people gave her special treatment. Once the mask is removed her eyes widen, who knew the man was at least somewhat attractive man.

“I am In-ho. It a pleasure to be marrying you, Ms (Y/n).” He bows.

_1 year later_

The wedding took place only a year after the deal. It was held privately and only the most important officials and elite families were invited. Everything was from the top chefs Korean had to offer, she was respectful of In-ho’s culture and insisted on having a traditional Korean wedding. After the ceremony, they were sent to the luxury oceanfront hotel. She leaned against, In-ho as they were sitting on the balcony. “In-ho, why do you run these horrible games?” Her question was answered with silence unsure of how to answer (Y/n)’s question In-ho turned away. He still was not very open to (Y/n) but he did find her gorgeous and knew it wasnt her choice to partake in the wagers her father deals.

“It was complicated but I know you are stuck with an old man like me so I guess I will tell you. I had been a player in the games before. Back when my wife had been in the hospital. I had been the last one standing. It didn’t matter I was too late. She and my unborn child died… So I took the old man's offer to take this over. He needed someone to inherit the games. Including for me to have… children. He planned I would pass this down. I plan to do that. He was like a father to me and I only wish to make him happy.”

(Y/n) put a hand on In-ho’s chest. She gently cupped his face. “I am sorry In-ho. I promise to be a good wife to you… I couldn’t imagine what you are going through. Come on let's go inside.” (Y/n) kissed him deeply. In-ho eagerly accepted the kiss picking her up. It was no lie he liked the woman and Il-man knew In-ho would need someone like (Y/n) to make him stable.

She honestly felt bad for the man who was forced to particapte in these games only to still lose everything he had. “I know you I think you are very attractive for an ‘old man’. None of this is your fault … I won’t leave you,” She promised combing back his dark brown hair. Perhaps this would be so bad after all.

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

Prologue

(a/n: Hey everybody! First time writing here, so please 🙏 excuse my poor looking posts and grammatical errors /let me know if u see any!!/ English is not my first language so pls take that into account O.O tyy ❤️) WARNING!-there's i think one swear word

wc: 2.8 k words im sry really, like i yap alot 😭

ALSO: please let me know if you're interested in the continuation

Imagine that in addition to your logical thinking, communicational skills and physical performance, Blue Lock also tests your mental health, because if you excel in these 4 areas, you might be worthy to become a manager of one of their players. However, competing with 199 other girls who are going through the same ordeal, let's admit, doesn't really calm your nerves. But how did you even end up in Blue Lock in the first place?

—————— Saturday morning, sitting in the corner of a nearby coffee shop, with your books open, laptop fully charged, your phone on silent mode with of course, a cup of caffeine on the side, you are ready to conquer those history notes. You had already started to memorize everything the previous week, so today was really about practicing and revising. After cracking your back and sipping some coffee, you began reading the first few lines on your laptop, occasionally peeking at the highlighted parts of your book in case you got stuck. Time passed quickly, and when you looked at the clock on your phone screen, it turned out that you had been revising ridiculously difficult names, dates, places and events which were described in an awful lot of detail for exactly 1 hour and 32 minutes. Seeing the time, you decided to take a well-deserved break, which actually just consisted of texting and watching funny cat videos.

Closing your laptop and books, you gave yourself half an hour to rest, so that time wouldn't double leading to you procrastinating and forgetting everything you'd just revised. Reaching for your phone and turning off the silent mode, you started reading the few messages that had come in during your study session. Most of them were sent from your best friend, briefly stating that she had fallen asleep and will probably have stay up all night to cramp whatever material she can get into her head, hoping that she somehow manages to pass on Monday.

“Told ya to set an alarm >:( Well, you should have accepted my offer to study together HAHAHA good luck btw :D”-you wrote in response, feeling kinda sorry for her. Then you went straight to your emails after seeing a notification, where you found a recently received message with a strange title.

“BLUE LOCK INVITATION”

What the hell is Blue Lock? And why did you get an invitation? Your initial thought was that it’s a scam and were trying to delete the email if your stupid finger hadn’t slipped, making it press and open the email. Great, now your eyes were glued to the screen, trying to read whatever was on the message.

“Dear L/N Y/N!

We are honored to invite you to the Blue Lock Manager Training Program, where you will be granted the chance to work with one of our future star football players. We hope you will consider the offer because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If you are interested, please come to the following address and time.

Any further questions will be answered on-site!

Blue Lock Assistant and Health Manager,

Anri Teieri”

Um, what the fuck. Yeah, doesn’t sound sketchy at aaall…as you read the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of it, not understanding how they even knew about your existence in the first place and more importantly…how did they get your email address? Although that wasn’t the point, it piqued your interest. You had so many questions yet you could only get answers on the spot.

“Smart tactic.”-you said, before browsing the internet to find something about this Blue Lock project. After about 20 minutes though, you leaned back into your chair and sighed in defeat as there was not a single thing about Blue Lock at all. The only thing you had was this quite fancy looking email. Finishing the rest of your coffee, you began to think about the offer and whether or not to go. Your current job wasn’t good neither was the payment, which is why you recently had to take on a second job. But from what you read about the program, if you were to actually work with a soon to be star football player, the pay would probably be high. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a person, right?

After thoroughly thinking about the offer, you decided to give it a chance. Finishing the rest of your work, you came home and talked to your parents somehow persuading them to agree. Later that day you also informed your best friend as well. The weekend passed as you successfully finished your history exam on Monday and then you headed straight to the so-called Blue Lock building, the very next day. ——————

That's how you ended up in your current situation. On your first day there, they led you to a big hall where there were a lot of people. To be specific, young girls around your age. Looking around for a bit, you realized that there were a lot of girls indeed, but no boys in sight. Finding it a bit strange, but shrugging it off, you turned around to face a huge stage, where moments later a pink-haired woman appeared, whose name you assumed and now know is Anri, introduced herself and greeted you from a big podium with a mic in her hand.

Finishing the brief intro she then continued with a very thorough and detailed speech, revealing that if you agreed to the conditions of the program, you would technically be locked up in the building for the next 3 months and would participate in intensive training, where you potentially could be eliminated for poor results.

“There goes my money…”-you thought, since you never really cared about football in your life nor did you know anything about it. Which in retrospect, you should have done or researched a bit before coming here since you applied to be a football player's manager after all.

“Well, it doesn't matter now anyway.”-you told yourself for some comfort. After Anri had finished her monologue, she instructed everyone that:

“If you agree and ready to take on the challenge then please go through this door!”-pointing with her microphone at a huge dark blue door that was slowly opening.

Hesitating a bit, you thought about all the possible things that could go wrong, but after a not-so-long train of thoughts you managed to convince yourself. Also that little push by a girl running towards the doors sealed the deal for you as you slowly started to walk towards the unknown.

“I mean, what can I lose, right? My sanity is gone already and even if I get eliminated, I'm just going to go back to my normal life again”-you whispered and with a small grin you officially entered Blue Lock.

To your surprise, the facility was quite clean and not to mention huge since most likely somewhere on the other side of the building, boys were kicking balls and running laps. Following the crowd, you arrived in what you assumed was a large waiting room with multiple TV screens on the walls. After managing to squish yourself through the crowd, a sudden voice spoke from the speakers and an egg-headed guy with a strangely perfect bowl cut appeared on the screens, introducing himself.

“Hello, diamond grinders! My name is Jinpachi Ego, the coach of the players in Blue Lock and the overall boss of the facility. I guess you already know why you’re here so I won’t bother with that anymore. First, let’s start with a quick count, which is...currently 200 people.”-he said and you looked around with wide eyes. The fact is, there were indeed many people besides you, but you didn't think such a large amount of them would participate.

'Pfft, no worries…'-you thought, encouraging yourself, realizing that you’d probably get kicked out on the second day, if not today. You looked up to the screens again, and bowl cut continued.

“Out of these 200 people, the best performers will be given the best athletes to work with. But! You have to know what you’re doing. From now on, every minute of your time will be spent, from morning to night according to a routine and the underperformers will be eliminated. Understand?”

You nodded unconsciously, following those around you. This was serious and there was no turning back now. Even so looking at that man’s gaze somehow as he spoke made you shiver a little.

'What have I gotten myself into?'-the question suddenly popped into your head, making you doubt for a moment, if you being here was truly a good decision, but Ego's voice immediately made you get back on track.

“Great. Let’s start with a quick summary then. First, you will be divided into 20 teams, 10 people each. This division was based on your current abilities, but they can change over time while you’re here. Each week, the levels to pass are going rise and be harder and those who can't pass will automatically fail and get eliminated."-he said leaning back into his chair.-"Next, is the routine which the assistant will tell you about in detail later. The goal here in Blue Lock besides creating football players, is to produce ideal managers who have the perfect skills and attitude to fit with them, and to maintain their level, helping them until the end of their careers.-he suddenly raised his index finger and the screens showed what looked like an animation of whatever he was about to say.-"This includes, one: Strategic and logical thinking, two: A healthy and fit body and three: The highest levels of media and communication! If you perform well in these three main areas, then a job and the experience of a lifetime are guaranteed! Don't disappoint me! Now lock off and goodbye for now!”

With that, the egg-headed man finished his speech, disappearing from the screens and Anri, with a microphone in her hand, started to divide everyone up, while handing out papers with our new weekly routine printed on it. Seems like have been assigned to group number 10. That's not bad, but were your abilities really worth as much to be a team 10 member? So far you have only (tried) to manage your own life and your current football knowledge was equal to zero. But there was no time left for further thoughts, because after receiving the uniform you had to immediately start on the first task according to your assigned routine for the day.

—————— Okay. This was harder than you thought. Wiping off the sweat from your forehead, you started running your seventh lap around the damn track again.

"I’m gonna pass out.”-you muttered under your breath, as your newly made friend you’d just met a few ago appeared next to you.

“Same, I'm too tired to be running around in the morning!”-she replied, and after a few seconds the sound of a whistle was heard, signaling the end of the first part of the warm-up. Well, today was going to be long again.

Your new routine consisted of starting your mornings at exactly 7 am with physical exercises and then, you had a quick breakfast. After that you had to start on some brain work tasks for the day, followed by communication class and lunch. A 15 minute break later, media and IT started and before finishing the day with a small workout again, were language lessons waiting for you. Yes. You also had to learn languages. Unfortunately not just one, not two or three, but four fucking languages in which you had to reach a basic level. At least the variety was good, since now you knew how to say hello in French, German, Italian and Spanish. (multilingual queen slay) And then based on those you could decide which one you wanted to work on more and reach at least an intermediate level. If that was not enough, the knowledge of English was also mandatory, but at an advanced level. Also for every other day there were talks, activities and tasks about basic football for those (like you ^_^) to have a grasp on the topic. So there you were, in full uniform everyday for the last two months, suffering through training.

It almost hurts to admit, but on some days you started to miss your simple, slightly boring school life. Thinking back to your friends and parents who you hadn't talked with in a while, to those boring classes and your warm bed. Training was hard since other than having to excel at the 3 fields, worrying that you could get eliminated at any moment, if you lacked behind was stressing you out even more than you already were. On top of that, seeing that some of the girls were kicked out of the building was saddening, yet it worked like a charm to make you work even harder to survive till the end.

Sure, it’s not like it wasn’t good here since you arrived. Fortunately, you quickly adapted to the new environment, getting used to the shared bathrooms, roommates, the extreme routines and plans you had to follow and the surprisingly good canteen food. But the lack of 'fresh air'of the bustling Tokyo, the crowded places, the subways and the fact you could sleep in on the weekends certainly made a void in your heart. The mountains were a beautiful view, but you started to get bored of them after a while.

That's how you usually spent the rest of your days with. Time also flew a lot quicker with your new friends who you suffered with together until they finally announced the end of the program, ordering everyone to gather in the waiting room. Everybody arrived on time and just a few minutes later bowl cut finally appeared on the screens again. —————— “Yo, diamond grinders! Congrats on surviving till now. Looking at your data and statuses, I'm pretty much satisfied with everyone. Well, it doesn't matter now, since the results are already decided.”-Ego said in a voice that lacked emotions yet again. Still the boredom and lack of sleep were evident on his face, noticing his eye bags and the empty cups of ramen in the background that he didn't even bother to clean up. He coughed a little before continuing.-“After analyzing every single one of you on each field, I have decided on which player to assign you, based on these factors and scores. Let's start now, shall we?"-he asked and a little icon of the first girl who was about to be assigned, appeared on the TV screens, showing her name and the team she belonged to.-"First of all, congratulations to Aiko Hashimoto…”-he said a girl's name that felt unfamiliar to you, and then went on with, what you assumed was the player's jersey number and the name of who she would be managing from now on. Meanwhile on the big screens the footballer's little icon made an appearance as well next to Aiko's.

Ego soon continued with announcing the girls by their rank and time seemed to slow down the moment he started speaking again. After a while, at least 20 minutes have passed, yet your name was nowhere to be heard. Even your closest friend was now assigned to some boy while you were still waiting for your turn. 'Did you do that well? Maybe they just forgot to kick you out.'-you assumed after another 5 minutes passed. Listening to Ego as he was still announcing names, you glanced around at the remaining girls who seemed confident while standing, not hearing their names yet. They seemed certain that they were getting one of the top players you thought, while you, yourself were still unsure who you would end up with. Before any more thoughts could occupy your mind, you suddenly heard your name.

“Next up is L/N Y/N.”-you heard from the speakers and finally your little icon also turned up on the screens. Oh my gosh, it’s you! Wait who was before you again? What numbered player are we even at now?!

Blinking twice, you looked up to the main screen, staring at the miniature doddle of you, while Ego was about to say the lucky guy's name you were going to work with. A sudden rush of excitement and worry began to overwhelm you, anxiously waiting to hear the fruit of your 3 months of suffering. Sure, you did do well in all areas required and even gained some knowledge about football in general, but was it enough? Every girl here did their best, trying equally hard, afraid of missing the opportunity of a lifetime and getting kicked out of the facility.

You gulped ready to hear whatever and whoever was waiting for you on the other side of Blue Lock. Ego’s voice rang through the waiting room as he said the following:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…”

(Oh my gosh, this was a long one, hope you guys enjoyed it ^^; i wasn't sure about this story since it's my first one, so pls let me know if you are interested in a continuation and tell me, who you think will get u as their manager? (★‿★) tyy

[seraphicloves]

𝒋𝒋𝒌 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘 𝒂 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓!

⊱✿⊰ summary: requested by anon; jjk boys reacting to a reader who snort (laughing not drugs) and is insecure abt it

⊱✿⊰ warnings: insecurities, overall very cute!!, romantic undertone possibly(?), should be gender neutral, one suggestive comment in toji's and in choso's

⊱✿⊰ notes: ty to who requested this! i included only the canonically adult characters bc you said "men" but feel free to ask for a pt.2 with other characters you want to see (politely ofc i am sensitive)

Satoru Gojo:

❀ he thinks you are the cutest thing, ever. seeing the way you tilt your head back with laughter, eyes shining with unshed tears. and oh god, that snort? you were so adorable he was sure he was going to explode

❀ gojo definitely teased you about your reaction, although not maliciously of course. he'll give you that signature smirk and say in that cooing voice, "aw, baby! that was so cute, do it again!" and absolutely adore watching you fluster

❀ he would not allow you to be insecure. you are like a literal god, how could you be insecure? especially over something seemingly miniscule. he'll tease you of course, but he makes sure you know he doesn't think its weird. hell, he'd probably make sure to snort around you later, so you feel less alone.

Suguru Geto

❀ laughter is a rare thing for the cult leader, even rarer with such a genuine one. but he doesn't seem to mind seeing your eyes twinkle with amusement and a snort escaping you.

❀ "hm? i didn't think i was that funny." he mused, unable to suppress his slight smirk. he reveled in the way your eyes widened and your face warmed, your embarrassment prevalent.

❀ he could tell you were insecure about the noise you made, which surprised him a bit. what surprised him even more was the fact he cared how you were feeling.

❀ "it's nice to know somebody appreciates my humor." geto said, trying to alleviate your insecurities. he wasn't sure why he cared about you, but he did and he wasn't planning on stopping.

Ryomen Sukuna

❀ he probably wasn't purposely making a joke, so he definitely thinks you're making fun of me. all huffing and puffing, asking, "why are you mocking your king in such insolent ways? answer me, human."

❀ then he figures out you're not mocking him, and feels a slight sense of pride. you thought he was funny? he would be sure to try and say funnier things mors often (though his lame attempts at knock knock jokes are more dorky than anything)

❀ when you apolgize for snorting, he was a bit confused. what were you apolgizing for? so he simply said that, "don't be ridiculous, peasant. it was an adequate reaction." which was his way of saying it was cute.

❀ he refuses to let you be insecure, as long as he's aware of it. for some reason he wants to worship you like a queen, he has the strange urge to make you happy always. so he makes sure you know you weren't weird for snorting. hell he might force his servants to snort around you so you feel more comfortable.

Kento Nanami

❀ he was probably confused by something you said jokingly, taking the statement literally. it was so absurd you couldn't help but laugh a little which turned into a full snort.

❀ nanami will give you a mildly amused look, mixed with a hint of confusion. "did i say something funny?" and you would look away with a guilty smile

❀ he might not admit it, but he loves your laugh and your snort. it felt so pure and untouched by the grim realities of life. he liked how happy it sounded.

❀ he'll secretly overexaggerate his lack of understanding a joke, taking things in a literal sense even if he knows what you mean. he also tries out some dad jokes on you, of which are so bad you can't help but snort

Toji Fushiguro

❀ he was probably insulting someone or saying something so awful you can't help but snort. he'd look over at you with surprise before he gave you a shit eating grin

❀ "hm? what a pretty noise, i wonder what others you could make..." yeah he's a shameless flirt, literally not caring if you know how much he wants you. toji is confident in himself.

❀ he adores your snort, wishing he could always and only be the one to make you feel happy. maybe he'll make more comments that you would find funny, just in hopes to be the one to put that pretty smile on your face

Choso Kamo

❀ he has zero clue what he did to make you snort, he had just been trying to ask a question about some balls? what was so funny about the toy?

❀ he very bluntly asks you, "what did i say that was funny? I wanna hear you make that noise again." He gave you a smile, brown eyes twinkling.

❀ that would practically just erase any insecurities, with how genuine his enjoyment in your little snort was. and anyway now you were more focused in having to explain to choso the misfortune of having a dirty mind.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

i've seen your degeneracy. i know nothing can top that. which is why i will proudly present something that you MUST write, because i know you desire it too.

AK-15'S ABS.

(GFL) Touching AK-15's abs

I mean you're right, but to quote Elizabeth Rose Bloodflame: "...Mods, unbirth that guy!"

Before we begin, I just need ya'll to see her concept art.

The things I want this gorilla of a woman to do to me. ANYWAYS, now onto the imagine.

====

15 will just simply stare at you upon being asked. You're almost half expecting her to say no aggressively or ask why, instead-

(AK-15) "...You may touch them. There is nothing special about them, however."

Upon gaining her permission, your hand brushes against her stomach, taking note of how rock solid it feels.

Yes, she is a T-Doll, but you knew they had synthetic skin that felt natural like every other human, 15's hands and face being a key sign to that.

So that only adds to your fascination when you realize just how strong her abs actually are. If she were actually human, then you'd have no doubt that 15 would easily have a six pack.

As you're taking mental notes, 15 is quietly staring at you.

Fidgeting under her intense gaze, she just asks you a question:

(AK-15) "Why do you feel the need to touch my abs?"

Your answer was simple. You wanted to see how they felt. Especially since her uniform has it out on display all the time.

(AK-15) "I see."

Her emotions (as usual) was a little hard to read. You couldn't tell if she disapproved of your curiosity, or was simply neutral to the situation.

You thought it was the ladder, until her own hands reach for your own stomach.

Which of course, was far less strong than her own, given her T-Doll physique.

(AK-15) "...I understand why you asked to touch mine."

...Now that you thought about it, T-Dolls were designed from the ground up, meaning that 15's original designer intentionally gave her a nice looking midriff.

Not that you were exactly complaining about it right this second, but why did people design a killer android to look this hot?

Sure there were psychological factors that played into it, (doubly so since it worked on you thinking that 15 was hot, and she was), but 90% of the time she's going up against other Dolls or machines.

(AK-15) "...Is there a reason your hand has stopped?"

Snapping you out of your thoughts, your eyes drift to where your hand currently was.

Which was situated firmly right below her chest-

And which you promptly yanked your hand back and thanked her for allowing you to touch those sweet abs.

15 silently nodded at you.

(AK-15) "...If you wish to do so again, then feel free, S/O."

Well, at least she didn't rip your arm off like you expected her to.

And now you were probably going to be thinking about her abs for the rest of the night.

[utilitycaster]

Following on the last answer you gave about Laura/Ashley.

What I'm stuck on is that this fear of making a mistake is not a new thing? They've been like this for all of this campaign, note Ashley not wanting to take the shard, Laura's constant fear of letting Imogen's mom stay on the moon, etc. And to a degree, I get it! Exandria is a pretty expensive and important source material - there's an Amazon series!!! - and it's scary to make any huge decisions in it. Additionally, I understand the feeling that there's something specific that the DM wants and you're just not getting it. But I keep wondering, how hard is it for Matt to sit them down and be like. Fuck around man, it's fine! (Or even the opposite! Give them some railroads, they're all over the place!) You know? It just feels to me that Matt can solve so many of these problems outside the stream with a quick convo and I'm so confused why that's not happening.

(I didn't watch this episode completely because the discussion at the end was giving me a very bad case of secondhand embarrassment due to how stupid it was. So if this happened and I missed it, feel free to ignore this.)

Yeah that is where I am at, and this is the MOST speculative I will get to the point that I'm making it nonrebloggable but my personal guess is that like. I watched a LOT of interviews at the start of C2, as a new viewer who was looking for more stuff (which...ultimately just resulted in a C1 binge) and the cast was at the time very cognizant of wanting to prove C1 wasn't a fluke and that they could tell another great story in the world with new characters. But they also prepped EXTENSIVELY for it; and also, in this case, I think a lot of the world was in a somewhat more nebulous state (ie, I think Matt probably had the concept of an ancient archmage plotting to release a god-eater possibly that far back...but I think Liam's concept for Caleb very much influenced the nature of the Assembly and gave Matt a place to put proto-Ludinus).

I think that with two campaigns under their belt, I don't want to say they rested on their laurels, because as I've said repeatedly the caliber of the vast majority of other things they've put out has remained high. But I think that because Campaigns 1 and 2 came together so well Matt might not have realized that Campaign 3, and his fairly specific intended plot, required more work and different work. Like, it required the level of planning and railroading you see for dimension 20 seasons. Campaign 2 could meander and focus on characters because the main goal it needed to achieve in a presumably 3 campaign story was worldbuilding, and I wonder if the fact that it diverged almost entirely from Matt's vision and still came out great obfuscated the fact that this wouldn't work for C3. Campaign 3 really needed to have realized and invested characters right out the gate with knowledge of the world. Like, I think it could have been solved with a conversation but I also think that there's been some sufficient "wtf" choices (bringing in Abu as the Arch Heart without any specific guidelines is one that comes to mind) that I wonder if the cast has entirely internalized how much this doesn't cohere narratively. And also, to be fair, I've played in D&D campaigns that didn't have a great plot or really any at all but I was having enough fun hanging out with my friends that I didn't really care, and since we weren't being filmed it didn't matter. It's a lot easier to see this stuff from the outside, is my thought. I don't think it's hard in terms of time and effort, but also, I know I kept thinking "oh HERE'S the course correction, finally!" pretty much up until the last ten or so episodes. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept thinking "surely this will pull together."

[wrenaspun]

Capri prompt: write us some porn. (Spanking, perhaps?)

A simple request, one would think! And yet, uh, this is not very porny and only alludes to spanking. Sorry anon... their hopeless vanilla nature came through too strongly. I AM going to try and get another fill out with more porn than this for you -

Laurent was very relaxed and his defences, his usual iron self-restraint, were reliably nonexistent after Damen had wrung a single orgasm from him, let alone three. He blamed this comfortable atmosphere for the fact that he asked, “How do you discipline slaves?” and then, seeing the familiar obstructive look on Damen’s face, amended the question: “How did you discipline slaves, when you had them?”

Damen calmed and considered this. Laurent stroked his fingers through dark curls, marvelling at their loveliness. “I didn’t really… I suppose I would tell them they had done poorly, if I thought so.”

Laurent looked at him incredulously. Damen offered, “I might speak to the trainer?”

Laurent said, “Damen.”

Damen was laughing at him. “Laurent. It would hardly be their own fault! That was the whole — that’s why we’re abolishing — why are you even asking this?”

Laurent, who had not even considered that the conversation might take this turn, found himself blank of any answer. “I,” he said, then shut his mouth.

Damen, who knew him far too well, was grinning up at him impudently. “Did you want me to be your unruly, impossible slave? I’m not opposed.”

“Of course you’re not,” Laurent muttered, feeling the flush creeping over his face, “you never are.”

“You could speak very sternly to someone about my behaviour while I weep piteously in the corner,” said Damen. He was battling valiantly with a smile which wanted to emerge at the corner of his mouth. As Laurent watched, the smile won. The room brightened.

“You couldn’t weep piteously if your life depended on it,” he managed.

“Well,” said Damen. “I could try.” And then: “Perhaps if you gave me five minutes alone beforehand, with an onion —”

Laurent pushed Damen off his lap and marched from the bed, pouring himself an unnecessary glass of water to the sound of Damen’s protests.

“But really, tell me,” said Damen, having rolled onto his stomach, now watching Laurent’s progress through the room with warm eyes. “What were you thinking about to ask that?” His brown eyes were so gorgeous in the candlelight, warm and wide. Laurent’s skin felt shivery and bright, ecstatic to be looked at. He couldn’t talk. Damen took mercy on him and asked, “How do Veretians punish their pets?”

“Many ways,” said Laurent. “It depends on the employer. I — spanking. Caning.” He did not say whipping. “Chastity. Humiliation. It’s not all — I mean, some pets act out deliberately to provoke it. For fun. The only real punishment is to terminate the contract. Theoretically.” While the monetary incentive was there, plenty of pets would put up with activity they didn’t enjoy and didn’t want. It was a problem they were still trying to find a solution for.

Damen was watching him carefully. Laurent regretted getting out of bed: everything was easier to talk about when he had Damen by his side, within touching distance, but it felt somehow strange to go to him now, the timing awkward.

“Did you want,” Damen said; his tone said much more, “to try any of that?”

Laurent bit his lip. It was his own fault, he acknowledged, for starting this conversation with an imprecision to his language which left his ultimate meaning ambiguous. He’d thought Damen would appreciate that; Akielons were so fond of leaving every part of their bedplay to allusion. He had seen Makedon call for the recitation of a poem the other day about flowers that had had every grown man in the hall blushing.

“I was thinking,” pushing the words out, “you might want it the other way around,” he said. “To do to me.”

“Well, not while you look like that talking about it,” said Damen. “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”

Laurent did, too relieved even to feel self-conscious. Damen made a small noise as he tucked their bodies together again, and Laurent realised that the evening air was cool, that his body had grown chilled while they spoke.

“It’s not like that,” he said to the sheets. “Whatever I — looked like — it wasn’t because —”

Damen hummed easily when the words fell away, his body a lovely warm reassurance beside Laurent’s. It was impossible to be truly nervous in bed together, with the blankets drawn snugly over them, sharing body heat. “Why wouldn’t you want to do that to me?”

Laurent looked up at him disbelievingly. And then, when this did not seem to yield understanding, said, “I think I’ve done enough to you for one lifetime.”

Damen blinked down at him and rubbed one hand along Laurent’s tight spine. “I thought this was meant to be for fun.”

“Even in fun,” said Laurent. And then, “Don’t talk. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Damen promised obligingly. And then he kissed Laurent so sweetly that it was impossible not to arch up into it, to press their bodies together as close as they would go, and then even closer, leaving words behind them.

[yumethefrostypanda]

what are your thoughts on Ghost smoking?

Hello I don't think Ghost smoke cigarettes.

I thought he did smoke for a while because of one of the (og Ghost) comic covers you see him with a cigarette. But I don't recall seeing him smoking in the comics or the og game.

Now for reboot Ghost it's kinda confirmed for me. On the last mission in MWIII where Gaz is seen smoking and Soap asks him for a light(er), you hear Ghost saying over comms "Smoking Johnny?" Where Soap answer with it is to blend in, Ghost responds with "If you say so." This and the way he said it gave me the feeling that Ghost is somewhat opposed to smoking. And I didn't see one cigarette close to Ghost in MW reboot. Plus there was this blog post from Activision Blizzard about Ghost with:

Soo yeah, looks like a non-smoker to me.

Thank you for asking my thoughts!

[aleniaaa]

"I thought about this before" bsf!Rafe x kook!reader part three

summary: Party at Tannyhill where things get kinda messy, and the reader starts questioning her friendship with Rafe. There’s this weird tension, and now she's stuck wondering if something more is going on or if it’s all in her head.

a/n: heyy guys part three is here let me know whatcha think :**(kisses on y'all's foreheads)

read for context: part one, part two, part four

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

The next day, as I was lying in bed, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Rafe.

Rafe: "Hey, y/n. Come to the party at Tannyhill tomorrow. You gotta be there."

I stared at the message, my stomach flipping. He didn’t even ask, just assumed I’d come. That was so like Rafe—direct, confident, and frustratingly persuasive.

Me: "What party?"

Rafe: "Just a few people. Nothing crazy, I promise. Don’t make me beg."

I sighed. I knew how these “small” gatherings turned out—wild, chaotic, and usually ending with Rafe in some kind of trouble. But there was something in his tone, even through text, that made it hard to say no. Against my better judgment, I agreed.

The next evening, I pulled up to Tannyhill, already feeling a sense of dread. What if this was a mistake? What if tonight changed things between us? Shaking off the thought, I stepped out of my car and walked toward the house.

Music spilled out onto the lawn, and I could see groups of people laughing and drinking. I spotted Rafe immediately. He was leaning against the railing, beer in hand, looking effortlessly charming as always. When his eyes met mine, his grin widened.

"Well, look who finally showed up," he called out, striding over.

"You made it sound like I didn’t have a choice," I said, folding my arms.

"You didn’t," he teased, grabbing my hand to lead me inside. The warmth of his touch lingered longer than it should have.

A couple of hours passed, and someone suggested playing truth or dare. I hesitated, sitting back and watching everyone else jump at the chance. It felt risky—too many opportunities for things to go wrong.

But before I could slip away, Topper grinned at me. "Y/n, truth or dare?"

The room’s attention shifted to me, and I felt trapped. "Uh… dare," I said reluctantly, not wanting to spill anything personal.

Topper’s grin widened. "I dare you to sit on Rafe’s lap until your next turn."

My stomach dropped as the group erupted in laughter. My eyes darted to Rafe, who was smirking like he’d won some secret game.

"Come on, y/n. Rules are rules," he said, patting his lap.

I hesitated, my heart racing. Sitting on his lap felt… too intimate. Too dangerous. But with everyone watching, I couldn’t back out. Reluctantly, I moved over and sat down, stiff as a board.

Rafe’s arm wrapped casually around my waist, sending an electric jolt through me.

As the game continued, I couldn’t focus on anything but the weight of his arm and the way his fingers lightly brushed my side. Did he even realize what he was doing? I reminded myself it didn’t mean anything—it couldn’t mean anything.

Then it was Rafe’s turn.

"Truth or dare?" someone asked.

"Dare," he said without hesitation, his voice full of confidence.

A girl in the group smirked. "I dare you to kiss y/n."

The room exploded with cheers and laughter. My face went hot as I froze, my mind racing. Was this some kind of joke?

Rafe turned to me, his expression unreadable. "You okay with this?" he whispered, his voice softer than I expected.

I didn’t know how to answer. What if this kiss changed everything? What if it ruined our friendship? But with everyone watching, I gave a small, hesitant nod.

Rafe leaned in, his hand tilting my chin up. The moment his lips met mine, the world seemed to fall away. It was soft at first, almost cautious, but then he deepened the kiss, his hand moving to the back of my neck.

I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve stopped him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The cheers around us faded into the background as the kiss lingered. Longer than it should have. Longer than it was supposed to. My hands gripped his shirt, my mind screaming at me to stop, but my body refused to listen.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathless, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. The room had gone quiet, all eyes on us, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at anyone else.

"Well, that’s one way to win a dare," Topper said, laughing awkwardly. The group joined in, and the tension broke, but I was still reeling.

Rafe’s arm stayed around my waist, holding me close as if he wasn’t ready to let me go. I stayed on his lap, unsure of what else to do. My thoughts were a mess, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’d crossed some invisible line.

Eventually, the game fizzled out, and people began to leave. I got up quickly, mumbling an excuse about needing fresh air. My heart was racing, and I needed to clear my head. The kiss had felt so real, so charged, but Rafe had acted like it was nothing.

Stepping out onto the patio, I leaned against the railing, the cool night air doing little to settle the storm inside me. What had that kiss meant? To him, to me? I couldn’t figure it out.

A few minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned slightly and saw Rafe. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his usual smirk firmly in place.

"Hey," he said, his voice calm and light, as if we hadn’t just crossed a line I couldn’t stop thinking about.

"Hey," I replied, trying to sound just as unaffected, though my voice wavered slightly.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking out at the dark yard. "That game got out of hand, huh?"

I blinked, taken aback. That was it? That’s all he had to say? "Yeah… I guess," I said, forcing a small laugh that didn’t reach my eyes.

"Top always knows how to stir the pot," he added, shaking his head with a chuckle.

I waited, hoping he’d say something more—something about the kiss. But he didn’t. He just stood there, completely at ease, as if the whole thing had been a joke to him.

"So…" I started, trying to gauge his thoughts. "About that dare—"

"Don’t even worry about it," he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Just some dumb party game. You know how these things go."

Dumb party game? My chest tightened at his words. That’s all it was to him? I wanted to press him, to ask if it had meant anything, but the casual tone in his voice stopped me.

"Right," I said quietly, looking down at my hands. "Dumb party game."

"Exactly," he said, flashing me an easy smile. "No big deal."

I nodded, but my mind was spinning. No big deal? Then why did it feel like such a big deal to me?

"Anyway, I’m gonna head back inside. You good out here?" he asked, already turning to leave.

"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile. "I’m fine."

"Cool. See you later, y/n," he said, disappearing back inside without a second glance.

I stayed outside long after he left, the night air growing colder as my thoughts spiraled. Why had I expected anything different? Rafe was always confident, always smooth, always in control. To him, the kiss had probably been just another moment in a game, a fleeting, meaningless gesture.

But to me, it had been more. I couldn’t shake the feeling of his lips on mine or the way my heart had raced when he pulled me closer. Had I imagined the way he’d held me, the way he’d kissed me like it meant something?

Shaking my head, I tried to push the thoughts away. I couldn’t let myself get caught up in this. If Rafe wanted to pretend nothing had happened, maybe I should do the same.

But as I drove home later that night, his words echoed in my head. "No big deal."

Then why did it feel like everything was different now?

What would you do in this situation? lmk in the comments :**

[passionatelyxlust]

Lust could not help thinking in any other circumstance, he would find the corporeal realm a fascination that needed every corner and crevice explored just to understand the inner machinations of what breathed life into it. Walking through anything and everything, unseen and possessing freedom no one can explain. Knowing what he knew now about Azriel's past, on the other hand, reminded the prince that some universes beyond comprehension were far more dangerous than the simple playground someone would expect for a dream witch like Azriel. Underestimating and disobeying the general laws nature intended is what killed the man's younger brother, so even Lust can heed on the side of caution watching where he stepped in a world he had no business being in. "Oh, that's just...great. I wasn't sure how powerful they would be on that end, but flying sounds exciting " Lust turned his hands every which way as a distraction from the queasiness, looking up in time to watch the other prince return at his side. "There isn't a second where I haven't thought about my brother." As Azriel grabbed for his hand again and led him through the door, the demon's thoughts filled the confines of his mind with nothing but Gluttony. The happy memories, the times they sought comfort in each other when the other princes scoffed at their relationship. The smooth-talking Gluttony who cracked jokes and defended him at every turn from their brothers. He didn't notice the unusual steps they were taking, the speed, just spending the moment thinking about the one person that he missed more than anyone from his fractured family. Lust's gaze immediately fell upon the mansion's interior as soon as they entered, the familiar marble columns and ornate chandelier hanging above their heads in the main entrance welcoming the pair, but this was not the home he left behind. "What the hell is Kai doing here?" Lust mumbled distractedly, attention more on the catastrophe left by whatever tornado swept through the place. "This isn't how I left it, Az, Jo never would've let the house fall into such disrepair. I don't understand..." He couldn't bring himself to dwell on it for too long, instead opting the other lead them, floating practically, to Gluttony's bedroom.

The second his gaze absorbed the same chaos that had been left throughout the mansion, Lust knew in his heart that this was his fault. Something very extreme happened in his absence, enough that it sent Gluttony and Josephine off kilter, something like the King. Of course, maybe he came looking for information where Lust was hiding Azriel and his brother never gave him a satisfactory answer. The sight slammed into the demon with a gut punch that sent his eyes nearly watering. From the notebooks and the discarded papers, to his brother's tossed away crown and the dagger dug into the desk's wood surface that no prince would ever have laying around out in the open unless they valued their life, nothing prepared Lust than the sight of his two best friends huddled together in an embrace. "I've never seen him like this before." The man whispered sadly, moving over to Josephine's side of the bed and reaching over a hand to brush his fingers against her cheek. It went right through the succubus and Jo stirred, but she didn't awaken either herself or the prince. "If I knew what would happen if I left-" He still would've made the same choice to protect his Prince, but at least he potentially could have taken his family along. "He's in pain, I can feel it." Lust moved around the bed, eyes never leaving Gluttony. Mourning whatever consequence befell his brother and hoping he wouldn't resent him for it. "I won't release your hand, I promise." The prince reached forward and clasped Azriel's hand, giving it a squeeze, "Just take me to my brother. I need to know what happened."

Azriel watched Lust take in his surroundings warily, not out of fear for himself, no. It's because he knew how alarming it could be for the first time—remembering what it was like to slip into the astral plane himself as a small child, though back then, it was a fantastical world free from perils. The witch now knew what it was: a deadly world of destruction, his own or otherwise if he wasn't careful. He'd brought many people to their early graves in this realm with ease and zero hesitation. He tried to see it through the Prince's eyes, and he knew it looked like something straight from Alice in Wonderland. "This was the easy part, unfortunately," Azriel replied, moving towards the farmhouse door he'd left open in the corporeal world. He wasn't even sure if he could leave and didn't know how far the barrier to keep him in went. Az paused briefly, unsure, before lifting a hand to push through the threshold and walking his entire form through. "Looks like the wards don't keep me strapped in this dimension. That's good," the witch mused as he crossed back to where he'd left Lust. "The fastest way to your brother is to think of him and step through the door. Next time we have time, I'll take you flying," the witch promised before taking Lust's hand in his and guiding him to the door. In this dimension, Azriel was connected to all dreaming beings– feeling the pull of their minds beckoning him like a siphon to his astral body. Initially, it used to be too much for him to feel, which was why he sought solace in his brother's dreams. Safer. Now, locating people the moment they dreamed was easy for him. It was late in the night already, so he figured that the Prince they were locating was in the mansion that Lust resided at previously. Like a homing beacon, the witch latched onto Gluttony's familiar magical signal and guided the two through the threshold. Space and time moved through the astral dimension, the steps the duo took feeling more like a moving walkway in an airport; propelling the two until they pushed through the doorway leading into the mansion. Azriel's eyes opened to take the space around them. The mansion looked the same as it did in the waking world, only cast with a different hue and it was... trashed. It was not like there was a fight, but as if no one cleaned up after themselves for ages. That wasn't the only thing that threw him off; there were four dreaming entities, and one felt like his brother. "Weird," Azriel stated with furrowed brows before turning to the Prince he'd carried with him, "Kai's here." Shaking his head, he pointed his gaze towards where he knew the Prince of Gluttony resided, and he could instantly feel a strong emotion pulsing; it left a taste of despair on his tongue, dreams so poignant that it leaked out of of the Prince and leeched into the plane around him. "C'mon, I can feel your brother and it's not... good." The duo didn't need to walk when Azriel was leading. Most of the time that Azriel was in the astral plane, his feet never touched the ground. However, that takes years of practice to control and the last thing they needed was for Lust to propel into the stratosphere like a helium balloon. Instead, he held Lust's hand tight and moved the duo up from the ground floor to the second-floor wing of the mansion like they were in zero gravity before pushing into Gluttony's room.

It was like he had feared. Something had happened and whatever it was, it was causing a nightmare to come off of Gluttony in waves. The two of them stood in the oppulent bedroom, and it reflected much of what he'd seen when the two made it to the mansion in the first place. Clothes strewn, notebooks littering the floor, loose leafs of paper crumpled and tossed in every direction. Glutton's crown, or what he assumed belong to the Prince, on the floor at the foot of his bed and a curious looking dagger that seemed to even glow within his realm sticking out at an odd angle in his desk as if stabbed into the surface in anger. Looking at the source of the despair, the dreams he could taste even so far away, Gluttony laid in a near fetal position with the blankets and sheets tangling his limbs tightly. The succubus that Az had come to know in passing pressed against the Prince's back with arms wrapped tight in his middle and her forehead pressed against his spine. "They're both having nightmares," the witch murmured, dropping Lust's hand briefly to walk closer to the bed and crouching; observing the dynamic between the sleeping duo. Black, wispy clouds of energy radiated off of the two, however the aura around the Prince was stronger; more palpable. Deep inky tendrils wrapping around him tightly, drowning him. Azriel waved a hand closer to the energy causing the tendrils to reach out towards him like a sunflower following the sun. "I haven't seen dreams this strong in a long time. I'll have to dispel the energy once we get inside his head." Holding a hand to Lust, he nodded towards Gluttony, "once we get into his mind, don't let go of my hand until I say it's okay. One wrong move can spell badly for all three of us."