#but this is whats on my mind this morning

[luveline]

hey babe can I request Hotch with a reader girlfriend who’s desperately shy? early seasons hotch please when he’s still smiley (maybe still has Jack tho), i would love to see how he treats a long term girlfriend in your eyes one who he’s just completely gone for 

fem, 0.9k

You should know better than to come to work without venturing up to Aaron’s private office, but you’re late coming in and there’s a ton of stuff to do and he’s supposed to pretend that he cares when you turn in your work late. You log in and start going through things slowly. There are a few emails to respond to, some queries, a consult request Aaron himself has forwarded with a note —your expertise is required. 

You wiggle your mouse to wake the screen. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten stuck until it was dark. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” someone murmurs, tipping your head back to kiss your cheek, “where have you been?” 

He speaks quietly, no one else can hear him, but he enthuses his tone with so much love that you can’t decide between laughter or tears. You turn breathless instead, a thumb against your throat as Aaron’s loving questioning continues, “I thought we talked about this, hmm? You coming up to see me? How else am I supposed to know that you’re here?” 

There’s no Emily sitting at the desk opposite yours. No Spencer adjacent, no Derek to the right. It explains why he’s butter soft, but not his worry. 

“I was nearly late. I’m sorry.” 

He starts to kiss you gently, quietly, his lips tracking over the side of your cheek and pressing in as he goes until his nose is against your temple. “Don’t be sorry, I just wanted to see you.” He holds you to him. “I missed you.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, wishing you were brave enough to tack handsome, or love on the end. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I thought maybe you were still stressed about Emily.” 

Aaron pulls away, giving you your first proper look at him that morning. He’s as handsome as ever. It makes your chest spike with anxiety. You worry all the time that you’ll lose him; the thought that he might realise all the things you’re missing and break things off is a constant at the back of your mind. It only ever goes quiet when he’s kissing you. “Prentiss has done well so far,” he says. “I’m not happy to have things rearranged above my head, but I have no problem with Emily. Now, how was your morning?” 

“It was fine.” 

“I want to know. Breakfast?” 

“Yeah, oatmeal.” 

He grins. “Me too.” 

Nobody would ever believe that this is your boyfriend when he’s commanding a room during a profile, or apprehending an UnSub with his impassive, furrowed brow. You assumed it was the honeymoon phase at first. It’s not like his affection makes much sense, but if he’s not stressed, it just means he loves you, which is nice. You hold the back of your hand to his cheek, laughing in a shock when he turns his face and traps it between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“No more late mornings,” he says decisively. 

“I wasn’t technically late. I wasn’t early enough to come up to see you, is all. Are you upset I didn’t bring you your coffee?” 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, smiling as he kisses your wrist, before straightening. You let your hand fall and he catches it on the way down. 

“I don’t know. You’re much too touchy. I’m trying to deduce why, but…” 

“Profile me,” Aaron says. He gives your hand a squeeze. “You know how to do it, honey. Figure out my motive from my past behaviours.” 

Aaron’s only ever this sweet on you when you’re in his bed. Well, ‘only ever’ is harsh, but he’s never not sweet on you in the afterglow. And that’s because intimacy is a constant reminder of how close you really are to one another, why he loves you, and why you love him. So perhaps he’s being sweet on you because you’ve reminded him how loved he is? But it doesn’t make much sense. You forgot his coffee.

Your stomach goes warm. “Oh. Oh,” you say, “I called you last night.” 

“You did.” 

“I was tired.” 

“But you were beautiful,” he says, and what does that mean? It’s not as though he could see your face. “I can’t remember the last time you were like that. Not since we were in Helena.”

You can’t remember it clearly. Threads of what you’d said come back to you slowly. Love you, my sweetheart, my Aaron. Can you come over? I know it’s late, I need to see you. You were too tired to function, let alone call someone, and yet. 

Your face is on fire. 

“Sorry I couldn’t come over, honey,” he says, chucking you under the chin with a curled finger. “I would’ve, I promise, but I had Jack until we swapped this morning.”

You go hot all over. “No, I know. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have called you–”

“Who says you can’t call me?” 

“Nobody, but I shouldn’t have.”

“You can call me anytime you want.” He tips your chin up. “Quick, Spencer’ll have finished what I asked him to do soon. Can I kiss you?” 

“I forgot it was your day for Jack–”

He takes your face into his hand. “Doesn’t matter, honey. Kiss?” 

You close your eyes and lift your chin. Ever your prince, Aaron squeezes your cheek gently and leans in to kiss you, far warmer than you’re expecting, his thumb rubbing over your cheek with a reverence he couldn't fake if he wanted to. 

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (3)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: this is fully unedited. sorry yall and let’s hope for no typos. I’ll make a masterlist for this series soon :)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: slightest bit of sexual tension. an almost kiss.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

please leave a comment/reblog and let me know what you think!

***

Ring, ring, ring.

“No. Absolutely not.” 

Ring, ring, ring.

You pick up your phone without bothering to sit upright and hold it to your ear. Your cat, Pochi, pushes her head against your shoulder when you move.

“What.” 

“Good morning to you too. I see you’re up early!” 

Sunghoon’s voice echoes from the other side of the telephone and he sounds like he’s been awake for quite some time. It’s a curse that he’s the type of person who can handle late nights and early mornings. It means you have to be on your toes to catch him when he needs you, but it’s the goddamn weekend, for crying out loud. 

“It’s seven in the morning on a Saturday. What could you possibly need me for?” 

“I thought you’d be up by now.”

“On a Saturday?” You can almost picture his nonchalant shrug. 

“Dunno. You usually get to the office before I get there.”

“That’s because I’m working. It’s my day off, Sunghoon. I’d like to sleep since I don’t get the chance to do so otherwise.” 

“Your voice does sound a little brittle.” 

You squeeze your palms into fists. “Is there a reason you’re calling me or can I hang up now?” 

“You’re my favorite assistant. You know that, right? I don’t know where I’d be without you and I’m so grateful that you have a good head on your shoulders.” 

“I’m suspicious. Get to the point and stop buttering me up.” 

He laughs. “Okay, you got me. I need you to create a last minute deck before my meeting with Jongseong at 4.”

“Sunghoon.” 

“I know, I know. I’m asking the impossible here, but Jongseong and I are trying to see if this next business opportunity is worth his time. One of our clients seems like a better fit for him and I want to argue the best case possible.” 

A beat passes. 

“I do think you’re an incredible assistant, though. I wasn’t lying about that.” 

You sigh and make sure he can hear it. “You owe me. I’m sacrificing a peaceful Saturday morning making a presentation for Jongseong.”

“You’re making it for me, actually.” 

“No, I’m making it for Jongseong. He doesn’t call me at an ungodly hour.”

“Are you saying Jongseong calls you? 

You laugh. “That’s not what I’m saying at all, but you and I both know you won’t change your mind once you’ve already thought of something.”

“Touché.” 

As you pull yourself from underneath the covers with Pochi making it known that she isn’t happy about it, you balance your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “Is this something I’m needed for, or can I send you the deck via email?” 

“Would you be mad at me if I asked you to accompany me to lunch?” 

“Yeah. I could’ve had plans.”

“But you don’t, though.” 

“Tsk. No need to rub it in that I don’t have a life.” You pull a few items from your wardrobe and attempt to put together an outfit that’s appropriate for a business meeting. Most of your work clothes are in the hamper, so you try to make do with a pair of dark brown trousers and a nice blouse. 

“No need to be super formal today, okay?” Sunghoon says. “It’s just us and Jongseong. Although, his ass is probably gonna come dressed like he came back from golfing with a polo shirt and khakis.”

“You’re no better. You’ll probably try to one-up him and wear a three piece suit,” you retort, pulling out a long skirt and a semi-casual top and putting it on top of your unmade bed. This seems appropriate enough. 

“I won’t this time. I promise.”

“How do I know you’ll keep it?” 

“Because I asked you to work early on a Saturday morning and I might never get the chance to bother you after you leave.” You nearly choke. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you tell him immediately, pretending like you didn’t hear an ounce of sincerity in his voice. “Totally fine.” 

“You don’t sound fine.” 

“What are you, my doctor?”

“No, just the guy you’ve spent nearly everyday with for the past six years. I’d like to think I know you well, even if I can’t see you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know you better than you know me, though.”

Sunghoon hums. “Maybe. But I know you love Japanese and good quality fish.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“When this meeting’s done, I’ll take you to Hakusi and treat you to a really nice dinner when we’re done with Jongseong.” 

“Don’t play with me, Park.”

“Getting bold with my surname, are we?” 

“You called me to make you a deck on a Saturday. Don’t test me.” 

He laughs. “I like it when you’re feisty.” You try to ignore the heat creeping onto your cheeks. 

“Hakusi is notorious for limited reservations. I don’t know how you’re going to swing that.” 

“This is the one and only time I’m ever going to use this card with you,” he says. “Don’t you know I’m Park Sunghoon?” 

“Okay, Mr. Hot Shot.” 

“Can’t be mad at the truth, love.” 

You bite your lip and close your eyes. “I supposed I can’t.”

“Don’t worry about making any reservations.”

“It’s my job to make reservations on your behalf. You know, the job you pay me for?“

“Not tonight.” 

He speaks with a certain tone you’ve heard him use when he’s certain. There’s a finality to it, ending the sentence with the clear distinction that he’s made his decision instead of leaving the door open for your opinion. It frustrates you to no end during the workweek, but an invisible weight lifts from your shoulders at the idea that Sunghoon will handle reservations for once. 

“Alright…Thanks, Sunghoon.”

He chuckles. “You sound like you don’t trust me to handle something as simple as a reservation.” 

“On the contrary. It’s kind of nice to have my boss do my job, for once.” 

“I was an assistant too, you know. Way back in the day.” 

“Do you think Jongseong will let me see pictures of you from back then?”

“I’m hanging up now.” 

You snicker when you hear the line end. Sunghoon is many things. He’s bold, intelligent, and confident. You’ve witnessed him stare down dozens of men for hours on end to get what he wants for his clients, and you’ve seen him deliver harsh truths to entrepreneurs who don’t have what it takes to be in business withPark Inc. This side of him, the one where he willingly initiates plans for you and takes on the responsibility of organizing the fine details, is not something you’re accustomed to. 

Sunghoon knows the finer things in life and isn’t bothered with pesky details you see on a day-to-day basis. He can be cunning and mischievous, but he knows when to reign it in. He’s unlike any person you’ve worked for in the past. Sunghoon trusts you and he trusts your instincts when it comes to his work. It feels nice to have that unspoken bond with him, and remembering how far you’ve come reminds you that there has always been more to life than worrying about the number of emails that are currently sitting in your inbox. 

He’s never taken the initiative to do something for you to this caliber. Like the generous boss Sunghoon is, he’s sent money to your Venmo on the occasions where he’s acknowledged the hard work you put in (closing big deals, handling ongoing projects, and when your birthday or holidays come around). He speaks highly of you when your name is mentioned in conversation, so much so that you hear about it from his colleagues and other individuals who have a more important standing in the company than you do. Sunghoon is fair and equal, and he believes in giving people a fighting chance if he thinks they deserve it. 

Part of you wonders if you rely on his validation too much. It’s nice to preen under his handsome gaze and relish in a job well done, but lately, you’ve caught yourself basking in that light much longer than before. Sunghoon’s deep, honey voice replays in your head over and over again when he says a mere “thank you.” You daydream about working alongside him for the long run and what your career might look like should you stay with him beyond this fiscal year. It’s rewarding to see things tangibly finished and your years with Sunghoon have certainly proved your capabilities, but a part of you wonders if there’s more to life than being his personal assistant. 

These thoughts follow you as you prepare for the day, brushing your teeth and taking a hot shower to relax your muscles before inevitably spending a few hours hunched over your desk. This deck isn’t going to form on its own.

Pochi sits on the edge of your bed and swishes her tail, effectively making the decision that making your bed will not be on today’s agenda. 

***

You find yourself with your work bag in tow. Sunghoon sent you the location of the hotel bar he and Jongseong would be meeting at, and you sent him a copy of the deck. He never explicitly said you needed to bring your laptop with you, but you figure there’s nothing worse than coming unprepared, even if you’re on a first name basis with Jongseong. 

The two of them are already together before you arrive. You check your watch to see that you aren’t late, and that you’re early by fifteen minutes. Jongseong has a pension for being incredibly early to everything unless stated that it’s social etiquette to be a little later than the designated start time. You figure Sunghoon wants to make a good impression to really sell this client to his friend. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t the best assistant in the entire universe.” 

“You do too much,” you mutter, bowing at the two of them before Sunghoon pulls out a chair for you. It’s a nice bar tucked away from the main lobby. It’s Sunghoon’s favorite spot for casual meetings because of how quiet it is, and the ambiance saunters somewhere between elegant and casual. 

“Thanks for coming to see me on a Saturday, and sorry for dragging you out on a weekend,” Jongseong says as he gives you a quick hug. 

“It’s not a problem.” 

Sunghoon raises his eyebrow. “Yet when I called you this morning, you made it seem like I was being banished to Hell.”

“You had the audacity to call me to work. Not Jongseong.” 

“Yeah, Hoon,” Jongseong smirks. “Get your facts straight.” 

“Great. My best friend and favorite assistant are ganging up on me.”

“I’m your only assistant?” 

“Still my favorite.” 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Jongseong asks as he gestures to the bar. “I’ll put it on my tab.”

“White wine of your choice. I trust your selections.” 

He smiles. “I’ll be right back.” 

When Jongseong walks to the bar, Sunghoon watches you pull out your laptop and turn it back on. You feel him staring at your side and he doesn’t look away when you look back at him. 

“Can I help you?” 

“No,” Sunghoon says with an easy smile. “Thanks for coming in. I, err, guess we could’ve done this last week, but it slipped my mind until the client emailed me last night and I knew Jongseong had some time today.” 

You sigh. “It’s fine. I’m already here, aren’t I?” 

“I mean it when I said I owe you a big one. You’ve done so much for me and it’s only fair that I repay you.”

“You’re my boss, Sunghoon. It’s in my job description to cater to your every need.”

He pouts. “Yeah, but when you put it like that, you make it sound like you’re my slave.” 

“Of sorts.” 

“Let me treat my favorite assistant to dinner, yeah? We can get drunk off of yummy cocktails and you don’t have to schmooze your way into people’s inboxes. I promise you’ll have a good time. No work talk until Monday.”

“No work talk, hm? Sounds like a great way to end my Saturday.” 

“The bill’s on me, too. No need to worry about how much you’re spending tonight.” 

“You sure know how to charm them,” you mutter as you open the correct file. 

“Them?”

“Women, men, everyone.” You say it absentmindedly. “Is it always that easy to get people to do what you want?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You barely have to look in people’s direction and yet people are always drawn to you. It’s like you’re some sort of magnet, or something.” 

“I could say the same thing about you. People always know where to find you.”

“That’s because they all want to do business with you, Sunghoon. It’s never about me, really. Nobody strikes up a conversation with me because they find me interesting. It’s always small talk until they get to the bottom of why they want to talk to me, and it’s usually about you.” 

“I’m sorry about that.”

You shrug. “Don’t be. It’s my job to listen to people talk about you.” 

Jongseong walks back with a glass of wine (sauvignon blanc, just how dry you like it) and the awkward tension between you and Sunghoon disappears. It’s uncanny how well he adapts to his environment because it’s like that conversation between you two never happened at all. It feels a bit strange to open up to him like that, too. You talk about yourself and share tidbits of your life here and there, but opening up to him and sharing parts of yourself in a way that doesn’t revolve around your work is uncharted territory. 

They look over your deck and Jongseong seems impressed by Sunghoon’s pitch. He was right, it’s up Jongseong’s alley and the kind of business he’d work hard for given the right circumstances. 

“I’m impressed with how much of their personality you were able to fit into a PowerPoint presentation.” Jongseong delicately closes your laptop and hands it to you. “You sure you want to quit being an assistant? I wouldn’t mind having someone as incredible as you on my team.”

“No one gets her if I can’t,” Sunghoon says immediately. It catches you off guard but Jongseong merely laughs him off. 

“Whatever you say, Hoon.” The way Jongseong smiles reminds you of a humble, honest cartoon character, and it makes you smile too. “Thanks again for coming out here on a Saturday. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around for the next month or so, but I’m gonna miss working with you when you’re gone.” 

“You’re too kind to me.” You step forward to give him a proper hug, and Sunghoon doesn’t hide his distaste. “I’ll talk with the client and let them know you’re interested and touch base with your assistant to set up an introduction”

“What would we ever do without you?” Jongseong asks as the three of you walk towards the lobby. “What are you doing with the months you have left at Park Inc.?”

“Tie up some loose ends and find another assistant good enough for him,” you say, pointing at Sunghoon. He looks like he might as well be pouting, and you know it’s because he has no natural leeway into the conversation. It always makes you laugh, especially since his friends love indulging you over him to knock his ego down a peg. 

“You’re pretty loyal for doing all of that instead of leaving.”

“I thought about it.” You look at Sunghoon, and then quickly look away. “I respect him a lot, you know? I think my experience being an assistant is far better than some of my peers. I can’t leave him with a bunch of loose threads and someone incompetent.”

“They’ll never be as smart as her,” Sunghoon interrupts, “but I hope my new assistant will try to be.” 

“You’re impeccable at your job,” Jongseong compliments. “Any idea about what you’re going to do next?” 

“I don’t know…It’s stupid of me to quit without having anything lined up, isn’t it?” 

He shrugs. “Only if they aren’t you. I’m sure Sunghoon would write a stellar letter of recommendation if you asked him. And if he doesn’t, you can always ask me to do it.” 

“I’ll write you a letter of recommendation,” Sunghoon interrupts once more. “No need to have a co-signer that isn’t me.” 

“Aw. You guys sure know how to make an assistant feel loved.” 

“You’re an incredibly hard worker and everyone at Park Inc. sees that. It’ll be sad to know you’re walking away, but I hope this doesn’t mean I won’t hear from you.” 

“Of course not.” The valet brings Jongseong’s car to the front and you give him another quick hug. “Thanks for all you’ve done and for keeping Sunghoon in line.”

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you for that?” He winks and waves goodbye before speeding off. 

As you reach into your bag to find your valet stub, Sunghoon pulls out his wallet and hands his own to the attendant. When you produce yours, he snatches it out of your hand and pays for that too. 

“I told you I’d take care of everything, didn’t I?” 

You remain skeptical. “I thought that only extended to dinner reservations.” Sunghoon shakes his head. 

“Nope. From here on out, I’ll be taking care of that. 

“Why, because you feel like you owe me some kind of debt?” He tilts his head and smiles at you, amused. 

“Sure, if that’s how you want to put it. I know that pretty little head of yours tends to overthink, so let me handle this, yeah?”

“Okay…”

“Atta girl.” 

You turn to hide your blush. Your car arrives first and Sunghoon follows behind the attendant who opens the door for you. After thanking him, you step into the driver’s seat and see Sunghoon standing above you with his door on the handle. 

“I’ll pick you up at, say, seven?”

“You’re not giving me any choice, are you?” 

“Don’t play coy with me. I know you want to eat at Hakusi.” You hate it when he’s right. 

“Thanks, Sunghoon. I’ll…see you at seven.” 

***

What do you wear to an informal dinner with your boss? 

This is a question you struggle with every time you’re scheduled to spend time with him after working hours. You’re typically accompanied by colleagues on a night out during business trips, but this is the first time you’ll be alone with him. You try not to overthink it as you pull out yet another potential outfit, but this feels more like meeting a friend than meeting your boss. 

Sunghoon didn’t give you a dress code of any kind. Is he expecting you to wear professional attire? Should you stick to something casual? You look up the interior of the restaurant on Google and immediately put away all of your trousers. Instagram proves to be a little more helpful because you scroll through tagged posts to see what people are wearing, and you settle on a flattering dress that stops at your ankles with a pair of heels that don’t make you feel like you’re walking into the office. 

You find yourself groaning when you realize how much effort you’re putting into doing your makeup. From foundation to contour, blush to lip gloss, it feels like you might as well be getting ready for a date. You don’t put this much effort in your morning routine during the work week because there’s simply no time, so why are you going the extra mile when all you’re doing is seeing your boss?

You settle for a simple hairstyle that doesn’t make it seem like you didn’t put any effort. One look in the mirror tells you it’s been a while since you had a reason to get ready like this, and one call from Sunghoon tells you he’s downstairs and waiting for you. 

You’re expecting to see his driver’s car pull up and open the door for you. What you don’t expect is Sunghoon leaning against his own with his arms crossed over his shoulders. 

“Y-You’re here?” 

Sunghoon merely looks at you and smiles as he nods once. It’s a bit unfair how good he looks without trying. His hair isn’t slicked back like it usually is. He ditched his attire from earlier in the day to sport jeans, a leather bomber jacket, and a tight fitting shirt worn–in tennis shoes. Sunghoon looks normal. He doesn't look like the person who gives you orders on a daily basis. The way he looks makes your steps weak and you hate that he has this effect on you. 

“I told you I’d take care of everything tonight, didn’t I?” 

You’re careful when you step on the brick below you. It’s been a while since you’ve worn these pair of heels, and you’d be damned if you fell in front of Sunghoon. 

“I didn’t think that extended to car service.”

He chuckles. “I’m capable of driving the two of us.” 

Sunghoon opens the passenger door for you and assists you inside. His hand touches the back of your elbow and you feel like it might as well be burning with the sensation that follows. Once he’s sure you’re tucked inside, he closes this door gently and jogs in front of the hood to enter the car himself. 

“This feels oddly intimate,” you say as you put your seatbelt on. 

“How so?” Sunghoon starts the engine. 

“It’s just the two of us.” 

“We’ve spent time together without anybody else before. In fact, that’s how most of our days go.” 

“Yeah, but that’s different.” Sunghoon pulls off of your street and turns his indicator on before he does so. You scold yourself for praising him for such an action. 

“I don’t think so. We’re two people trying to spend time together before you inevitably quit and leave.” 

“Why now, of all times? Nothing’s going to change my mind about resigning.” Sunghoon looks at you once he’s stopped at a red light. 

“Tonight isn’t about trying to convince you to stay. I like working with you and would do anything to keep you, yes, but I can’t force you to do a job you don’t want to do. I know you better than you think I do. You're not the type of person to follow orders if you don’t think it’s the right move. The whole reason why I chose to renew your contract the first time was because you weren’t afraid to tell me your opinion, especially when it disagreed with mine.” 

Sunghoon has never been this candid with you before. 

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” He starts driving again when the light turns green and hums. 

“It occurred to me that while I’ve picked up on who you are in the years I’ve known you, I don’t know much about who you are beyond our work. You know so much about me, though, and you’ve helped me through a lot in my personal life. It’s only fair I get to know you like that, too.” 

“That’s…oddly sentimental.” 

“You seem a bit speechless and you never get like that.” 

“I’m just surprised to be hearing all of this. I know you like our working relationship and I know we work well together. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that we’d be getting dinner on a Saturday night together without the context of work.” 

“Do you want to talk about work?” 

You shake your head. “Not tonight. I have a few plans for finding a new assistant, but that’s a conversation that can wait until Monday.” 

“Turning your brain off for once, I see? Good girl.” 

Sunghoon and that damn nickname. You angle your knees slightly away from his body to focus on the environment around you instead of him. 

Hakusi is a truly beautiful restaurant. You let loose when the hostess allows you to wait by the bar while they set up your table. You take up Sunghoon’s offer to cover the entire tab and try not to feel the least bit guilty, even though you logically know this meal will barely make a dent in his finances. You settle on drinking a cocktail with tequila and grapefruit, and feel your body settle the more you sip on the alcohol. With barely anything in your stomach, you’re a bit grateful it’s already starting to get to your head because it calms down any anxiety you have about tonight. Sunghoon orders a signature cocktail from the menu and asks the hostess to provide sake once the table is set up. You glance over the meny once and choose not to double check the price of the sake he just ordered. 

The table is elegantly dressed and, for once in your life, you feel like you belong in such an establishment. You’re not here as Sunghoon’s assistant. You’re here as yourself, who happens to be having a nice meal with your boss. The back of your mind expects the night to end with emails being sent out and impromptu meetings being held, but Sunghoon looks at you like he’s here to have a good time. For his sake, you try to emulate him. 

“Have you ever been here before?” you ask him. 

“A few times. Once for the grand opening and twice when friends are in town. It’s not rated a Michelin star for nothing.” 

“I know,” you say, finishing the last of your cocktail. Sunghoon pours you a small shot of the warm sake. “It’s why I wanted to try this place out. Definitely out of my budget, but if I could visit any restaurant, it would be this one.”

“What else do you have hiding up your sleeve?” he asks as he pours himself a shot. “I feel like I know so much about you and nothing at all.”

“Are we going to play twenty-one questions like teenagers?” 

Sunghoon laughs. “Something like that. You’ve worked so hard for me and I barely know the first thing about you.”

“You say that like you’re supposed to know me on a deep level.” His eyes flicker up at you. 

“It should be that way if you’re my assistant, no?” 

The way he looks at you makes this feel like a first date. In fact, the ambient lighting, the luxurious decor, and the fact that he doesn’t look like the boss you know, makes you feel like this is a first date where he’s trying to assess whether he thinks you two will be compatible together. Or are you just overthinking?

Wait, what was the question again? 

“I’m sure you know more about me than you think you do.”

He licks his lips. “Aha! I see. You don’t like talking about yourself much, do you?”

“What? That’s crazy. I talk about myself all the time. You know I have a cat and live alone.”

“I know the basic, bare-boned facts about you. I don’t think there’s ever been a time where you’ve talked to me about yourself unless it’s relevant to the conversation at hand.” 

“And that makes me somebody who doesn't like to open up?” 

“You’re deflecting now,” he says with a smirk, hand gesturing like he knows he’s right. “You keep answering my questions with answers. That tells me a lot more about you than you think.”

You huff. “I’m trying not to be offended, you know. If this was a date, this would be a shitty first date.” 

Why did I say that?

“If this was a date, I’d still be asking you questions to get to know you better.”

“Fine.” You take a sip of the sake and let the remnants of its warmth slide down your throat. “You’re right. I don’t feel comfortable being the center of attention and I find it really hard to talk about myself. It’s easier to blend into the background when people don’t expect much from me.”

“You outshine everyone all the time.” 

You nearly choke on your drink. “Uh, no. That’s definitely you and your expensive suits and good cologne.” 

“I turn heads, sure. But you’re the one who’s smarter than everyone else in the room. You’re always one step ahead and people know it, too. Don’t downplay yourself.” 

“For work, maybe.”  You finish your first glass of sake and Sunghoon pours you another one. “In my personal life? I practically scream ‘invisible.’ I don’t think there’s ever been a time in my life where I’ve been front and center stage. Not that I want to be, though.”

“Why not?” 

You shrug indifferently. “Not for me. It’s hard when everyone has their eyes on me. It makes me feel like I did something wrong.” 

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, you don’t have to listen to me talk about the insecure shit. We could talk about your taxes.”

“I’m fine with the insecure shit,” Sunghoon says without a care in the world. “And I’d rather not talk about my finances.” 

“So you’d rather talk about me?” 

He nods. “I’d rather talk about you.” 

“Great. I’m gonna need to be significantly more buzzed than I am now to open up to you.” 

“I’m driving and you’re not paying anything. Get as drunk as you’d like.”

You order another cocktail. 

“I guess I’d be awful on a first date anyway, huh? I can only think about work and everything that doesn’t have to do with me.” 

“It’s probably because the only thing we ever talk about is work,” Sunghoon says before the waiter comes to the table. You allow him to order for you, which is something you would typically find annoying, but he knows this restaurant and what’s worthwhile better than you do. It’s hard for you to relax and let somebody else take charge. You know Sunghoon can tell that about you too. 

“Let yourself go and have fun,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind. “I’m not here as your employer today. There’s nothing you could say that would make me regret covering the tab.” 

“You’re not using your own money, are you?” 

“I’ll expense this meal if it makes you feel better.”

You sip on your cocktail, thinking. “No, I think I’d prefer it if you used your personal card.” 

He grins. “Wouldn’t have expensed it even if you asked me to. You deserve a good night out every once in a while. 

Goodness. His words sound so innocent and sincere, and yet you can’t help but yearn for a guy like Sunghoon. Rather, you can’t help but yearn for him when he says those kinds of things to you, but your relationship with him is strictly business. Even if you don’t necessarily think of him like that all of the time. 

“I can’t even remember the last time I went out with someone. God, it must’ve been forever ago. My younger brother tried to set me up with his friend’s cousin, but that ended badly and I think I swore off dating for the foreseeable future.”

“That bad?”

You nod. “That bad. Men are mistakes waiting to happen. Or maybe I keep forcing something out of nothing. Maybe both. My job keeps me busy enough to not think about this stuff, though. I’ve got you to worry about.” 

A few more small glasses of sake and two cocktails later, you find yourself loose enough to the point where the filter on your mouth starts to let things slip out. You’re still sentient and aware of what you’re saying and doing, of course. You don’t think there's ever been a time in your life where you’ve lowered your inhibitions to the point where you make a complete fool of yourself. After all, you’re still at dinner with your boss, even if it looks and feels like you’re on a date. 

The food is delicious and Sunghoon slowly coaxes you to open up the more you eat and drink. It feels like some kind of excuse to get you to talk, but you know that’s the part of your brain that says you don’t belong in a place like this, or to be dining across someone like Sunghoon. You’ve spent so much of your time with him for the last six years that it’s become somewhat easy to figure him out. Whether it’s because you’re drunk or because you know him, you reckon Sunghoon is being genuine when he says he wants to treat you to a night out because you deserve it. 

You’re nearly stumbling out of the restaurant by the time the check is paid, and you’ve sent many compliments to the chef by the end of the meal. Sunghoon merely smiles at you when you converse with the waiter and doesn’t tell you to stop talking. He finds that you’re quite the charmer when you have enough alcohol in you to forego any bad thought you have about yourself. It’s like you’re more affectionate than you are sober, and that’s another part of you he wants to get to know. 

Sunghoon leads you back to the car and drives you home eventually, careful not to overdo it with the speed because you’ve still got a bit of a headache. He tells you that his place is closer and you can spend the night as his given your intoxicated state, but you refuse under the guise that your cat still needs to be fed, as you didn’t plan on an impromptu sleepover. Your drunk brain can’t process the fact that Sunghoon asked you to stay the night. 

He isn’t disappointed and doesn’t mind driving the extra fifteen minutes to drop you off back at your apartment. Ever the gentleman, Sunghoon steps out of the car and helps you to the front door of the lobby and you insists that you’re fine to ride the elevator up four floors and walk to your apartment, but he tells you to lead the way anyhow. It’s no use to argue with him, especially when you aren’t sober enough to tell him off. 

You allow yourself to stumble a bit more now that you’re not in the public eye and Sunghoon immediately puts your arm in his own when you walk and search for your keys simultaneously. He chuckles when you finally stop in front of your door and when you begin to unlock it. 

“You’re something else when you’re drunk, you know that?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you grumble. Sunghoon imagines you pouting like you have been when you insisted on walking alone. 

“You’re a bit grumpy and affectionate. Very cute.” 

“That’s an oxymoron.” 

“It’s true. You talk more about yourself without feeling insecure, which you never have to feel, by the way. I’m sure there are a shit ton of people who feel the same way you do about dating.” 

“Easy for you to say, Sunghoon. You look like a Greek God.” You open the door and Sunghoon looks away and blushes. “Thanks for tonight. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome. I mean it too when I say you deserve nice things and for people to do things for you. It’s a nice change of pace, isn’t it?” 

You turn around to face him once you’ve stepped in the door. “Yeah, I guess it is. I could get used to it.” 

“Maybe you can.” 

A beat of silence passes. It’s hard to resist looking at Sunghoon’s lips but you let your eyes glance at them for a brief moment before looking back at him, and you pray he doesn’t notice. 

“Goodnight. Get a lot of rest and have some water, yeah?” 

“Mhm. I will.” 

Sunghoon nods and then does the unthinkable. He steps forward and encircles his arms around your body, effectively caging you into a hug like you two have been longtime friends. His body is warm and sturdy, and the mental image of the few times you’ve seen him shirtless come rushing to the forefront of your brain. You do your best to reciprocate the hug as he gently tugs your body closer to him, and the hug itself lasts a moment too long for it to be friendly. 

He pulls back and smiles at you. 

“Sleep tight.” 

***

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[dexxtrosee]

Safekeeping

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader

Summary: A baby got to the ER thirty minutes ago and hasn't stopped crying since. It's starting to get on everyone's nerves. He is, unfortunately, the one in charge, so it's his problem to deal with.

A/N: Set a few months after the last episode of The Pitt's S1. Mind you, this was supposed to be me testing the waters with the fandom and instead I got dunked, I just can't get this man out of my head. Oh well. Part one, I guess?

There´s a baby crying two rooms away from the one he’s at. 

The baby hasn’t stopped crying in thirty minutes, a world of difference from the case Robby is currently using as a teaching lesson for Santos and Whitaker. He doesn’t need to be a genius in emotional expression to notice she’s bored to death, while Whitaker seems relieved to be away from an immediate life threatening situation for once. He won’t admit it, not even to Dana, but he is using it as both a punishment for her and a break for him. He barely got between her and an abusive mother just a few hours ago before they drew blood. He managed to save Santos from being escorted out in cuffs along with the mother by sheer force of willpower and some favors owed by the cops.

And he won’t say it to her either, but if he were thirty years younger and a tad more stupid, that would have been him. She doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Are you a smoker, miss Rossi?”

The lady, a seventy year old woman who insists on them calling her miss, because she’s “divorced, dammit”, shakes her head and turns to look at her granddaughter. Robby can practically hear her thoughts (Can you believe this boy?) and has to bite back a chuckle. 

“Do you, by any chance, often cook on firewood?”

Miss Rossi shakes her head again, this time with an added eye roll. The baby hasn’t stopped crying. 

Whitaker is starting to play with his hands, glancing nervously at the granddaughter and at Santos. The boredom seems to have eased a bit, now replaced by amusement from seeing the poor boy suffer. Robby doesn’t interfere. 

“Have you done strenuous activity recently?”

At this, the teenage girl sitting by her side perks up, glancing at her grandmother with pursed lips. Robby smiles when Whitaker catches it and latches onto it like a starved animal. 

“Maybe cleaning around the house? Too long walks? Heavy lifting?”

Miss Rossi finally seems to think about it. Santos starts fidgeting where she’s standing, checking her watch. He suppresses a sigh and writes a mental note about mentioning it to her. The baby hasn’t stopped crying. 

“Well, I went with the kids to the park this morning. Had to chase them around when they grabbed the youngest and put her inside the basket of one of the bikes! Can you believe it? Those fuckers.”

They all let out some chuckles and sighs of relief. 

“Are you from Allegheny, miss Rossi?”

She nods, smiling for the first time since they both got here. “Born and raised, boy.”

Robby nods at him, giving him a thumbs up. Santos tries to hide her own smile. 

“Alright, seems you can handle this one.” Robby glares briefly at Santos, and she nods with so much annoyance he shakes his head. “I’ll go check on other cases, call me if anything happens.”

He doesn’t wait to see the answers, just steps out and walks straight to the room with the crying baby. 

Before he enters, he notices Dana standing inside and talking softly to, he assumes, the mother. She has her back to him, shoulders shaking and head hung low. Samira and McKay are bent over a cradle. A hole inside his stomach appears when he notices how anxious they both seem to be. 

“Good morning, I’m doctor Robinavitch. What seems to be the problem here?”

Dana turns, frowning and looking at him like he’s the worst thing to happen to her today. He reels back slightly, tries to peek behind her back. She shakes her head, motions him to fuck off. 

McKay doesn’t move. Samira stands up straight like he just pulled her back string, nervous. “All good, sir. We can handle this one, no worries.”

Robby frowns, bites back the need to tell them all off. “Well, that poor thing hasn’t stopped crying in more than half an hour. Are you sure?”

McKay waves at him from her bent position, shaking her head furiously without actually turning to look at him. 

Without saying anything, he turns to Dana again. She sighs, lets go of the mother’s hands and pushes him out of the room with no explanation. Before she closes back the curtain, he tries and fails to catch a glance at the mother.

“What the fuck is going on?”

He loves Dana, he truly does. Still, sometimes he wishes he could work with someone less hardheaded. He has enough of it in himself.

“She doesn’t want any men near her baby.”

Robby tilts his head, frowns deeper. “Should I call the cops?”

Something inside him burns and itches when Dana shakes her head. “They’re already aware of anything worth reporting.”

Robby nods, clenches his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when the baby lets out a louder cry. “What the hell is wrong then? They haven’t figured it out yet? Should I bring Collins here?”

She’s busy dealing with a broken leg from a teenage boy that got too excited with his skateboard, but the cries are starting to get on everyone’s nerves, he can see it. 

“Maybe you should, yeah.”

“Fuck.”

He turns away, walks to Langdon and grabs him away from the nurse bay. He doesn’t protest, hasn’t since he came back last month. It still weirds Robby out. 

“I need you to finish Collins’ case, she has to help out with a different one.”

“I can do it,” The need for approval drips from his words. It still twists Robby’s chest. He shakes his head, doesn’t explain, pushes him inside and motions Collins out with just a smile to the parents.

“Need you to help in Room Two, I’m sorry.”

She gets it immediately, smiles softly and nods. She’s trying again, Robby knows. Still, he’s tried his best to keep her away from any babies. 

When they go back, Dana steps out and grabs Robby. He lets her lead him to the corner between rooms, crossing his arms. “I’m not going anywhere near the baby unless it’s completely necessary, I know. What now?”

“She wants to talk to you.”

The mother, he guesses. He nods, interlaces his fingers and then unthreads them when he notices how tense he feels from it. 

“Just… be gentle, Robby. She looks six seconds away from throwing up out of stress.”

There are so many things he could say to that. Instead, he just nods. Dana goes inside, doesn’t come out again.

When the mom steps out, the first thing that crosses his mind is “wow, holy shit”.

Then he starts berating himself because, holy fuck, what the hell was that?

You take a few steps closer to him, playing with your fingers, and cleaning a few stray tears away from your face. His hands twitch by his sides.

“Hi.”

Dear God, take him now. Warmth spreads all over his chest when your voice reaches his ears. 

“Hello,” he starts. He has to clear his throat before continuing. “Dana mentioned you wanted to talk to me, I’m doctor Robinavitch. Or Doctor Robby, if you prefer.”

You nod, trying and failing to smile at him. “Nice to meet you. Are you… like, the boss around here?”

He nods, unsure of how you may react. He doesn’t notice any disgust or annoyance, but there’s no positive reaction either. He relaxes his shoulders and makes sure to leave his hands visible. 

“Indeed I am. What can I do for you?”

He has to hold his breath when you raise your head to look at him straight to his eyes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“Can you make sure no male nurses or doctors come near her?”

Irrationally, he wants to sit you down and make you spit out any and all information about your baby. Why you seem so scared one second and ready for combat the next, why your eyes are so pretty, why you don’t let him near the babygirl.

Instead, he just nods, asks softly “Is there anything or anyone we should be worried about?” 

You shake your head, give him a satisfied smile that seems to pull the ground from under him. “No, not anymore.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He feels lightheaded, unsure of where he stands. You tilt your head slightly, then jump when Collins comes out. He realizes now that the crying stopped. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but can we have a word?”

Your face falls. It makes him irrationally mad, wants to twist the world around until you’re smiling again. He doesn’t move.

“What’s wrong? Is it serious?”

Collins puts her hand on your hand in an effort to comfort you, shaking her head. He glares at her hand like it personally offended him. “Nothing serious, it seems like she just had an allergic reaction to formula. Could you tell me which one she's taking?”

It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air as soon as there’s something related to the baby anywhere near you. You turn around, back to him while you pull up a picture in your phone and show it to Heather. She nods and smiles, letting you know it’s nothing too bad. He notices your entire body relaxing, and the tips of his ears turn red. 

“So what should I do at home now?”

The anxiety you exude makes him tense, almost angry. He’s bothered by not being able to get an actual look at the situation, relegated to talking to you only and away from what seems to be the center of your universe. He takes a deep breath to try and push out the uncomfortable feeling of uselessness.

“We would like to keep her here, at least for today just to keep an eye on how she reacts with different formulas, and maybe give her some fluids in case she’s dehydrated.” Heather’s voice is tender, gentle in a way he’s not sure he could manage now, not after so many years of hoping it would help and seeing it turn people into aggressive maniacs. 

But you just nod, pocketing your phone before turning back to look at him again and knocking the air out of his lungs. 

He's sure he's earned his year in Hell when faint excitement blooms as he realizes you'll be around for a few hours. He doesn't understand what's happening, why he's acting like a teenage boy with a crush or a fresh student handling his first case with an attractive person. Fuck. Fuck.

“Can you make sure the people from other shifts respect what I ask?”

He’s already mentally preparing his speech for Jack. “Of course. And I’ll see if we can keep you here along with your baby, just to be safe.” 

You beam at him, and once again, he feels like the Earth tilts under him. “Thank you, doctor Robby.”

He notices Dana staring at him from inside the room, grinning.

Oh, he’s absolutely fucked.

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

AO3

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Fourteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, jealous lando, protective grid, sexual content

Notes — Welcome to the 2021 Formula One season! (Testing, but still... it counts). Also... hehehehehehehe double update <3

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Lewis H. A warm welcome to our 2021 rookies! Mick, and Yuki :)

Lando N. Yeah, welcome or whatever More importantly, does anyone know if I can call up the Apple store in Woking and get them to deliver to me? Even though it’s closed rn

Lewis H. What happened? Did her iPad break?

Lando N. Yeah mate, completely toast.

Max V. Shit. I can have one express delivered to your flat, Lando. It is, of course, a work expense.

Yuki T. Uh hey I guess! I thought this was a work only chat? Did I get the wrong briefing?

George R. It usually is, but as admin I allow Amelia-based chat @Yuki

Mick S. Hey! Great to be here. Um, just curious though. Who is Amelia?

Max V. My lead technical engineer.

Lando N. My girlfriend.

Lewis H. Zak Brown’s daughter.

Fernando A. Her iPad is broken? I will bring her one now. Lando, send me your home address.

Mick S. Ohhh, I actually know Amelia Brown!

Lando N. ?????????? @Mick

Fernando A. Lando you have not sent me your address.

Max V. @Fernando I have already purchased the iPad.

Mick S. @Lando we met years ago, mate. She used to ski with her family where mine did in the winter.

Lando N. You heard the part where she’s my girlfriend, yeah @Mick?

Mick S. Yes…

Lando N. Good.

Fernando A. @Max She will need it delivered to her soon.

Charles L. It finally broke? Wow. Lasted far longer than I believed it would.

Lando N. @Charles Not a good time for jokes, mate. She’s devastated

Daniel R. Should I start carrying a spare iPad to races with me just in case? LOL.

Lando N. Wait that’s a good idea Somebody write that down Max write that down

Max V. I purchased three. I will carry the spares

Fernando A. Vamos, Max!

Pierre G. I bet the rookies are so confused lmao. Welcome to the grid group chat. We discuss penalties, race conditions, plane shares, and Amelia Brown.

Carlos S. @Lando How is she? Did she freak out?

Lando N. She’s good now. All chill.

Lewis H. Tell her that I just bought her a new bunny sticker book. I’ll give it to her at testing.

Lance S. If I buy her the entire Apple company, do you think she will come and fix the Aston Martin car?

Max V. NO.

Yuki T. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in any grid group chat, and the f2 chat used to get weird lol

George R. Welcome to the grid, Yuki. Keep your head on straight, and if you ever find a lost iPad with a bunny sticker on it anywhere in the paddock, make sure it gets back to Amelia asap

Lando N. Thats important for all of the rookies to know @Mick @Yuki 

Mick S. Sure I’ll keep an eye out!

Lando N. Actually I change my mind Mick if you see an iPad just leave it yeah :) 

Mick S. ????

Pierre G. This is going to be a great year. 

Checo P. All of the other drivers have this chat muted, yes?

Kimi R. Yes. 

— 

Amelia was crouched down by Max's car, her hand resting on the tire as she scanned through the data on her iPad. The numbers on the screen felt too slow, almost static, compared to the racing thoughts racing through her head.

Beside her, Jos loomed over her, a red-ink pen poised above her little black notebook. He was taking notes for her. Her mind was moving faster than her hands could keep up, and sometimes, just sometimes, she needed someone like him, methodical, steady, and patient, to help her process it all.

Her fingers flicked over the screen, swiping through the data from Max's morning run, when she paused, eyes flicking to Jos. “You see what I see?” she asked, her voice low, as if speaking any louder might break the delicate focus she’d managed to carve out for herself.

Jos nodded, his eyes scanning the information on the screen before looking back down at the scribbles he’d started in her notebook. “More rear stability in the high-speed corners. We’ll need to adjust the dampers again,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Amelia’s eyes tightened slightly as she thought. “We might need to soften the rear more. The front’s too reactive. Max is going to be fighting it in corners three and four, especially.” She tapped the screen lightly, zooming in on the section of the track map. “The car’s settling into a snap too fast, can’t keep up with the rear load in the high-speed sections.”

Jos made a mark in her notebook. “Front end’s still too eager, then?” He sighed. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Amelia made a face. “We soften that just a little bit more. Max needs more confidence in the corners. Less initial bite, more consistency. Maybe tweak the ride height slightly too.” Her words were coming faster now as the solution to their issues fell into place in her brain. 

As the day wore on, Max’s car was fine-tuned with the adjustments, and Amelia watched on with satisfaction as everything came together in perfect harmony. 

They had a plan. The tweaks would work. Max would be happy with the handling.

She turned to Jos when the mechanics started to wheel Max’s car back into the garage for the final time, day one of testing officially over, giving him a small but appreciative smile.

He pulled her notebook out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. “I hope you can understand my handwriting.” 

— 

Amelia sat opposite Max at one of the small team tables in the Red Bull hospitality unit. Most of the staff had already filtered out for the night, their voices fading down the hallway as engineers, PR reps, and mechanics headed for shuttles and taxis. But the two of them lingered — Amelia, still editing Jos’ scribbled notes from earlier in the day, and Max, who had quietly gotten into the habit of not leaving until she did.

It was almost sweet. He dropped her off to Lando at her hotel room at the end of every day like she was a preschooler getting passed between divorced parents. She hadn’t said anything about it, partly because it was practical, and partly because she didn’t mind it. It was nice not to have to worry about being alone.

Across from her, Max was hunched low in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest, mouth set in a hard line. His gaze flicked from the tabletop to her notebook and back again, a rhythm she’d seen a hundred times before. It meant he was thinking. Hard. Or more likely, overthinking.

She didn’t bother looking up. “Just say it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been fidgeting with your straw for six minutes. It’s starting to irritate me.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the bench with a groan. “You are very annoying.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, finally meeting his eyes. “Max, tell me.”

He hesitated, then shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table. There was a pause, a rare, tentative kind, and then, quieter than usual, he said, “I’m nervous.”

That made her put the pen down.

“For the season?” she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

Max nodded. “Everyone keeps saying 2021 is my year. Like it’s inevitable. Like this is it. And I want it — Fuck, I want it so bad. I’ve worked for it my whole life. But now that it’s here, I don’t know…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “What if it doesn’t happen?”

“It might not,” Amelia said plainly.

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but stopped short, blinking at her. “Comforting.”

“You’re not asking for comfort,” she said. “You’re asking if you’re good enough. And yes, you are. But this sport doesn’t always care about that.”

He let that sit for a moment. Nodded.

Then, quieter still, “There’s something else.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“I met someone. Over the break.”

She made a face. “Someone?”

He groaned. “Don’t do the eyebrow thing.”

She relaxed her face. “Who did you meet?”

Max scratched at the edge of the table. “I met her in Monaco. She’s nice. A lawyer . She thinks I’m just… Max. I didn’t tell her about the racing. About… everything. She doesn’t follow F1.”

Amelia leaned forward slightly. “So she doesn’t know who you are.”

He shrugged helplessly. “She knows who I am. Just not… what I do.”

Amelia tilted her head. “And you like that?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s peaceful. She talks to me like a normal person. No hero-worship, no pressure. Just… calm.”

“You’re lying to her, essentially,” she said bluntly. “Not a good foundation for a relationship.”

He shot her a withering look. “Jesus. You’re worse than my dad.”

“I take that as a compliment. We have the same goal.”

“I know.”

She looked down at her notebook, flipping a page and skimming it for a second. “You think you can manage both? A relationship and a championship battle?”

He hesitated. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” she said, then looked back at him. “But it might be a bit stupid.”

Max chuckled dryly. “Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t have both,” Amelia added. “I’m just saying that it probably won’t work.” 

He frowned, nodded slowly, then said, “But you’re managing your relationship and my championship.”

“I’m not the one driving the car, Max.” She argued. 

“Still,” he muttered. “You’re making it work. I could make it work.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Is she nice?”

Max nodded, “I almost ran her over.”

She blinked at him. “Oh. That’s… romantic?” She tried. 

He laughed shortly. “She was in a rush, didn’t look properly. I apologised and gave her a ride to work. She— she, uh, thinks that I’m just some wealthy businessman’s son, or something.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. “You should stop lying to her. I would… I would not like it if I was in that situation and I found out that I was being lied to.” 

Max sighed. Nodded. 

Then he stood, grabbed both their jackets, and slung hers over the back of her chair. “Come on. Let’s get you to your boyfriend before he starts texting me again asking where you are.”

She gave him a flat look. “He has a GPS tracker on my phone.” 

Max rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. Typical Norris.”

She shrugged. “It’s sweet. Sometimes I get lost and he has to come and find me.” 

Max laughed, and for the first time all day, some of the tightness left his posture. “Yeah,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Probably good that he has it, then.” 

— 

The lights of Manama twinkled in the distance, warm and hazy against the desert night. From the balcony of their hotel suite, the city looked like it belonged to another world; quiet and golden and slow in a way the paddock never was. The hum of the air conditioning inside was replaced by the occasional distant honk of a car, or the hush of wind weaving through the palm trees below.

Amelia was seated cross-legged on one of the outdoor chairs, wrapped in a white robe, her hair still damp from her shower. Lando, in a t-shirt and joggers, was fiddling with a tiny bottle opener, attempting to open a bottle of some obscure sparkling drink he’d insisted was “romantic, okay baby? Trust me.”

Their room service tray sat between them on the small table. Grilled flatbreads, mezze, roasted lamb. Lando had ordered for them and he’d gotten everything right.

“I don’t know how you always remember this stuff,” she said, dipping a piece of bread into a tangy yogurt sauce.

Lando grinned, finally getting the bottle open with a victorious pop. “Because I listen when you talk. I know the face you make when you think something tastes bad or has a yucky texture. I have eyes. Shocking, I know.”

Amelia gave him a pointed look. “Last week, you kissed my eyeball because you were being lazy and tried to kiss me with your eyes closed.”

“Shut up.” He huffed. 

She laughed quietly, curling into him, giving him a bit of the blanket. “I think Max might be in love,” she said suddenly.

Lando blinked. “Max? Verstappen?”

“Mm,” she nodded, chewing. “He told me today that he met someone over the winter. She doesn’t know who he is. Like, really doesn’t know. Thinks he’s just some rich guy named Max.”

Lando made a face. “That… feels impossible.”

“She’s apparently very disconnected. Doesn’t follow the sport. Max likes it.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Weird. But kind of sweet, I guess.”

She frowned at him. “I told him he shouldn’t be dating during a title fight.”

“Very romantic of you.” Lando teased. 

She shrugged. “I never said I was romantic.”

“No,” he said. “But you are.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. Instead, she reached for his hand where it rested on the table, her fingers brushing over his lightly. “I hope you do very well this year, Lan.” She told him, earnest and hopeful. “You deserve it.” 

Lando turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. “So do you. Deserve to do well, I mean. You’ve worked so hard this past year. You deserve to see it pay off.”

Amelia didn’t say anything right away. She just leaned over and kissed him; soft, sweet, clinging. It wasn’t meant to lead anywhere at first, just a thank you. But she didn’t pull away. And he didn’t let her go.

She ended up in his lap, her legs curled against his chest, her robe brushing his knees. His hands slid instinctively around her back, fingers splaying wide against the thin fabric, grounding her. Grounding himself.

They stayed like that for a long time. The balcony lights dimmed behind them. The city hummed faintly in the distance, the last remnants of dinner cooling on the table, the silence between them easy.

Then, gently, she climbed off of him and stood. Her bare feet whispered against the tile as she stepped forward, and she stopped just in front of where he sat, between his knees. Her eyes searched his face for a beat, then she reached for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Come inside with me?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly. He looked up at her, her expression steady, soft, open, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside, the hotel room was cast in warm light, golden from a low bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn against the city, muffling the world outside. The bed was turned down, sheets crisp, pillows fluffed. A quiet kind of invitation.

She tugged him by the hand toward the bed, and he followed without a word, heart thudding in his chest.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward.

There was a kind of reverence to the way they undressed, slow, curious. Amelia’s robe slipped from her shoulders, caught briefly on her elbows before pooling at her feet. Lando’s hands hovered just for a second before brushing up her arms, like he was making sure she wouldn’t vanish if he touched her too quickly.

Their kisses deepened, still hesitant but filled with intent, with the weight of everything they’d been building toward for over a year. Every laugh, every shared moment of delicate intimacy, every time they’d caught each other’s eyes across a garage or a hotel lobby, it all settled into the space between them.

Lando’s mouth trailed across her skin with an almost startled sort of wonder, like he was learning a language he’d been waiting to speak. Her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently when his lips brushed the hollow of her throat. They moved together with quiet urgency, limbs tangled, breath catching against skin.

At one point, Lando paused, hovering just above her, his eyes sweeping across her face, flushed, focused, real.

“You’re so... fuck,” he whispered, barely audible.

Amelia blinked, lips curling faintly. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, then her collarbone. “It is,” he murmured. “It really is.”

And when they finally settled under the covers, tangled together with her head tucked beneath his chin, Lando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

She didn’t say much, but her fingers curled into his shirt like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, and that was enough. 

— 

The sunlight was already creeping through the sliver of the curtains when Lando stirred, warmth pooling low in his stomach before he was even fully awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, just blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember if he’d dreamt the night before, or if it had really happened.

Then she shifted against him.

Amelia was tucked beneath his arm, hair a little wild against his chest, one bare leg tangled over his. Her cheek was pressed just below his collarbone, lips slightly parted, her breath steady and warm against his skin.

Definitely not a dream.

He smiled, slow, stupid, unbelievably content.

She felt it too, maybe, his laugh or the way his fingers brushed along her back, because she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a complaint and burrowed closer, clearly not ready to be awake yet.

Lando tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning, baby.”

She made a noise that was more sigh than word. “Mm. No.”

“No what?”

“No talking,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Too early.”

He laughed quietly, the sound muffled by her hair. “It’s almost seven.”

“Too early for you to be this cheerful.” She grumbled.

Lando shifted just enough to look down at her, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m not cheerful.”

“You’re smiling.”

He smiled wider. “Can you blame me?”

She cracked an eye open, blinking up at him. Her face was still soft from sleep, a little puffy and makeup-free, but to him, she looked... ridiculously beautiful.

“What?” she asked, because he was staring.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I just really like waking up next to you.”

Her expression shifted slightly. And then, a second later, she exhaled and said quietly, “I like it, too.”

Lando kissed her, just a little one, lazy and warm.

They lay tangled in the sheets, the morning light spilling gently across the room. For a while, neither of them moved, perfectly content to exist in the quiet, wrapped up in warmth and each other.

Eventually, Amelia stirred, shifting just enough to reach over to the nightstand. She blinked blearily at her phone and then sighed and glanced across the room.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I forgot to charge my iPad.”

Lando, still half-asleep, pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “I plugged it in when I got up in the middle of the night to go for a piss.”

She turned to look at him, her expression soft, a little surprised. Her voice came quiet. “You did?”

He nodded, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want you waking up to it dead.”

A pause. Then she gave him the smallest pout, sleepy and affectionate and so purely her. “I love you.”

He broke into a grin, one of those quiet, full-body smiles that lived in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I love you too.”

—

The McLaren motorhome was buzzing with early morning energy, the consistent hum of coffee machines working overtime. Amelia slipped through the front doors with her badge swinging around her neck, hair still damp from a rushed shower, and Lando trailing behind her, half-yawning into a croissant.

Zak spotted them first, already seated at one of the corner tables with Daniel, who was halfway through a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and talking animatedly about something.

“There’s my girl,” Zak called, waving them over.

Amelia dropped into the seat beside her dad with a tired sigh. “Morning, dad.” She kissed his cheek. 

“You sound tired,” he frowned at her, sipping his coffee.

Lando slid into the chair beside her, nudging her with his knee under the table. She handed him a napkin in response, gesturing for him to wipe the crumbs away from his face, and he smiled. 

Daniel looked between them, eyebrows raised. “You must be Amelia. I’m Daniel. Can’t actually believe we’ve not met properly before now.” 

“I know.” Amelia agreed, already reaching across the table for a muffin.

Daniel leaned in a little, grinning. “Lando talks about you all the damn time. In debriefs, pre-race meetings, on his radio—”

“Please stop talking,” Lando glared at his new teammate, clearly embarrassed.

“She’s worth talking about,” Zak laughed, patting Amelia on the shoulder with a fond smile.

Daniel smirked at Lando, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Lando just narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Amelia took another bite of her muffin, savouring her food. But before she could finish, her phone buzzed violently against the table. It was from Max.

iMessage — 7:33am

Max Verstappen Are you here, sister? I want to talk about my steering set-up

Amelia On my way to you now.

She shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth and stood up in one swift motion. “Okay. I gotta go.”

Lando looked up, surprised. “Already?”

Amelia kissed him quickly on the cheek, her lips lingering for just a second longer than expected. She gave her dad a quick shoulder squeeze before smiling at Daniel, her usual bluntness softened by a bit of shyness she wasn’t used to showing in front of him. “Max wants my advice.”

Zak called after her with a grin. “Tell Jos I want my daughter back for lunch.”

“No promises,” she replied with a glance over her shoulder, already speed-walking toward the exit. Her hair bounced with each step, and her phone was pressed to her ear before she even made it out of the motorhome.

Daniel leaned toward Lando as she disappeared down the hallway. “You’re screwed, brother.”

Lando shot him a look, kicking him under the table. “Shut up.”

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Yuki T. I have Amelia’s iPad in AlphaTauri garage

Lewis H. Yeah, this has to be a new record.

Lando N. Lol she’s just been rly busy. Probably hasn’t noticed she hasn’t got it yet

Max V. She just noticed and started freaking out. @Yuki I’m on my way to get it.

Lando N. She okay @Max?

Max V. Yes mate, no need to worry.

Mick S. @Max Can I pop by your garage and say hi to her? It’s been years!

Lando N. @Max Say no. Max, say no. Max, say no.

Max V. @Mick No, she is too busy for friends.

Lando N. LMAO, REKT @Mick.

Mick S. Bro????? I really don’t want to steal your girlfriend 😭

Fernando A. You do not believe my Amelia is good enough for you, Schumacher?

Max V. What the fuck Mick

Charles L. Uh oh 😬😬

Pierre G. Bro that was NOT the right thing to say 😭

Max V. @Mick She wouldn’t even look your way. 

Lando N. Wild angle, mate @Mick

George R. We are witnessing a man dig his own grave live in chat

Daniel R. *shovels faster* Keep going, Mick. Say you think she’s boring next.

Sebastian V. This feels like bullying.

Yuki T. I think it is  

Carlos S. @Mick Just lie down. Accept it. The storm will pass.

Mick S. I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭 I literally just meant she’s your girlfriend and I respect that! @Lando

Lando N. Sure you did. 

Fernando A. In my country we have a saying — "Schumacher has placed his own foot in his own mouth."

Lewis H. Pick your words better next time yeah? @Mick

Lance S. This is why rookies don’t get access to Amelia.

Esteban O. Wait does that mean I have access to Amelia?

Max V. No.

Fernando A. Absolutely not.

Lando N. You do not.

Valtteri B. I do not speak much in this chat but I just want to say: Mick, this is very funny.

Antonio G. +1

Nicholas L. same 😭

Sebastian V. Let it be a lesson to all of us. Never try to be polite in here. It will be weaponised.

Charles L. I miss when this chat was about tyre pressures and strategy.

George R. That’s adorable. It’s never been that.

NEXT CHAPTER

[mosabsdr]

💬 Just a Small Update, and a Big Thank You

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and family ♥️

[luna-azzurra]

Fictional kiss prompts

Forbidden Kiss Prompts (“We’re not supposed to do this” but oops, we are)

a kiss in the shadows, hands clenched in fabric, trying to stay quiet because someone might hear.

“We can’t—if someone sees us…” — and then they kiss anyway, consequences be damned.

a stolen kiss through the bars of a prison cell, whispered promises of escape in between.

a “we’re on opposite sides” kiss during a truce, lips barely touching because if they kiss fully, they’ll never walk away.

a last-second kiss right before one of them is betrothed to someone else.

Angsty Reunion Kiss Prompts (“I thought I lost you” edition)

a kiss the second they see each other again—rough, breathless, and on the verge of falling apart.

a kiss interrupted by tears, hands holding like they’re afraid to let go.

“Why didn’t you come back?” whispered into their mouth between kisses.

a kiss where they pause halfway through just to look at each other, both a little older, a little more broken.

a kiss that tastes like salt and rain and survival.

Soft Domestic Kiss Prompts (Wholesome fluff to rest your soul)

a sleepy morning kiss, lazy and warm, exchanged without even opening their eyes.

a kiss planted absentmindedly on the top of the other’s head while making tea.

a kiss stolen while brushing their teeth together—foam and giggles included.

a soft kiss over a grocery list, mid-aisle, because “you looked too cute to ignore.”

the kind of kiss shared in bed while reading—just because one of them couldn’t help it anymore.

Post-Confession Kiss Prompts ( “Oh my god this is real” edition)

a kiss that stumbles right after the words “I love you,” like neither of them know what to do with their hands.

“You mean it?” — “Yeah.” — cue the most careful, reverent kiss of their lives.

a kiss that starts with laughter and ends in a dazed, overwhelmed silence.

one of them whispering, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” right before kissing them senseless.

a kiss that comes too fast after the confession, clumsy and colliding—because they’ve waited too long.

First Kiss Prompts (that change everything)

a kiss that starts mid-sentence, because one of them couldn’t wait one more second.

the trembling, breath-held pause right before their lips finally touch—eyes wide, hearts racing.

“If I kiss you right now, will you hate me?” – they kiss them anyway.

the kiss that’s followed by shocked silence, and then one of them blurts, “Okay… wow.”

the hesitant brush of lips—barely there—until one of them pulls the other closer like they’ve made up their mind.

Comfort Kiss Prompts (Love as a safety net)

a kiss placed gently on a trembling hand.

a kiss offered like a promise—“I’m here. I’m staying.”

a forehead kiss given after a nightmare, while whispering soft reassurances.

“You don’t have to be okay right now.” – kissed on the temple like a prayer.

the quiet, slow kiss after a panic attack, grounded in breathing and touch.

Jealousy Kiss Prompts (when emotions boil over)

a sudden, possessive kiss that shocks both of them—especially because they weren’t “together.”

a kiss to shut someone up mid-flirt—“They’re with me.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” – “Because I saw you flirting with them.” – followed by a sharp, angry, perfect kiss.

the kind of kiss that starts in fury but ends in breathless “I need you.”

a kiss that screams “You’re mine. Even if you don’t know it yet.”

Accidental / Surprise Kiss Prompts

tripping and falling directly into a kiss—then freezing in shock as realization sets in.

a practice kiss to “make it look real” that very much does not stay platonic.

a drunken kiss that was supposed to be a dare, but lingers just a second too long.

mistaking the other person for someone else in the dark—“oh… wait—” – “don’t stop.”

an “oops-I-thought-you-were-joking” kiss that they immediately want to do again on purpose.

[tojisteddy]

Soap who has full conversations with your baby.

The man was so addiment about being there every step of the way of your pregnancy since you were rightfully scared. He read up on childcare books in the middle of missions, signed you up for couple classes, even got you a doula. You two were smooth sailing from then on.

But, my goodness would that man talk his head off to your unborn baby.

Those last 4 months, he would snuggle up right to your adorable, growing stomach and talk about anything that came to mind. The weather, the new bassinet you two argued over for thirty minutes, how uncle Gaz and Uncle Simon were both evil brats and hoe the baby (little chicky) couldn’t be around them for too long.

The baby knew Soaps voice, turning or kicking with excitement whenever they heard his voice. But the turning and kicking got so bad you’d waddle your cute butt away every time Soap would come talking even when it was casual conversation.

He’s right on your heals, easily catching up to you, “But baby, how’s I ‘posed to know chicky would come to love ma voice soooo much?”

“Johnny I don’t know, but it hurts! Back up ten feet from now on!” You giggle in a playful annoyance.

“Poor mama,” he coos, pecking your lips before kneeling down right at your belly, hand touching it and immediately feeling a kick that made you wince. “Johnny!” You keened. “Looky ‘ere chicky, ye can’t go bullying ma wife every time ‘m near. That ain’t fair, is it?” The man looks up at you, eyes glistening with laughter and giving your round stomach a kiss. “Ease up on ‘er, will ya?”

Oh did that baby ease up alright, not giving you a moments rest after that “talking to” if chicky didn’t hear Soaps voice. You’d call, three in the morning, praying to God he wasn’t doing anything.

“What’s wrong? You okay dove?” hes panicked, quick to answer those last two months, always.

You sniffle, “Just say somethin Johnny! The baby’s trying to kill me!” And that man can’t help the grin that forms on his face. Chicky hadnt even been born yet but was giving you hell. Like father like child, Johnny’d done the same thing with his mother. She’d be happy to hear about this.

And then, little chicky was born, a beautiful thing with a head full of hair, two eyes, two ears, ten fingers and toes. both of you two cried with joy. The baby clung to Johnny every chance they could, which started the babbling. Chicky would talk up a storm to the both of you as soon as they were able to hold their head up by themselves. Firsts clenched, drool every where, eyes wandering, always had so much to say.

In came Soap who had to feed them at 7 am (sleep trained to a tea by yours truly), the baby in the high chair, red baby food surrounding its mouth while Soap cleaned up the mess of a kitchen from the night before. Going on and on about the people he had to work with.

“Oh honey, I knoooow. Carol told me tha’ Evan’s been bein a little bitch to everyone on base. Annoyin yer poor Da while he tries to do his work! Cannae ‘ave that, can we?”

And your sweet baby babbles back, squealing and gripping onto the spoon in his hand.

You, who’s been watching the entire scene from the archway of the kitchen, scoffs, “Jesus, don’t curse at my kid!”

“Dove it’s not me!” He threw his arms up in defense, giggling, “the babe just won’t stop tellin me how much a gobshite Evan is.”

Soap bends down, face level to your baby. “Yes he is! Yes he is!” He coo’s, and chicky grins, as if they know what’s going on. Just like always.

a/n: reader x soap and their baby chicky is so cute to me.

most recent masterlist

[sh4nksslvt]

CLINGY MUCH? | ONE SHOT

Shanks x GN!Reader

Zoro x GN!Reader

Mihawk x GN!Reader

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

tags: sfw, fluff, soft, ooc(?)

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

You were many things aboard the Red Force—calm, sharp-tongued, and painfully unbothered by Shanks’ endless antics.

You were also completely unaware of the fact that the most feared (and flirted-with) captain in the New World couldn’t seem to stop touching you.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way… at least, not that you noticed.

He’d toss an arm around your shoulders like it was a habit. Rest his hand on your waist when laughing. Tug you into his side when something “dangerous” happened, like a slightly aggressive breeze or a seagull flying too low.

You just chalked it up to him being Shanks.

Until, one bright morning, the crew decided enough was enough.

It started with Benn Beckman sighing dramatically as he walked onto the deck.

“Do you two need a room or something?”

You blinked from where you stood, arms crossed. “We’re not even doing anything.”

Benn pointed. “His hand has been on your lower back for ten minutes.”

Shanks blinked down at his own hand like it betrayed him. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”

You raised a brow. “Are you okay? Do you have tactile issues?”

Lucky Roux snorted as he passed by with a turkey leg. “Yeah, it’s called ‘falling for someone and not knowing what to do with your hands.’”

Shanks turned red. You remained… utterly unaffected.

“Touch-starved pirate disease,” Lime Juice muttered, jotting fake notes like a doctor. “Tragic. Symptoms include: prolonged physical contact, excessive grinning, and spontaneous cuddling in public.”

Hongo popped his head out of the crow’s nest. “I saw him brush your hair behind your ear during the storm last week.”

“That was because it got in their face,” Shanks defended.

You nodded. “He didn’t want me to get stabbed by my own bangs. Very heroic.”

“You’re wearing a braid,” Yasopp called from the helm.

A long pause.

“…Okay, I’m not good with excuses,” Shanks muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand bumped yours in the process.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Captain.”

“Yes?”

“You’re touching me again.”

“...I genuinely didn’t notice DAHAHAHA.”

The crew erupted into laughter.

You blinked slowly and glanced down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “You’ve been holding my hand for a minute now. You good?”

“Maybe.”

You stared.

He stared.

“…You’re kinda warm,” he added, grinning.

“I’m wearing gloves.”

“Exactly. Impressive.”

You didn’t smile, but your voice was flat with dry humor. “You wanna marry me, too? Get it over with?”

Shanks choked. “Whoa—what?”

“You’re already touching me like I’m your lover. Might as well commit.”

The crew howled.

“I’m starting to like them more than you, Cap,” Benn said, lighting a cigar.

“They’ve got more bite,” Lime Juice grinned.

Lucky Roux offered you a celebratory turkey leg like a sword. “You just proposed better than he ever could.”

You calmly took it, giving a single nod. “Thanks. I accept my own proposal.”

Shanks was still frozen. “Wait, are we actually engaged now?”

You took a slow bite of the turkey leg, deadpan. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll owe me alimony.”

ZORO

You were minding your own business—arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, back leaned slightly against the Sunny’s railing—when a familiar weight thunked into your side.

Again.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t glance, didn’t even blink. Just spoke.

“Zoro.”

“What.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what.”

“Treating me like a living chair.”

He grunted. “You’re stable. And not annoying.”

“That’s a compliment?” you asked, still deadpan.

“Take it or leave it.”

The crew had noticed. Of course they had. This was the sixth day in a row Zoro had casually latched onto you like a sleepy barnacle.

“Oi, mosshead!” Sanji snapped, appearing from the galley with smoke swirling and a righteous fury in his eyes. “Get off them, you clingy cucumber!”

Zoro cracked open an eye. “Make me.”

“Oh, I will!” Sanji stomped over dramatically. “Y/N-chwaann shouldn’t have to carry your freeloading swordsman body weight! If anyone deserves to be close to them, it’s me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You literally tripped into my lap yesterday trying to ‘tie your shoe.’ You were barefoot.”

“It was a metaphor!” Sanji cried. “For falling head over heels!”

Zoro scoffed. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Says the mossy limpet glued to their side like a touchy fungus!”

Zoro didn’t move. “Jealousy’s not a good look, curly.”

“You—!!”

“Guys,” Nami sighed, “can’t we go one day without turning affection into a shouting match?”

Brook leaned on his cane, chuckling. “Yohohoho! Young love… or something!”

Usopp squinted. “Wait. Has Zoro always been this clingy with Y/N?”

Robin smiled mysteriously. “Since thriller bark, at least.”

Franky nodded solemnly. “Saw him fall asleep on their shoulder mid-battle once. SUPER unconscious.”

“I thought he was dead,” Chopper added, horrified. “Turns out he was just really comfy.”

Zoro’s grip on your shoulder tightened very slightly, and you finally glanced sideways at him.

“Do you know you’re this touchy?” you asked.

He looked like he wanted to evaporate into the deck. “I… just don’t mind you being close.”

You blinked slowly. “Is that samurai code for ‘I like you’?”

Sanji audibly gagged. “Oi! Don’t flirt in front of me!”

“We’re not flirting,” you said.

Zoro mumbled, “Might be.”

Sanji died inside.

“Y/N-chwann” he said gravely, dropping to one knee. “I beg of you—pick me instead! I would never lean on you like a sweaty tree log!”

Zoro growled. “Because you’d faint from being close.”

“AT LEAST I’D DIE HANDSOME!”

You looked between the two of them and sighed.

“I just want to drink my tea without being fought over,” you muttered, walking off—Zoro immediately following, like a shadow with swords.

“You’re still touching me,” you noted.

“Didn’t say I’d stop,” he replied casually.

You stopped walking, turned, and looked him square in the eye.

“You’re aware this is very couple-coded, right?”

He blinked, then grunted. “Guess we should make it official then.”

You blinked right back. “That was fast.”

“Why waste time.”

You smirked just a little. “Romantic.”

He shrugged. “You’re warm. And you don’t talk too much.”

“That’s your idea of a proposal?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

From behind you, Sanji dramatically screamed into the ocean.

MIHAWK

Kuraigana Island was a wasteland of stone, wind, and uncomfortable silences. You didn’t mind. You were the type to thrive in eerie places — quiet, observant, and allergic to nonsense.

Which is probably why Mihawk didn’t bother with small talk.

Or... so you thought.

Lately, the world’s greatest swordsman had developed a habit of materializing wherever you were. You’d be cleaning a blade — and there he was, pouring tea. You’d sit on the crumbling stone wall for some air — and there he’d be, suddenly trimming the overgrown vines right next to you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence.

Until today.

“...You know you don’t have to sharpen every one of my knives,” you said flatly, watching him work silently at the bench beside you.

“I didn’t,” Mihawk replied, still honing the blade. “Only the dull ones.”

You blinked. “That was my butter knife.”

“Then it was very dull.”

From the far side of the ruins, Zoro grunted as he finished a set of squats. “He refilled their canteen twice this morning.”

“Once,” Mihawk corrected, still not looking up.

“Twice,” Zoro insisted. “Once after breakfast. Then again after they just looked at the sink.”

Perona floated down with a snort. “He also folded their coat. While they were still wearing it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Is that why my sleeves were shorter for a second?”

“You had a wrinkle.”

“I always have a wrinkle.”

Mihawk looked up with that unreadable expression. “And now you don’t.”

Zoro huffed. “What even is this? He acts like a butler. But like, a scary one.”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not a butler.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Perona muttered, arms crossed. “You fixed the strap on their satchel too.”

Mihawk didn’t respond to that.

Perona raised a brow. “You gonna deny it?”

“No,” Mihawk said coolly, “because it was crooked.”

Zoro leaned against a stone pillar, towel around his neck. “He also moved your seat at the dining table.”

“That was my seat,” you said.

Mihawk finally gave you a long, side glance. “You’ve sat on the left for the past four mornings. I simply ensured it remained consistent.”

You deadpanned. “You rearranged the furniture.”

“Briefly.”

Zoro stared. “And when they tripped over that vine—”

“I cut the vine before they fell,” Mihawk snapped with a tone just shy of defensive.

“Bro. You lunged across the courtyard.”

Mihawk sipped his wine calmly. “It was in the way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And when you pulled me by the hood into the shade the other day?”

“You were overheating.”

“I wasn’t sweating.”

“You were blinking slowly.”

You stared. “That’s just how I blink.”

There was a long pause.

Then Perona gasped. “Wait, wait — you also fixed the strap on their scabbard!”

“I adjusted it. The weight distribution was uneven.”

Zoro clapped once, grinning. “So you are clingy.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, the glint in them sharp and dangerous. “I am not.”

You leaned your chin on your hand, amused. “Then what would you call this?”

He paused. “Awareness.”

Perona lost it. “You mean hyper-awareness. Of one (1) person.”

Mihawk ignored her. “It’s strategic. I simply ensure you're at your most efficient.”

“That’s not efficiency,” Zoro said, wiping his forehead. “That’s doting.”

Mihawk arched a brow. “You think a swordsman cannot be observant?”

“You folded their laundry in order of fabric weight.”

“They prefer it that way.”

You blinked. “I never said that.”

He side-eyed you, expression cool. “You didn’t need to.”

You blinked again.

Zoro grunted. “You see? He’s acting like we’re all weird for noticing.”

Perona jabbed a finger toward him. “He's totally doing the ‘if I act calm, no one will notice I'm obsessed’ thing.”

Mihawk finally gave a soft, tired sigh — the kind that said you people are exhausting.

Then, turning to you, he asked, “Would you like tea?”

“I haven’t said I was thirsty.”

He didn’t blink. “You will be.”

You stared. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re predictable.”

You squinted. “...That sounds like flirting.”

Mihawk blinked slowly. “I don’t flirt.”

Perona groaned. “OH MY GOD—”

Mihawk stood up, cloak sweeping behind him, expression unreadable as always. He held out the canteen like he’d already won this conversation.

You took it with narrowed eyes, muttering, “Thanks... I guess.”

He nodded, calm as ever. “You’re welcome.”

Zoro crossed his arms. “Still denying it?”

Mihawk looked at all of them — then at you — and with perfect poise said,

“I’m just efficient.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You stared after him, took a sip from the canteen, and sighed.

“…Efficiently annoying.”

[aro-pancake]

Ok, I have some stories too with the old CRTs at my grandparents, both of which somehow, saw most of my aunts and uncles being born, and still survived long enough for me to meet them, and have clear memories of both finally claiming they're no longer due for this world in my mid teens (that's, like, 10~13 years ago, btw).

But, there's one, the day the tv broke at my maternal grandparents.

By then, we had another TV, that was in the living room. A modern LED screen. But this one. This TV was about my mum's younger sisters age, and it stayed in my grandparents room. My cousin and I had many a memory there, as we would put on a mattress by the foot of our grandparents bed and lay there to watch cartoons or telenovelas with grandma and grandpa on that old TV.

Until the day we got there to watch our morning cartoons.

Me, age 13, my cousin, age 10. Each holding on to their mug of chocolate milk, bread with butter and ham on a small plate, ready to watch our beloved cartoons.

But no TV.

Woe is us. Because what's it for two kids to do on a Saturday morning if not watching those beloved cartoons? Sure, we could go to the living room, but my aunt was there, and we don't bother her.

So, we call grandpa. Grandpa can always fix everything! He fixed my cousin's remote control car! He'll know what to do! Up the stairs we go (still holding on to our breakfasts, mind you), to ask grandpa to see what's wrong with the TV.

The thing is. Grandpa is not an electrician. He knows how to fix simple circuits, sure, but because he was a contractor before his retirement.

I still remember the sound that tv made when we got back down to help grandpa (he likes having us around when fixing things, either for the help, to keep him company or to show us how to do things ourselves.)

I swear. That calling grandpa was the best thing we could have done. Because having two kids, alone, trying to turn on that TV would be the same as leaving us alone with a bomb.

It made a weird, loud electric explosion noise, and it. Just. Gave. Up.

I had never before seen one of those quit life, even less doing it so dramatically. But that one did it.

We were all startled, but grandpa was smart (and strong) enough to take it outside quickly, just before it let out some smoke. It didn't burn, as in fire. Nope. It melted some circuits, but no fire.

Next morning, grandpa is opening the TV to show us how it works (as best of his knowledge) and to see what went wrong for the funsies of it.

Well, it was a... Memory.

[pbaz7]

NORTHBOUND

paige x azzi

word count: 5.9k

A/N: I felt really inspired to write something like this. It’s random but tackles a different side of my usual writing. Very short synopsis: they meet on a train. Talks about religion, life, who knows😭. Let me know what you think!!

—————————————————————————

The train moved like a long, exhaled breath across the spine of the Northeast—steady and rhythmic. It was the kind of motion that lulled secrets to the surface, coaxing confessions from silence with strangers. Outside, trees stood like sentinels in soft focus, slipping past in shades of red and yellows. Inside, the hum of metal against the track became the pulse of the people inside the vessel.

Azzi stepped into the car with a glance down the aisle. She moved like someone who didn’t need to ask for space—she simply found it. Her eyes scanned the scattered passengers until they landed on a figure near the back.

She sat like still water—serene, reflective. A blonde woman with her hair pulled back in a loose bun, the kind of effortless style that took a little time. Her eyes were closed beneath headphones that rested like a crown, music turned low or maybe not playing at all. The world hadn’t disappeared around her—it simply waited for her permission to exist in her mind.

A flannel hung from her shoulders, sleeves rolled just slightly enough to reveal her wrists too precise to be unintentional. The shirt was soft, broken-in, but unmistakably tailored. Its muted pattern didn’t shout money, but it whispered it. If you studied the seams, the buttons, the way it fell—it became clear: this was wealth disguised as ease. Likely worth five hundred dollars, yet she wore it like it was no more than a memory, like something she grabbed from her closet without any afterthought.

Around her neck, a silver chain sparkled with each flicker of overhead light—small diamonds catching movement. The diamonds weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. It was the kind of necklace someone gave you when they wanted the world to notice your put together appearance without knowing exactly why.

On one wrist, a Cartier watch sat with the confidence of old money. A minimal and sleek silver.

“Is this seat taken?”

Azzi’s voice was a little raspy but smooth, a voice you’d want to hear first thing in the morning as sunlight poured through the window. A voice you’d want to fall asleep to at night with moonlight shining in. Paige didn’t stir, didn’t open her eyes. Her head remained tilted against the train’s headrest.

“It’s yours,” she murmured, the words slipping past her lips without much thought. Not unkind, just uninterested. Or better yet maybe...practiced.

Azzi nodded to no one, slipping into the seat diagonally across from the woman. Close enough to catch the trace of her cologne—something subtle, woodsy, expensive—but far enough not to trespass. Azzi respected space, understood the intimacy of sitting in your own silence.

The train rocked gently on its path. Neither of them spoke.

Minutes passed, unmeasured. The two of them drift into their own headspace.

Then Paige opens her eyes.

The light hits her face as if the sun had been waiting for this moment. She blinked against it a few times—her sensitive blue eyes taking time to adjust. Then she turns slightly, catching sight of the woman seated diagonally in front of her.

The woman looked like she’d walked out of a still from a Wes Anderson film: timeless, styled with effort and intention. Her dark hair was swept into a ponytail that managed to be messy and meticulous, a few curls softening the edges of her cheekbones falling off the side. Her sleeveless, light blue button-up vest clung like it was tailored to her specifically. Jewelry dotted her wrists, ears and neck—all delicate silver, placed like punctuation marks in what was already a perfect sentence. The woman was beautiful—in the objective kind of way, where no one with eyes would suggest she was anything but breathtaking.

In her hands, Man’s Search for Meaning sat cracked open, a finger gently marking her place as she read.

Paige slid her headphones down, the padded muffs resting around her collar now. SZA’s voice spilling into the air between them.

“That’s a good book,” Paige said, her voice clearer now—low, melodic, suggesting she was interested in the words coming out of her mouth this time around.

The sound of Paige’s voice caught Azzi slightly off guard. Her gaze lifted from the page, and for the first time, their eyes met. The stranger had soft blue eyes, holding a quiet intimacy—a gentless that you wouldn’t expect from a stranger.

Azzi didn’t smile with her mouth—just her eyes, a soft curve at the corners.

“First time reading it,” she replied simply.

Paige tilted her head slightly, a small smile on her face. “It’s a little heavy for a train ride.”

Azzi looked down at the book, then back up at her, shrugging gently. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s perfect for a train ride.”

Paige studied her for a moment—something about the calmness in her tone, the steadiness in her hands, in her demeanor.

She noticed Azzi was nearly at the end of the book. A well-worn ribbon tucked near the final pages.

“Let me know what you think when you’re done.”

And just like that, she slid her headphones back over her ears, SZA’s voice soft as it filled her space once more. Her eyes closed, lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks as the train pushed forward.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Just watched her for a moment longer, then looked back down at the book.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed.

The world outside the window shifted like watercolor paint—blurred towns, trees, sun slipping between clouds in pale golden streaks. The steady hum of the train stitched time together in long invisible threads. Paige rested against the seat, still and composed, while Azzi sat with her legs crossed, the book now finished and resting closed in her lap.

The words had clung to her, page after page, until there was nothing left to turn. Now, she stared out the window, letting the weight of the words settle. Her reflection ghosted back at her in the window, soft brown eyes caught somewhere between thought and feeling.

After a while, she glanced over.

Paige hadn’t moved—head tilted back, lashes low, headphones still hugging her ears. There was a softness to her face that hadn’t been there before. As if sleep had touched her, but hadn’t quite taken her.

Azzi wanted to say something. She wasn’t sure what. Maybe you were right—it is heavy. Or maybe something lighter, like what would you recommend next?

She didn’t speak. She just looked.

Somehow, Paige felt it. Her eyes opened slowly, as if the weight of Azzi’s gaze had stirred her awake.

Blue met brown—warm and cool at the same time.

Neither one of them smiled at first. It was just a quiet acknowledgement.

Paige turned off the music, the faint hum of SZA slipping into memory as she slid her headphones off. She looked over again, her blue eyes resting gently on Azzi’s profile.

“What’d you think?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She exhaled slowly, like the words she was about to speak needed space to sort themselves out.

“It’s one of those books that sits with you,” she said. “Not because it’s trying to impress you with anything fancy, it just tells the truth—and lets that be enough.”

She turned to Paige a little more. “Frankl’s way of looking at suffering—how it’s not something to be avoided, but something to lean into, to find meaning through it—it feels I don’t know...like progressive writing. Especially now, when everyone’s always trying to escape discomfort. He doesn’t preach, either. He just tells you what he saw. What he lived.”

Paige watched her closely nodding along, letting the words settle before speaking. “You’ve read it before?”

Azzi shook her head. “First time. But I think I’ll come back to it.”

Paige smiled, a small nod accompanying her reply. “I’ve read it a few times. I think it’s one of those books that means something different depending on when you pick it up.”

That made Azzi pause as she thought about it. A slow smile blooming at the edges of her lips. “That’s a really beautiful way to put it.”

They sat with that thought, letting the silence stretch again—not empty, but reflective.

Azzi’s voice came again, softer now. “But...it’s not your favorite.”

A statement, not a question.

Paige’s lips curved—not into a smile exactly, but something close. “It’s not.”

Azzi tilted her head. “So what is?”

Paige leaned back, letting her gaze drift to the ceiling of the train car before finding Azzi again.

“Parable of the Sower.”

Azzi’s eyes lit up, recognition flickering through her expression. “By Octavia Butler? Why?”

“Well, it’s post-apocalyptic for one,” Paige said, half-grinning.

Azzi chuckled.

“But really,” Paige continued, the humor softening into something more serious, “I like her take on things we don’t usually give enough credit to. Empathy. Fear. Despair. Jealousy. Desperation. Love. Resilience. Hope.”

She said each word with care, like she wasn’t just listing themes—but naming something deeply thought about a few times.

Azzi looked at her quietly, her gaze drifting for a moment to the delicate silver cross resting against the expensive flannel—how it caught the light in flashes, just like the diamonds along the chain.

“And religion,” Azzi added gently.

Paige looked at her, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Her take on a religious and universal journey...together. It’s not something you see often. Not done like that really.”

Azzi hummed softly in agreement, a thoughtful sound that lingered between them.

Paige shifted, eyes studying Azzi’s expression now. “Are you religious?” she asked, voice a little softer, like she wasn’t sure how far she could go. “I am sorry if that’s...too much. I don’t mean to offend. It’s just not everyday I can have a natural conversation with someone.”

Azzi shook her head, not dismissive—just sincere. “No,” she said quietly. “It’s not too much.”

She looked out the window again, the landscape blurring past. A beat passed. Then another, before she spoke. “I’ve been trying to find my footing with religion,” she admitted, fingers tracing a seam on her vest. “There’s... a pull there. But there’s also a lot of confusion.”

Paige nodded once, encouraging her silently.

Azzi sighed softly. “One—I don’t really know how to study the Bible. People say just read it front to back, but that’s not...realistic for me in all honestly. It’s like trying to drink the ocean.”

Paige let out a quiet chuckle—brief, but full of understanding.

“And two,” Azzi continued, gaze lowering, voice quieter now. “I’m gay so that’s a whole nother thing.”

Azzi didn’t look up right away, not fully wanting to see the reaction. But Paige didn’t flinch, didn’t shift away.

Instead, she thought. Let the quiet settle without trying to rush past it.

Finally she said, “You know, the word ‘homosexual’ didn't appear in any Bible translation until 1946.”

Azzi’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise lighting her eyes.

Paige went on, calmly. “In the original German Bible from the 1800s, Leviticus doesn’t say ‘a man shall not lie with a man.’ It says, ‘a man shall not lie with young boys, as he does with a woman.’”

Azzi studied her as she continued, voice thoughtful, as if she’d carried this information closely for a long time. As if she’d studied it herself, for her own comfort.

“And in Corinthians... the term that’s now translated as ‘homosexuals’ It used to mean ‘boy molesters.’ Not consensual love between adults.

Azzi looked at her now—not just intrigued, but changed, slightly. Like something inside her had loosened. “No one’s ever told me that,” she said softly.

Paige shrugged, a touch of humility in the gesture. “Most people haven’t been told. That’s kind of the problem.”

Azzi was quiet, her gaze steady, curious now in a gentler way. “Have you always been religious?”

Paige let out a slow breath, eyes drifting toward the window for a moment before returning to Azzi. “I’ve always been Christian,” she said. “Went to church with my stepmother growing up. But I didn’t really start appreciating religion—God…the universe, the importance of it all—until college.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, inviting more without needing to ask. Still, she did, softly: “How?”

Paige thought about it. She didn’t rush, and the silence stretched. The train hummed beneath them like a heartbeat keeping their conversation alive.

“I had…” she paused, adjusting the words in her mind before letting them pass her lips, “have…a lot of eyes on me. Expectations. Pressure. I didn’t always understand why certain things were happening. Why things felt so heavy, even when it looked like I was doing everything right.”

Azzi nodded faintly, something familiar stirring in her eyes.

“I was in the same boat you’re in,” Paige continued. “Didn’t get how reading the Bible cover to cover was supposed to help. Didn’t even know where to begin. But then one day I was struggling with understanding myself, life, everything. Then I heard a verse—Proverbs 3:5-6.”

She shifted slightly in her seat as she recited:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your path.”

The words hung in the space between them, Paige watching the stranger across from her take them in.

“I don’t know,” Paige added, eyes distant, “something about that…hearing it at the right time, it felt like permission. To stop needing to know everything. To stop solving everything on my own.”

Azzi watched her, her hands now loosely folded over the book in her lap, the weight of their conversation replacing the words on the page.

“That’s amazing,” Azzi said finally.

There was a reverence in her voice—not for the verse alone, but for the way Paige carried it, the way she presented it to her.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a moment, but her eyes hadn’t left Paige’s. There was a softness to her silence—not hesitation, but reflection. The train rocked gently beneath them, the metallic sigh of tracks slipping beneath wheels like a quiet agreement to stay in motion.

After a moment, Azzi spoke. “I’ve always felt like religion and science couldn’t live in the same room. Like you had to pick a side.”

Paige’s lips curled slightly, not in amusement—but in understanding. This stranger reminded Paige of her journey, of her questions at the beginning.

“I used to think that too,” she said, opening herself up more, spreading her legs. “But I don’t anymore.”

She glanced out the window for a second—trees blurring like thoughts too fast to name—before looking back.

“I believe in science. In research, in biology, in the way our bodies hold memory. I think evolution is beautiful, and the human brain is a miracle. But I also think we’re made of more than matter like science mentions.”

Azzi was still watching her, head tilted now in quiet intrigue.

“I don’t think faith and science cancel each other out,” Paige continued. “I think they’re both trying to answer the same questions. Just...using different languages.”

The words landed softly, like snow on top of a roof on christmas morning.

Azzi leaned back, arms now crossed loosely. “So for you, it’s not one or the other.”

Paige shook her head gently. “No. It’s both. It has to be. I need the facts—need to understand the world around me. But I also need something to hold when the facts don’t comfort me. When life doesn’t make sense. And sometimes...it just doesn’t and you have to turn to faith.”

Azzi smiled at that, a quiet smile that touched the corner of her lips but lived mostly in her eyes.

Paige mirrored it, before adding, “Faith, for me, isn’t about certainty. It’s about surrender. It’s about connection. About knowing there’s something bigger than me—something good—whether I understand it all the time or not.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of things they didn’t have to say. Of questions they’d been holding separately, now slowly untangling together.

Azzi looked down at the book in her lap again, then back at Paige. “I think I’ve been afraid to want that,” she said. “To want something bigger for myself.”

Paige’s blue eyes were quiet, inviting. “What kind of afraid?” she asked softly.

Azzi’s lips parted, like the question caught her off guard—but not in a bad way. More like she hadn’t expected someone to care enough to ask. She looked down, thumb brushing the edge of the book’s cover, then up again.

“The kind that tells you you’re asking for too much,” she said slowly. “Like…if I let myself want more—hope for more—I’ll either disappoint myself or disappoint everyone else. And I don’t know which is worse.”

The train hummed around them, a cocoon of steel holding their words in.

“I grew up in a house where everything had to make sense. My parents are...rational. Practical. We didn’t talk about God. We talked about scholarships. Five-year plans. My career. Faith was…optional. Sentimental.”

She paused, and Paige didn’t fill the silence. She let Azzi find the rest of her words herself.

“So I built my life like that—measurable, structured, focused. But sometimes I feel like I’m living inside a blueprint that someone else drew for me. And when it gets quiet—when I’m not moving—I start wondering if I even know what I believe. Or who I am without all the plans.”

Her voice didn’t tremble, but something in her hands did—a quick twitch, just enough to make Paige notice the way she clasped her fingers together, grounding herself.

Paige exhaled slowly, not to interrupt, but to remind Azzi she was still listening. Still there.

Azzi glanced out the window, then back again. “Sometimes I think I’m scared to believe in something bigger because I don’t want to find out it won’t believe in me. What I’ve done with life.”

Paige’s expression softened—almost imperceptibly, but enough. There was no pity in her face, only understanding, like she recognized the weight of those words because she’d carried something similar.

“I don’t think it works like that,” she said quietly. “God doesn’t wait around deciding who’s worthy. I think He’s just always there. Always believing in you. It’s just…” She paused, gathering her thoughtsl. “Sometimes we forget to believe in ourselves. Or we think we need to be perfect before we can approach something sacred.”

Azzi looked down at her hands, turning them over as she played with one of her rings, like she might find something written in the lines of her palms.

“But what if you don’t know how to approach it?” she asked. “What if you don’t know how to…start? To get your footing.”

“You don’t need a perfect entry point,” Paige said. “You don’t need to have all the answers or some special prayer. That’s the thing. Everyone has their own relationship with God. It doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. And it doesn’t have to be loud or traditional. It can be quiet. Curious. It can start right here. Talking to a stranger on the train.”

Azzi’s eyes lifted slowly to meet hers. “What does it look like for you?”

Paige thought for a long moment. The train rumbling beneath them.

“It changes,” she said honestly. “Some days it’s gratitude—being thankful for the privilege I have. Some days it’s asking questions. Some days it’s just being still enough to listen. But when I really need something to hold onto, I go back to certain verses. They’re like anchors. Holding you in place when you start to drift away from what matters.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Like Proverbs?”

Paige smiled a little, nodding. “Yeah. But there’s one that I think might settle with you. Isaiah 41:10.”

She said it gently, her voice a low current:

“‘Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’”

Azzi didn’t speak. But the verse hung between them for a moment.

Then Paige added, softer, “You’re never alone in this world. Even when you feel like it.”

The words didn’t ask anything of Azzi. They didn’t push or preach. They just rested gently in the space between them, like light filtering through a half-closed window.

Azzi blinked slowly, like she was holding the words carefully, trying to decide where to place them inside herself. Then finally she offered a quiet: “Thank you.”

Paige’s smile was genuine. “Of course.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was full, like something sacred had passed between them. But eventually, curiosity nudged its way back in, as it always does between strangers learning one another.

Azzi moved a curl that was in her face and asked, “What’s your profession?”

Paige let out a soft laugh, already anticipating the shift in Azzi’s expression. “You’re expecting something noble, huh?” she teased.

Azzi grinned, the edges of her lips tugging up. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Paige said, a sparkle in her eyes, “I dribble a ball for a living.”

Azzi blinked. “You what?”

“I play basketball,” Paige added, laughing now. “Professionally. Dallas Wings.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, eyes wide with pleasant surprise. “You’re serious?”

“As a buzzer-beater in the fourth.”

The laughter between them was easy now.

“What about you?” Paige asked, still smiling, still watching her.

Azzi hesitated for just a second—just long enough for Paige to catch it. Then she said, “Modeling.”

Paige’s lips curved into a charming smile. “I can see that.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, almost playfully. “You can?”

Paige nodded, her eyes never leaving her. “You have that kind of beauty that doesn’t ask for attention. It just… has it. Effortless. Like it doesn’t even know it’s happening.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard again—this time by the way the compliment landed. Not abrasive or showy. Not some throwaway flirtation meant to flatter and move on. There was something soft in it.

Most people gave her compliments that came at her like flashes of a camera—bright, loud, and gone too fast. But this—this felt like light through curtains. Poetic. Kind. Genuine.

She offered a smile then, the real one—the one that started in her eyes and unfolded slowly across her lips.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet again, but not shy.

“Wait…” Paige said, her voice cutting softly through the quiet between them. “I’m sorry, I never got your name.”

Azzi smiled, turning slightly in her seat as she extended her hand. “Azzi.”

Paige took it, her fingers brushing Azzi’s delicately. Her eyes stayed on Azzi’s, even as her lips parted to repeat it. “Azzi,” she echoed, like she was tasting the name. “That’s beautiful.”

Azzi’s expression shifted—something flickered, soft and pleased, almost shy for the first time.

“It suits you,” Paige added.

Azzi’s smile grew.

Paige held her hand just a moment longer before gently saying, “Paige.”

Their handshake wasn’t really a handshake at this point. It was a pause in time. An invitation wrapped in eye contact and the gentle stroke of Paige’s thumb on the back of Azzi’s hand.

Then Azzi slowly pulled back, but her gaze lingered just a little longer before she sank into her seat again.

The train hummed beneath them. Neither spoke, but the quiet between them felt anything but empty. They both watched the world blur past the window—flashes of trees and towns stitched together by tracks.

But Azzi’s gaze kept drifting, again and again, back to Paige.

She watched the way Paige’s fingers moved in slow, thoughtful patterns—thumb brushing over the edge of her nail, a subtle press to the pad of her ring finger. The light caught her Cartier watch with each motion, glinting in soft pulses that felt strangely hypnotic.

It was peaceful. Intimate in a way neither had expected.

Paige felt the eyes on her before she saw them. She turned, met Azzi’s gaze, and offered a small smile.

“So,” she said, her tone inquisitive, “what has you heading to New York?”

Azzi blinked, as if she was caught daydreaming, then let out a breath. “Vogue,” she said. “They’re doing a ‘day in the life’ spread. Should be flattering—or terrifying.”

Paige lifted an eyebrow, impressed. “Vogue huh?”

Azzi shrugged, but the corner of her mouth curled up. “Apparently, they think my life’s interesting enough.”

Paige grinned. “They’re not wrong.”

“What about you?”

“Nike thing,” Paige said simply. “A promo event.”

There was another stretch of quiet, not awkward. Just making room for reflection.

And then, as if pulled by the same thread, they both spoke at once:

“So why the train?”

They paused, eyes meeting. Laughter stirred in their throats.

“You first,” Azzi said, gesturing.

Paige shifted slightly in her seat, one arm draped over the armrest as she looked out the window, then back at Azzi.

“Airports are a nightmare for me,” she said. “It’s too loud. Too many eyes. People either recognize me or think they do, and even if they don’t, the energy is just...heavy with eyes on me.”

Azzi watched her, listening more than looking.

“On the train,” Paige continued, “it’s quieter. More grounded. People mind their business. Or they talk like you and I are talking. There's something almost romantic about it.”

She glanced at the window again, the scenery moving like brushstrokes in motion—riverbanks, trees, the occasional structure blinking past like a memory.

“I like the way it all moves by,” she said. “Like the world’s telling a story and you get to just watch. No rushing. No pressure. Just…stillness in motion.”

Azzi nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. It’s slower, but that’s the point. You get to actually be in it. The moment.”

Paige looked at her then—really looked. The light hit Azzi’s face just right, illuminating the soft golds in her skin, the quiet curve of her cheek.

“And,” Paige added, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “sharing a train car with a beautiful girl who still believes in real conversation—who’ll talk to a stranger about books and God like it’s the most natural thing in the world—that feels like a rare kind of reward.”

Azzi’s lips parted just slightly, surprised—but she didn’t look away. She smiled instead, a little breathless, as if the compliment had landed in a place rarely touched.

Their conversation found its way back to that quiet space again—words woven like threads between long stretches of silence, both of them gazing out the window as the afternoon light shifted golden.

Azzi broke the stillness first, her voice low but certain. “Do you think…God speaks to people?”

Paige turned her head. “Yeah,” she said, after a beat. “Just not always in the way we expect.”

Azzi nodded slowly, as if tucking the answer into the folds of her mind. Then Paige leaned down and unzipped the bag at her feet, pulling out a worn book with gilded edges and a cracked spine. She handed it across the aisle without a word.

Azzi took it gently, fingers brushing Paige’s just for a second. “What’s this?”

“Mythology,” Paige said. “Most of the stories are in there. I’ve had that since college.”

Azzi began to hand it back. “I can’t take it. Just tell me the title, I’ll find it.”

But Paige shook her head. “No, I want you to have it.”

Azzi hesitated, unsure how to respond to the quiet generosity.

“Mythology gives shape to things,” Paige continued, her voice more like thought than sound. “It holds the metaphors that religion is built on. The stories that came before the verses. I started reading it when I was young—before I ever picked up a Bible. Now I read both. One teaches me how to believe. The other, stories of why we need to.”

Azzi ran her thumb along the edges of the worn pages, flipping gently through the book. Tucked between myths were scribbled notes in the margins—fragments of thoughts, connections to scripture, little arrows linking one world to another. She paused on a page where someone—Paige—had written grace isn’t always gentle, but it’s always there.

Her smile was faint.

Paige watched her, eyes soft, the corner of her mouth lifting at the sight of Azzi so focused, so careful. She didn’t say anything, but something in her chest settled, like a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying had shifted into place.

Azzi glanced up, catching Paige’s gaze before returning to the book, something tender flickering behind her lashes.

She felt quietly lucky—because this athlete sitting across from her, this kind, gorgeous athlete with a voice that was warm and a heart full of questions, had a depth most people didn’t bother to reach for. A thoughtfulness that felt rare. Sacred.

And Paige… Paige was quietly amazed that this genuine, stunning model wasn’t just curious—she was searching for connection. For understanding. For meaning. Azzi looked like a dream, but here she was—interested in the fabric of the world, not just how it dressed.

They sat like that for a few moments, both of them holding something unspoken but warm.

Stillness never feeling so full.

Azzi finally spoke, her voice laced with the softness of the moment. “How have I never met you before?”

Paige leaned her head back against the seat again, the corner of her mouth twitching into a small smile. “I’m a homebody,” she said, almost like a confession. “Games and promo events—that’s about it. Manager makes sure I keep the image clean.”

Azzi’s eyebrow lifted. “Seems squeaky clean to me. You’re sitting here giving out mythology books to strangers on trains.”

Paige laughed. “Touché.”

Then, with a glance that lingered a little too long, Paige added, “How have I not heard of you? I’m pretty into the fashion world.”

“Not sure,” Azzi said, completely honest. “I’m kind of everywhere in that world.”

Paige’s laugh was warm and genuine—the kind that made people want to hear it again. “A little humility wouldn’t kill you Azzi.”

Azzi grinned, eyes sparkling. “I’m just being honest.”

Outside the window, the skyline had begun to bloom—New York creeping in, bold and inevitable.

Azzi glanced out the window, then back at Paige. “Looks like we’re almost there.”

Paige nodded, watching her more than the view. “Shame. I was just starting to enjoy the scenery.”

Azzi didn’t look away this time. “You mean the skyline?” she asked playfully, but her voice was lower now, like she didn't want to break whatever spell had settled between them during the train ride.

Paige smirked, eyes still on her. “Something like that.”

Their silence wasn’t empty—it pulsed with everything left unsaid. The city stretched out before them now, but neither one of them moved to gather their things just yet.

Azzi ran her finger along the spine of the mythology book Paige had given her. “You ever think about how strange it is…the way strangers meet? How sometimes the smallest decision—taking the train instead of flying—becomes something that lingers? That changes your life?”

Paige’s gaze softened. “I think about that a lot more than I’d like to admit.”

“Do you think moments like this mean something?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She leaned back slightly, the light glinting off the diamond cross at her neck, her voice quiet when it came. “I think the universe has its way of folding people toward each other. Even if it’s just for a conversation.”

Azzi held her breath for a beat, then exhaled slowly. “And if it’s not just a conversation?”

The train began to slow, brakes humming like a quiet sigh.

Paige’s smile returned. “Then I guess we’d be wise not to waste the moment.”

With that, Paige slid her phone out of the pocket of her pants—the first time either of them had broken the spell of analog stillness. The screen lit up, a quiet glow against the fading sunlight outside the window.

“I figured a phone number might be too forward,” she said gently, almost with a smile, as she opened Instagram and turned the screen toward Azzi.

Azzi took it typing in her name before she tapped “Follow,” the quiet gesture speaking louder than it should have. Then, reaching into her own bag, Azzi pulled out her phone to do the same.

On both screens, their profiles flickered into focus—millions of followers between them. Faces they would never meet. Names they’d never know. Yet, the list of who they each followed was strikingly sparse. Paige followed just 129. Azzi, only 57.

Until now.

Azzi hit follow back and Paige saw it shift in real time—57 became 58.

Azzi glanced up, that same half-smile still playing at the edge of her lips. “Guess I’ll be seeing more of your world.”

Paige held her gaze, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Maybe I’ll get a first-person point of view of yours someday.”

Azzi's smile deepened, quiet and sincere. “I’d like that.”

The train gave a soft lurch as it rolled to a stop beneath the city. They stood, gathering their things in an unspoken rhythm.

“Let me know what you think of it,” Paige said, more of a request than instruction.

“I will,” Azzi promised, then added with a quiet spark in her tone, “Read The Body Keeps the Score. It’s not mythology, but...it lingers.”

Paige nodded, tucking the title away with care, as they stepped out into the station, the cool underground air brushing against their skin like the first breath of something new.

Together, they moved up into the city, footsteps echoing in tandem until they reached the street—where, waiting side by side, were their blacked-out SUVs. Different lives, different destinations, but somehow the same arrival.

Before they climbed into their respective vehicles, something caught their eye. Just across the street, Times Square pulsed with light—and there, almost absurd in its timing, were two billboards.

One of Paige in motion, captured mid-jump shot in a Nike ad, muscles coiled in a perfect capture. The other of Azzi, frozen in a soft gaze, draped in something impossibly elegant under the bold white serif of Vogue.

They looked at each other, then back at the glowing billboards.

A small, disbelieving laugh escaped Azzi.

Paige’s grin mirrored it, a gentle shake of her head as she opened the door to her car. “Only in New York.”

Their eyes lingered for a beat longer—long enough for something unspoken to be shared, folded neatly between them—before they both slid into their separate cars, the doors closing behind them.

And just like that, the city swallowed them up.

Both of their phones stirred to life—screens lighting up like small galaxies in their hands.

It started slowly: a trickle of notifications, then a flood. Whispers turned wonder.

“Wait… Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd?”

“No way my two worlds are colliding.”

“The athlete and the model?? Need it real bad”

“They just followed each other. No way.”

Some posts came dressed in exclamation points, others wrapped in heart-eyed emojis or slowed-down screenshots of them on the train taken discreetly. Fans speculated like poets, reading into silence, into timing.

In the vast, digital noise of the world, something soft was happening. Not confirmed. Not denied. Just noticed.

And somewhere in the backseat of two separate SUVs, Paige and Azzi each looked down at their glowing screens, smiled, and let the moment live.

Quietly. Like a secret blooming.

[frnkiebby]

mmhmm yes okay f u c k~🎃

[salvagemarch]

Lay It on Me

joel miller x reader

3,114 words

summary: you are absolutely smitten with joel and everything about him, specifically everything he has going on in his pants. you know it’s unrealistic to have access to him at all times, so you come up with a solution.

continuation of this blurb but can be read as a stand alone

warnings: reader literally makes a dildo in the shape of joel’s dick, female and male masturbation, unprotected piv, cowgirl, creampie, reader is unhinged, insatiable, and sex crazy but joel likes it, sort of jealous joel, my attraction to blue collar workers is kind of shining through in this…

a/n: i wrote this solely because my first ever anon requested it…this is all for you babe

To say you were pissed would be an understatement

You knew it was unfair, Joel was a busy man with a busy job and a lot of clients to make happy. But he was your man, and you deserved to be happy too.

Here you were, feeling bad for yourself after he cut your usual morning sex short because his brother needed him at work earlier than usual. You were still laying in the same spot in your shared bed, naked, sweaty, and wet, with no Joel there to help you.

Sighing, you knew you could finger yourself, use a vibrator, take a cold shower, do whatever the hell you needed to do to rid yourself of your unbearable horniness, but you didn’t want to anything but fuck Joel.

As you sulk in your bubble of sexual frustration, your mind begins to wander and you remember a friend of yours telling you about a “stupid gag gift” her boyfriend bought her for Christmas. It was some sort of diy clay kit to make a mold of his penis, and in the moment you laughed at the idea. But now, with your spread legs and your poor, unsatisfied groin, it seemed brilliant.

You grab your phone to text your friend.

“Hey, how much did that dick mold kit cost?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Joel, it’s an amazing idea! Just do it, it’ll be worth it!”

You told Joel about your genius plan as soon as he sat down to take off his work boots, which you began to regret as he looked up at you with tired eyes and a sweaty face. The regret quickly dissipated when you noticed his damp biceps and your arousal for him took over everything else.

“Don’t you want us to be closer? This is a great way for us to bond,” you sit down beside him, getting in his personal space to try and convince him to do what you wanted. It always worked.

He continued untying his boots and wiped his hands on his pants. “I already fuck you every damn day and night, how much more close can we get?” you ignore his remark to gawk at his big hands, imagining them on your body.

He sighed as he sat up to stretch his back, glancing over at you with irritated eyes. “You ain’t gonna let this go, are you?” you shake your head with a big smile.

“Jesus christ. Go get in bed, girl. I’m gonna show you I’m better than any dumb toy.”

You cum 6 times that night. It doesn’t deter you from your plan.

Two weeks pass when you get a knock on your front door, and when you open it you find what you’ve been waiting for. The kit. You yell for Joel to come down into the kitchen and when he walks in, hands dirty from wood working, you hold the box up in all its taboo glory.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile.

“It’s stupid. I can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this,” he crosses his arms and leans against the counter, watching as you open the box and glares at the big Clone-A-Willy name on the package.

“I’m not making you do anything, you’re choosing to do it because you love me.”

Joel finds himself lying on the bed with an annoyed expression and spread legs, his jeans thrown somewhere on the floor and his boxers pulled down to his ankles. You take a second to admire his pretty cock before wrapping both of your hands around it and stroking up and down to get him hard.

It really was beautiful. Almost eight inches, wide, had veins and ridges in all the right spots. It’s like his body was made just for you. You swallow down your saliva as your mouth watered.

“Okay, step one: Coat the penis in clay mixture,” you read from the instruction paper in front of you and begin spreading the mix you made earlier around Joel’s dick. His breath hitches as it hits his sensitive skin.

“Shit, you didn’t tell me it was gonna be cold! And it’s slimy, too,” he grimaced at the feel of the clay, and you had to hold back a moan as his appearance grew more disheveled. His thighs tensed and his neck strained at the discomfort, but holy hell did he look hot when he was irritated.

“Sorry, hon. I’m just following instructions,” you explain as you continue working the mixture onto his length.

He frowns at you, clearly unimpressed with your excuse. His cock twitches slightly as you continue smearing the cool, thick clay mixture along him. Despite his obvious discomfort, his cock grows harder and harder under the clay coating.

"Following instructions, huh? Those instructions are shit," he grumbles, shifting his hips restlessly on the bed. "My balls are starting to get numb here."

You bite your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how hot he looks sprawled out like this, all rugged and masculine despite the weird clay situation. His stomach rises and falls with each breath, drawing your eye to his sturdy chest.

"Almost done, baby. Just need to make sure it's fully coated," you say.

“Okay, all done. Step two: Wait for clay to dry on penis. Shouldn’t be hard at all, right? Hard? See what I did there?”

He frowns at you. The clay continues to set around his dick, creating an oddly textured surface. “You aren’t funny, smartass. No shit it shouldn't be hard. Though I guess you're doing a good job of changing that," he says wryly, nodding towards his straining erection barely contained by the stiffening clay mold.

After a few more minutes of awkwardly waiting, he sits up slowly, the clay slightly cracking and flaking off in places. “Alright, I think it's dry enough. Can I please take this thing off now? My dick feels like it's trapped in concrete."

“Be careful!” you reprimand him. “I don’t want to break. I need it all in one piece to be able to use it,” you place a hand on his stomach and push him back down, opting to take the cast off yourself. His dick grows harder.

He sighs heavily, looking exasperated by your enthusiasm. With great care, he helps you peel away the clay mold, moving slowly to avoid breaking it. As more of his dick is revealed, you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

"There, I got it off in one piece. Happy now?" he asks once the mold is complete, holding it up for your inspection. It's creepily similar to Joel’s length, replicating every ridge and vein in detail. He sets it aside on the nightstand before turning back to you with a raised eyebrow.

"So, uh...why exactly are you makin’ that thing anyway? Because I gotta say, this whole ordeal is pretty weird. Even for you,” he takes a tissue from the nightstand and wipes his clay covered hands, making an effort to avoid touching the clone of his penis.

“I already told you, I’m gonna use it when you’re away and I’m horny. And you know I’m always horny.”

Joel shook his head, a mix of frustration and fondness in his expression. "Yeah, I know you're horny all the time, but that doesn't mean this is the only solution. What if my brother goes snoopin’ around and sees that you have that? You know he likes the run his mouth," Joel starts overthinking. "You're gonna be the talk of the town, aint't ya? 'Did you hear Joel’s girl has a plaster replica of his cock?' Christ, the rumors will be flying," he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

You bite back as he spirals. “Yeah? Maybe I can use it right now if you’re so ashamed of me, let it take your spot completely.”

His smile faltered at your words. "Whoa, hold on a minute. I'm not ashamed of you, crazy girl. I just...I don't know, it's weird, okay? Seeing my own dick in a fucking mold, knowing you're gonna use it on yourself..." He trailed off.

Joel exhales shakily and runs a hand through his hair, struggling to articulate his feelings. “God knows how horny you are, and there ain’t nothin’ that makes me happier than gettin’ to take care of that whenever you need. But this...this is different. It's like you're replacing me."

Despite his hesitation, you can sense an undertone of desire in his voice. He's torn between his possessive nature, and the thrill of watching you pleasure yourself with his likeness.

You sit on your knees and scoot closer to him. “Aw, is baby jealous? You really think I’m trying to replace you?”

Joel scoffs, but there is a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Me, jealous? Of a goddamn sex toy? Please. I'm just sayin’, this is a little crazy, even for you." He crosses his arms while he wallows, his cock still hard and on full display.

He pauses, seeming to take a moment and think over his next words. “I guess I have to be honest. Seein’ you touch yourself with my dick, even if it's just a copy...it is kind of hot. Knowin’ that I can make you feel good like that, even when I'm not around..."

He trails off, a flush creeping up his neck as he meets your gaze. There's an intense look in his eyes. "Just don't start expecting this to become a regular thing, okay? I'm still the one who gets to be inside you.”

You bite back a smile as Joel reassures himself, reminding you of your need for him more for his peace of mind than yours. “Of course. It’s just for when you’re unavailable, I promise.”

He nods, accepting your terms and letting his jealousy subside. A small smile plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you eagerly eyeing the toy. “If that's what you want, go on and use it.”

He gestures towards the nightstand where the replica sits, awaiting its inaugural use. “Just don't forget whose it really is when you're done playing with it,” he says, eyeing your covered cunt.

“You wanna watch or something, perv?” you tease.

“Me? A perv? I’m just curious to how you’re gonna use the thing. ‘Sides, it’s only fair considering the fact I had to deal with having my dick covered in clay.” He leans against the headboard, crossing his arms behind his neck. “Put on a show for me. I deserve it.”

You lean forward to grab the toy off the nightstand, sitting back to look at Joel. You’ll give him a show.

As you position the clay piece between your legs, Joel’s eyes don’t leave your body once. His gaze is trained to the space hovering over the cockhead of the toy, and you can sense his arousal growing at the promise of watching you get off. “Don’t forget to stroke the real thing later,” he says, reaching down to palm himself.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth as you begin to rub your panty covered center on the molded cock, watching Joel rub his dick. “Fuck me, why don’t ya just put it in already? I wanna see you ride that thing,” his words come off as a command but you know better, sensing the desperation beneath them. Joel was always just as horny as you were.

With a huff you toss your shorts off and pull your panties to the side, wearing nothing but them and your tank top. You fit the tip between your wet lips. “You need to be patient,” you scold him as you ease yourself onto the toy.

Joel’s free fist clenches at his side, fighting the urge to pounce and yank you onto his lap. The sight of your slick entrance welcoming the dildo into your body made him moan, and the vision of you was almost too much for him to handle. “You,” he pants, “are testin’ my limits, sweetheart.”

You let yourself sink fully onto the toy, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room and simultaneously making Joel’s actual tip leak with precum.

You breathe lowly as your eyes roll closed, spreading your legs to fully take in the feeling of the toy. The familiarity of the shape comforted you, but the inhuman smoothness to it gave you something new to explore.

The moan that leaves your lips makes Joel throb painfully, his dick begging for relief as he gawked at the sight before him. “Jesus, fuck…look at you, so damn sexy taking that thing so deep…” he wasn’t even really aware of what he was saying, letting his dirty thoughts come out of his mouth freely as he tugged on his cock.

“You like that, don’t you? Like bein’ able to have my dick buried inside you at all times?” he mumbled, continuing to stroke himself and watch you through hooded eyes, “I bet you can’t wait to cum all over it, can you?”

His words just made you whimper, encouraging you to slide up and down the toy, “Feels so good, Joel,” you leak more arousal onto the sheets below, “Love your dick so much.”

A guttural groan comes from Joel’s throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as if he was following the motion of the toy inside you. “Don’t I know it, baby,” he reaches out with his free hand, trailing his thick fingers over your thigh. “Keep going, work that thing in and out of ya. Show me how much you love having my cock inside of you.”

Before having sex with Joel, you didn’t think it was possible to cum in under five minutes. Now, even with a fake version of his dick, you already felt your stomach getting tighter. “So deep,” you moan out, “‘M gonna cum, Joel.”

As your climax began consuming you, Joel surged forward and planted two beefy hands on your hips, pulling you down onto the toy. The lewd squelch of your pussy gripping onto the mold filled the room, punctuated by your moans growing in pitch and Joel’s words of praise.

“That’s it, cum for me,” he grumbles. “Let go, baby, Give that thing everything you got.

His grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he helped you piston up and down. The toy plunged in and out of your dripping cunt, making you whimper loudly as you gushed around it. Joel tugged you down, hard, one final time as he held you in place and grinded you against the base of the dildo.

As you rode out the aftershocks, Joel held your shaking form against his body and stroked your hand gently, shushing you as you came down from your high.

“Will you fuck me now?”

Joel breathed out exasperatedly. “First, you make me sit through having my dick turned into a sex toy, and now you’re askin’ to fuck me after cumming on said sex toy?” Despite his shock, Joel knew he wanted to give your body as many orgasms as it could handle. He eyes his own crotch, knowing he was still hard.

“I suppose I should give you somethin’ in return for that show…” he trailed off before grabbing your body as if it weighed nothing and laid back on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. “Come on, up ya go. Show me what you’ve got.”

You smile breathlessly, still feeling your walls twitch and clench around nothing. You throw your legs over his waist and sit right over his cock.

Joel slides his hands up your thighs to your hips, grasping them and sliding you onto his tip. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” your previous orgasm still drips from between your thighs. His hands moved to grip your ass cheeks, pushing you to sink down. You both gasped and groaned as you took his length in, Joel thrusting up to meet your downward motion.

“That’s it, honey,” he encouraged, “Use me however you want. Jus’ don’t stop.”

He loses himself in the feeling of you bouncing above him, the weight of your breasts pushing against his chest and your moans like a bird song to his ears. You whimper and rest your hands on his strong shoulders, finally having his dick back in you after fucking the replica. Nothing is better than the real thing.

“Love your cock so much, Joel. So perfect for me,” you praise him mindlessly, letting your horny brain do all the talking as his dick filled every space inside your pussy.

He slid his hands up your torso while you rode him, letting his thumbs hike your shirt up to reveal your breasts. He moved one hand down to steady your hip, and used his other to reach for your tits, taking turns to palm each of them softly. “You are so fuckin’ sexy like this,” he groaned out, “Can’t believe I get to call this body mine.”

Your moans turn into full on whines, letting Joel consume you entirely as your second orgasm began forming. You rolled your hips downwards, letting his dick fill you as deep as it could as your slick walks gripped him tightly.

“I’m cumming again, Joel,” you warn, sliding up and down. Despite your words, Joel makes no move to stop you, his body surrendering to yours.

“Go ahead, baby, get it nice and wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick and heavy with desire. You comply as Joel moves his hand from your breast to your clit, rubbing circles on it with his fingers. You clench around him before your ears start to ring, finishing with loud whimpers.

With renewed urgency, Joel grips your hips and bucks up into you, the force of his thrusts rocking your body and making the bed creak. His balls draw up tight against you, and with a powerful thrust, he buries his face into your neck and lets out grunts into your ear. You feel him cumming inside of you, feel it spilling out of you as he gives slower thrusts. Your tiny whimpers of satisfaction fill the room as he pants, wrapping his arms fully around your torso and bringing you with him down against the bed. He feels something nudging his back, but he ignores it as you move over to nuzzle into his chest.

The both of you catch your breath together, basking in contentedness and the warmth of each other’s sweaty bodies.

Suddenly, Joel’s body jolts up when he hears a blood curdling scream coming from beside him on the bed.

“YOU LAID ON MY DILDO!”

[dudududuumaxverstappen]

Waking Up Together

with Lewis, Lando, Charles, Max

Lewis

"Baby?" you whisper against the shell of your boyfriend‘s ear, voice still tinged with sleep while wiggling one arm free from under the blanket. It‘s super toasty in bed, with Lewis holding you close and Roscoe sleeping partly on top of you, but you wouldn’t trade these moments for anything else in the world. They are simply perfect. Paradise. Everything you need.

"Hm?" Lewis shifts slightly, but only so he can get even closer, his face pressed against the side of your neck.

A soft laugh escapes you, your finally freed hand stroking gently over the side of his face. "It‘s almost midday."

"Five more minutes." His voice is hoarse, drowsy with sleep, and makes you smile. You gently lay your hand upon his face, and rest your head against him. "Five more minutes."

Lando

Your eyes flicker open the moment you feel someone kiss your nose. A soft giggle parts your lips and you open your eyes, looking into the beaming face of your boyfriend.

"Morning, my love,“ Lando says, partly sleepy, partly joyful, and a grin also forms on your lips.

"Good morning, my love,“ you tell him and sigh as you shift on the mattress and rest your head on the pillow again. "Do we have to get up already?"

Turning your head slightly, you look up at him, finding him still admiring you. Lando gives his head a small shake, and with a smile says, "Nope.“ He leans in again and kisses your nose once more. "It’s a Sunday without a race, so we can stay in bed all day."

"All day, you say?“ you hum and close your eyes again.

"All day,“ he confirms, and lies down beside you again. "We can cuddle some more. Have breakfast in bed, watch some shows, and then … then we could also have amazing, mind-blowing sex."

You have to chuckle and hear him laugh against your shoulder, his warm breath fanning your skin.

"Sounds like a phenomenal plan."

Charles

"Bonjour, my belle fille." Charles presses a soft kiss against your cheek as you open your eyes, blinking against the sunlight filtering in through curtains.

"How did you sleep?"

"Like a babe." You stretch your arms above your head before nustling your face into his chest again. "And you, my love?"

"Same," he hums happily, pulling you softly against him and sighing into your hair. "Would you enjoy breakfast in bed, or shall we go out to—"

"In bed," you interrupt him, tipping your head back with a grin so you can look at him. "Please."

"No need for please, Madame. Everything you want." He smiles as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"But you—"

A soft chuckle slips through his lips. "There‘s nothing better than breakfast in bed with you. And …" He wiggles his brows and laughs again. "Whatever it leads to afterwards."

Max

Leaning over him, you trace your fingers along the contour of his jaw, admiring the peaceful beauty of your boyfriend as he sleeps. He stirs awake slowly, smiling when he realises what you are doing. Gently, he grasps your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the inside of your palm. "Good morning, sunshine," he says against your palm. "Did you sleep well?

"Sooo well," you hum and grin at him. "You?"

"With you in my arms? Always like a king." You see him smile, but his eyes close again, and you know just how tired he is after a long weekend of practices, qualifying and racing.

"What about we sleep a little longer and then have breakfast in bed?"

He doesn’t really give you an answer, only humming in response before drifting off once more. You cuddle up to him, nustling into his chest, smiling against his soft skin.

[bu3ck3r]

tied together – part 2

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 7k

a/n: okay part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the kind words about part 1 i love yall fr. after you read spam my inbox and tell me how was it and what you want to see next in this series because that would help me finish writing it faster🩵

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

there were three different air vents in the ceiling above paige’s bed, and she’d been staring at them long enough to map out their pattern in her head. she could hear the soft hum of the central air unit kicking on and off, a quiet rhythm that should’ve been comforting. should’ve put her to sleep. but it didn’t.

nika was snoring lightly in the other bed. arm slung over her stomach. unaware that her friend was drowning in a mess of memories, nerves, and someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

paige rolled over again. the clock on the nightstand glared at her in burning red: 3:05 am.

she wanted to scream.

instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated groan. her legs tangled in the hotel sheets, which had somehow gotten too hot despite the air conditioning. she threw them off and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. her chest was tight again.

not the post-game adrenaline. not soreness.

azzi.

always azzi.

her name had been playing on a loop in paige’s mind since the final buzzer. since that short conversation they shared just off the court—tense and quiet and loaded with everything paige had been trying to suppress since their last goodbye. since the last time she kissed her in the backseat of her car with trembling hands and didn’t say anything afterward. since she found out azzi committed to south carolina in a headline instead of a phone call.

what azzi had said to her after the game kept echoing in her head:

“i don’t know if it’s too late.”

it felt like it might be. felt like they’d crossed whatever line you don’t come back from. not because of the game. not even because of the school decisions. it was everything in between. the silence. the missed chances. the way they’d let pride fill the space where honesty should’ve lived.

she ran her hands down her face, frustrated. it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

they were supposed to rise together. be legendary together. win together. lose together.

instead? they had become a story people whispered about. “paige and azzi would’ve been inseparable if they played together.”

now they were rivals.

she should’ve said more. in the tunnel. when azzi stood there looking torn between biting her head off and reaching out. paige had seen it—the war behind her eyes. she could read azzi like a damn book. could always tell when she was bluffing. when she was hurt.

tonight, azzi had been both.

and paige had let her walk away.

again.

and now here she was—three in the morning, sitting in a hotel bed , not an ounce of sleep in her body, and one very real urge building like wildfire in her chest.

she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, squinting against the light as she unlocked it.

her thumb hovered over azzi’s name.

they hadn’t texted in months. not since before azzi announced she was going to sc. not since paige stopped replying altogether. there were so many almost-messages saved in the drafts: little check-ins, late-night thoughts, deleted love letters.

she hovered her fingers over the keyboard. started typing. deleted. tried again.

are you still awake?

she stared at it.

didn’t send it.

she started typing again, like she had a thousand times.

i miss you.

just those three words.

she stared at them. read them over. read them again. her heart thumped like it was trying to break out of her chest.

then, like always, she deleted it.

she couldn’t do this through a screen.

not anymore.

she was out of bed five minutes later.

slipping her phone into the hoodie pocket. moving slow to not wake nika. she slid on her uconn slides and crept into the hallway with her hoodie pulled tight around her, the strings bouncing against her chest.

the hallway was dim and silent, except for the low sound of vending machines and the soft, faraway sound of an elevator ding.

paige walked past room after room, carpet muffling her footsteps.

room 350.

she remembered the number because she’d seen it on a clipboard earlier that day when the teams checked in. she was signing some form in the hotel lobby and caught the room assignments. her eyes had skimmed the page, heart skipping when she saw bueckers – 250 right above fudd – 350.

she told herself it was coincidence she saw it. she told herself she wasn’t trying to remember.

but here she was.

standing in front of it.

she hesitated, staring at the door like they held the answer to smthing she didn’t know how to ask.

paige closed her eyes for a second. her hand trembled as she raised it. she knocked.

the door opened fast—like azzi had been standing right behind it.

maybe she had.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair messy. hoodie oversized. barefoot.

she froze when she saw paige.

neither of them said anything for a second.

then azzi leaned against the doorframe, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was real or just something her brain had conjured up from exhaustion.

azzi’s pov:

the room was too cold, but azzi refused to get under the covers. she’d been sitting alone upright in bed for nearly an hour, hoodie on, legs crossed, just… thinking.

not about the game.

about her.

about the way paige had looked when their eyes met across the court again. like she hadn’t aged a day and yet somehow carried years in her expression. about the way her voice cracked when she said, “i don’t know if it’s too late.”

that moment replayed in her mind over and over, like a skipped record.

azzi had pretended to be fine all day. laughed with her teammates, took pictures with fans, smiled for the cameras. but she hadn’t been fine in months.

not since that night paige stopped answering.

not since she chose herself and sc and left paige behind—and paige didn’t fight for her.

azzi had her phone in her lap, paige’s contact open on the screen, but her fingers refused to move. her pride refused to reach out first. again.

she was just about to shut it off when the knock came.

it wasn’t loud. but she knew. somehow, before she even looked through the peephole. she knew.

she pulled open the door fast, heart already thudding in her chest.

and there she was.

paige.

hair messy. eyes tired. mouth parted like she didn’t know what to say.

azzi stepped aside without a word.

paige stood just inside the doorway, her hand still curled around the strap of her hoodie like she wasn’t sure she was staying. her eyes swept the room—messy bed,few azzi’s tshirts hanging halfway off the chair—but she didn’t comment. she just looked… tired. unsteady. like showing up at 3am hadn’t been impulsive at all, but something she’d been fighting herself over all night.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was a whisper. “paige it’s 3 a.m.”

“i know.”

another pause.

azzi tilted her head slightly. “you came all the way up here just to stare at me?”

“i wasn’t done,” paige said, her voice low. “back there. in the tunnel.”

azzi looked away. “you were right not to be.”

there was a beat. a breath.

then paige stepped forward.

“look, i don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. but i’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t still mess me up.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. just a little.

paige kept going.

“i messed up. i didn’t call when i should’ve. i didn’t fight for us when i should’ve. and maybe that’s on me. but i need you to know…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “it wasn’t because i stopped caring.”

azzi blinked slowly, her arms folding tighter across her chest. “it felt like it.”

“i know.”

more silence.

the hallway was still. the only sound was paige’s heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

then azzi stepped aside, just enough for paige to walk past her.

just enough to let her in.

and paige did.

she doesn’t say anything when paige steps inside. the door closes with a soft click, like the quiet has finally wrapped around them and won’t let go.

azzi leans back against it, watching as paige walks a few steps into the room—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to belong here.

the space between them is maybe five feet, but it feels like ten miles.

“nice room,” paige says, her voice low, teasing by instinct but without bite.

azzi doesn’t laugh. just gives her a slow once-over. hair tousled. hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. eyes tired but too alive for this hour.

“you’re bold,” azzi finally says. “for showing up here.”

paige shrugs. “you didn’t slam the door.”

“didn’t mean i was ready to talk.”

“you didn’t look ready to not talk either.”

silence again.

the adrenaline from the game, the tunnel, paige’s sudden appearance—it’s all still buzzing under azzi’s skin.

“you want to sit?” azzi asked quietly, voice low so it didn’t carry down the hallway. “or…?”

“yeah.” paige exhaled. “yeah, i just—couldn’t sleep.”

azzi moved toward the bed and sat cross-legged near the top, motioning for her to sit. paige took the far edge, careful like she was afraid to sink too far into the mattress. the air between them stretched, tight and quiet.

she doesn’t know what she wants more: to scream at her, or to lie next to her and pretend nothing ever changed.

“you really think showing up like this fixes it?” azzi asks quietly.

paige doesn’t answer right away.

“no,” she says. “but i think it’s a start.”

“i kept thinking about what you said,” paige said after a beat. “or what you didn’t say.”

azzi swallowed. “in the tunnel?”

paige nodded.

“it’s not that simple,” azzi said. “it never was.”

“i didn’t ask for simple.” paige’s voice was soft, but not weak. “i just want to know if it’s too late.”

azzi looked at her. really looked. the same loose blonde hair, the same tired eyes, the same little freckle under her lip she used to stare at when paige would lean in close and pretend they were “just friends.”

“it felt like you gave up,” azzi whispered.

paige flinched. “you left.”

“you ghosted me.”

“you didn’t call.”

azzi laughed, bitter. “you think committing to south carolina was about you?”

paige blinked. “wasn’t it?”

azzi’s breath caught. she turned away, stared at the lamp on the desk. “i couldn’t be in your shadow, paige. not forever. not when i was trying to figure out who i even was.”

“i never wanted you in my shadow.”

“you didn’t have to want it. it just happened.”

silence again.

paige shifted on the bed. “so we just… stop talking? after everything?”

azzi didn’t answer.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi hasn’t moved since she sat down. paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. her mouth. her entire body.

“you looked good out there,” she says, trying to break the silence again. “you always do, but… tonight especially.”

azzi looks up at her with a dry, unimpressed expression. “compliments now?”

“too soon?”

“try ‘not helpful.’”

paige nods, tries to laugh it off, but it dies quickly.

“i miss you,” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

azzi freezes.

the air shifts.

“you don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” azzi says slowly.

“i’m not trying to make it easy. i’m trying to be honest.”

“where was that honesty few months ago?” her voice is sharp, but not loud. controlled. the way azzi always was—even when she was breaking.

paige doesn’t flinch. “i was scared.”

“of what? me?”

“of choosing you and losing the rest.”

azzi stands up suddenly. “so you didn’t choose me, and you lost me anyway.”

the words hang in the air like smoke from a slow fire. dangerous. choking.

paige walks closer. not enough to touch. just enough to be in range.

“i didn’t know what i was doing. i thought we’d have more time.”

azzi shakes her head. “we had the time. you just… didn’t show up.”

paige leaned back on her hands, voice lighter, more teasing now: “we were definitely more than friends. i still remember the backseat of my car in december.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “we were cold.”

“oh, right. that’s why your hands were under my shirt.”

“you weren’t complaining.”

paige smirked. “i’m not now.”

and just like that, the air changed again. warmer. more dangerous.

azzi looked at her, studying the soft curve of her mouth, the way her eyes held hers like a dare. like she was testing how far she could push before something cracked.

“you always did this,” azzi said. “made it a joke before it got too real.”

paige’s expression faltered. “it was real.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

azzi didn’t mean to say it like that. but it was too late to take it back.

“i wanted you to fight,” she added, quieter now. “to come after me. even just once.”

paige stared at her. “you think i didn’t want to?”

“you didn’t.”

“i was hurt.”

“so was i.”

paige looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. “we were scared.”

azzi nodded. “we still are.”

neither of them moved for a long time.

then paige looked up, slow, like the weight of every memory was pulling her gaze. “i missed you,” she whispered.

azzi swallowed hard. “i missed you too.”

there was a pull. invisible, magnetic. paige inched closer, her knees brushing azzi’s now. her eyes were soft, unreadable. but azzi knew that look. that was the look that used to undo her in long car rides and quiet corners at tournaments where no one was looking.

she should’ve looked away.

but she didn’t.

and paige leaned in.

just close enough that azzi could feel her breath.

“i shouldn’t,” azzi said.

“you don’t want to?”

paige’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question. not really.

azzi’s heart beat too loud in her chest. “that’s not the same thing.”

usa basketball u16 women’s national team

it was after curfew one night during fiba women’s americas championship in argentina. they were buzzing on adrenaline and the quiet hush of a hotel where everyone else was asleep.

paige had crept into azzi’s room, just like this. hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. she had laid down beside her on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

they talked for hours. about fear, pressure and carrying the weight of a country on their shoulders. paige had this soft way of looking at her—like she saw the good parts azzi tried to hide under perfection.

then paige reached out and touched her hand, so gentle. their fingers curled together. and azzi had leaned in first that night.

their first kiss was quiet. unpracticed. but it burned in azzi’s memory like scripture.

the next morning, they never talked about it. but everything changed.

paige nodded slowly. “it was real, though. right? we weren’t just friends.”

azzi huffed a soft laugh. “friends don’t make out in hotel elevators.”

“or in the back of your mom’s car.”

“or sneak into each other’s rooms during usa basketball.”

they looked at each other.

and smiled. the kind of smile that held too much weight behind it.

october 2021

they were on the rooftop of some building, sneakers kicked off, music low. the stars were hiding behind a thick gray haze, but they didn’t care.

azzi was leaning against her shoulder, paige’s hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent.

“you ever think we’ll get sick of each other?” azzi asked.

paige laughed. “you’d miss me in, like, two days.”

“two hours,” azzi corrected with a smile.

there had been no doubt back then. just this quiet, loud certainty. the way you just knew when you were with the right person—even if the world didn’t make space for it.

azzi traced circles on paige’s hand. “don’t leave.”

“i won’t.”

both of them did.

paige leaned back against the headboard. “you remember the night when we went out on the roof?” she asked, voice low.

“oh my god,” azzi laughed. “you had me wrapped in your hoodie like that was gonna make us invisible.”

“you were cold,” paige said with a shrug. “and also… you looked cute in it.”

azzi turned to her, eyes playful. “so you admit it. you were down bad.”

“yeah whatever, but you know what else i remember,” paige said, voice soft. “usa basketball u16. you kissed me and then you wouldn’t look at me the next day.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “i was freaking out.”

“you still do that, kiss me and then disappear.”

azzi bit her lip. “and you still let me.”

paige turned her body slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

they were quiet again. but not the heavy kind. this was lighter. fragile.

“i kissed you first that night,” azzi said. “and i kept waiting for you to say something after. like, ‘tell me what it meant’. but you didn’t.”

paige looked away, shame crawling up her spine. “i didn’t know how. i was scared.”

“of what?”

“that if i said i loved you, you wouldn’t say it back.”

azzi was quiet.

and then she said, “i would’ve.”

the words hung in the room like a heartbeat.

azzi’s hands are clenched at her sides, and she can feel the war happening in her chest—part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry, and part of her just wants to fall into paige’s hoodie and pretend nothing changed.

“you broke my heart,” azzi says. quiet. not accusing. not soft. just true.

“i know.”

“and you waited until you lost to come here and say it?”

“i didn’t come because we lost.” paige looks right at her. “i came because i couldn’t leave town knowing i hadn’t looked you in the eye and told you everything i never said.”

azzi’s eyes start to sting. she blinks hard.

“i was angry,” she says. “for a long time.”

“you should’ve been.”

“and i hated you for a little while.”

paige doesn’t flinch.

“but mostly,” azzi says, her voice almost breaking, “i just missed you.”

they’re lying on the bed now, not touching, but close enough that their pinkies brush every time one of them breathes too deep.

it’s quiet.

their voices are tired. their eyes are heavier.

“i used to rehearse it,” paige says softly. “what i’d say to you if i got the chance.”

“yeah?”

“it never went like this.”

azzi smiles, faintly. “same.”

azzi looked over at paige, really looked at her. blonde hair messy, eyes bloodshot but glowing in the low light, hoodie drowning her frame.

she looked tired, but beautiful.

azzi shifted. “what do we do now?”

paige looked up. “what do you want to do?”

azzi hesitated.

paige’s eyes softened, and then she said it—just barely louder than a whisper.

“come here.”

the kiss came slow.

no rush. no adrenaline.

azzi leaned forward first, hands trembling just a little, and paige met her halfway. their mouths pressed together in something warm, something real. it was a kiss built on months of silence, years of closeness, and all the things they never said.

when they pulled apart, neither of them moved. they stayed forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same breath.

“i can’t do this if we’re gonna pretend it’s nothing again,” paige whispered.

azzi nodded. “me neither.”

“then let’s figure out how to be something. just… not tonight.”

“tonight,” azzi murmured, “i just want you to stay right here.”

another long silence. but this one isn’t heavy. not quite. it’s almost… suspended. like the night hasn’t decided whether it’s heartbreak or healing.

paige finally turns toward her. “do you think we could start over?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she reaches up and gently tucks a loose curl behind paige’s ear. her fingers linger, and for a second—just one—paige leans into the touch.

“i don’t want to start over,” azzi says. “i want us to keep going.”

“but we’re not the same.”

“no,” azzi agrees. “but maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

they’d moved under the covers at some point. not touching. not kissing. just talking.

about everything.

about how paige felt like the injury had turned her into a ghost and how she didn’t want azzi to see her fading.

about how azzi cried on the plane to south carolina, because she realized she didn’t know how to build a life without paige in it.

4:45 a.m.

they’re still awake when the first light slips through the blinds.

azzi’s head is on paige’s shoulder now. paige’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her wrist.

they haven’t said the word love all night.

but it’s everywhere.

in the silences. in the unfinished sentences. in the way neither of them asked the other to leave.

they don’t know what tomorrow looks like. whether anything really got solved. whether this is just nostalgia wearing a disguise.

but for now—for this hour—it’s enough.

just them.

just paige and azzi.

and the space between them finally closing.

6.00 a.m.

paige doesn’t remember falling asleep. she only remembers the feeling of azzi’s breath warm against her neck, her name spoken softly in the dark, like an invitation and a promise all at once.

now, it’s morning.

the harsh kind. not soft and easy like in movies, where the light’s always golden and perfect. it’s gray, a little cold, and the sheets are tangled at their feet. her mouth is dry, her heart full of things she can’t quite articulate. she’s lying there in azzi’s bed, still wearing her hoodie from the night. everything about the situation feels like a careful balance, and paige isn’t sure how to breathe without making the whole thing fall apart.

azzi’s still asleep next to her, tucked against her side like a piece of her is trying to anchor itself in the moment. her hand is draped over paige’s ribcage, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of the hoodie, but the touch feels intimate, grounding.

it’s too early. too much. too real. paige doesn’t know how to walk this line between regret and longing.

she turns her head slightly, watching azzi’s face. the peacefulness there is so different from what’s been between them for years. paige doesn’t know what to do with the softness.

“i could stay here forever”, she thinks, but the world won’t let her.

azzi stirs beside her, shifts in the bed. the blanket moves slightly, and for a second, paige thinks she might slip into sleep again. but then azzi opens her eyes, blinking slowly as if she doesn’t quite understand where she is.

when their gazes meet, there’s something fragile there, something unspoken. but neither of them says a word.

the tension between them isn’t angry or distant—it’s something else. something too fragile to touch, but impossible to ignore.

azzi finally clears her throat. “you steal the covers even in your sleep.”

paige chuckles softly, though it’s awkward. “you drool on your pillow.”

azzi’s lips twitch, but it’s a strained smile. “good to know you’re paying attention.”

paige’s heart beats a little faster, but she can’t tell if it’s from the teasing or the something heavy still hanging in the air. she shifts slightly, her arm brushing against azzi’s. neither of them pulls away.

they’re caught in this moment—too close to run, too far to hide. but neither of them wants to break it just yet.

the silence between them stretches on, and this time, it doesn’t feel as comfortable. the clock is ticking. the day is waiting, and paige doesn’t know how to start the conversation. how to untangle everything they’ve left unsaid.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi pokes at her fruit, trying to ignore the strange sense of familiarity she’s feeling in this moment. she doesn’t want to feel comfortable. not yet. she doesn’t want to admit that the night before—whatever it was—mattered.

paige is sitting across from her, picking at a muffin like she’s doing her best to pretend this isn’t an awkward situation. but the air between them feels too soft for the usual easy banter they’re used to.

azzi stirs her coffee with more force than necessary, watching paige out of the corner of her eye. it’s too early for this, too raw. she doesn’t want to say anything that could make this harder than it already is.

but paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “i think that dude’s trying to figure out if i’m kidnapping you or something.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the table where one of the south carolina coaching staff is watching them. “you’re not that charming.”

“you let me walk you down here,” paige says, her voice quieter now.

azzi takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “that was pity.”

“that was longing, and you know it.”

azzi doesn’t laugh. just stares at paige, feeling that familiar tension—pulling her closer and pushing her away at the same time.

“can we just… not?” azzi says, her voice quieter, more serious than she intended. “we both know what’s happened. we can’t pretend it’ll be easy.”

“i’m not pretending,” paige says softly, her eyes not meeting azzi’s. “but it’s still real.”

azzi’s heart skips a beat. real. what does that even mean now?

she looks away, trying to steady herself. “we both have things we have to deal with,” azzi mutters.

there’s no more laughter between them, just the sound of soft clinking as they finish their meals, neither one willing to speak more than they already have.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi has no reason to be back at the hotel.

she has practice soon. she’s supposed to be with her team. but something about the morning makes her feel restless—an itch she can’t scratch, a question she can’t answer.

she ends up in front of paige’s hotel room door, her hand poised to knock.

but before she can do anything, the door opens, and there’s paige—hair still damp from her shower.

azzi’s heart skips a beat. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t even have a good reason for it. it’s just that this feels like the place she’s supposed to be.

“oh,” paige says, her voice startled. “i didn’t think i’d see you.”

azzi shrugs, playing it off. “just thought i’d stop by. no big deal.”

“right.” paige looks at her for a long moment, her gaze soft but unreadable. “are you sure you’re not just trying to make me lose my focus?”

azzi shrugs again, like it’s nothing. but something shifts between them, something unspoken and heavy. neither of them knows how to move past this, but neither of them wants to walk away either.

“i don’t know what you want from me, azzi,” paige finally says, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid to speak louder and break whatever fragile hold they still have. “i never meant for any of this to get… so complicated.”

azzi’s eyes flicker, caught off guard by the raw honesty in paige’s voice. she’s not sure how to respond. what do you say when everything you’ve been holding in for so long suddenly threatens to pour out?

“i just thought…” azzi starts, her voice trailing off as she looks at paige, trying to find the right words. “i just thought we could pretend it didn’t happen.”

paige laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “i wish. i really do. but you can’t unfeel something like this.”

azzi steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. the air between them feels thick now, charged in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know why she came, but she knows she doesn’t want to leave yet. not without saying something, anything, to ease the ache that’s settled in her chest.

“i didn’t come here to mess things up,” azzi says, a little too quickly. “i just… i just wanted to talk to you. to make sure you’re okay.”

paige stares at her for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure out if azzi’s telling the truth or just hiding behind words. finally, paige sighs, her shoulders sagging with a weariness azzi can feel in her own bones.

“i’m not okay,” paige admits quietly. “but i will be. i’ll figure it out.”

azzi watches her, heart aching. she takes a step forward, not sure what to say next, but she’s so close now that she can hear the unsteady rhythm of paige’s breath. she could kiss her again. she could lean in and make it all feel better, if only for a few seconds. but something tells her that would just make it worse.

“you can’t do this alone, you know,” azzi says, her voice soft but firm.

paige meets her gaze, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe?—but it’s gone before azzi can name it.

“i know,” paige whispers. “but i have to figure it out on my own. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

azzi steps back, letting the silence fall between them again. she didn’t expect things to be easy, didn’t expect her to just open up and make it all okay. but she hadn’t expected this, either—the feeling of knowing the space between them is widening, and that there’s no easy way to bridge it.

for a moment, neither of them says anything.

“i should go,” azzi says finally, though her voice cracks a little.

paige doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say anything. she just watches her walk toward the door, her face unreadable.

when azzi reaches the door, she pauses, hand on the knob. “paige, whatever happens, don’t forget… i’m still here. even if you don’t want me to be.”

paige doesn’t respond. she just looks at her, and azzi can feel her heart breaking in the silence that stretches between them.

pov: paige

paige steps onto the uconn bus with a heavy heart, taking a seat by the window and staring out at the world as it blurs by. the morning still feels like a haze—azzi’s voice lingering in her mind, her smile, her words.

they’re gone now. she’s gone.

but the ache is still there.

as the bus rolls down the road, the last few hours replay in paige’s head: the kiss, the awkward breakfast, azzi standing in front of her hotel room, her soft admission that she wasn’t okay.

paige closes her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, that isn’t the hole inside her chest where azzi used to be.

“i can’t keep doing this”, she thinks, but even as she tells herself that, she knows it’s not true. she’s already too far gone. and no matter how many times she tells herself to move on, to let it go, the feelings won’t fade. they never do.

she lets her phone buzz in her hand—another notification, another distraction. but when she looks at it, it’s just a text from ice:

you good?

paige doesn’t respond right away. she lets the silence fill her for a moment before tapping out a reply:

yeah, just thinking.

and she is. thinking about the kiss, about the unspoken words, about what it means to have something real slip through her fingers when she wasn’t ready to let it go.

paige stares out the window and lets the silence settle around her like armor.

there’s a text draft open on her phone.

i think i’ve always known it was you.

she doesn’t hit send.

but she doesn’t delete it either.

the bus ride back to the airport had been long, quiet, and almost suffocating. paige couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened the night before, azzi’s words, the soft pressure of her lips—everything was too vivid, too sharp. it’s as if the whole world paused for a moment when they were together.

but then, in the quiet of the morning they said their goodbyes and azzi had left.

paige knows she has to focus. the team needs her. the game is over, but there’s still practice, still the road ahead, still the tournament. but right now, she doesn’t want to focus on any of it.

her phone buzzes, again,text from ice:

yo, did something happened? you seem a lil off.

paige sighs, her fingers hesitating over the keys before she replies:

just tired. we’ll talk later.

she’s not sure what to say. she can’t explain this thing with azzi, this thing that keeps eating at her, and she definitely can’t tell ice that she’s been up thinking about azzi. not without sounding like a mess.

she shoves the phone back into her bag and leans back against the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up her spine.

pov: azzi

azzi is late. she knows it. the rest of her team is already stretching, warming up, the air filled with the low hum of sneakers on hardwood and the sharp calls of coaches.

but azzi’s mind is elsewhere. she’s still tangled up in the early morning hours, the faint echo of paige’s voice ringing in her ears. she told herself she was fine, that she was going to move on, that this wasn’t going to disrupt her focus. but every step she takes toward the court, every drill she starts, the pull of her thoughts drags her back to that hotel room.

she hasn’t been able to shake the look in paige’s eyes when they said goodbye. she can’t pretend it wasn’t something more, something that meant more than it should.

that goodbye wasn’t enough for her, and azzi’s pretty sure it wasn’t enough for paige either.

the whistle blows, and azzi quickly snaps her focus back to the court. the next drill begins, but her body feels like it’s moving without her.

she catches a glimpse of bree, watching her from the corner of the court, and azzi wonders if she has noticed the shift in her energy. she’s been distant lately, quieter than usual. it’s hard to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

aliyah boston calls out to her during a break. “hey, you good?”

azzi forces a smile, trying to brush it off. “yeah, just focused. lots on my mind.”

aliyah’s gaze is sharp, like she sees through the mask azzi is trying to wear. “whatever it is, we’ll get through it. you’re not in this alone.”

azzi nods, though the words don’t feel as reassuring as they should. she appreciates aliyah’s support, but there’s only so much that can be said. what she really wants to do is leave the gym, hop on a plane, and head to connecticut. to paige. her paige.

but she doesn’t. she stays, practices hard, and forces herself to focus.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige is finally in her dorm and flops down on her bed, the midday light creeping through the curtains in soft beams. her mind is still spinning, filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something a little more dangerous. she hasn’t stopped thinking about azzi, and it’s not just because of what happened the night before. it’s everything. the way they’re connected without meaning to be, the way azzi makes her feel things she’s not supposed to feel.

the door to her room creaks open, and her teammate, nika, steps inside, wearing an expression of concern that paige knows too well.

“you okay?” nika asks, her voice low, almost like she’s already figured out what’s going on.

paige doesn’t know how to explain herself, doesn’t know how to tell her friend that she can’t stop thinking about someone she should never even care about. she just shrugs. “yeah, just a little tired. a lot of stuff on my mind.”

nika looks at her for a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly. “i saw the way you were acting at breakfast this morning. you’ve been off for a while now. what’s going on with you and fudd?”

paige tenses. she didn’t think anyone had noticed—but of course nika would.

“it’s nothing. seriously. just… stuff with the game,” paige lies, her words not coming out as smoothly as she hoped.

nika doesn’t buy it. “uh-huh. i don’t know what happened, but you two have been different. don’t let this mess with your focus. we need you, paige. you know that, right?”

paige nods, but even as she says, “i know,” the words feel hollow.

what if this thing with azzi does mess with her focus? what if it messes with everything? she’s supposed to be a leader, supposed to lead her team to victory, but how can she do that when she’s losing herself in thoughts of azzi?

“thanks, nika,” paige says quietly, before turning away from her teammate. nika doesn’t say anything else. she just nods and walks out, leaving paige alone with the thoughts she doesn’t know how to sort through.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi can’t concentrate.

she’s in her dorm, getting ready for the team meeting before they head out for the next game. but all she can think about is the way they left things. how this—all of it—is too much.

“you’re letting this get in your head”, she tells herself, pacing back and forth. focus.

but focus doesn’t come. it never does when she’s thinking about paige.

the room feels too small, the walls too close. she feels like she can’t breathe, like the weight of this whole situation is bearing down on her chest.

there’s a knock at the door, and azzi pauses. “come in,” she calls.

the door opens, and aliyah steps inside, a knowing look on her face. “you’re still thinking about her, huh?”

azzi sighs, sitting down on the bed. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you don’t have to stop. but you need to stop letting it take over your game,” aliyah says, her voice firm but not unkind.

“i know,” azzi mutters, running a hand through her hair. “but what happens when the feelings don’t go away?”

aliyah sits beside her, crossing her arms. “i can’t answer that for you. but i know this: you’re stronger than this. don’t let paige bueckers, or whatever’s going on between you two, take away your power.”

azzi glances at her friend. aliyah’s right, of course. but it doesn’t make it easier.

pov: paige

paige finally admits it to herself. the feelings are too strong to ignore. no matter how much she tries to bury them, no matter how much she wants to tell herself this was a one-time thing, something’s shifted.

she opens her phone, staring at azzi’s name on the screen. should i text her?

the words come too easily.

hey, i’ve been thinking a lot. maybe we could talk?

she hesitates before pressing send. it’s reckless. but the moment it leaves her hands, paige knows she can’t take it back. she’s already in too deep.

what do you want to see in part 3?

[overadores]

⋆˙⟡ must be love.

⋆˙⟡ pairing: manon bannerman x 7th!member reader ⋆˙⟡ about: it’s supposed to be a simple trip—just you, the snow, and a board beneath your feet, but then manon joins and suddenly, the air feels warmer. the silence feels louder. she says she wants to learn, but you’re starting to wonder who’s really teaching who. ⋆˙⟡ genre: fluff fluff fluff ⋆˙⟡ wc: 1.2k ⋆˙⟡ tune in: must be love by laufey ⋆˙⟡ a/n: as promised a fluff! not my best one tho, but i tried to make one T-T. I'll make another one cuz im not really satisfied with this. oh and i'll try to start on my smau hehe, and try to make a sabrina or jenna fic :D

It started with a Weverse post.

Just a photo of the chalet, half-covered in snow like powdered sugar dusted over gingerbread, with a lazy caption that barely hinted at anything: “Back home for a bit. Time to fall on my face snowboarding again ⛷️❄️”

Meant as a joke. Meant as a “don’t forget I exist” kind of thing.

I didn’t expect the flood of comments, or the stream of DMs from our fans. But most of all, I didn’t expect Manon to come knocking on my door five minutes later—literally, not metaphorically—still in her pajama pants, holding her phone like it had personally offended her.

“You didn’t think to invite me?” she said, pouting like I’d just eaten the last cookie.

I blinked at her, rubbing my eyes. “Invite you where?”

“Switzerland. Snow. Boards. You. What do you mean ‘where’?”

I laughed, thinking she was just teasing. But Manon wasn’t joking. She crossed her arms, stubborn. “You’re gonna teach me how to snowboard. That’s what’s happening. You promised once. You said if I ever came with you, you’d teach me.” “I’m dead serious,” she said. “You promised”

“I did?” I asked, still groggy.

She nodded, determined. “You did. On the tour bus. In Tokyo. You said if I ever came with you, you’d teach me how to snowboard.”

Of course she remembered. I vaguely did too. I probably said it in passing, like I always do when I’m too tired to filter myself. Still, I didn’t think she’d actually take me up on it.

But now she stood there with her bottom lip sticking out and her eyes all wide and serious and a duffle bag already packed behind her.

So I said yes.

The flight was quiet, save for the moments she kept humming the melody from one of our unreleased songs, except for the moment Manon fell asleep on my shoulder and drooled a little bit , but I didn’t mind. I kind of smiled to myself, tugged the blanket higher over her, and let her sleep. Switzerland in late winter was pure magic. The kind of cold that wakes you up without hurting. 

My family’s vacation home sat tucked away in the Swiss Alps like a secret. The house was warm with pine-scented candles and the fireplace my mom insisted on lighting even if it wasn’t that cold inside. My brothers dropped by to say hi, and Manon charmed them within minutes, laughing at their jokes, stealing bites of fondue, slipping into our little world so easily it almost hurt. I watched her make my older brother laugh until he cried. That was new.

She always had this way of doing that. Blending in, but somehow shining just a little brighter than everyone else.

We hit the slopes the next morning.

“Okay,” I said, strapping on my board and tightening my gloves. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

Manon looked up at me from where she was awkwardly trying to balance on her board, an innocent expression plastered across her face. “Not really, no. I mean, a little. I went skiing once. Does that count?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s slippery snow things. Same vibe.”

“Right.” I laughed. “This is going to be a disaster.”

It wasn’t, though. Or rather—it was, but in the best way.

Manon pretended to be clueless, but I caught her adjusting her stance just a little too well. And every time I gave her advice, she already seemed to know what I was going to say. She let herself fall a lot, though. Mostly into me.

“Oops,” she’d say, her laugh muffled against my jacket.

“You totally did that on purpose.”

“Nooo,” she’d drawl. “Never.”

But the way she looked up at me from the snow, grinning like a devil in a beanie, told me otherwise.

After a few hours and a lot of falling—real or otherwise—we collapsed near the edge of one of the quieter trails, just past a ridge where the snow dipped into soft rolling hills. The sky was blushing pink, the sun slow and syrupy as it slid behind the peaks. I pulled off my gloves, breath fogging in front of me, cheeks flushed.

Manon flopped beside me in the snow, still laughing from her last fall. “Okay,” she said, rolling onto her back. “You’re a good teacher.”

“Liar.”

“No, really. I only almost died three times. That’s a win.”

I chuckled and stretched out next to her, watching the sky change. Everything was quiet up there. No fans, no cameras, no pressure. Just cold air and the smell of pine and the sound of her breath beside mine.

She turned to me, her hair a mess of curls escaping her hat.

“You really love it here,” she said softly.

I nodded, squinting up at the sky. “It’s the only place that doesn’t feel loud. It’s quiet without being empty. You know?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”

We were quiet again, the kind that feels full instead of empty. I watched the sun kiss the snow golden. Manon was watching me.

Then she said it.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just—

“You’re really pretty when you’re not paying attention.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

She sat up fast, panic flashing across her face. “Wait, I didn’t— That came out weird. I just meant— You look…happy. Here. It’s nice. You’re nice.”

I laughed. “You’re rambling.”

“I know,” she groaned, flopping back down. “Ignore me. It’s the altitude.”

But then, quieter: “I think I might be in love with you.”

The words were soft. No drama. No buildup. Just a quiet, accidental slip. Like she’d said it a million times in her head and finally forgot to keep it there.

I sat up slowly. My breath caught. “Wait, what?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t mean to say that. I mean, I did, but not like this. I know we say ‘I love you’ a lot in the group, but I don’t mean it like that. I mean—”

A pause.

“—not in a friendly way. I love you, and I didn’t plan on telling you, but you looked like that and it just sort of happened.”

I stared at her. My heart was thudding like a drum line in my chest.

She was looking everywhere but at me now, cheeks red—but maybe from the cold, maybe from everything else. I sat up slowly, brushing snow from my coat.

“Manon.”

She groaned. “Don’t. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I’ll just—”

“I love you too,” I said finally.

Her head snapped up. She blinked. “Like—?”

“Like,” I added, shifting so I was facing her directly, “not in the group, we’re-besties kind of way. I think I’ve been trying not to think about it. Maybe I didn’t want to mess things up. Pretending it was something else. But it’s not. It’s you.”

Manon blinked. “Oh.”

For a beat, neither of us moved.

And then we were laughing again — breathless, snow-damp, joy bubbling up in our chests like we didn’t know where else to put it..

She leaned in, slowly, like she wasn’t sure if it was okay.

I met her halfway.

Our lips were cold, noses red, teeth clinking a little from nerves and cold. But it was still perfect. It was real.

Somewhere in the distance, the sky melted from pink to lavender. The stars were just starting to wake up.

Later, when we walked back to the chalet, Manon’s glove slipped into mine. 

We didn’t say much. 

We didn’t need to.

She leaned her head against my shoulder as we trudged through the snow.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the need to post about it.

Some things, I think, are just for us.

[shotosjupiter]

BACK TO THE KITTY 'CAUSE SHE'S KINDA PRETTY!

— jjk men and what kind of pet cat they'd have. fluffy and gn! reader <3 this audio was stuck in my head so i decided to make it the title </3

𖤐 GOJO spoils his little tuxedo cat horrendously. this man has money and he ensures that half of it is going to his lavish cat's lifestyle and the other half to you. he loooves his cat dearly and he makes you come with him to go shopping for her! he values your opinion deeply from the food choices down to what new cat tower he should get.

a silly thing he enjoys is matching outfits! he'll have his cat wearing a bandana that is the same color as his shirt. he'll ask you to do a subtle matching couples outfit - the same color scheme and once you're all dressed he'll insist on taking many pictures together. "it's a family photo, angel! we're all matching, isn't that cute?" (he ends up making it his lockscreen for his phone for ages).

𖤐 CHOSO's orange cat balances his energy out perfectly. for someone whose more on the calm and collected side, his cat brings out the more outgoing and silly side of him. his cat is constantly doing something that has choso running out of his seat to go save his precious cat. once it was preventing his kitty from diving straight into a cup of matcha and another time it was prying his cat off the ceiling fan.

a big sign in your relationship is when he invites you to his apartment and introduces you to his cat! he loves his pet dearly and knowing that his cat approves of you means the world to him. when he sees his cat purring and rubbing it's head on your legs, choso smiles and feels his heart melt. he knows you're the one.

𖤐 NANAMI would have a distinguished little tabby cat. she's more of an elderly cat but nanami doesn't mind because it means peaceful mornings for everyone involved. one time, when you were sleeping over at his place early in your relationship, you woke up to a thump and a weight on your chest. what is it? it's nanami's cat sat right on your stomach, all comfortable like it's her birth right. she's kneading into your skin and purring in approval.

nanami, coming from the kitchen, visibly softens at the sight of you in his bed all warm, and his cat cuddling into you. he kisses your forehead in greeting, whispering good morning. he feels his heart race as he realizes, this is a sight he wants to see for the rest of his life.

𖤐 GETO had originally gotten a cat because nanako and mimiko had begged for one. he was definitely one of those people that insisted that he didn't want a cat and had put up a big fight against. cut to five months later and here he is spoon feeding his pretty tortoiseshell cat tuna treats.

for him, when he sees you interact with the girls and sees how gentle you are he's already smitten with you. on top of it, when he sees you gently petting the family cat, he all but melts into the floor. he adores the way you treat his family and it's the biggest green flag to him. he immediately wants to make you a part of his family.

𖤐 TOJI did not mean to adopt a cat. he really didn't, he has enough on his plate! the stray cat just followed me home, or so he says. he has a nonchalant attitude about his boy cat, as if he couldn't care less but really you'll find him in the pet store aisles reading through ingredients to make sure the food he's buying really is safe and healthy.

he'll laugh and laugh when you come over and you get jumped by his black cat as it tries to play with you. his cat is definitely a bit of a biter, so beware of that. regardless, toji will watch as you play with his stray-not-stray cat and feel a sense of home unfurl in his chest. he won't say anything but he'll have a wide smile on his face and he'll take the both of you in his arms, peppering kisses everywhere he can.

© shotosjupiter. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.