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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 days ago

Text

One New Voicemail (Max's Version)

your relationship with max as told by his voicemails.

(no warnings. one angsty one but it's fine. extra credit to @lestapiastrisgirl for helping me with the last few ideas.)

Your First Date

“Hi.” He clears his throat.

“Its Max.” Pause.

“Verstappen.”

Well. This was going splendidly.

He chuckles. “You probably know that though, right? I didn’t quite plan this out.”

He shakes his head. Whispers: clearly not you idiot.

“Um. So. I just wanted to say thank you. For tonight. I mean, I planned everything and paid for it�� all so I’m not thanking you for that…” Max winces.

“Just…for being you. I don’t think I’ve ever had a first date like that. It felt like we talked for hours, which I guess we did, didn’t we?”

He laughs again and you can almost see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at you.

He hums “I liked it. I like you. When can I see you again? You said there was that Degas exhibit at the Louvre you’ve been wanting to see. We could go tomorrow? I’ll have Frank file flight plans first thing tomorrow morning.”

Oh he was in so much trouble.

��Okay. Bye.”

Click.

Your First Kiss

“Hi.” Max is breathless, in awe of what just happened.

“I know I just left but I can’t stop replaying that kiss in my head. I almost walked into a light pole your lips had me so distracted.” He shakes his head, head swiveling back to look at the offending pole. That would have been a fun black eye to explain.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for...”

He pauses, like he’s remembering the first time he ever imagined pressing his lips to yours.

“God. For the longest time. Since I saw you that first night at that dinner party.”

Mutual friends he’d have to thank tomorrow morning for giving him what felt like a turning point in his life.

“You had the same lipstick on tonight and I just…had to know how your lips tasted.”

It had been slow, dripping through your closely pressed skin, sticky-sweet as honey. Max would never forget it for as long as he had breath in his lungs.

“You’ve ruined me, schat.” He accuses but there’s no fire in the words. No real accusations, just statement of facts. “Ruined.”

He shakes his head again, reaching for the car key in his pocket.

“Can we do it again tomorrow? And the next day?”

And forever?

He leaves that part out. For now.

Click.

He Wonders If He's Worth It

“Are you…sure?” He’s anxious, you can tell by the way he breathes on the other end of the line.

“I just wanted to ask again because I can’t quite believe I got you to agree to be my girlfriend” His laugh is anything but humorous. It’s dry. Brittle.

“Being with me is a lot. I know it’s a lot and it’s a lot to ask of someone.” He thinks he might be able to let you go now if you walked away. He’s scared you’re going to.

“If you don’t want to be involved with me, I’d understand.”

The fear of losing you grips at him like ice. You can hear it in his voice and your heart shatters because he doesn’t realize how badly you’re falling for him too.

“It’s just…I feel like I can breathe around you. I don’t have to wear a mask or be Max Verstappen, 4 time world champion. I can just be Max.”

A pause. As if he’s gathering the courage to choke out the last words on the tip of his tongue.

“Your Max. If you’ll have me.”

The last bit is whispered, like he doesn’t want the world to hear how weak he is for you. How easily he’d follow you anywhere.

“Okay. Bye.”

Click.

He Wins The Championship

“Baby!!!” He shouts, laughter filling every corner of his voice.

“We won! The championship they said I couldn’t win!” Around him, champagne drips and gin flows.

“Where’d you go? I just saw you and then you vanished!!”

You had told him ten seconds before he had pulled out his phone to call you. A trip to the Ladies Room was required and he knew that. But the 5th gin and tonic robbed him of his memory.

“Can you believe I’m a FIVE TIME world champion?” Max’s shouts turn watery, like the emotion is hitting him like a freight train.

“I’m so glad you were here to be with me. I never want to win without you ever again.”

He’s getting sentimental. It used to be a rarity with him, the Flying Dutchman trained up to be a champion by Jos. But now? Now he was soft. So soft. But only for you. Always for you.

“I miss you.” He pouts.

The music thumps in the background, causing Max’s head to spin.

And then, you. Across the room, returning from your trek to the restroom. He spots you and his entire face brightens.

“There you are!” He coos into his phone. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. Did you know that? You’re so fucking beautiful and I can’t wait to marry you.”

He doesn’t realize the weight of the words falling from his lips. But he means every syllable.

“Okay, I’m hanging up now because I want to go make out with you. Bye.”

Click.

You Two Fight

“Liefje, please.” Max is panicking.

“It’s the middle of the night and it’s raining. It’s not safe for you to be out right now, I don’t care how mad at me you are.”

It had been stupid, the fight. It had spun out of control too quickly, whipped up out of thin air thanks to too many nights on the road and too little time spent together.

“Please, for the love of God come back to me.” The tears fall freely now, he’s never seen you this angry.

He’d neglected you, gambled away the love that you so freely give him without complaint. And now you had walked right out as easily as if you were going to the store. It was just another day to you.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I’ve never raised my voice at you ever, I don’t know what came over me. I…” He shatters around the words.

“I don’t even know why I was angry anymore.” It was the truth. He didn’t know why he had snapped, why he exchanged soft whispers for barbed shouts, sharp around the edges, filling his mouth with glass.

“We’ve never fought like this and now your car is gone and it’s one in the morning.” He’s desperate now, breaths coming quick and shallow.

His vision blurs. Is this what it feels like when you die?

“Please, baby. I don’t care if you’re still mad at me, you can be mad at me for the rest of your life but I need you to be safe.” The thought of anything happening to you because of his stupid anger had Max swaying beneath the lights of the living room.

“Please.”

He begs.

“I’m sorry.”

He sobs.

Click.

You’re pregnant

“Liefje. My Wife. Love of my life. I am concerned.” Max sounds slightly scared to be making this phone call.

“These requests…” He squints at the handwritten list you left for him on the back of an envelope. “Grape jam, not jelly? Pickles? Pistacio ice cream with chocolate ribbons?”

This list had to be a joke.

“Are you filming me? Is this going on TikTok?” He glances around at the store, half expecting to see you hiding in a corner with your phone out.

What the fuck was a ‘chocolate ribbon’ anyway?

“Pebble ice? Baby, should we call your doctor in the morning?”

He knew he was asking for trouble, calling into question the validity of your pregnancy cravings but Max was getting concerned. He’d even called his sister on the way to the store. Victoria had insisted it was normal.

Max wasn’t convinced.

“I love you, you are the love of my life and I’d do anything for you, you know that. I just don’t know if I can purchase pickles and ice cream knowing that they’re going to be consumed together.”

An image of what your pan you might choose to swing at his head if he came back without everything on your list flashes through his mind.

Max pulled every jar of grape jam off the shelf.

“I’ll be home in 10.”

Click.

You’re in labor

“Your sister called!” Max’s voice is panicked, out of breath. “She said you’re in labor but didn’t want to bother me in my meeting!”

“Your contractions are 5 minutes apart and you didn’t think you should call me for that?” The anxiety in his voice creeps in, despite him desperately choking on his tone.

“Thank God I’m close by but liefje, please!” He heaves a sigh.

A car door slams. Engine fires up, purring to life.

“You know you can bother me about this.”

“Oh my God.” A pause. Like the gravity of the situation just hit him square in the jaw.

“You’re in labor. Like labor labor.” He’s awestruck now.

“We’re going to be parents soon, aren’t we? Are we ready? I mean, I know you’re ready but am I ready?” There isn’t a doubt in his mind that you’re going to be an amazing mom. He’s known that since the day you found out you were pregnant.

“Holy shit I’m going to be a dad. This is…this is fast.” You’d later tease him that he’d known about this moment for almost nine months now. It wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“Jesus. Okay.”

Deep breath.

“I’m just leaving the office and I’m on the way to the hospital now. Are you okay? Why am I asking your voicemail this? Why aren’y you picking up?”

He’s totally panicking.

“I’ll be there soon. I love you.”

Click.

Your Toddler Steals His Phone.

“MAMAAAAAAA!!” A small toddler-like squeal follows your favorite name you’ve ever been called.

“Mama I miss you! Where’d you go, Mama?” The question is stilted, the baby still learning how to move his mouth around the proper words.

“Schatje! Where is my phone?” The question is muffled, like Max is far away.

Tiny footsteps clatter against the hardwood floor of your Monaco home.

Peals of giggles and breathless gasps are the only thing you hear in response.

“Mama save me! Save me from Daddy!” Your little boy giggles, squealing in delight.

Louder footsteps sound behind your baby, who is surprisingly fast despite his stubby little legs. “You get back here right now!” Max orders, but there’s laughter at the edge of his voice.

This is a game.

A game neither Max or your baby want to lose.

“Daddy says he’s going to tickle me if he catches me!”

Another squeal.

Giggles.

One voice high pitched. One lower pitched, your husband finally catching up to the speedy toddler.

“Give me that. Who are you…oh you managed to call your Mama?”

A pause. Your toddler nods. “Didn’t want a bath! Mama will rescue me!”

Max chuckles, prying little fingers off of his phone. “She will not. She’ll say you’re stinky too! You need a bath!”

“Noooo!” He howls but it’s too late.

“Sorry, liefje. He’s fine. Bath time is going well! Enjoy your time with your sister! Love you.”

A pause.

“Tell Mama you love her.”

“Save me Mamaaaaaaaa!”

Click.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #formula 1 #f1

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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oh my gosh ¹⁴⁾ trying to cope with a fever during a heatwave with poly wolfstar sounds like the ultimate summer comfort fic 💕 remus would be so good at taking care of u, and sirius would be soooo dramatic in solidarity 💖🌸

Thanks lovely <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 713 words

Remus comes home from work to find your flat a cave. There are signs of life in the living room, displaced pillows and a blanket looking cast aside, but your home is eerily silent. He discovers the cause in your bedroom: you and Sirius, looking like you never left bed in the first place.

Every curtain is pulled shut, but some daylight prevails, casting the two of you in shades of grey where you lay in your pajamas atop the bedsheets. You’re spread out in every direction, clearly asleep, whereas Sirius seems to be occupying himself simply with looking at you. He glances up as Remus enters.

“Hi,” Remus whispers. “When did you get home?”

“Never left,” Sirius replies softly. He nods to you, taking a piece of your hair idly between his fingers. “She’s sick.”

A quiet, doting, oh drops from Remus’ lips. He sets down his bag and comes to the edge of the bed. “With what? Since this morning?”

Sirius nods as Remus eases himself onto the mattress beside you. There’s a flannel laid across your forehead. “She said she wasn’t feeling well when she woke up, just after you left. Seems like a cold or something. Wicked fever, though.”

You shift a bit, their voices evidently causing you to rouse. Remus takes the opportunity to lift the flannel, lying the backs of his fingers across your brow. You are terribly warm.

Your eyes open lazily. “Hey,” you mumble.

Remus can’t help but smile. “Hi.”

“Did you…” You stretch, groaning. ��Is work done already? How was your day?”

His chest aches with fondness. “It was good, sweetheart. What about you? You’re not feeling well?”

Your lips pull down into a frown. Remus represses a cooish, pitying sound he knows you’ll hate. “My head hurts.”

He tuts. “We’ll have to do something about that, then.”

“We have,” Sirius chimes in. He sounds slightly offended. “Exhibit A: warm flannel.”

“Right.” Remus leans over you to give him a kiss, conciliating. “Thank you, love. What about paracetamol?”

Sirius hums proudly. “Had it.”

“Perfect.” Remus takes the flannel from your head, smoothing away some damp baby hairs. “I think we’ll probably trade this out for a cooler one until our temperature comes down, alright?”

Sirius frowns at this, but you sigh, shifting again like you’re trying to find a cool inch of bedspace.

“I’m really hot,” you admit.

“Aw, baby, we know.” Sirius takes your hand, kissing the back. “Good that you’re getting wise to it, though. We bemoan how hot you are all the time.”

That coaxes a tired smile out of you. Remus has to imagine you really are sweltering. This time of day in the summer, your un-air-conditioned flat is usually at its warmest; it’ll take a few hours to cool off, and the effects are undoubtedly worse when you’re already suffering a fever.

Remus feels along your face and the back of your neck contemplatively while Sirius coos at you. You seem in a strange enough mood to indulge him, the two of you going back and forth in low, murmuring tones. Remus knows his hands aren’t cold, but you act as though they are. You sigh quietly each time he moves his touch to a new place.

“How would you feel about having a cold bath?” he asks after a while.

You look up at him, your eyebrows raised slightly. “That actually sounds kind of nice.”

Sirius hisses through his teeth. “Yikes, babe. That’s how you know it’s really bad.”

Remus hides a smile. “Maybe Sirius will even get in there with you, yeah? Would that be nice?”

“Oh.” You’re well aware of Remus’ game, but you play along, turning your eyes up to your other boyfriend sweetly. “That would be really nice. Would you, please?”

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You’re both terribly, undeservedly cruel to me,” he says, looking between you. “But if it’ll actually make you feel better, I’ll do it.”

“Awe.” Your lips stretch into a syrupy smile as you roll over, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “That’s so sweet. Thank you, baby.”

Sirius pats your back, a smug uptilt to his mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a giver.” But after a moment his brows furrow, the smirk slipping. “Does this mean you do want me to?”

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th3secr3th1story · 1 day ago

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Hello!!! I was wondering if you could write geto and gojo (you write them soooo well!!) getting a call from reader and she’s is walking home alone and feeing unsafe/ got away from a scetchy situation? When reader calls they immediately come pick them and then ends with some fluff/comfort? Maybe college au? It’s really specific but it’s a but self indulgent right now after the week I had (not a good one haha)! Anyways it’s ok if you don’t write it but I’m a sucker for fluffy comfort! Love your writing!!! You will def see more requests from me in the future <333

gojo - getting a call from scared/unsafe reader

it has been...SO long. i dont even know if youre still here, sorry :( but ive finally logged back onto this account and opened up my inbox to see some asks!! woohoo (hopefully staying active for longer now)! also, i hope youre ok, this req seems a lil personal :( stay safe out there guys

summary: you're on the way home from a party when you notice a man behind you following you home. instinctively, you call your boyfriend to come pick you up. college au, hurt/comfort, angst turned fluff, detailed descriptions of being followed so just beware

words: 1602

is he seriously still behind me? you worriedly think to yourself as you speed up your pace down the street. it was the end of a rough finals week, with exams ferociously following each other back to back. your friends invited you out for a few drinks that friday night, marking the end of the stressful exam season. not being one for parties, you were a little cautious to go out, unsure if you'd even have fun.

"why don't you just stay home with me?" gojo pestered you earlier that evening, pulling on your arm pleadingly.

"we can order out, put on a nice movie, and stay in bed," he whined with those big pleading eyes. he peppered kisses all over your face, trying to reel you in with his comforting presence. you let out a pleased sigh, almost giving in until you remembered the reason you weren't staying home in the first place.

"excuse you, satoru, but you couldn't do any of that. you still have that damn final paper to finish. did you already forget how hard you had to beg your professor for an extension?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow at his pleading look.

"i can multitask," he replied with a wide shit-eating grin.

"biggest lie you've ever told me," you retort, giggling out loud as he continued to kiss all over your face.

"just stay home, please," he pressed one final time, knowing deep down it would be better for you to get out of the house. he'd have you to himself later, after all.

oh, how you wish you had caved in.

the sound of feet shuffling behind you snaps you back to the present, stomach jolting as you swear they begin to get closer. you can almost imagine satoru next to you right now. he'd be glaring daggers into the mysterious man behind you, protectively pulling you into his side as he shielded you from any potential harm. in fact, you doubt any creep would be willing to get within fifty feet of you with gojo by your side.

where could you even go? the shitty bar your friends dragged you to was far away from campus, prompting a 30 minute walk on the way there. it was fine getting to the bar, considering the daylight, but you were seriously regretting not pairing up with a friend on the way home. gojo even made you promise to get back to campus with a friend, knowing that the area around the bar was shady. god, he was going to be so mad at you when you got home. if i even get home, your brain thinks before you can stop yourself, sending another jolt straight to your stomach.

hands shaking, your fingers fumble for gojo's contact, which is already starred in the emergency section of your phone. you tap his name as quick as you can, subtly walking a little faster as you wait for him to pick up.

he answers before the first ring finishes; his cheerful voice almost makes you think everything is okay again.

"hi, baby! i am so glad you called, this is the most wonderful distraction from my paper. what's up? did you have fun tonight? you haven't fallen in love with anyone there, right? i'll kill them all. i swear to god, if this atrocious paper is the reason the love of my life breaks up with-"

your words silence him like a knife.

"satoru, please come get me," you murmur into the phone, keeping an eye on the man behind you, who was inching closer and closer since you had left the bar.

he calls out your name sharply, all excitement from earlier gone. you swear you can already hear him gather his belongings.

"are you hurt? are you alone right now? why didn't you walk with a friend? what happened?" his questions fire off rapidly, concern seeping through the phone.

"no, i'm not hurt. yes, i am alone. all my friends who went with me live on the other side of campus so it didn't make sense for me to walk with anyone. sorry. i decided to just walk home alone but ever since i left the bar there's been this guy following me," you blurt out as quiet as you can. after a moment, you add, "i'm scared, satoru."

the other end of the phone stays silent for a few moments, and for just an instant, you worry that he wasn't really coming to get you at all. that he decided you weren't worth it. that he was about to hang up. of course, all of those fears were dispelled the second you hear his car engine roar to life.

"i'm coming to get you. i have your location, so just focus on staying with me for now, okay? i'll be there soon, baby. just stay with me. you'll be okay," he huffs out, unsure of whether he was trying to comfort you or himself.

"i don't know what to do, satoru," you weakly mumble out. "there's no public spots near here, just brick buildings and random empty lots."

"just keep walking, baby. you're doing everything right; i'll be there soon, i promise," he reassures you despite his strained voice.

over the next few minutes, gojo continues to repeat these small phrases back to you, nearly reaching prayers. he doesn't spare you from any you're doing great, just stay with me, or everything will be fine, chanting these gentle commands right into your ear.

you are nearly certain now that the man behind you is closing the gap between the two of you, and your mind starts to race. what if you didn't make it home tonight? what if just a few hours ago was the last time you'd ever see your wonderful boyfriend's face?

just as you feel the unknown man step up right behind you, gojo comes driving down the street, slowing down just a little as he honks his horn over and over again as obnoxiously as he can. both you and the man behind you jump, head spinning to see where the noise is coming from. gojo continues beating down on the poor car horn, staring the man straight in the face with a look so murderous you had never seen before. the man stiffens up, turns around, mutters "fuck this," and books it back down the way you came.

despite the looming threat now gone, your body still trembles with fear as adrenaline courses through your veins. that was close, too close.

you don't notice gojo park his car. you don't notice his large strides as he rushes over to your shell-shocked figure. you almost forget he's even there until a tall body slams into you, gripping you with all his might.

air fills your lungs the moment gojo pulls you into his arms. you barely feel his hands running up and down over your body to make sure you weren't hurt. you simply grip onto his shirt and hold him as close to you as possible. as the scent of your lovely boyfriend fills your senses, you finally take your first deep breath after nearly an hour of pure fear.

"i got you, baby. everything's okay," he whispers into your hair, relief flowing through his body. to be honest, gojo didn't know what he was about to stumble upon when he arrived at the scene. on his way over, his mind was thinking up every scenario possible. the assailant on top of you, you on top of him, or even your body-

no. there's no need to think about that possibility, gojo reminds himself. especially when you're standing right in front of him, perfectly safe.

"i don't know, satoru. i was so scared. he kept getting closer and closer, and i just kept wondering what would happen the moment he reached me. i was thinking of breaking into a sprint, but of course i'm in these stupid fucking heels and i obviously wouldn't have had time to take them off and run. and god, i just kept thinking about you. what if i-"

gojo only holds you tighter. you bury your head in his shoulder, muffling your soft cries as your tears stain through his shirt.

"you're okay, sweets. i'm here now, and you're perfectly safe. we'll head home now, yeah? we can order some food and watch a movie, just like i said earlier. how does that sound?"

unwilling to show your tearful face, you keep your head buried in his shoulder. instead, you mumble out, "did you finish your paper?"

you can feel gojo smile, despite the fact that his shaky hands are still wandering all over your body.

"obviously not! i can't possibly focus without you next to me. what do you say we get out of here and head home?"

you feel a laugh bubble up in your chest.

"yeah, sounds good."

before you can open the car door, gojo grabs your hand and once again pulls you into him. his joking facade chips away as you hear that same strain in his voice. he lets out a long sigh into your hair before speaking up.

"i'm so glad you're okay, baby. i was really worried there for a second," he whispers, voice cracking near the end.

"i was okay because of you, 'toru. thank you for picking up."

"always."

he presses a long kiss to your forehead and then pokes at your side, laughing at your surprised yelp.

"let's go home!" he calls out, intertwining his fingers with yours and pulling you towards his car.

you grin.

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jackrrabbot · 3 days ago

Text

cathectic and couchbound

jack abbot x reader

word count ~3k

content warnings/description: explicit sexual content, AFAB reader, power imbalance/dominant jack, spit kink, age gap, sickeningly sweet, single mention of jack wanting to knock reader up

author's note: i feel like this is overdue considering my whole blog is dedicated to this man, lol

jack abbot fucks you on his couch.

─────────────

Jack walks through the door of his apartment and hits the lights. He tosses his pack over the arm of the living room couch before dropping himself onto the cushion. It sinks under his weight, fluff spilling out of the sides. It’s ratty, has a slight sour odor, but he’s kept it all this time—moving it from place to place during his time in the military.

His police scanner lies on the coffee table, still humming, left on from when he left in a rush for day shift this morning—subbing for Robby during his vacation. Robby let you switch shifts to be with Jack as a thank you. You both prefer nights.

He slowly reaches over to turn it off. Tired doesn’t begin to explain how he feels. He’s exhausted. Worn out. On his last leg.

Jack made that last joke to Robby too many times to count, trying—and failing—to get a chuckle out of him. Maybe one day.

He considers taking off his prosthetic to get more comfortable and ease some of the ache but decides against it. Leaving it on will motivate him to make the trek to bed later. He’s slept on this couch more times than he’d like to admit, and it’s been with him through it all—but it wasn’t made to last.

It’s convenient, sure, but he prefers to sleep in bed with you. And it’s easier on his back.

Jack unlocks his phone and is faced with the last website he was on while taking his millisecond break earlier tonight. Dana suggested the place, and he could see why. The jewels are bright, sharply cut—dangerous—yet mesmerizing. Hypnotic, even. Jack eyes one in particular, hovering over the purchase button. He imagines the center stone of the engagement ring glinting from the sunrise as you hold onto the railing of his patio while he eats you out from behind.

He’s pulled from his reverie when his phone pings, signaling a text from you. Your message says that you'll be a little late.

He feels awful about leaving you in the Pitt, but after a string of deaths—one after another after another—he didn't want to stay even a minute past the end of his shift. He replies to your text with a simple thumbs-up. You understand. You always do.

Not twenty minutes later, he hears the rattling of the doorknob, the jangle of his spare key, and the click of the lock turning.

Most times, once Jack gets home, he leaves his door unlocked for you, considerate of your occasional forgetfulness. But, now and then, he locks the door on purpose, somehow knowing you’d forget your key that day. He doesn’t know how he knows—he just does.

He always gives the excuse that he forgot to leave it unlocked—old age, he dryly jokes—but he can’t help secretly looking forward to opening the door for you every time. Seeing your sheepish face waiting patiently on the other side when he greets you.

Jack lingers at the door, his thick frame blocking the entrance to the apartment. He takes his time staring at you, soaking you in, wondering how he managed to make such a pretty young thing like you his. On a good day, you’ll indulge him in his silent staring contest, admiring his corded arms crossed against his chest, but on most days, you push past him, rushing in to use the restroom.

Tonight, though, he must really be tired, because not only did he—for real this time—forget to leave the door unlocked, but he's also slightly relieved you brought your key. Jack was not moving from the couch anytime soon. He couldn’t help but feel bad for it—the old thing rocking with each sudden movement, thanks to one of the uneven legs.

You drag yourself into the living room and your purse lands at an angle atop Jack’s pack, then slides to the floor, now scrunched from the impact.

A granola bar, your lip balm, and your R3 badge escape from the unzipped lip of the purse, but you don’t care. You lie across Jack on the other end of the couch, throwing your feet over his lap. He helps you remove your shoes while gently rubbing your feet.

Silence cozily stretches over the both of you like a heated blanket, despite the appearance of the muted, almost sterile living room. Jack’s entire apartment is nearly stripped to bare bones.

What little he does own is old, tattered, or otherwise near defunct. His walls are empty, save for a few photos of the two of you together that you forced him to put up. The food in his fridge is nearly gone, with the exception of eggs, sourdough bread, and his chocolate protein shakes—an essential, apparently. The only other things to eat are snacks he keeps stocked in the cabinets for you. And this damn couch. The smell used to make you wrinkle your nose, but you’ve gotten used to it.

It makes sense, considering his military past and the time demands being an attending requires, but you can’t help wanting to liven the place up a little. For the both of you. You always joke that the three most important things to him are you, his couch, and his police scanner—not necessarily in that same order.

You casually wonder if Jack would let you take his card to go shopping for the place, knowing all his money is just collecting dust in the bank. You might as well—you practically live here. You’re not sure when you last saw the inside of your own apartment. He only ever spends money on necessities and spoiling you, anyway. You’ll convince him to take you both when your schedules line up.

He asked you to move in not too long ago, but your lease isn't up for another few months. He offered to pay the fee to break it, but you humbly declined. You aren’t quite aware how much of a dopamine rush Jack gets when he takes care of things for you. When he takes care of you.

Jack gives you a few minutes to decompress, now rubbing your sore ankles.

Finally, you start, “Today was a shit day.”

Jack grunts in agreement. “No argument there—but you were amazing today. You’re so strong, you know that?” He gives you an intense look.

He’s not joking, not throwing words at the wall to see what sticks. He’s being utterly sincere, and another pinprick of sand falls into the hourglass of love you have for him, joining the millions already there.

You smile warmly at him. “You tell me after every difficult shift. How could I not know? And… you’re amazing too.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

A second passes before you respond. “Can you hold me?”

“Sure can, sweetheart.”

Jack pulls you from under your arms like a child, setting you atop his lap. You can’t help how your face heats up at the way he so easily throws you around, bending you to his will. The act makes you dizzy—his casual display of strength and the way he takes care of your needs makes you putty in his strong hands.

He rubs mindless shapes into your back, applying slight pressure, and you're comforted by his touch.

Jack moves his hands to your shoulders and continues to rub with even more pressure.

“Let me know if it hurts at all, baby.”

The massage starts to feel good. Almost too good. Who taught him to give massages like this?

You rack your brain, recalling if Myrna’s asked for one lately. Or worse yet, imagine her using her one uncuffed hand to grope Jack under the guise of a “massage.”

You shiver at the uncomfortable thought, then at the pleasure running through you from Jack’s working of your shoulders. You let a low moan escape from deep within your chest. Under normal circumstances, you’d be a bit embarrassed by the sultry sound, but both you and Jack are too tired and too caught up in the haze of each other’s presence to care.

At the sound of your pleased groan, Jack feels a new life springing within him, taking root and reaching his extremities, tension churning just under his skin with its movement.

Taking care of you like this—touching you, being in your presence—is more than he could have ever hoped to imagine for himself. Jack knows more than most to take wins as they come. Sink them in and hold on to them, because you never know what tomorrow might bring.

Despite the losses in the Pitt tonight, he still has you. As long as you’re with him at the end of every day, falling apart under his touch, going shy at his quiet confessions and severe (but loving) stares, he can make it another day in the Pitt.

Jack’s touch becomes more persistent, roaming south again—and even further south—to grope the round of your ass.

“Jack,” you rasp, tugging at his soft curls. You begin to grind down on him, both of your scrubs thin enough to feel the heat emanating from each other’s bodies.

Jack grunts, but ultimately ignores your whining. He’s taking his time with you. Whether you’re patient enough for him or not. He’s not against taking you over his knee if you flail too much for his liking. You’re so, so good to him though, letting him set the pace, and you settle against him again. He kisses down the column of your neck, grazing his teeth at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

Muffled against his shoulder, you manage, “Jack, p-please? I want to be closer to you. Let me?” Jack gives your neck one last deep, almost shaky, inhale, then a tender kiss on your cheek, and nods.

You’re just too damn sweet—and Jack wants to eat you alive. And what’s worse? You’d let him.

The naked trust you have in him makes him reconsider every mistake, every bad decision, every failure in his life. He can’t be so bad if someone like you trusts him, right? Pre-therapy Jack? Oh, honey, you wouldn’t even be in those pictures on the wall. There’d be no pictures on the wall.

He wouldn't allow that. He wouldn’t allow himself to hurt anyone but himself—no one but Jack. He’s let too many people down already. People he couldn’t save during his time in the service years ago. People he can’t save now—patients like those lost tonight in the hell that is the Pitt.

Jack still feels the occasional pang of guilt, but now it washes over him, like a spring rain washing away the lingering, tacky pollen, and he feels all the lighter for it. He still lets himself feel sorrow, and pain for the people whose lives couldn’t be saved—who he couldn’t save. But now he doesn’t find it in himself to self-blame. And with you in his corner, his other half, he’s too fixated on your needs to wallow in sorrow.

Post-therapy Jack? The Jack that forgives himself for his mistakes and lets people in? He couldn’t imagine pushing you away.

You're it—and there’s no escaping him. He’s tagged and bagged you, and you’re his.

Jack has always told Robby that he lives in the darkness. It used to rear its ugly head in the form of bar fights, drunken nights, and emotionless one-night stands. It's controlled now, taking a backseat only for those really ugly, bad days, but sometimes it comes out of hiding in the form of a disgusting possession that curls around you both.

Jack allows himself this one vice. He doesn’t care about having physical things in his apartment. About the money he makes, about the notoriety that comes from being Jack Abbot. Just having you is enough.

And you never shy away from it—from him. From his past, from his darkness, from his deep, intense love for you.

Jack, for a brief second, thinks about impregnating you. Tonight. Right here. Right now. As long as it takes. Until you take. But he drags in a deep inhale. Stop, he thinks to himself. Everything in due time.

He pushes the thought away as you step back to take off your scrubs and step out of your underwear.

It’s not lost on you that you're now nude while he’s fully clothed—the slight humiliation and power imbalance scratching an itch you’re too delirious with need to unpack at the moment. Jack lifts from the couch to pull down his bottoms and boxers just enough to free his hard cock and balls, flushed and leaking for you.

Jack pulls you to him, gripping your hips so you’re sitting just above his cock, letting you sink down on him at your own pace. While you moan, getting adjusted to his size, Jack has his own agenda, and he starts tweaking your nipples, pebbled and peaked under his rough touch.

He takes your left nipple into his mouth, groaning against the soft flesh of your breast, while his palm squeezes the other. Meanwhile, you’re whining on his cock, frustrated by Jack’s lack of movement.

He can’t help but get riled up when teasing you, knowing how much you want him.

When Jack’s had enough of torturing your tits, he kisses you—rough, sloppy, a mash of tongue and teeth—while unashamedly spreading the fat of your ass, his wrists pinning your hips so you can’t ride him.

“J-Jack. Please… just—just fuck me already.” You try to sound as confident as possible, but you know better than to disrupt Jack while he’s far away somewhere, lost in the feel of your body. It frustrates you how patient he is sometimes. You want to be fucked. Now.

You bring your fingers down to your swollen clit, wanting some friction. He stops you with his words.

“Okay, baby.” A kiss to the tip of your nose. “Thank you for saying please.” He smiles down at you in his devilish, gremlin-ly way. And you can’t help but want to both slap him and kiss him breathless for it.

Jack lifts you again, slowly, so only the tip of his cock is slightly pushing against your pillowy cunt, hole clenching around nothing while you hold onto his shoulders, shaking slightly.

“Ready?” Jack asks. You give him a firm nod, and Jack slams you back down to his pelvis, the back of your thighs scratching against his scrubs. He begins a rough, but measured pace, cock hitting at just the right angle to make you go dumb.

You’re fucking wet. Juices stain the black of Jack’s scrubs, and he wears it like a badge of honor.

He forces your mouth open with the press of his thumb.

“Open wide, sweetheart.” Jack spits into your mouth, and you swallow his saliva down, moaning at his possessive display of affection. Jack groans at your obedience, cock twitching inside you, pride swelling in his chest at the act.

“There you go, sweet girl, doing so damn good for me, hm?” When you don’t respond, he gives a quick slap on your ass, and you yelp at the unexpected contact, clenching tight around his cock. He groans at the feel of your soft pussy wrapped around him.

“Yes, yes, yes. S’good, s-so good,” you babble, clearly out of it with how fast Jack is thrusting into you now.

Jack takes his hand from your hip and presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, wanting nothing more than for you to come on his cock. He’s desperate for it—what was less than a second ago an intentional, controlled stroke of your clit, is now frantic and sloppy.

He’s been patient enough.

Jack looks between your lips, wanting to kiss you, and where you’re connected, pretty cunt wrapping around him like cling wrap on a dish. Warm, dripping, and ready to eat. He’ll make you cry on his tongue another time.

“I love you. I love you—I love you—I love you,” you chant and come on Jack’s cock with a cry, tearing up at the overstimulation as he ruts into you, chasing his own end. The guilt, despair, and exhaustion from the losses you faced today are pressed, compacted, and tucked away into the far corners of your mind.

There’s only Jack. You and Jack. At this very moment.

Jack finishes inside you with a rumbling groan, plugging you up with his thick come. He gives you a deep, bruising kiss and he whispers, “I love you too, baby.”

You take a second to catch your breath, and he’s in no hurry to pull you off of him to clean both of you up. Instead, you and Jack remain there, on the couch, your liquids mixing and spilling onto the cushion from where your bodies connect. Jack concedes to himself that it’s probably about time to replace the thing.

He’ll do it for you.

Now, Jack is the first to speak.

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” You nod into his shoulder, too spent to give him a verbal response. Jack takes that for an answer and holds you tighter to his chest. He knows he should move you to bed, the cold seeping into your naked and weary body, but for now, you both stay holding each other like this. Just for a few more minutes.

You doze off in his arms, and Jack takes that as his cue to head to bed. He gently pulls you off of his now softened cock, jaw tightening when he sees his come leaking from your sore pussy. He pushes as much of it back inside you as gently as he can, then easily carries you, bridal style, to his bedroom.

Jack brings you to your side of the bed and tucks you in.

Prosthetic finally off, he sidles up next to you and wraps his arms around you, reaching for your hand.

He’s made a habit of reaching for your left hand at night, once you’re asleep and he’s awake with his thoughts, delicately pressing your ring finger between his thumb and forefinger.

He kisses the top of your head and makes a mental note to bite the bullet and buy the ring tomorrow. Hopefully Dana doesn’t come collecting her finder’s fee.

#the pitt #smut #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot smut

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packyanderson · 3 days ago

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Conversely, I remember when I took a Technical Writing class in college. I had already been working as a software developer for five or six years by that point (going to college at night) and I had had my fill of bad technical writing; I was prepared to learn how to do it well. Unfortunately, the professor (the chair of the English Department no less!) had different ideas. Whenever I turned in an assignment, it would come back with a B and the note "Would have been an A, but was too entertaining".

I went back and forth with the professor on this: she insisted that people didn't read technical writing to be entertained, they read it because they needed the information, so it needed to be "dry and strictly informative." My counterargument was that if the writing couldn't hold the reader's interest, they would go without the information and just make something up instead. Coming purely from academia, my professor could not comprehend the idea of someone going without information (which, trust me, in business happens all the time), and insisted that, regardless, even if my writing was technically correct and provided all the necessary information, if it was entertaining it would receive a full letter grade deduction. I was proud that practically everything I wrote for her got a B.

Except one paper. As an experiment, I took the famous MIT Project Athena paper, Designing an Authentication System: a Dialogue in Four Scenes. This was a paragon of clear technical writing, and was the kind of thing I aspired to. What I really wanted to do was submit the paper, have her ravage it for for being too entertaining, and then reveal that it was the product of some MIT PhDs. But I knew that would be a one-way ticket to plagiarism accusations, so I did the next best thing: I took the 8-page paper and boiled it down into a 4-page impenetrable fog of writing that I, as the author, could not verify was correct without having the source paper sitting next to it for comparison. If I was grading this paper, I would have given it a C because while it was technically correct and grammatically correct, it was the worst writing I could imagine.

It was the only paper I turned in that she gave an A to. After that, I stopped arguing, checked out during the class, collected the Bs on my "entertaining" papers and moved on.

never forget the universal rule of the order of things: People Will Not Read It

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lilyinmysoul · 2 days ago

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Crybaby

Joel Miller x FReader

WC: 2.6K

Summary: You get hurt after working on the farm all day. Joel fixes your injury and your mood.

Tags: Fingering (F receiving), kisses over underwear, blood in many capacities; ingestion of blood from wounds, ingestion of menstrual blood (brief), description of dead animal, reader is moody, implied large age gap—I imagine reader to be early twenties or something, unsanitary wound cleaning practices, Joel calls reader ‘Kiddo’ once—I am who I am.

Note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I suddenly remembered how much I love it after putting it off. With this one, I was thinking of sweet and fluffy—which it is—but I had to go and add blood as a major element, it’s not that bad. Pretty tame. I imagine this takes place on a little farm not unlike Ellie and Dina’s. Post outbreak.

“Ace! Come back, boy!”

You’d never loved an animal more, but the dog was a menace. A disobedient menace, and the horse could have been fed and brushed already in the time you’d spent trying to lure Ace back to the house.

The fence around the house was short and minimal, but the dog knew never to cross it unless accompanied by either you or Joel for hunting. So as it came closer in your view, you figure that you might get a break from the chasing.

“Ace, slow… slow down, boy,” you call breathlessly, pace quickening and boots trampling over the tall grass. Your walk turns to a jog, which turns to a run. “Do you want some food, Ace? Just come… back. Come back.”

A bark sounds from the Canine’s mouth, and you wonder if he’s punishing you. Joel had asked you to get Ace inside fifteen minutes ago, and it looked like it’d take fifteen more. Maybe you just needed to tire him out.

The dog is still running, but you’re gaining on him. You must look silly running in circles around the backyard, but you figure that once he stops, you’ll convince Ace to follow you back in.

“Ace… baby, come… shit!” When your ankle twists, it only causes a few throbs that jolt up your leg. However, when you hit the ground, it’s your knee that erupts with pain. “Damn you, dog!” Your yell is lost on him, and you watch his tail as he dashes through the grass.

Joel had always told you to wear pants while working outside, but you always much preferred your dresses in the sun. You pull back the hemline, now dusted lightly with dirt, revealing a knee skinned and cut, trickling with little drips of blood. It doesn’t look nice, and you look down at the ground around the wound for a moment, your eyes spacing out on the red rock perpetrator that did this to you as your knee aches like it’d been shot.

You can’t get up yet, so you stare out onto the field, a hot tear of both frustration and pain threatening and conquering your eye, dripping down your face—to your dismay. In your head, you curse that hell raising dog and wish it was dinner time. You are hungry and angry and hurting. The free hand that doesn’t hug your leg to your chest comes down in an aggravated slap against the dry earth underneath you, as if to make it suffer as much as you are, right now. You wipe away the frustrated tear with your wrist, careful not to touch your eyes with your dirty fingers.

Slowly, you lift yourself from the grass, your white dress now tainted by the earth. You set your eyes on the house and begin the walk back to it, your steps a little shaky and slow as your knee slowly drips. The house comes closer and you think that maybe your slight limp is making the trek even more painful. You hope that Joel won’t call you dramatic, and despite the only mild pain, you want to cry.

You swat a fly from your eyes, continuing your walk as you near the old wooden steps to the porch. The house was quaint, and its old, peeling paint felt like home in a way nothing else had. You could cry here if you wanted to, and you make a face at Ace, who sits comfortably by the decrepit mailbox as your boots step up onto the planks. The dog lounges comfortably and it pisses you off further, another wave of hot tears threatening your eyes as you slump down onto the bench on the deck.

Immediately, your elbows find your knees and your chin finds your hands, and you bury your face in them as you let out a frustrated sob. It’s a rather trivial thing, and you don’t think you ought to be crying, which upsets you further.

Through the gaps in your fingers, you see Ace stand up with a lighthearted growl, trotting up the wooden steps and over to the screen door, which is now opening on its rusty hinges.

You see Joel’s shadow on the deck through the mesh as the metal frame is pushed open, and he clicks his tongue at the eager dog.

“There y’are,” he mutters. Looking up you see that his gaze is focused on Ace, a dish of food in his hands. There’s a smell of meat and blood wafting from it—certainly not appetizing, but it reminds you of your hunger.

The dog gives a quiet bark, moving jumpily as Joel sets the bowl down on the bottom steps. He hadn’t seen you yet, you don’t think, so you wipe your face as you watch him.

Joel Looks out for a moment on the grass field outside, his eyes scanning the yard for your figure. You hadn’t brought the dog in, and you hadn’t been back when he asked you to be. He surveys the field for a moment before turning back toward the door, now finally laying eyes on your sitting and slouched figure.

When he sees the tear streaks on your face, he says your name softly, yet exasperatedly. You meet his eyes, a little embarrassed, feeling petulant yet dignified.

His eyes wander down to your knee, red and cut, stinging and exposed, and then to your dress, a little dirty and stained with a bit of dirt and grass. He inhales and rubs his forehead. “Angel, what happened?”

You look over at Ace, your anger having subsided into a moody melancholy. The dog is happily lapping up rabbit guts as you rest your chin in your hands, annoyed. “I fell.”

“Okay…” Joel coaxes. He’s unsure whether the source of your sadness is the pain of your injury, or if you’re just feeling gloomy. He tries to be patient with you; he really does, but it’s hard. You don’t answer for a moment.

“You said I could make Ace’s food,” you state, your voice almost whiny. You didn’t even want to make it—it grossed you out—but still, you complained. You brush a few strands from your face, looking back down at the cracking and dull wood beneath your feet.

Joel exhales again, running a weathered hand through his graying hair. He still had to feed the horse, water the plants. He should probably cut the grass, too… “Baby, you didn’t finish gettin’ Ace. He needs t’a eat.” You don’t answer, so he adds, “And I know you don’t like dealin’ with the meat. Don’t play like you do.”

His voice was getting more stern, impatience creeping into it.

“Well… I fell,” you repeat. You want his help. You want some kind of attention, some affirmation of your feelings. You don’t know why you’re being so pettish, but right now, you’re hurt and you want your way—without being made to feel bad. Joel tried to keep you comfortable, but he couldn’t always feed into your moods. It was difficult, but he would do his best.

Joel takes another glance at your knee, now more bloodied than before. He exhales again. “I’ll patch you up, angel. Just… hang tight.” He turns back toward the screen, and you watch it open, then shut with a clank behind him.

You watch Ace lap up the rest of the food and run off. You stick your tongue out at him as he goes.

It takes a few minutes for Joel to get back, and you listen to the rustling of the wind in the trees, the blue sky momentarily lightening your mood. You watch the barn, still and quiet, and gaze out on the yard as the dog runs in broad circles. Your anger has lifted, but your leg still hurts.

When Joel comes back out, he has a little box of first aid, a small collection that remains hidden under the bathroom sink. “Alright…” he stands in front of you for a moment before kneeling down, slowly, the quiet air disturbed with the pop of a hip and the scuffling of his boots on the deck.

Your hard gaze softens at Joel’s large body kneeled in front of you. It felt nice, now, having him there. You could see, on the treeline, the sun beginning to slink away and out of view, to soon be replaced by the moon, but not before the sky would turn a vibrant yellow that you felt in your soul like honey.

“Alright,” Joel tugs one of your legs lightly, urging you to uncross them as he takes the strings of your left muddy boot. The thing was heavy, a bit loose, and perhaps contributed to your fall. “What happened, baby?”

“I was trying to get Ace, and he wouldn’t come, and I tripped. And there was a rock that I… I kinda hit, and so, now it hurts…” you rattle. The memory causes another hot wall of tears to threaten your eyes, even though the moment is long gone. Joel’s fingers move nimbly at your laces, and when he hears the shake of your voice, he glances up and his gaze softens. There was something about your teary eyes that never let him rest until they were dry again.

“You’re okay. M’sorry.” Joel kisses lightly on your knee, a bit of blood tainting his dry lip and he licks it away, pulling off your boot and moving to the next. When he removes the other shoe, he sets them both aside, and his fingers are light as they rub the area around the cut on your knee. “M’sure he didn’t mean it.”

Your response is almost snappy. “Yeah, of course he didn’t mean it. He’s a dog.”

Joel gives you a warning look. “Watch it.” He grabs an alcohol wipe from the box, tearing open the paper packet. “Don’t give me that, kiddo.”

He sometimes wonders if your petulance is a punishment from God for choosing someone so much younger. He loves you to death, but god, he’s getting too old to run around after you. It’s gotten better, lately, as you’ve settled in on the farm, but… you are so much.

“Gonna sting,” Joel warns, placing his free hand, big and warm on your unharmed knee. You brace yourself, readying yourself for the burn in your open wound. He dabs the gash lightly with the wipe, the material turning a light pink with blood, and a little more leaks from the cut. You hiss, drawing in a breath through your teeth.

“Ow…” you murmur as he draws away the wipe, dropping the sheet into the first aid box, discarding it and focusing his gaze back on you.

Joel’s thumb rubs over the untouched skin once again. “There y’go, baby. All clean…” he presses a slightly sluggish kiss to the wound and you tense, before relaxing into the feeling. It stings slightly every time his lips touch your knee, but it feels nice to have him here. Joel’s eyes watch as another dribble of bright red blood emerges, and his head dips as he licks it away. Soon enough, the drop has disappeared, replaced by the glassy shine of his saliva.

“Thanks,” you whisper, the sound almost lost to the wind. You were no longer teary-eyed.

He nods almost imperceptibly, a soft smile showing on his face as he rubs your thigh through your smudged dress. “We’re gonna clean this one. We’ll get it out,” he lightly pushes up the dress, your thighs becoming visible and his hand continues to rub.

“I like this dress,” you say almost mindlessly, looking out on the grass. The sky is darkening into a deep orange, and you feel both a contented warmth and a hungry growl in your stomach. Joel’s hand consolingly rubs your upper thigh as he gently raises your dress a little more, making your white panties visible.

You look down at Joel, eyes meeting his as his fingers move on to caress your hips under your dress. Your legs spread a little bit as he gets closer, leaning his head on your thigh, warm breath hitting your skin. “You wanna go back out and help me with the work?”

After a few moments of thought, you shake your head. “No,” you tuck some wandering hair behind your ear. “But I’m a little hungry.”

“M’kay, baby…” he tiredly grumbles, kissing up your thigh again. He reaches the lacy trim of your underwear, nuzzling gently into it. “‘M hungry, too.” A kiss to the fabric.

That elicits a laugh from you—the first one of the evening. Joel smiles into your panties, a huff of a laugh leaving his mouth. He breathes in, pressing a kiss to the cotton.

A thick thumb comes between your legs, pressing that sensitive spot through the fabric, and you both hum. The air is a perfect kind of warm, and you hear the first crickets begin to chirp.

“I’ll make you sumthin’…” Joel’s tone is noncommittal as he continues rubbing you. The sensation overpowers the still present, light throbbing of your knee, the pain slowly easing away.

You mumble an ‘okay’ when you feel his fingers slip under the fabric, sliding gently through your folds and eventually sinking into you once he finds the spot. Another raspy exhale leaves you, and you look down at Joel’s face, half hidden in the shadows of your lap as his fingers gently move in and out, curling softly.

“Mm, yeah…” Joel always seems to enjoy this just as much as you do—if not more, and you can tell by the way he murmurs under his breath; he must be hard, but he pays it no mind. None at all. “You still hurtin’?”

“Not very much,” you reply, your words low, now, matching the sun as it makes way for moonlight, darkness creeping into the sky. In response, Joel kisses your upper thigh, inner thigh, hip, as his fingers continue to move. They go a little deeper now, curve a little harder, plunge a little quicker.

Joel’s fingers quicken with a newfound slickness, his digits feeling wetter yet. He wonders if you’d missed him extra while working outside today—he wouldn’t blame you.

Your little grunts are the only sounds overlapping with the chirping of bugs and the buzz of the porch light, and Joel picks back up on the rubbing of your thigh with his free hand, his other dedicating itself to your pussy. One shoeless foot taps on the deck, harder each time Joel touches that spot, and more frequently with the closer you become.

Joel repeats your name a few times, breathily, as he feel your muscles tighten.

You tap your feet quicker, just barely able to make out the wet sound of his ministrations. He kisses your thigh once more, and when you cum, he kisses again, open mouthed and sucking.

He lets out a light chuckle, taking in your pacified expression as opposed to your previous state. “Needed that, huh…?” If you do answer, he doesn’t catch it as he withdraws his sloppy fingers from inside of you.

At first, in the dimness of evening, he doesn’t notice anything amiss, but it soon aware of the red liquid blending with and bleeding into the wetness on his fingertips. Blood mixes with spit as he examines it, and you look down, too.

“Oh, angel,” Joel mutters, looking down at his fingers once more before pressing them to his tongue, running them down its length and removing the excess liquid on your dress. “We’ll get this off… shit.”

You grumble when you see the pop of color, and again when Joel notices the steady trickle of blood into your underwear. The red is rich and overbearing, creating a deep patch of the color in your panties.

Joel stands reluctantly, kicking your boots off to the edge of the porch, forgetting them. “Get up, baby. I’ll get ‘ya somethin’ to eat… clean ‘ya up.”

Thanks for reading, I encourage comments and asks, all that

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janecafe · 2 days ago

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FAMILY RELATIONS PAC: what do your parents think of you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

plus your future in-laws thoughts on you!!!

𝗨𝗡𝗢 - 𝗗𝗢𝗦 - 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗦

𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗢 𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘? from the left side to the right side. pick which picture is drowning you with, pulling you in. take a deep breath in and out and start to visualize all of the images above. trust your intuition and set aside your aesthetic preferences. enjoy and have fun! 🍀✨

⠀⠀ ⠀𐚁 ❪ヵめへ❫

SHOP | MASTERLIST | JOIN TO MY COMMUNITY

• reblogs for „ huggies

• 𝗨𝗡𝗢

i. your parents

your parents are quite worried about your well-being. they could sense the scheming mind lurking behind that self-control facade. they think you have a good judgment somehow a peacemaker in conflicts. they think you are quiet, smart and somehow aloof.

they think you are independent and have a strong nature. they think you would never be disappointed in this family and clan rather they are proud that you are cautious and make no mistakes so far although they love the part that you are finding ways to relieve your financial needs, they may not say it but i think you deserve to know this. they think you gonna bring a legacy and success to them, they can vision that among all.

perhaps, you may feel them being so supportive and telling you how much they love you but you can't feel the genuine affection nor connection with it. it's like, it's lacking. and you are seeking for more. a validation for freedom because your parents, they are the ones who i can see here that stoping you to achieve that "i wanna live alone" moment. despite not being a headache to them, they see you as a responsible person and they are kinda proud with that part.

ii. your in-laws

these people will think you are indeed have a good judgment, they noticed how you are someone who plays safe with its character and attitude. they think you are grounded and have a comfortable aura. although, some of them may not like you at first for your future partner but as time elapses they will love you than your future spouse, they gonna treat you as if you are the original part member of their family instead of your future person which will bring a childish jealousy and satisfaction to your future spouse's side.

although, sometimes your opinions and perspectives in life were annoying and irritating to hear. i think these people think of you as a very talkative individual and have a lot of knowledge to share perhaps you may find yourself shocked by that fact.

if you have a small height, they may find it cute and adorable if your future spouse has cousins and/or siblings they may tease you a lot because of that. you will find your comfort with these people.

i also think you bring brand new ideas in their mind and eyes while you bring imaginative taste inside of their mouths. if you are into cooking and baking they may find it a love of eternal loop whereas some of these people complaining to you that they're on a diet but they can't resist eating the foods you've cooked for them.

★ check the previous pac

• 𝗗𝗢𝗦

ii. your parents

you always surprise these people with your actions and words. for example, if they are struggling with money for the bills and foods the next day, you bring it to the table. perhaps, you may be an unplanned pregnancy or an unexpected child? for them you are an angel and their hope and savior.

otherwise, they think you are unique, someone who is different from your siblings and is someone who can bring anything at the table. they think you are resourceful and you know your responsibility, they love that. when you are not around, they always talk to each other how unpredictable you are. in their eyes you can be a star ⭐.

you are unexpected news that came into their life that turns out a favorable gift. they may not be vocal with their thoughts about you but once they did, they love to show you off to other people whether it's your achievements and winnings. they are your secretly number one fans. they think you are contented and happy-go-lucky individual despite them not meeting some of your needs. they admit to themselves they are lacking as parents towards you but you seems understand this situation.

they may feel sad too about not meeting all of your expectations. they think you are a funny child who likes to spend their day with their family. although, they are worried about your decision and what you are into, like if you are into divination, spirituality or astrological, they think it may effect you negatively.

ii. your in-laws

technically, they are kind of people who bravely show how much they don't like you for your person. they think, you are after your future spouse's money.

perhaps, you are fearless enough for any challenges that they may give in to you. they may think you are a lionhearted individual. they think you have a large family? some of them are timid when you are around. they think when you are mad, you are unstoppable and geez, they may even think you can kill any of them if you ever had an opportunity to reach a knife haha😂. you are really different from these people's perspectives. i think your feelings are detached with these people, it probably you and your future spouse live far away from them. they question you too a lot and then comparing you to others especially to some members of their family who reached great achievements.

most of them will enjoy your company but i don't know why this feminine energy in your person's, they literally don't like you no matter what you do. they won't like you and won't show any interest to get to know you.

★ check the previous pac

• 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗦

i. your parents

god, the diarrhea of harsh opinions these people have. they may think very highly of you but also prefer to sabotage you? it's like "you are good at art but i can draw better than you". i think in this lifetime, you achieve higher than your parents which makes them feel bitter and threatening. it's like at your age, they don't reach the things you've done which made them instead of uplifting and supporting your achievements they're the ones who's bringing you down.

i think your parents is very idolism of their beliefs, tradition and how they were raised as a child. no offense to your parents and their beliefs but they holding it and stuck with it. they may want and keep forcing you to do the same thing which you think wasn't your responsibility at all because you have your own ways. they may hate you for that and may be find it irritating. i think they always compares you to them which is ridiculous. these people think you are good and talented but somehow they lack of actions and words to show it, it's like they can't accept the fact you are doing well. perhaps, i sense that one of them — probably view you as someone know how to stand firm to your perspectives in life. i think your family is type of a clan where one decision and opinion is everyone else decision and opinion.

they think you got the potential but they likely shrug it off and ignore this fact. otherwise, they think you can break a generational curse especially with finances. they would think you are rebellious. they may be scared of you.

ii. your in-laws

i thought i would end this pile with a heavy energy luckily it's a no. you will find your comfort with these people. the changes with your future spouse's attitude and aspects are very clear. they think you bring changes in them. this person's mother or aunt, will literally love you and may treat you better than your future spouse, this person see their younger self in you, that's why. they think you are the best decisions that your spouse ever decide. you gonna deeply enjoy this people company, they will make you laugh non-stop.

they're gonna be interested in your backgrounds. i think these people have different beliefs and practices and backgrounds than you. they may also think you are amazing because you know more than two languages, i think you are bilingual. they may even want to learn your mother tongue language. with them, you are welcome with a wide arms open. if you have any problems with your spouse, you can rely on them. they won't judge you and will give you advices you deeply need in a certain situation. you will experience golden days with these people.

★ check the previous pac

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

jane, the bean fiend tarot reader

#janecafe #pick a card #tarot #divination #tarotcommunity #cartomancy #future spouse #spirtuality #pick a pile #pagan #witch community #witch #wicca #witchblr #pick a picture #shifting #reality shifting #desired reality

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buckyys-babydoll · 2 days ago

Text

Hunting Shadows

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary: Darkness. Nothing but darkness. Hunted by his deepest thoughts he has to fight his way through the Void.

Warnings: THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS! shy!Bob, Thunderbolt!Reader, Best Friends to lovers, insecurities, love confession, hurt/comfort, found family, fluff

Wordcount: 2.735 Words

Authors Note: Beta’d by @elixirfromthestars. Also thanks to @thevillainswhore for the support! Divider made by me.

Darkness.

Another room filled with nothing but darkness. He’s not sure what comes next. Darkness? Or another memory? Another thought that usually haunts him in the darkest nights? He doesn’t know, he can’t know.

The void. A place to face your fears. To face your past. With no escape unless you break through them. But how can you, when every room, every corner, rips open wounds that never really healed?

Faced by nothing but another room with shadows, he steps in. His eyes are trying to see through the dark. Shadows. Big. Scary. Looming over him, ready to grab and pull him further into the coldness.

A shaky breath leaves his lips. It doesn’t remind him of anything. But he knows that room. He knows it like he would live in it.

But he doesn’t. He never did. He never will.

Because that room only exists in his imagination — in his nightmares.

Another shaky breath, his eyes scan through the room. There's something missing; the window is wide open, but the monster, Void, isn’t there.

Of course, it isn’t. Not when it’s doing what it can do best. Hunt people, fill their dreams with fear.

Bob walks another step into the room, there has to be a way to break that room, too. But how? He needs to find the void — needs to find himself to break through this room.

“There you are,” a voice echoes through the room. Bob flinches, turning to find the source of the voice, but everything looks the same — dark. “You think you’re so strong. But you’re alone. Who’s gonna help you? No one!”

He shivers. He’s alone. He feels the cold creeping through his body, crawling up his back.

“I-I’m not alone…” he whispers, shaking his head. “I’m not alone anymore.”

“You’re not? Of course. You’re not,” the Void laughs. Dark. Cold. Just like the things he has to offer in these rooms of the past, and fear. “But where are they? Where is she when you need her?”

Bob shakes his head once more. His hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as he looks around once more.

Until his eyes finally settle on the small white sparkle in the orbs of the Void. In the corner of the room, able to see everything.

Bob swallows thickly. One punch and he’s in the next room. Does he want it? No. He doesn’t know if it’s worse or better.

The current room is dark and cold. The Void — his insecurities and fears — are there. But is it really better than his parents fighting? Is it better than hearing his dad lashing out, being violent because a mother tried to protect her child from a man who’s talking with his fists instead of words?

“You d-don’t…” Bob trails off as he takes a step closer. He has to. He has to break through the void. Even through the parts he hates, the parts that break him. “You don’t scare me anymore!”

The Void laughs, the white sparkle in his dark eyes focused on Bob as he sets the first punch into the shadow. A sound of something breaking is audible in the room before Bob is pushed into the next room.

And fuck. Maybe he prefers the darkness. Because the room he’s standing in now is worse. It’s everything he always tries to push away, though he doesn’t allow himself.

Buried so deep in his mind. And you’re in front of him, loud and clear.

“You think you’re worth anything?” Your voice, so harsh, echoes through the room. Your eyes are so cold, your expression filled with an amount of hatred Bob has never seen before.

He isn’t worth anything. He never was.

But hearing it from you. From the person who always believed in him. The only person who kept him up when he wanted to fall.

His heart shattered. Bob could almost hear it like glass breaking. It hurt, more than he wants to admit — it was just the Void, but it felt so real — just too real for Bob.

“N-no?” His other self answers the question you just asked. Though it wasn’t a question, not really. “B-But I-i thought you liked me?”

“Like you?” You laugh at him. Bob takes a step backward, his back colliding with the wall behind him as he watches himself and you interact with one another.

This situation, it never happened. You’re too sweet, too lovely to be like that.

But his mind? His mind is telling him all the dark things. He’s not enough. You only feel pity. And deep down, he believes it.

“How could someone like me like someone like you?” You ask, sounding angry and still somehow amused. His other self shrugs slightly, and almost not visible, but you catch it.

Of course, you do. You're always paying attention to everything. And why should it be any different in the Void?

Why should it, when it makes the situation even more painful for him?

“Try again. No one likes you. You’re not even a real man, you’re just a pathetic boy who wants to be more than he is,” you laugh.

“B-but I-i lo-ove you,” he mumbles, a tear falling down his cheek as he watches you intensely. Your expression so distant, so different to your usually soft and loving side.

“Y-you w-what?” You mock him while laughing loudly. It’s loud, too loud. That’s not you, that’s not even close to your sweet laugh to him. “Pathetic. No one’s going to love you!” You say with a cold grin before you walk away. And Bob — both of him — look after you, until the scene starts from the start.

He watches it. Over and over again. His heart is shattered into tiny little pieces. Every time he watches it, it feels worse. But Bob can’t break through it, he can’t move from the spot he’s standing — almost like his feet are glued to the ground.

“Bob! Finally!” Your voice comes from behind you. Your voice. Soft. Loving. Exactly what he’s used to when you talk to him.

And as he turns around to look at you, his eyes widen. What are you doing here – in the darkness of his nightmares?

“Love?” He asks softly, blinking as he looks you up and down. He takes in the soft smile on your lips, the soft swinging of your hips he loves so much when you walk closer to him. “W-what are you doing here?”

“We can only break through the void when we do it together, Bob,” you say. Your voice is so different to the one he heard for the past couple of minutes. He looks at you, up and down, taking in every little detail — so delicate, so you. The one he knows, not the one he sees in his nightmares because of his fear.

“B-But—“ Bob interrupts himself the moment the whole scene in front of you starts again. He notices your head turning to the two people — you and him.

Your eyes widen the moment you hear yourself saying these words. Words you would never think of, at least not around Bob. Not of Bob.

“W-What the—“

“T-That’s,” he points with his finger toward the scene. “I-is… it’s. That’s nothing.”

What was that? It wasn’t his past, because that situation never happened between you and him. The void doesn’t show the future either. So, the only thing it could show is something that’s buried deep down in his thoughts — fear.

“Do you think I-i would ever talk to you like that?” You whisper, your mouth dropping open the moment he confesses his love. Your head whips toward him, eyes widened and a shocked expression on your face. “You’re in love with me?”

“N-no!” He shouts, shaking his head violently before nodding. “Yes. But I-I would never. I don’t think you would ever talk to me like that. But… if I.. would I– I thought you could would I confess my love.”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. You want to answer. You want to tell him what you feel. But you can’t do it in the void. Not in the rooms of darkness, of fear.

“We have to break through the room, Bob,” you say, taking his hand in yours. You interlace your fingers, noticing the redness growing on his cheeks as he watches your movements intensely. “Come on.”

He nods, following you. Not sure what you’re looking for, you walk back and forth through the room, eyes scanning all the little corners and places you could find a way out of the Void. Nothing.

“W-what about… you?” He asks, pointing at your figure.

You follow his view, noticing the change in your expression. The exact face that brought you from one room in the void to the other.

“So… you wanna punch me?” You laugh softly. Bob shakes his head with widened eyes.

How could you even suggest that? He could never lay his hands on you! Never!

“N-no– but maybe you can do it? I don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbles. “Not even when you’re so mean.”

You chuckle once more, pulling Bob with you toward the two figures who look like you before you finally reach yourself. You lift your arm, balling your hand into a fist before you set a punch directly against your chin.

The Void you’s head is thrown back by the force, a groan leaving its lips as the whole room shatters into small pieces and leads you into the next room – the last room of the void.

Bucky, Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and John are all standing there, looking at the two of you. Bob's hand is still tightly wrapped around yours, he’s standing slightly behind you with a soft smile on his lips as he waves at the others.

“Hi,” he whispers. Quiet, shy.

The others nod, Yelena is the first to raise an eyebrow, while the others are already busy trying to find a way to break through the room.

“Uhuuuu?” She smirks, hitting your shoulder with hers playfully. “Thought you would never—“

“Lena!” You growl softly, glaring at her.

Then you pull Bob with you toward the others. Bucky and Alexei punch and rip stuff, the whole room filled with shattered blankets and pillows. Broken wood. A half-destroyed, standing bed. And a door — still completely intact.

“There’s a door,” Bob mutters, getting everyone’s attention.

They all look up from whatever they are about to break and look at Bob, then toward the door.

“Guys! There’s a door!” Alexei shouts before he runs toward the door and pushes it open.

Behind it, there is the Void. A dark shadow with a glistening small white part in the dark of his eyes.

You can feel Bob shuddering behind you, his breath hitching as he faces himself. The dark side of him. Buried and hidden deep down in the soft man you know.

“Hey,” you mutter, turning around to face him. You bring your hand up to his cheek, your thumb tracing along his jaw softly.

Bob leans into your touch, inhaling deeply. His eyes close for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. Face your fear. Face it. Fight it. And you will be free.

“It doesn’t define you. The darkness can’t do anything,” you mumble as you feel his lips pressing softly against your palm. “You’re not alone anymore. You got —“

“THE THUNDERBOLTS!” Alexei shouts and holds the door open for the others.

“We can’t call us that,” Bucky mutters, shaking his head as he walks into the room where the Void is.

You chuckle softly, waiting for the others to get into a heated argument once again. But before they can, Bob lets go of your hand and walks into the room, passing the others before he stands in front of the Void.

Facing himself. The shadows of his past. The depth of his thoughts.

“There you are,” the Void laughs. He looks down at Bob, and even though he doesn’t have a face, he looks almost like he’s amused. “Bringing your friends. Friends. You mean nothing to them.”

Bob flinches, trying to stand his ground in front of the dark side. He shouldn’t listen to it. It’s not the truth, and he knows. He hopes, at least.

A loud yelp comes from Yelena when metal slings around her frame, pinning her next to Alexei to the wall. John is thrown against the wall, a piece of metal stuck to his shoulder, while Ava and Bucky get pinned to shelves as well.

Only you. From you, he didn’t hear a word.

Bob doesn’t take his eyes off the Void. He can’t. Not even if he tried.

“So, now it’s only your girl. Standing all brave there. But she doesn’t help you, does she?” The Void speaks, dark and low. He hums when Bob's expression gets more anxious before his eyes narrow in anger.

“You can’t break me. You can’t break me. YOU. CANT. BREAK. ME!” He repeats, over and over again.

“Oh. I already did. You have no one. You’re nothing. They don’t care about you. They never will,” the shadow whispers.

A coldness washes over Bob, followed by a shiver. His eyes fill with tears, but he blinks them away.

No more tears of hurt. No more pain. Only anger.

He’s filled with so much anger. The Void, the shadows took so much from him. Tried to make him believe he is nothing, but he knows he’s worth more than nothing. He knows he deserves better.

You showed him. You all — the Thunderbolts — showed him.

Bob lifts his hand, wrapping it around the Voids neck before he throws him down. Throwing himself on top of the shadow, he starts punching it. Over and over again.

His hand turns black, swallowed by the shadows. But he’s better. He’s not weak. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“I’m better than you!” Punch. “I’m not afraid anymore.” Punch.

In the background, he hears your voice. Hears you calling for him to stop, but he can’t. All the anger boils over, the feeling of relief washing over him with every punch he sets.

“Bob! Stop! That’s what he wants,” Yelena shouts. But he doesn’t. Not when he can prove that he’s strong — that he’s better!

Cracking sounds echo through the room as one after another tries to fight against the restraints. Yelena is the first to run to him, then you.

You both grab hold of him. Arms tightly wrapped around him as you pull him away. But he’s stronger. So much stronger.

“Please, bub. Please, let go,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against the side of his face. “I love you, too. Please.”

And suddenly, he does. He loosens his grip, his punches stop, and when the others gather around you two, you all pull him off the Void.

“I love you, too, Bob,” you whisper, kissing his cheek as you lie together on the ground.

All panting and groaning, but no one lets go of the group hug. It’s what everyone needs — after the past. After the Void. It’s what keeps you all grounded at the moment.

“Maybe we should think about a family name, though,” John jokes, causing you all to laugh softly.

Found family. Yes. That’s what the Thunderbolts are.

“Avengerzzzzz!” Alexei suggests, causing Bucky and John to groan in frustration.

Both of them might have a past, and maybe they hated one another. They still argue a lot, but when it comes to names Alexei suggests, they always have the same opinion. No!

Bob turns his head toward you, one of his arms curling around your waist as he leans his forehead against yours. He takes a shaky breath, his eyes closed.

“You do? You really do?”

“More than anything,” you mumble.

“Okay! Let’s get up. Here has to be an exit, I’m not ready to watch porn just yet!” John announces, pulling back.

You laugh, glaring playfully at him, while Yelena makes another joke about John and porn. But you don’t listen, your focus is on the man you love — on Bob.

“You’re not alone anymore. You got us,” you whisper before you break the distance between the two of you and press your lips softly against his.

Bob's breath hitches, but he immediately kisses you back. A bit clumsy. A bit shy. But full of love and adoration.

First time writing for Bob! If you have any ideas/requests, let me know!

@armystay89 @rogersbarber

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dalishious · 21 hours ago

Text

This is an excerpt from my work-in-progress large meta examination on thet qunari from DAO through to DATV. But since that is taking a long time, I thought it might be worth it to post this piece alone now, since it works on its own as well.

-----

The Qunari Design

In Dragon Age: Origins (DAO) the qunari all had the same brown metallic skin. This is because the developers only bothered to make one skin tint for the use of Sten, the qunari companion. They gave this skin tint to every other qunari NPC as well. This is also why there is only the one hairstyle that Sten uses for qunari, with the few NPCs either being bald or using his same hair. Essentially, Sten was the blueprint for all qunari, originally.

No qunari have horns in DAO like they do in the rest of the franchise. According to developer David Gaider, the qunari were always meant to have horns, but did not in DAO because it would have meant Sten couldn’t wear a helmet. This led to the lore decision that some qunari are born hornless as a rare genetic quirk, to account for the later change in design.

Dragon Age II (DA2) saw a drastic change in how the qunari look. Unlike the elves, humans, and dwarves in DA2, the qunari do not use head morphs allowing for individual designs; they have standardized creature models. (The only exception in the base game is the Arishok, who has his own special model.) The qunari moved from having Sten’s brown skin to grey metallic skin, their eye sclera was changed to black, and they were given the horns the developers originally wanted.

It is a well-known fact that DA2 was under immense development restrictions that led to all kinds of cut corners. However, it is worth pointing out the negative impact of choosing an entire race’s design functionality as one of those cut corners. The qunari in DA2 are, for the most part, treated like nothing but unthinking monsters for Hawke to squish, no different than giant spiders or darkspawn. Making them all look the same adds to this effect; they are stripped of any sense of personable traits.

A medium between DAO and DA2 was reached in Dragon Age: Inquisition (DAI), through introducing the player’s ability to make a qunari protagonist. DAI allows the player to choose between few brownish and a few greyish skin colours for their qunari character. The black sclera was changed to white again, as the qunari use the same eye texture and colouring functionality as all the other races. The character creation works just the same for qunari as it does for any other race, allowing for individual appearances left to the player’s imagination. However, as far as NPCs go, there are no qunari in the base game of DAI, making Iron Bull as a companion the only qunari presence until the Trespasser DLC. This does not leave much room to judge the appearance of other qunari characters.

DATV is just like DAI in its character creation capabilities, with the one expansion being the player can make their character have black sclera like in DA2 if they so choose. For all DATV’s faults with the qunari, at least we can say that the character creation is great. Taash and their mother Shathann also have lovely, unique designs. Where things become uncomfortable with the qunari designs… is in the Reavers.

It is established lore from the previous franchise installments that Reavers gain their special powers through drinking draconic blood, though these Antaam Reavers have been altered by Ghilan’nain. My personal assumption is that blighted dragon blood was used. Regardless of how these Reavers came to be, they are unprecedented, horrific monsters, and it is only ever qunari that we see subjected to this kind of disfigurement. This really doubles down on turning them into standardised monsters like in DA2.

Going through all these qunari design changes can make a player’s head spin. But I believe it is an important, visual example of an overarching theme with the qunari: the developers have never really cemented what they want them to be. The writing throughout the years suggests the same.

-----

Stay tuned for the full piece sometime in the future, where I will get into the writing!

#dragon age #qunari #meta

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bucketsorbueckers · 2 days ago

Text

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 5

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, bad timing

Dual POV - 8.7K words

A/N: hope you enjoy <3

Paige’s POV

Paige didn’t believe in fate. Never had. She believed in hard work. In showing up. In earning things the long way around.

But there was one thing in her life that refused to fit inside that logic. One thing that pushed against every carefully built belief she held.

And that thing was sitting right next to her.

She hadn’t meant to ask Jana to save her a seat in the spot she maybe assumed Azzi would choose. The corner with the armrest, the place she always liked to lean.

But she had.

And so, when Jana’s voice cut through the room, announcing she’d followed orders, and Paige turned to find Azzi sitting exactly where she’d imagined she would be, well, maybe fate felt a little more real after all.

She took the seat. Thigh brushing against Azzi’s. The kind of closeness she craved every hour of every fucking day. And she’d been rather pleased that it had worked out until she looked over and saw Azzi’s face. Tense. Uncomfortable.

The guilt crawled up her spine fast, sharp, making her stomach twist. So she leaned over, just slightly.

“Is this okay?” she asked, voice low, eyes searching Azzi’s pretty face. “I can move if you want me to.”

Azzi paused. Worked her bottom lip between her teeth. Let her eyes drag across Paige’s face like she was reading something only she could see. Then, a breath.

“If it’s okay with you.”

And Paige felt like she’d been slapped. Because those words weren't just an answer. They were a memory.

One she thought about often.

In her bedroom. Azzi looking at her like she was something worth keeping.

Her hand on Paige’s thigh. Warm. Steady. Certain. And Paige, impulsive, impossible, leaning in too close. Pushing her luck like she always did.

Because there wasn’t a world where Paige Bueckers got Azzi Fudd. Not really. But God, she wanted her anyway.

And for one reckless second, she let herself believe that wanting was enough. That the look in Azzi’s eyes meant they’d figure it out. That whatever mistakes she made—whatever cracks she couldn’t keep from forming—Azzi would stay anyway.

“Is this okay?” Paige had whispered, her voice barely holding itself together.

She’d braced for the fallout. For the shame of asking. For the punishment of wanting someone as much as she wanted Azzi.

But then Azzi smiled. Small, lopsided, familiar. That dimple on her left cheek appearing like it always did when she was about to say something that mattered.

“If it’s okay with you.”

Paige wasn’t sure how she didn’t roll off the bed and onto the floor. But she kept it together, probably because she figured this was her one and only chance to kiss Azzi Fudd. And so, with trembling hands, she pressed her lips to Azzi’s.

The world didn’t stop. The sky didn’t crack open. The planets didn’t shift.

Nika coughed across the common room. A car horn blared in the distance. Somewhere, probably, a microwave beeped.

Nothing changed. Except Paige.

Inside her, something quietly unhooked. Rearranged. Rewired.

Because when Azzi kissed her—really kissed her, like it meant something, like she meant something—Paige felt the ground tilt just enough to notice.

She’d never been the dramatic one. That was someone else’s job. She liked facts. Stats. Data she could measure.

But this? This was unquantifiable.

Azzi’s hand on her jaw. The warm press of her lips. The soft, certain way she leaned in like she’d already decided. And Paige, usually so careful, didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t deflect.

She kissed her back.

And no, the world didn’t change. Not visibly. But Paige did.

Some quiet part of her, the part she’d kept barricaded behind logic and low expectations, blinked awake. Looked at this girl and thought: So this is what it feels like. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

And maybe the world didn’t notice. But Paige would never be the same. So when Azzi said those words, Paige felt devastatingly desperate again. For them.

For the version of herself that only existed in Azzi’s orbit—the softer one, the braver one. The girl Azzi kissed like a promise, not the one left behind in the aftermath. Not the jagged, restless version she became when it all fell apart.

When love turned quiet and Azzi stopped looking at her like she was something worth staying for. And so, with every bit of courage she had left, Paige put herself out there.

She silenced every reason not to—every voice in her head whispering you’re no good for her, every cruel echo of she deserves better. And the hardest one of all: you embarrass her.

She deafened them all. And reached across the space between them.

Small, steady. A single gesture against the weight of everything she’d ruined. But it was hers. And it was brave.

The first brush of their fingers felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long. That frantic, gasping kind of relief—when your lungs are seconds from giving out, your legs aching from the fight to rise, and then, air.

Contact. A reminder that you made it. That maybe, somehow, you're still allowed to want this. Even now. Even after everything.

Paige’s eyes cut to Azzi, searching for anything—a shift, a breath, the smallest flicker of a sign that this was okay. But Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t look at her.

Just kept her gaze on the TV, where some scene played out that Paige couldn’t name, couldn’t care about. Her heart sank, sharp and sudden. She almost pulled away. Almost let herself believe she’d misread it again. But then, with a breath she barely got past her ribs, Paige moved her finger the tiniest bit forward.

Just enough. Her pinky curled, half-around Azzi’s. And she held it there.

Braced for impact, whatever it might be.

And then, like a miracle, a prayer answered, Azzi completed the ritual. Knotting their pinkies together.

Paige tried not to react.

Tried not to stiffen, not to let her knee start bouncing, not to give herself away. But it was hard. Her whole body felt hot and jittery, like her skin was trying to crawl out from under itself.

She cut her gaze toward Azzi. And Azzi met her there. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

The space between them had shrunk to nothing, and suddenly Paige was aware of everything— the brush of their arms, the heat radiating off her cheeks, the quiet thrum of this is happening pounding in her chest.

She held Azzi’s gaze like it might steady her. It didn’t. But she didn’t look away either.

And they existed like that. The team loud around them. The movie too bright, too chaotic. The air thick with the smell of buttery popcorn and clashing perfumes. And beneath it all—the heat of Azzi’s knee pressed against hers under a blanket that was suddenly too much. Too warm. Too heavy.

Paige was sweating. Not from the blanket. From the closeness. From the ache that sat squarely in her chest like it had paid rent.

And then the thought hit her—blunt, brutal, so obvious it felt cruel: How are you not mine? How am I supposed to love anyone but you?

She didn’t have the answer. She wasn’t sure she ever would. The movie ended, but no one moved right away. The team lingered—sleepy, tangled in blankets, whispering softly like the night might shatter if they spoke too loud.

So Paige didn’t move. Neither did Azzi.

Their fingers stayed laced together, a quiet knot of unsaid things. Of questions and memories and want, warm and undeniable beneath the blanket.

Even as the room began to clear, goodnights murmured, bodies stretching and shifting, feet padding across the floor, they stayed.

Hearts thudding in sync. Hands sweating. Paige tried to slow her breathing. To steady the tremble in her chest.

She turned, just enough to catch Azzi’s profile in the dim light.

“Do you need to leave?” she asked, voice low. “Or you got a few minutes?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked toward the remaining stragglers, Caroline among them.

There was a brief exchange. Something in a look, something carved in trust. Caroline offered a small nod and a simple, “Night.”

And then she was gone.Azzi looked back at Paige.

“I have a few minutes,” she said.

“Cool,” Paige said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Let’s go to my room.”

Every alarm in her brain went off at once. It was a dangerous line to cross, bringing Azzi back into what had once been their space. The room where too much had happened. And not enough had been said.

But she didn’t want to start something. She just wanted to talk.To let it all out. To finally say the things that had been clawing at her ribs for weeks.To see if there was still a way back. If they could still find each other in the wreckage.

They headed toward her room, a stretch of space between them that hadn’t always been there. Nika caught her gaze from across the room and arched a brow. Paige ignored it.

It all felt so familiar. Azzi trailing just behind her, the echo of footsteps in the hall, the click of the door as it shut behind them.

But the silence was new. The nerves. The way Paige’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And when they crossed the threshold—when she closed the door and sealed them in—it felt less like slipping back into something warm and known, and more like stepping into a memory that might collapse under its own weight.

Paige leaned back against her bed. Azzi settled into the desk chair, spine straight, hands in her lap. And it reminded her of before. Of all the ways they used to orbit each other. Careful, measured, like getting too close might set something on fire.

Back then, the distance had been about restraint. About not daring to want too much, too fast. About pretending they weren’t already standing at the edge.

But this space? This space was different.

Not curious. Not tentative.

Earned. Worn-in. Built out of self-preservation more than fear. A kind of distance that said we’ve been burned before. A kind that hurt just by existing.

Paige cleared her throat, crossing one ankle over the other like the act might steady her.

“So,” she started, already cringing at the sound of her own voice. Too casual. Too thin. “How you been?”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her for a beat.

“Okay,” she said, and it wasn’t unkind. Just honest in that way Azzi always was.

Paige nodded. “Same.”

Finally, Paige let herself look at her best friend. Really look at her. Azzi, in her room. Like no time had passed and also like too much had. Same sweatshirt, same eyes, same way she always curled her fingers in her lap when there was something she really wanted to say but couldn’t.

She loved Azzi. She knew that. But what gutted her now wasn’t the ache of lost kisses or what-ifs. It was the quiet, gnawing ache of missing her best friend.

The one person who could read her mind with a single look across the court. Who knew when she needed to be dragged out of bed or left alone. Who always picked the right snack. Who never asked her to be anything more than exactly who she was.

And while she wanted the relationship back—the closeness, the rhythm, the comfort of being known—what she really wanted was Azzi.

In any capacity. Any form.

Her Azzi. The one who laughed too loud at her dumb jokes. Who called her out, kept her steady, showed up.

Paige swallowed hard.

“Azzi,” she said, finally.

It came out breathy. Worn. Like it had taken everything in her to say just that.

Azzi’s eyes snapped up, sharp and sure, like she knew. Like she’d heard the break Paige couldn’t hide.

She pressed her lips together. Waiting. Not for an answer. But for the fall.

Azzi’s POV

Paige was staring at her. Really staring. The kind of stare Azzi had learned to recognize years ago, when Paige was building up to something. When she was afraid. When she was about to do the thing anyway.

Azzi didn’t look away. She wanted to. Wanted to make it easier. Break the tension. Say something dumb or gentle or neutral. Anything to spare them both from whatever Paige was holding in her chest.

But she didn’t. Because part of her wanted to hear it. Wanted to know what Paige was brave enough to say this time. Or maybe, what she was about to lose the nerve to say.

And still, the silence stretched. And Azzi’s heart beat like it knew what was coming. Maybe, if it came from Paige, she’d finally be ready to answer.

And maybe Azzi wanted to speak her own truth too. Rip out the stitches on that wound that never quite healed. Let it bleed. Let it ache in the open air.

Maybe she wanted to see if there was still something left worth salvaging—if they could gather up the torn pieces and figure out how to patch themselves back together.

Not perfectly. Not like before. But honestly. Maybe this time, they wouldn’t hide behind timing or fear or the weight of everything unsaid. Maybe this time, they’d say it. And maybe that would be enough.

“Azzi, I-,” Paige stumbled over the words. Unlike her. Always smooth with it. One step ahead. “I think we need to talk about stuff.”

Azzi nodded.

“Yeah,” She agreed, trying to offer some relief to the girl. “I think so too.”

Paige swallowed. Shot her a grateful look.

“Where do you want to start?”

Azzi’s mind skipped. Because, if she was being honest, she was really hoping Paige would take the lead.

It was selfish, maybe. To always depend on Paige to be the brave one. To be the first to reach across whatever distance had stretched between them. But it was instinct. Muscle memory, almost.

Azzi had spent years relying on Paige to say the things she couldn’t. To do the things she was too scared to try. To cross the lines Azzi could barely bring herself to toe.

They’d always danced like that; Azzi hesitating, Paige charging forward.

And some part of her still wanted that. Still hoped Paige would take one more step. Still didn’t trust herself not to flinch if she had to go first. But Paige was watching her expectantly. Waiting.

Azzi felt the words rise and tangle in her throat. She wished she had something better. Cleaner. Something that didn’t sound like surrender.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

Paige nodded. Once. Then rubbed a hand over her face, not in frustration, exactly. But disappointment. The kind that settled behind the eyes. The kind that said she’d hoped for something else but wasn’t surprised.

Paige exhaled through her nose.

“I just think…” Paige started, then stopped, running a hand through her hair like the words might be hiding there. “I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, we… got our wires crossed or something. Lost the rhythm of whatever this was. Whatever we were.”

She cleared her throat, shifted her weight from leg to leg. Azzi watched her, that familiar restlessness etched into every movement. She wondered if Paige would ever grow out of it Half-hoped she wouldn’t.

“And truth be told I’ve been fuckin’ mis—”

A ringtone cut through the room, sharp and sudden. They both flinched. Paige closed her eyes, jaw tightening as she bit down on her lip. Frustration written in every line of her face.

But Azzi knew that sound. Knew that Paige only left the ringer on when something important was happening. Something career-related. High-stakes. Bigger-than-us.

Still, Paige didn’t move. Just stood there, letting the phone ring out until the sound finally died. She swallowed hard, like something was caught in her throat, then dragged her gaze back to Azzi.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Like I was saying. I’ve been—”

Ring. Same ringtone. Paige’s eyes slammed shut.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groaned, voice edged with something rare. A frustration she almost never let anyone hear.

She stalked over to her phone, jabbing her finger against the screen harder than necessary. The ringtone cut off instantly—declined. No question. She dropped it face-down on the desk with a dull slam and stood there for a second, breathing like she’d just run full-court.

Then she turned back around. And suddenly, they were closer.

Only a few steps apart now, but it felt tighter than that, like the air had shifted, like something charged had pulled taut between them. Azzi could feel it in her chest. The friction.

“Let’s try this one more time,” Paige gritted out, jaw tight. “Azzi, I mis—”

The phone vibrated now. She froze. Her brows lifted in disbelief, like the universe was personally screwing with her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, glancing at the screen. “It would only do that if it was an emergency contact. My parents or siblings.”

Azzi stepped aside instinctively, catching a glimpse of Dad lit up on the screen. Paige answered with a sigh.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Azzi couldn’t make out the words, but she could read Paige’s face—irritation pulling at her mouth, eyes narrowing. Annoyed, but not alarmed. The panic that had bloomed briefly in Azzi’s chest eased. No crisis. Just bad timing.

“I’m in the middle of something, Dad. Surely it can wait.”

A voice crackled louder through the speaker. Paige winced, frowning.

“Okay,” she said, clipped. “I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded, eyes closed like she was barely holding it together.

“Love you too. Thanks.”

She ended the call and exhaled, thumb still pressed to the phone like she was considering throwing it across the room. Then, slowly, she looked up at Azzi again.

“Everything alright?” Azzi asked.

Paige sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “My manager’s been trying to get ahold of me. Some big deal coming through and they need me to sign it before midnight.”

“Oh,” Azzi said, her face falling before she could stop it. “Well. I’ll let you get to that.”

“Azzi,” Paige said, her voice catching, a plea sitting just beneath it. “Please. It can wait. I just need—”

“Paige,” Azzi cut in gently, but firm. “Everyone’s blowin’ you up. Clearly it’s important.”

She was already moving toward the door when Paige reached out, fingers curling around her wrist. Desperate. A silent don’t go that Azzi felt all the way in her throat.

But then the phone started buzzing again, loud and insistent, rattling against the desk like it knew how to ruin things. Azzi didn’t look at the screen. She didn’t have to.

She saw the words forming on Paige’s lips. Felt them coming—something honest, something broken, something that might’ve changed everything.

But the world outside was too loud. The calls. The timing. The expectations. And standing there in that too-familiar room, Paige’s hand still around her wrist, Azzi couldn’t help but feel like this was the universe spelling it out for her.

It would always be like this.

Her and Paige. Almost. But never quite enough.

“Congrats on the deal, P. Seems like it’s a good one,” Azzi said, and it came out steadier than it felt. She didn’t look at Paige. Didn’t trust herself too. “Goodnight.”

And then, with every ounce of strength she had left, she pulled her hand free from the only person in the world she wanted to hold it. And walked away.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

A week later

Broken things—watches, bones, promises, hearts— they can still keep working, if they want to badly enough.

Maybe not the way they were meant to. Maybe not without a limp. But functioning all the same. And it seemed much of that was true for Azzi and Paige too. Because despite it all, on the court, it was still poetry.

Calculated passes. Instinctive cuts. Paige knowing exactly where Azzi would be before she got there. Azzi catching the ball like it was meant for her and her alone.

Whatever was broken between them didn’t seem to matter when there was a game to win. There, they still moved in sync.

Azzi was grateful for small miracles—and for Paige’s exhausting, ever-present need to be in charge. Because the season was closing in faster than she would’ve liked, and she was doing her best just to keep steady.

Practice wrapped with Geno walking them through the upcoming exhibition game, but Azzi barely heard him. All she could think about was getting home. She wanted a shower. To curl up in the dark. To sleep for days, maybe weeks.

Her whole body ached, not from the drills or the sprints, but from the weight of the week. A slow, dragging kind of burn that didn’t show up on a stat sheet. And still, stupidly, she hadn’t been to the training room.

She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after walking out of her room like she did.

She half-limped off the court, her leg dragging more than she meant it to. Behind her, she heard it.

“Azzi.”

She turned. Paige was a few steps back, walking toward her, gaze locked in.

Azzi stopped, arching a brow. She didn’t have it in her. Not a fight, not a blowout, not even a conversation that might circle back to what they weren’t saying.

Paige caught up, looking casual.

“You need to get treatment.”

Azzi’s lip curled.Not at the words. At the tone. At the way Paige always sounded like she knew best. And the fact that maybe she did.

But Azzi was too raw. Too scraped thin. Too sleep-deprived from nights spent staring at the ceiling, wishing she were someone else. Someone easier. Softer. Kinder.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Azzi snapped, the words sharp and brittle before she could catch them. They didn’t even sound like her. Like someone else had slipped into her skin, speaking from the place where everything still hurt. “I wasn’t aware you were running things now?”

Paige sagged, just slightly, shoulders dipping, like the breath had gone out of her.

“Come on, Az,” she said, quiet. Not defensive. Just tired. “I just want what’s best for yo—” she caught herself— “for the team.”

She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck.

“When your foot’s bothering you, you’re slower. And when you're slower, the tempo gets thrown off. You know that.” She didn’t say it like an accusation. She said it like Paige always said things that mattered—impossible to argue with. Like someone who’d been watching. Who always watched. “You’ve been favoring your right side almost the entire week.”

And the worst part? She was right.

Azzi knew it. Knew the way her foot made her half a step late on cuts, how she hesitated before planting. Knew she was sluggish when she needed to be sharp.

But what made her stomach twist was that it was Paige—and only Paige—who’d noticed.Not Geno. Not CD. Not a single teammate. Not even Cam, and she’d been around him more than anyone lately.

Only Paige, with her sharp eyes and annoying brain and unrelenting need to keep everything running like a goddamn machine.

And that? That made Azzi want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

“I don’t need you telling me what to do, Paige,” Azzi snapped, the words cutting sharper than she intended. “I’m more than capable of making decisions on my own without you acting like the whole world needs to run on your schedule.”

Paige flinched. Physically. Emotionally. Azzi saw it, clear as day. And immediately wished she could take it back. Reach out. Grab the words. Shove them down her own throat.

She was just so fucking tired. Sad. Lonely. A litany of miserable adjectives, none of them enough to cover the hollow feeling in her chest.

But Paige didn’t back down. Didn’t swallow it like she usually did.

Instead, she looked at Azzi, something sharp settling behind her eyes.

“I am well aware you are capable of making your own decisions,” Her voice wasn’t exactly malicious, just low. Unsettling in the way quiet things sometimes are. “You think if I was runnin’ shit, you would’ve walked out of my room on Friday?”

Azzi’s breath caught. She watched as Paige opened and closed her fists a few times, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Like she didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“Do what you want,” Paige said. “Seems to be the theme lately.”

Azzi winced. She felt it in her chest. The way Paige didn’t raise her voice, didn’t accuse, just let the disappointment bleed through each word like she couldn’t stop it.

“But just so you know?” Paige added, jaw tight, gaze unwavering. “I really was just trying to be proactive. Season’s almost here. We need you ready.”

And that was the worst part. Because Azzi knew it was true. She wasn’t trying to control her. She was trying to care, in the only way Paige knew how. in the only way Azzi had left her. Through basketball. Through tempo and tape and half-shouted reminders about the training room.

It was the last version of them Azzi hadn’t burned. The only space where Paige was still allowed to reach for her. Where love could be disguised as leadership. Where concern could pass as strategy.

And Azzi had thrown it back at her like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t begged for that kind of care once. Like she hadn’t broken the first time Paige stopped offering it.

Azzi opened her mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, to soften the crater she’d just cleaved between them. But Paige was already turning. Already walking away.

And God, it hurt. More than Azzi expected it to.

Because she knew she’d been awful. Cold. Defensive. Mean in ways she didn’t recognize until the words had already landed. But Paige had seen her in all her forms. Quiet, selfish, scared, unraveling and never once had she walked away.

Not until now.

And Azzi wondered—fleetingly, stupidly—if there’s a moment when you know.

When you’ve said the thing you can’t take back, shifted the ground just enough that it never settles the same way again.

When you’ve crossed some invisible line and the air between you shifts, not with tension, but with finality.

She wondered if this was that moment. If this was the one she’d look back on years from now and think, there. That’s when I lost her.

When Paige stopped being hers in all the quiet, unspoken ways that used to feel like fact. She wondered if people ever really know, or if you only see it later, in the way someone stops looking back. Stops waiting. Stops trying.

And yet, despite that feeling, the gnawing certainty that she’d gone too far, she still said her name.

Once. Softly.

“Paige.”

It slipped out like an old habit. Like maybe saying it gently could undo the sharpness from before. But no response came.

Paige’s POV

“Turn, slightly. Chin up.”

She did as they asked, trying not to exhale too loudly. Two hours in, and her face felt frozen in place. Her ponytail had been re-done three times. She’d laced up four different pairs of sneakers that weren’t hers.

The gym looked familiar, but not. Transformed into a polished, branded version of itself.

Spotlights. Smoke machines. A Nike crew circling like they were filming a documentary about a person she didn’t fully recognize.

“Hold the ball like you’re about to take the shot,” someone called.

She adjusted. Held the pose. Tried to keep her elbow in and her thoughts out.

Tried not to think about Azzi. Not in the way she used to. Azzi rebounding for her late at night, sitting cross-legged on the court, laughing at Paige’s terrible playlist. But in the way she was now. Distant. Unreachable.

Paige blinked against the flash of another photo.

“You good?” a PA asked, jogging by with a clipboard and zero eye contact.

She nodded. She was always good. Especially when she wasn’t.

She dropped into the chair, legs wide, head tilted slightly like the photographer had asked. And she smirked like someone who had won something, like this was her moment, her commercial, her era. Because it was. Sort of.

This was Nike’s full send. The face-of-a-franchise, billboard-on-a-highway kind of thing.

Her agent had called it a legacy builder. Geno had called it “a lot.” And Paige had smiled and nodded and signed the contract anyway.

Because that’s what she did. Because she wanted it. And standing there, under the lights, camera locked on her, she almost believed it. Almost.

But still, her chest felt tight. Because this exact shoot was the reason Azzi walked out of her room a week ago. The call had come in. Her manager. Urgent. They needed her signature before midnight. A legacy moment. A multi-year deal. She'd tried to stall. Tried to tell Azzi it could wait.

But the phone kept buzzing. And Azzi, quiet and wounded, had looked at her like she finally understood just how many people would always come before her.

And then she left. No slammed doors. No goodbye. Just… gone. Then, a week later, in the tunnel, when Paige tried, they both said things they couldn’t unsay.

Now here she was. Standing under lights. Doing everything right. Hitting every mark. And when it was over, she’d go back to her room. Empty, quiet, sterile in a way it had been for the last month and a half.

No one waiting. No one to collapse against and mutter, I’m so tired. No one to laugh at how dramatic she sounded, then pull her in anyway. No Azzi.

“Cut. That’s a wrap!”

Scattered applause. A few cheers. Someone whistled. Paige stood still for a second longer than she needed to, the lights still warm on her face. The camera had stopped rolling, but her body hadn’t gotten the memo.

A PA unhooked her mic. “Nice job,” he said. “You made it look easy.”

She nodded, polite. Automatic. Her clothes clung to her back with sweat, most of it not from effort.Someone clapped her on the shoulder. Her agent gave her a thumbs-up from across the court.

“That’s the one,” he mouthed.

She nodded as she tugged a pullover on, fingers catching on the collar. Her reflection blinked at her from the polished floor. And she hated that she didn’t fully recognize who was staring back.

She offered a few quiet goodnights, the kind you say without really expecting a response, then slipped out of the noise and back toward the locker room.

Her things were exactly where she left them—neatly folded, untouched. Like no one had noticed she’d been gone for hours. She moved on autopilot. Bag packed. Slides on. And she didn’t linger. There wasn’t anyone to wait for.

Back in her room, Paige sat on the edge of her bed, shoes still on, sleeves bunched around her wrists.

The light from the hallway slanted across the floor but didn’t quite reach her. Which felt about right. Her phone was already in her hand, she didn’t remember picking it up. Didn’t remember opening Azzi’s thread either.

It was still there. Still empty. Still quiet. Still waiting for something Paige wasn’t brave enough to send.

She typed:

The shoot’s done.

Deleted it. Too impersonal. Too much like a press release.

Tried again:

I wish you’d been there.

Backspaced. Too honest.

New draft:

I’m sorry.

Followed by:

About everything.

She stared at it for a long time. Not blinking. Not breathing. Not sending it.

It was dumb. It was late. Azzi was probably asleep. Or worse: awake and actively not thinking about her.

Paige locked her phone and set it face-down on her nightstand. Laid back across the bed without bothering to move the pillows. The silence felt personal. Like the room was waiting for her to admit something she wasn’t quite ready too.

She didn’t cry. She wasn’t that kind of wreck. But she also didn’t sleep. Not for a long time.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Media Day arrived, and, as usual, Paige dreaded it.

You’d think after years of interviews—postgame, preseason, mid-season slumps—they’d have run out of things to ask her by now. But somehow, they never did.

They just reworded the same five questions, slapped a different player’s name into the mix, and acted like it was groundbreaking.

And Paige? She recycled her answers accordingly. Smiled on cue. Nodded at all the right moments. Dropped the usual lines about leadership, focus, team chemistry.

It was all second nature by now, just another part of the job.

But that day, as she started working through the knots in her hair, Paige felt the dread heavier than usual. It settled in her chest. Lingered in the back of her throat.

Beside her, Nika sat cross-legged on the floor, squinting at a compact mirror while trying to separate two stubborn lashes.

“I can feel your misery from over here,” she muttered, not looking up. “Care to tone it down?”

Paige let out a dry laugh. Barely. “Sorry. I’ll suffer more quietly.”

Nika hummed, unconvinced. “Please do.”

She was halfway through brushing product into her hair when the door opened.

She didn’t look up at first. Too focused on not poking herself in the eye. Too aware of Nika beside her, humming under her breath, methodically separating lashes like her life depended on it.

Then she heard it, footsteps. The shift of energy. That pause people made when they walked into a room and clocked something they weren’t prepared for.

And without turning, she knew.

Azzi. Hair fixed. Makeup done. Jersey already on.

Paige watched her through the mirror. Just a glance. Just long enough to confirm it hurt.

Azzi caught her eye, barely. Offered the kind of nod you give a stranger in the hallway.

Then walked past her and took the seat at the far end of the room. Not the one next to Paige. Not the one she always used to take.

Paige went still. Her hands paused mid-curl. She could feel the product drying unevenly in her hair.

Nika raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror. Didn’t say anything. God bless her.

They used to get ready together. Used to argue about which gloss looked better on camera. Used to steal each other’s socks, switch places in the mirror halfway through, fix each other’s hair without asking.

Now they were fifteen feet apart in matching uniforms, pretending they barely knew each other.

Something about that was so unsettling but Paige just tried to focus. Focus on getting through the day. On smiling right and getting things done. Like she always did.

The shoot started. Paige’s face aching from smiling. Not smiling. Posed shots and hands all over her. She kept breathing.

Until now.

Until they pushed Azzi into the frame, a smile on the photographer’s face.

The media team said things like “undeniable chemistry” and “on-court soulmates,” as if that was a normal way to describe two people who hadn’t made eye contact in days.

Azzi stood just close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Almost. And Azzi didn’t look at her. Didn’t glance. Didn’t pause.

Just hit her marks and stared straight ahead, like Paige wasn’t even there. Like they weren’t standing close enough to share a breath.

And something about that drove Paige half insane. Heart-in-her-throat, teeth-clenched, this-shirt-feels-too-tight kind of insane.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t fought before. They had. Plenty.

Anyone who spent that much time together was bound to snap eventually, especially with Paige’s deeply unfortunate habit of pressing Azzi’s buttons just to feel something. Just to see if she’d bite.

But it had never felt like this. Not avoidant. Not clinical. Not over.

There was a difference between space and distance, and Paige was just now learning how sharp the latter could feel.

Azzi stood perfectly still beside her, poised and polished and entirely unreachable.

And for the first time, Paige wondered if maybe that was what losing her actually looked like. Not some dramatic ending. Not a final conversation. Just this. Being next to her, and not being seen at all.

“Turn to face one another and then look at the camera in sync.”

Finally, Azzi was forced to look at her. And Paige didn’t waste it.

She stared—really stared—into the face she knew too well. Counted the freckles. Watched the blink she already knew was coming. Azzi’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes flickered. Just once. And that was enough.

Paige held the gaze like it meant something. Like maybe if she just looked hard enough, long enough, Azzi might remember who they used to be.

Might remember Friday nights with their legs tangled under Paige’s weighted blanket, or the quiet way Azzi always reached for her hand under the table when no one was looking.

Azzi shifted first. Face neutral. Jaw tight.

They both turned to the camera. The shutter clicked.

They were perfectly in sync. And completely out of step.

Azzi’s POV

That night, Azzi lay in bed with her hood pulled up and her phone resting on her chest, untouched.

She hadn’t bothered wrapping her hair, hadn’t washed off the foundation someone else had dusted across her cheekbones to make her look “camera ready.” It was still there. A little smudged. A little ridiculous. She felt like a mannequin someone had forgotten to undress.

The shoot was hours ago, but it kept replaying. Paige, the camera flash, the way their eyes caught for just long enough to say everything and nothing at all. She hated how easy it was to pretend they were fine. She hated how much it hurt that they weren’t.

Eventually, she reached for her phone.

1:12 a.m. No texts. No calls. No Paige.

Not that she expected one. Paige wasn’t going to text her. Not after the tunnel. Not after the look she gave her—sharp, tired, like she was done trying.

Still, she opened their thread. Still there. Still silent. Still full of all the versions of them they hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud.

She typed:

You looked tired today.

Deleted it. Too observational. Too obvious.

Tried again:

I didn’t mean what I said. Not all of it.

Deleted that too. Because what did it even matter now?

Her thumbs hovered. Then she typed one last thing:

Do you hate me?

She stared at it. Watched the cursor blink. Thought about how pathetic it looked sitting there on its own.

Locked the screen. Put the phone face-down on her nightstand.

And lay there in the dark, wide awake, trying to remember when missing someone stopped being a quiet ache and started feeling more like punishment.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The problem with dating someone like Paige Bueckers—well, once dated, technically, if you’re one for accuracy—was that you never really knew when a casual errand would turn into a personal crisis.

Like when you were just trying to buy oat milk. Mind your business. Get in, get out. And then there she was. Ten feet tall. Leaning back in a chair, head resting on her hand like she had all the time in the world and none of the baggage. Dressed in Nike from head to toe. Expression unreadable.

Above her, in bold black letters: YOU CAN’T WIN. SO WIN.

Azzi stopped walking. Not because she meant to. Because her body did. Automatically. Like it recognized something her mind was still pretending to miss.

Paige looked untouchable. Like she belonged up there: clean lines, sharp edges, all focus. And maybe she did. Maybe that was the whole point.

And what made it worse was being with other people. People like Jana.

People who love Paige with their whole heart—because why wouldn’t they? She’s Paige Bueckers. Brilliant and magnetic and marketable in a way that feels effortless, like the world built itself to fit around her.

Jana’s eyes lit up the second she looked up and saw the billboard.

“Did you know she was doing this?”

Azzi gave a shrug that wasn’t quite a yes, but didn’t land as a no either. Because, no, Paige hadn’t told her. Hadn’t pulled her aside, hadn’t sent a text. There was no hey, this is happening, no look what I’m signing, wish you could be there.

But Azzi wasn’t stupid. She knew this was the contract. The contract.The one Paige had to sign the night everything fell apart.

She should’ve known it would be something like this. Big. Strategic. Unmissable. And now here it was, plastered above traffic. Larger than life. Unavoidable. Just like Paige.

“Let’s get a picture in front of it!” Jana squealed, already pulling out her phone. “I bet she hasn’t even seen it yet!”

Before Azzi could say anything, Jana was flagging down the nearest bystander. Some older man in a zip-up fleece who looked understandably startled to be approached by a 6’5” girl, shoving her phone towards him.

He blinked at her, then followed her finger up to the billboard. Paige, in all her Nike-polished glory. Head tilted. Eyes hard. Like she could see through the city.

The man smiled. “That’s Paige Bueckers.”

Jana nodded like it was the greatest truth ever spoken. “Yup.”

And Azzi just wanted to scream.

Yes. It’s Paige Bueckers. The golden girl. The one the world can’t get enough of. The one I loved. The one I ruined.

Because what do you do when the person you miss most is everywhere? When her name gets said in rooms you’re in, in rooms you’re not, when strangers smile at her like they know her, and maybe they do, but not the version Azzi knew.

Not the version who fell asleep during movies and always stole the last bite. Not the version who said please stay like it physically hurt to ask.

Just…this one. The billboard. The brand. The ghost.

Jana tugged her toward the larger-than-life image, grinning as she draped an arm around Azzi’s shoulders and pulled her close, already posing for the man trying to fit it all in the frame.

“Smile, Az! It’s for Paige!”

Azzi blinked at the lens.Tried to remember what her face was supposed to do in moments like this.Tried not to look up.Tried not to look at her.

She managed something. A twitch of the mouth. Enough to pass. Jana didn’t notice. The shutter clicked. And somewhere high above them, Paige kept smiling too. Frozen. Perfect. Untouchable.

A few hours later, Azzi’s phone buzzed. She was mid-scroll, half-watching something, when the tag popped up.

Jana had posted the photo.

Them, standing in front of the Shrine of Paige Bueckers. That’s what it looked like, anyway. Paige towering above them in perfect lighting, arms folded, eyes locked on the lens, like she was daring someone to blink first.

Azzi’s own expression was stiff. Neutral. Caught mid-blink. But Jana? Beaming.

The caption: when you show up to a #1 paige bueckers fan contest but we’re already there

A few hours later, Azzi’s phone buzzed again. Another notification.

She rolled her eyes, expecting more likes. More comments from people who she didn’t know. But then she saw it.

@paigebueckers had commented.

Just one line:

didn’t know i had fans like that

Azzi stared at it for a beat too long. Then another.

It bothered her to see Paige’s name coming through like that—impersonal, performative. A line meant for strangers to screenshot and repost and laugh about in group chats.

Bothered her that Paige could show up there, in the comments, but not in her inbox. Instead of calling. Instead of FaceTiming her at 11:47 p.m. like she used to, hair a mess, voice soft, asking if Azzi remembered the name of that place with the dumplings they used to order after practice.

Bothered her because Paige knew exactly what she was doing. She was being Paige. Charismatic. Cool. Accessible.

But mostly, she realized, it bothered her because Azzi wasn’t just some fan.

She wasn’t some distant admirer catching feelings from a highlight reel. She was there. She knew Paige. Knew what she looked like when she was tired and hurting and trying not to show it.

She knew how she held her breath before answering hard questions. Knew how she picked at the skin near her thumb when she was anxious. Knew how she said I’m fine when she meant please ask again.

And now she was grouped in with everyone else. Like what they had wasn’t different. Like Paige could toss out a line like that and not feel the shift of it.

Maybe it wasn't a fair thought. But it was there all the same.

Azzi locked her phone. Tossed it somewhere across the bed and stared at the ceiling, and tried not to cry.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The final night. That’s what they always called Halloween.

The last night to be reckless. To go out. To have a life that wasn’t dictated by game film or weight room hours or the constant, bone-deep need to win. After tonight, it was basketball—nothing else.

And usually, Azzi looked forward to it. Costume picked out weeks in advance. Group chat blowing up with plans. Nika threatening to bail and then showing up in full makeup anyway.

But this year, she’d been distracted.

And so, on the night of the party, she was standing in front of her closet with a half-zipped duffel bag, trying to make something work.

She hadn’t planned. Hadn’t thought about a costume. Hadn’t wanted to.

Because every time she did, her brain drifted to last year. To the stupid matching outfits Paige picked out. To the glitter eyeliner smudged at the corners of her eyes by the end of the night. To Paige’s oversized hoodie—warm and soft and smelling like whatever detergent she used—being draped over Azzi’s shoulders because, of course, she hadn’t brought a jacket.

She could still feel the way Paige had pulled her close, smug and freezing, muttering “see, this is better anyway,” like she’d planned it that way from the beginning.

She shook her head, forcing the memory out. Focus. Task at hand. Just get through the night.

“Caro?” she called.

Caroline popped her head into the room, lip gloss in one hand. “Yeah?”

“Do you still have those cat ears?”

Caroline grinned, already turning on her heel. “I kept them for this exact moment,” she said over her shoulder.

She returned a few seconds later, tossing the ears onto Azzi’s bed along with a clip-on tail.

“Just in case,” she added, smug.

Azzi let out a laugh. A real one. Shook her head, took the ears, and started pulling herself together.

They got to the party a little after it had started.

The house was already packed—music thumping, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, a blur of glitter, synthetic wigs, and hastily thrown-together costumes.

Someone in a full Spider-Man suit brushed past Azzi, followed by what looked like a last-minute vampire and at least three Barbies.

Caroline was already scanning the crowd, adjusting her halo. She was an angel, which by all means, was fitting.

“We need to get a picture before these costumes get ruined,” Caro yelled over the music.

Azzi nodded, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. She spotted Jana immediately, bouncing over in a costume Azzi couldn’t begin to interpret. Possibly a glittery cowgirl? Possibly a disco ball? Hard to say.

“Oh, you’re a black cat!” Jana grinned. “Paige a golden retriever?”

The words hit like a slap. Azzi felt the blood drain from her face. Caroline, to her credit, placed a steady hand on her back. Light. Grounding.

“Can you get a picture of us?”she asked quickly, redirecting.

Jana nodded, always happy to be helpful.

“Az, you have the better phone?” Caroline asked, reaching for her bag.

Azzi blinked, barely registering the words. “Right,” she said, shaking herself back to the moment.

She fumbled with her phone, hands clumsy. It slipped from her fingers and hit the floor face-down with a dull thud. Jana was quicker. She scooped it up before Azzi could react.

“I still have your passcode memorized,” she said, already unlocking it. “Three-five-three-five. Don’t even know why you have one.”

Azzi forced a tight smile, panic already pricking at the edges. And then she remembered.

In the Uber, she’d opened the thread. Paige’s. Had stared at that message again. The one she typed nights ago. The one she had no plans to send. Just needed to hold it in the space between almost and never.

Do you hate me?

She couldn’t remember if she’d closed out. Everything between the car and the door felt hazy. Loud.

Jana narrowed her eyes for a minute. “Oh, Az. You didn’t send your text to P. No worries. I got you.”

Azzi’s blood turned to static.

“Wait—Jana—”

But it was too late. And Azzi watched—helplessly—as Jana’s thumb hit the screen. Tapped the arrow without hesitation.

Azzi’s stomach dropped.

“What did you—Jana, what did you just send?”

Jana blinked as Azzi grabbed the phone back. “I didn’t read it! Chill.”

Azzi stared at the screen. Paige’s name. Underneath it, her own words:

do you hate me?

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Caroline glanced over, saw the look on her face, and mouthed what happened?

But Azzi couldn’t answer. Because her heart was still somewhere back in her throat, and her hands were shaking, and her stupid unlocked phone was now holding the one thing she never meant to say out loud.

Azzi gripped her phone like she could rewind time with enough pressure. Like if she held it tight enough, the message might unsend itself.

“Still want that picture?” Jana asked, a little too bright, a little too late. There was an edge of awkwardness in her voice Azzi had never heard before.

“Later,” Caroline said for her. “Thanks, though.”

Jana gave a quick nod and disappeared into the crowd, her usual bounce muted, like even she knew she’d touched something she shouldn’t have.

The moment she was out of earshot, Caroline turned.

“What just happened?” she asked, voice low.

Azzi didn’t answer at first. Just stared at the screen, still lit in her hand.

No dots. No response. Just her own message hanging there: Do you hate me?

Sent. Delivered. Exposed.

She tilted the screen toward Caroline.

“I didn’t send it,” Azzi said finally. Her voice sounded off, like it didn’t belong to her. “It was just…there. I didn’t mean to—Jana grabbed it before I could—”

Caroline was quiet.

Azzi looked up, eyes wide, throat tight. “I didn’t want her to see it. I didn’t want anyone to see it.”

Caroline nodded once. Soft, understanding. Then placed a hand on Azzi’s back, steady and warm.

“Jana won’t say anything,” she said. “And if she does, I’ll kill her.”

They stood there for a beat. The music pulsed in the background. Someone in a banana costume bumped into a skeleton. The night carried on, oblivious.

“Maybe she’ll answer,” Caroline said softly. “Maybe you guys needed this push.”

Azzi worked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Could’ve been a less mortifying push.”

Caroline smiled, lopsided. “Probably. But you and Paige never do things halfway.”

Azzi looked down at her phone again. Still no dots. She nodded once, more to herself than to Caroline.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “We don’t.”

At that exact moment, Azzi pulled her eyes up, just as the music shifted and the volume swelled like a warning. And someone stepped through the door.

Paige.

Hat low, white button-down, no costume to speak of—because of course she didn’t need one. She still looked terrifyingly good. Her grin was easy, familiar. People turned when she walked in.

And Azzi just froze.

Like the message she’d just sent had conjured her.

Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor. One that, apparently, didn’t know when to quit.

“Hey, Az,” someone said.

She flinched. Turned. Cam. He was holding two drinks, eyebrows raised. His eyes flicked to the door, to the spot Azzi had been staring. Then back to her.

“You okay?” he asked.

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it again. She had no idea.

Do you hate me?

She looked back at the door. Paige was already gone. Like she’d never been there at all.

#pazzi fics #azzi x paige #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fic

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flofaiiry · 3 days ago

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dedicated to my bae @erwinsvow bc she gets it. and to all other charlie reid truthers bcs how is there like NOTHING written abt this man 💔💔💔

charlie reid and controversially younger gf!reader. so many thoughts being thunk. maybe ur a criminology student and u did a tour in the chiefs office with a class to learn about the cpd and he stops by to talk to ur class about jobs w the police. mayhaps he spots a keen student at the front of the group, little notebook in hand, asking questions and listening intently (you). shamelessly rakes his eyes down ur body when u ask a question about arrest rates or something he honestly couldnt care less right now bcs his main thought is how good u look in that skirt and how much he'd like to see u out of it. somehow finds the words to answer your question despite his thoughts being anywhere but on appropriate things. right before ur group leaves he pulls you aside with a hand on ur back, passes you his card and says if u have any questions don't hesitate to call him.

in classic ditzy 20 year old college girl fashion u believe he has nothing but the purest intentions and just wants to help u succeed in the field so u reach out a day or two after to ask if u can pick his brain about crime stats in chicago or whatevs for a paper ur working on. he of course says yes and tells u to come by later that night to his office. it's late when u go. dark. the building is empty except for a janitor & you & charlie. you ask him how he got into policing, and how he worked his way up to deputy chief. he answers ur questions at first, but then is much more interested in talking about you.

he asks u what a pretty girl like you is doing studying crime in a city like this, all the while his eyes are stuck staring at anything other than ur eyes. ur thighs clench and u cant help that familiar feeling that starts growing between ur legs. you start to notice the way his eyes linger on your bare legs and the neckline of your shirt that doesn't leave much to the imagination. you notice how he smiles when you blush at his compliments or calls you a pretty girl.

nothing more happens, not that night at least. but you can't get his voice and the way he looked at you out of your head so you decide to call him again, tell him you've got an exam in your policing class coming up and you could use his help to study (ur an all a's student, you can hold ur own with studying but he doesn't need to know that!!). he tells you he'd love to help but he's left the office already, he tells u to give him a bit to get back and he'll meet you there but before he can say anything else you tell him it's fine, that you can just go to his place, if it's okay with him (of course it is, he hasn't been able to get you out of his head either).

so you arrive at his house a few minutes later, strategically wearing a little skirt & a shirt that dips way too low. charlie's jaw drops the second he opens the door, he steps aside and invites u in. he asks if u want a drink, you tell him you're not technically old enough to drink, to which he laughs and says he won't tell anyone.

"who developed the UCR?" he asks, flipping through your notebook, glasses on the tip of his nose.

"fbi"

he nods. "when?"

"1929."

"its purpose?"

"to streamline crime reporting across departments."

"good girl." he says under his breath.

"if you want this to stay productive you're gonna have to stop calling me that." you say, trying to fight off a smile by biting your bottom lip.

he turns his head to you, looking at you from just above the frames of the glasses, "sweetheart, i don't think this was ever just productive"

and when i write this into a fleshed out fic then what....

#this is soooo self indulgent as a criminology major #is this ooc? probably!#do i care? absolutely not!!#charlie reid #chicago pd #charlie reid x reader #shawn hatosy #chicago pd x reader #flora's thots

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corrcdedcoffin · 3 days ago

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dealers choice | jj maybank

request: jj x reader but he’s her dealer and they’re always flirting but this time it turns into something more ;)

summary: jj is a self proclaimed entrepreneur, and has a small circle of clientele; you amongst them. you, who he's been trying to make a move on for, well.. forever.

warnings: 18+, drugs (weed), alcohol, partying, illusions of smut (nothing happens), friends to lovers? sort of, jj swoons hard, kissing

note: this took its own route, i tried to stick to the request as much as possible but once i started i couldn't stop and this is the outcome.. sorry if it's not up to expectations i did my best :/ i also left it a bit open ended in case anyone wants a part 2!!

word count: 2.9k

JJ Maybank was very passionate about his 'small business'. After the gang opened up the surf shop, and Kie and Cleo really focused on the garden, JJ learned a thing or two himself, developing quite the green thumb.

When he wasn't at the shop, he was caring for and creating hybrids of his oh so precious devils lettuce. Customers of his would often come to the shop to purchase the extra goods, you included.

It wasn't like you were really friends with JJ and his friends, but you'd known them most of your life. You'd see them at the skate park, sometimes you'd surf with them, but mostly you'd hangout at parties. It was a weird spot between friends and acquaintances. And now, JJ was your regular dealer.

You and your friend had stopped at their shop for some board wax, where she was complaining it would have been a perfect day had she hadn't accidentally dropped her pre-rolls in the toilet that morning.

JJ overheard the conversation and couldn't help but chuckle, admitting it's happened to him before and offering for you to try one of his freshly rolled joints. Sure, it was out of his own stash, but he thought you were so pretty he just couldn't help himself. From then on, you were a loyal customer.

Mostly, you'd come into the shop like everyone else to make your purchase. After a while he'd given you his number, offering to deliver wherever you needed, free of charge.

Then you'd gone to his house a few times to pick up. It was usually pretty civil, a typical business interaction with some side conversation here and there about a party you'd seen each other at, or about how you got a modelling gig for a new surf wear brand.

He'd stalked the brands instagram page after that.

Eventually, the dynamic between you had started to shift. Conversations started lasting longer, he found himself cracking jokes left and right just to hear you laugh, his hands lingered against yours for longer than they probably should have, finding it more and more impossible to keep a distance between you. His late night thoughts were all about you, unable to stop himself from wrapping a hand around himself and fantasizing about you there with him, imagining you were the one touching him.

He felt disappointed when he didn't hear from you for a while. So much so, that John B noticed. He was like a puppy that had been kicked to the curb, sulking around making everyone else feel it's sorrow.

"She's probably just busy with work" he suggested, making JJ sigh.

John B had been discreetly watching the two of you at the shop and the house for a while. He noticed how JJ had more pep in his step when he knew you were coming by, and more so after seeing you. The constant flush in his cheeks was impossible to miss, even the others started to tease him relentlessly, calling him a pussy for not making a move.

It wasn't for lack of trying, though. JJ was always a smooth talker, especially when it came to girls. He was always confident, and never took rejection personally. But with you? His nerves always got the best of him, even if you never noticed. God, he hoped you didn't notice. Sometimes he'd stutter, and he always worried that you'd feel his clammy hands when making a deal.

The gang knew about his crush on you, since John B couldn't keep his mouth shut. It became a bet on how long it'd take JJ to make a move. Sarah and Kie agreeing it wouldn't take much longer, maybe a month. John B, Pope and Cleo thinking more like 6 based on his nerves and current rate of action.

Sarah had gotten home early one evening to get ready for a party at the Boneyard. Hearing a car pull up, she checked out the bedroom window to see who it was, and she couldn't help the way her jaw hung low when she saw you in the drivers seat reapplying lip gloss and fixing your hair before getting out.

She had always admired your fashion sense.

Sneaking downstairs, she stayed hidden in the kitchen while you and JJ were in the porch, and she couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"There's my favourite girl" JJ smirked at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a side hug. You smiled wide, saying a soft "Hi, J" and silently praying your cheeks weren't so obviously as red as they felt. Were you really his favourite girl?

You took note of how good he smelled.

"I got your usual ready, and I... added a couple of things" he said as he pulled away from you, walking to the far end of the table and grabbing a bag.

There was your usual quarter in a small ziploc bag, neatly wrapped and tucked into a larger freezer bag that contained three pre-rolls (which he'd never done before, but after last time you'd admitted you were a shitty roller, he couldn't help himself), a pack of cherry flavoured papers (your favourite), a small rolling tray, a candy bar, and a charm bracelet from the shop.

Sarah's jaw was practically on the floor, she had to cover her mouth to muffle the gasp that she couldn't hold in.

"You didn't have to do this, JJ" you looked at him with adoration.

"I know, but I wanted to" he smiled, then cleared his throat. "I figured since you prefer joints but aren't confident rolling, I'd throw in a few for you. And then papers and a tray since you said you didn't have one, and I had an extra one." (That was a lie, Sarah was with him when he bought it).

"And the chocolate?" you asked, a teasing lilt to your voice.

"You said it was your favourite.. so.." JJ trailed off.

"What about this?" you held up the bracelet, inspecting it.

It was something new they added to the shop, build your own charm bracelet. Kiara had ordered a bunch of charms and some plain Italian bracelets so customers could add whichever ones they like.

The charms were cute, and all suited your personality quite well. There wasn't a single one on there that you didn't like.

"Uhm, I just saw it at the store and thought you might like it.. I can return it if--"

"No! No, it's really nice. I love it" you smiled sweetly at him, and he swore he could feel his heart turn to goo.

He stepped closer to you, taking the bracelet from your hand. "I jus' wanna make sure it fits" he spoke lowly, taking your left hand and sliding the bracelet on.

Your eyes stayed on his face as he focused on your wrist. He was moving slowly and softly, the way he turned the bracelet so it was upright gave you goosebumps. "What d'you think?"

You glanced down at your wrist, the charms seeming to sparkle in the setting sun. "S'perfect" you looked back to him, "Thank you".

The close proximity was hard to ignore. Sarah was hiding in the dark, chewing on her fingers and silently urging for him to kiss you.

You placed a soft kiss to his cheek, and he could feel his brain short circuit. "Gotta keep my favourite customer happy" he smiled lightly.

The two of you held eye contact for a moment longer before your phone ringing in your pocket scared you. It was your friend, and you smiled in apology to JJ before answering. He moved away and sat in a chair, facing you and the door, fidgeting with a lighter.

You told your friend you were just picking up and you'd be at their house soon, JJ pursed his lips. After hanging up you resealed your goody bag, then looked over to him.

"Are you going to the Boneyard tonight?" you asked.

He looked up at you, "Are you?" he countered.

You nodded, "My friend's making me."

"Then I'll be there" he nodded, and you couldn't help the flush that took over your cheeks once more.

"Okay, see you later then?"

"See you later" he smiled. You gave a small wave before leaving, hurrying to your car and heading to go pick up your friend. She'd have your head if you were any later than you already were.

JJ rubbed his hands across his face and groaned, cursing himself for being an idiot.

"You're not an idiot" Sarah pushed the porch door open. "A fool, maybe. But not an idiot."

JJ quickly pulled his hands away from his face. "How long have you been there?"

"Since she pulled up" Sarah shrugged.

"Oh my god!" he groaned again, leaning his head back on the chair. Embarrassed was an understatement.

Sarah took a deep breath, "You don't have to be embarrassed. What you did was really sweet!"

"It wasn't too much?"

She shook her head. "No, I think it was the perfect amount of romance. Boys don't really do stuff like that anymore. Besides, she likes you, so you don't have anything to worry about."

"How would you know?"

"Because, it's obvious. And I'm a girl, so I just do."

JJ scoffed at that. "Girls are very subtle with their flirting. It's all in the eyes, and the body language, not so much the words" she added.

JJ motioned for her to go on. He felt like an idiot having her explain this to him, but he'd never been so unsure of himself with a girl before. He was absolutely smitten over you, that he was sure of. But do you really like him?

It was easy to tell with other girls he didn't have actual feelings for.

"Well, does she smile at you at lot, does she make lots of eye contact, especially after someone tells a joke? Does she find ways to be close to you? How does she react when you get close to her, things like that."

There was silence between them as JJ thought on all previous interactions with you. All the boxes were checked off, even as he thought about moments ago when he put the bracelet on you. You got goosebumps, he heard a small hitch in your breath, but still he doubted himself.

"Look, she asked if you were going to the party tonight, obviously she wants to see you. So get off your ass and get ready!" Sarah started clapping in his ear.

The party was in full swing by the time JJ and his friends arrived. Immediately, he was searching for you. As if sensing his nerves, Sarah nudged his arm and pointed in your direction.

You were sitting around the fire with your friends, beer in hand, laughing at something.

"Go over there, say hi" Sarah smiled.

JJ shook his head. "Nuh-uh, no way, I need a couple beers first."

"Shotgun?" John B proposed with a devilish glint in his eye.

JJ nodded, missing how Sarah told John B to take him over by where you were sitting. The gang followed along without question, and by the time JJ realized where they were going, it was too late.

He tried not to look at you right away, but he found it difficult. Shaking his arms in an attempt to loosen up, he got ready to shotgun with Pope and John B. They downed three in a row, earning a small round of applause from the crowd. JJ immediately looked at you, his heart skipping when you were already smiling at him.

You gave a small wave, the bracelet he made you reflecting the firelight.

He held up a fresh beer and tipped it up in a cheers motion as a greeting, unable to hold back a smile when you did the same. You turned back to your friend when she whispered something to you before getting up and leaving.

JJ watched as you dug your feet in the sand and reached into your bag, pulling out one of the joints he gave you. You turned to him again, holding it up in offering.

He smiled, patting his friends on the back, "See ya later, boys" he said, giddiness evident in his voice.

They all watched as he sauntered over to you, unable to help the smiles on their faces. Cleo let out a cheer, John B and Pope following suit. JJ flipped them off, keeping his eyes on you as you laughed.

"Hi" he smiled as he sat next to you on the log.

"Hi" you smiled back. "Care to share?"

"Huh," he inspected the joint. "This is very nicely rolled. You do this yourself?" he teased.

"No, I know this guy, he seems pretty handy" you smirked, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, maybe he'll show you sometime" JJ shrugged.

"I'd like that" you smiled at him.

Conversation flowed easily between you as you smoked. You both got a little more comfortable as the buzz began to flow through your veins, arms pressing against each other as you shared stories of idiotic things you've both done while high or drunk.

The jokes were never ending between you, and after a couple more drinks you let it slip that you thought he was handsome.

JJ couldn't help the smile that formed after that.

He stood up abruptly and held out his hand to you. "What?" you giggled.

"Come with me!"

You slipped your bag over your shoulder before taking his hand and standing up. He laced his fingers between yours and led you further down the beach. It was quieter, a small fire with a few people nearby and a different song playing. It was slower, made the moment feel more intimate than whatever shenanigans you were sure he was up to. Still, neither of you could ignore the harsh thumping in your chests.

To your surprise, there was no shenanigans. "Dance with me?" he asked, placing his free hand on your waist.

"You tryna romance me, Maybank?" you smirked, a playful glint in your eye.

"Depends. Is it working?" he asked, placing your hand on his shoulder before putting his other on your waist.

You had both hands clasped around the back of his neck now, allowing him to gently sway you as you pretended to think about your answer.

"Hmm, I think it might be" you smiled.

"Good, cause that's exactly what I'm trying to do."

You looked down as you giggled, and he took the opportunity to pull you just a little bit closer.

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

"Depends. What 'cha thinkin'?" you looked back up at him. Your faces were inches apart, you could feel his breath on your face. It was the closest you'd ever been, and yet somehow it still felt so far away.

"Well, I was hoping I could take you out. I know a nice little spot, really good for an evening picnic. What d'you think?"

You smiled, "I think.. It's a date."

JJ smiled, "Alright, cool. I'll pick you up at 7?"

"I'll be ready."

There was a moment of silence between you as you stared at each other, smiling like idiots, before he lifted you and spun you around quickly. The laugh that bubbled out of you would be on repeat in his mind forever.

JJ swallowed the lump of nerves that grew in his throat. Why was he so nervous? He asked you on a date and you agreed. The hard part was over, wasn't it? You were in his arms dancing with him, willingly. And god, you looked so beautiful, it was hard to focus.

And to make matters worse, you noticed. "You okay?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm good. Great, actually."

"Then why do you seem so nervous?"

Fuck.

"Cause I just.. I-You're really pretty, and I really want to kiss you" he huffed, cheeks going red, but he kept his eyes on yours. He needed you to know this was serious, more than just some fling to him.

"Then kiss me" you spoke quietly.

He pulled you closer, rubbing his nose on yours before closing the distance between you. You snaked a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. His left hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer as his right squeezed your hip.

You weren't sure how long you kissed for, but there were some cheers nearby, making you pull away and look. It was JJ's friends again, congratulating the two of you. JJ flipped them off once more, taking the hat from his head to shield you for some privacy as he kissed you again.

Much to his dismay, it only made them cheer harder, and neither of you could stop the laughs that escaped you.

With his hat still shielding you, he apologized for his friends, slightly raising his voice so they could hear him call them idiots, and that they ruined the moment.

You shook your head, "They didn't ruin it" you smiled, placing another kiss to his lips.

JJ couldn't stop smiling, taking a glance around the Boneyard and deciding he didn't want to be there anymore.

"Wanna get outta here?" he asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

You nodded, humming a soft mhm before he took hold of your hand once more, leading you away from the party and back towards town. The two of you walked down the streets hand in hand, twirling and dancing around, stealing kisses as much as you wanted until the sun started to come up.

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank obx #obx season 4 #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction

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