#doesn’t outweigh the bad but. it’s something!

[rowlfthedog]

Apologies for the recent developments of not tagging stuff properly for my character archive and also not responding to asks, I am Going Through It. Also related to my art coming to an absolute halt this year

[samwisefamgee]

Every day I grow closer to throwing my phone into the river and when I do I won’t fucking regret it

[gregmarriage]

‘i feel like ruining things because i like you too much’ is such a normal thing to think lol

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant. 

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place. 

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.” 

Now he knows you’re messing with him. 

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about. 

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression. 

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face. 

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?” 

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling. 

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable. 

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink. 

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop. 

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention. 

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful. 

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.  

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours. 

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing. 

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap. 

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him. 

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid. 

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you chirp. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did. 

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder. 

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared. 

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep. 

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine. 

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings. 

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open. 

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass. 

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked  upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along. 

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend. 

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash. 

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night. 

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[blondwhxrewrites]

Mattheo riddle with a stupid, bimbo Hufflepuff. Like she doesn’t even realise how dangerous he truly is, as long as he makes her feel good and pays for her nails!

It started out with a bet—a stupid bet between him and the boys. You were known to be dumb, and while your grades weren't that bad, your ditziness outweighed whatever smarts you acquired, whether it be book- or street-wise. Mattheo, the man that he was, could not back down when Theo had bet him five galleons to get into your bed. It had been easy too, flashing a few kind smiles at you and pretending to care about whatever you rambled about—and soon enough he was in your bed on top of you with his dick pounding into your sweet, tight, cunt. He swears it's the best pussy he's ever had, and when all is said and done, he can't help but stare at the subtle rise and fall of your chest and the way you looked so content as you slept. After that, he's completely obsessed.

Something about you just enraptures him. When you ramble about something, he finds himself actually listening and even getting invested in the conversation. He's at your side at all times, his arm wrapped around your waist or his hand laid on top of your back, to gently guide you through the crowd and make sure you don't trip or run into someone. He doesn't even bother collecting the five galleons he is owed because he's too busy helping you out with your homework or pulling you into a storage closet to kiss you silly. 

And you are too busy being happy to even notice how all your friends slowly start to distance themselves from you. The boys who take advantage of your oblivious nature suddenly start getting cursed, and one even gets sent to St. Mungos by a curse so bad that it almost killed him. All while you're just living your best life with your loving boyfriend 🥰

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬

contents: fluff. satoru makes sweet promises about the future with you. 800 wc.

“What would you say if I retired today?”

The words left his mouth so easily—like they’re one of the many frivolous musings that comes and goes, an afterthought when the shared laughter and playful teasing had died down a bit. Behind his loose grin, Satoru carefully studies your face as he weighs the question in your mind, as though they bear no consequence and he wants to hear your answer no matter how serious or unserious he’s being.

“Retire…” You drawl thoughtfully, “You mean put your sorcerer work behind you?” You more than readily welcome the idea than you let on, it’s all you can think about sometimes and keeps you awake at night. You knew about the dangers and the shortcomings that his lifestyle posed, but your love for him outweighs the troubles and the fears and the risks that come with loving someone like him—that is Satoru Gojo.

Not the Strongest Sorcerer, the leader of something, just a normal person who has a fondness for the sweeter things and never lets good humor go to waste if he could help it. If he truly decided to retire from now onwards he won’t have to participate in another dangerous mission again, no more of those dreadful overseas assignments that keeps you both apart for long stretches of time, and you could get used to knowing that he gets to come home to you every night.

“Well, okay. I suppose I could become the breadwinner for once.”

Satoru lets out a pleased laugh. His arm that encircled your waist tightens as he squeezes you with great affection, receiving a small oof from you and quick gentle pats of surrender before he crushes your lungs. He’s sitting on an abundance of wealth for the both of you to lead a comfortable life, and you’re cute for worrying about finances in the foreseeable future. Maybe he doesn’t spoil his precious sweetheart far enough, he thinks.

“I guess you’ll need to work triple time in order to afford my expensive taste.” He teases, pinching your cheek between his fingers. “We can be a dynamic duo. You can work while I stay home.” He mutters softly, letting his hand settle against the nape of your neck while his thumb brushes against your cheek. “Would I be a good househusband?”

“You’d be awful.” You were a little quick to say, almost shuddering at the thought. He feigns a hurt expression with the slightest furrow to his brows and an adorable pout lines his lips. He had an affinity for sweets as shown in your fully stocked pantry but navigating the rest of the kitchen would cause quite an upheaval despite his best efforts. “Maybe at first anyway.”

“You think I won’t be able to clean or cook properly?” Satoru complains dramatically, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder. You attempt to push him away between your giggles as the ends of his hair tickles you and he gently nips away at your skin, but his large build unsurprisingly wouldn’t budge. He lays a light kiss here and there shortly after, his voice lowering into a playful whisper. “Giving up on me already, huh? Too bad, that was your only chance of seeing me in an apron~”

Satoru comes up to meet your gaze and he catches your lips for a sweet taste, the warmth of his body sinking into yours and your arms wrap around him to bring him in a little deeper. “Are you saying I wouldn’t be able to control myself around you if I came home to you wearing an apron?” It was your turn to pinch his cheeks fondly and you consider something. “But it’s a nice thought—you wanting to lead a different life.”

“I want to make you a promise,” he begins slowly, and there’s a beautiful look behind his cerulean hues filled with just pure adoration and love that’s reserved only for you. “When my time comes and I’m ready to call it quits, I’ll retire with you by my side. We’ll move somewhere peaceful and quiet—as secluded as you like. We could even travel the world if that's what my baby wishes, just the two of us.”

“That’s a big promise you’re making me.” You raise an eyebrow at him. But you like the dream that he’s sharing with you, no matter how close or how far out of reach it may seem. And so, a warm smile softens your face. “Just me and you?”

“Yes, Angel.” He grins happily, pulling you closer so his heartbeat matches yours and the sound lulls into one under the moon’s gaze. As long as you keep giving him every excuse in the world to keep you within arms’ reach—forever, then it’s contentment and peace and everything else in between he’ll find with you. If you’re there, then that’s home for him. “Just us and the sky.”

꒰ note ᰔ still coping with everything that’s happened along with ch. 261 so hope you enjoyed this something silly and something fluff for our sweet loverboy satoru. ꒱

[helluvapoison]

Saw your preening hcs!!! They're so cute, I love the way you write!!!

How about the same characters helping a reader preen their wings? That would be so awesome :3333

Lend A Helping Hand

Lucifer, Adam, Lute, Vaggie and Husk help reader with preening

warnings: possible innacurate bird knowledge, heaven headcanons (also probably innacurate) illusions to sexual behavior but it’s not

[i]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Seeing you uncomfortable physically hurts him, he has a knee jerk reaction to clutch his heart

• Lucifer’s preemptive when it comes to you, checking your wings around the same time he feels his wings molt

• Dramatically smacks a hand to his forehead, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice! Shit! Oh, duckie, I’m so sorry.”

• Praises you the whole way through, like you’re undergoing a dangerous surgery while wide awake

• Obscenely gentle when handling your wings

• You’ll receive only the utmost care from him!

• That being said, he gets distracted towards the end. Petting your feathers, admiring their color

• “You’re so prett—pretty feathers! You have pretty feathers! Aha.” Lucifer’s nervous chuckle fades as he focuses once more

• He’s more than thorough, quadruple checking his work and asking if you feel better yet

• (Tell him he did a good— no, a great job)

• “A thousand times better, thank you,”

• “Just a thousand?” Lucifer grins cheekily

• “Alright, alright, a million. And here I was worried you’d get a big head over it.”

˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• “Sucks, amiright?” His voice lacks any sympathy.

You’re sure if you looked, he’d be wearing that punchable smirk

“Go. Away.”

“Yikes, tense much?”

Normally you had more patience than this. Today you were in no mood, whipping around and shooting him a deadly glare

“Adam!”

• Surrendering his hands, Adam turns and leaves, swearing that would be the end of it until your bitchiness subsided

• It’s not like it bothers him to see your nose scrunch in pain or dragging your hands down your face in irritation

• He blames you for turning him into a liar

• “If you make it weird—!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll hit me or something. Try being original next time. Now shut up so I can help you. Fuck, you’re just as bad as Lute.”

• Adam is eerily silent. In the mirror you can see his tongue poking out in concentration

• He’s uncharacteristically soft when handling your feathers

• “There,” He dusts his hands together, “Now you can’t say Adam never did nothin’ for you.”

• Fucking flabbergasted when you thank him. Outloud. Oh, you’re never living this down

˚✧₊⁎ Lute ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Treats the matter like an inconvenience, a chore that just has to be done

• “If I don’t help you, we’ll never get back on schedule,” Lute’s tone leaves no room for arguments

• Her hands shoving into your shoulders and forcing you to sit before her

• Despite this, her touch alone is mercy on your wings

• You didn’t know she knew the meaning of the word gentle until now

• Lute is diligent in all she does

• For the briefest, most minuscule of moments she thinks she has a grasp on sin. As innocent as it is, she’s not supposed to be helping you

• She won’t let you ruin her reputation

• She doesn’t dare let her fingertips linger on your feathers (no matter how loudly they sing to her)

• Lute acts as if you’ve burned her when she’s done

• “Thank—“ She’s already storming away, cheeks glowing red. From anger, embarrassment or other, you’ll not find out today, “—you.”

˚✧₊⁎ Vaggie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Honestly, she wasn’t going to offer at first

• Vaggie would prefer to forget about her time in Heaven altogether and helping you with your wings proves triggering, though not so terrible she can’t

• Not when the need to help outweighs her guilt

• You look so damn pitiful!

• “Here, hold still,” Vaggie sighs softly as she approaches

• She waits for you to go relax and accept the offer hanging in the air before touching your wings

• Vaggie’s touch is sweet and hesitant, almost treating your feathers like you’re made of porcelain

• “You ok?” She asks as she twists her fingers around the hardened shell, breaking the pin feather

• You smile at her over your shoulder, “Yeah. You’re much better at this than me.”

• Vaggie breathes out a light laugh, “I’ve had more practice. It’s… easier with someone else too, I guess.”

• Significantly less nervous when she’s done

•Next time, she’ll definitely offer her assistance sooner

˚✧₊⁎ Husk ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• He startles you, making you jump when you thought you were alone

• Husk, although he’ll deny it to his double death, made it his job to pay attention to people he cares about

• Watching you walk around uncomfortable, teetering the edge of all too familiar pain was hard to ignore

• “I know those things can be a real bitch.” He points with the bottle he’s holding

• “Are you trying to be sympathetic or stating a fact?”

• “I’ve been around the block a few times,” Husk shrugs, “And I might be offering my services if you need ‘em. Not just good for listening.”

• He almost regrets it when you immediately accept. He looks at his claws, tainted by alcohol and who knows what else, then your wings

• Washes his hands before. Which strikes you as odd because you’ve seen him use a dirty rag to clean glasses at the bar

• He might be qualified but surely you have someone more deserving willing to help you? Someome nicer, someone cleaner, someone better than him?

• Husk isn’t complaining! It’s just his inner thoughts making his hands tremble

• “I owe you a drink for this,” You say sweetly

• Husk hums out a laugh, “Nah. It’s my pleasure,”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ thank you so mochi, friend! i’m glad you liked them, you read my mind too and gave me an excuse to write these hehe

[gojossocks]

We can't be friends

Gojo x Reader Summary: You decided to erase Gojo from your memory.

“Who is Gojo Satoru to you?”  

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, before giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile. “W-we were together for 6 years.” 

He’s no one important really, just the love of your life. 

There has been an on-going trend all over the world— technology has upgraded enough that you can erase someone entirely out of your memory, as if they’ve never existed. If they do, it wasn’t like how you knew them. 

You weren’t sure what dragged you in this clinic with all of the most important things that remind you of him. Maybe it was the way he ignored you like the plague, the way the familiarity in his eyes disappeared just earlier last week when he spoke to you so freely like you’ve never been together. It was clear that he got his memory of you erased after that incident. You were just another colleague. Perhaps, the pain in your heart is too much to handle. 

You don’t remember the way to the clinic that much. It was a surprise you even got there in one piece considering you were sobbing the whole way there. So even if you aren’t entirely sure whether you’re ready to let go of Satoru, you signed the consent form anyway. 

If he’s got you erased completely from your life, then what’s the point of living in hell remembering him? You didn’t want to mourn for someone alive and well. 

You never really understood why he left because everything was just working out between the two of you. Satoru provided you with no explanation and packed up his things to leave you behind to your own devices. You almost wanted to back out when you started reminiscing vividly of everything you once shared with him. 

You remembered falling in love with him, how it feels like the first day of spring, how his kisses taste like daylight. How he squeezes your hand three times before you part ways for a mission.  How he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world. How it was always you and him against the world, him making you laugh while you tended to his wounds. He would tell you that everything would be okay because he has you and only you. 

The bad outweighed the good that you had forgotten that loving him and being loved with him is something that you never wanted to forget, even if your relationship with him crashed and burned. You don’t want him to be a stranger you can’t recognize anymore.

But it had already been done and everything faded into nothingness as you try to grasp with whatever you have left of him.

-.- 

You have been working with Gojo for quite some time now, maybe about six years. But you’ve never directly initiated conversations with him outside work. He’s the only one you don’t know much about in Jujutsu High. Today is no different as you’re waiting with him in the clinic for your mutual friend Shoko. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have there.” He acknowledges you for the first time since you got there. Even if you’re just a few meters away, he doesn’t talk to you. You find that a little bit weird because everyone tells you that he’s obnoxious and loud. Somehow with you, he’s always quiet. 

You didn’t remember much of how you got the necklace. You figured that the reason why Gojo’s asking about it is because it matches the color of his eyes. There was a hazy memory though— you were crying, telling a doctor to ‘let me keep it, please. Just this one.’ but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was all a dream. 

You responded with a laugh before toying with the pendant of the necklace. “Yeah, It was a gift to me.” 

“Oh?” He looked at you through his glasses, his intense gaze making you feel a little nervous. “Mind telling me who?” 

“I forgot.” You replied,  slowly relaxing in your seat while looking around at Shoko’s clinic. He nodded at you, a small smile adorning his lips and he didn’t say anything more. 

You missed the way his eyes linger on you for a moment before putting back his blindfold on or the apologetic look that Shoko gave him before he leaves. 

“So, who’s Gojo Satoru to you?” 

“He’s the strongest of course.” 

But to him, you’re still his everything—because he didn’t really remove you from his memory. Maybe if he was braver, you’d remember him. 

a/ n: part 2? :0

[tinyluvs]

Rafe and reader arguing and she flashes him to end the argument and win it

i’ve won many an argument doing this so 🌝 *mdni!*

the door of the cameron house slams and you flinch, your eyes widening as you turn to the sound of the footsteps rapidly approaching. rafe barrels into the kitchen looking, for lack of a better word, mad

“oh boy” you mutter to yourself before slapping a sickly sweet smile on your face, “hi baby, how’re you?”

rafe raises an eyebrow at you. the breakfast bar counter separates the two of you, “don’t baby me right now” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest

you know exactly what you did but just in case he’s mad over something else, you don’t admit to anything. “why?” you ask with a slight pout and a tilt of your head

your boyfriend rubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply, “so i was at the country club,” he starts and you hum, “heard some talk about things you’d said”

he knows. you mentally curse, rapidly trying to come up with something to get you out of trouble but nothing springs into action fast enough for you

“do you have any idea what trouble you’ll start if you start saying that shit?” rafe hisses at you, his hands planting onto the counter as he leans towards you

stupidly, you’d got a little drunk and gone on a rather long, rambling, tangent about how fucked the island system is. the way the pogue’s have no electricity or running water sometimes and the kook’s never have any issues

you frown, “but it’s true! kie was telling me ho-”

“i don’t care what kie said! i’m talking about you and what you said” rafe cuts you off, raising his voice over yours, “it’s the fucking country club, full of kooks” he points out

a sigh tumbles past your lips and your hand swipes through your hair, “so i can talk about it, just not at the country club?” you shoot back with an attitude

rafe stares at you, “just don’t talk about it at all for a while, okay?” he huffs, standing back up straight. even with the counter between you, he has to look down at you, his eyes burning into yours

“okay, god, i’m sorry” you roll your eyes but you realise that was a mistake when he growls, deep in his chest

he turns away from you, pacing up and down in the kitchen, “but you’re not sorry because you do this all the fucking time” he starts to ramble, “you’re my girlfriend, you live here with me an-”

you drown him out. watching him stop in front of the glass doors that lead out onto the patio. he rubs at his jaw as he continues to talk

“it’s not that deep, rafe” you mumble and drum your fingers off of the counter, “i won’t talk about it”

rafe doesn’t even acknowledge you talking, his rant continuing, his words louder than yours, “it makes my family look bad, my girlfriend going around talking about how we live and how it’s unfair to pogues, god!”

sighing deeply, you start to slide your fingers under the hem of your crop top, inching it up until you’re exposing your tits. your nipples perk up and you cross your arms underneath your boobs

still rafe doesn’t notice, “so stupid, this is how the island works, the kooks and the fucking pogues and it only works that way becau-”

“because what?”

he turns, finally. his words dying on his tongue as his eyes immediately draw to your chest. he licks over his bottom lip, watching your hand ghost over the swell of your tit and up to your neck

“because what, rafe?” you repeat yourself, challenging him even though you know you’ve won. his eyes darken and he moves around the breakfast bar, still leaving enough space between you

puffing his cheeks out, he admits defeat, “doesn’t matter” he grumbles. lust outweighs his annoyance for your argument ending tactics

you smirk, “didn’t think so,” you hum smugly. he closes the distance between you, hand sliding up your side until his thumb is brushing against your nipple

he bends and uses his free hand to pull your leg up, forcing you to jump, legs wrapping around his waist, “don’t do it again,” he mumbles against your neck, shifting you higher up his body so he can trail his lips down to your tit

“hmm, it’s quite fun winning the argument though” you snicker and push your tongue between your lips, titling your head back slightly.

his hand slaps against the your asscheek, his teeth grazing harshly against your nipple, causing you to cry out, something between a moan and a shout.

“don’t push it” he warns but you will, because the after argument sex always leaves you bruised and marked and so, so full and you’re too addicted to it

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

[waldau-archived]

menace — boo seungkwan | 2,058 words | fluff

inspired by this video. and ofc boo seungkwan :)

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

no one ever talks about the downsides of having a crush.

having a heart that beats erratically only when you see them. the way your hands turn unattractively clammy even if they’re within normal distance. you know, normal friend distance, because only one of you feels another way. voice cracks that spring up at the worst possible moments. the way you forget what you want to say when it’s your turn to speak.

maybe it’s fun sometimes, daydreaming about a world where you’re something else. something more. but that’s just what it is — a fantasy. the cons outweigh the pros.

case in point: boo seungkwan.

you don’t know how long you’ve been cuddling with your pillow, your back facing the man in question while you try to will yourself to sleep. it doesn’t work, just the way it hasn’t been working ever since you flopped onto your bed.

“you should be out with the others,” you murmur without looking at seungkwan, another variation of the same sentiment you’ve been trying to get him to understand for a while now.

seungkwan lets out a huff. “and you should stop telling me to go.”

you don’t need to turn to know he’s run his hand through his hair in frustration. you’re sure his hair is an adorable mess, but you don’t need any more fuel to add to the fire of feelings that’s been raging inside you all evening long.

when your friends suggested renting a beach house for the weekend, you didn’t realize they’d put you and seungkwan in the same room. you’re best friends, they’d said. of course you’re going to room together.

seungkwan isn’t half bad at being a roommate, but it’s a bit of an issue when you have a massive crush on him that you’re really trying to stop thinking about.

annoying seungkwan with his annoying smile and his annoying hand that rested on your thigh half the time you were playing monopoly. his annoying leg that touched yours when you were watching a movie because there wasn’t much space left on the sofa, but he had to have you next to him because he’s never been good with horror.

even when you’d offered to hold his hand from where you were sitting on the sofa, he refused till jeonghan moved to make space for him to sit next to you.

in a way, you’re glad you sat next to him. at least you didn’t have to pretend like you weren’t scared, not when you had vernon and wonwoo sitting in front of you, watching the screen unblinkingly.

it’s all been a bit…much. which is why you decided to skip going on a walk along the beach with the boys and head for a night in, citing a headache.

the only problem? boo seungkwan wanted to be the one to take care of you.

“do you want me to get you anything? water? medicine?” he asks, soft, and you feel bad for making him stay behind for something that isn’t even an issue for you.

“no.”

“should i sing something?”

“no.” the last thing you need right now is boo seungkwan serenading you while you’re wallowing in your feelings about him.

it’s neither of your faults that the moment you realized you were in sharp, blinding, no-taking-back love with him was when he clinched the match point in a badminton match against junhui four months ago.

four months ago. a badminton match.

your life hasn’t been easy since.

you’ve never minded seungkwan being touchy before — that’s just how he is. he brushes stray lint off your clothes if he spots it, fixes your hair if he thinks it’s out of place, and traces the back of your ear for a few seconds when you’re nervous about something.

you love it. you love being his best friend. but what you don’t love is the way you’ve been carefully rethinking every interaction you’ve been having with him since that fateful night four months ago.

boo seungkwan is sunshine incarnate. he loves and loves and loves. he loves everyone so much that you don’t know if the love he has for you is any different from the love he has for everyone else.

sometimes you wonder if he has even the slightest hint. he’s not clueless, but he’s not very good at acting on his impulses the way you are. for him, everything needs to be measured. set in stone. approved of beforehand. something you wonder if you could just kiss him and see what happened, before realizing that a moment of happiness is not, in fact, worth a lifetime without boo seungkwan.

which is why you let out a deep sigh and curl in on yourself.

“okay, that’s it,” seungkwan says, and you hear the sound of your laptop shutting and the springs of your bed creaking before he comes into your line of sight, kneeling down on the floor in front of you on his knees, head propped up on his arms that are folded near your face.

if he was a bit closer, you could’ve even kissed him.

you wonder who let boo seungkwan be this perfect. there’s nothing about him that you dislike.

“you’re not telling me what’s wrong, and i’m not leaving till you do. you should know that by now.”

you do know that. you’re very familiar with boo seungkwan and his incredibly stubborn self that just wants to help because he loves to. he loves people. and he just doesn’t love you. not the way you want him to.

“it’s your fault,” you mumble childishly, trying to turn to the other side so he’ll have to repeat the whole ordeal, but he just grabs your hand with an iron-strong grip. damn him and his long fingers.

his fingers, weirdly enough, were the first thing you actually noticed about him when you first met him. the way he drank jeonghan under the table with his long, elegant fingers wrapped around the beer glass, draining it like it was water.

this evening, too — his fingers drumming on your thigh, his fingers brushing against your hand, his fingers brushing your hair behind your ear so that he could whisper his plan to you.

“i knew it,” he says, head lifting from the bed. “it’s not just a headache. it’s probably not even a headache, is it?”

“shut up,” you mumble, more out of the fear that he’ll find out somehow than the mortification stemming from the fact that he’s caught on so easily.

“is it really my fault, though? you’re not even letting me make up for it.”

he should be out, you think. out with the rest of your friends and out of your treacherous heart. instead he’s sitting here with your heart in his hands and he’s not even aware of it.

“you can’t do anything about it,” you huff.

“try me.”

when it becomes clear that he’s seriously not letting go of your hand even after a few minutes of silence, you turn to look at the ceiling, eyes fixed on the little cracks above you.

“have you ever…wanted something you can’t have?”

“of course i have,” he says instantly.

“oh. did you get it?”

“no,” he says easily, letting go of your hand. “but it doesn’t mean i’ve stopped trying.”

now you’re curious. you let go of the pillow so you can see him better. “what is it?”

“i’m not telling you.”

“oh, come on!”

seungkwan leans forward to ruffle your hair. “not till you tell me what’s bothering you.”

you sigh. “i can’t.”

“why not?”

“because…”

“hmm?”

“because.”

“wow,” seungkwan says, with a small laugh. “i didn’t know you were this articulate.”

“i hate you,” you say with no heat, turning around and lying down again. maybe he’ll get bored in a while and leave you to your own devices.

no such luck. one moment you’re staring at the blank wall of your room, and the next thing you is that there’s a weight on the bed right behind you. seungkwan’s weight behind you, to be specific. he’s so warm all the time. one of his hands snakes around your waist gingerly, and you tense up immediately.

sure, you’re best friends, but you’ve never done this before. sleepovers are a common thing for the two of you, but cuddling? you’re not uncomfortable, exactly, but you just don’t know what to feel.

“can i ask you a question?” seungkwan asks, and his proximity makes goosebumps rise on your arms. embarrassing.

“sure?” you manage to squeak out, definitely not focusing on how much better his voice sounds so close. and how casual he’s being about all this.

“are you really going to let random strangers on the internet control your life?”

you’re so confused by the tangent he’s gone on that you have no choice but to turn around and face him, and— bad idea. bad idea. his lips look so damn kissable that you have to physically lift your eyes from them to meet his. and he’s smiling for some reason.

you don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, much less make it to the next day alive.

“do you want to kiss your guy best friend?”

you feel like he’s stolen all your words. you’re aware you’re just staring at him, blinking like a goldfish, unable to speak. seungkwan lifts a hand and hovers it above your cheek, seeking your permission. he catches the minute nod you give him and rests his palm against your cheek, hand warm against your cool skin.

“i don’t care what she said,” seungkwan continues. “do you want to?”

“how did you—” you manage to choke out.

“because i can see what posts you’ve liked, silly,” seungkwan giggles, thumb swiping against your cheek before he lets go. you instantly miss the heat of his hand. “you still haven’t answered my question, by the way.”

he doesn’t seem upset, the way you thought he might be at the discovery. “if i say…yes?”

“then,” seungkwan says, leaning down, and what comes next is something you’ve only ever dreamed of. his lips are soft against yours, letting you set the pace as his hands gently card through your hair. he’s always been gentle with you underneath the teasing exterior he has, and now is no different.

when he doesn’t pull away despite your fears, you decide to take the leap and thread your hands through his hair, pulling him closer to yourself. he comes to you willingly.

you don’t know what to do with your hands when seungkwan finally pulls away. he’s out of breath. you feel oddly proud, but there’s also an unsettling feeling in your stomach. what if—

“please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing,” seungkwan says, finally looking nervous for the first time all evening long. “because then i should’ve listened to her.”

“no,” you say, feeling yourself smile like an idiot. “no. neither of us should listen to her. i don’t want it to be a one-time thing, either.”

“good,” seungkwan sighs, moving closer so his head rests on your shoulder.

“but…how long have you known?”

“how long? hmm. only a month.”

horrible. he’s been watching you suffer all this while?

“hey, stop being shy on me now,” seungkwan says, turning to look up at you. “i’ve seen the way you look at me.”

you’re sure there’s steam pouring out of your ears. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t,” seungkwan singsongs. “because i love you far too much for that.”

you look down at him. “you…” love me?

but that wasn’t ever a question, was it? he does. you’ve seen the way he looked at you before you realized your feelings for him, and the way he’s been looking at you after, and there’s been no difference.

he’s always loved you. maybe longer than you’ve loved him.

there’s a warm feeling spreading through your chest that makes you push seungkwan away and hide your head in his neck so he doesn’t see you. he lets out a little laugh and rests a hand on your back.

“do you want to go out and introduce everyone to your…boyfriend?” he asks, shy, and it’s a sight to behold because boo seungkwan’s always anything but shy.

“boyfriend?”

“does it sound okay?” he asks sheepishly.

he gets his answer in the form of a kiss.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu

[b33zlebubz]

That last ask inspired me so how about reader gets REALLY bad migraines and just disappears for the night, missing dinner and then breakfast the next morning. The team goes to investigate!

yet another drabble I wrote under the counter at work oupe

TAGS: unedited, silly shenanigans, fluff, platonic found family, no content warnings RECKLESS ABANDON MASTERLIST

It seems they all suddenly want to pay you a visit and you couldn’t be more annoyed.

All the stress of everything seems to have all caught up to you at once.  With the lights too bright, your stomach attacking your insides, and the invisible band that seems to be continuously tightening around your skull—you’re practically bedridden.  

Slowly, the team begins to notice, and it starts with Price.  You’re not at dinner and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He figures, at first, you’ve fallen asleep.  You don’t answer the door when he knocks so he leaves you to get some rest—knowing you need it.  He shoots you a text to let you know that him and the others will be busy with briefings and training the rest of the night to which you respond, hours later, explaining your predicament.  

The next day, Gaz is at your door.  His knock is softer than Price’s.  This time, you sigh and answer from your bed.

“What?”  Your voice is gravelly and muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into.

“Heading off-base for breakfast if you wanna come along,” he says, before adding, “Soap and Ghost are with me.”

“I’ll pass.”

There’s muffled whispering on the other side of the door.  British concern and Scottish protest.  Then, Ghost’s voice comes through the door.

“You alright in there, kid?”  

“Fine,”  you answer.  “Sick.”

Deciding not to press, they all decide to leave you alone for the time being—their voices fading to hush whispers as they disappear down the hallway.  You’re quick to sink back into a restless sleep, the uncomfortable cot stiff on your back and the pillow too flat for your neck.  Your peace doesn’t last long, though, because about two hours later you hear another knock.  

You wait for the sound of a voice, or maybe a second knock, but they never come.  Instead, there’s just the shuffle of a bag.

Your curiosity, momentarily, outweighs your pain.

Slowly you get to your feet.  Deciding against the dreaded lightswitch, you grab for your phone and use the light of your lockscreen to guide you to your door.  Then, slowly, you turn the doorknob and peak outside.

Soap is crouched in front of your door.  Surprised, he freezes in the act of placing a plastic bag on the ground—and you both just stare at each other for a moment.  

“What are you doing?”  You ask slowly.

He scoffs.  Instead of leaving the bag on the ground, he tosses it to your chest and you catch it.

“The Captain said you were havin’ migraines,”  he pushes himself to his feet.

“So?”

“So—I know the shit they’ll give you down at the med-bay doesn’t do fuck,”  he gestures to the bag.  “So me and Gaz went and got you shit that does.”

You eye him suspiciously, the very prospect of him doing something nice for you foreign and off-putting.  You’re shocked, to put it simply, after having done nothing but fight with him since you’ve arrived on base.  When you don’t immediately reply, Soap takes a breath.

“Anyway, I have shit to do,” he shoves his hands in his pockets before he turns to leave.  “And you’re welcome.”

You stare after him for a moment, still processing the interaction.  It’s only when he’s sauntered off down the hallway do you retreat back into your room and open the bag, expecting cheap, off-brand Tylenol or maybe some tea.  Instead, what you find causes you to let out an audible sigh of relief.

Excedrin, a water bottle, and a cold compress.  Thank fucking god.

[sparklingcid3r]

ugh hc that soda is always the one pony goes to for comfort EXCEPT when the nightmares are the absolute worst imaginable and then it’s ONLY darry who can calm him down by holding him and pony realizing that darry isnt gone and isnt leaving

You’re a hero for this 🙏 The gears are TURNING so I’m gonna do what I do best and yap it up. (everything is in reference to this post btw)

- The first time it happens, Pony wakes up screaming bloody murder. Like scream-sobbing, nearly as bad as when he found out their parents had died. He’s convinced it was real and is struggling out of bed while Soda’s trying to get him to calm down and talk to him, but Pony’s wrestling away

- Pony’s reaction is so violent and visceral and it scares Soda nearly to tears, just seeing it and thinking something genuinely terrible has happened. You know when you see someone else is so much distress that you start feeling it too? That’s how Soda is feeling. And he’s just yelling out to Darry for help because he’s never seen Pony so completely inconsolable

- I imagine Darry’s a light sleeper, so of course he’s up like a shot and racing over to Pony and Soda’s room, his heart in his throat the entire time

- Darry’s nearly convinced they need to bring Pony to the hospital. There’s no way this was the result of a nightmare, but Soda tells him what happened

- When he notices Darry sitting on the bed, Pony’s in his arms faster than he’s ever done anything, just crying into his shoulder, can’t even form any words. Darry is baffled, but it’s outweighed by a fierce protectiveness, so he just hugs Pony back and murmurs into his hair small comforts like “It’s okay, it’s okay, honey. I’m here, I ain’t going anywhere, baby.”

- Soda’s rubbing circles into Pony’s back like their parents used to, just trying to keep the physical contact in hopes that it starts to anchor him

- But it’s Darry who Pony needed, just his presence and the reminder that it wasn’t real, Darry’s alive and well, he wasn’t in the car that day, wasn’t on the tracks, wasn’t mangled and ruined and dead. He’s got them right in his arms

- And when Pony’s calmed down enough to speak, he just says “I thought you were dead” in a wobbly voice that quivers and shakes, cracking during that last horrible word

- Darry doesn’t know what to say, so he hugs him tighter and holds the back of his head and hopes it’s enough

- Since then, Pony’s never had a reaction as extreme and intense as that one, but Soda knows what’s happened when Pony is crying into his hands and getting up to leave in the middle of the night. He knows where Pony is going and knows that for this one thing, he’s just not enough comfort, because he’s not Darry

Wow that was a lot of angst but hopefully you can see my little crumbs of love in there, I can’t do straight heartache I think I would just die.

Ty for the ask!!

[chloe-skywalker]

I Know Them Better - Jax Teller

Jax x Fem!Reader

David Hale x Sister!Reader

Warnings: SOA

Word count: 1,942

Summary: Being Hale’s sister and dating Jax is complicated to say the least. Especially when hale doesn’t know about it

Authors Note: First Jax Teller story! So excited for this. There will be more!!!!

Masterlist

Sons Of Anarchy Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sun was breaking through the curtains which in return woke Y/n and Jax up slowly.

“Good mornin Darlin.” Jax smirked as he opened his eyes to see Y/n laying there next to him.

“Back atcha handsome.” Y/n smirked back not even opening her eyes, enjoying being in bed with her man. Since they were currently at Y/n’s house they didn’t have to worry about being interpreted or so they thought.

Right when they both were gonna try to go back to sleep there was a loud pounding on Y/n’s front door. Which made both of their eyes open quickly and widely.

“Are you expecting someone?” Jax asked her.

“Not that I know of. Stay here.” Y/n got up and threw on a shirt and a pair of shorts before glancing back at him and she noticed his nervous and apprehensive look. “I’ll yell for you if I need you, my knight with shining motorcycle.” she teased him.

Y/n walked down the hall and headed over to her front door only to see her brother on the other side causing the racket.

“David.” Y/n said his name in shock, why was her brother at her home she thought as she opened the door and greeted him.

“Y/n.” he greeted back as he entered her home.

“So what’s up brother?” Y/n said loud enough for Jax to hear so he knew who it was and to not come out of her room.

“I need you to be careful around town.” David told her as they stood in Y/n’s kitchen.

“Why? What's up?” Y/n furrowed her brows.

“Samcro’s up to something. And I have a bad feeling about it.” Hale told her annoyed at Charmings local Biker group.

“Why do you hate them?” Y/n questioned her brother trying not to sound upset with him for judgment of the Son’s. But it was hard not to, he judged them and doesn’t even know them.

“They’re criminals Y/n.” He told her simply.

“They may not be completely innocent but they also protect the town David. You have to see that.” Y/n tried with David often but it was hard when she had to not let on to her and Jax’s relationship. 

Y/n could see from her spot standing in the kitchen down the hall and saw Jax listening in to their conversation. He just smirked at her.

“Their good deeds don’t outweigh their bad ones.” Hale stated to her before sighing. “Just be careful okay? I don’t want you to get hurt because of them.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” y/n nodded along to appease him. But She wasn’t going to stay away from Jax or the club. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Thank you.” David smiled at her gratefully. He sometimes hated that she was still living in Charming, it made it harder to protect her. “Oh I won’t be able to have our normal weekly dinner tonight. I have to work late.”

“Okay, that's fine.” Y/n smiled at him.

“Bye Y/n/n.” Hale hugged her before heading for the door to leave.

“Bye Bro.” Y/n watched him leave before hearing the front door shut.

“Man, he really doesn’t like us huh?” Jax spoke from the entrance to the hallway.

“Not funny.” Y/n rolled her head to look at him. It was hard for Y/n that she essentially had 2 different lives. Y/n was close to her brother and they normally talked about everything but she couldn’t share with him anything about her relationship because he wouldn’t approved.

“Well, since you're not gonna be busy tonight. Why don’t you come to TM. We’re not having a party but we are all gonna be hanging out at the clubhouse. That way you don't have to be alone and get more time together.” Jax suggested walking over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Jax knew Y/n hated being alone and he’d take any time they could spend together.

“Okay. I don’t like being alone and I miss all the guy’s.” She nodded in agreement looking up at him.

“What about me?” Jax raised a brow teasing her.

“Of course you.” She shook her head with a laugh at his antics, as she headed into the kitchen with Jax on her tail. Y/n grabbed a drink from her fridge as Jax watched her for a moment biting his lip before pushing off of the kitchen wall and leaving the room. Y/n called out at his retreating form. “Where are you going?”

“To pack you a bag.” He called back from down the hall, turning into her bedroom.

“Jax?” Y/n pushed off the counter top to follow him into her room.

“We’re staying the night at the clubhouse.” Jax states.

Y/n raised a brow, she knew all he’d try to pack. She rolled her eyes at his packing taste. “If all your gonna pack is lingerie-”

“I’ll pack other things.” He smiled mischievously.

“Like what?” Y/n asked him with a tilted head, curious to his other thoughts on what to pack.

“Extra of my clothes and you can wear those.” Jax smiled cheekily.

“Hmmm.” Y/n hummed, nodding amused at his answer.

^     ^     ^

@ TM  Next Morning

“Aye Lass, Morning.” Chib’s greeted with a nod and a smile upon seeing Y/n exit the dorm hallway.

“Morning.” Y/n greeted the Scottish man with a smile on her lips.

“Hey Darlin, you look good.” Jax looked her up and down as she walked over and he handed her a glass of orange juice.

“Hmmhmm, I’m in your clothes after all.” Y/n hummed smiling up at him knowing exactly what he was getting at.

“You should just wear my stuff from now on.” He smirked with a shrug.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.” Y/n laughed, and then her phone started ringing.

“Hey, Whats up?” Y/n said answering her phone upon seeing her brothers name flashing on the screen.

“I need you to come down to the station.” David stated cutting to the chase.

“Why?” Y/n asked confused as to why he’d want her down to the police station?

“Just to talk about something. See you soon.” He wouldn’t say over the phone.

“Bye.” Y/n barley got it out before the line went dead.

“I have to go.” Y/n said looking up at Jax with a tight lipped, slightly sad smile. She didn’t want to leave.

“Nooooo. Why?” Jax whined wrapping his arms tighter around her waist as he sat behind her on a stool.

“Sorry, brother calls.” She sighed getting out of his hold and standing up.

“You gonna be okay, lass?” Chibs asked, they all considered Y/n family. She’d been around since her and Jax were in highschool.

“Yeah. Y/n/n. We could come with.” Tig offered fully prepared to back up the Y/h/c-ed girl.

“Nah, I’ll be okay. Brother just probably wants to rant about you guys anyway.” Y/n waved them off.

“You comin back?” Jax asked as he hands her her keys.

“Yeah, I’ll be back. Love you.” She smiled and leans over to kiss his cheek.

“Love you, too.” Jax squeezed her waist before watching her go.

^     ^     ^

“Hey. Why’d you need me down here?” Y/n walked into her brother's office shutting the door behind her before she went to sit down across from him.

“The Son’s are planning something. It’s gotta be big because they’ve been having meetings with every rival gang around. Its gonna be big and its gonna get people hurt. If not killed.” David explained to his sister stressing the possible implications of what he believes is to come.

“Maybe they're making deals to protect the town.” Y/n shrugged. She of course knew what was going on, Jax told her things even she shouldn’t know. But she couldn’t tell her brother that.

He shook his head in denial. “They aren’t. I know them. This is going to have a ton of casualties. Their gonna-”

“Stop! Just stop.” Y/n cut him off having had it with his obsession of making them the bad guys. “I know them better than you do. I know exactly what they do and what they were doing. Because unlike you I actually know them, and no I won’t share what is going on with you. Sorry.”

Hale furrowed his brows. “How do you know so much about Samcro?”

“In fact, whose clothes are you wearing?” He spoke up again. David noticed finally that she was wearing a men's shirt way to big for her, what really got him though was that the shirt had a faded “Samcro” printed on the front.

“I’m wearing Jax’s shirt because He’s my boyfriend. Had been for almost a year.” Y/n let out a stressed breath and just came out with her secret relationship that was only a secret to her brother.

“For fuck’s sake!” David let out angrily shaking his head.

“Shut up and listen.” Y/n told him standing up, taking charge of what was going to be said. “They are good guys. They may be in some not so legal shit, but they're good guys. Either give them a chance or back off some. You're stressing yourself out to unhealthy levels when it comes to Samcro.”

Y/n worried sometimes at how stressed the thought of the Son’s made her brother it was so unhealthy for him.

Y/n got up and stormed out of his office and the station. Right now she only wanted to be around the Son’s. Mainly Jax. Her Jax.

Once she got back to TM  Chib’s was the first to notice.

“Jackie boy. Someone's back and she looks stressed.” Chibs called out as he watched Y/n pull in on the faster side and all it took was one look at her body language to know something happened.

“Don’t think that talk went so good.” Juice commented as they all watched Y/n, the girl normally so calm and mostly relaxed acting very agitated and stressed.

“Y/n/n, what's wrong? What happened?” Jax asked as he approached her halfway seeing how stressed she was Jax pulled her into him for a few moment’s knowing his embrace comforted her.

“He knows about the club’s meetings with the rival MC’s, and he knows about us.” Y/n told Jax stepping out of his hold looking up at him. Jax looked shocked when she mentioned their relationship being outed to her brother. Y/n sighed before telling him. “I couldn’t take it anymore. He noticed my shirt as well. I had to tell him. . . I also told him to back off the club. You're all good guys and he’s stressing over it in unhealthy ways.”

Jax cupped the side of her face, he knew how worried she was about her brother finding out about their relationship. With how much he hate’s Jax and the Son's, how could she not worry. “I know you're worried that you’ll lose him because of our relationship. I’m sorry Darlin.”

Y/n gave him a half smile. “On the bright side we don’t have to hide and sneak around anymore.”

“Come on, Darlin. We missed you.” Jax mirrored her half smile. That was a perk of David now knowing, but Jaxx just wanted to cheer her up at the moment.

Jax wrapped his arms around her shoulders and guided her over to where the others were. They were her family to and they’d support her no matter what.

Taglist:

@padawancat97 @gruffle1 (sorry I didn't have my list on me and I didn't know if you wanted to be tagged in SOA stuff)

[strawberrychampagneglass]

Roses - pt. 1

Paige x Azzi

CW: cursing, implications of domestic violence (ONLY AT THE END), angst, maybe some fluff?, pining

9.3k words DAMN

A/N: holy shit guys I did not think I could pull this off and to think that this is gonna be a series is wild to me. Jokes aside, this took me about 2.5 weeks so expect (somewhat) infrequent updates due to school work and all that. Ik y'all have been waiting so I'll drop the first chapter. Something to be mindful of: initially this thing was in GSV then I changed it to LA last minute and then I changed Nika to Cam and Gabby to Dearica because Gabby and Nika didn't make sense to me at all so yea enjoy AND PLEASE DO GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! I appreciate it a lot I WILL ADD A MASTERLIST WHEN MY HEART COMPELS ME TO

October 15th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

“Azzi,” her urgent voice calls out to the dark. She nearly trips over the entrance mat as she enters her apartment in the early morning hours. She drunkenly yells for her again as she stumbles towards her bedroom. 

The only response she gets is an echo of her voice.

She lands in her bed with a soft thud, her hand searching for the familiar warmth of another body. When she feels the cold bed sheet under her hand instead, the only thing she can hear is the hammering inside of her head while her heart throbs, threatening to pry itself out of its cage. Tears well in her eyes as she falls asleep. 

When she wakes up and checks her phone, she has one notification: a text message from Curt Miller. While it makes her heart palpitate as she remembers the happy memories, alarms blare in her head, reminding her of the bad that outweighed the good. 

Her excitement quickly turns to bitterness. Paige doesn’t want to play on the same team as Azzi. Not after the incident in her redshirt senior year. Not after their catastrophic argument at the 2025 WNBA draft. Not after she saw a new person with her Azzi. Not after she saw the diamond-studded ring on her fourth finger. 

Most of all, not after she built a stronghold with the most formidable defenses around her heart. 

July 29th, 2018

Minsk, Belarus 

The Belarusian crowd roars during the FIBA U17 Women’s Basketball World Cup final, drowning out the melody created by a screeching flute and deep, dulcet drum. With a very comfortable 32 point lead against the French in the middle of the fourth quarter, Paige is subbed out. She accepts the high-fives from her teammates before taking a seat at the end of the bench. Cheers flood the bench while they watch the clock wind down intently, waiting to relish in the intoxicating adrenaline following the victory. 

The blonde raps her foot against the floor anxiously; her jaw propped up by her clenched fists. From the point of view of her teammates, she is engaged in the game. However, inside of her mind, a storm brews.  She thinks of her best friend, the brunette girl with the number 6 on her back who is sat two seats to her left. Paige indulges in the memory of her fingers lingering on Azzi’s for that extra second after a high-five, their intertwined hands during the national anthem, and even when their shoulders brushed together in the team huddles and neither of them moved.

Her mind continues to wander until the bench unexpectedly explodes with chants of “USA” as the clock winds down into the last minute of the game. Paige springs from her seat on the bench, hollering as the adrenaline pumps through every vein in her body. When the final buzzer sounds, she shakes hands with the opposing team before hurling herself into the sea of navy jerseys. 

The rest goes by in a blur, her adrenaline depletes rapidly. The energetic girl is uncharacteristically quiet during their team dinner and even on the bus ride home where she opts to sit alone in the back, leaning her head against the cool window that soothed her aching head. 

As the bus pulls up to the hotel, Paige and Azzi lock eyes from opposing ends of the bus. The fatigue she once felt is quickly replaced with delight when Azzi gives her a tired smile with softened eyes, making her heart beat erratically. It’s still early in the evening, but the team agrees to celebrate in Cameron Brink’s room, without the coaches’ knowledge. While the team shuffles off the bus in a single-file line, Paige pushes through the never-ending hoard of her teammates until her eyes rest on a familiar brunette. She puts her hand on the brunette’s cold shoulder, catching her attention as she leaned into the warmth of Paige’s hand. Azzi chooses to ignore the pink that rose to the older girl’s cheeks and smiles at her. 

“Are you going to Cam’s?” Paige asks sheepishly, trying to hide her smile. Azzi chuckles before responding with a nod. 

“She is my roommate, so I guess I’m obligated to go.” Paige grins from ear-to-ear as they chat until they reach their respective hotel rooms. She changes into sweatpants and opts for a Hopkins Basketball hoodie. Although it's the middle of summer, the temperatures in Minsk are frigid compared to the Minnesota heat. 

Furtively leaving her hotel room, she spots her teammate, Zia Cooke, attempting to sneak several bottles of cheap vodka into Cam’s room, her shoulders are tense and eyes rove across the empty hallway. Paige giggles before walking over to the shorter girl to offer a hand. When her teammate’s eyes land on her friendly face, the muscles in her shoulders loosen.

“Paige, thank god,” she breathes, relieved. “I was so scared that Carla or Stephen would jump out of their rooms.” Paige laughs at the image of Coach Berube catching Zia while looking like a deer in headlights, juggling 5 bottles of vodka. Feeling bad for her teammate, she takes three bottles from her arms and opens the door to Cam’s room. The two girls are met with 10 pairs of curious eyes who cheer at the sight of the vodka bottles.

***

An hour later, the potent odor of vodka floods the room. Most of her teammates gossip about their crushes back home; others watch the late-night shows on the Belarusian TV channels, a few are even snoring obnoxiously on Azzi’s bed. Paige, who is completely sober, feels irritated from her spot on the floor as she watches the dramatic show that is being projected on the TV. She isn’t sure if it was the lack of alcohol, or if it was the sight of her best friend who presses her body against Hailey Van Lith while an arm that wasn’t hers is strung around the brunette’s waist and resting on her toned abdominal muscles. 

When Azzi notices the blonde’s glare at Hailey, she walks off the bed and carefully treads towards the table of alcohol, pouring a full glass of vodka. Her eyes flick to Paige, who stares at the glass of vodka in her hand. Unamused and frustrated, Paige returns her attention to the show on the TV until she feels a warm hand tilt her chin back. Azzi looks at her, emotionless, as she stands behind her. They stare at each other wordlessly before the older head lands on a soft, toned leg. Her lower lip meets the cool rim of the glass that Azzi filled with vodka.

The brunette moves her face closer before she tips the glass upward while noticing a light streak of red across Paige’s cheeks. “Drink,” she whispers, and Paige complies. She feels the alcohol burn her esophagus as she swallows the oily and bitter liquid. Their faces linger in the close proximity as they breathe in synchronization. It takes every ounce of self control in Paige’s body to not close the distance between their lips. 

“You look pretty,” Paige smiles, hoping for a laugh and a friendly slap across the shoulder from her friend. Instead, Azzi returns a frown with furrowed eyebrows, moving her head away. 

“Paige, I can’t enjoy my evening when you’re glaring at everyone I’m sitting with,” Azzi huffs with an edge to her voice. “Go get drunk and leave me alone.” Paige scowls; she knows that Azzi isn’t exclusive to her, but she wants some exclusivity. At the end of the day, they’re just best friends, nothing more. Nevertheless, the thought of another girl’s body pressing her body flush against Azzi infuriates her. From her spot on the floor, she feels the warmth of her friend’s body disappear as she walks back to her spot next to Hailey. 

She grabs her wallet and phone and leaves the room. 

***

When she returns to her hotel room hours later, she slams the newly-bought bottle of vodka on her nightstand, shaking the entire room. It isn’t a big bottle; it’s around the size of a Gatorade bottle. The cashier at the convenience store didn’t bother checking the 16-year-old’s ID, assuming she was of legal drinking age. She popped the cap off the bottle and brought it to her mouth. Her lips begin to form a suction around the opening as she tilts her head back, swallowing the searing liquid. She throws the rest of the liquid down her throat when the thought of Azzi’s words cross her mind. She tightens her grip on the bottle and her tongue scours for the last few drops of the liquid, hungry for the feeling of the alcohol. She sits on her bed in silence, staring at her feet until she feels the effects of the alcohol course through her veins. Her vision begins to blur and the entire room begins to swirl. Through her blurred vision, she still manages to identify the lamp that sits perfectly still on the nightstand. Her free hand reaches for the dangling chain that serves as a lever for the light. Giving it a slight tug, the light flickers briefly before illuminating the entire room. To her shock, a familiar brunette girl with bronze skin sits across from her.

“Are you done being an alcoholic so we can talk?”

“Azzi, what the fuck?” the blonde stammers, frustrated. She sets the bottle down and stares at her friend in disbelief. When Paige gets no response from her, she stands up and starts stumbling towards the door, nearly tripping over herself.

“Paige, wait,” Azzi catches the blonde, observing the older girl’s cloudy eyes. Even while drunk, her blue eyes remind her of her lake house; her second home. The thought makes her heart flutter despite the agonized look painted across her best friend’s entire face. “I’m sorry, we can talk about this if you want. I know I hurt you, and I take full accountability for it.” 

Paige knows she is in damage control mode, but she has a soft spot for the girl; a part that is willing to forgive her and move on. 

She chooses to ignore it and let her irritation control her words. “You didn’t want to talk before, so you don’t get to talk now,” she hisses. Azzi flinches, unaccustomed to her hostility. “You told me to leave you alone, and now you’re in my room, begging for forgiveness. I don’t understand you.” Her arms fly erratically before reaching the collar of her hoodie, tugging it down to ease her tense muscles.“For god’s sake, we’re best friends. Sure, best friends tell each other everything, but my best friend doesn’t get to tell me to leave her alone and show up in my hotel room 2 fucking hours later.”

“I’m not yours, Paige. You don’t have any right to control my actions.” The retort makes Paige wince. “If I want to be with Hailey, you have to respect that. I have a right to be frustrated because I don’t belong to you.” 

“Okay, how about a heads up next time instead of you getting cozy with someone else in front of your best fucking friend. I thought we agreed that we would ‘see each other later’” 

“She was drunk and she came up to me, and we did see each other. There was nothing binding about that agreement. I can be friends with other people and you can too, unless I’m your only friend.” Azzi’s anger rises as well as she picks at her cuticles. 

“You’re an asshole.” Paige breathes, releasing the hoodie. “You tried to get me drunk while trying to seduce me.” The other girl’s mouth opens before getting cut off. “Then, you went back over and cuddled up to her. I don’t have a problem with you seeing people, but even a short-term notice would’ve been nice. It’s fucking awkward when I’m sitting there–surrounded by drunk people who are all passed out on the damn floor–and my best friend is cuddling up to a person we barely even know.” 

“You know what? You sound really fucking insecure right now. Maybe you should go book a flight back to fucking Minnesota and we’ll never have to see each other again. You’ll never get jealous over me when I go on dates with other people.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wishes that she can take them back and shove them down her throat. Paige stares at her, emotionless. After a few minutes, Azzi’s voice cuts through the thick air. “Say something, please. You’re freaking me out.” 

“I wish I was yours, Azzi,” Paige whispers softly, so softly that Azzi thinks she mishears. She scowls, but her heart flutters from the confession.

“I need you to tell me that when you’re completely sober. I can’t trust you when you’re drunk.” she sighs, looking at the blonde who has tears brimming in her eyes. However, she can’t shake the warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart from her words. She can’t describe the feelings, and the thought of treading into unexplored emotional territory makes her queasy. 

“I wish I was yours,” Paige urges, with genuine sincerity in her tone despite the alcohol.

“Paige–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Paige grabs her wrist and pulls the younger girl into her. The blonde drags her along a premeditated route, stumbling several times. Biting the nails on her free hand, Azzi’s mind swarms with endless possibilities of danger; they could be kidnapped by random Belarusians, the coaches could catch them while getting a midnight snack, or they could get lost and never see their families again. But Paige was Paige, guiding her to their destination. The warmth radiating from the other girl’s body hypnotized her. It felt safe. Too safe. 

Paige leads her through the maze of the city until they reach the edge of a river. Even under the late-night sky, airplanes weave between silhouettes of clouds; their green and red lights blink, bringing life to the sky. The city is calm and serene at this hour, with the occasional passer-byer that ignores the two girls. The solitude is disrupted by cars gliding across the bustling road across the river bank with horns that blare occasionally. Street lights hug the river bank; streaks of yellow and orange rippled back and forth on the water. The breeze is soft, like a baby’s blanket. It carries the occasional, faint scent of cigarette smoke which is unexpectedly comforting. 

The two sit in mutual silence, away from each other. They both avoided the topic of the prior conversation. Paige hums softly, her body warm from the alcohol. “I didn’t know they had fireworks this late at night.” Her speech is slurred, yet Azzi still laughs in response. The sound of her laugh is like a piece of music written by Beethoven to her; a sound that can be played over and over without getting old. 

“They’re not fireworks, they’re street lights reflecting off the water.” The blonde squints, squatting on the large cement block that she had been sitting on. As she cranes her head closer, nearly falling off the block, Azzi scrambles to catch the blonde as she reflexively yanks her waist backwards. They laugh before Paige puts her hand on hers. 

“You’re acting really sober,” Paige declares while studying Azzi’s facial features. 

“I am sober, so I think it’s a good thing that I’m acting sober.” The younger girl chuckles, punching her friend’s arm lightly with her free hand. Flustered, Paige averts her gaze to the shimmering undulations on the surface of the water. Unsure of whether it was the alcohol that was twisting her mind, or if it was the dim, golden lighting that lights up the left side of Azzi’s face, all she can think about is that her best friend is beautiful.  It drives Paige insane; her bronze skin gleams and her umber eyes light up and become a light, almost golden shade of brown. 

“Sometimes I wish that you could be in Minnesota with me all the time.” 

“Well, you could come to Virginia and stay with me…” Azzi proposes before smiling at Paige, but she doesn't meet her eyes. The blonde is scrunching her face with her attention on Azzi’s arms, and not her face. “What’s wrong? Paige?”

“You’re cold,” Paige whispers, shifting her weight so she and Azzi sit facing each other. Trailing her hand up the other girl’s arm, her fingertips dance along the mountain ranges of goosebumps on her tender skin. Paige’s warm touch makes her feel something. Their eyes clash, uncertainty swarming in both pairs. “I meant what I said earlier,” Paige glances at her lips, breaking the eye contact. “I wish I was yours.” Her hand reaches for Azzi’s cheek, cupping it lightly, and the brunette melts into her touch.

Panic rises as a lump in her throat. They’re young–too young. Azzi’s feelings are new and confusing. She doesn’t know what love feels like and it scares her. As a kid, she was told that “love” was when two people cared for each other a lot. It was obvious that they care for each other a lot. They talk for hours, each word flowing effortlessly while they howl in laughter about something that the other said. Every touch they share is electric: sparks fly erratically through every vein of their bodies. After every argument, Paige is the first to apologize because she knows that Azzi overthinks. 

She moves her face closer and drapes her hands on the blonde’s nape. Paige takes the bait.

Her slightly-parted lips meet Azzi’s warm and soft lips. She closes her eyes, pulling the younger girl’s face in before pulling away after several seconds. The kiss is short, but sweet. Azzi looks at her hands, not wanting to meet the blue eyes knowing that she made a mistake, and the kiss shouldn’t have happened. The once well-established boundaries of their friendship are permanently breached. Yet her cheeks flush and she misses the warmth provided by the close proximity of Paige’s body.

“Raise your arms,” Paige mutters shyly as Azzi is enveloped in the warmth of a thick hoodie. Paige’s hoodie. The scent of Paige’s rosy perfume encases her and a contented sigh escapes her lips. 

“Are you cold?” Azzi observed her best friend’s exposed arms. 

“Nah, I’m alright. You can keep that by the way,” she motions to the hoodie that hugged Azzi’s torso. “It can be a souvenir from Belarus from me. Something that can remind you of tonight forever.” The brunette smiles and wraps her arms around the blonde; she is the clay that Paige can shape into anything she wants. They just fit together. 

The girls dance through the city and totter unsteadily to the hotel, where they collapse in the comfort of Paige’s bed, satisfied laughs slipping out of their mouths after sneaking past the rooms of their teammates. 

“Would you like me to walk you back to your room, Madame Fudd?” Paige teases before a pillow slams into her face. “Hey! Azzi!” She shrieks, scrambling to grab another pillow before falling flat on her face. Azzi laughs hysterically for a few moments until the room stills into an unsettling quiet. 

“You’re so chivalrous, Bueckers.” Azzi looks around her room, fidgeting with her fingers. “But, uh, since there’s a few drunk bodies on my bed,” The blonde cocks her head at her and smirks; the simple motion makes her heart lurch. “And also because you also don’t have a roommate and I thought that you might be a little lonely tonight, especially because you’ll be hungover in the morning, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight.” Paige breaks out into an ear-to-ear grin and tackles her in a bear hug, shoving them to the bed where their bodies melded into each other. 

Amongst the clamor, there is an uneasy feeling in Paige’s gut that she can’t shake, but she chooses to ignore the feeling as she lets her body intertwine with the younger girl’s. 

October 19th, 2028

New York City, New York

Azzi is selfish. 

Anything she gets her hands on, she wants to keep for herself. She is a hoarder who wants to keep everything that she loves forever. 

Unfortunately, when you fall in love with everything, you can’t have it all.

She paces back and forth at the gate, biting her nails and avoiding the gaze of her fiancé. Tugging the collar of her hoodie from her high school days over her head, she allows a satisfied sigh to escape her mouth as she is cloaked with a comforting rose scent. It was nostalgic; it held so many memories that felt so important and so irrelevant at the same time. But the scent made her feel hopeful of something she couldn’t place. 

“Is everything okay, babe?” startled, she drops the hoodie to smile weakly at her fiancé.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little tired. The thought of everything scares me a little.” Azzi chuckles. Instead of a friendly smile from her fiancé, she notices his scowl at the text on her hoodie. Her heart drops into her stomach, knowing that this would prompt an argument from him over a certain college teammate. 

“I’m so happy you finally chose to leave the cesspool of New York,” her fiancé sneers, “and, I’m so excited to soak up the LA sun.” Azzi doesn’t react to his comments, avoiding an argument at all costs. He came to all her games and cheered her on, but he always hated New York City. It was either too cold or too hot, too rainy or too sunny and never the perfect balance between the two. 

As long as he’s happy, I am too. 

Los Angeles, California

Paige is protective. 

She loves her possessions and hates it when people take them. She wants to shield everything she loves from hurt and pain. 

Orange and pink rays of sunlight stream through the tall glass panes by Paige’s bedside, bathing her bedroom in a warm glow. She stirs awake, her sore body begging for 15 extra minutes of sleep. Her throat feels raw and her eyelids are weighted. Instead of fighting against the weight, Paige lets her eyes close while thinking about the consequences of not showing up to Azzi’s welcome party. When she first caught wind of the news, she called Cameron Brink to come to her apartment. She complained to her for hours while blackout drunk before inevitably passing out. When she woke up the next morning to dozens of angry texts from Cam, she apologized profusely, showing up to her apartment with the shoes that her friend had been eyeing for months and bags of Sour Patch Kids.

It was safe to say that Paige wasn’t allowed anywhere near alcohol tonight if she chose to go. At least, not under Cam’s watch. 

The Sparks had an extremely successful campaign last year and capped off the season with a championship title along with Paige’s first league MVP and finals MVP awards. The feeling is still surreal, and the thought of it pumps more adrenaline through her body. Even though the season was extremely successful, the threat of injuries plagued the guards last year. Also, the Sparks were in desperate need of a guard with the ability to knock down shots and step into the role of a strong playmaker.

Was she expecting Azzi to join the Sparks? Eventually, yes. She is desperate for a championship run. 

Did she want to celebrate a piece of her past she let go before her birthday? No. 

Is she happy about it? Absolutely not. 

Her phone began to vibrate violently under her pillow, prying her from her thoughts. She rolls over to scrutinize the contact name with a groan. Her blood runs cold and she taps the green phone icon on the 4th ring.

“Paige! Thank god I got in contact with you.” Katie Fudd exhales. Paige feels the weight of her panic that reciprocates her own through the phone. “I know we haven’t really talked in about, um, three years,” she pauses, unsure of how to continue when she hears Paige’s sharp inhale, “but, have you heard from Azzi recently? She’s supposed to be arriving in LA today, at least that’s what the media says.” 

“No, I…I haven’t heard anything, Katie,” she rasps, her throat ablaze. Her lips run dry. The media?

Paige makes small talk with Katie, catching up on major events in their life while both of them try to avoid the topic of Azzi. It was brought up once and Paige could barely perceive the muffled, yet pained sobs on the other end of the phone.

“I know you have your Unrivaled league coming up in the new year, but it would be great if you could come visit us during Thanksgiving or even Christmas,” Katie proposes as they near the end of their conversation. 

“I’ll take a look at my schedule and try to pull some strings, but no promises. I have plans to visit my dad and Drew over the Thanksgiving weekend in Maryland, so we’ll see what happens.” Paige replies, acknowledging the piece of her that wants to let the past go. The part where she was too close to Azzi and her family. She knows that visiting them means treading into foreign territory. 

“We miss you, Paige. Jon and Jose miss their ‘son’ too,” Katie laughs, relieving Paige of a heavy, bone-crushing weight on her heart. “Happy early birthday too, we could never forget. We love you, you’re still family to us.”

Paige smiles, a genuine ear-to-ear grin. “Love you too, Kaite. Tell the brothers and Tim I say hi as well.” She says before hanging up. 

“You’re still family to us.” The words rang in her head, warming her frozen heart. It wasn’t enough to thaw it, but it was enough to invoke thoughts of hope. She was torn from her reverie by a knock at her door. Humming to herself as she sauntered out of her bedroom, she opened the door to her apartment.

“Woah, I never thought I’d see you smiling like you’re on Disney Channel,” the blonde at the door laughs, surprised. Paige scowls at her words which prompts Cam to laugh harder. “I did bring breakfast though, knowing your current mental state. You look like shit, Paige.” She sets two paper bags on Paige’s kitchen island. They sit across each other on the spinning bar stools Cam loves. 

The two chat buoyantly; Cam tells her stories about her boyfriend, Ben, and his new obsession with cars or whatever. Paige doesn’t really pay attention to her rambling because of a painful ache in her heart. Even though it had been a year since Cam moved to Los Angeles, the two still learn new details about Over the past year, Cam used the fact that the shorter woman struggled to maintain a relationship for more than a few weeks as the butt of all her jokes. Despite being annoyed at first, Paige was quite amused with herself.

“Azzi’s mom called me earlier,” Paige abruptly says, interrupting Cam in her spiel about her brother’s recent breakup.

“...is that why you were smiling earlier? Paige, not even 5 days ago you made me-”

“From what I’ve…figured out, they haven’t been able to get in contact with Azzi. Katie seemed distraught when she accidentally brought her up.” 

“Are you implying that she got kidnapped?” Cam laughs uncomfortably, trying to avoid the weight of the situation. 

“It’s a possibility.” Paige mutters. Cam stops laughing and an uneasy silence drapes the room like a heavy curtain.

“I guess we’ll find out later, but don’t stress about it. You could be overthinking the entire situation. Don’t make that face, I know that you don’t want to go, but out of respect for your future teammate, you need to.” Cam sighs while rubbing circles on her temples. “I’m going to pick her and her supposed fiancé up at the airport. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Cam. Drive safe,” she calls out as the door to her apartment shuts. And suddenly, her mind is thrown back 5 years to the keychain that Azzi bought them in their early 20s as a gift. Drive safe, I need you here with me. I love you. 

***

“Azzi Fudd! This is Kendra Andrews with ESPN. What are your thoughts on the Sparks franchise?” 

“What prompted the move from New York to LA?” 

“How do you plan to integrate yourself into the team?” 

“What excites you the most about the LA Sparks franchise?”

Dozens of reporters and journalists surround her. They fight amongst each other to thrust microphones into her face. Sweat beads down the back of Azzi’s neck as she tries to answer as many questions as she can while being mindful of her fiancé’s limited patience. He had gone on his phone, ignoring Azzi as she drowns in a sea of cheap cologne and felt-tipped microphones. She quickly interrupts the reporters after 10 minutes and bid a polite farewell. Her heart stings with a bit of remorse when some of the reporters in the crowd express their frustration through whisper-shouts to their colleagues because they got a different answer than what they would’ve hoped. As she makes her way to her fiancé, her head hanging low, she mentally prepares herself for the incoming argument. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” her fiancé hisses, “you took ten fucking minutes to talk to some fans.”

“Please, not here. Not while the reporters are still around,” Azzi whispers, frantically scouting for reporters. 

“Save your bullshit for later. Call an Uber and get me out of here.” While leading her fiancé towards the airport exit, Azzi picks at her cuticles. “Oh, and next time,” her fiancé continues, “don’t be a pussy-sucking people pleaser and just give them an autograph. I don’t have the time for this, there are better things I should be doing that does not include waiting for you.” Tears begin to well but she blinks them back, trying to put up a facade for the public as she smiles half-heartedly for selfies. The lump in her throat threatens to roll out of her mouth. The thought of a night in the hotel sends a cold bead of sweat down her back. She doesn’t want to be left alone with her fiancé. She doesn’t trust him. 

A firm hand grabs Azzi’s wrist, pulling her back into the present. She rips her hand away reflexively before processing the familiar face that belonged to her temporary roommate in Belarus. For the first time since she left New York, Azzi breaks out in a full-faced smile and throws herself into Cam’s open arms.

Her mind wanders to the other future WNBA teammate, who she had not seen since the 2025 WNBA draft. The thought of her quickened her heart, but the feeling sours when she becomes aware of her fiancé by her side. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, oh my god,” Cam laughs, punching Azzi’s arm lightly, a gesture from her USA basketball days when Coach Berube made an off-handed comment. She flinches in response, which Cam chooses to ignore. “Oh, and you must be Azzi’s fiancé. I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Cam,” the blonde chirps, turning her attention to Azzi’s fiancé, offering a friendly smile and a hand. “I don’t think I ever got your name.” Her fiancé remains silent, but his jaw muscles tighten and his cold, green eyes look at her with animosity and spite. Not wanting to raise suspicion, Cam plasters a smile and leads them to her car.

Cam makes a mental note to tell Paige about their interaction with an emphasis on the flinch. 

“...This is the Uber you ordered?” her fiancé snarls when the other woman is out of earshot. 

“You need to calm down. She’s my teammate, and this is a thoughtful gesture,” Azzi retorts before covering her mouth. Her breathing becomes shallow and her face pales as her fiancé inches his face closer to her ear until his hot, rancid breath drowns out her awareness of everything around her. The hustling environment of the airport disappears and her world is engulfed in silence until four words snap her out of her trance. 

“Drop this shit, now.” 

***

The ride to the hotel where the two would be temporarily staying was brisk, although Azzi wished it would have lasted longer. The brunettes reminisced on their college days while laughing hysterically. 

“Have you talked to Geno after he finally retired?” Cam asks playfully, making eye contact with Azzi through the rear-view mirror. Instead of Azzi’s warm brown eyes, she meets her fiancé’s swampy green eyes. The blonde feels a chill run down her spine, unable to detect any emotion on the fiancé’s face. 

“Nope, not at all.” Cam raises her eyebrows, clearly amused. 

“Wow, it’s been two years since he retired. He even went to the draft to support you and, um, nevermind.” The blonde shakes her head, cursing to herself. Azzi laughs awkwardly, trying to lift the guilt off her friend’s shoulders, but her fiancé is unamused. “About time though, I thought that he nearly got a heart attack during the March Madness championship in 2025.” The two erupt in laughter, tears falling from their eyes. Her fiancé glares at Cam through the mirror, prompting her to awkwardly change the topic to the Sparks and their team culture. Azzi ignores the glare and continues her conversation with her friend. 

Her fiancé isn’t completely out of the loop despite his apathy towards Azzi’s WNBA career. He knows who Paige Bueckers is, the national championship they won in 2025, but he only vaguely knows about the relationship that she and Azzi shared during their collegiate campaigns. If their relationship was an iceberg, her fiancé only sees the tip of the iceberg, the visible part that the media shared, the two in a million SLAM cover, their rise to stardom in USA U16 basketball, and most importantly, their adversities through injury together. What she doesn’t know is the true depth and complexity of their relationship, veiled beneath a thick layer of dark, murky water that neither she nor Paige are ready to uncover. As their lives began to diverge, so did the currents in the water; they pushed and pushed on their relationship until it came crumbling down, splitting the iceberg into two parts that are now just Azzi and just Paige. 

Thanking Cam as they slip out of the car, Azzi checks into the hotel room where she and her fiancé sit on opposite sides of the king-sized bed. Her head hangs and she looks at her hands before her fiancé breaks the silence first.

“Hey,” he sighs, walking over to Azzi. When she lifts her head to meet her fiancé’s eyes, branches of tears stream from her eyes and down her cheeks, splitting into multitudes of different directions. 

“Am I not good enough for you? One moment you hate me, and the next you’re suddenly in love with me again.” Azzi sobs, pulling her hair in frustration. “I’m trying my hardest, and it hurts when you don’t reciprocate the feelings.” She wipes her eyes while her fiancé stares at her in disbelief, masking his anger. He paces to the door before walking back to Azzi, feigning an empathetic look. 

“No, baby, you’re perfect.” Her fiancé mutters , pulling the brunette’s head to his chest as he kisses her forehead softly while wiping her tears. “I love you so much. I appreciate everything you do.” Azzi could feel that his words felt wrong and uncomfortable coming out of his mouth. 

“Love you too”

***

Paige walks in circles around her room while Cam summarizes the airport pickup, sprawled out on the blonde’s bed. “You didn’t even get his name. Damn.” Paige’s voice is laced with worry. 

“All you need to know is that her fiancé is fucking weird. He was like ‘I’m so sick of this bullshit’ the whole time without speaking a single word. I introduced myself to him like a normal fucking person and he stood there and stared me down, as if I was competition or something.” Cam breathes, putting her face in her hands. Paige feels the same, unable to piece together the puzzling situation. “This whole situation is  crazy. I was talking about Geno’s retirement and she hasn’t talked to him in years. Isn’t that weird? I feel like he’s also the jealous type. She wore your Hopkins hoodie and her fiancé kept eyeing it the whole time.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat at her words. Her Hopkins hoodie. The one from the night in Belarus: even though it had been over 10 years, Paige remembers it clearly. It was the first time she was in love. “That’s weird. You picked them up from the airport, and he was glaring at you the entire time in the car. Then, you- like, jokingly punched her. How hard was this punch?”

“KK-punching-Ice-after-losing-a-bet-about-your-life hard.” 

“Okay, so not that hard.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard her fiancé call her a stuck-up pussy eater while they argued about the reporters before I picked them up.” Paige raises an eyebrow at the statement before coughing awkwardly, mumbling under her breath.

“Just– be careful Paige. She isn’t yours anymore. I know you’re still not over her,” She winces at her friend’s words, “and it’s the harsh truth, but I seriously think that you need to find someone else to distract you.” 

“We both know that finding someone else hasn’t worked for me either. I’m worried about her. She’s my best friend, my ride or die.”

“She betrayed you. You need to move on. Best friends don’t betray each other like… that.”

***

Flanked by her fiancé, Azzi walks through the large, wooden doors of the restaurant next to her hotel. It was a short walk, but she took in the salty smell of the city. The breeze was sharp and it nipped her exposed arms. She was shivering and rubbing her hands up and down her arms. 

“You must be Ms. Fudd,” the waitress waiting for her arrival smiles at her, “your table is over here, please follow me.”  The short walk through the labyrinth of tables set with velvety red cloths that had a golden trim on its edges was interrupted by a crimson-colored curtain. The chatter behind the curtains feels daunting, and she wants to turn around and run back to Arlington. The waitress pulls the curtain to the side to reveal a table full with people, her teammates, laughing and talking boisterously amongst themselves. The first person to stand up is Cam, who embraces her in a loose hug. Seconds later, nearly all of her new teammates have thrown themselves into her arms.

The last person to stand up is the blonde. Her wavy, blonde hair, lighter from the Californian sun, is tucked behind her ears and falls down her back like a loose shawl. Her skin glows gold against the yellow lighting of the dining room. She wears a freshly ironed button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose her toned forearms. Only the right side of her shirt was tucked into her brown trousers that hang loosely from her hip, ghosting her ankles. A beige bomber jacket that matches her pants is slung around her shoulders and a watercolor-patterned scarf is draped around her neck. The gold studs and helix ring on her left ear reflect the light of the chandelier that hangs from chains above the dining table. When their eyes meet, Azzi searches her eyes for a sense of comfort in her familiar blue eyes that her dark mascara emphasizes. Instead, she finds nothing in her cold and emotionless eyes. Paige embraces her new teammate in a stiff and loose hug, her muscles tense when Azzi’s hands roam her back. Immediately, she is engulfed in her rosy perfume, the same scent that she finds solace and comfort in. Her stomach churns, yet there is a certain warmth that flickers in her heart. Everything about the blonde screamed Paige, and Paige is beautiful. 

“Welcome to LA,” she says while pulling out of the hug. Refusing to look at her, she turns to the man looming in the corner while offering a hand. At the table, Cam sucks a sharp breath in, casting a warning glance at Paige which is ignored. Azzi stiffens and her heart hammers. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Paige, and you are?”

“I’m Charles,” he murmurs, accepting the handshake and offering a small, sly smile. Azzi’s eyes widen. Her fiancé is rarely friendly, especially not to Paige. They glare at each other for a brief moment before she takes a seat next to Cam. 

Her fiancé and her sit side-by-side at the table, across from Paige and Cam. Charles slides his hand into Azzi’s under the table, squeezing it softly. The small gesture makes Azzi smile as she leans into her fiancé, enjoying his comforting presence. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to take her mind off of the blonde sitting directly across from her, laughing with her WNBA teammates. It annoys her.

Azzi is selfish. 

***

The entire table has some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands or in their stomachs. Paige sits awkwardly, sipping a Shirley Temple whose sugary and overly sweet grenadine has become bitter on her tongue. Nausea seeps into the edges of her head and begins to spread like wildfire and she finds herself rubbing circles on her forehead. She can’t stand the sound of Azzi’s bubbly laughter across the table. The sound that threatened to burn a hole through her heart. 

“So, how did you guys meet?” Dijonai Carrington cocks an eyebrow at the couple while swirling her cocktail in her cup. 

A brief panicked look flashes across Azzi’s face before Charles cuts in. “We met in college.” His answer is curt and dry, yet polite. Several of her teammates cooed at his response, gushing over the couple. The two women jump into a conversation about their college lovers. 

That should’ve been me.

“What a fucking people pleaser.” Paige snickers to Cam while blinking back the unwelcome moisture that began to form under her eyes. She throws back the rest of her drink before dropping her head into her arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want any alcohol? Like, a thousand percent positive?” Dearica Hamby, the star forward of the Valkyries asks Paige while rubbing the taller woman’s back. Through the seemingly innocent image of the question, she notices genuine concern painted in the woman’s softened eyes.

“She’s alright without it,” Cam answers before she could open her mouth. “We made an agreement that she would have no alcohol tonight because I had to clean up after her last time.” The entire table howls in laughter, and Paige joins them with a half-hearted smile while heart fractures. 

If her smile didn’t split into a frown at the corners of her mouth or her chin didn’t wrinkle, Azzi’s heart wouldn’t have stopped and she would’ve been laughing with her teammates. 

“Yeah, I had to show up to her apartment with shoes and a shit load of candy because I felt so guilty.” She sneaks a glance at the brunette sitting across from her. Instead of laughing with the team, she was engaged in a conversation with her fiancé, prompting her to avert her gaze. It takes every piece of her dignity not to stare at the brunette. Her dark, curly hair is braided and hangs just above her shoulders; the same hairstyle that she jokingly called a bob back in their college days. She wears a baby blue knitted tank that reveals her muscular arms and white, flowy linen pants that hug her hips. 

However, when Paige’s eyes pass by the soon-to-be married couple, searching for something, they follow the pattern of their intertwined arms and hands hidden under the table. Looking at Cam, she whispers, “I need to get out of here.” the taller woman waves a hand at her, signaling for her to go ahead. She files through her wallet and grabs a few hundred-dollar bills and hands them to Cam, which she graciously accepts. Dearica flashes her a sympathetic look before returning to her drinking game. 

“I got a call from my mom and I gotta take it. I’ll be right back.” Announcing to the table, she grabs her phone and stands up, stepping over her drunk and overly rowdy teammates. When she finally slips behind the thick velvet curtain, she finally feels as if she can breathe. The curtain has become a barrier between her and a certain pair of brown eyes that burns holes through the back of her head. She knows that man. The blur of dark curls and olive and brown skin became too vivid. She needs to get out. It hurts her. 

Paige is protective. 

*** 

The neat blonde bun disappears behind the curtain with a soft, almost inaudible swoosh. She tries to talk with her teammates, laughing at their jokes, but everything feels forced. The image of Paige's stiff posture and the death grip she had on her phone haunts her. All of a sudden, her fiancé’s once soft hand feels heavy and scratchy against her skin.

“I need some air. I’ll be right back,” She announces as she gets up, dropping her fiancé’s hand. Cam and Dearica pause their argument over their stupid drinking game and stare at her with their mouths agape. There is undeniable panic swirling in both pairs of wide-open eyes, but Cam gives a hesitant nod.  

“Is everything alright babe?” Charles’s voice is soft but urgent. “I can come with you.” Azzi looks at him with a warm smile before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

As she exits the restaurant, she is met with an intricate spectacle of orange, pink, and blue. The light of the day quickly disappears, but she discerns a hunched silhouette on the beach that glows under the golden light. Her attention shifts to the orange circle that barely peeks out through the edge of the horizon as it slowly sinks underneath the water, leaving a trail of orange and pink light rippling across the surface of the water. Waves crash loudly against the shore before they are drawn back to the ocean while laughter and joyful screams from children join the peaceful ambience. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or do you wanna sit?” A tired voice rips her out of her thoughts as she tears her gaze from the astonishing scene in front of her. She glances at the woman sitting next to her who has her knees up to her chest and her head resting on her forearms. Azzi decides to sit a few feet away from her. For a split second, it feels like their fragmented friendship could be salvaged again. 

She slips her sandals off and lets her feet absorb the texture of the flaky sand while shivering when a gust of wind hits her skin. Instead of ignoring the mechanical sound of teeth chattering, Paige shakes the jacket off her shoulders and hands it to her which Azzi graciously accepts. When she wraps it around her shoulders, she is engulfed in the aroma of roses again. 

“I thought you had a call to take,” Azzi remarks, her voice soft. Veins snake down the woman’s arms and hands until they disappear behind her knuckles. Her pale skin had become golden and her biceps protrude from the rest of her arm. The neat braids in her hair are now ruffled and frizzy, and small wisps of hair dance with the breeze. On her wrist is a beaded bracelet that reads “RESILIENCE.” The bracelet from her camp before their explosive argument. The sight of it makes her heart flutter, but when she reaches her face, a cold wave of dread washes over her as she notices the smeared mascara and faint patches of salty skin on her cheeks. 

“Yeah, I did.” Paige answers bluntly, her voice cracking slightly. An uncomfortable silence falls upon them; the air heavy from their unspoken words. Azzi’s heart throbs at her cold tone. “What brings you out here?” she asks after a few moments. 

“I felt nauseous.” Paige scoffs at her response, shaking her head. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Paige, why are you so fucking blunt?” Azzi exasperates, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender. “You hugged me earlier and that whole time, you were stiff as a rock. It’s been 3 fucking years, it’s time to grow the fuck up.” When Paige says nothing in response, Azzi continues. “I’m trying to be the bigger person here and you’re being unfair. I told you that we can stay friends and then you fucking gho-”

“Your fiancé,” the blonde sneers, tearing Azzi out of her rant. Her voice is shaky and dangerously close to breaking. Through the golden light, she can see the tears brimming behind her smudged eyelashes. “He’s the one that you met at Ted’s, right?” Azzi stays silent, giving Paige the confirmation she needed. “You’re not being the bigger person, not at all. You’re only talking to me because you want something out of me. Azzi, you’re being selfish.”  The last word hits Azzi like a cold bucket of water. 

“You’re being unfair,” Azzi says shakily, refusing to meet the blonde’s eyes. 

Paige lets out a strangled sputter before opening her mouth. “I’m being unfair? Me being mad over you getting cozy with another man after our natty suddenly means that I’m being unfair?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re being unfair because you’re hurting him with your comments. Do you think I can’t hear the derogatory names you’ve called him tonight?” Azzi scrunches her face and turns to the blonde, whose attention is on the sand that snakes between her toes. 

“Are you happy?” the older woman finally asks after a period of silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Her blue eyes dart towards hers. 

“P.” Paige freezes at the use of her nickname, “I miss you. My offer still stands. We can go back to our friendship.” The last words are quiet, almost as if they aren’t supposed to be spoken. Memories of what they were rush through both of their minds. The women have something unreadable in both of their eyes as they stare at each other. 

“No, we.. we can’t.” Paige finally speaks, tearing her gaze away from her, letting out a shaky breath and gets up to leave, but before she can take a step forward, she feels a forceful hand clasp around her wrist that prompts a wave of panic to flood through her. “Azzi, let me go. You can’t do this. You’re getting married soon for god’s sake.”  

“Our last night in Belarus, I know you remember it. You wear the same perfume, you even gave me your hoodie. Shit, Paige, that was the time I knew that I fell in love with you. Every little thing you did for me felt like you were giving me your entire world. You fell in love with me too. Every argument we had, we made up, and we can make up from this too. I’m asking you to believe in us again. I won’t leave you.” For a split second, Paige’s eyes soften and she lets her walls down. She desperately wants to let go of her "tough guy" facade and let herself taste Azzi's lips again.

“No. You don’t get to say that now. Not when you have a fiancé waiting for you in the restaurant.” The vulnerability that Paige showed is once again blocked by the ramparts of her castle. The remembrance of Charles’s presence hits Azzi like an 18-wheeler. “It’s evident that you can’t own up to any of the mistakes that you made.” 

“You’re not taking any accountability for it either! Do you think I haven’t tried?” Paige flinches, backing away from Azzi who is now screaming. “You had to address it at the fucking draft. For fuck’s sake, let me explain my side of the story.” 

“I tried to give you space because clearly, you wanted to fuck around with him. You don’t get to explain your side of the story. It was the night of the March Madness championship and you ch-”

“Oh, shit.” A new voice joins their argument. Paige whips her head around and sees Dearica and Cameron looking at them with wide eyes. “Azzi, I don’t think you should-” 

“No it’s okay,” Paige feigns a smile before pulling out of Azzi’s grip. “Welcome to the City of Dreams, Azzi. I’m sorry for having to leave so abruptly.” 

And she’s gone. Packed away in the backseat of an Uber. It hurts Azzi more than it should. The doors to Paige’s heart that used to be held open for Azzi are now barricaded off, isolating her. 

“What the fuck happened?” The blonde turns to Azzi with an edge of hostility in her tone. Dearica glares at her, and Azzi’s heart free-falls into her stomach. 

“Azzi?!” Charles’s deep voice calls out, and Azzi is grateful to be saved from the awkward confrontation. When his eyes land on her, they soften and he wraps her into a tight embrace. Every piece of contact between them feels scratchy and uncomfortable, especially in Paige’s jacket. “Don’t fucking leave me again.” He snarls into her ear before glaring at her jacket. 

The other women turn to leave before exchanging an uncomfortable look with each other. 

***

An empty bottle of tequila is the only company Paige has on her bar table. Right as she lets the effects of the alcohol take her consciousness, her front door flies open. Every muscle in her body tenses and she buries her head into her arms in hopes that she will disappear. 

“P?” It’s Cam. Her body relaxes. 

A second pair of heavy footsteps make their way to the table. She stiffens again.

“It’s me, don’t worry. You’re alright” The other voice belongs to Dearica. She exhales and looks up. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the empty bottle of tequila and a heavy breath falls out of her mouth. 

“Again? Seriously, Paige?” When Paige puts her head back down into her arms, Cam’s hands rub her back. 

“Yeah. Again.” Sobs begin to wreck the blonde’s body and she shakes violently. Dearica and Cam exchange a panicked look before embracing their teammate. 

“I’m sorry, Paige. What she did is fucked up” Dearica’s voice is soft and reassuring. “We tried to talk to her but, her, um, we were interrupted.” She and Cam are walking on thin ice; one bad step and their teammate will plunge in the freezing cold water.

“Let’s get you to bed. You have a big day tomorrow, so let’s make the most out of it.” Cam and Dearica carry their teammate, whose body is shaking violently while sobbing to bed.

For the 5th night in a row, she cries herself to sleep. 

I need you.

***

“Charles, why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you baby, and I want to spend every second of my life with you. With us.”

“...Okay.”

“I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’ll be the one to protect you forever.” 

“Azzi Fudd. What the fuck was that?” Charles sneers. His emerald eyes are alive, burning with acrimony. She doesn’t look up from her phone screen where her fingers shakily hover over the call button under Paige’s name. 

“I’m sorry? I told you I was getting some air and I ran into Paige.” Her tone is surprisingly even and steady despite her trembling body. When a dark look falls across his face, she shudders. Suddenly, her phone is ripped from her hands and shattered against the wall with a loud smash that rings in her ears.

“Don’t fucking talk back to me. You saw what happened to your phone, and I know that you don’t want to be next.” He slams the door of their hotel room and stomps down the hall. When she doesn't hear the obnoxiously loud footsteps anymore, she allows her body to collapse and cries into her pillow while she thinks about the promises that they made on their engagement night.

I need you.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Better Care

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!teacher!reader

Summary: One of your students is absent, and you worry about her until you return home and see her with your husband, Tim Bradford. He's taking care of her following the death of her parents, but neither of you want it to be a temporary arrangement.

Warnings: angst, parental death (OC Lilliana), fluff, adoptive girl dad Tim Bradford

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (ignore the jack-o-lantern and focus on the handsome boy)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Your classroom is one of the most welcoming places you’ve ever stepped foot in. You and your husband Tim worked tirelessly over the summer to make your classroom feel like a second home to your students. Being a teacher is your dream job, something you worked for throughout college, and you continue to strive to do better each day. Teaching second grade can be challenging, but the rewards outweigh the bad days and the tiring students. Being in your room early like this is one of your favorite things; it’s quiet, the day is full of potential, and you have time to prepare for your day and your students.

While you put your things away and begin placing morning worksheets on each desk, you put a personalized sticky note beside each and hope for a good day. This year has been good so far, but your students can always benefit from a little reminder that they’re doing well.

Meanwhile, Tim is seated in roll call and mentally preparing for a good day. He doesn’t have quite as much faith in people as you do, but he knows that what you do is important, so he supports you in all you do. Visiting your class has also become one of his favorite pastimes, and whenever Wade asks for someone to do community outreach, he finds himself sitting beside you and talking to your class. Your students love him, too, and ask about him often. As Wade greets the officers, Tim decides to drop by and surprise your kids (with your permission) soon.

“Good morning,” you greet with a smile as you walk to your desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bradford,” your class answers together.

“Who’s ready for a good day?”

They cheer, and you chuckle at their excitement to learn. Though you wouldn’t admit it to many people, this is your favorite class so far. After they silence, you give them directions to complete their morning worksheets as you fill out your attendance report.

When you reach the bottom of the list, you look around the room with your lips pursed.

“Where’s Lilliana?” you ask.

��She isn’t here, Mrs. Bradford,” one of the girls in the front row replies.

“Her backpack isn’t in her cubby,” another student adds.

“Okay. Thank you,” you reply.

You mark her as absent but hesitate before you input the report into your computer. Using the paper before the computer is unnecessary, but you like being able to walk around and actually see your students as you fill out the attendance. Not seeing Lilliana unsettles you. She loves school, to the point that she cried in your arms once when she was checked out early to go to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe she’s just running late or not feeling well. You make a note to check with the officer later before returning your attention to the students who are present and nearly done with their worksheets.

“Bradford, Chen, we need you at my location for a double homicide,” Angela radios. “The neighborhood’s blocked off from the main streets, so come in from the east side.”

“10-4,” Tim answers.

He sighs as he returns the radio to the dash. There are plenty of ways he could be spending his day, but babysitting a crime scene doesn’t sound like the most exciting or the best use of his time. But, this is Tim’s job, and he’s good at it, so he hits the sirens and drives to the entrance Angela directed him to.

“Hi, Marsha,” you greet when the school secretary answers. “My student Lilliana is absent today, and I wanted to check if her parents have called. I’m just worried about her.”

“Oh, yes, sweet Lilli,” Marsha says. You can hear her keyboard click as she types. “I haven’t received a call about her, but I could call them if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for checking, Marsha.”

“She has perfect attendance. Strange that she isn’t here today.”

“I thought so, too. Maybe she’ll be here before lunch.”

“If she isn’t, let me know, and I’ll reach out for you, hun.”

“Thanks, Marsha. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

“You, too. I’ll see your class when they head to recess.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You end the call more distraught than you were before. It’s completely out of character for Lilliana to miss school, but for her parents to not call and explain why is even stranger. When she left forty minutes early for a doctor’s appointment, her mom told you two weeks in advance and insisted that it would be okay to give her more homework for anything she may miss. As your class returns from their extracurricular, you tap your fingers on your desk to expel your nervousness before beginning a math lesson. You’re tempted to call Tim and let him calm you down, but he’s busy too. You’ll just have to worry about Lilliana later.

Tim closes the shop door behind him and waits for Lucy. They approach the crime scene together, and Lucy whispers about how many people are surrounding the house.

“Double homicides usually require a lot of hands,” Tim informs.

“And that’s all we are today?” Lucy inquires.

“Welcome to police work, boot.”

“I’m not a boot,” Lucy grumbles.

“Bradford!” Nyla yells across the front lawn.

Tim nods as he raises the crime scene tape. Lucy goes under first, and he surveys the bullet holes littering the front of the house as he walks across the grass.

“What happened?” Lucy asks.

“The caller said-“

Someone yells Tim’s name, though the fear and tears mumbling it make it sound like “Off’cer Bra’ford!” He turns quickly and sees a young girl running toward him. She jumps toward him, and he bends to catch her easily.

“Lils,” he says as he pulls her against his chest.

She cries harder in his hold, her face pressed to his shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Tim recognizes her from the number of times he’s visited your class, but seeing her here, like this, during a school day, concerns him.

“What is she-“ Tim begins, looking toward Angela.

He realizes quickly. Between her presence at this specific house and the look Angela gives him, it’s easy to deduce. Her parents are inside.

“Lils, do you want to go sit in my police car?” he asks kindly, rubbing a large hand over her shaking back. “We can turn on the sirens.”

She nods before she pulls back. Her face is streaked with tears and a deep frown starkly contrasts her usual smile, the one that is on her face from the moment she steps into your classroom until she leaves.

“And the lights?” she whispers.

“Of course.”

Tim nods toward Angela and Nyla before he shifts Lilliana to his hip. He positions her so she can’t see the house as they walk. When she points to the firetruck waiting down the street, Tim takes a quick detour to see it. He sits in the driver’s seat of his shop with her on his lap. She lays her hands on the wheel and giggles before he shows her where the switch to turn on the lights and sirens is. Tim considers calling you, but you’d leave work, and he isn’t sure of the full story yet, anyway. So, for now, he’ll try to comfort her and distract her until they have more answers.

Back in the house, Lucy follows Angela through the rooms and looks at the damage caused by the murderer.

“Did she see anything?” Lucy asks. “The little girl?”

“We don’t think so. She was in the backyard when we got here. Definitely heard it, though. We’re not sure of anything. The woman is her mother, and there’s a male victim as well, but…” Angela trails off. “Until we get more answers, we’ll have to trust child services to get any answers she may have.”

“She knows Tim, maybe she’d talk to him,” Lucy suggests.

“Yeah, she’s in Tim’s wife’s class. That’s why I called you two. I was hoping you’d be willing to help secure the scene while Tim helps us work the case from a different angle.”

“Of course,” Lucy agrees.

Tim pulls Lilliana back into his arms when he arrives at the station. She hadn’t wanted to sit in the backseat until he promised to turn on the lights and stay with her the whole way. The moment he opens the door, she raises her arms toward him and clings to him.

“Use my office,” Wade says when Tim enters. “There’s some stuff in there I thought she may want.”

“Thank you,” Tim calls over his shoulder.

He closes the door behind him and sits in Wade’s chair. Tim expects Lilliana to climb out of his hold to search through the coloring sheets, a large bin of crayons, and toys littering the desk, but she only twists to sit in his lap.

“Which one?” Lilliana asks.

She pulls two coloring sheets toward her; one is a cop with a police dog and the other is a police car. Tim moves the chair closer to the desk so she can reach it to color as he taps the picture with the dog. She nods once before raising her chin to look through the different crayons. Tim unconsciously raises his arms by her sides to keep her steady as she leans over the desk. He watches her color and smiles at her enthusiasm.

“What color is this part?” she asks, pointing to the vest on the dog.

“Blue, black, or dark green,” he answers. “Since he’s brown, maybe do blue or green.”

“Can you help me?”

“Of course. With what?”

Tim leans forward and looks over her shoulder. She draws a line over the blank area at the top of the picture.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Well, you could draw a rainbow, or write your name…” Tim suggests. “Maybe even add another picture.”

“Rainbow,” she decides with a nod.

Someone knocks on the door, and Tim looks up. Wade shakes his head before he gestures toward a woman from child protective services.

“Grey,” Tim begins.

“It’s protocol, Bradford. I’m sorry,” Wade interrupts.

Tim takes a deep breath before he gently takes the crayon from her hand.

“Do you want to finish this later? We have to go see some people,” Tim explains.

“You keep it,” she answers.

Tim thanks her quietly before he stands. She lays her cheek against his shoulder, and he hugs her tightly before he sets her on the floor. Lilliana takes his hand and holds it firmly as they follow Wade out of his office.

“Hi, Lilliana,” the woman greets. “I’m Karen and I’ll be taking care of you for a while. Can you come with me, and we can talk?”

Lilliana shakes her head and tightens her grip on Tim’s hand.

“It’s alright, Lills,” Tim says. He squats beside her and adds, “She needs to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t want to,” Lilliana whispers.

“It’ll only be a few minutes, Lilli,” Karen says with a disarming smile.

Lilliana looks up at Karen and Tim sees tears building in her eyes even as she agrees. Tim reluctantly releases her hand and watches Karen lead her into a private room. Lilliana looks over her shoulder at Tim, her lip wobbles, and Tim hopes that she’s okay in there alone.

“What happens now?” Tim asks Wade. “Foster care?”

“Not today. They’ll take her to a shelter for tonight and push the paperwork through in the morning for foster care placement,” Wade answers. “You’ve done all you can do and more, Tim.”

“No, I haven’t. She’s gone through enough without having to move in with strangers who will never understand what kind of trauma she just experienced. You know that she won’t even be able to grieve in foster care,” Tim argues.

“It’s the way it is, Tim.”

Tim shakes his head, prepared to argue that there has to be a better way, but is cut off by Lilliana yelling before she begins crying. He stands up straighter, letting his crossed arms fall to his sides, and watches the door. Her crying grows in intensity before Karen pulls the door open and steps out.

“Officer Bradford?” she calls. “I could use your assistance in here.”

Tim nods but turns to Wade to say, “Let me take her home. We’ll take better care of her than any shelter.”

He rushes into the room and Lilliana immediately calms. As she calms down, Wade knows that Tim’s offer to take her home is more than just seeing a kid in need. Tim is the man for the job for more reasons than Wade can count.

“Karen, a word?” Wade calls.

“Bye!” you call with a wave as your last student is picked up.

The moment your classroom is empty, your smile falls. You move quickly on autopilot as you clean up today’s mess. Lilliana’s desk is untouched, your heart-covered sticky note still adhered to her name tag. As soon as everything is tidy, you gather your things and walk out. There’s too much on your mind to hang around this afternoon. Though an empty house doesn’t sound much better than an empty classroom, at least you won’t have to look at an empty desk with no answers about where its usual resident is.

When you pull into your driveway, you’re surprised to see Tim’s truck. He’s supposed to be at work for a few more hours, but you certainly won’t complain about his early return. You rush inside to tell him about your day and hug him tightly, but you stop short when you see the living room.

Dozens of bags, an oversized coloring pad, and a dismantled police car model litter the room. Tim is leaning back on the couch with none other than Lilliana asleep in his lap. Your eyes widen at the sight, and he sends you a close-lipped smile as he waves for you to come over. After you set your bag in its proper place, you sit beside him on your knees. Lilliana looks peaceful, you think, but you have so many questions that you don’t dwell on it long.

“She wasn’t at school today,” you whisper.

“Lucy and I got called to a double murder,” Tim explains. “She was there when we arrived and ran straight to me. Child services was going to put her in a shelter tonight, then foster care in the morning. I- uh, I couldn’t let her go through that, too, not with everything else she’s struggling with right now.”

“So, her parents were…”

“As far as we know, yeah. Her mom was ID’d at the scene, but Angela and Nyla are still working.”

You raise your hands to cover your mouth as your eyes water. Tim extends his arm toward you, and you twist to sit beside him. The movement jostles Lilliana, and you freeze as she stirs. Her eyes open briefly, and she smiles when she sees you. She moves so she’s between you and Tim, but drifts back to sleep quickly.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper to Tim.

He shakes his head and rubs your shoulder in response. You can’t imagine sending her to a foster home, where she’s just another temporary resident who gets the parents a government paycheck each month. Especially after what she just went through.

“Are you working tomorrow?” you ask.

“I took the day off,” Tim answers.

“I will too. I feel terrible, Tim. Maybe if I had called her parents earlier-“

“Don’t,” Tim interrupts softly. “Don’t think like that.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bradford,” Lilliana says as she rubs her eyes to wake. “I wanted to come to school today.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” you assure as she climbs into your lap. “It was boring without you, anyway.”

She giggles before asking you to color with her, and you happily agree. Tim watches you interact with her and knows that he can’t do it. He can’t let her go.

“Tim,” you say as you stand beside your bed. “Did Lills see it?”

Tim moves his head to gesture for you to join him. When you’re in bed beside him and wrapped in his arms, Tim kisses your forehead.

“We don’t think so. She’ll have to talk to a psychiatrist and the detectives soon, but she was in the backyard when they arrived. At the least, though, she heard it,” he answers.

You ignore the tears running down your cheeks, the result of sympathy and concern for the young girl sleeping across the hall from you. Tim wipes your cheeks gently and whispers that everything will be okay. You trust him, but you know it won’t be okay for Lilliana if she has to acclimate to an entirely new life just hours after her parents were killed.

A small knock on the door draws your attention away from Tim. Lilliana stands in the doorway holding the police dog stuffed animal Tim bought for her on the way home.

“What’s wrong, Lilli?” Tim asks.

You move out of Tim’s hold and walk toward her. She hugs you tightly and mumbles that she missed you, and you close your eyes to keep more tears from leaking out. Tim smiles when you look back at him and moves so that there’s more room in the bed. As you set her between you and Tim, he mouths I love you over her head, and you waste no time in replying.

The following morning, as Lilliana eats breakfast and watches Paw Patrol beside you, you look toward Tim. Beginning the conversation about not sending her into foster care is harder than you anticipated. You hesitate, but Tim smiles as his eyes meet yours. 

“I know,” he answers before you begin.

You smile, glad that he knows you so well, and Tim pulls you close as he nods. You kiss him quickly before Lilliana calls for you. She raises a coloring of a cop, a woman, a kid, and a police dog.

“It’s us!” she cheers.

Tim smiles as you applaud her work. He’s as attached to her as you are, and he loves you so much that he knows exactly what you are thinking. This may not be exactly how he planned to become a parent, but he would do anything with you, even adopting one of your students. Seeing you interact with Lilliana in your home like this, though, makes Tim confident that he wants to have a child of his own with you, and Lilliana does seem like she would be a good big sister.

[heavenlyvision]

I’m literally inlove with your writing! Anyways I was wondering if you could maybe do a Kuai Liang x reader one shot where he’s had like a stressful day and basically goes crazy with back shots. English is not my first language so I’m sorry if this does not make sense.

Thank you sm !!!! Kuai is a little ooc because he is a bit grumpy in this but he is a little sweet in the end (kinda) 🫣 This fic is shorter because I got brain rot for Kuai atm and I can only write on my phone. Also, your English was great !!! Thank you heaps for your request and I hope you enjoy it <33

Not sorry

Wc: 2.7k

Pairing: Kuai Liang x Afab!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, no use of pronouns, p in v sex, creampie, biting, minor burns, no use of y/n, Kuai is a little mean… sorry !!!

When Kuai Liang walks through your front door you can immediately tell he’s had a bad day, mostly because the door slams behind him and he doesn’t even flinch; he just walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch and drops down beside you.

“By the way you’ve just slammed my door I’m guessing you had a great day,” you speak sarcastically; not looking up from your book.

He sighs beside you, “Sorry… today was… trying.”

He sounds drained from beside you but he also seems angry, like something happened to royally piss him off; well, something or someone.

You go to ask him, “Do you want to talk about–”

“–No.” He cuts you off.

You drop your book and look him in the eyes, “Yes, clearly whatever happened is not an issue that should be discussed.”

He doesn’t look at you, instead keeping his eyes on the wall in front of you both. The frown resting on his brow is prominent and you feel the need to reach over to smooth it out but as your hand reaches for him he grabs your wrist and holds it up.

His eyes lock onto yours, “What are you doing?”

You feel a bit flustered and you don’t know how to tell him you were going to touch his face, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You mumble a bit before pulling your wrist from his hold.

His eyes are examining you, trying to understand your intent but you’ve looked away and started to read your book. Or you’re pretending to read your book, you’re a little preoccupied by his heated gaze on you.

You sigh, “Why’d you come over if you’re in such a bad mood?”

“Because I always visit you around this time,” he’s snippy, whatever happened has obviously pissed him off severely.

He does always visit around this time, though you wouldn’t think he would come around when he’s in this bad of a mood. How kind of him to subject you to his incredibly annoyed demeanour. It’s a bit irritating but you also think it’s a little bit sweet, his want to see you outweighing his poor mood.

“I don’t know how to help you when you’re like this,” your eyes are still on the book, not reading any of the words on the page.

He’s stoic beside you, still watching you, “For starters, you can stop pretending to read.”

“I’m not pretending,” you lie.

“You’ve been on the same page since I walked in,” he observes.

You scowl at your book, “No I haven’t,” you double down.

From beside you, he grabs your book and pulls it away, chucking it across the room.

“Hey!” You exclaim at him, you move to pick up your book but he pulls you back onto the couch. Making you look at him.

“I also came here for a specific purpose,” his eyes are hard, looking at you firmly.

You’re unamused, “And what’s that?”

The way he’s looking at you is setting you on fire, he’s making you flustered and it’s completely unfair. You have been carrying a torch for this man for many years now and he’s never once shown signs of reciprocation but with the way he’s eyeing you right now, you feel completely exposed to him. He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and you might let him.

“Something happened today and I want to– need to know, how do you feel about me?” His question stuns you.

You’re unable to speak for a few moments, lost at where his sudden question has come from. “W–What prompted that question?”

He doesn’t answer you, just looking you head on, waiting for your answer. An answer you don’t really want to give.

You deflect instead, your confession coming in a non-committal way. “Well, I love you of course, I always have.” You make it sound as casual as possible, hoping he doesn’t see through you.

“I see,” he replies, his tone even.

You’re both sat looking at each other, not sure where to go from here. Unconsciously, your eyes flick to his lips, lingering for a moment too long, giving away your desire for him. You look away quickly, wishing you still had your book in front of you.

“I think you are lying,” his hand reaches towards your face and pulls it back to him, “I think you have feeling for me.” The emphasis on the last word confuses you for a moment but before you can ask him about it, his lips are on yours.

He leans in closer and pulls you towards him by the hand on your face. His kiss is harsh and needy, his bad mood still lingering under his lust for you. He pushes you back onto the couch, following you down; his lips never leave yours. When your back hits the couch, you gasp against him and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The shock of it has a whiney moan pulling from you, the sound you make has an appreciative grunt coming from Kuai.

Your hands grab at him, holding onto his shoulders, needing the leverage. He is so large above you, his body heat consuming you, his mouth overwhelming you, he’s driving you insane. He’s taken over all your senses, when he pulls back, you’re huffing underneath him. His kiss has taken your breath away, you’re dazed by the way he’s just kissed you. You can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him. His own are filled with a desperate heat, dark and lustful.

“I need you… on your stomach,” his voice is deep when he speaks.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, heating your face up. Taking a moment to look up at him, completely dumbfounded. He leans down again and kisses the look off your face, his hand moves to your neck and hold you as he does.

When he pulls back again, he tells you, “Roll over.”

You immediately roll over for him, lying on your stomach beneath him. His hands pull your hips up onto your knees, the dress you’re wearing falls upwards and pools around further up your body. Your arms move to hold yourself up slightly, your back arched low. The position has you feeling completely exposed to him. His fingers graze over your core through your panties, the slight touch makes you twitch.

He hums at you, “Already so wet, I’ve only kissed you.”

“Kuai–”

His touch moves back to your core, firmer this time. The feeling cuts off your words, he pushes the tip of his finger into your pussy hole, held back by your underwear. The action results in your panties getting wetter. He’s toying with you, playing with you over your panties. His touch grazing over your core, making you twitch and squirm for him. He’s making you moan for him, purposefully touching you so you’ll whimper out his name.

His touch withdraws before he leans down, his face pressed to your core, his mouth over your panties. His tongue licking at you over them, the stimulation has you jumping forward and moans tumbling from your lips. His mouth soaks your panties completely, ruining them. Ashamedly, he gets you impeccably close to your end like this, so close to cumming in your underwear for him. Your moans reaching a higher pitch, coming more frequently.

Suddenly, he pulls back, removing all stimulation, your cunt pulsing from your almost orgasm.

“Mmm I bet you were close,” he comments, his observation makes you huff at him, your hips moving back at him, trying to entice him.

He hums and then his mouth moves to your arse cheek and bites down, you gasp and jump at the feeling. He’s no doubt left an impression of his teeth in your skin. Once he’s pulled back, he borderline moans at the state of you.

His tone is dark and pleased, “You look great with my teeth marking you.”

“Kuai, please, do something.”

He seemingly considers your words for a moment before answering, “Remember, you asked for it.”

The shuffling of his pants can be heard behind you and then he’s pulling your panties to the side. The head of his cock sliding through your slick for a moment before notching on your pussy hole, he slips the head in, giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch. The sensation is burning, he’s large in every way apparently and you really wish you could see him right now. What kind of face is he making, what does his cock look like entering you.

Your thoughts almost have your mouth drooling, instead, it’s your cunt drooling on him. Your wetness leaking from you onto the head of his cock. The sight of your obscene arousal has Kuai twitching inside you and a moan pulling from his chest. He can’t help the way he stuffs more of himself into your small pussy. His length opening you up, your cunt taking him as he inches into you. You’re pulsing around him in need, completely desperate for him at this point.

“Gods, I wanted this to be different but you drive me crazy,” his words are hissed out between his teeth.

You don’t have the time or brain cells to pull apart what he means, your hips push back on him, taking more of him. He moans and meets your thrust, pushing his cock all the way into you. Stuffing you full, your arse rests on his pelvis. He grinds into you, his hands gripping at your hips, holding you flush to him.

He groans reverently at the way your cunt grips him tightly. At the way you’re throbbing around him, you’re driving him just as crazy as he is you.

Whimpers spill from you as you try to speak, “P –hah– lease, move~” you squirm against him, grinding back on him, needing the friction, desperately.

His fingers dig into your plush skin, holding you tightly, “Give me a second, pretty. Gripping me so –mmmph– tight, I nee –ah– d a second.”

His words broken by whiney sounds set you on fire, you need him to move. Now. You draw forward, aiming to fuck yourself back on him but he grabs you and pulls you back forcefully, the sensation exactly what you wanted. A moan tumbling from you at the action, you want more. Greedy for him and his fat cock.

He grunts, “You’re needy –hah– fuck.” He pulls out slowly; leaving only the tip inside you, “–mmph– I’ll give you what you need,” he promises, before forcing himself back inside you.

You moan loudly, your fingers grip into the couch, your forehead pressed into the cushion below you. Kuai’s thrusts are harsh and fast, fucking you silly, using your body as a fuck toy. His hands holding you and fucking you back onto him, his cock hammering into your cervix. Your cunt pulses around him, your slick coating his dick completely. Lewd noises fill the room, wet slapping sounds echoing in the lounge.

He grunts and moans from behind you, the way he’s shoving his dick into you has you willing to worship the ground he walks on. He’s in the same boat regarding your cunt, obsessed with the way you cream around him, the way you grip him, the way you’re so wet he’s slipping in and out of you with ease.

You cry out his name, almost literally, eyes wet and glassy, “Kuai~”

“Hmm?” He asks mindlessly, too obsessed with watching the way you suck his cock in to pay attention to anything else.

“I wanna –hah– see you,” you whimper out to him, wanting to see him, to touch him.

He chuckles at your desperation, “Next time.” His promise of a next time makes your pussy jump, “You like that? The idea of me fucking you again? Having you regularly take my cock?”

You moan out shamelessly, not even trying to hide the way you’d love to be fucked by him daily, loving the idea of being stuffed full of him. Sitting on top of him with his cock in you, not moving just full of him. Your own imagery has you clenching down on him again, your whimpers spilling from you, a tear slipping from your eye at his relentless thrusts.

His hands on your hips are hot, his body heat in general making you sweat. His pelvis slaps into your arse consistently, you’re spasming around him. So close to finishing.

“Kuai~ I –mmph– I’m close–” Tears fall down your cheeks.

“Cum then,” he grunts out, encouraging you to finish on his dick.

His thrusts and the moans he’s letting slip have you cumming for him, hard. Your cunt grips down on him tight, vice like. Your own orgasm has him grunting loudly, his dick twitching inside you. Ropes of his cum filling you, he continues fucking it into you. Prolonging your orgasms and enjoying the way his cum leaks out around you both when he pulls out and stuffs himself back in.

The heat on your hips burns and you wince in pain, a small whimper exiting you at the feeling. He removes his hands suddenly, “Fuck, sorry. I’ve burnt you.”

“It’s okay…” you huff out, dazed from your orgasm but also okay with the burns.

He pulls out of you slowly, both of you groaning as he does. He pulls his pants up, taking his time to enjoy the view of his cum leaking from your pussy hole.

His hands gently trace over the burn marks of his hands, humming appreciatively. Enjoying the way his hands are burned into your soft flesh, “It’s a good look,” he comments.

You laugh airily at him, “Help me up?”

“Of course,” he pulls your panties back into place and then moves you into a sitting position on the couch.

“Thank you,” you smile at him.

He looks at you thoughtfully, his hands pulling your dress off completely out of nowhere. Your hands go to cover your chest at the sudden exposure, “What are you–”

“Wanna see the burns,” he frowns, looking you over, his hands so gentle with you. “I’ll be back, gonna get you some ice.”

He wanders off and grabs some ice blocks, wrapping them in tea towels and coming back to you. He holds them against your hips, soothing the burns. You aren’t bothered though, you like knowing that his hand prints will be seared into your skin for a while.

“I’m sorry, for burning you.”

“It’s okay… I liked it…” you shy away from his gaze, looking off into the distance.

He takes in a deep breath from beside you, “I didn’t say earlier but… I love you too.”

You look back at him, a shocked expression on your face, “You do?”

“Of course,” he smiles softly at you, “I was rough and didn’t express myself in a healthy way.”

You implore him, “What happened today?”

He frowns, “You know that guy, the one you hang out with.”

“My friend? Yes…”

“He… was boasting about you liking him, about how obvious it was. When I told him you did not, he called me jealous… He is not a good person, but I realised I was jealous. Because I want you. And I want you to only want me…” His words are filled with annoyance, getting angry again at the memory of your so called ‘friend’ being a pompous ass.

Your hands move to hold his face, making him look at you, “I do want only you, always have.”

He melts for you, “Good.” His smile is soft but then his eyes wander down, staring at your uncovered chest. It makes you roll your eyes at him.

“Eyes up here,” you joke.

He doesn’t look back up, gaze staying on your tits, “I know.”

You move a hand to his chin and use it to tilt his eye line back up to yours, “Don’t be a perv.”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively at you before he holds the side of your face tenderly, serious as he says, “I know I’ve already said it but I am sorry about taking my anger out on you.”

“And like I said… I liked it.”

“You’re making it hard to be sorry,” he sighs, amused by you.

You smile coquettishly at him, “I don’t want you to be sorry.”

He leans in and kisses you, it’s tender and warm. He makes your brain fuzzy and you’re happy, always happy when he’s next to you.

You can feel his light smile against your lips when he pulls back, “Then, I’m not sorry.”

₊ ⊹

A/N: Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it :)) and I should have access to my laptop tomorrow so hopefully ‘Bare’ pt 2 will be up sooner rather than later <33

As per usual, if you have any thoughts, feelings or requests feel free to slide into my inbox <333