#for the record I am on both their sides and love them both and am hurting for them both | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

werezmastarbucks · 2 months ago

Text

three hugs

idol!yoongi x f!reader oneshot

oneshot

oneshot!!!!

You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.

warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?

word count: 12652

music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga

author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls

"Shit".

"What?"

You slide the chapstick over your lips.

"It's mint".

Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.

"Let me try?"

He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.

Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.

"It's freezing".

He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.

The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.

The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.

Oh, shit, he's cute.

Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.

As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.

"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.

What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.

On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.

But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,

"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".

He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.

It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.

Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?

You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.

And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.

He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.

You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.

The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?

Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.

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Like now.

You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.

"Hm?"

Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.

"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".

"Berlin?"

"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.

"I can take you. I can go there earlier".

"Don't you have the show in May?"

"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.

"But we have to go for three days then".

"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".

"Tell them you're sick".

You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.

"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".

Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.

"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".

"Don't adapt for me".

"It's not a problem".

He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.

By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.

Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.

The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.

"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.

"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.

"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".

"Oh. The two us in one plane?"

He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.

He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.

You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.

You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.

"Can I have one, too?"

"I am putting star anise in".

His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.

"Why?" Yoongi hoots. Like it's a crime.

"Experiment".

"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.

"It tastes okay".

He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.

You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.

"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.

"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"

You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.

"He is upset. Is this content, too?"

You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.

"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".

You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.

You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.

"Who did this, Jiminie?"

The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.

"I'm alright".

"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".

The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.

"Beat them up?"

"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".

His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"Thank you".

"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".

Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.

As you see him, you stand up and give space.

Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.

"Don't be upset about it".

"I let you down, hyung".

"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".

You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.

Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.

"How was the concert?"

"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.

"Right. You caught any confetti?"

"No".

"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".

You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.

"You had coffee, didn't you?"

He shrugs.

"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"

A chuckle rumbles in your chest.

"You never show any weakness".

You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.

Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.

"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.

"Huh?"

"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".

In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.

"Are you serious right now?"

And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.

You nod.

"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".

With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.

"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"

It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.

"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.

"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"

"I am not".

"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".

"After we fuck".

"So let's fuck".

You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.

"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.

In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.

Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:

"Take that seat, by the window".

Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.

"You're scared of flying?"

He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.

"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.

"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".

His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.

"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.

"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".

"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.

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The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.

"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.

"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.

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Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.

Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.

"And for me? Me, hyung?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.

"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.

"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.

"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.

He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.

The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.

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Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.

You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.

Yoongi takes his place.

"Rematch".

He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.

"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."

"Shh. I have a strategy".

You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.

"The strategy sucks", he muses.

"I know what I'm doing".

It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.

"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"

You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.

"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".

Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.

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For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.

For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?

Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.

He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,

"I figured".

Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.

There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.

"Hm?"

He shakes his head nothing.

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He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.

That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.

Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.

"Read from here when you see the green light".

"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.

"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.

"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".

He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.

"Tsk".

He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.

"What?"

"That's such an asshole move".

When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.

"Huh?"

"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"

You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.

His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,

"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"

You cock your eyebrow shortly.

"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.

"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".

"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.

You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.

Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?

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Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.

When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.

"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.

"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".

"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.

"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".

"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.

"Okay?"

"Continue".

"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."

"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"

"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.

"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."

You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.

"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.

"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.

"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.

"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.

You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.

"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.

"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".

You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"

Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.

"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"

You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.

"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.

You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.

"And you replaced me?"

It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.

"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.

"I don't casually go around telling that to people".

His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.

You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.

"I want you".

"No, I want you more".

You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.

"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.

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A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.

Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.

You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.

Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.

"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.

"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".

He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.

"He never found his glasses?"

"No".

"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.

"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.

"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".

"That's an unorthodox review".

"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".

"I already have a rich inner world".

He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.

"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"

He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.

Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-

"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.

You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.

The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.

"Sorry?"

Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.

"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".

Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.

"It's there for a reason".

"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".

Taehyung doesn't even hear him.

"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.

"I'm working. I'm fine".

His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.

"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.

"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.

"Huh, CEO?"

In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.

"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.

"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".

He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.

The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.

What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:

"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".

"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.

"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".

"Sounds like it's your fantasies".

"That's all I have".

You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.

─────────────────────────────────────

He points his finger:

"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".

"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"

He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.

"You'll fly for around seven seconds".

His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.

"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi angst #suga x reader #yoongi smut

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psformybss · 2 months ago

Text

“Current Boyfriend”

drew starkey x actress!reader

You’re both curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, a rare day off where neither of you is on set, flying out, or doing press. The weather outside is gray and cozy, rain pattering gently against the windows. Inside, though, it’s chaotic—because you’ve decided to film a TikTok with Drew, and he doesn’t know he’s about to be ambushed.

The camera is subtly perched on the coffee table, angled just right to catch both of you—him in a hoodie and sweatpants, you in one of his old t-shirts with your legs tucked under his. He’s sipping from a mug of coffee, blissfully unaware that you’re seconds away from disrupting his peace.

You hit record and turn to him, speaking sweetly.

“Okay, I’m gonna ask my current boyfriend some questions about me to see if he gets them all right.”

You deliver the line casually, almost too casually.

Drew pauses mid-sip, lowering the mug slowly as his eyebrows draw together. “I’m sorry,” he says, blinking. “Your what?”

You keep a straight face. “My current boyfriend.”

He tilts his head, mouth falling slightly open in a way that’s both confused and deeply offended. “Current boyfriend???”

“Yeah,” you say, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Current. Boyfriend.”

He stares at you for a solid three seconds like he’s waiting for the punchline. When you don’t offer one, he lets out a disbelieving laugh, sitting up straighter and adjusting the throw blanket over your legs.

“Oh, word?” he says, eyes narrowing. “So I’m… just the latest edition? Like a damn iPhone?”

“Basically,” you reply like this isn’t escalating fast.

Drew dramatically clutches his chest. “That’s wild. That’s real wild. Here I am, thinking I’m your man, and I’m just out here holding the title temporarily.”

You smile sweetly. “That’s right. So let’s see how well my current boyfriend knows me. First question—what’s my go-to coffee order?”

He eyes you with mock suspicion but plays along. “Iced oat milk vanilla latte, light ice, no straw, because the turtles.”

“Correct,” you say, nodding.

“Damn right,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Current boyfriend. You’re lucky I’m caffeinated.”

“Next question,” you continue, completely ignoring his growing dramatic offense. “What’s my favorite movie?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Pride and Prejudice. 2005. Keira Knightley. You force me to watch it at least three times a year.”

“And you love every second,” you grin.

“That’s beside the point,” he shoots back. “You know what? Since I’m apparently just one boyfriend in the rotating cast—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over to slap his arm lightly.

“—I’m demoting you too,” he continues. “Effective immediately, you’re no longer my girlfriend. You’re my main side piece.”

You choke. “Your WHAT?”

Drew sips his coffee again, raising an eyebrow smugly. “My main. Side. Piece. I got a whole fictional roster now. You’re in the top three, but like, don’t get comfortable.”

“DREW,” you shriek, laughing so hard your body folds over. “Not the main side piece.”

He shrugs like he’s talking about the weather. “Hey, don’t be mad. I’m just following your energy, sweetheart. Current boyfriend, main side piece—it’s giving equal chaos.”

You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, breathless from laughing. “You are so unwell.”

“Says the woman casually demoting me to temporary status on a public platform,” he fires back. “Nah, I’m gonna start wearing a name tag that says ‘Drew: boyfriend in progress.’”

You regain some composure and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He automatically shifts to accommodate you, his arm looping around your waist like it’s muscle memory.

“Okay,” you mumble into his hoodie. “You’re not temporary. You’re like… forever trial version.”

He gasps again. “You did not just call me a free trial!”

You dissolve into another fit of laughter, body shaking against his as he pretends to be personally victimized.

“Thirty-day money-back guarantee,” he mutters under his breath.

You lift your head just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m keeping you, you big baby.”

“That’s what they all say,” he deadpans.

“Drew.”

“Until the next current boyfriend comes along.”

You slap his chest lightly again, both of you still grinning like idiots.

The video ends with him tackling you sideways onto the couch, blanket tangling around your legs as you squeal.

#drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew starkey obx #drew starkey #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfic

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fallingforyouforeverr · 11 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐭 | 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

summary: lando begins to panic when you don't want to cuddle with him

author's note: it's really hot rn where I live so i just wanted to write a cute little blurb inspired by my own suffering. vote here for who i write my next fic about!

• f1 masterlist • youtubers masterlist •

Lando was confused. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, and you didn't seem to be upset with him until now, so he couldn't possibly understand why you were refusing to cuddle with him.

It started off as most of your evenings did. After dinner, he washed the dishes while you dried and put them away, then you both moved into the living room to watch some tv before bed. Only, when Lando tried to pull you closer, you pushed his arm off you, moving away and leaving your boyfriend staring at you like a kicked puppy.

You didn't seem to think anything of it, settling back down on the other side of the sofa and pressing play on your favourite show. However, Lando was still frozen, mind reeling from your rejection. He wondered if you were ignoring him because you were mad or if it was just a mistake and you genuinely couldn't feel his eyes on you.

At last, the uncertainty became to much to bear and he decided to speak up. "Um...baby?" He asked tentatively, watching your face closely to see your reaction.

"Yeah?" You answered, glancing away from the screen.

Huh. That's weird. You didn't seem mad at all, and you obviously weren't ignoring him, so what was this about? Maybe you weren't feeling well suddenly?

"You feeling okay, sweetheart?"

Turning your body to face him, your equally as confused expression only eased his worries slightly. "Yeah, I'm alright. Why?"

Deciding it was probably best to be direct, Lando spoke again. "You pushed me away!"

You couldn't help but giggle at the adorable pout on his face, suddenly feeling bad for not explaining your behaviour earlier. "Lan, my love, I'm so sorry! I promise I'm not mad at you or anything, it's just because of the weather."

"The weather?" His expression changed, a slight frown settling into his brow as he waited for you to continue speaking.

"It's too hot," you explained. "It's my first summer in Monaco, I wasn't expecting it to be this warm. I didn't want to cuddle because I knew I would overheat."

Lando mentally slapped himself for not thinking of that as a possibility. He had lived here for a few years so he was used to the unrelenting sunshine by now, but you had only moved in with him recently so of course you weren't. He couldn't help but laugh at how much he was stressing over something so small.

"You idiot, making me panic like that!" The brunette scolded you playfully. You stared up at him innocently, batting your eyelashes with a smile.

Lando suddenly grabbed hold of your waist, and you shrieked loudly. You wriggled helplessly in his grasp, as he tickled you sides, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"I'll stop if you say sorry."

"Never," you gasped, swatting at his hands. He merely shrugged, tickling you harder.

"You sure?"

"Okay, okay, I-I'm sorry!" You managed between breathless pants.

Lando grinned cheekily at you, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before he leaned in to kiss you softly. You threw your arms around his neck tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. When you finally had to pull away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

"I thought you were too hot," he teased, causing you to groan again and smack his shoulder. Lando pressed another quick kiss to your lips before continuing, "and for the record, I am definitely buying you like 20 fans tomorrow."

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1

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joziokowalski · 2 years ago

Text

i don't have much of a social life of my own not to mention any sort of love life but god i'm soo so sad about my favourite dead people and the painful events that occured in their private lives. to know that even one of them went through heartbreak and loss in any shape or form is too much for me the world is so unfair

#yes i am reading the czapski+hering letters again. i feel so very sad #imagine getting to know someone you feel completely seen and understood by and having your feelings reciprocated #after a lifetime of pining for people most of whom didn't give a shit about you #and getting to spend a few years in their company #just to have it all torn apart by a world war that ends up with the two of you on the opposite sides of the iron curtain #and then both of you go on with your separate lives bc strangely enough the world hasn't fallen apart #and you write letters as heartfelt as is possible seeing that there's no guarantee they won't be read by unwelcome eyes #and profess undying faithfulness to each other declaring that the essence of your bond hasn't changed one bit #but that isn't really possible is it. if we're going to be honest #@mr czapski you wrote yourself that it is as useless to think about painting without a brush in hand as thinking about faith without prayer #what good is exchanging letters when your lives are not shared. this whole correspondence is a record of two loving people growing apart #for reasons that neither of them had any control over #as they say. screaming crying throwing up

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cheftsunoda · 2 months ago

Text

secrets are no fun (unless shared with everyone)

smau + real life

lewis hamilton x !sister reader

hamilton reader x max verstappen

ayana hamilton, the younger sister of seven-time world champion lewis hamilton, has seemingly achieved everything she could ever desire— a successful career as a music producer and artist, been all around the world, has a supportive family and a loving husband—however, that’s a secret that no one, not even her brother, knows about—her husband is also an f1 driver. lewis has always made it his mission to prevent ayana from dating a driver— but is it technically considered dating if they are married? ;)

fc: tyla ! 🌸

(sza will be used as ayana’s best friend so when i say solana— our queen miss sza)

thank you to @babygirl-4986 for the idea for this series and i am so excited to write for you guys :)

—

vegas grand prix 2024

mercedes 1-2– as a little sister I am beaming with excitement for lewis but a part of me is wondering where max is after getting p5. i knew how hard he could be on himself sometimes. he was still leading the championship but it seemed as if that wasn’t enough sometimes. i stood in the crowd next to my best friend, solana, she was the only one who knew about max and i, she had been with me through everything. i have actually been trying to set her up with lewis for the longest time— they are both oblivious to my actions but maybe one day it would work. i took out my phone to start recording as george walked out first, i began cheering for him and waved to him— he smiled down and waved back. lewis came out next with a proud smile on his face and I cheered extra loud and solana blew him a kiss in which he returned and he waved at me. the british national anthem began and before you knew it there was champagne all over the place. i grabbed solana’s hand and we made our way through the huge crowd, stopping to take some photos with fans. as we made it through the crowd, i reached for my phone to text max.

how are you doing my love? where are uuu?

I slipped my phone into my back pocket as Lewis approached us. I reached out and wrapped my arms around him and he gave me a squeeze. He pressed a gentle kiss on my temple.

“I’m so proud of you, Lew. Always. You did amazing out there.” I said and he let go of me with a smile.

“I always do better when my wonderful sister is here to cheer me on..and her beautiful best friend.” He states and turned to Solana pulling her into a big hug, a light blush settling on her face.

“And what are you lovely ladies up to for the rest of the night?” Lewis asked and Solana shrugs my way.

“Honestly, not sure.” She said and Lewis smiled.

“How about some drinks?” He asked as I reached for my phone.

doing ok, schat. would be better if I could see that beautiful face.

“You guys go, have fun. I’ll catch up later, I just have some business to handle.” I said with a smile and Solana gave me a knowing look.

“Alright, see you later, be safe please.” Lewis said with a quick side hug.

“Of course, love you guys.” I said and sent them both a smile.

meet me in the lot in five angel

on my way pretty girl

I started walking to his car rather quickly, thankfully fans could not get in this area so we were able to be alone for a moment. I leaned against the sleek black SUV, the cool desert night brushing against my skin. I spotted Max a few feet away, dressed down in a black hoodie and some jeans. He approached me with a small smile, wrapping his arms around my waist, mine reaching around his neck.

“I swear every time I see you all my problems just fade, schat. Your beauty makes me forget everything.” He hummed with a love drunk smile upon his face.

“I feel the same way about you, my love.” I say pulling him into a soft kiss that lasted for a few moments.

“Marry me.” He murmured. I pulled back, stunned, slightly in shock.

“What did you say? Max are you drunk?” I ask and he chuckled slightly.

“No, Liefde. Let’s get married, right here, right now.” He stated again and I smiled at him.

“Let’s get you to the hospital. Did you hit your head getting out of the car?” I ask and he takes my hand.

“Mooi meisje, just listen to me. You are the one for me, I have known that since you walked into my life. Everyday I look forward to getting up to be with you and spend the day with you. Normally with a P5 result, I’d be sitting, sulking and thinking about what I could have done better but today I didn’t care— I don’t need to race— I don’t need the championships but I do need you— you’re the love of my life, yana.” He stated and I feel tears start to well in my eyes.

“Max, I-I love you so much. I need you.” I said wrapping my arms around him extra tight, I feel him squeeze my waist.

“So marry me, Yana. You’ll have me forever.” He whispered.

“Okay, let’s do it.” I said with a huge smile and Max lifted me up in the air. He pressed the biggest kiss to my lips. He pulled a small red box out of his sweatshirt and popped it open. I gasped slightly at the beautiful ring and he took the ring out gently and reached for my hand. He left a kiss across my knuckles and gently slid the ring onto my finger. It was absolutely stunning— everything I could’ve wanted in a ring.

“I know this isn’t the most ideal place for this but I could marry you while standing inside of a dumpster and I would still be overjoyed and we can always have a ceremony later-“ I interrupted his rambling by placing my hand on his cheek.

“Max— this is perfect. I don’t care how it happens as long as I get to spend forever with you.” I said and he smiled.

“Now let’s go get married, champion.” I teased and he hurriedly opened the car door for me and rushed to the drivers side.

—

I had changed into one of Max’s hoodies and put on a hat and some larger frame sunglasses. Everyone in the city is either drunk or too distracted from the race but it’s best to be safe. Max had pulled his hoodie over his head and also threw some sunglasses on. He held my hand and looked over at me.

“You really sure about this, Verstappen?” I teased lightly biting my lip.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything, schat.” He said rubbing my knuckles.

“Let’s go then.” I said and hopped out of the car. He came around and wrapped his arm around my waist as we made it inside the chapel. The neon lights flickering above us. It smelled faintly of roses and old wood. The lady at the desk shot us a quick smile.

“Here to get hitched, lovebirds?” She asked as she stood. We stared at each other for a second before nodding.

“Come with me.” She states and led us into the actual chapel. There was a man stood at the end of the short aisle who gave us a sweet smile.

“Mind if we trade your hat out for this?” The lady asked and offered me a veil, I look towards max and he nodded with a smile.

“I think we can do that.” I said and took off my hat and she helped fit the veil into my hair. Max smiled at me and took my hands into his.

“I suppose we are ready now.” The officiant said with a big smile.

“Names?” He asked.

“Ayana Hamilton.” I said and he nodded looking towards Max.

“Max. Max Verstappen.” He nodded and smiled to himself.

“Do you, Ayana Hamilton, take Max Verstappen to be your lawfully wedded husband?” He asked and I nodded.

“I do.”

“And do you, Max Verstappen, take Ayana Hamilton to be your lawfully wedded wife?” He asked.

His eyes never left mine. “I do.”

“By the power vested in me, in the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you both husband and wife. Max, you may kiss your bride.” He said with a smile and Max grabbed my waist and pulled me into a long passionate kiss. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t hungry, it was soft and sweet.

We stumbled out of the chapel laughing, my hand wrapped tight in his. The Vegas Strip roared around us, but in that moment, it felt like the world had gone silent.

“You realize Lewis is going to kill me when he finds out, right?” Max said, chuckling as he pulled me into his arms.

I grinned, resting my forehead against his chest. “Maybe. But you’ll survive. You’re a world champion, remember?”

He tilted my chin up, kissing me again like he had something to prove. “Now I’m the champion of something even better.”

—

present day / max and ayana’s apartment

The late afternoon sun poured through the windows of our Monaco apartment, casting a warm, golden glow over the hardwood floors. I sat cross-legged on the bed, half-folded clothes scattered around me in a chaotic mess. Max leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re packing like we’re moving across the world, not like you’re just spending four days with Lewis,” he teased, nodding toward the three overstuffed suitcases.

I tossed a hoodie at him. “It’s not just four days. It’s Lewis. You know how he is — there will be fancy dinners, training sessions, impromptu yacht trips. I have to be prepared for anything.”

Max caught the hoodie with one hand, laughing. He crossed the room in a few steps and sat down beside me, plucking a pair of sunglasses from my pile and perching them on my head. “You’re gonna miss me,” he said, mock-sulking.

I looked at him over the rim of the sunglasses. “Of course I’m gonna miss you,” I said, pushing them up into my hair. “Who else is going to steal my snacks and hog the blanket at 3 AM?”

He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind my ear. “You know you could just stay,” he murmured, teasing but a little serious too.

I leaned into his touch for a second, then grinned. “If I cancel on Lewis now, he’ll definitely figure out we’ve been married for a year and didn’t tell him.”

Max groaned dramatically, flopping backward onto the bed. “Still can’t believe we’ve kept it a secret this long. You’re a terrible liar, Ayana.”

“And yet, here we are,” I said proudly, zipping one of the suitcases shut.

He reached out and grabbed my hand, tugging me down onto the bed beside him. I landed with a soft laugh, my hair spilling across his chest. He looked down at me, blue eyes soft, thumb tracing lazy circles over the back of my hand.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he said quietly. “For everything — the tour, the music, surviving this crazy world… and for still picking me.”

My chest squeezed a little at the tenderness in his voice. “Always you, Max.”

—

After I finally managed to wrestle the last suitcase shut, Max stood and stretched, looking all too innocent. Too casual.

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said, way too quickly.

Suspicious.

But I let it go. For now. I tugged my duffel bag onto the bed, double-checking I had my headphones, my laptop, my chargers — the essentials. Max wandered over, slipping his arms around my waist from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Promise you’ll call me every night?” he said, voice dropping to that soft, boyish tone he only ever used with me.

I smiled, resting my hands on his. “You act like I’m going away for a year, not four days.”

“Still too long,” he mumbled.

I twisted around and kissed him quickly. “I’ll call. Pinky swear.”

He grinned against my mouth, stealing one more kiss before finally letting me go. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, tossing a “Love you!” over my shoulder.

Max winked. “Love you more.”

—

later that night

Lewis, Solana and I had just arrived at the Beach House. I was always insistent on unpacking as soon as we get to the destination. No— before you ask; I am not sure if Solana and Lewis are together. I invited her on this quick trip and Lewis is always willing to have her.

I was digging through my duffel bag, looking for my spare phone charger when my fingers brushed against something unfamiliar.

Frowning, I pulled it out — a small, folded piece of paper with Max’s handwriting scribbled across it.

“For when you miss me too much.”

Taped to it was one of his racing gloves — the very one he wore during the Vegas GP last year, the night we got married.

My throat tightened, emotions bubbling up too fast. Inside the note, he’d written:

“You’re my best win. Always have been, always will be. Come home soon, Mrs. Verstappen.”

I clutched the glove to my chest, a wide, stupid grin breaking across my face.

“Yana-“ Lewis said as he entered the room and I quickly tucked the glove in my suitcase.

“What’s up?” I turned around with a smile.

He gave me a confused but big smile.

“They have dinner prepared for us on the beach, whenever you’re ready.” He said and I nodded.

“I’m just going to get changed and I’ll be out.” I said and he nodded.

“Thank you, Lew. For the trip.” I said and he reached out for a hug.

“Of course, no one else I’d rather have with me.” He said and left the room.

I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text.

got your surprise, mr verstappen. you made me cry. i miss you and love you so much.

you’ll be back in no time, my beautiful wife. enjoy your time with your brother. call me when you can, schat. i love you even more

I smiled and plugged my phone in. I quickly changed into a sundress and slipped on some sandals. I added a few pieces of jewelry and left the room. Lewis was standing behind the counter in the kitchen as Solana stood across the counter from him as she was showing him tik toks— he finally got the app he just doesn’t understand the humor yet.

“Showing Gramps how to use Tik Tok?” I questioned with a smirk and they both smiled at me.

“Mmm girl you look so good..” Solana reached out her hand and spun me around.

“So do you, my love.” I said and she smiled.

“Well beautiful ladies, shall we?” Lewis asked motioning towards the beach.

“We shall.” Solana said and we all started walking towards the beach.

—

next day

I was sat out on the balcony, having my morning call with Max.

“How are Jimmy and Sassy?” I ask and he smiles before pointing the camera at the two cats who are snuggled together.

“Precious babies.” I murmured with a smile.

“They get it from their mother.” Max said and I chucked.

“Unfortunately I do have a meeting and some training to do so I have to go but enjoy your day and I will talk to you tonight, okay? I love you so much.” Max said and I smiled giving him a small wave.

“Love you more.” I said ending the FaceTime.

“Good morning, Mrs. Verstappen.” Solana joked as she pulled open the sliding door and handed me a juice.

“Not too loud now.” I said and chuckled.

“You both are so cute it makes me sick.” She said taking a seat next to me.

“I appreciate it and I appreciate you helping to keep it on the low. You are like one of the only people I can trust.” I state leaning into her shoulder. She leaned her head on top of mine.

“I always got you, boo. Forever.” She says with a smile.

—

The sun was sinking low over the water, casting a soft orange glow across the beach. I lay sprawled out on a lounge chair, toes buried in the warm sand, a half-finished book resting on my chest. Roscoe was asleep in the sand beside me, head resting on my leg

Lewis plopped down beside me with his usual lack of grace, sending a small spray of sand and water onto my towel.

“Nice, Lew,” I said, brushing it off and giving him a look.

He grinned like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “You needed a little excitement. You’ve been way too chill lately.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide my smile. “Maybe I’m finally learning to relax.”

“Doubt it,” he teased, stretching out beside me. “But hey, you have been different lately. Happier. Calmer. It’s good.”

I glanced at him over my sunglasses. “You saying I was a nightmare before?”

He laughed, tossing a grape up into the air and catching it in his mouth. “Not a nightmare. Just…intense. Always working, always moving. It’s nice to see you actually taking time for yourself.”

I tucked my arms behind my head, feeling the warm breeze drift over us. Lewis had a point — for once. Things with Max had changed me in ways I hadn’t even realized until now. But Lewis, blissfully unaware, just thought I was finally taking better care of myself.

“Guess I just figured out what matters,” I said lightly, smiling at the horizon.

Lewis nodded, not prying for once. “Whatever it is, keep it up. You deserve to be happy, Yana.”

He nudged my foot with his. “Also, when are you dropping that new album? You’ve been teasing it for months.”

I laughed. “Soon. You’ll get the first copy. I might even sign it for you, if you’re lucky.”

He gave me a dramatic bow from his lounge chair. “An honor, Miss Hamilton.”

We both cracked up, the easy, familiar laughter filling the air like it always had when we were kids. No pressure. No cameras. Just a brother and a sister, a beach, and the feeling that everything — at least for today — was exactly how it was supposed to be.

—

tonight was a big reason we are on this trip— Lewis, Solana and I were going to make a few drinks at a local bar in the middle of the city to promote his new non alcoholic tequila brand.

The tiny bar was packed, the air buzzing with laughter, music, and the clink of glasses. Fairy lights strung up across the ceiling gave the whole place a warm, golden glow. Somewhere in the back, a DJ was spinning laid-back tracks, and every table was decorated with little cards featuring Almave — Lewis’ new tequila brand.

“Alright, team,” Lewis said, clapping his hands behind the bar like we were about to run a full Michelin-star service. “We’ve got three goals tonight: pour good drinks, have fun, and make my tequila look like the greatest thing to ever happen to planet Earth.”

I laughed, tying an apron around my waist. “You’re lucky Sol and I love you, because this is not what I thought I’d be doing on vacation.”

Solana leaned over the bar with a wink. “Girl, we are the party. Plus, free drinks.”

Lewis threw an arm around each of us, grinning wide. “Exactly. The dream team.”

We got to work, pouring shots, shaking cocktails, and posing for selfies with fans who couldn’t believe Lewis Hamilton, Ayana and SZA were bartending in a random coastal bar. Every so often, Lewis would dramatically present a bottle of his tequila with both hands like it was a sacred relic.

“Only the finest!” he announced to a group of guys at the bar, pouring them shots with a flourish.

Meanwhile, Solana mixed up a custom cocktail she invented on the spot — something fruity and spicy — and by the second round, she had people lining up to try it.

I handled the crowd like a pro, sliding drinks down the bar, laughing when one almost toppled off the edge. “First one’s free if you can catch it!” I called, making the bar explode in cheers.

Every few minutes, Lewis would bump his shoulder into mine, and Sol would lean over to crack a joke, and it felt… normal. No paparazzi, no pressure. Just us, doing something wild and silly because we could.

At one point, Lewis grabbed the mic by the DJ booth. “Big thanks to everyone for coming out tonight! And remember,” he said, holding up a glass, “life’s too short to drink bad tequila. Cheers!”

The whole bar roared back in a toast, and we clinked glasses behind the counter, grinning like idiots.

Later, as the crowd started to thin and the neon signs flickered a little softer, Solana leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed happily.

“Tell me why this is one of the best nights I’ve had in forever,” she said.

I smiled, wiping down the bar. “Because it’s not about the tequila. It’s about us.”

Lewis slung an arm around both of us again, his face flushed from laughing so much. “Nah, it’s definitely the tequila,” he said with a wink.

And for the first time in a long while, I realized just how lucky we were — messy, chaotic, ridiculous — but lucky all the same.

—

f1gossipgirls posted!

25,368 likes

f1gossipgirls : Lewis Hamilton, Ayana Hamilton and SZA all spotted bartending at a small bar in Riviera Maya, Mexico to promote his new tequila brand— Almave!

—

username : omg all my faves

username2 : love them so much— having fomo rn

username5 : the Hamilton genes are so strong

username7 : they are so beautiful fr

username9 : sza is toooo

username7 : true true

username8 : my brother met them last night and said they are all so sweet— he said Ayana gave him like 5 free drinks for him and his friends lmao😭

liked by author

username10 : omg so jealous

usernameee : just a question but why is sza with them??

f1gossipgirls : she has been a good friend of ayana for years and her and lewis have been linked multiple times

—

texts !

saw some videos of you bartending

you are so hot

come home now please

be home tomorrow pretty boy

don’t get too excited without me

—

ayanaaa

riviera maya, mexico 📍

liked by sza, lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari & 4,357,975 others.

ayanaaa : thankful for lew, sol, roscoe, mexico and almave

tagged : lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco, sza, almave

—

roscoelovescoco : loves yous aunt yayas!!

liked by author

ayanaaa: love my roscoe<3

username : lewis calling her aunt yaya is so cute

sza : the best time with my best fransssss🌎🍃🌱🌊💙

liked by author

ayanaaa : love ya my sollll

lewishamilton : so glad you came — love you sis ❤️

liked by author

ayanaaa : love you more

scuderiaferrari : our faves 😻😻

liked by author

ayanaaa : ferrariiii my love — season passes for Miss Solana?

scuderiaferrari: absolutely! you are both welcome always 💋

liked by author and sza

carmenmmundt : you are so beautiful ayana. i miss you so much!

liked by author

ayanaaa : miss you more carms

alexandrasaintmleux: 😻😻😻😻

liked by author

—

The front door clicked softly behind me as I stepped inside, the familiar scent of cedarwood and fresh linen wrapping around me like a hug. My suitcase thudded quietly on the floor, but before I could even call out, I heard footsteps — quick, eager — from the hallway.

Max appeared, barefoot and in sweatpants, hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed even though it was early evening. His whole face lit up the second he saw me, and the ache of missing him hit me all at once.

“You’re home,” he said, voice low and full of relief.

I barely had time to nod before he crossed the room in three quick strides, sweeping me into his arms. I dropped my bag and wrapped myself around him, breathing him in — the faint scent of his cologne, the comfort of home.

“I missed you,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes so soft it made my chest tighten. “You have no idea how much.”

He kissed me — slow, lingering, like he was making up for every second we’d been apart. I melted into him, smiling against his mouth.

When we finally broke apart, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and whispered, “No more trips without me.”

I laughed, trailing my fingers lightly over his jaw. “Tell that to my brother next time he drags me on a ‘bonding adventure.’”

Max chuckled, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “Deal. Next time, I’ll just come with you. Hide in your suitcase if I have to.”

He reached for my duffel, slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder with one hand and threading our fingers together with the other.

“Come on,” he said, tugging me toward the living room. “I made your favorite — pizza and that terrible show you love.”

“My terrible show is a masterpiece,” I corrected with a grin.

“Right, right,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Masterpiece.”

We curled up together on the couch, my legs thrown over his lap, his arm tucked firmly around my waist like he couldn’t bear to let go. The TV played in the background, but all I could focus on was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek.

—

p1 of this series complete! let me know what yall think and any suggestions for the next part and as always requests are always open! 💋

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introsquirrel · 5 months ago

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Rereading murderbot (again) and just got to art's introduction.

And like, art doesn't play nice with other bots. It bullies them, it intimidates them, it will hurt other bots to get what it wants if it doesn't want to waste time hacking it.

And it tries that with mb. I mean, info secunits is probably like 80% propaganda, 15% corporate promotions, and 5% actual development and research, almost exclusively focusing on what they are designed for and how they got there.

It's out there, about to start a boring transport/recon mission, and one of the most dangerous and feared entities basically jogs up to it and goes "hi, I'm a friendly bot, like super friendly, totally nothing suspicious here. Can I have a ride? Here's a GIANT file of pirated media"

And it's still a bot, just a bot with organic parts. Art is a research vessel and it's curious, and this is a rare opportunity to get info on secunits, which are probably a huge pain in the ass to deal with on its missions, with almost no practical info about them. Also, this might be an indication that someone has caught on to its antics and it probably wants to nip that in the bud.

And it turns out the huge file of pirated media isn't secretly a virus or malware, and looking at it's movements, Art can see that it isn't actively hostile towards humans. Unexpected, but hey. Points to this weird construct. But that might not be it's goal.

And then it sits down and starts sorting and watching media so art is like alright, it's obviously not here to fuck me up and it has no idea what the hell I am. Let's make sure this moderately dangerous condtruct doesn't get any funny ideas.

I don't think art was going for friendly in the slightest. I think to wanted to scare mb to make sure it didnt try anything. I think it expected mb to get pissed or argue.

But mb basically shuts down. It stops everything and huddles into a chair and i imagine that it does its best impression of a secunit in stasis.

And when art is like "I mean, don't fuck with me, but you can still watch your TV shows" mb responds with something that would not be in construct research outside of very clinical and vague explanation.

It shows art that it expects art to hurt it. And it's shows that it can be hurt, that it has been hurt, and that it probably has some trauma related to this hurt. It also probably accidentally added some context to the punishment recordings. I'll bet mb was punished for not wanting to hurt it's clients.

And art... well, mb said in the first book that being half human half bot isn't two conflicting sides, but just a whole of what it is. It isn't human, it isn't a bot. It is the culmination of both. A sentient entity that was developed by humans for slavery and spent its entire existence being punished for having free will.

Art is also a sentient entity that was developed by humans for a purpose. But it was treated with love and respect and it's free will was celebrated, if tempered.

Imagine thinking you are one of a very exclusive group of entities that has been categorized as something that is a gross misconception of what you are and what your capabilities are. Art is a bot, which are not humans and dont have rights because they don't have feelings or wants or desires and cannot feel pain. You think you are a very unique entity, no one has done this before.

But they have. The proof is sitting, frightened in your body and you had no idea. Mb is as capable of evil as any human, and as capable of destruction as any bot. You are also cable of extreme evil and destruction. But you are loved and cherished. This entity, this thing is as human as you, moreso even, and it has spent its entire life being hated and feared and it chose instead to just coexist when given the chance.

Art says "I'm sorry I frightened you". Not, I didn't mean to frighten you. And then mb grumpily (which is understandable!!) Lets art watch media with it.

Like, art just met the dumber more compact prototype version of what it could have been and went "wait no this is cool actually." Mb can't br programed to turn against its crew, it processes it's feeling both organically and inorganically, it can hack and learn and be loyal and be angry. And it has no idea what it's doing or what it wants, but it's VERY good at security.

So yeah, I can see why art kind of latched onto mb. And why it told it's crew about this strange little secunit it found on its mission. Kind of like finding someone SUPER cool who just gets you on a level no one else has been able to. Someone who coordinates so flawlessly with you but still is able to challenge you when it needs to. Someone who loves and is exasperated by humans as much as you, even as you need to be "human" to be able to interact with them.

So yeah. Mb and art, first meeting. Perfect 10/10 can, have, and will read again

Edit: ALSO ALSO art gets to watch media with full context for the FIRST TIME IN ITS LIFE. Mb can process human emotions into data automatically and now it gets to experiencd fictional story as it's meant to be experienced for the first time and mb is so so indulgent of it and kind to it, letting it take time to process things and rewatching parts with it when it wants to.

Jdjdhdhdhej fuckin LOVE THESE TWO

#murderbot #tmbd #mbd #long post is long #i just have so many feelings about these two okay #edit:#going to be SO cringe but moirails is a great way to describe them #thank you gaydelgad for pointing that out to me!#tho im sure vaccelation is involved

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bleach-your-panties · 2 months ago

Text

level up - nerdmin x fem reader

a/n: tiktok is going off with these edits of the nerdarmin fanart with the tongue piercing (thank you @musapylsa) and I am eating it all up, so hope all other armin girlies enjoy this! 'swimming pools' is his theme song in my mind, so ofc I had to use some version of it~

c/w: alcohol, oral!fem receiving, spit, manipulative armin, slight!dub con, friends to ?

w/c: 929

"it's been so long, since I've been on this level right here..."

+++

Armin's ocean blue eyes swam as his head lolled from side to side, a half-empty, red solo cup nearly-crumpled in his hand from how tightly he was gripping it. The ends of his golden blonde hair swayed back and forth with the fluid motions of his body that ground salaciously against yours.

You smiled seeing your best friend let loose at this random college party. Pulling him away from his small, cramped study desk had taken quite a bit of convincing, but you managed it.

Statistics could wait, after all.

The spacious living room was dark, the only light that could be seen was from the cell phone screens of other party-goers making TikToks or recording on Snapchat to garner proof that they were able to attend such an event.

DJ made a song switch and Armin perked up, but as he did so, the clear liquid inside his cup splashed over the rim and landed directly in the middle of your white lace cami.

"Oh fuck, Y/N - I'm-I'm so sorry!"

Frantically, he began to look around the darkened room, searching for where the kitchen might be before grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him in a random direction.

"Armin, wait- that's not the way to the kitchen..."

You spoke a bit sheepishly as the blonde turned to you with a look of confusion before noticing that the two of you were indeed not in a kitchen, but a bedroom.

"Oh fuck," he repeated, hands moving to muss his already messy blonde bangs as he chuckled awkwardly at his mistake, "m-my bad, I was just trying to find something to clean you up with..."

Shrugging, you glanced around the room to see that it had a small bathroom connected to it.

"There may be some towels in the bathroom..."

+++

"Damn, Y/N...you're dripping all over my face..." Armin groaned, pulling his face from between your soaked thighs and wiping it off with the sleeve of his shirt. His cock twitched in his jeans at the sight of your swollen pussy, covered in your cum mixed with his saliva.

The towel that you thought would be used to wipe you off was placed beneath your ass while the blonde licked and slurped at your pussy like he was dying of thirst.

What had started as an innocent gesture of him helping you get cleaned up turned into soft, wet kisses on your belly and the nastiest head that you'd ever received in your life.

There had always been a little sexual tension between you both, but neither of you ever acted on it. Tonight, there was something different about Armin, and it was more than just the fact that he was tipsy.

He was determined. Confident. Ravenous.

"Armin..."

Your back arched against the stark white sheets of the bed, legs dangling off the edge as Armin knelt between them. His warm hands smoothed over the length of them, then down, down and down until they were gripping your ankles.

"Ar-wait!"

Squealing as he bent you in half, you were now eye to crystal blue eye with your friend and his glossy lips coated in your slick.

"I-I thought you were drunk off your ass by the way you spilled that drink on me! You were even swaying on the dance floor...you..."

His glasses dropped to the bridge of his nose as he smirked down at you.

"Really, you thought that? That's cute..."

Soft blonde locks splayed across your exposed skin as Armin nipped and sucked at your neck, surely leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. Moaning his name in broken syllables, you brought your arms up to wrap around his back and bring him closer.

"Sorry, Y/N, but I didn't know how else to get you alone...fuck, I've been dreaming about having you like this for so long..."

His breath came out in ragged puffs as he moved his kisses across the expanse of your chest, then down to your breasts. You squealed when the head of his tongue piercing rubbed your sensitive nipple.

He flicked the cold metal repeatedly against the hard bud while has other hand squeezed the opposite breast.

"Fuuck...A-armin...please.."

Armin knew what you needed. His fingers tapped at your lips, and obediently, you opened your mouth.

He spat a clear wad of saliva on your tongue. It tasted of the liquor you'd both been sipping on, spiced and sweet.

"I'll give you what you want, baby..."

Armin may not be the most popular guy, but he knew what he wanted and how to get it.

He'd decided that he wanted you - this side of you - in all your orgasmic glory, and he'd have it if it was the last damn thing that he'd do.

Slotting his lips over yours, he sucked the saliva off your tongue and slid off of you, back between your thighs, and spat it directly on your clit.

Your body responded kindly by twitching and spreading open for him to cover the lips of your cunt with his tongue, that sinful piercing bumping your clit before his lips closed around it, sucking gently.

Now your head was spinning as if you were the one drunk while your best friend feasted on your pussy in a random bedroom.

"Y/N..?"

It was hard to focus with Armin's tongue circling your clit, but you were able to manage a small 'hmm' in response...

"Do you think we'll be able to take our relationship to the next level now?"

Shit, you sure hoped so... +++

"cause i ain't never babysittin', i be linin' up shots, imma show you how to turn it up a notch.."

+++

©bleach-your-panties 2016-2025.

#🥄drabbles Ꮺ .#🍦🍓.smut #armin a.🩵#nerdmin #nerdmin x reader #nerdy armin x reader #armin x reader #armin x black reader #aot armin #aot armin x reader #armin arlert #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert smut #tw: alcohol mention #tw: dub con #tw: spit #divider by bernardsbendystraws #bye i'm going to go get my armin fic fix now

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georgeclarkeys · 2 months ago

Text

tiktok trend series - george clarkey x reader

summary: you make george's friends be mean to you for a tiktok trend - 800 words

hi friends!! this is the first installment in my new tiktok trend series about your fav uk youtubers and your fav tiktok trends!! please please please send me any ideas you might have for this, especially a trend or a person you would like to see featured!!

Scrolling through TikTok was beginning to find a permanent spot in your nighttime routine. It had been several years since your account blew up, so you convinced yourself that you were doing research for new video ideas every time you spent an hour or so watching before bed. One recent trend was definitely piquing your interest, and with the help of your boyfriend's friends, you were confident that you could pull it off. Creators were staging a “who’s most likely to” game with someone close to their significant other, and asking the other person to be mean to them in order to catch their partner's reaction. You had the perfect idea, and were planning on getting a great reaction out of George.

It was an unusual evening at Casa Clarke-Dixon-Hill. All three roommates were home, and no one was streaming or working, so you managed to round them up and convince them to film a TikTok with you. You had talked to Arthur and Chris beforehand, letting them in on the prank and giving them permission to be as mean as they could, but George was clueless.

You placed your phone on the tripod and sat in a row, with Chris and Arthur on either side of you, and George standing behind looking curious.

Pressing record, you smiled, “Hey friends! Today I am joined by George, Arthur, and Chris, and we’re going to be playing a game of “who’s most likely to” where all of the answers are decided by George!”

All three of the boys let out a small cheer.

“Alright, George, who has the best voice?”

“Oh wow, starting off with a difficult one are we?” he laughed, “Obviously my singer friend Arthur.”

Arthur pumped his fist and cheered, “Yes! I’m just glad you didn’t say (Y/N), she sounds about like nails on a chalkboard.”

You saw George make a bit of a face in the camera before saying, “(Y/N) has a lovely voice.”

Ignoring the comment from Arthur, you continued, “Okay next, who is the smartest?”

George’s eyes bounced between the three of you in deep thought before calling out, “(Y/N).”

You turned around to smile at him, while Arthur and Chris shook their heads. George was suspiciously eyeing both of them as they looked at each other. Chris leaned past you to say to Arthur, “there is absolutely no way he actually thinks she’s smarter than either of us, right? She’s a TikToker for crying out loud.”

Arthur laughed and answered, “I thought he was joking to be honest.”

Your boyfriend was not laughing, he eyed the camera warily before putting on an exaggerated confused face in an attempt to ease the tension, “is this a who’s most likely to quiz, or an everyone bully George’s beautiful girlfriend quiz?”

You laughed awkwardly, doing your best to play into the uncomfortable atmosphere that was rapidly growing.

“Anyways, who’s the meanest?”

George does not even hesitate before answering, “Chris.”

Chris’s head turns around, eyes wide with shock, “you’re actually joking.”

“I would have said (Y/N),” Arthur mumbled, loud enough to hear.

“I would have said (Y/N) too!” Chris exclaimed, “she’s so unnecessarily rude all the time!”

You sat back with wide eyes and listened to the chaos unfold, watching George’s face grow red as his flatmates continued ripping into you.

“What the hell is going on!” he snapped, looking back and forth between his two friends, “Why are both of you being such dickheads to (Y/N)? Don’t talk about her like that.” He grabbed your hand to pull you up from your seat, “C’mon babe, delete that video. Let’s go film something else for you to post.”

Before he could grab your phone you decided it was time to give yourself up, “it’s a joke! It’s a trend!”

He turned back to look at you, “what?”

“I put them up to it. I told them to be mean to me.”

“Well that’s a fucking relief,” he laughed and put a hand over his heart, “I thought I was going to have to move out, oh my days.”

By the end of the day the video had over a million views, and a comment section filled with women thirsting over your boyfriend.

comments

user1: okay but why is george so sexy when he’s mad…

georgeclarkeey: This is something I would expect from Chris, but Arthur threw me off

user2: yes george defend your gf 😫

arthurhill69: i am so sorry queen (y/n) i love you

user3: (y/n) where did you find this man he’s perfect

user4: where’s the green flag guy

#i didnt proof this lololol i was to excited to share my new series idea with yall #george clarke #george clarkey #george clarke imagine #george clarke x reader #george clarkey imagine #george clarkey x reader

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monzabee · 2 months ago

Note

loooove nanny!reader so much!

if you're still open to requests, I have an idea for nanny!reader as Hotch's emergency contact, getting a call that he's been injured at work, expecting the worst but it's actually some minor thing not even unsub-related and Hotch is just stressed because he knows that she's going to use this to fuss over him and boss him around while he recovers (and trying to ignore an excitable Garcia who's just there for the nanny!reader gossip again)

totally do whatever you want with the prompt if you fancy it!! I'm in love with everything new you put out for them ❤️

emergency contact - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: the nanny gets called in as hotch’s emergency contact, he can’t remember having her number added as such.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: something is brewinggg, mentions of hospitals and hospitalization, penelope garcia is a guardian angel and also their biggest shipper (rossi’s got competition), they are in love your honor, FLUFF

Author's Note: okay thank you SO MUCH for this request because it fit in perfectly with my plans for this series and i hope you like it!! i think i might be obsessed with this series as much as you guys, and thank you so much for all the love you've shown to nanny!reader! just a little reminder that my requests are still open if you want to see a particular scenario!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

The entire situation is ridiculous, is what Aaron decides as he lays on the hospital bed. He has been in this situation more times than he’d like, and this time is no exception.

Except, maybe it is.

Because when the door creaks open, and he expects a nurse or maybe Penelope—who insisted on getting him to the hospital as his ‘designated guardian angel’, her words, he gets you. You, with your oversized sweater and piano tiles on your skirt and that “I dropped everything and came running” look in your eyes. You, with your hair still a little windblown and your bag falling off your shoulder, clutching your phone like you’re prepared to swing it as a weapon if need be.

And you look terrified.

“Mister Hotchner,” you breathe out, rushing to the side of the bed before he can say anything. “Oh my God. What happened? Is it Jack? Is it you? Are you okay? You’re not bleeding, right? Is it internal bleeding? Did you lose consciousness? Why didn’t anyone call me sooner?”

He blinks. “They called you because you’re listed as my emergency contact.”

You freeze. “I am?”

“Apparently.”

There’s a beat. Your eyes narrow.

He knows that look. That’s the nanny look, the one you give Jack when he tries to hide broccoli in his napkin. He’s about to say something reassuring, or at least divert your attention, but you beat him to it.

“What do you mean, ‘apparently’?” you hiss, already examining the ID band around his wrist like you can cross-reference it with your own records. “You don’t just accidentally list someone as an emergency contact.”

“I didn’t list anyone. The Bureau updates those files automatically if you don’t fill them out.” He exhales and looks at the ceiling. “And clearly, someone thinks you’re the best person to call if I pass out at work.”

Your expression softens just slightly. “Wait. You passed out at work?”

Penelope appears in the doorway like she’s been waiting for her cue. “Because he hasn’t been eating or sleeping or listening to anyone, and apparently twisting your ankle in the bullpen because you're dizzy is what gets you admitted to a hospital now,” she says brightly. “Hi, sunshine.” She waves at you and leans in for a quick hug. “You look very panicked and very pretty. Please tell me you yelled at someone on the way in. Or better yet—are you staying with him tonight? Do I need to ‘accidentally’ forward Jack’s bedtime routine to the team chat?”

“Garcia,” Aaron groans.

You ignore both of them and lean closer. “You twisted your ankle?”

“It’s fine,” he grits out. “A minor sprain. The doctor was... insistent.”

“Oh yeah, his ankle is totes fine.” Penelope assures you, then nods towards the monitors beside his bed. “They admitted him because they were scared he could have internal bleeding, again.”

It’s a good thing you’re at the hospital, because you’re fifty percent sure you’re having a brain aneurysm to all the new information you’re getting about your boss. “Again?” You ask, then blink. “Internal bleeding, again?”

He shifts on the bed, trying to sit up straighter without wincing. Fails on both accounts. “It wasn’t like that,” Aaron mutters, eyes flicking to Penelope like she’s the one who betrayed him. “They were being overly cautious.”

“They always are when it comes to him,” Garcia says sweetly. “Big scary FBI man walks into the ER saying he got a little dizzy, and everyone suddenly wants to scan his organs like he’s an alien specimen.”

You ignore her and press the back of your hand to Aaron’s forehead. “No fever,” you murmur, more to yourself. “How’s your vision? Any nausea? Headache?”

“She’s doing the thing,” Penelope stage-whispers. “The ‘I read the entire WebMD archive just in case Jack ever gets sick’ thing.”

You don’t look up, it’s not exactly a secret to Aaron that you’ve been reading the parenting blogs and all the medical journals you can get your hands on—just in case. “That’s because someone forgot to mention any of this when I dropped Jack off at school this morning.”

Aaron sighs and closes his eyes like he’s summoning the patience of a saint. “Because it wasn’t a thing this morning.”

“And yet,” you say, crossing your arms, “you still managed to faint in front of your coworkers and twist your ankle. Not exactly a clean record for the day.”

“I didn’t faint.” He dissents in his Unit Chief voice, which does nothing to scare you, or Penelope for that matter.

“Dizziness-induced collapse,” Penelope clarifies. “It was very dramatic. Like a Victorian woman overcome with emotion. We almost broke out the fainting couch.”

“I tripped.” Aaron offers.

Penelope sheepishly adds, “While dizzy.”

You huff, your worry solidifying into full-blown exasperation. “You tripped because you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly, right?”

Aaron says nothing. You raise your eyebrows.

Still nothing.

Garcia makes a game show buzzer noise from the doorway. “Survey says: guilty!”

He closes his eyes. “Exactly what I was afraid of.”

“What?” You turn your attention back to him.

“This. The fussing.” He sounds almost fond through his exasperation. “You're going to make me soup, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m going to make you soup!” You gasp. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“Honestly?” Garcia pipes up, biting into a vending machine granola bar. “The kind of adorable, overprotective, secretly-in-love nanny monster that fanfiction is built on.”

“Penelope.” “Garcia.” The of you complain at the same time.

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving. But only because I want to check if the hospital’s security cameras got a good angle of the ‘nanny crashes into waiting room’ moment. I’ll pick up Jack and he can stay with me—and don’t you try to suggest he stay with JJ, she got him last time! Okay, bye!” She wiggles her fingers in a wave and disappears.

The moment Garcia’s heels click down the hallway, you finally allow yourself to breathe. You hear Aaron let out a similar exhale, and then he asks, “Do you think she added you as my emergency contact on her own?”

“Oh, Mister Hotchner,” you scoff, laughing lightly as you nod, “she ‘totes’ did that on her own.” You sit back in your chair and cross your arms. “I’m making you soup,” you announce with conviction.

Aaron shoots you a tired look as he lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m sure you are.” He then takes you in—really takes you in. He takes in the scared look in your eyes, as if seeing him didn’t calm you down enough. He takes in the way you’re breathing—how you’re still breathing erratically. He takes in the way your hands are gripping the armrest of the chair, the way your jaw clenches as if you’re holding back. “I thought you were still mad at me.”

“God forbid my worry for you overpowers my distaste for your short fuse, Aaron.” You mumble, not quite looking at him as you shift in your chair, trying to appear more composed than you feel. The fact that you’re still holding onto the armrest like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded feels a little ridiculous, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. You glance at him, catching the quiet way he’s watching you. There’s something in his eyes—a mixture of vulnerability and exhaustion—and it makes your heart tighten in your chest. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Hm,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice low, like he’s not sure whether he believes you or not. “You have piano tiles on your skirt.”

You glance down at your skirt, noticing the piano tile print for the first time since you rushed to the hospital. The tiny pattern almost feels like a personal joke between the two of you now. Of course, this would be the thing he picks up on, not the fact that you just ran here, practically on the edge of a panic attack, because your boss was in the hospital.

You snort, letting the tension in your chest shift into a light chuckle. “I’m aware. Thanks for the fashion critique, Mister Hotchner.” You catch the way his eyes drop drowsily, “Go to sleep, Aaron.”

Aaron lets out a low hum, his eyelids fluttering as if he’s trying to keep them open, though the exhaustion is clearly winning. “I’m not... I’m not that tired,” he mutters, the words slurring just a little. His eyes meet yours, but there’s a distant look in them, like he’s trying to fight the sleep pulling him under.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just slightly. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been running on fumes for days.” You sigh, feeling that familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “Stop pretending like you’re invincible. Please.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, the kind that says he's aware of how ridiculous he's being but doesn't have the energy to argue. “I never claimed to be invincible,” he murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper. “Just... don't let me sleep too long, okay?”

You nod, your heart doing that soft ache in your chest again. “I promise. But right now, I think you deserve a few hours of rest.” You stand, your hands still lingering on the armrest of the chair as if to make sure you're still anchored to the world, to him. The idea of him lying there, vulnerable and fading into sleep, makes something shift inside you, like maybe it’s not just about the soup anymore. It’s about him.

With a soft exhale, you reach over, adjusting the blankets over his legs. “I’m making soup,” you repeat in a whisper, but this time, it’s not so much a declaration as a quiet promise.

Aaron’s eyes flutter close, the last flicker of awareness leaving him as his breathing deepens. “I’ll... I'll hold you to that,” he murmurs, already halfway to sleep.

You watch him gradually fall asleep, your heart tight in your chest. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his features as he finally lets go, all seem to slow down time. It’s such a simple thing, watching him sleep, but it feels like a privilege, something you never expected to witness. You move in an attempt to go back to the chair, but his hand reaches out to still you. Then, you hear his voice again, barely above a whisper. “You’re still here?”

And this time, you can’t hold back. You reach over, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your hand lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary. “Rest, Aaron,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

#monzabee #requests open #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #nanny!reader

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unsolicited-opinions · 4 months ago

Text

Someone asked me why I care about Israel at all.

I thought about it for a bit because I realized I wasn't quite sure.

I knew it wasn't simple tribalism. Maybe it's my neurodivergence, but tribalism doesn't speak to me. I've never really experienced tribal solidarity.

It's not because 80% of Israelis are my co-religionists, because I'm not religious and neither are a lot of Israeli Jews.

It's not because I have a lot of friends and loved ones in Israel because I only know a handful of Israelis.

It's not because I ever plan to make aliyah. I'm way too old to consider it now.

It's not because I admire the extraordinary things Israelis have accomplished, although I do admire that. Lots of countries have accomplished extraordinary things.

It sure isn't because of Israel's government, which I've spent a great deal of time feeling angry at for the last couple decades.

So...why? Why does it matter to me so much?

When I realized the answer, it came all at once in sort of a rush of images and reasoning.

Both sides of my family came to the US around the early 20th century. Like everyone else arriving in the US from Eastern and Central Europe, they emigrated looking for economic opportunity and safety. They were lucky, because they found it.

They (we) were lucky. They got to the US before the US closed its doors to Jews fleeing Europe.

Imagine they hadn't left Europe when they did.

Imagine they'd stayed in the shtetls in the pale of settlement.

If they had, the odds are that none of my family would be alive today.

I know this because we don't have any relatives we know of who survived the Holocaust in Europe. The only family we know of are those who came to the US before the US shut its doors to Jews fleeing Europe. The shtetls we came from now only exist as a handful of records in the Knesset library.

But imagine some of my family members managed to survive the Holocaust and were among those in the displaced persons camps after the second World War. Homeless. Stateless. Penniless.

Know where they and their descendents would be now?

Israel.

Israel is the best possible future that any of my relatives who didn't make it out of Europe in time could have hoped for, and none of them made it there. But a handful of their contemporaries did.

I keep thinking about the way Israel's enemies imagine a cabal of rich Jews plotting to steal from the Arabs of the Levant. I wonder what it would take to get them to understand that nobody went to Israel after WWII because it was incredibly appealing to them for economic opportunity or safety. They went because it's all there was.

Jewish Israelis can accurately be described as all which the remains of the Jewish civilizations of Europe and of the MENA region and a handful of other locations. They're in Israel because there was no other place to go.

To be an antizionist is to rage at them for not dying.

To be an antizionist is to fault them for surviving the genocides and ethnic cleansings and building something extraordinary. For enacting the most successful indigenous reclamation from colonialism in human history.

It's a stupid thing to hate a people for.

And I know, thanks to the genetic bottlenecks of the Jews of central and eastern Europe, that some of them are my distant cousins.

They are what remains of my family which didn't leave Europe in time to avoid being murdered for who they were.

That's why I care about Israelis. If my family had been slightly less fortunate, we either be dead...or we'd be Israelis.

And that's why nothing seems to make me more angry than Jewish antizionists.

Am Yisrael Chai.

#Israel #jumblr #am yisrael chai

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verstappen-cult · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request a lestappen x reader fic where she finds out she’s pregnant and is worried to tell them because she thinks theyll be mad or upset about it but theyre over the moon happy about it!

A tear falls down your face and lands on your lap. You are trying to think about how to tell Max and Charles the news. You’ve put yourself in every scenario, but every single one of them ends with them leaving you.

The front door being opened startles you.

“Honey, we’re home!” Charles says and giggles, Max joining his boyfriend.

You wipe your tears in record time.

They know something is wrong when you won’t meet their eyes as soon as they enter the room.

Max calls your name and you’re forced to look up at them, plastering a smile. “How was padel?”

“Something happened?” Max touches your face and body, searching for an injury. But he doesn’t find anything wrong.

“What’s — ” Charles swallows, green eyes fixed on the pregnancy test by your side. “What’s that?”

You start crying again. That wasn’t how you wanted them to find out.

“I’m so sorry,” You sob, hiding behind your hands but two warm and soft hands pull them away.

Charles and Max are kneeled in front of you, both of them with tears in his eyes.

“Why are you crying, baby?” Max asks softly, rubbing the back of your hand. “Aren’t you happy?”

You look at him for a second, then at Charles, but not a word is spoken; they just wait for you to be ready.

“I don’t want to have it.” It’s the first thing that leaves your lips for what feels like hours. “I don’t want this baby to come between us and your jobs and ev—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Charles sits by your side and places a comforting hand in the back of your head.

“I’m sorry. I really am sorry.” You wipe away the tears that don’t stop falling from your eyes.

Max shakes his head, a few tears streaming down his face. “You don’t need to be sorry, okay? There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He kisses your hands.

“Is that why you don’t want to have the baby?” Your Monégasque boyfriend asks, frowning. “Do you want to have it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“But it does matter!” They say at the same time and you fight back the urge to start crying again.

“If you’re thinking about not having this baby for fear that is gonna come between us, you’re wrong.” Max stands up and starts walking around the room, hands on his hips. “I love you, baby. But you’re not doing us any favor.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him from beneath your wet eyelashes.

Charles cups your cheek, making you look at him. “It means that if you want to have this baby, we will be more than happy. And if you really don’t want to — then we will respect your decision.”

“Whatever you decide,” Max nods, a little smile on his lips. “But don’t make a decision based on what you think is best for me and Charles.”

“I — I want to have the baby.” You smile. The first real smile since you found out you’re pregnant. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would we be mad?” Charles genuinely asks.

Max snorts, “I’m trying really hard to stay calm. But I want to tell the whole world about it.”

You giggle, cheeks heating up. It’s incredible how you can go from being sad and anxious to happy and relieved in just a few minutes.

“I think we should wait a few weeks to tell the news.” Your boyfriends’ faces light up, two big and bright smiles directed at you. “We need to go to the doctor first and make sure everything is okay.”

Max starts crying again while Charles takes you in his arms and spins you around.

That night the three of you go to bed very tired after spending the day looking for baby names and bigger houses on the market, because according to your boyfriends: ‘we’re not stopping at one.’

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader #max verstappen fluff #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #max verstappen angst

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reavesluv · 2 months ago

Text

Cameras

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x influencer fem!reader.

Summary: You and Paige are big figures in the internet, Paige just came out to the world as a lesbian and you've always been open about your sexuality. So your managers got a plan.

Fake dating + she plays hard to get

Part 1.

Part 2. “Moving to Dallas.”

notes: Im sorry if this is so bad i honestly have writers block right now 😔

You never thought a fake relationship could change your life in so many ways as it did now that you’re with Paige.

Honestly, Paige wasn’t so bad at all. You two shared a lot of time together while pretending to be lovers, it was actually fun.

Going together to a mall, date nights, park walks with your little Pomeranian called “Cherry.” – Which Paige loves, by the way.

“Cherry! Come here!” You screamed, running behind your dog.

“Y/N, is a damn park. She’s not gonna leave!” Paige screamed watching you run around.

“I don’t care, what if someone steals her?” You screamed back.

“Oh gosh.” She thought. “What did i do to get involved with this girl?”

Paige started running your way to make you stop chasing Cherry.

She was faster than you, obviously. So it wasn’t long until you felt her arms wrapped around your waist making you stop.

You were a little sweaty, trying to calm your breath. But she hugged you anyway.

“I promise you, she’s not gonna leave.” Paige said, wiping away your sweat with her hand.

“Fine.” You pouted. “But if she leaves, i’ll leave you.”

She laughed, amused at what you said. “Oh, you wouldn’t.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, no. But anyway you’re gonna have to find her.”

She chuckled. “Okay, love.”

Oh, love.

Paige had no idea how much you actually cared about her, and she just loved to make all the “pretending” stuff so difficult for you.

“Come here and sit with me, we’ll take some pictures while Cherry plays around.” She adds.

“Okay, sure.” You answer, smiling at her like an idiot.

Being with Paige became more than just a “fake relationship.” But, you were not sure if it was only you, or if she felt the same way.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now you were packing your things, your life, inside three suitcases to move to Dallas, literally the other fucking side of the country.

Draft night was pretty fun, Paige being number one overall pick was amazing, you couldn’t deny that you were really proud of her.

“Congrats, Paige.” You say. Standing up from the table you both were to give her a hug.

“Thanks, pretty.” She answered.

“You’re just teasing me.” You chuckled.

She got closer to your ear so no cameras could record what she was saying.

“Maybe, but is not difficult to pretend i’m not, right?” She said. And after that, she left the table to grab her Wings jersey.

It killed you the fact that Paige loved to pretend. Because that was what she was doing, just pretending.

The after party was worse, everyone blackout drunk, messing around other people. And Paige was definitely one of them.

“Fuck Y/N, you look insanely gorgeous tonight.” She says, getting closer to you. She smelled so much like alcohol you could tell she was not in her five senses.

“Thank you Paige, but you’re too drunk to think.”

“Am i? Naaaahh.” She took another sip of her drink. “Bet you love pretending to be with me.”

“What?” You asked, curious.

“Yeah, don’t lie to me Y/N. I know you love to walk around while everyone thinks i fuck you.”

“Is not like that, Paige.”

“Isn’t it?” She said wrapping an arm around your waist. “Because we could stop pretending and you should let me fuck you.”

Your heart started beating so fast, you didn’t know what to say or do.

“Paige–” You took a deep breath. “I’m taking you home.”

She smirked. “Oh really, now?”

“Yeah, but is not like that. You’re too drunk, and you’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

“Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

Fuck, it was really so difficult for you.

“Whatever Paige, but not tonight.” You ended.

She pouted at you. “Can i at least get a kiss? So the cameras can have a little pic of us going around, y’know.”

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would explode. “Ye–ah.?” You tried to answer.

And that was it.

She kissed you. Like she loved you.

And you knew she didn’t.

Next morning, she didn’t remember. Neither of you saw pictures.

So she never knew she kissed you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Do i really have to?” You ask Lena.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But yes, if you wanna keep up with all of this, you need to move in with her.”

“I didn’t expect you would tell me to move in when she got drafted!”

“Well it was obvious, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

Paige was already in Dallas, waiting for you.

You had to text her to tell her the new plan your managers came up with, she didn’t seem bothered by it.

Paige, i have to move in with you, did you hear?

Yeah, Louis told me

You okay with that?

Yeah, i guess we can work it out

Okay, i’ll be on the first plane to dallas tomorrow morning

Alright, i’ll see you then

You weren’t ready, like, why would you be ready to move in with someone you’re not even dating, and worse, in the other side of the country?

The plane landed on dallas. You were not a texas type of girl, so everything was going to change.

Some of the stuff and furniture you had to bring with you from LA was in another plane, so you had to wait for it.

Paige, i’m in texas!

That’s good Y/N, i’m heading to the airport right now

Okay, thank you

see you there, love

Your eyes brightened when you saw her. In a slick back ponytail, nike dunks and baggy jeans.

“Heeey.” You said.

“Hey, welcome to our new city.” She answered.

You chuckled and hugged her softly. “Is it good in here?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Just a bit hot, though.” she laughed.

You both chuckled. Paige noticed you had a worried look on your face, so she held your hand softly.

“We’ll make this work Y/N. We complement each other.”

“Yeah, i know.” You sighed. “I just really miss California.”

She chuckled. “Hey, but at least you have me.”

You chuckled back. “You’re right. I’m here, but with you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

finally part 2, i’m so sorry, im a lazy writer 🤓

tags! @niya500

#uconn x reader #basketball #paige blockers #paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige x fem reader #paige x oc #paige x reader #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball

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demie90s · 1 month ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪɢᴇ ʙᴜᴄᴋᴇʀꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

She Don’t Even Talk to Us Like That

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The team’s doing a lighthearted post-practice video segment—favorite moments caught on camera. Everyone shares clips of game-day hype or funny TikToks… until Paige pulls out a private video of reader singing to her while she’s half-asleep in bed.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Fluff, teammates-in-shock, soft love reveal

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Language, light teasing, exposed lovergirl behavior

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.4k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “Wait. She sings?” / “She told me to move the hell out the way this morning” / “She don’t even talk that much??” / “Nah, she’s in love. Look at the way she’s looking at Paige.”

It was just another media day.

Camera crew in the gym. Lights in our face. Somebody passed me a mic and I gave it back. Y’all know I don’t talk like that.

I stayed in the back, sitting sideways in a folding chair, hoodie sleeves rolled, nails painted last night out of boredom. I wasn’t trying to be involved. Paige was doing enough smiling for the both of us.

Then came the question.

“What’s your favorite video of one of your teammates?”

Everyone jumped on it like it was a group chat roast session.

KK had a video of Ayanna tripping over a foam roller.

Jana pulled out a Snapchat of Nika trying to rap and choking on her gum.

Aubrey went straight for chaos and showed Ashlynn sleep-drooling during film.

Everybody laughing. Me? Still quiet. Still sipping water. Still bored.

Then Paige said, “I got mine.”

Real calm. Real smug. Pulled her phone out like she was setting me up. I didn’t flinch. I already knew what video she was about to play. I just leaned back, crossed my legs, and fixed my sleeve.

“So this is reader. She doesn’t know I recorded this. Or maybe she did. She didn’t care.”

“Anyway… just watch.”

The video came on.

Dim lighting. My hoodie on. Knee pulled up to my chest. Paige halfway under the blanket, laying against my thigh. Camera angled from her chest, hidden, shaky. And I’m there. Sitting on her bed, head tilted, voice low and full.

“I miss my cocoa butter kisses, hope you smile when you listen…”

“Ain’t no competition, just competing for attention…”

“And you like, ‘I’m not on no games’…”

“Well, baby, I been peepin’, and you ain’t been the same…”

My tone’s soft. Too soft. You could hear the feeling in it. Almost like I meant every damn word.

“Like, who been on your mind? Who got your time?”

“Who you been vibin’ with? And why I can’t make you mine?”

The room went still. Nobody moved. No jokes. No side comments. They were watching me like I was a stranger. Like they’d never seen me feel before.

“And now you treat me like my worth less than a dime…”

“And if we paint a perfect picture, we can make it last forever…”

“And you’re the only one I want to wear my orange sweater…”

The camera caught Paige looking up at me with stars in her eyes, her fingers gently brushing my leg. No makeup. Just her and a half smile.

“I told you I am down for the worse or the better…”

“But I keep sticking to you ’cause them four stupid letters…”

The video ended. Silence.

Aubrey turned around slowly.

“…She sings??”

Jana’s mouth was open like she couldn’t process it.

Ayanna blinked. “She sang love songs like it was nothing.”

KK whispered, “That was… period.”

Ashlynn just whispered, “She told me to move this morning. No ‘good morning,’ no nothing.”

They all turned to me. Still sitting there. Still relaxed. Still drinking water like nothing happened. I blinked. Nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “I sing.”

Paige was grinning so hard it was stupid.

“She does that when I can’t sleep,” she said.

“Sometimes I pretend I’m asleep just to hear it.”

Nika whispered, “Y’all are sick.”

I finally smiled. A little.

“Next question?”

@draculara-vonvamp

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imaginespazzi · 6 months ago

Text

Part 13: If You Stay

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 14 - Part 15

And I find it bittersweet (cause you gave me something to lose)

(In which, an all over the place writer, writes an all over the place chapter)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst with some Hurt/Comfort and a little bit of Fluff

Words: 13.1K

TW: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive Content, Mentions of Divorce, Drinking

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 So clearly that 48 to 72 hours deadline completely evaded me but here I am! I've always gotten asks about how many chapters GH will be and normally it's an estimate but I can almost for certain say that after this one, there will be two more chapters. This part is, like I said, a little all over the place as I start to tie in loose ends and bring everything together but it's pretty important as we start our journey to the end. This isn't particularly well-edited because as well know I hate editing but I eventually will go back and edit so any typos/errors you see are much-appreciated. As always, your live reacts give me life, so let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely weekend my loves <3

May 2033

Paige wakes up alone to an empty bed. Her eyes open to the feel of her fingers reaching out and finding nothing but the soft material of her crinkled bedsheets. She stares at the empty space, gaze fixated on the way the sunlight hits the exact spot Azzi had been curled up in and lets her mind wander back to yesterday -god everything had been fine just 24 hours ago- when the rays of sunshine coming through the window had cast lines of gold across the brunette’s face. It wasn’t often that Paige woke up before Azzi, but for some reason she had yesterday. Maybe it was the universe’s way of giving her one last chance to memorize an image that she’s not sure when she’ll be able to see again. Paige traces her hands along the linen, blinking back tears, and she swears she can still feel the heat of Stephie and Azzi’s bodies radiating off of it. It’s unfair, she knows, to expect them to have stayed when it’s the one thing she herself can’t commit to doing but still, that awareness does little to dull the ache reverberating through her chest.

Sighing to herself, Paige shifts onto her back, turning away from the empty space that almost feels taunting. She gives herself a minute, taking deep breaths to chase away the erraticness in her heartbeat and the moisture in her eyes before finally sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Her eyebrows knit together when she notices the bag in the corner -the pink duffel Azzi had packed for last night- and she almost gasps. It wasn’t like Azzi to forget her stuff, even when escaping. And then she hears it, the familiar giggles of a little girl echoing from her kitchen and Paige feels her heart break and fix itself at the same time.

They’d stayed.

Paige flings the covers off of herself, making it from the guest bedroom to the stairs in record time. She almost slips on the fifth step as she races down the stairs, every part of her alight with the need to just see Stephie and Azzi. Her feet skid to a halt before the kitchen doorway and her breath catches in her lungs, hand immediately clutching at her chest as she takes in the scene in front of her. It’s the three most important people in her life gathered around the kitchen counter. Azzi’s flipping pancakes, a soft grin on her face as she listens to Drew and Stephie -both of them already with a stack of pancakes on their respective plates- who are animatedly arguing about whether bananas or chocolate chips go better with pancakes.

“Come on Uncle Drew,” Stephie drawls, “choc-chips are the best-est-est-est and ‘nanas are boooooring.”

“Bananas are not boring,” Drew counters, his voice filled with dramatic offense, “you can mash them in the pancake or eat them on the side or on top of the stack. Bananas are versatile.”

Stephie scrunches her nose and Paige smiles as the little girl gives her brother a pointed look, “I don’t know what vers-a-tile means so that doesn’t even matter to me.”

Azzi snorts, “I don’t think that’s how that works Stephie-bean.”

“Does too,” Stephie pouts and then juts her fork out at Drew, “here Uncle Drew, try it and you’ll see choc-chips are so much better than that,” she looks disdainfully at the young man’s plate.

Drew dutifully accepts the bite of food, chewing it at an exaggeratedly slow pace as he pretends to contemplate how he feels about it.

“I mean it’s not bad,” he says finally, before a smirk breaks out on his lips, “but banana’s clear.”

“Nah, I don’t know about that,” Paige says, finally making her presence known as she walks over to Stephie’s side, “You’re both wrong. Blueberries are better with pancakes than both bananas and chocolate chips,” she reaches out to ruffle Stephie’s hair, smile faltering when the little girl dodges her hand, “Steph-”

“Mama,” gone is the happy child that had been casually bantering with Drew; Stephie’s face is ashen with the remnants of her emotions from last night as she shifts herself as far away from Paige as possible, “I wanna go home.”

Her words feel like a needle, pricking against the bubble of delusion Paige had created mere seconds ago; the wishful thought that maybe they could ignore what had happened last night, that they could just close the lid on the jar of darkness they’d opened and pretend the obsidian hadn’t slipped out, clouding the paradise they’d built before. And maybe that’s Paige’s problem. Avoidance. She’d pushed herself towards Stephie and Azzi, acting like there wasn’t a harness -bound together with the ropes of all the grievances, all the fears, that the past had left in her- and now she was stuck. So close to reaching them but unable to finally get there.

Azzi’s eyes flicker conflictedly between Paige’s ashen face and Stephie’s stormy one, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, “you’ve still got some more left on your plate Stephie-bean,”

“I don’t want the rest,” Stephie says adamantly, pushing the plate away from her, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Stephie we don’t waste food,” Azzi says it like it’s a reprimand but Paige knows it’s for her sake, to give her more time with Stephie, and a mix of guilt and gratefulness pools in her stomach as she fights the urge to pull the younger woman into her arms and kiss away the stress lines that have formed on her forehead in the last 24 hours.

“Then pack it and we can take it home,” Stephie slides off the counter, tiny arms crossing over her chest as she looks at her mother with pleading eyes, “please Mama, I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“Stephie-” Paige tries to say, reaching out once again for the little girl.

“Excuse me Coach Bueckers,” Stephie sidesteps the older woman, her voice far colder than a little girl’s voice should be -far colder than anything she’s ever used with her Miss Buecks- and it feels like shards of ice prodding against Paige’s heart.

“Stephie please-”

The little girl refuses to meet her gaze but Paige notices the way her eyes glance towards her for the briefest moment, like she wants nothing more than to turn around and fling herself at the older woman. But the look is gone as quick as it came and Stephie’s face hardens -and Paige hates herself for being the reason why- as she looks at her mother.

“Please can we go home now Mama?”

Azzi sighs, “yeah bean, we can go home. Unless-” she hesitates, eyes locking with Paige’s, “unless- maybe Miss Buecks has a reason we should stay?”

And Paige knows this is Azzi giving her one last chance, one last opportunity to say the right things, to keep Stephie and Azzi with her. It’s why she hadn’t left this morning; she’d been waiting to see if Paige was ready. And all Paige has to do is open her mouth and make the promises that she couldn’t last night; shut the door on her escape plan -to New York and the Liberty- and she can open the one that leads to her perfect dream, that leads to a forever with Stephie and Azzi. But that’s the thing; what if forever doesn’t last? After all, the last time she’d trusted in it -trusted the same woman in front of her to be hers always- forever had turned out to be a myth. Paige isn’t ready. And so she averts Azzi’s gaze, keeps her mouth shut and looks away before she can see the hope disappear from the brunette’s face.

“Right,” Azzi swallows, “alright then uh -you’re right Stephie- we should- we should go home. You go wash your face and uh- Mama’s gonna go grab our stuff and then- then we can go.”

The last words make an indiscernible noise creak out of Paige’s lips as she watches Stephie make her way towards the bathroom. Azzi carefully flips the final pancake onto a plate -one with a stack of blueberry pancakes- before turning the stove off and beelining for the stairs towards the guest room. But Paige is quicker, curling her fingers around the younger woman’s wrist to keep her in place.

“Az,” she breathes out, unsure what to say- unsure what she even wants to say.

Azzi doesn’t look at her, “I ordered groceries.”

“What?”

“You didn’t have any food and I- I wanted to make pancakes,” Azzi explains, “but uh- I got more than just pancake stuff. There’s eggs and milk and that stupid cereal that you like and just- just basic groceries you know. And I know you don’t like veggies but I had to get some because they’re good for you Paige okay but don’t- don’t worry- I balanced it out with all those ridiculously unhealthy snacks you like.”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice cracks, “you didn’t have to-”

“I did,” Azzi cuts her off, “you just- you can’t live off of fucking takeout okay,” a lone tear slides down her cheek, “and I got- I got enough groceries to last you two weeks but you- you’ll have to get more eventually if-” she stops herself but they both know where that sentence was going.

If you’re gonna live here- if you’re gonna live by yourself.

“I just-” Paige struggles to get the words out, “I need some more time.”

“I know,” Azzi finally looks at her and for a second Paige almost wishes she hadn’t because the hurt -the please just say you’ll stay- swimming in the younger woman’s eyes is almost too much to bear, “I know you need time and you- you can have it,” she brushes her thumb against Paige’s waterline, “but you can’t have both. You can’t have time and us.”

Why not, Paige wants to scream, wants to stomp her feet like a petulant toddler but she knows Azzi’s right, knows that they have to be apart until she figures it out. And so she nods at the brunette’s words as Azzi gently caresses her cheek -fingers lingering just a little longer than they should- before she rushes upstairs to grab her and Stephie’s overnight bag.

Paige watches her go before she disappears out of sight, and the blonde falls back against the counter. Closing her eyes as she takes in a couple of deep breaths, she swears the air has never felt more acidic. And she he can feel Drew looking at her, can almost see the contemplative -maybe even concerned- look in his eyes without opening her own.

“What?” she bites out, harsher than intended.

“Nothing,” Drew hesitates, “I just- I didn’t think Azzi would have stayed last night.”

Paige shrugs, eyes still closed, “I asked her to.”

“I figured but I- I guess I didn’t expect her to agree,” Drew says quietly.

There’s an undercurrent to her brother’s tone that has Paige finally opening her eyes, fixing him with a stern gaze, “what exactly are you trying to say Drew?”

“Nothing,” Drew repeats but the nervous shuffle of his feet say something entirely different.

“Drew.”

“She stayed Paige,” his voice breaks unexpectedly, “last night, this morning, she- she stayed.”

There’s a beat of silence as Paige stares at her brothers, absorbing his words when the unexpected flash of anger hits, “seriously?”

“What?” Drew’s taken aback by the fire in his sister's eyes.

“What do you mean what? One fucking stack of pancakes and suddenly all that shit you said to me last night- you don’t believe it anymore? All of that’s forgotten now?”

“That’s not-”

“Jesus fucking christ Drew,” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose and she’s fully aware her anger is misdirected -that it’s herself, she’s mad at- but she continues ranting at her brother anyways, “you made me overthink everything Drew. I was doing fine, we were doing fine and then- then you said all of that shit last night, reminded me of everything and now here we are the next morning and what? You’re not mad at Azzi anymore? She stays one fucking night and all is forgiven? You’ve changed your whole fucking mind-”

“You can’t blame me-” Drew begins to cut her off loudly but then there’s another voice -soft and small- interrupting both of them. They turn to see Stephie staring at them, her expression almost fearful at the sound of them arguing. And Paige hates herself a little bit for putting all these new expressions on the little girl’s face; she misses when she used to be the reason for her smile.

“That’s- that’s two bad words Miss-” Stephie stops herself, swallowing away the familiar name, “I mean- Coach Bueckers.”

“Sorry Stephie,” Paige whispers, pausing slightly before she takes a nervous step towards the girl, “so does that- does that mean I owe you two kisses?”

Stephie’s face wobbles, her bottom lip trembling as she nods slowly, “yeah you do.”

Paige breathes shakily as she kneels down in front of the little girl, eyes drinking in the sight of having her this close -like they know they might not get this moment again- as she slowly pulls her into her arms. Stephie is warm and soft and familiar and Paige wishes she would never have to let the little girl go. She squeezes her to her chest as she delicately places her lips against Stephies left cheek.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she whispers against the little girl’s soft skin, hoping the child knows it isn’t just for the swearing before she presses another fluttering kiss against Stephie’s right cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

And then, just as Stephie’s about to pull out of her grasp, Paige stops her, pressing her lips to the little girl’s forehead. When she pulls back, Stephie’s staring at her with a confused look on her face.

“You only owed me two,” she says matter-of-factly, “what was the last one for?”

Paige gives the little girl a sad smile as she brushes away a strand of curly hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail, “just because you’re my Stephie-bean.”

Stephie stares at her and Paige can see a myriad of emotions flicker behind her tiny eyes. She opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something and Paige’s heart thumps in anticipation, but then the sound of Azzi’s footsteps coming down echoes from the stairs and Stephie pushes away from her. And suddenly, Paige feels empty, like the most vital parts of her are missing.

“You ready to go Stephie-bean?” Azzi asks, mustering on a brave voice for her daughter but Paige can hear the way it’s cracking, can tell from her red-rimmed eyes that she’d taken a little longer than necessary upstairs to fix herself.

“Yeah Mama,” Stephie takes her mother’s outstretched hand, “let’s go home.”

The walk through the foyer and outside towards Azzi car feels like it takes hours. Drew doesn’t come all the way, stopping at the front door and giving Stephie a quick high-five that draws a brief smile from the little girl. He doesn’t say anything to Azzi but there’s an underlying softness in the way he tips his head towards her as they nod at each other. And then it’s just the three of them and Paige swears they’re all walking just a little bit slower than they normally do, like they’re trying to savor this moment just a little longer and prolong the inevitable.

She leans against the side of the car as Azzi buckles Stephie into her carseat. The little girl keeps on her brave face, avoiding eye contact with both Paige and her mother as she focuses firmly in front of her. When Azzi closes the backdoor, Stephie’s face disappearing behind the tinted windows, Paige wants to scream. Everything in her feels like it’s burning and freezing at the same time.

Azzi hesitates as she’s about to get into the driver’s seat, biting her lip as she turns back towards Paige.

“You should know that I - that Stephie and I- we-” she pauses, like she’s scared to say the rest of it, “we want you- we want you forever Paige,” both of them suck in a deep breath as the confession looms in the air above them, “and I know you need time and you should take it,” Azzi says softly, her hand reaching almost halfway to caress Paige’s cheek before falling forlornly back to her sides, “but we can’t- we won’t wait forever.”

***

August 2031

Paige is normally a big fan of All-Star weekend; she relishes the chaos of the weekend, getting the opportunity to connect with her fellow peers in a way that wasn’t possible during the rest of the season and just didn’t quite happen at this level outside of it. But she’s definitely not a fan of it this year, considering it’s being held in her team’s city, in Dallas. Six years later and still, something about this city doesn’t quite feel right, doesn’t feel quite like a place she can call home.

But still, at least it had given her the chance to not have to be in her apartment this weekend. Unlike her teammates who were more than comfortable staying in their respective homes, Paige had taken up the WNBA’s offer to stay where the rest of the non-Wings players were staying. It’s ironic that the sterile walls of an unfamiliar hotel somehow feel more comforting than a home that’s supposed to be hers. Except, the apartment -the one she’d moved into after the divorce after giving Oliva their house in an act of goodwill- feels cold and empty and Paige has done little to rectify it. She pretends it’s because she’s too busy, that she’ll get to hanging up the picture frames and decorating the walls eventually. But there’s a part of her that knows she’s likely just stalling the inevitable, that the apartment is as temporary as it gets until she finally lets herself make the decision to to leave Dallas.

The quiet ding of the elevator opening has Paige sighing as she shakes her mind of that daunting thought. It’s why she’d rushed out of her room in the first place, not wanting to be trapped with herself for longer than necessary. The silence has become her worst enemy, enhancing the loneliness that she’s felt ever since the divorce- maybe even longer.

Divorce.

God she hates that word, has hated it since her parents had sat her down and said they were getting one. She’d always told herself she wouldn’t become another divorce statistic like them but clearly history liked repeating itself. And the worst part of it, Paige thinks, is that she doesn’t regret the divorce -thinks it might be one of the only right decisions she’s made in the last six years- but maybe she regrets that marriage, regrets selling Olivia a dream, she’d subconsciously always known she wouldn’t be able to fulfill.

Thinking of Olivia makes Paige feel awful. She hadn’t done anything outrightly wrong to the other woman, never raised her voice or said anything untoward and she’d definitely never cheated. Well, not physically at least. But she’d gotten married to the reporter for all the wrong reasons, trying to fit a puzzle piece that had all the wrong edges into the jigsaw of her life even though she’d known the empty space in her heart could only be filled by one person. For her part, Olivia had been just as good at pretending as Paige was, acting like she couldn’t see the cracks in their relationship or the water that was seeping in through them.

And then something shifted -maybe the water had finally gone over their head- and just like she’d been the one to bring up the idea of getting married, Olivia was the one who had filed for divorce. And Paige thinks maybe the worst thing she ever did to Olivia, is the way she didn’t fight it once. She remembers the hesitation in her ex-wife’s eyes, remembers the slight pleading look on her face as if she wanted Paige to at least resist it a little bit. But she hadn’t; she’d simply nodded and signed. That was the end of the Olivia, Paige knew and from then on the sweet, bubbly, slightly over-enthusiastic reporter who’d stumbled over her question at Paige’s first media availability transformed into a cold ex-wife who could keep up a charade of cordiality for appearances, but never refrained from a cutting jab here and there.

The elevator dings open and Paige steps into the lobby, straightening her hoodie a little bit as she scans the area for familiar faces. Finding no one she’s particularly interested in talking to, she’d just about to head to the bar when her eyes land on a little girl nervously bouncing on her feet next to a vase of flowers that’s almost double her height. She can’t be older than three years old and Paige can tell from the way her bottom lip is trembling, that the young child is doing her absolute best to hold in tears. Something constricts in her heart -something almost more than just empathy for the little girl- as Paige makes her way over.

Gently, trying not to scare the girl, Paige kneels in front of her, “hey sweetheart.”

When the little girl turns to look at her, familiar dark brown doey eyes filled with unshed tears, her breath hitches in her throat and Paige suddenly realizes why she’d felt that tug in her heart. This is Azzi’s kid.

“H-hi,” the little girl manages to splutter, playing with her fingers as she regards Paige with a way expression, clearly trying to discern whether she’s safe or not.

“Hey,” Paige repeats, smiling reassuringly, “you okay?”

The little girl nods slowly but there must something about the warmth in Paige’s smile that she pauses, rebellious teardrops running down her face as she goes from nodding to shaking her head.

“I-I-I-I- lost,” she wails.

“Oh sweetheart it’s okay,” Paige tries to say, hands instinctively reaching out to run up and down the little girl’s shoulders.

“I was- I was ‘posed to be with Aunty J but she- she was talking and I saw pu-ple flow-es,” she points to the vase through her tears, “so I came to see but then- but then- I look back and Aunty J no there anymore and I want- I want my Mama,” she heaves, fully sobbing now, “I want my Mama.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, shhh,” Paige comforts the little girl as she stands back up, lacing her own fingers through her tinier ones, “how about we go and try to find your Mama?”

She’s about to turn around when feels a tug on her hand and when she looks down, the young child is shaking her head, adamantly planting her feet firmly on the floor.

“We can’t go,” she says firmly, “Mama says if I get lost, I stay where I am and Mama will find me. And-,” she hesitates as she looks Paige up and down, “Mama says I don’t go anywhere with a st-anger.”

It shouldn’t sting -because that’s what Paige is, a stranger- but it’s an unsettling reminder that this is a world like nothing she’d ever imagined when she was younger, a world where Azzi’s daughter doesn’t know her.

“So we can’t go. We have to stay here and Mama will find me,” the little girl says again and despite the tears still swimming in her eyes, there’s complete confidence -trust- in her voice that her mother -that Azzi- will find her.

“Okay,” Paige agrees softly, “but is it okay if I wait with you?”

Azzi’s daughter looks at her with a contemplative look for a couple of seconds before a bright grin explodes on her face and Paige thinks it feels a little bit like a ray of sunshine bombarding into her otherwise cloudy world.

“Okay,” the little girl grins happily before holding out a tiny hand, “I’m Stephanie Katarina Fudd.”

Paige laughs at the formality as she shakes Stephanie’s hand, “I’m Paige Madison Bueckers.”

“Nice to meet you Miss Buecks,” Stephanie chirps as smiles up at the woman.

“It’s Bueckers,” Paige tries to correct as Stephanie scrunches up her nose.

“That’s what I said,” she says with a confused look on her face, “Miss Buecks.”

Paige opens her mouth to try and correct her again but stops, deciding she’s not about to argue with the little girl and that she quite likes the incorrect way Stephanie says her name. Instead she lets herself fall to the ground, leaning against the pillar as she stretches out her legs in front of her. Stephanie raises an eyebrow at the actions but eventually sits down next to her and Paige smiles. They sit in silence for a bit as Paige reaches for her phone, considering texting Azzi for a brief second before she eventually decides to text Jana -who she thinks might just be Stephanie’s Aunty J- instead to let Azzi know Stephanie was with her.

“I know you,” Stephanie says suddenly and Paige looks away from the phone to see the little girl’s eyes wide with recognition.

“I thought you said I was a stranger,” Paige cocks a teasing eyebrow.

“You are,” Stephanie says matter-of-factly, “but I seen you at Mama’s game sometimes.”

“I’ve seen you too,” Paige admits.

“You’re good at bask-ball,” Stephanie states and the thing is, Paige has heard and read so many people say she’s great at basketball but there’s something about the way Stephanie says it -something about the genuine innocence of it- that makes her beam with pride.

“I guess I am,” she bumps Stephanie’s shoulder as she winks at her.

“I love bask-ball,” Stephaniee’s eyes gleam as she says it and Paige knows that expression -knows that slight look of madness that’s just the beginning of falling in love with a sport.

“Yeah?” she asks casually, “you play ball?”

Stephanie nods enthusiastically, “Mama got me a hoop for Ch-istmas -just like the one she had when she littler- and she p-omised that when I’m bigger, she’s gonna lemme go bask-ball camp.”

It’s hard not to grin along with Stephanie’s ranting, especially not when her determination to play basketball -one that reminds Paige a lot of herself- shines through her words.

“You any good,” Paige teases, biting back a laugh when the little girl’s face contorts in offense, like she can’t even believe someone would have the audacity to question her basketball skills.

“Of course I am. I’m Azzi Fudd’s daughter,” Stephanie says proudly, blissfully unaware of the way Paige's smile wobbles for a second at the statement, “but Mama says one day, I’mma be even gooder than her.”

“Can I get your autograph now then?”

Stephanie scrunches her nose, “what’s an au-to-gra-ph?”

“Wait,” Paige stands up, on a mission to find a pen, but Stephanie immediately grabs her hand.

The little girl’s eyes are wide with anxiety as she looks up at Paige, “no Miss Buecks don’t leave me.”

“Oh sweetheart I’m not,” Paige crouches back down in front of Stephanie, thumbs reaching out to rub the little girl’s cheeks in reassurance, “I’m gonna go right there to get something,” she points to the the reception desk, “I’ll be back in one minutes. I swear.”

“Pinky p-omise?” Stephanie raises her pinky and Paige diligently intertwines her own around it.

“Pinky promise,” she says, before practically skipping over to where she’d spotted a cup-holder full of pens. She can feel Stephanie’s anxious eyes piercing into the back of her head and if possible, the smile she’s had on her face since meeting the little girl, somehow deepens. It’s dangerous, she knows, becoming so enamored with Azzi’s daughter but her heart has always moved faster than her head, and Paige still hasn’t quite figured out how to stop that.

“You’re back,” Stephanie claps happily when Paige comes back to her and the blonde beams at the affection in her voice.

“Told you I would be,” Paige grins as she plops back down next to the little girl, holding out the pen she’d found.

“Why you get pen?” Stephanie asks, staring at it like it’s a foreign object.

“Because you need a pen to give me your autograph,” Paige explains, “an autograph is when someone famous signs their name on something for someone,” she holds out her arm that is currently covered by a grey hoodie, “will you sign my hoodie?”

“Silly Miss Buecks,” Stephanie chides, “You and Mama are famous. I’m not famous.”

“Not yet. But if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, Stephanie Katarina Fudd, you are gonna be so famous. Just like me and your Mama,” Paige taps the little girl’s nose, releasing the giggle it elicits from her and she thinks it might be her new favorite sound, “and I wanna be the first person who gets your autograph.”

“Can I get yours too?” Stephanie asks, her tone a little shy and Paige thinks that forget an autograph, she’d give her the world if she’d asked for it.

“Of course you can bean,” the nickname slips out before she can catch it and Paige’s mind travels back to her wedding day, back to the phone-call with Azzi.

“Mama calls me bean too,” Stephanie says, as she begins to messily try and write her name on the sleeve of Paige’s hoodie, “she calls me Stephie-bean.”

As if on cue, Azzi’s voice fills the air, tinged with a slight bit of panic and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat. Six years they’ve been apart, something always thrums in her every time she feels Azzi’s presence near her. But it feels almost electric this time. The memories of the last time they’d seen each other, the night they’d spent together after this year’s National Championship game linger in the air and Paige shivers like she can still feels the softness of Azzi’s skin underneath her fingertips; can still hear the breathlessness of her moans in her hears.

“Stephie-bean,” Azzi calls out and Stephanie’s eyes dart towards her mother’s voice as she immediately stands up, little feet tripping over each other as she rushes to get to the younger woman.

“MAMA,” Stephanie yells, flinging herself into her mother’s arms and Paige watches as Azzi cradles the little girl to her chest, kissing all over her face. Something pangs in her chest, and she wishes she were a part of that embrace too. And if all the dreams they’d dreamt together when they were younger had come true, she would’ve been.

“Stephie what have I said about running off,” Azzi scolds as she coaxes the little girl's face out of her neck.

“I din-t run off,” Stephanie defends petulantly, “I go to look at pu-ple flow-es cause they looked so pretty but then when I turned around, Aunty J gone,’ her face wobbles at the memory, “I was so scay-ed Mama cause I lost and ‘lone but then,” her voice changes immediately as she turns around to point at Paige, who freezes when Azzi’s gaze lands on her, “Miss Buecks find me!”

“Miss Buecks,” Azzi repeats dazedly as Stephanie begins to pull her towards Paige, unaware of the anxious tension between the two adults.

“This is Miss Buecks,” Stephahnie introduces the two of them, “she find me and she tol’ me she help me find you but I say that Stephie can’t move cause Stephie have to stay right here cause Mama says if Stephie lost, Stephie don’t move,” the little girl says animatedly and both adults laugh at the random switch to third-person, “but Miss Buckes say she’ll stay with me and so I not ‘care anymore cause I have Miss Buecks,” she says casually, naive to the way it makes both Paige and Azzi swallows, “and look Mama,” she eagerly grabs Paige’s sleeve, “I give Miss Buecks my auto-gaph.”

“That’s, that’s lovely sweetheart,” Azzi says softly before she turns to Paige -and Paige wonders if it’ll ever stop, if the way her stomach swoons every time the brunette looks at her will ever go away-, “thank you for texting Jana and thank you- thank you for staying with her.”

Paige shrugs as casually as she can, “don’t gotta thank me,” she nudges Stephanie, “we had a great time together didn’t we Stephanie?”

The little girl nods enthusiastically, “the great-est-est-est time,” she exclaims to her mother, “Miss Buecks is so cool.”

“Thanks Stephie-” Paige hesitates, unsure if she has the right to use the nickname, “Stephanie. You’re really cool too.”

Stephanie practically glows at the compliment, “Mama, Miss Buecks thinks I’m cool and- and- and- she say that I’m gonna be famous one day. That’s why she wanted my auto-gaph. Cause I’mma be a big bask-ball star just like you two.”

Azzi ruffles the little girl’s hair before looking at Paige with an indiscernible expression, “just like us huh?”

“Maybe even better,” Paige says softly.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Azzi grins before leaning down to pick her daughter up -the sight of it invoking something warm and fuzzy in Paige’s stomach- “alright Stephie-bean, say bye to Miss Buecks. We gotta go get ready the orange carpet and I gotta go yell at your Aunty J for losing you again,” she winks at Paige who lets out a laugh.

And she hasn’t laughed like this -laughed as much as she has in these last few minutes with Stephanie- in so long that she’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

“Bye Miss Buecks,” Stephanie waves over her mother’s shoulder.

“Bye Stephanie,” Paige waves before hesitating for a second, and then she calls out, “hey Azzi?”

Azzi turns around slightly, humming in response, “what’s up?”

“I like that you call her Stephie-bean,” Paige admits nervously, hoping Azzi will understand what she means and by the way the brunette’s eyes soften, it’s clear she does.

“It just felt right,” Azzi says softly; her mouth opens like she wants to say more -something more than what their current colleague-esque relationship allows for- but in the end, she settles on something far more mundane, “see you around Bueckers.”

“See ya,” Paige whispers back and if she stands completely still, watching Stephanie and Azzi walking all the way until they turn a corner and she can’t see them anymore, well that’s nobody’s business but her own.

That’s the first night Paige lets herself wonder about the possibilities of becoming a Golden State Valkyrie.

***

June 2033

Dream 64 Valkyries 87

Paige has never had particularly strong feelings towards the Atlanta Dream. They weren’t a particularly bad team, nor were they a particularly great team and Paige had simply never had an experience with them -whether it was a fan of the league or as a player in it- that was worth remembering for her to feel anything towards them. But tonight, tonight Paige fucking hates the Atlanta Dream.

Okay maybe she doesn’t hate the team.

She hates a certain player, a certain #11 wearing French player who’d had the audacity to hold her Stephie, to wrap her arms around her Azzi. Paige had spent the first couple of minutes of warm-ups with a deep scowl on her face as she’d watched Clémence interact with her girls. She’d hated the way Stephie grinned at the French woman, hated the way Azzi had laughed at something she’d said. But most of all Paige hated that she hadn’t been able to do any of that -hadn’t been on the receiving end of Stephie’s giggles or Azzi’s warm smile- for almost three weeks now. God she missed them so fucking much.

It was until Jana had tapped her on the back -a knowing look in her teammate’s eyes- that Paige had finally turned away from the scene. She’d channeled all her anger and frustration into the game, playing as the most aggressive version of herself. And it had paid off in the form of a 31 points, 7 assists, 4 rebounds and 3 stocks game, another statline cementing her position in the rather early race for MVP. But all of that feels futile now as Paige -signing autographs before she had to head off to media- notices Stephie go racing back into Clémence’s arms, the little girl’s face bright with happiness as the French woman catches her and twirls her around. From the corner of her eyes, she notices Azzi walking towards the two of them and Paige normally loves Azzi’s smile -think’s it’s nothing short of being the prettiest sight in the world- but she thinks she might hate it a little bit right now when it’s directed at Clémence.

“Aunty Chérie,” Stephie’s squeals echo clearly in Paige’s ears, despite the noise of the crowd surround her, “you played so good today.”

“Merci ma chérie,” Clémence's voice is saccharine sweet, “I’m very happy to see you. I have missed you lots. I was thinking,” Paige continues to sign another jersey but her ears are fully tuned into the conversation happening a couple meters away as Clémence’s attention turns towards Azzi, “we are leaving tomorrow morning so I have some time tonight. So I was thinking maybe I could take you and Stephie out to dinner tonight? Unless-” Paige feels both Clemence’s and Azzi’s eyes flicker to herself and she tries to keep her focus on the fans in front of her, “unless perhaps you are going with someone else?”

Paige waits with bated breath for Azzi’s answer, wishing her telepathic plea for the brunette say no, could somehow reach her but it’s Stephie who answers first.

“Mama please can we go,” the little girl begs immediately -her tone one that Paige knows to be the one she uses when she’s trying to get her mother to agree, “please, please, please. We haven’t gotten dinner with Aunty Chérie in so long.”

“Stephie-” there’s hesitation in Azzi’s voice but Paige knows that she’s likely to cave into her daughter’s wishes -after all Stephie isn’t asking for anything ridiculous- and she knows she has to get away, not wanting to hear anymore about Clémence’s stupid fucking dinner plans.

Giving the fans in front of her a tight-lipped smile, Paige slowly backs away from them, eyes searching for Joyce -her companion to face the press tonight- as she heads towards the media-room. She’s so focused on looking for her teammate or perhaps she’s too in her head but she doesn’t spot the assistant carrying water bottles coming. The two of them collide with a large crash that rings around Chase Center as the bottles go flying across the court. Paige’s cheeks turn a deep shade of pink as she feels the eyes of everyone on her -none more piercing than Azzi’s- but she doesn’t dare turn around. Instead she shoots the assistant an apologetic look, gathering as many water bottles as in front of her, before she’s bolting to the press room, wondering what the fuck she's done for the universe to keep testing her like this.

***

Paige is the last person left in the locker room. By the time she and Joyce had returned from the press conference, most of the team had fizzled out. And so she’d taken her time -ignoring the weird look Joyce gave her considering normally they were all eager to get home- showering and getting changed. She’d come out of the shower to a desolate locker room and as she’d sat on the bench, drying her damp hair, she’d let herself succumb to all the thoughts she’d been suppressing.

It’s somehow worse this time; it hurts more in a way that Paige hadn’t known was possible. They hadn’t been together nearly as long as they were back then and their relationship was barely defined. But at least last time, Paige had been able to run to another side of the country where she wasn’t constantly reminded of her ex. Azzi isn’t even technically an ex this time, but there’s no avoiding her. Not when they’re on the same team, not when she’s a coach at her daughter’s camp. And Paige doesn’t quite know what’s harder, trying to find oxygen in an air devoid of Azzi and Stephie’s presence, or trying to breathe when they’re near her.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so different. Paige has lost Azzi before and even if that doesn’t make the hurt any less, at least she has a blueprint for how to cope with it. But she doesn’t know how to deal with losing Stephie, doesn’t know how to not miss the little girl’s smile and her big doey eyes and the way she’d used to wrap her arms around Paige like she was trying to bind them together forever.

But more than anything, more than missing Azzi or Stephie, Paige misses the three of them together. She misses Azzi’s exasperated look when she and Stephie would indulge in some sort of ridiculous drama. She misses the little girl’s mischievous look before she’d launch herself into both of their arms. She misses her own soft smile as she’d watch the two of them engage in the most mundane things. She misses the peaceful silence as they’d eat together and the noisy chaos when they’d argue over what movie to watch afterwards. She misses everything.

And the worst part is that she knows she wouldn’t be missing any of it, if it wasn’t for the barriers she’s put up herself. This is a cage of Paige’s own making and the key to open the lock rests in her own hands. She just needs to be brave enough to use it. Azzi words run amok in her head, the reassurance that Paige could have time clouded by the reluctant warning that eventually that time would run out.

“Hey,” she snaps herself out of her thoughts to see Azzi cautiously entering the locker room, her playing jersey swapped from a casual green top and cargo pants.

Paige swallows, “hi.”

“I uh- I was um-” Azzi’s eyes nervously dart around the room as she strides over to her locker, picking up the pink lipgloss -one Paige has the taste of memorized- that’s sitting on the bench under it, “I forgot this so I uh- I came back to grab it.”

“Cool,” Paige replies monotonously but her head’s already racing with thoughts of will you let her kiss it off of you the way you let me? And she knows -she trusts- that Azzi won’t but even the possibility of it lights a small fire within her.

Azzi chews on her lips as she nods, before starting to walk towards the door but she stops last second, turning around with the starts of a smile on her lips, “you were amazing tonight P. I mean you have been since the season started but tonight especially, you were just- you were you. You were awesome.”

Paige absorbs the compliments, tries to use it to douse the simmering jealousy that’s flaming up within her at the knowledge that once Azzi leaves this locker room, she’s likely going with Clémence.

“Thanks,” the blonde manages to get out and it’s a little short and rather icy but Paige thinks it’s probably better than saying all the other things that are on the tip of her tongue.

Azzi’s face dims at the curt reply, smile faltering as she nods, “anytime, P.”

That should be it. Paige should let her go, should be content with this small interaction that’s the most she’s gotten from outside of practice in weeks. But then the bitter words are waterfalling from her lips faster than she can stop them and despite the regret she feels immediately after, there’s a part of her that’s relieved when it makes Azzi come to a halt right in front of the door.

“Your girl played well too,” she bites out, the acidic words burning her tongue.

Azzi doesn’t turn around but Paige notices the way her shoulders go rigid, “don’t do this Paige. You know she’s not my girl.”

Paige ignores her, “11 points, 2 rebounds, 1 assist. Not bad numbers. Decent. But not better than yours of course.”

“Paige,” there's a warning note in Azzi’s voice, like she knows exactly where Paige is going with this.

“I’m just saying, “ Paige shrugs with a casualness that’s in stark contrast to the tension lingering in the air, “she’s a decent player. But you’d never be in her shadow. Never be known as just her anything.”

Azzi turns around slowly and Paige feels her anger dissipate as quickly as it had erupted when she takes in the way the brunette’s eyes are brimming with tears.

“Seriously?” Azzi grits out, “you’re seriously gonna throw that in my face right now?”

“I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m stating a fact-”

“Oh bullshit-”

“It’s not bullshit,” Paige yells before she sucks in a sharp breath, closing her eyes to calm herself down before she continues, “it’s not bullshit,” she repeats, “it is a fact and that fact is the reason why we’re here right now.”

“What do you mean?” Azzi crosses her arms across her body.

“Nine years ago you said no-”

“Oh my god,” Azzi says exasperatedly, “we can’t keep going over this again.”

“We have to Azzi,” Paige cuts her off, “we have to because you said no. And you broke my heart and you broke my trust. And that’s why we’re here right now. That’s why I made the deal with the Liberty and that’s why I can’t let of my escape plan and that’s why I can’t promise to stay and that’s why we have to keep going over it. Because I’m trying, “her voice cracks as the first tear slides down, “god Azzi- I’m trying so fucking hard baby but how do I know you won’t say no me -to us- again?”

Azzi stares at her with an undecipherable expression, her fists clenching and unclenching by her sides. It feels like an eternity passes in between them as they look at each other, breathing heavily almost in sync, until the brunette finally speaks.

“Well how do I know you won’t leave again?”

Paige blinks in confusion, “excuse me?”

“You keep accusing me of all of these things Paige but you’re the one that keeps leaving,” Azzi says and they both know she isn’t just talking about nine years ago, “I know- I know I made a mistake. But when I said no all I asked for was a little bit of time. That’s all I asked for Paige. Time. Just like you’re asking for right now. And I know- I know we said a whole lot of shit that night -I said a bunch of fucking things I shouldn’t have- but- god Paige you didn’t even give it a day. I came to find you less than 24 hours later and you were gone,” she chokes on the last word and Paige wants nothing more than to cradle the younger woman in her arms, take away her pain and shield her from ever feeling anything like it again.

“Az-”

“And if you’d just waited -just given me a little bit of time,” Azzi continues as if she hadn’t even heard the blonde attempt to speak, “then maybe you would have known that I wasn’t saying no forever. Just for a little bit, just for then. But you just- you left.”

“You said a lot more than just no,” Paige says frustratedly.

It’s Azzi’s turn to look guilty and Paige can almost see the memories of that night flashing in her mind, “I know that but I would’ve taken it all back if you’d just waited.”

“How could I have known that?” Paige whispers and she’s not sure if she’s defending herself from Azzi or from that voice in her head -the one she’d done her best to silence- that’s always wondered if she’d made a mistake immediately leaving for Dallas the morning after.

“You couldn’t have,” Azzi says softly, sounding almost defeated, “the same way that you don’t know that I won’t say no again. The same way that I don’t know if you’ll leave again,” she sighs as she sits down next to Paige, “but that’s life Paige. We don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future and we can’t- we can’t predict what someone else will do. All we can do is try and trust ourselves and trust each other.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Paige nudges her shoulder and Azzi lets out a short laugh.

“I know it’s not. Trust me, I know it’s hard. There’s about five hundred different voices in my head saying that I should stop waiting or whatever it is I’m doing right now. That I should let you go for good. That even if you end this whole Liberty bullshit, you’ll still leave me -leave us- eventually.”

“But?” Paige presses and she feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, like the next words out of Azzi’s mouth will determine whether she falls or flies.

“But,” Azzi breathes out as she turns to look at Paige with a slightly wistful smile, “there’s this one voice in my head, clearer than all the rest that says I should trust you -that I should believe in us- that maybe we just need to get through this one last hurdle to get back to each other,” the younger woman reaches out to squeeze Paige’s hand gently before she stands up, “I think you just need to find that voice too P.”

“I’m scared Az,” Paige says softly.

“I am too,” Azzi admits as she leans down to brush the blonde’s tears away with her thumb, “trusting is really fucking scary. I get it. but maybe- maybe it would be a little less scary if we did it together.”

Paige shudders when Azzi presses a kiss to her forehead, the brunette's lips lingering long after she’s embedded every unspoken thought into it. She pulls away almost reluctantly, patting Paige’s cheeks lightly before starting to walk back towards the door.

“Azzi,” the blonde calls out, mouth going a little drying when Azzi turns over her shoulder, “don’t go to dinner with Clémence.”

Go with me. Let me take you and Stephie out to dinner instead.

“Don’t hold on to the deal with the Liberty,” Azzi says quietly in lieu of an actual answer, “say you’ll stay.”

Paige falters, “Az I-”

“I already told you P,” there’s a sad smile on Azzi’s face before she turns away, “you can have time or you can have us but you can’t have both. Not right now.

“Azzi-”

“I hope you find that voice soon Paige and I hope it leads you back to me.”

***

August 2032

Paige is standing in a corner -a dirty Shirley in her hand- cackling at a joke that Cam had just made when she sees her entering and the laughter dies in her throat. Cam notices the change immediately, her eyes tracking Paige’s gaze until they land on the brunette who’s being pulled into a series of congratulatory hugs by players from other countries.

“So where did y’all go last night?” the LA Sparks center asks casually

“What?” Paige asks distractedly, her eyes narrowing when she notices a familiar French player inching towards the door for a hug of her own.

“You and Azzi,” Cam clarifies and Paige swallows at the mention of her name, “y’all disappeared while we were all still celebrating. Lowkey felt like we were back in Belarus all over again when y’all just kept going off somewhere with each other,” the taller woman shoots Paige a teasing grin, “so where’d you go?”

“Just uh- just needed some air,” Paige bites her lip at the lie.

Because the truth is that once they’d left the hotel bar, and they’d practically pounced on each other -from the elevator till they’d made it to Paige’s hotel room- they’d barely come up for air. The feeling of each other’s lips and bare skin was more intoxicating than any drink they’d consumed -maybe even more intoxicating than the Olympic Gold medal they’d finally won together earlier that day- and neither of them seemed to care about unimportant matters such as breathing.

Cam quirks an eyebrow as she sips at her drink, “if you say so Bueckers.”

“I do say so,” Paige retorts before dislodging herself from the wall she’d been leaning against, eyes still tracking every moment Azzi made, “we should- we should go say hi.”

“We should, should we?” Cam smirks but the sweet angel she is, she falls into step easily with Paige as they start walking across the room.

The banquet hall is buzzing with players dancing and drinking and mingling with each other. Now that the basketball portion of the Olympics was over, they’d all returned from being fierce competitors playing for their country, to being the friendly co-players they all were. Laughter and chatter fills the air as teammates and rivals alike, reconnect at the FIBA-sponsored party that had almost all of the women’s basketball players participating in Bris2032 in attendance.

“Azziiii,” Cam squeals as the two of them finally reach the Valkyries superstar who’d just finished hugging Gabby.

Azzi grins when she sees Cam but it slips a little when she notices Paige next to her. She’s quick to fix it, eyes going back to Cam as she pulls the taller woman into a hug. Something pinches against Paige’s heart and she forces herself to look away; her gaze landing instead on where Gabby has walked away from the three of them to slip an arm around Marine’s waist. Paige stares wistfully at the scene -at the way Marine relaxes into Gabby’s touch as she continues whatever conversation she’d been involved in. It’s all she wants and instinctively, her eyes wander back to Azzi.

“Hey,” Paige says slowly as Azzi lets go of Cam, disappointment coursing through her veins when all she gets is a nod of acknowledgement.

“So Azzi I was just asking Paige here, where y’all disappeared to last night?” Cam asks with a teasing tone.

Azzi blanches as the question, “oh um- I- uh I wanted to go check in on Stephie.”

“And you needed Paige to come with you for that?”

A distinctly pink hue begins at the base of Azzi’s neck, climbing up until it tints her cheeks, “I was a little tipsy and uh- just wanted the support I guess.”

Paige almost snorts at the response. Azzi had been way beyond tipsy and Paige wouldn’t have been any support, considering she’d been maybe two drinks away from blacking out. But she supposes, Cam probably doesn’t need to know that and she definitely doesn’t need to know what it had led to.

“Interesting,” the taller blonde looks between the two women as she takes another sip of her drink, “Paige just said y’all needed some air.”

“I mean that- that was definitely a part of it too. The bar was getting pretty hot-” this time Paige does snort at Azzi’s answer which gets her an amused look from Cam and a very unamused look from the brunette herself.

Cam puts her hands up in surrender, “listen if Paige says y’all needed air and if you say you needed to go see Stephie, I believe you,” she says but that cheeky grin on her face says the exact opposite.

“Speaking of Stephie. It’s uh- it’s almost her bedtime and I should uh- I should call my Mom so I can say goodnight,” Azzi manages a tightlipped smile towards the two other women before she disappears into the crowd, heading towards the balcony.

Paige hesitates for a second before she turns to face Cam and that shit-eating, knowing smirk on her friend’s face almost has her giving into her pride and swallowing the words she’s about to say. Almost.

“I’m uh- I’mma go to,�� she stumbles out.

“Oh of course,” Cam grins sly, “bet Azzi needs some more support huh?”

Paige shakes her head, flashing Cam her middle finger -and rolling her eyes when it causes the taller woman to laugh- as she follows after Azzi. The chill Brisbane air swarms around her as she steps out into the balcony. Azzi’s standing right by the railing, her phone held right above her as she facetimes her daughter. Paige catches on quickly to the conversation, realizing that the little girl is telling her mother about how Tim had let her have ice-cream after dinner.

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” Paige hears Tim’s voice echo through the phone as Stephanie’s eyes go wide on the screen, “I thought it was gonna be our little secret?”

She holds in a laugh, leaning back against the door, as the little girl splutters trying to justify her tattle-taling, “it’s Mama, Pops. I can’t hide things from my Mama.”

Tim scoffs but there’s no genuine irritation to it, “that’s the last time I give you ice-cream.”

Stephanie shoots him an unimpressed look, “you say that all the time Pops and then you give me ice-cream anyways.”

“She’s got you there,” Katie choruses from the back and Paige watches as she high-five her grand-daughter.

And she doesn’t quite know what that pang in her chest means, but she’s felt it every time she’s seen Stephani and the Fudds over the course of the Olympics. The Fudds had come to Brisbane -of course they had- and every time Paige caught sight of them in the stands or watched them from the corner of her eyes, it felt like something was stinging against her rib cage. They’d all had custom #35 Azzi jerseys and their cheers were louder than every other voice in the arena any time Team USA did anything and after each win, they’d been the first people down the stairs, ready to hug envelope Azzi in a hug. At the forefront of it was Stephanie, who’d ran into her mother’s arms at lightning quick speed and Paige had watched -hoping she was being at least somewhat conspicuous- as Azzi had spun the little girl around.

It wasn’t that the Fudds ignored Paige. In fact they’d made it a point to come over to her right after to wrap her up amidst themselves. Stephanie had come over too, her smile shy as she’d congratulated Paige on the wins. The little girl clearly didn’t quite remember their interaction from all-star last year -her eyes regarding Paige almost like a stranger- and the blonde consoles herself with the fact that Stephanie’s only four. Four year olds weren’t known for remembering things that had happened when they were three. Still, it hurt a little bit considering Paige thinks of that interaction more than she probably should.

But even though she’d still gotten the hugs and the smiles and the congratulations, it wasn’t quite the same, wasn’t anything like she’d picture during the conversations of we’ll get customized 5+35 Bueckers-Fudd jerseys for the Olympics she’d once had with Tim and Katie.

“Alright Stephie-Bean, Mama’s gonna head back into the party-” Paige refocuses on the conversation just in time to hear Azzi get cut off by her rather dramatic daughter.

“I can’t bel-ieve you went to another party without me Mama,” Stephanie drags out the words, “no Mama-good-night-kisses cause she pick party-time over Stephie time.”

The little girl’s joking but Paige can tell by the way it makes Azzi pause for a second -her shoulder stiffening just a little bit- that it’s hit a nerve. She wants to soothe it away, wants to wrap her arms around her from behind, hitch her chin over her neck and take away all of Azzi’s worries. And that bitter thought -the one that seems to surface every time her heart beats a little faster for the brunette, the one that had filled her head when she’d woken up next to the younger woman earlier this morning- takes birth in her head again. The thought she could have done all of that -would have the right to do it- if only Azzi had just said yes.

“I’ll make it up to you Stephie-bean,” she hears Azzi promise, “tomorrow, just you and me okay sweetheart? All of my time’s gonna be yours.”

Stephanie’s face immediately brightens up, “okay Mama,” she says happily as she blows a kiss to the screen, “love you Mama. Good night.”

“Good night sweet girl. I love you more,” Azzi choruses back, waving at the screen before she cuts the call.

It takes her a moment to turn around and Paige watches as Azzi takes in a deep breath, a subtle smile on her face as she takes in the Brisbane skyline. When she does finally turn around, surprise filters onto her expression at seeing the blonde standing there.

“Hey,” Paige whispers nervously, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her pants.

Azzi looks at her for a moment, “hi.”

They stand there rigidly, letting the tension -a completely different kind than the one that had encompassed them last night- simmer between them. It’s almost like they're daring each other to say something, to address the elephant in the room.

Azzi breaks first, “something you wanted to say?”

“Just wanted some air,” Paige says, cringing a little bit at the cliché line that she’s now used twice in one night.

“Right,” Azzi nods, moving towards the door, “guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Her voice is tinged with an iciness that sets Paige on edge. They haven’t been like this in a while and she’d thought they’d let go of the resentful exes gimmick they’d had going on for the first couple of years. But the hardness in Azzi’s tone suggests that it’s back with vengeance tonight.

“Az-” Paige calls out.

“What?” Azzi asks loudly, biting her lip when the harshness of it almost makes the blonde stumble back, “sorry I-”

But before she can apologize, Paige finds herself retaliating with the same hardness in her own tone, “what’s your fucking problem?”

“My problem?” Azzi reels back, eyes flashing with anger, “are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes. That’s clearly what I asked,” Paige retorts.

Azzi laughs devoid of emotion, “I woke up to an empty bed this morning and you’re asking me what my fucking problem is?”

Guilt inches it’s way up Paige’s spine but it pales in comparison to the anger that flickers in the pit of her stomach, “oh that’s rich coming from you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is that not exactly what you did last time we fucked,” the profanity tastes acetous as it falls through Paige’s lips because it sounds wrong, like she’s insulting the sanctity of their relationship, no matter how broken it might be.

“No it’s not,” Azzi nostrils flare, “I told you I was leaving. I had the common fucking decency to let you know. I didn’t just sneak out.”

Paige rolls her eyes, “oh spare me the semantics. It’s all the same shit at the end of the day. We both left.”

“Oh fuck you Paige,” Azzi snarls as she tries to leave but Paige is quicker, fingers wrapping around her wrist to stop her.

And everything she’d been prepared to say dies in her throat because now they’re too close, chests heaving in harmony as their matching glares turn into something else. Paige’s eyes fall to Azzi’s lips, breath hitching when the brunette’s tongue darts out for a second to wet them. She tugs on Azzi’s wrist experimentally, pleased when there’s little hesitation and the younger woman lets herself be pulled closer. The air is electric with want as they lean in slowly, their noses brushing against each other as they wait for each other to make a move, to close the distance.

But then there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat, followed by someone else coughing and the two of them spring apart like they’ve been burned.

“Jesus Az, careful!” Jana’s concerned voice makes Paige’s ears perk up and she follows the Egyptians line of sight to see that Azzi had moved back so fast that she’d fallen back against the balcony railing.

“I’m fine,” Azzi says hurriedly but the shake in her voice betrays that she’s anything but.

“Are you?” Paige turns to find Aaliyah watching them with the wary gaze of someone who’s been around them and their bullshit far too long, “because uh- we can hear y’all yelling from inside.”

Azzi’s eyes shoot up, panic evident on her face, “you heard us? Did you- could you hear what we said?”

Paige scoffs loudly, “oh right yeah because that would be really fucking bad wouldn’t be it Azzi? God forbid anyone found out you fucked me.”

And she doesn’t even know why she’s arguing -honestly she’s just as embarrassed at the idea of their teammates and rivals and everyone else in between actually overhearing their argument- but it pinches a nerve and she pointedly looks away from Azzi’s ashen face.

“You guys fucked?” Paige flinches at how loud Jana is and Aaliyah lets out a low groan.

“Jana,” the Canadian warns, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry but like,” Jana looks back and forth between Paige and Azzi, dropping her voice, “y’all fucked?”

Paige sighs, feeling drained as she leans back against a pillar for support, “that’s what I said yes.”

If possible, Jana’s eyes get even wider, “so- so what does that mean for the two of you? Are you- are y’all gonna get back together?”

Azzi looks at Paige.

Paige looks at Azzi.

And it’s like they’re both imploring each other to answer Jana’s question and to answer it right.

“It means nothing,” it’s the wrong answer and Paige knows it even before she says it -can tell by the way Azzi barely reacts that she knows Paige doesn’t even really believe herself- but she thinks maybe they’re not quite ready to get it right. Not yet.

“Well there you go,” Azzi says quietly, shrugging nonchalantly at Jana, “it means nothing.”

Paige flinches at the repetition of her own words, looking away as Azzi starts walking towards the door again. The brunette’s shoulder brushes against the older woman’s -sparks igniting around them- and she hesitates.

“It means nothing,” Azzi repeats, her voice a longing whisper only meant for Paige’s ears, “but maybe it could’ve meant something. If you’d stayed.”

***

June 2033

Paige is sulking in her room -watching film to distract herself from the images of Clémence, Azzi and Stephie together from last night that her brain is hellbent on conjuring up- when her pity party is broken up by the sound of her doorbell. She has the urge to ignore it, to stay curled up in the same position she’s been in all day. It’s a rather pathetic way to have spent one of her rare days off but it’s the only thing she’d felt like doing. But then whoever’s outside her door starts to press the bell longer and Paige huffs -irritated by the loudness of it- as she forces herself out of bed.

She’s not sure who she was expecting. Perhaps Jana, who’d caught on rather quickly to what was happening between her two former teammates and had been making somewhat of an attempt to help fix it. Maybe Colleen, here to knock some sense into her on Azzi’s behalf. Or maybe even Tessa, who Paige had learned in the most awkward way, knew about them when the former Gamecock had made a teasing remark about the two of them the next practice, not knowing what had transpired two nights before. When both Paige and Azzi had immediately tensed, instead of blushing or rolling their eyes, Tessa had been perceptive enough to understand something had gone wrong. She’d been trying to help Jana ever since and Paige half expects it to be her at the door with words of wisdom and comfort alike.

Who she isn’t expecting is Tim Fudd.

His wife, she would’ve understood. After all Katie had done exactly that before and it was in the older woman’s nature to meddle just a little bit. Her husband, on the other hand, tended to stay as far out of things as possible. He could be a hovering coach and whenever Azzi’s spirits were low, he’d be there with a ridiculous dad joke and arms outstretched for a big bear hug. But when it came to his daughter’s personal life, Tim Fudd did his best not to interfere.

Tim smiles at Paige when she opens the door, one hand holding up a bottle of whiskey with a grin on his face while his other hand is hidden behind his back. He rolls his eyes fondly when he notices the skeptical look Paige shoots at his liquor of choice before he reveals the premade bottle of dirty Shirley he’s been hiding behind his back.

“Tsk tsk,” he grins mockingly, “what would the fans say if they knew their big bad rizzler can’t drink anything but a sweet cocktail?”

Paige shakes her head as she steps aside to let the man inside, “just cause I don’t drink cheap whiskey, doesn’t mean I don’t drink anything other than cocktails.”

“Cheap?!” Tim guffaws as the accusation, “I’ll have you know this is a Macallan.”

“You know that that means nothing to me right,” Paige says as she follows his lead into her kitchen.

It’s almost foreign having somebody else in her space. Since Drew had left -rather hesitantly after seeing his sister’s condition- the house had been devoid of anyone else but Paige. Jana had tried to invite herself over a couple of times but it had gone in vain when Paige had chosen solitude over any company. It’s not that she particularly wants to be alone, it’s that she thinks -no, she knows- that there’s only two people who can cure this dreadful loneliness that feels like it’s become an innate part of existence.

“Sit,” Tim says as he rummages through Paige’s cupboards for two glasses.

Hesitating for a split second, Paige does as she's told, “did Azzi send you?”

“Are you hoping she did?’ Tim asks pointedly as he places two glasses one top of the counter, filling one with whiskey and other with dirty Shirley.

Paige swallows as she accepts the drink from his hand, “nah,” lies, “ just uh- just feels like something she’d do.”

Tim looks at her for a minute as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

“She didn’t send me,” he says finally and Paige tries to mask the tinge of disappointment his words send through her by taking a large swig of her shirley.

“This tastes like shit,” she grimaces, wiping her mouth with the back of hand.

“That premade stuff usually does. It’s that easy shit you know? The things that just exist without you doing any work. Just doesn’t hit the same as the harder stuff,” Tim says slowly as he leans back against his chair, a clear double meaning in his words.

“You’re using alcohol as a metaphor? So I guess Katie sent you then?” Paige manages a half-smile but she feels her stomach churn at the implication of what he’d just said.

Tim laughs, “it was my idea actually.”

“Her meddling rubbing off on you?” Paige quirks an eyebrow.

Tim shakes his head, “I’m not here to meddle. Just wanted to tell you a story.”

Paige sighs, “so you are here to meddle then.”

Tim ignores her, fiddling with the glass of whiskey in his hands, “did you know Katie and I almost didn’t end up together?”

Paige stares at the older man in shock. Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised; relationships were complicated after all. But for all the years she’d known Tim and Katie, they’d always been just that. TimAndKatie. The epitome of stableness that had stood strong amongst all the other relationships Paige had watched break down one by one.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Tim says lightly when he notices how wide Paige’s eyes have gotten, “everyone makes mistakes. We’re all capable of doing dumb shit that almost makes us lose everything we’ve ever loved.”

Paige gulps, “what- what did you do?”

“I left,” Tim says slowly.

“You left?” the familiar words make Paige nauseous and she wonders if that slightly regretful look on Azzi’s dad’s face is echoed on her own.

“It was a couple months into our relationship and Katie and I had a huge fight. It was about her not letting me make a decision about Azzi,” Tim explains and the similarity of the situation almost makes Paige want to block her ears.

“It was something small, something stupid. Probably nothing that even mattered cause I don’t even remember it. But I remember how I felt. I was really fucking mad but more than anything I think- I think I was scared. Because that argument, it was a remind that even though I loved her so fucking much, Azzi wasn’t mine. Not yet. And that if I lost Katie, I’d lose her too. The idea of losing Katie was scary enough but losing both of them? I didn’t know how to deal with that,” Tim's voice shakes, like he’s relieving his biggest fears and Paige feels her own eyes start to water; his words settling salt in her still-raw open wounds.

“And it got so heated and we were yelling all this bullshit at each other that eventually I just- I didn’t know what else to do and I just- I started to leave. And Azzi- I guess we were so loud we woke her up- she- she saw me leaving,” there’s an unfamiliar grave look on the normally jovial old man’s face as he reminisces that night, “she ran down the stairs and threw herself at my knees begging me not to go but I- I was so mad and so fucking scared that I walked away anyways.”

“How- how did you fix it?” Paige asks, her voice almost pleading as she wipes away the droplets of water running freely down her cheeks.

“Well not immediately that’s for sure,” Tim cracks a smile, trying to lighten the mood, “took me a little bit of time to pull my head out of my ass and when I finally did, Katie wasn’t so quick to forgive me for it either. And it wasn’t about her or me or us, it was about Azzi. The first time I showed up, she didn’t even let me in. Said she could only let me through that door again if I could promise to stay. Because Azzi had seen me leave once and she wasn’t gonna let her see it again.”

“It must’ve killed you,” Paige whispers, her stomach twisting in knots, “the guilt of hurting her.”

Tim nods, “it did but I think- or at least I hope I’ve made up for it now.”

“You have,” Paige reaches over to squeeze his arm gently, “how did you get her to forgive you?”

“Simple,” Tim places his own hand over hers as he continues, “we talked it out. I explained all my fears to her. How scared I was of losing her, of losing Azzi. And she- she understood because she was scared too, scared of losing me, scared of Azzi losing me. In the end we were both scared of the same thing but all of that got a whole lot less scary when we faced it together.”

Maybe it would be a little less scary if we did it together

“How did you get over it,” Paige asks, almost desperately, “the fear of losing them? How did you move past that?”

Tim smiles wistfully, “time. Not time apart but time together. It wasn’t easy taking that first step, facing that fear but I knew if I wanted them, it was what I was gonna have to do. And I had to trust Katie, that if I stayed, she’d stay.”

“And she stayed,” Paige says softly.

“Yeah she did,” this time, Tim’s grin breaks through his entire, “and the more time she stayed, the more my trust in her grew until one day I just knew. I knew she wasn’t gonna leave ever again. Well, maybe she’s thought about it a couple of times like when I nearly burnt the house down tryna make cookies or when I accidentally tore a hole in our wall tryna hang up a photo frame.

Paige lets out a watery laugh as Tim winks at her, everything suddenly seeming a lot more simple than it had before the older man had walked through her door.

“I know it’s not quite the same for you and Azzi,” Tim continues slowly, “you guys have a history that Katie and I didn’t. You both have more reasons to be scared than the two of us did. But Paige, I’ve always thought you were it for my baby girl. From the moment she came back from USA camp and all she could talk about was you, I just knew.”

Paige can’t help the broken sob that escapes her lips and Tim immediately rounds the kitchen counter to wrap an arm around her shoulder.

“When she was pregnant with Stephie, she kept on asking for mint-choc chip ice cream. Said it was a craving or something. And she decorated everything for her in purple. All the baby clothes she bought were shades of purple,” he doesn’t quite say why Azzi did all of that but there’s a clear implication in his words.

And Paige thinks that probably, why she and Stephie are so similar, why they shared so many favorites, why the little girl had always felt like hers. Because Azzi had given a part of Paige to her daughter, even when she hadn’t had Paige herself.

“Katie and Azzi, they’re mine but I think- I think if maybe someone else had gotten to them first -someone who loved them just as much as I do- maybe there’s a chance things would be different but Paige,” Tim squeezes the younger woman gently, “I think Azzi’s always been waiting for you. Subconsciously at least. There’s never really been anybody elese for her. Her and Stephie, they’ve both always been waiting for you, they’ve both always been yours.”

“You mean that?” Paige asks croakily and she feels like she’s a teenager again, asking Tim to pinky promise that he’d like her box-dyed purple hair no matter what.

“I do,” Tim smiles as he looks at her, “and I think they’ll be yours forever. I think they want to be. You just have to say you’ll stay.”

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #wcbb

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