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bucketgetter535 · 3 days ago

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No Margin for Error: Chapter Five

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

CW: Drinking,mild sexual content (no smut you freaks…yet)

WC: 5.1k

Notes: Annndddd we’re back. You guys should like this chapter probably. Lmk what you think 😊

The wind at Silverstone always felt like it had an attitude, like it knew it was hosting one of the biggest races of the year and wanted everyone to feel it. Paige pulled her jacket tighter around her as she crossed the paddock toward the Ferrari garage, her eyes narrowed against the cool breeze.

It was early still, but Mercedes had already sent a message. Their car was fast. Maybe not on raw one-lap pace, but over a race distance? Dangerous. Paige had seen the data. She didn’t need Luca to tell her that if Ferrari didn’t find something extra, this weekend was going to be a fight.

She found him exactly where she expected — leaned up against the pit wall, tablet in hand, scrolling through sector times like the rest of the world didn’t exist. His hood was up against the cold and he looked about as happy as she felt.

“Morning,” Paige said, tugging her gloves on.

Luca glanced up briefly, offering a grunt that passed as a greeting. He tapped a few things on the screen and flipped it around to show her.

“They’re quick,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious.

Paige studied the graph, then sighed. “Long runs look worse than quali sims.”

“Yeah.” Luca smirked. “Your favorite.”

Paige shot him a look but didn’t bother arguing. He was right. She could handle a fast lap. Managing tires and fuel while fending off a Mercedes breathing down her neck for fifty laps? Different story.

She shifted her weight, glancing over toward the garage. Mechanics were moving around like usual, but there was a weird energy. Like something was missing.

“Where’s Azzi?” she asked, frowning.

Luca hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Sick. Flu or something. She’s not running practice today.”

Paige straightened immediately. “Wait. She’s sick sick? Is she gonna race?”

He shrugged, a motion that somehow said both I hope so and no clue. “Depends how bad it is. Doctors are with her.”

Paige pressed her lips together. Silverstone wasn’t just another track — it was Azzi’s track. If she couldn’t race, that would be an issue.

Before she could ask anything else, a voice cut through the buzz of the garage. Chiara, Ferrari’s head of PR, appeared, tablet in hand and moving with the kind of urgency that always made Paige suspicious.

“Paige,” Chiara said, in that polished tone she used when she was about to ruin your day. “We’ve scheduled a meeting for you. In a few weeks.”

Paige blinked. “Okay… with who?”

Chiara smiled tightly, like she was about to hand over a corporate gift bag. “Dirk van de Meer.”

There was a half-second where the name didn’t register, then it hit her. Van de Meer. Adrian van de Meer. Former Ferrari driver from the early 2000s. Legend in his own right. Which meant—

Paige fought back a groan. PR boyfriend alert. She didn’t even have to ask. She could see it already — some clean-cut golden boy from the Netherlands, shoved into her orbit for “optics” and “future potential” and whatever other nonsense PR liked to throw around.

“Awesome,” Paige said dryly. She caught Luca’s glance out of the corner of her eye. He was trying — and failing — to keep a straight face.

She crossed her arms. “How old is this guy, anyway?”

Chiara didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-seven.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. Older than her, but not by much. Old enough that if this was some weird matchmaking attempt, it wasn’t technically creepy. Still. She could already picture it: the cameras, the rumors, the endless speculation about Ferrari’s future power couple.

Fantastic.

Luca coughed into his hand, and she shot him a death glare. He only shrugged, like hey, don’t shoot the messenger.

Paige exhaled slowly and looked back at Chiara. “Fine. I’ll meet him. Just… after Silverstone.”

“Of course,” Chiara said with a bright smile, before disappearing back into the chaos of the paddock like a storm had passed through.

Left alone again, Paige leaned against the wall next to Luca. For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Luca said, deadpan, “You’re gonna love him.”

Paige closed her eyes. “Shut up.”

–

Paige Qualified third

It wasn’t that third was bad.

It was that third at Silverstone, when you knew you could’ve had more, felt like a punch to the ribs.

Paige yanked off her gloves the second she pulled into the garage, her jaw clenched so tight she thought she might crack a molar. She didn’t even look up at the screens flashing provisional results across the pit lane. She didn’t need to. She knew it already — Mercedes locked out the front row, Ferrari in third.

Behind her, the red garage buzzed with energy, trying to spin it as a good result. And technically, it was. Ferrari was miles ahead in the Constructors’ standings. They could afford a race or two where they weren’t perfect.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting like hell.

Paige hopped out of the car and tugged her helmet off, running a hand through her sweaty hair. As the adrenaline faded, the other weight settled back on her shoulders — because, of course, qualifying frustrations weren’t enough.

No. She also had Dirk van de Meer waiting for her.

Apparently, PR Boy couldn’t even wait until after the race. Chiara had texted her mid-morning: “Dirk will be joining us today. Please meet him before media commitments.”

Translation: Smile for the cameras, be friendly, and don’t scare off our sponsor’s golden child.

Paige set her jaw and stalked toward the back of the garage, her race suit half unzipped and tied around her waist. The second she turned the corner, she spotted him.

Dirk. Tall, blond, textbook Dutch features. White Ferrari polo shirt like he belonged there already, laughing too loud at something Chiara said. He had the same easy, polished look that always seemed to follow sons of ex-drivers around — born to be here, even if he hadn’t earned a damn thing yet.

Paige slowed her steps, dragging out the inevitable. She caught sight of Luca off to the side, pretending to busy himself with a laptop but definitely watching the whole thing unfold like it was reality TV. Paige gave him a look that said I will murder you in your sleep and kept walking.

And then, a little farther down, she saw Azzi.

Azzi was sitting on one of the spare tires near the wall, still in her race suit, helmet resting beside her. She looked pale, miserable, and more frustrated than Paige had ever seen her. Normally, Azzi at Silverstone was a weapon — sharp, deadly, untouchable. Today, she looked like she was barely hanging on.

Their eyes met for a split second, and Paige’s heart twisted. Azzi didn’t have to say anything. Paige could see it — the sickness still weighing her down, the frustration of knowing her body was betraying her at one of the biggest races of the year.

Paige hesitated, torn between storming over to check on Azzi and dealing with the PR nightmare standing a few feet away. Chiara, naturally, solved it for her.

“Paige! Over here,” she called, bright and fake.

Paige gritted her teeth and turned toward Dirk. He stuck out a hand like they were old friends.

“Dirk van de Meer,” he said, flashing a perfect grin.

“Paige,” she said shortly, shaking his hand once before dropping it like it burned. Her voice was calm, but her mind was still with Azzi, still furious at herself for not putting the lap together, still pissed she had to deal with this circus instead of being able to focus.

Dirk didn’t seem to notice the iciness. Or if he did, he powered through it with PR training so thick you could smell it. He asked some polite question about her qualifying — she didn’t even remember what — and she answered automatically, her eyes flickering back toward Azzi every few seconds.

Azzi hadn’t moved. She was just sitting there, staring at the floor, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.

Luca finally drifted closer, mercifully inserting himself into the conversation under the guise of checking her data screen. Paige barely registered what he said, only that it gave her an excuse to pull away from Dirk.

She muttered something about media duties and ducked toward the garage exit, not waiting for permission.

She needed a second. Away from cameras. Away from fake smiles. Away from the growing pressure in her chest that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Silverstone was supposed to be a statement. And now it felt like they were barely surviving it.

–

Paige barely made it to her little room off the back of the Ferrari motorhome before she collapsed face-first onto the narrow bed.

It wasn’t exactly glamorous — a twin mattress, a chair, a tiny desk piled with unopened water bottles and a couple half-eaten protein bars — but it was hers for the weekend. A place to disappear for five minutes and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She kicked her shoes off and stretched out with a groan. Every part of her body felt heavy — the adrenaline crash from qualifying, the pressure, the PR nonsense — it all layered over her like a second fireproof suit she couldn’t peel off.

And somewhere, at the back of her mind, a new and very real fear was setting in: if Azzi gave her the flu, she would kill her.

Paige flipped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, arms sprawled out like a crime scene.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, voice rough, “if I get sick and have to race like that, I’m taking her out at Turn Three. I don’t care. Straight up.”

She was halfway considering napping — just a quick reset — when she heard the faint sound of someone moving next door.

The shuffle of feet. A door closing quietly.

Azzi.

Paige blinked up at the ceiling for a second, debating. She should probably stay here. Germs. Sanity. Self-preservation.

But… it was Azzi. And Paige couldn’t just ignore her.

Grumbling under her breath, Paige hauled herself up and wandered over. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the doorframe.

“Hey,” she said, voice still low from exhaustion. “You alive in there?”

The door cracked open, and there was Azzi — messy bun barely hanging on, race suit half undone, a hoodie pulled on over the top. She looked like hell. Pale, tired, dark circles under her eyes. Still, she managed a half-smirk.

“You sure you wanna risk it?” Azzi said, voice scratchy but teasing. “I’m like… one step away from biohazard level.”

Paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, if I get sick, I’m running you off track tomorrow. Fair warning.”

Azzi snorted and stepped back to let her in. Paige followed, already regretting it a little because holy hell, it smelled like Vicks and cough drops in here.

“You already look sick, bro,” Azzi said, dropping onto the edge of her bed with a wince.

Paige froze. “What?”

Azzi looked up at her, half amused, half serious. “Yeah. You’re all pale and sweaty. Gross.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “That’s just… qualifying stress.”

“Mmhmm.” Azzi wrapped herself tighter in her hoodie like a burrito. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Paige huffed and sat down in the only chair, immediately regretting how much her legs ached. Now that Azzi mentioned it… she did feel kind of weird. But it was probably just adrenaline.

They sat in silence for a minute, the quiet hum of the paddock barely leaking in from outside. It wasn’t awkward. It never was with Azzi. Even sick and miserable, she was still Azzi — the one person who didn’t make Paige feel like she had to perform every second she was wearing red.

Paige leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Just don’t breathe directly on me,” she muttered.

Azzi laughed weakly. “No promises.”

–

From the second Paige opened her eyes, she knew it wasn’t going to be a good day.

It wasn’t the flu — not yet, anyway — but something gnawed at her edges. A bad mood, raw and restless under her skin, tightening everything until her muscles ached before she even got in the car.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the fact that Azzi was apparently going to race today, despite what every medical professional in the country of Britain had advised.

Paige dragged herself through morning meetings and media duties on autopilot, nodding at the right times, signing autographs, posing for the same pictures she always did.

It all felt distant. Like she was wading through static.

By the time she was strapping into the car on the grid, helmet already steaming with her own breath, she forced herself to focus. Third place. Good start position. Damage control today. Don’t do anything stupid.

The lights went out, and Silverstone roared to life.

Paige got off the line clean, tucking neatly behind the two Mercedes and immediately slamming the door on the McLaren trying to sneak up the inside. She held her position through the first lap, her car heavy and twitchy with fuel, the tires screaming on cold asphalt.

By Lap 10, she was in a rhythm. Controlled. Mechanical.

3rd. Still 3rd.

“Update on Azzi?” Paige asked over the radio, voice steady even if her stomach twisted at the question.

A crackle of static, and then Luca’s voice, clear and professional:

“Currently 7th. She’s holding pace but dropping a little.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. Good enough, she guessed. Azzi had no business being in the car today, but if she could survive the race, that was all they needed.

Turn One came up fast, Silverstone’s brutal high-speed right-hander. Paige flicked the wheel in — and the front end didn’t bite the way it should.

Understeer. Subtle, but real.

“Understeer, Turn One,” she said calmly into the radio, adjusting her steering mid-corner.

There was a pause. Then Luca:

“Sorry? You’re feeling understeer?”

Paige blinked, irritation flaring hotter than it should have. “What? No. There is understeer. In Turn One. Track’s getting greasy or the wind’s shifted or something, I don’t know. Figure it out, Luca.”

Another beat of static.

“Copy,” Luca said, way too neutral for Paige’s liking.

She gritted her teeth and kept pushing, heart pounding harder than it should for Lap 11 of 52. Every time she turned the wheel, it felt like the car was a second behind her, lazy and stubborn. Every time she thought about Azzi, still fighting through fever and muscle aches, it twisted something deeper in her gut.

She wasn’t sick.

She wasn’t tired.

She wasn’t anything.

She was just angry.

At the track. At the car. At herself for caring so much.

At Azzi for racing when she shouldn’t.

At Dirk and his stupid PR smiles.

At the universe for daring to make her feel anything today at all.

Paige slammed the car over the curbs and punched out of the corner, engine screaming under her.

3rd. Still 3rd.

But it felt like barely holding on.

–

Fourth place.

Not a disaster. Not a win, either.

Paige went through the media gauntlet like she was sleepwalking — same questions, same fake smiles. How was the car? Was she happy with the result? How’s the team morale heading into the break?

Smile. Nod. Say the right things. Don’t think too hard.

She hadn’t seen Azzi since the cooldown room. Actually, she wasn’t even sure Azzi made it through the whole race. Someone said she finished, someone else said she got hauled straight to medical. Paige pretended she didn’t care. Pretended really hard.

After the last interview, Paige peeled off her race suit in the garage, pulled on a hoodie and leggings, shoved her duffel bag over her shoulder, and left without another word.

Hotel.

Shower.

Flight.

Forget Silverstone ever happened.

The two-week break stretched out in front of her like a life raft. She hadn’t been home to Minneapolis for longer than a few days since preseason testing. All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed, see her family, remind herself she was still a person and not just a Ferrari-branded robot.

Paige got to the private terminal just after sunset, the Silverstone sky bleeding into deep blue and gold.

And there it was — Azzi’s jet.

It looked exactly how Paige expected it to: sleek, polished, expensive enough to make her bones ache.

She wasn’t even sure if she was invited on it. But someone from logistics had just said, “Yeah, you’re flying with Azzi back to the States,” like it was no big deal. So here she was.

Paige climbed the short set of stairs and ducked inside, half expecting to be tackled by security or something.

Instead, Azzi was sprawled across one of the big leather couches, hoodie up, headphones half-on. She looked up when Paige entered, blinking like she was still coming back to reality.

“Hey,” Azzi said, voice rough but better than yesterday.

“Hey,” Paige answered, shoving her bag into an overhead compartment before flopping down across from her.

The engines started to hum underfoot. A flight attendant offered water, snacks, blankets — all of which Paige awkwardly declined. She wasn’t used to flying like this. It felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

The jet taxied and lifted off with barely a bump, angling toward the U.S. East Coast.

Azzi pulled off her headphones and tossed them onto the seat beside her.

“You headed home?” she asked, voice casual.

“Yeah. Minneapolis,” Paige said, stretching her legs out.

Azzi smiled faintly. “Two weeks of peace and quiet.”

“Hopefully.”

They sat there for a while, the noise of the engines soft and steady around them.

Paige realized it was the first time since that night in New York they’d really talked without helmets on, without the garage screaming around them, without strategists hovering nearby like vultures.

Azzi looked different outside of a race suit — softer, almost. Still competitive under the surface, but quieter about it.

And Paige… Paige didn’t know who she was right now. Just tired, probably. Or maybe remembering there was a real world out there, somewhere beyond press conferences and tire compounds.

“First time on a private jet?” Azzi asked, smirking.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

Azzi chuckled, low and scratchy. “Not bad, right?”

Paige leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Not bad at all.”

–

The hours blurred together in the kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward.

The hum of the engines, the soft lighting, the low, steady rhythm of flight — it all made it easy to forget everything they were usually supposed to be.

Paige stared out the window for a while, watching the stars scatter across the dark sky.

When she turned back, Azzi was still sitting there, hood pulled low, looking half-asleep but not quite gone.

“You got family back home?” Azzi asked finally, voice rough but curious.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. My little brother, Drew. Probably taller than me by the time I land.”

Azzi grinned a little at that. “They grow fast when you’re not looking.”

“Tell me about it,” Paige said, smiling despite herself. “And my dad’s there too. He’s — he’s great. Still thinks he knows more about Formula One than he does.”

“Classic.”

Paige laughed under her breath, feeling herself loosen up. “My mom… she’s out in Montana now. Bought a ranch or something after the divorce. Not really in the picture anymore, but it’s fine. I think she’s happier that way.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood without needing all the messy details.

Paige shifted, pulling one leg up onto the seat. “What about you?”

Azzi smiled faintly, her fingers tugging at the hem of her hoodie. “Parents are still in D.C. I’ve got two younger brothers. Jon and Jose.”

“Yeah? You close with them?”

Azzi shrugged. “In the way brothers and sisters are. They were always around growing up — annoying me, taking my stuff. Pretty classic younger brother stuff.”

Paige laughed again, genuinely this time. “Sounds about right.”

Azzi tilted her head back against the couch, looking at Paige through half-lidded eyes. “You probably would’ve fit right in.”

Paige smirked. “Probably would’ve been grounded every weekend.”

“Definitely,” Azzi said, smiling wider.

For a minute, they just sat there, letting the conversation breathe. Then something clicked in Paige’s brain.

“Wait,” Paige said, sitting up straighter. “If your whole family’s in D.C., why the hell do you live in New York?”

Azzi blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “Wanted some space. After I signed with Ferrari, it just… made sense to be closer to everything. Europe flights, brand stuff, whatever. Plus, D.C.’s a little too — I don’t know — perfect sometimes. New York’s real. Loud. Messy. I like it.”

Paige thought about that, nodding slowly. She couldn’t blame her.

There was something about New York that made you feel small and big at the same time. Like you could be nobody and still belong there.

“Besides,” Azzi added, grinning lazily, “I wouldn’t survive another Christmas with my mom setting up matching pajamas.”

Paige snorted, shaking her head. “God. I feel that.”

The conversation slipped into another lull, but it wasn’t heavy. Just comfortable.

Until Paige sighed and slumped further into her seat, muttering, “Fucking Dirk.”

Azzi’s eyebrow arched, sharp and amused. “Dirk, huh?”

Paige groaned into her sleeve. “Yeah. Fucking Dirk. Ferrari’s latest genius PR move.”

Azzi laughed, coughing a little. “The Netherlands guy?”

“Yep,” Paige said, popping the p. “Supposed to be some golden boy. Son of a former Ferrari driver. I’m probably supposed to be fake-dating him for sponsor points or some shit.”

Azzi looked way too entertained. “You gonna?”

“God, no.” Paige rubbed her face. “The guy probably irons his jeans.”

Azzi cracked up at that, the sound low and a little raspy but real. Paige smiled despite herself, basking for a second in the normalcy of it all.

No helmets. No pressure. No cameras.

Just two girls, exhausted and flying through the night sky toward something that — for a little while — wasn’t racing.

–

It had been one week. Well, a little less

Five whole days of pretending she was a normal person again — seeing family, catching up with friends, trying to remember how to sleep past 7 A.M. without an alarm screaming at her.

And now here Paige was, back in New York, standing at some bougie rooftop event she didn’t even want to be at, pretending she cared about fancy cars and overpriced champagne… all because of fucking Dirk.

Dirk van something.

He was as punchable in person as Paige remembered. Tall, hair slicked back like he thought he was stepping onto a magazine cover. He smiled too much, laughed too loud, and kept finding excuses to stand just a little too close.

Ferrari’s PR dreamboy.

Paige’s personal nightmare.

She had been texting Azzi under the table all night.

PB5: i will kill him

PB5: i swear to god azzi i will catch a charge tonight

Azzi’s responses came quick, like she was laughing from wherever she was.

AF35: sounds like a u problem

AF35: i have more tequila tho

AF35: come over after

Paige didn’t even hesitate.

PB5: bet.

She stuck it out another forty-five miserable minutes — posed for a few pictures, shook a few hands, gave Dirk exactly zero smiles — and then slipped out of the event the second no one was looking.

Her heels clicked sharply against the Manhattan sidewalk as she texted Azzi again.

PB5: omw. u better have limes.

Azzi just sent back a thumbs-up emoji. Paige smirked, already feeling the weight of the night start to peel off her shoulders.

–

By the time she got to Azzi’s place, Paige was looking ridiculous — and she knew it.

Loose pink sweater. Hair slicked back. Earrings she didn't even like that much.

She looked like she was still walking into something actually important, not an impromptu tequila night with a friend who probably hadn’t changed out of sweatpants.

Paige knocked once, then let herself in when she heard Azzi call, “It’s open!”

The apartment was half lit, music low, and Azzi was curled up on the giant couch in athletic shorts and a hoodie, hair thrown into a messy bun.

“Hey,” Azzi said when she looked up. “You’re awfully dressed up.”

Paige dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes dramatically.

“I had to survive Dirk for three hours. I deserve to look hot.”

Azzi laughed, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “Fair. Very fair.”

Paige flopped onto the couch, feeling her spine crack in about twelve different places. A minute later, Azzi came back balancing two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

“You really came through,” Paige said, impressed.

Azzi grinned. “Told you. I don’t mess around.”

They poured shots — no measuring, just vibes — and clinked glasses sloppily before knocking them back.

It burned, sharp and fast. Paige winced and then smiled, the first real smile she’d had all day.

They settled into the couch, trading war stories from the past week — Paige about Dirk and the PR people trying to wrangle her into “joint photos,” Azzi about a family dinner that ended with her mom trying to set her up with someone Azzi definitely would never be into.

Paige wiped tears from her eyes at that one. “What is it with moms and matchmaking?”

Azzi shrugged, smirking. “Control issues, probably.”

Another shot. Another laugh.

Somewhere between complaining about PR nightmares and arguing about who had the worse fake dating prospects, Paige realized how easy this felt — how stupidly normal it was to be here, tequila loose in her veins, her hair slipping out of its sleek style, laughing until her ribs hurt.

Azzi nudged her with a socked foot. “Hey. You survived Dick, I mean, Dirk. That’s something.”

“Barely,” Paige muttered, tipping her head back against the couch cushions.

Azzi just smiled — a real smile, tired but genuine — and poured them another round.

–

The tequila was working its way into every limb, slow and warm, making the whole room feel softer at the edges.

Paige was stretched out on the couch, feet up, hair a mess. She wasn’t about to admit it, but she was way too comfortable here.

Azzi refilled both their glasses — smaller pours this time — and flopped down next to her, bumping Paige’s knee with her own.

“Remember the last time you were here?” Azzi asked, voice low and teasing.

Paige hummed, pretending to think. “Mhm.”

Azzi smirked. “You swore you could beat me at cards. Got your ass kicked. Twice.”

“I let you win,” Paige said lazily, grinning sideways at her.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Sure you did.”

She reached over and grabbed a deck off the coffee table. Just sitting there like it had been waiting for this. She held it up between two fingers. “Wanna run it back?”

Paige shrugged, not really caring about the cards but liking the way Azzi looked at her — half-challenging, half-daring. “Why not.”

Azzi started shuffling, but it was half-assed, the cards slipping between her fingers like she wasn’t paying attention. Paige watched her, feeling the air between them shift — slower, heavier.

It wasn’t the tequila. Or maybe it was. But it wasn’t just that.

They barely made it through one hand.

Paige couldn’t even remember who was supposed to be winning.

Because somewhere between Azzi leaning closer to toss a card down and Paige reaching across to grab another, the game stopped mattering completely.

Azzi looked at her — really looked at her — and Paige felt it like a pull under her skin. The kind of look you didn’t just brush off.

“You’re really bad at this,” Azzi murmured, her voice all soft edges.

Paige smiled lazily, heart kicking a little harder against her ribs. “Maybe I’m just distracted.”

Azzi didn’t move for a second. Just held her there, suspended.

Then, almost like it wasn’t even a choice, she closed the distance — a hand brushing Paige’s knee, the casual touch sparking hotter than it had any right to.

Paige tilted her head, smirking without thinking. “You distracted?”

Azzi’s fingers curled slightly against her leg. “Maybe.”

The cards slid off the couch, forgotten completely, a fluttering mess on the floor.

Neither of them noticed.

Azzi’s hand slid higher on Paige’s thigh, slow, deliberate — and that was it.

Paige moved first, grabbing Azzi’s hoodie by the collar and pulling her in hard.

The kiss was messy. Too much teeth, too much desperation.

Azzi pushed back into her, hands everywhere — Paige’s hip, her waist, the bare skin at the back of her neck.

It wasn’t like the last time.

It wasn’t like the first time either.

Not like the drunken, half-laughing kiss they’d had after a podium party in Monaco when they were still teenagers — both pretending it didn’t mean anything.

This was different.

This had intent.

Paige gasped into Azzi’s mouth as she felt herself pulled across the couch, practically into Azzi’s lap. She kissed Azzi harder, tilting her head, demanding more.

Azzi gave it to her without hesitation.

Their hands fumbled — over clothes, skin, fabric — too fast, too much.

Paige shoved Azzi’s hoodie up, palms flat against the warmth of her stomach, feeling the slight tremble there.

Azzi swore under her breath and tugged at Paige’s sweater, unbuttoning it with rough hands. Paige arched into her, breath hitching when Azzi’s fingers skimmed along her abs.

“Fuck,” Azzi muttered, voice breaking, mouth moving down Paige’s neck. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” Paige said, biting back a shudder.

The sweater slipped off her shoulders and hit the floor, forgotten. Azzi kissed lower, open-mouthed against the skin of her collarbone, and Paige let her head fall back, her hands tangling in Azzi’s hair to keep herself grounded.

It was frantic — months of racing side by side, arguing, shoving, pretending not to notice the way they looked at each other when they thought no one else was watching.

Years of it, really — ever since they were seventeen and F3 teammates and too stupid to do anything about it.

Azzi’s hands were rough and sure, sliding down Paige’s bare sides, making her breath stutter.

“You sure?” Azzi asked, voice wrecked, a thread of restraint still hanging on somehow.

Paige opened her eyes — dark, heavy-lidded — and smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Azzi kissed her again — hard, deep, hungry — and Paige didn’t think after that.

There was only heat and skin and the sound of Azzi breathing her name against her throat.

Only the weight of Azzi’s body pressing her into the couch cushions.

Only the wild, dizzy feeling that maybe this wasn’t just some drunk, stupid mistake — maybe it never had been.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #dallas wings

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reavesluv · 23 hours 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, the meeting) fluff

notes: inspired on drake’s song!

and have you seen those pictures of paige 🤭 i’m in love

“Hey Y/N, too busy?” Lena, your lovely and loyal manager asks.

“Not at all, everything alright?” You answer.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah? what is it?”

“You know who Paige Bueckers is?”

“Oh sure do, she’s hot as hell” You laugh, answering. “What about her?”

“You know she just came out?”

“You mean she likes girls?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, that’s good for her, what’s so important about it?”

“That– uh…her manager, Louis, he contacted me yesterday.”

“Like for what?”

A big silence falls between you two, thick and uncomfortable.

“Would you mind dating Paige?” Lena asks, looking away.

“There’s no way!” You say, putting a hand in front of you in a stop sign.

Standing in front of the internet’s desire, the girl everyone likes, everyone knows, everyone wants. It was definitely not for the weak, and you were weak.

“How do you guys even know each other?” Paige asked his manager, Louis, about the fact that he knows Lena.

“Well…We might have dated in high-school.” He answers.

“Bruh.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“So what now? I have to date Paige because you want to?” You say.

“It’s not because we want to. Think about it, Paige just came out and she’s such an icon right now, and you Y/N, everyone loves you, so imagine how much money you could make by being together?” Lena says.

“That’s definitely not how it works!” Paige answers.

“Yeah, it’s not happening.” You answer her.

A silence washed all over the room where the four of you were.

“People are not gonna believe it, she’ll be too lucky to date me.” You say, pretending to mind the idea.

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself, i’m way hotter than you” Paige says. “People are not gonna believe you got to date me!”

You laugh, looking at her big blue eyes. She was gorgeous, and the last thing you would do was saying no to the plan.

Paige eventually said yes, because for some reason, your eyes gave her exactly what she was looking for…reassurance.

“You just came out and you look way gayer than i do.” You say, sitting at her side in the restaurant, everything planned by Louis and Lena, of course.

“Of course i do, you’re such a delicate flower, you look like you love dick” Paige says.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You answer.

“Well you’re re gonna have to pretend that you love me.”

That made you nervous, cause it was true. You had to pretend that you loved her, even though you were already letting your heart open up a little bit.

“You two, look away and pretend this is not happening.” Louis says, smiling, like he was proud of you two for being there.

he took the picture, and minutes later it was posted. Your and Paige’s life, had been officially changed.

“Congrats girls, you’re officially dating.” He says.

You and Paige look at the picture, and then you smile softly at her.

“You look like a star, but only on camera” You say, trying to make everything feel a little bit more comfortable between the two of you, trying to break the ice.

“You’re so mean, i hope you’re not planning on me falling in love with you, cause you’re never gonna get it.” Paige laughs.

You laughed too, and when you both stopped, you looked at her again.

“I like how your hair looks like that.” you tell her.

“Thanks.” She says, softly raising a brow at you like she doesn’t believe you a thing. “You’re trying to make me like you?”

“I guess we have to, don’t we?”

She laughs, and smiles back at you.

“This’ll be pretty fun.” she says to you, fixing your hair.

••••••••••••

I was just listening to the song to be honest😹

#paige edit of the day #paige x fem reader #paige blockers #paige x reader #paige bueckers #paige buckets #paige x oc #uconn x reader #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #kk arnold #basketball #ncaa wbb #kk arnold uconn #paige x azzi #influencer #x reader #fanfic #fandom

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luxcuriousao3 · 15 hours ago

Text

Not-So-Creepy Landlord König

Word Count: 1484 Warnings: none Notes: He's just really, really awkward, okay? Go easy on him.

You were convinced your landlord was going to murder you.

It wasn’t even the fact that he was the most massive man you’d ever seen—nearly seven feet tall and with shoulders that spanned the breadth of a fridge—nor was it the fact that his face was heavily scarred. It wasn’t even his awkward attempts at conversation.

No, it was the highly suspicious circumstances in which you were renting your apartment that had you so convinced your grisly death was lurking on the horizon.

You’d found the place on Craigslist—yeah, the red flags were abundant from the beginning, but desperation had you grimacing while strolling right past them—and it had seemed like an answer to your prayers. Two bedroom apartment, small but not cramped, fully furnished, in a nice, safe neighborhood, and best of all, significantly below budget. You weren't even too put off by the listing stating that it was for women only, soothed by the fact that one of the rooms was already being rented by a girl, and she was only comfortable with female roommates. The little profile picture was of a girl, too, and any lingering doubts disappeared. Clearly, she was just looking for someone to split rent with—maybe even desperate herself, considering that she had to be fronting more than half of it. You sent a message and arranged a meeting with her, sure that all was right in the world.

All was not right in the world.

Turned out, the poster wasn't your roommate—instead it was the renter of the room you'd be taking over. The phone number she’d listed in the post belonged to the landlord, and he hadn’t seen fit to warn you that you were talking to a giant of a man and not the petite blonde in the profile picture.

You should’ve turned around and ran right then. But the allure of an in-unit washer and dryer was too strong. It was the promise that all utilities—including electricity—were included in the already dirt cheap rent that sealed the deal, though. Even learning that your landlord—König, he told you to call him in a voice that was surprisingly high pitched for such a big guy—kept some of his personal items stored in your apartment, and would occasionally just pop in to grab them, didn't stop you from making a terrible decision.

(“That’s weird, right?” You asked your best friend, who was staring at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, that's weird! And you signed a lease with him?”

“About that… technically, there’s no lease…”)

And yeah, it was fishy as hell that he didn't have you sign a lease. But the view! It was so distracting, such thoughts just slipped right out of your mind.

Unfortunately, the view wasn't going to save you from ending up on the six o'clock news.

(“So,” you began once the tour of the apartment had ended, craning your neck to look into the eyes of your potential new landlord. Or you would have, if he didn't stare pointedly at a spot just over your shoulder. You chose to ignore that. “I have to ask. Why is the rent so low? Any ghosts I should know about?”

Your landlord—König, you reminded yourself—didn’t so much as smile, and you tried not to wince at your joke falling flat.

“Helping vulnerable, young girls is important to me,” he said, and you gave a full body shudder. “It is my atonement.”

“Besides,” he continued while you mentally mapped the quickest route back to the nearest exit. “I grew up in that flat. I do not wish to see it destroyed by some careless dumkopf with a hammer and too much grey paint.”)

In the end, you’d forked over the euros, and less than a week later, you were fully moved into your new apartment. You locked your bedroom door every night, just in case. You never ate any unsealed foods. You counted your bras and panties every day, and when you noticed your pretty, silk pair was missing, you called off work and started packing then and there.

When you found them in the dryer that night, you realized that you might have, possibly, maybe overreacted.

König hadn’t actually done anything worthy of suspicion. It was just the circumstances and his general vibe that had you on edge. Which wasn’t really fair to him, you knew, and even kind of mean. But you couldn’t help it. Better safe than sorry, and all that.

Because God, but he was just so weird.

Every time you saw each other—which was often, considering that he lived in the apartment above you—he stopped in his tracks, hunched his shoulders, and asked how you liked the apartment, all while refusing to look at you. And every time, you told him it was great, silently counting the seconds until you could get away. He would respond with a random memory about his childhood—”My Oma once started a fire in the kitchen, that is why the curtains are so short. I had to cut off the burnt edges.”—and then leave before you could react to it. It was so baffling it almost pissed you off.

Then he started memorizing your schedule.

Well, you couldn’t say for sure that that was the case, but it certainly seemed like it. Every Monday morning before work, you would go grocery shopping, and when you got home, König was conveniently sweeping the lobby. As always, he stopped what he was doing, asked after the apartment, and dropped another tidbit of landlord lore—but this time, he didn’t immediately run away after. Instead, he plucked the grocery bags from your aching fingers—yeah, you definitely needed to invest in one of those folding cart thingies—and walked up the stairs, ridiculously long legs taking them two at a time. You blinked, confused by what just happened, and then scurried after him. But by the time you got to your door, he was gone, and your groceries were sitting innocently in front of it.

It became a routine. One you didn’t know how to stop. You weren’t even sure you wanted it to stop—it was ultimately harmless, after all, and really quite helpful. But you were still wary of him, and you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea about your intentions. The last thing you needed was your landlord kicking you out (or killing you) because he thought you were stringing him along.

But as the weeks passed by and the dreaded date offer-slash-murder never came, you slowly began to relax. You stopped locking your door at night and counting your sets of underwear. You started eating from containers of food that had already been opened. And tonight, you even brought a guy home for the first time since moving in.

Before he could so much as get his cock out, though, there was a loud, insistent knocking at your door. You ignored it, and told your date to as well.

Fatal mistake.

The door opened, and in walked König. You shrieked, hands flying up to cover your bare chest—which was where his wide, guileless gaze had landed. Figures, the first time he properly looked at you was to stare at your tits—and your date stood up in front of you protectively… only to throw his hands up in a non threatening gesture and start blubbering apologies the second he saw König.

“Oh fuck, man, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, oh fuck, please don’t kill me, I swear I didn’t know—”

König didn’t answer, having torn his gaze away from your hastily covered breasts to stare resolutely at the wall, his pale, scarred face now a bright red. Your date looked about ready to leap from the second story window rather than try to get around the mammoth of a man standing in your doorway, and you grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back down onto the couch.

“Get out!” You shouted at your landlord—and yeah, you could worry about whether that was going to get you evicted later—and König jolted before doing exactly that, the door closing behind him with a slam.

Nothing you said could convince your date to stay. He fled your apartment like he had a warrant out for his arrest, and you were once again left in the lurch. One angry wank later, and you went to bed, miserable and furious.

You woke up the next morning to an envelope slipped under your door. Inside was a note and several one hundred euro bills.

Fraulein, I am very sorry for last night. I called to tell you I was coming to get some of my things, but when you did not answer, I thought you were not home. I have returned half your rent from last month. Please forgive me. König

For a red flag, the cash in your hand looked very, very green.

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pickleking8 · 2 days ago

Text

14 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be - Chapter Fourteen

Word Count: 1363

Ao3 Link

Previous - Masterpost

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Now, anyone who knows anything about running crime organizations (organizations of any legal status, really), is that information is gold. It pays, literally, to know who’s making the drug deal in the alley at three am, who’s smuggling weapons by the docks, hell, how many bananas Johnny’s grandmama bought at the market yesterday.

Everyone knows this. But, more importantly, Jason knows this. Which is why two weeks after his return to Gotham, he has eyes everywhere. Camera systems already in place? Hacked, they’re his now. Informant that you treated badly? Hey, a couple of well placed hundred dollar bills, and boom, he’s got a network going. Not even to mention the League of Assassins grade cameras monitoring nearly every street.

Point is, Jason is ready. Batman? Going down. Revenge? About to be dished out in glorious fashion.

Except for this one small, really teensy-weensy hiccup in his plans. Laughable, really, how easily he can dismiss this and continue on. No problems here. None, nada, zilch and zip.

…

Fuck.

Alright, reassessment. There appears to be a child.

A child that looks like him. Just like him. Same injuries, even.

…

The child is in the manor. The child does not want to be in the manor. Bruce is keeping the child from leaving the manor.

Double fuck.

Bruce called the child Jason.

Ohh, so many fucks. Infinite fuck. With a side of goddammit.

The couch protests, creaking with age and indignation, as he flops (in a very dignified way) onto it. It might interest you to know, dear reader, that this particular safe house had a very fascinating ceiling. It was white, and extraordinarily bumpy, bowing down and browned in some places from water, cracked into and covered with spider webs in others, and all together was in rough shape: does this interest you?

No?

Well, it sure seemed to interest Jason, as he laid staring at it for the better part of an hour.

…He has to save the child.

Three short buzzes from his phone, vibrating in his jeans pocket distracts him from his musings. Huffing out a sigh, the moth-bitten couch complains once more as he sits up. One of his new informants, calling him. David, if he remembers correctly. Nice guy, always showing pictures of his cat (David wasn’t lying, it really did have the prettiest eyes of any cat Jason had ever seen).

“What?” comes out as an uncouth greeting.

“Hey, boss. You know how you said to report if anything particularly unusual happened?” Jason straightened.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“Well, I saw this kid, running like a bat out of hell down 39th and 2nd. Pretty run of the mill, except the kid just kept… flickering, going invisible and back again. White, black hair, male, looked maybe fifteen and panicked as all shit. Injured. Turned into an alley and just… disappeared. Thought you might wanna know, with that ‘keep kids safe’ rule you got.”

“ Fuck. Okay, David, listen to me very carefully. Did anyone else see the kid? Which alley did he go into?”

“The one near Ms. Baker’s apartment. And no, I don’t think so, at least. It was pretty late, street was deserted, but I can’t be sure.”

“Okay, okay. Listen, anyone comes asking after the kid, you don’t tell them shit, got it? You find out anyone else saw, you tell them the same thing. I’ll take care of the kid. Understood?”

“Got it, boss. If anyone asks, I wasn’t even outside tonight.”

“Good.”

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His breath sounds loud through the modulation of his helmet, rasping and rattling; a last breath after a last breath after a last breath, Jason’s heart continuing to beat and lungs continuing to expand long after they should’ve stopped. Ever since he clawed his way to air, emerged with dirt and blood under his fingernails, he’s been aware of his breath, noticing each inhale, exhale, and gasp. Afraid that if his attention drifts, he’ll find himself back in that silk-lined prison of a coffin.

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Danny’s breath echoes in the space between the walls. It’s not the only sound present, he can hear the building settling around him, bits of cement dust trickling down, and somewhere, something with claws skittering across the brick. He tried not to pay attention to the way his breath was so loud it sounded as if the building breathed with him, creaking and groaning.

Ever since he stumbled out of that portal, body crackling with electricity and a circle spelling ‘ON’ branded permanently on his palm, he didn’t like hearing his breathing, reminding him that every inhale was stolen and every exhale a signal he was on borrowed time. Reminding him what a freak of nature he truly was, that when the universe stitched itself together with a loving hand, it never intended this, it never intended him.

He felt better when he was a ghost, when he didn’t have to breathe. When the aching in his chest subsided and he no longer felt like hands were crawling their way up his throat. When he was human, the feeling returned again, that wrongness, that stark reminder with every beat of his heart that he wasn’t meant to be.

Some creepy little boy with creepy little powers, indeed.

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The trail was damning: scattered trash, shoved aside in a panic here, a small smear of blood there, all pointing to… the wall.

The solid brick wall.

The suspiciously clean patch of solid brick wall.

Fuck, a meta. Jason had seen this before, metas who weren’t particularly good at phasing, or just not paying as much attention as they should have. They’d take the dirt and grime and such with them as they went, only phasing through the atoms they thought were in their way. Phasing was tricky like that, nearly as dependent on one’s mind as it was on one’s physical ability. It worked on a different set of rules: you phased through what you set your mind to phase through. You forgot about grime? Well, it comes with you. Hence: free wall cleaning.

Now, the real question was, did the kid phase all the way through, or did he stay in the wall? Jason had seen the kid earlier, and from what David had said, he was running on fumes. The state of the alley said he was too panicked to cover his tracks properly. Jason would bet that as soon as the kid thought he was out of sight, he’d dropped.

Well, shit. Now, there’s a kid that’s probably in the wall and scared out of his mind, and Jason’s got to get him out.

Double shit.

…Jason knocks. On the wall. Three raps, in quick succession, with his brass-covered knuckles.

A slight rustling, the quietest hitch of breath.

“Kid? I know you’re in there. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

More rustling, louder this time. Panicked.

“Please. I want to help.”

A head sticks out, mist spilling out of its mouth, floating gently upward, so all he can see of the kid’s face is piercing, glowing eyes of an all too-familiar shade.

He stares at the kid. The kid stares back, tense and ready to run.

“And who the fuck are you? Actually, it’s better if I don’t know. You’re dead, and that means you need to get the fuck out of this city and watch for hazmat suits. That’s the best I can do for you right now.”

The kid’s words are breathless, tinged with a melancholy bitterness that spoke to what could have, should have been, his eyes darting around, scanning the alleyway and the rooftops and Jason himself, assessing.

Jason breathes. In, out, ever so slowly; preparing himself to make a decision that cannot be undone. He needs something, something to get him to stay, something to get him to talk long enough for Jason to help him. So, he makes a decision that screams against every ounce of training he’s ever received.

He tells the kid his name, the name that has haunted this child for weeks, binding him to an identity, a person that isn’t him, isn’t him, isn’t him :

“I’m Jason. And you, I take it, are not.”

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Previous - Masterpost

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @tkiesai, @simplestoryteller

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Hey, everyone!! Apparently my writing juice only flows when I have a million exams next week, and I wrote this instead of studying for those :p

Ah well, it'll be okay. I'll just cram for the rest of today, wish me luck. Anyway, here's the latest chapter! Jason finally finds Danny! I struggled a little bit writing their interaction in the end, and I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but so it goes. As a side note, one of my personal head canons is that Danny's death scar isn't just the lichtenberg scarring, but the 'on' button branded into his palm as well. He got really into fingerless gloves after the accident.

Thank you for reading, and let me know what you guys think of the chapter!

#dpxdc #dcxdp #Danny phantom #Jason todd #red hood #adoption isn't all it's cracked up to be #my fic #I liked the first part of the chapter a lot #and I liked trying to create a parallel between Jason and Danny's deaths #and how they see breathing #let me know what you think of that #I'm not sure how it came across lol #anyway as usual I am very proud #please compliment me #stay safe and have a lovely day #<3

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kingdomvel · 3 hours ago

Text

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 3.4k

from this post

Eddie can’t stop the laugh that comes out of him because of the video on his screen, Gareth snickering next to him.

“This is great, I have to show this to the others later,” Eddie says. His fingers move automatically, pressing on the send icon and then on the profile at the very top, a move he has done hundreds of times.

“Dude, did you just send that to Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks with a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like that’s normal?”

“Because it is? I just send him the posts I find funny to find them later.”

“You know there is a way to save posts so that they are organized, right?”

“I don’t like it and this is like way easier.”

“It’s literally not,” Gareth says, but Eddie doesn’t pay attention to him or stop.

“Look,” he goes to the front page, slides to the dms and opens the conversation with Steve Harrington, always at the top. “It’s just right there.” He starts scrolling up to show him the long string of unanswered memes and videos, but Gareth interrupts him.

“Wait, wait. Scroll back down, what the fuck is that? Does he read your messages?” He is pointing to the little icon with Harrington’s profile picture just above the last video he’s sent. Eddie shrugs.

“It’s probably a bored media guy enjoying some memes on the clock or making sure I’m not a weirdo, it’s not like Steve Harrington actually uses this account.”

“You are a weirdo, I’m surprised you are not blocked yet.”

Eddie is on his phone, passing the time as he keeps an eye on the lonely customer currently looking through the new vinyls. It’s a routine, a mindless action as he saves another post to show the guys later, preferring to see their reactions in person. Nothing ever happens, that’s why he gets surprised to the point of sitting up when a notification appears on his screen.

Steve.hrrgtn: Dude, you just made me laugh in the middle of a table reading

Eddie freezes as the notification disappears. Did he see that right? He couldn’t have seen that right.

He goes to his dms and surely, there at the top, is a message from THE Steve Harrington, or at least from his account. A table reading. It has to be him, right? Not an intern or a media guy. The one and only.

Eddie sends a look to the customer, still engrossed in the new releases. He is tempted to call her so she can check if the message is real or an hallucination provoked by his boredom. When he looks down, the message is still there. It is also still there when he opens the conversation. His fingers hover over screen.

He can picture him, sitting around a long table with his castmates, hiding his phone like a student in class but unable to keep his laugh in.

The vision is a bit surreal. He made Steve Harrington laugh.

Batking: why are you looking at your phone in the middle of a table reading

Steve.hrrgtn: new season boring af

It’s Eddie the one that can’t keep his laugh in this time. The girl sends him a look, but he doesn’t care.

Batking: should you be telling me that?

Steve.hrrgtn: I don’t even care at this point tbh

Batking: you are the one that signed the contract my guy

Steve.hrrgtn: I didn’t

Steve.hrrgtn: Never let your parents sign you into a multi season show when you are fifteen

Batking: I’ll keep that in mind for my next life

Batking: Sorry your parents made you a millionaire and famous

Steve.hrrgtn: 💀💀💀

Steve.hrrgtn: but really, at the time I thought hey it’s only a contract for five seasons for a teen drama, how bad could it be?

Steve.hrrgtn: now here I am, almost ten years later, listening to the worst script you have heard in your life

Batking: that does sound awful

Batking: you are making me happy that my folks are not in the picture

Is Eddie about to vent about his life to Steve fucking Harrington? It seems like it.

In the end, he doesn’t, because Harrington doesn’t answer to his message, probably swept away into actually working, or maybe he realised how weird it was that he was talking so casually to a guy he didn’t know.

Eddie doesn’t have time to wallow on it too much, because the girl comes to the counter with a vinyl and a question. The interaction with the famous actor moving to a part of Eddie’s brain normally reserved to daydreams.

Eddie thought that his interaction with Steve Harrington would be a one time thing, the guy looking at his phone because he was too bored and answering his message because, by some kind of cosmic coincidence, Eddie had happened to send it at the perfect moment. Just an impulsive action that he had regretted later. That’s why he is surprised when he gets a new notification after sending him the worst kind of shitpost ever, the ones that the algorithm feeds him at 2am – the current time – and send him in a fit of giggles with their complete absurdity.

Steve.hrrgtn: where do you even find these things

Batking: you are just jealous my algorithm is better than yours

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah everyday I dream about my instagram showing me a pig made with a sausage and sticks surfing some rotating meat skewers

Batking: It made you laugh though

Steve.hrrgtn: …..

Steve.hrrgtn: It did

Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving snort. It’s a bit crazy, knowing that somewhere out there a famous heartthrob is looking at his messages at 2am and laughing.

Unless this is the media guy.

Eddie prefers to believe that he is so funny he made a guy with millions of followers want to talk to him. Twice.

Batking: why are you awake at this hour anyway

Batking: shouldnt you be getting your beauty sleep

Steve.hrrgtn: we start filming the new season tomorrow

Steve.hrrgtn: today?

Steve.hrrgtn: and I can’t sleep

Batking: nightmares about the boring script

Batking: I see

Steve.hrrgtn: you could say that

Batking: well, check this out, your nightmares will go away

He sends another stupid meme (of the best kind, the ones from accounts that write in Cyrillic) and receives a set of skull emojis in answer.

Steve.hrrgtn: why have you stopped sending me memes

The message takes Eddie by surprise. It’s been a week since he texted with Steve Harrington for the second time – which still feels a bit surreal-, and he had decided to stop bothering the poor guy now that he knew he saw his messages. Going to his saved posts was still a nightmare, but Eddie knew how to behave.

Batking: didnt want to bother you now that you are working and I know you see them

Steve.hrrgtn: they have been my main entertainment for months you can’t just stop now when I need them most

Eddie blinks at the message. Months? The confirmation stuns him. The one that had been seeing his messages had always been him and not some media guy? Eddie remembers catching his name a few times on his Instagram stories. This is a bit trippy, if he is honest.

Batking: okay

Batking: as my liege commands

Batking: from now on I am your knight in shining armour your sole provider of memes

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: did you kill the villain today?

Steve.hrrgtn: This is a teen drama???

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: so, is the bad guy dead yet?

Steve.hrrgtn: Again???

Steve.hrrgtn: I told you like a thousand times that there is no bad guy to kill

Steve.hrrgtn: have you even watched my show?

Batking: I mean the scriptwriter

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Steve.hrrgtn: no, he is sadly not dead yet

Steve.hrrgtn: I think killing him would be a breach of my contract somehow

Batking: a pity

Batking: the way he insists on making your character straight? He deserves death.

Batking: don’t worry joe from normal life, I saw the way you looked at dacre, I know what you are

Steve.hrrgtn: I think that might have just been the way I was looking at Billy, the guy’s fucking hot

Steve.hrrgtn: an asshole though, glad he is not on the show anymore

Eddie pauses, his eyes reading the last two messages time and time again. Did Steve Harrington, heartthrob and ladies man, just admit to being attracted to a male coworker? Eddie’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He looks up at Gareth from his place in their couch. He is not paying attention to him, too focused on his laptop.

Eddie is having a bit of a crisis here and his roommate is ignoring him. Maybe it’s best that he is, Eddie doesn’t really want to share this with anyone. Should he bring attention to it? Should he just ignore it and brush it off? The decision is not that difficult in the end. He needs to know. He knows that there is no way he has any possibility of actually bagging Steve Harrington. Exchanging messages and memes is one thing, a pseudo friendship is one thing, but something more? Not fucking likely.

He still needs to know.

Batking: did I just get exclusive confirmation that Steve Harrington likes men? Should I call tmz?

Steve.hrrgtn: you wouldn’t get any money

Steve.hrrgtn: I’ve been out as bisexual for years, the media just chooses to ignore it

Steve.hrrgtn: wow look at these pictures of Steve Harrington with his new male best friend that he goes to dinner and all premieres with! Totally platonic! Oh now they have stopped hanging out completely? What could have happened to their friendship?

Steve.hrrgtn: he cheated on me, that’s what happened

Eddie blinks at his screen. So, he had tried to avoid learning anything about Steve that the man didn’t tell him himself. Just a chivalrous, treat the guy like a normal person gesture, but now he is wondering if he should have paid a bit more attention.

Batking: ah yes, the joys of compulsory heterosexuality and conformity

Batking: that sucks, dude

Steve.hrrgtn: did you really not know anything about it?

Batking: sorry to burst your celebrity bubble where everyone knows everything about your life

Steve.hrrgtn: no no, it’s… nice

Steve.hrrgtn: I have a question though

Steve.hrrgtn: why did you start sending me memes if you were not really interested in me?

Batking: well

Batking: I needed someone very famous that wasnt likely to really see my messages and seemed chill enough to not block me immediately

Batking: and dude, you are like waaay more famous than the show you are in, it’s ridiculous, thought you must be a douche for a long time

Batking: but an interview with you and your friend Robin showed up on my fyp and I saw that you were pretty chill

Batking: so it was between you and Timothee Chalamet

Batking: and it ended up being you because you are hotter

Steve.hrrgtn: of course I am

Steve.hrrgtn: thank you for choosing me tho

Batking: anyone would have

Steve.hrrgtn: the casting director of a complete unknown didn’t think the same

Batking: well thats THEIR loss

Batking: you do a great job with the shitty script of normal life

Batking: you would have acted the fuck out of bob dylan

Steve.hrrgtn: I do a better job in my other stuff

Batking: you have other stuff??

Batking: I’m going to be honest with you here, I only watched normal life so I had context to bitch about the boring new season with you

Eddie looks at the three little dots that indicate that Steve is writing appear a disappear a few times. Did he fuck up? Maybe he sounded too eager, maybe Steve thought it was a bit weird that Eddie assumed they would continue talking. But they have been talking for weeks now. Was it bad to assume?

Eddie closes the app, deciding to give the guy some privacy to write down what he wants to write down and heads to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. If Gareth senses the way his mood has soured, he doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes a couple of hours for an answer to appear. It’s simple.

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s nice of you

It’s Steve the one that starts the conversation a couple of days after that. Eddie only sees his messages an hour after he sends them, too busy with customers. The group of notifications on his screen when he is finally able to look at his phone very welcome.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I just realised

Steve.hrrgtn: well, my best friend made me realise

Steve.hrrgtn: she basically said that it’s weird that I’ve been talking with you for weeks and don’t know anything about your actual life and that you could actually be a stalker with a lot of patience or something like that

Steve.hrrgtn: so tell me about yourself? You are not living like down the street from me and waiting for the right moment to kidnap me like Robin says are you?

Eddie tries not to feel giddy at the thought of Steve talking about him to his friends. He has not done it himself, mostly because he tried once and they made fun of his ‘delusions’ as they called it. Whatever. He doesn’t really expect Steve to still be online, probably already swept out to his own job, so he just sends his answer.

Batking: a very reasonable fear, some facts to follow

Batking: I live as far from you as you live from Chicago

Batking: I am a humble employee at a record store where I have to deal with pretentious assholes daily that don’t really care about music and just about bragging about their record collection

Batking: I also have a band with my friends

Batking: we have a whooping 1756 listeners on spotify

Batking: I know, I know, you didn’t know you were talking with a rockstar try not to be very starstruck

The answer, to his surprise, comes almost immediately.

Steve.hrrgtn: 1757

Batking: what?

Steve.hrrgtn: what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t listen to your band now that I know it exists?

Eddie would be lying if he said that that didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is he developing a weird parasocial relationship with the guy? Probably yes, but is it even a parasocial relationship if he is actually talking with the guy and he called him his friend? This should be considered a normal crush, a normal, hopeless crush.

Batking: a very shitty one tbh here’s the link

Steve.hrrgtn: can I ask something else?

Batking: course

Steve.hrrgtn: you only have one pic in your profile and it’s with your friends

Steve.hrrgtn: which one are you?

Eddie taps the back of his phone a few times. It’s only natural that Steve would wonder that. He could just tell him, or… Eddie opens the camera and takes a picture, too close to see his face properly but enough that Steve will know who he is in the group picture now.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: this one

Steve.hrrgtn: fuck

Steve.hrrgtn: okay so the thought of you only seeing me in normal life is eating me alive

The notification comes when Eddie is with his friends, preparing for a night of DnD. Eddie was looking up some music to get the atmosphere going, but the music app immediately gets abandoned in lieu of the message.

Batking: can’t get me out of your head?

He knows he has been unable to keep the stupid smile out of his face when Jeff tries to glance at his screen. Eddie immediately slams the phone against his chest.

“Jeez, I thought you were looking at stupid memes again, who are you texting that got you smiling like that?” Jeff asks. He moves back to sit straight, so Eddie can look at his phone again.

“No one,” he says as he reads the new message.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I have a couple of indie films that are very good

So Steve has decided to ignore his message. Okay.

“He’s been like this for WEEKS now,” Gareth intervenes as he sits down at his spot. “He said it was Steve Harrington when I asked him when he started and has refused to say anything else.”

“The white boy of the month?” Jeff asks.

“White boy of the century,” Eddie feels the need to correct.

Batking: that’s great and all but I can’t watch your limited release indie films anywhere

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s why I’m sharing a link to the latest one with you

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t share it with anyone though

Batking: aw breaking the rules for little ol me?

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah yeah don’t get too cocky now

Steve.hrrgtn: can’t wait for your reaction 😉

Eddie stares at the winking emoji in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

“Can you stop texting your white boy of the century now so we can start?” Gareth asks.

“Just a second.” Eddie sends a quick message back before he moves to the music app again, chooses the first song he sees and puts the phone down.

Batking: send it to me, soldier, I will watch it tonight and give you my honest opinion

Eddie stares at the screen of his laptop, currently on his thighs as he was lounging on his bed, seeing the film Steve had sent to him. The film is currently paused, Steve’s face staring at him with eyes and mouth half open.

Okay, so Eddie just watched his famous guy turned friend have an orgasm – fake! Fake an orgasm, Eddie feels it’s very important that he makes that clear to himself – on screen after probably the most erotic sex scene he has seen in a non porno in the last 10 years. Fuck. How did he not know about the existence of this? How did this not make the news? Probably because it was with another man. Double fuck.

Maybe this is normal for Steve, for actors in general, to send their friends a link to a film where you have a soul shattering orgasm with a message about wanting to know their reaction with a winking emoji. It is not normal for Eddie. It is also not normal for his dick, who has not gotten the memo about this not being something it should be getting so excited about.

Eddie bites his lip. His finger moves on its own, backing the film a few minutes so the scene plays again. Eddie tries to convince himself that this is not weird if Steve was the one that wanted him to see this in the first place.

Eddie curses and takes a deep breath. He eyes his phone. It’s late, nearly midnight, but he knows that Steve is normally away at this hour.

Maybe this is not normal for Steve either, maybe he did want to get some kind of reaction out of Eddie.

Eddie snaps a picture of his laptop screen, careful to get the tent in his pants just in the edge of the picture. It’s very obvious on it what scene he is watching.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: you sure know how to get a guy hot and bothered

Maybe he can play it off as a joke if Steve didn’t mean it like Eddie wants him to mean it.

Steve.hrrgtn: glad to see my acting is that good

Fuck, Eddie fucked it up, right?

Steve.hrrgtn: it did come out very natural

Steve.hrrgtn: but the real thing looks better

Eddie feels on the edge of a precipice, as if there should be a warning on his field of vision about how his choice here will change the trajectory of his story.

Batking: can’t say

Batking: I haven’t seen the real thing, so I can’t really compare them, can I?

Steve.hrrgtn: would you want to?

Eddie can’t get his hopes up, he can’t assume, Steve is so out of his league, this can’t be happening to him.

Batking: have you acted in a porno I don’t know about?

Steve.hrrgtn: are you always this dense?

Eddie’s heart is dying in his chest, that’s the only explanation to how it’s feeling.

He doesn’t have time to type an answer, Eddie’s screen is suddenly filled with something else.

Steve Harrington is video calling him.

Eddie has never accepted a call so fast in his life before.

part 2...???

tag list: @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment (you didn't ask me to tag you but I guessed you'd want to see it?)

#i imagine steve as what dylan obrian is to teen wolf but even more #robin is of course the friend that was worried about the possible stalker murderer #steddie #steddie fic #my steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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billieskitty · 3 days ago

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♱ BACK TO ME

cw : based on “back to me” by the marías , ex!billie , use of y/n ONCE (sorry i usually try to avoid it) , fluff/angst? , not really sure what else

it’s been months since you and billie broke up. it was a mutual breakup, both of you deciding your lives were heading in different directions.

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you, even though you two ended on good terms. the worst part of it is still seeing her everywhere—posts, stories, magazines, and on the tv. everywhere.

recently was coachella, and she was seen with a girl. it was all over the place: “billie with her new girlfriend only months after her breakup with y/n!” it was like someone stabbed your heart.

you recognized the girl. she was a famous influencer. you weren’t sure if they were actually together..you can never trust the internet. it wasn’t like there were pictures of them kissing or holding hands, just walking side by side and dancing.

but for some reason, it was all you could think of. billie was all you could think of.

you missed her. you missed her soft skin, her scent, the way she’d look at your lips or deep into your eyes as you talked.

you let out a long sigh as you wrote in your journal, “is she all that you want? is she all that you need?”

after staring at the words, you suddenly throw the journal across the room. your hands drag on your face as you groan, a deep pit in your stomach.

“fuck.” you mutter to yourself as you walk to grab your phone. “this is such a bad idea.” you remind yourself like you’ll listen. you don’t. you’re already clicking on her contact.

you go to sit back down on your bed as you wait, the phone ringing a few times. and right when you’re about to give up you hear a click. and the voice you’ve missed for so, so long.

“hey..?” it sounds like a question. like ‘who is this?’ you wonder if she deleted your number, if this call was unknown.

you open your mouth to say something, say hi, but nothing comes out. you hear a light, “who is this?” and then an “oh.”

“b-billie..” you can’t help but stutter, you’re on the verge of crying. for so long, you haven’t talked, and now you are.

you hear her shift, like she’s nervous too, not able to stay still. “are you crying?”

your eyes shoot up from your lap to your phone, seeing her name. that was enough to send you overboard, tears streaming down your cheeks. you were sobbing now.

“are you okay? i-” you cut her off. “im sorry, im so sorry-” you stop to catch a breath, another tear streaming down.

“i shouldnt have called.” you hear another one of her movements and something jingling, like keys.

“your address is the same, right?” you let out a small mhm, not quite processing what’s happening because you’re so full of emotion.

you finally hear a door open, and shoes tapping on the floor. it clicks. “ill see you.” another tear drops, this time on your leg.

“baby, come back to me.”

— NOTES :: this was supposed to be fluffy but it’s kinda..sad? oopsssss….u guys want a part 2???

#billie #billie eilish #billieskitty #billie fanfiction #billie x reader #billie fluff #eilish #wlw #lesbian #wlw post

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sad-girl-poetry-hours · 2 days ago

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The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Luke Castellan x AphroditeFem!reader

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, situationship, Luke being jealous, reader lowkey gets stabbed, mentions of death, almost dying, sexual implications, language, body dysmorphia, all hurt, no comfort, use of Y/N, major character death. No beta, we die like men.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

When you first met Luke Castellan, he was sweet and kind. He was the kind of guy the gods revered. Camp Half-Blood's golden boy. But that was before the quest and the betrayal and everything. Luke Castellan was a man with pride. Maybe too much at times, but that was who he was. That’s one of the things you loved about him when you loved him.

When he returned from his quest, he was different. That was to be expected since he had failed, but there was something darker under all those layers. Before then, you two were close. Being counselors, you two worked together on camp activities. At some point, the younger campers started expecting you two to begin dating. It had become an inside joke.

He had become distant. Maybe you should’ve seen it sooner. The way he rested his right cheek on his hand during meals. He suddenly switched to sleeping on his right side. His need to be standing or sitting to the left of everyone he spoke to. It was the scar. That damned scar. He hated it. And you hadn’t realized it until you noticed your concealer missing. You had asked all of your sisters if they had borrowed it from your makeup bag, and none of them had. Later that day, you went to vent to Luke about missing it. That’s when you found him, and your concealer.

Luke was sitting on his bunk with a compact mirror, a makeup sponge, and your concealer. There were a few things wrong with this picture. First, it wasn’t his shade whatsoever. Second, the mirror was surely too small. And third, he was trying to cover that damned scar. His knuckles were white around the compact, and his brows were laced with frustration. The sight was enough to make your heart physically ache.

“Luke?” You called out from the doorway. His eyes quickly darted from you to the things in his lap and the floor. You could tell he was ashamed, maybe a little guilty. So, you slowly walked over to sit on the bunk across from him. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor between you. You cautiously reached out and cupped his jaw, wiping the concealer away from his scar and tilting his head up to look at you.

“What’s going on?” You kept your voice calm and sweet. He finally met your gaze with tired, misty eyes. His words catch in his throat as he tries to speak, “I- I just…”

You quietly shushed him and knelt in front of him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. He let out a shaky breath and let himself melt into your touch. He had always loved the way you could so easily comfort him.

“I just hate it… And- I just wanted to get rid of it. I’m sorry.” His voice was muffled by your shoulder, but you could hear the pain and self-loathing laced through his words.

“Shhh, it’s okay… You don’t have to apologize.” You rubbed soothing circles onto his back through his shirt as you spoke. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You helped him clean up and calm down enough to talk. It took some convincing, but he ended up listening to you and gave up hiding it. After that, there was a new sense of understanding between you two. You could tell when he was feeling insecure about his scar. You were able to dissolve those insecurities with a simple touch or whispered words. And maybe that’s when Luke fell first. Maybe that’s when he realized you would always be there.

From then on, he was always with you. If you weren’t together, people asked why. You two definitely weren’t beating the dating allegations. You were close from the start but only grew closer. That closeness became stolen kisses at bonfires, walks through the strawberry fields, and skipping capture the flag to hook up in an empty cabin.

For about a year, that's all your relationship was. There was never any commitment or conversation about what you two were. So you acted like seeing him hook up with other girls didn’t make your heart shatter. He wasn’t your boyfriend. And you weren’t his girlfriend. If he could hook up with other girls, what was stopping you from hooking up with other guys?

So, when Travis asked you to the bonfire one night, you said yes. You weren’t really into him like that, but it was better than sitting and watching Luke flirt with your sisters from Aphrodite cabin. Looks like he’s got a type.

You had a good night with Travis overall. He was sweet and funny and good at making conversation. It just wasn’t the same. Things were smooth and flowed like honey with Luke. You liked Travis, just as a friend. Your original intention of hooking up with him was snubbed out by that realization. After the bonfire, he walked you to your cabin, and you gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek. When you got inside, there was Luke, sitting on your bunk, tracing lazy patterns over your pretty floral sheets. He looked upset.

Why was he upset? He had no right to be upset. He’s the one who started this.

He looked up at you with furrowed brows and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you have fun with Travis?” His voice was low and a little strained.

You let out a soft huff and mirrored his position, shifting your weight. “Why do you care?”

“I was just asking. There’s no need to get snippy.” He rolled his eyes and looked you up and down. He could be so smug and borderline douchey if he wanted to, and right now was one of those times. It pissed you off almost as much as breaking a nail.

You narrowed your eyes at him and clenched your jaw before responding. “I’m not snippy. I’m just a little annoyed that you’re cornering me in my cabin and asking about my date as if you have anything to do with it.”

You hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but it was too late to take it back. Plus, it was the truth. Luke looked taken aback by the sudden switch in your tone and almost looked sorry. Almost.

“Last time I checked, my best friend going out with my half-brother has something to do with me. Especially since we’re…” He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. You had never defined what you two were. His subtle acknowledgment of that fact made you scoff and look away.

Unfortunately, Luke didn’t exactly appreciate that reaction as he got up and approached you, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His dark brown eyes pierced into yours. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it damn sure wasn’t his lips crashing into yours. This kiss was different from all the others you two had shared. This one was tender and filled with everything he’d ever felt but couldn’t put into words. Your hand flew to his jaw as you returned those unspoken feelings, your thumb tracing that scar you grew to relish.

After a long beat, he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot and… I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not my business who you go out with, and I shouldn’t have cornered you.”

You look up at him with bated breath and parted lips. Your heart slams against your ribcage as he continues.

“I just… I was jealous, and I know I have no right to be but…” He looks away and takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to say. “I was scared and jealous because damn it… I love you.”

Your eyes widen slightly as his word strikes your heart. Luke Castellan just told you that he loves you, and you’re standing there like a speechless idiot. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for any sign that you might feel the same. You snap out of your daze and give him a soft and loving smile. “I love you, too, dummy.”

After that, it was just you two. You and Luke. For a year, it was pure bliss. He was sweet, loving, and tender. And you took care of him when he couldn’t. You held him when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night. You lulled him to sleep when he couldn’t. You made sure he knew how loved and valued he was despite his past shortcomings. And he showed you that you were worth more than just being Aphrodite’s daughter. Because of him, you learned that you were a damn good fighter and could be ruthless on the battlefield. You trained together and laughed together. Everyone knew you as Luke’s girl, and you loved it.

When a new camper arrived injured and unconscious after fighting off the Minotaur, Luke seemed… off. He wasn’t fully interested in how a twelve-year-old boy managed to effectively defeat the monster, but he wasn’t totally indifferent. You joined him as he showed Percy around camp and to the Hermes cabin. Of course, you were friendly and sweet, and you didn’t miss the blush that spread across his face when you flashed him your signature smile. Neither did Luke since he hooked his arm around your waist and kissed you.

Percy fit in well at camp, and Luke sort of took him under his wing. He helped him learn how things worked around camp and even trained him a little before his first game of Capture the Flag. During that game, Clarisse attacked Percy and forced him into the water. That’s when that glowing trident appeared over his head. After just a few days at camp, Percy had been claimed by Poseidon. Some campers lived their whole lives, never knowing who their godly parent was. Hell, you were at camp for two years before your mother claimed you.

There was a bit of an uproar around camp after that. Percy had been claimed by one of the big three. It was common knowledge that they made a pact to never have kids at the end of World War II. So, Percy’s existence wasn’t allowed. A few days later, he was sent on a quest with Grover and Annabeth. Luke saw them off while you were teaching your younger siblings some of the basic magic they possessed.

Over the next ten days, you noticed Luke was acting differently. He was a little more distant than usual and distracted. You assumed he was just worried about the kids, but you couldn’t be sure. So, you wanted to comfort him.

You found him by the lake, sitting on the dock, sharpening Backbitter. You quietly made your way over to him and sat by his side, watching the precise way he sharpened his sword. He always sharpened it when he had a lot on his mind.

You two were quiet for a moment before you finally spoke up. “Is everything alright?”

He gave you a confused look before going back to sharpening. “Everything’s fine. What’s up?”

You reached over and stilled his hands, getting his full attention. “You’ve been… distant lately. I’m just worried about you.” He looked up at you and set his sword aside. Those gorgeous brown eyes full of worry and hesitation. You pulled his hands up and pressed a kiss to his knuckles on both of them.

“I’m just a little worried about the kids. It’s a big quest, you know?” If you looked back at this moment now, you would’ve seen right through him. But no. Love had made you blind. He was always a good liar; you just never thought he would lie to you. But that was enough for you. That perfect smile he flashed you and how his lips fit against yours like the final puzzle piece was enough.

Suddenly, everything was fine. He was Luke. Your Luke. He walked you to activities, had your back during games, held your hand around camp, and kissed you breathlessly in the back row of the bonfire. He was perfect. Everything about him was completely and utterly perfect. At least that’s how it all seemed.

When Percy, Annabeth, and Grover returned, you thought things would be normal again. You thought that you and Luke would spend another year at camp before moving away together for college. You two had spent countless nights tangled up with each other under the stars, planning your lives outside of camp. A small apartment, maybe a cat. Just the two of you happy and normal. As normal as you can get as demigods.

You had been looking for Luke that day, and Chris had told you he had seen him and Percy heading off for a walk in the woods earlier. You figured he would come back soon, so you waited by his cabin. And waited… and waited. And after an hour or so, you went to look for him.

It didn’t take long, considering he slammed right into you about 10 minutes into your search. He looked frantic. Panicked. He had drawn his sword before realizing he had run into you.

You looked at him with your hands raised and eyes wide, your concern growing by the second. “Luke? Chill out, it’s me. What’s going on?”

He lowered his sword but didn’t put it back, looking behind him as if he had been chased before turning to look at you again. The coldness in his eyes sends a chill down your spine and through your bones. It was that same look he had when he came back from his quest. Hurt, anger, fear… It almost made your heart ache.

“Luke… Baby, talk to me.” You took a slow step forward and lowered your hands, the way you might approach a stray cat.

“Y/N… I- I did something.” His eyes stayed glued to yours as his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. You quickly scanned him for injuries, but when you found none, your concern shifted to Percy, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Luke… Where’s Percy?” His gaze dropped to the ground, brows furrowed with guilt. You take another slow step towards him, standing only a foot away now. Your heart slammed against your chest as you began to reach for his sword. He let your hand wrap around his but tightened his grip around the sword.

“I had to… I- I had to do it. Please, just… please come with me. I can’t go without you.”

“Go where? What is going on, Luke?”

“I’m leaving camp. I’m doing what's right. The gods… they don’t care about us. Kronos-”

Your eyes widened as you cut him off, “Kronos? What are you talking about?”

“A revolution, Y/N. Please just hear me out here. Kronos can help us. We can take down the gods… together.”

You looked at him for a long moment, utterly confounded by what he was saying. A revolution? Against the gods? And Kronos? He sounded crazy. He was crazy. You let go of his hand and took a step back, shaking your head. All hope in his eyes faded in a split second.

“Baby… please. I need you to come with me. Fight with me. I don’t want to be against you.”

“No, Luke… This is- this is crazy. You can’t take down the gods. You can’t involve Kronos… I can’t.”

His gaze hardened, and he took a step closer, causing you to step back as well. Your hand immediately fell to the hilt of your own sword. He lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. You knew you were no match for him, and so did he.

“Baby, I’m not going to fight you.”

You drew your sword from its scabbard and prepared yourself to fight. “I can’t let you do this, Luke.”

He let out a sharp sigh and mirrored your position. The cold and waxy look in his eyes, shattering your heart. This wasn’t Luke. It couldn’t be. Your Luke would never do any of this. Or would he? You were suddenly so unsure of everything you knew about him. Was any of it true? All of the whispered words of “I love you” and lingering kisses? Did Luke ever really love you?

You had been so lost in the storm of doubt, swirling through your mind that you hadn’t noticed Luke pulling his sword back to strike. Before his sword came crashing down, you were pulled back into the fight by instinct. You quickly blocked his attack with a surprised gasp. He was serious.

You took a fumbling step back as he advanced, swinging his sword at you again. You block his attacks as he keeps you in a defensive position. He was the best swordsman at camp. And it didn’t matter how much you two had trained together. You were not winning this fight. You both knew it. But you couldn’t just give up.

He had that all too familiar gleam in his eyes. The determination he showed when he was fighting monsters. The determination to kill.

Your swords engage as your chest heaves. He pressed you back, causing you to stumble a little. You looked at him with a pleading look in your eyes. “Please, Luke… We don’t have to do this… Please.”

He scoffs and pushes you away. “You made this choice. Not me! I never wanted this, Y/N.”

He advances with a series of attacks that force you backward. You pant heavily as you keep your ground with a thrust, keeping Luke on the end of your sword, forcing him to mirror your position. “Damn it, Luke! Just listen to me! No good can come out of this. Please… I can’t let you do this, and you don’t have to.”

“You don’t get it! You never have,” He yells, cutting you off as his face twists with disdain. “This is bigger than just us. It's bigger than anything you and I had. The gods don’t care. They don’t deserve our praise or devotion. They take and they use. I mean, fuck, Y/N! Aphrodite let you go unclaimed here for two years before claiming you!”

Of course, it hurt. He had just told you that your love wasn’t enough for him to stay. After years of loving him and being at his side… he chooses his anger and hatred over you. And he had no right bringing up your mother. He knew just how you felt about her and her indifference toward you, and he was using it against you. While two could play at that game, you could never stoop that low.

“Leave my mom out of this.” You spit through gritted teeth.

“She doesn’t care about you. Not like I do… I’m doing this for us… all of us. The unclaimed, the abandoned, all of the demigods. So please, quit fighting and join me.”

You stood there for a long moment. Maybe he was right… Maybe he was doing something right. But there’s no way any good could come from Kronos being involved in this. He was going to get himself killed…And you couldn’t let it happen. So you pull your sword back to swing again.

And in a rush of adrenaline and panic, Luke lunges. His sword pierces your side and freezes your movement.

Your eyes go wide as a rush of pain spreads from your side when Luke pulls his sword back. Your arm falls as your sword clatters to the ground beside you. He rushes to you when you stumble back, clutching the deep wound.

“Shit. Shit shit shit… Fuck, Y/N, I- I’m so sorry…” He helps you down to the ground and holds your side, eyes widening at the blood on his hands.

“Luke… please…” You plead in a final effort. You’re not sure it’ll do anything. Especially when his head snaps in the direction of some campers yelling to each other. You later found out about the pit scorpion Luke had tried to poison Percy with, that being the reason the campers were in the woods. He looked scared. Not for you, but for himself. If he was caught… it was over for him.

He looks back down at you and brushes the hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He presses a firm kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Y/N… I love you.” He carefully leans you against a tree and gives you one final glance before disappearing just as Clarisse and Selina find you.

After waking up in the infirmary and dealing with the relentless questions about Luke and his plans, you had decided you were done with camp.

It had been three years since that day, and you were now living in a studio apartment in Manhattan, working as a bartender. After you were fully healed, you packed up your things and left camp for good. You had never looked back. Of course, you never forgot Luke and what he did, but you never talked about it. It was easier to convince yourself you hated him than it was to admit a part of you still loved him. Some nights were lonelier than others, and you found yourself wishing he were lying next to you. Wishing none of it had ever happened.

It was a late Thursday night at the bar, meaning the only people around were the regular drunks and college kids on a bar crawl. It was a quiet kind of night, the kind where you mostly washed glasses and poured beers. At least that was until that typical fight or flight hit you like a semi. Every demigod had it, and yours hadn’t hit this hard since… since Luke stabbed you.

You whipped your head around the bar, looking for any monsters or a glimmer of the mist. You had kind of wished your eyes locked with a monster and not those perfectly stoic brown eyes sitting at a high top in the back corner. Your hand instinctively moved to rest on your side, where the long scar disrupted the soft skin there. He was here. How was he here? How did he find you? And why the hell couldn’t you pull your gaze away from his?

He stared at you for a long moment before your coworker brought over his drink. You still had thirty minutes left in your shift, and there was no way he wouldn’t try to talk to you before or after. So, you decided to dip into the back and make yourself busy with unpacking some boxes. That made it easier to clock out and slip through the back door to the parking lot.

Although maybe you should’ve known better. You should’ve remembered how gods damn insistent he could be. Why were you surprised that insolent little prick was leaning against your car with that typical “son of Hermes” smirk? You honestly weren’t sure whether you wanted to punch it or kiss it off his face. Instead, you settled for grabbing your pepper spray from your purse and stopping a reasonable distance from him.

He glances at the pepper spray in your hand and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. “Careful, princess. You could hurt someone with that.”

The audacity of this asshole. “Get the fuck away from my car, Castellan.”

He cocks an eyebrow and pushes off of the car, leaning forward with his arms still crossed. “Castellan? Really? You can’t still be mad at me.”

“You fucking stabbed me.”

“A formality.”

You let out a bitter laugh, debating on switching your pepper spray for the celestial bronze dagger you carried even after leaving camp. “What do you want?”

“Always straight to the point with you,” He says, a step closer while chuckling and shaking his head. You raise the pepper spray, and he holds his hands up, stopping in his tracks. “Slow your roll, sweetheart. I’m unarmed, see?”

For once, he was telling the truth; he didn’t even have Backbiter on him. You cautiously lower the pepper spray, but keep it in your hand, still not fully trusting him. “You didn’t answer the question.”

He lets out a sharp sigh and lowers his hands, one running through those dark curls that you missed more than you would ever admit. “I just wanted to see you. It’s been a while, you know?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” He sneers as his brows furrow with frustration. “I hadn’t heard anything about you in years, and I wanted to see if you were still alive. Stymphalian birds are good for more than just attacking.”

“You’ve had demon pigeons spying on me?”

He lets out a small laugh, his features softening slightly. “That’s what you’re focused on?”

The corner of your lips quirks up at the sound of his laugh. Gods, you missed that laugh. If he smiled, you’d probably turn to putty right where you stand. Part of you wanted to pull him into a hug and never let go, the other part wanted to punch him and yell at him.

“Can you blame me?”

“No, but an acknowledgment of the fact that I miss you would be nice…” His voice relaxed to that tone that had calmed you down a million times before. Memories of gentle comforts and sweet nothings strike your heart like Cupid's arrow. Fuck, you missed him too.

“So why now? It’s been three years.”

“I just figured I had some loose ends to tie up.” He shrugs as if that was the most casual and regular thing for him to say. And maybe it was. Maybe for this version of Luke.

You let out a soft scoff, rolling your eyes. “And what exactly does that mean?”

He sighs, shaking his head. It was like he was fighting some internal battle against the truth. Like a small part of him wanted to spill his guts to you. Tell you ever wicked and awful thing he had done. But the larger part of him told him not to. Told him it would be the second biggest mistake of his life. The first being falling in love with you.

“Luke?” You took a cautious step forward. You were looking for any sign that he might still be in there. The boy who held you when you couldn’t sleep at night. Who wiped the tears away from your pretty eyes and cradled your face in his calloused hands. The one who still loved you.

“I just wanted to say goodbye… I don’t know… Have one last night?” He let out a soft scoff and shook his head. “It sounds… stupid.”

“One last night? What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as you took another step towards him. Was he always so cryptic now?

He kicked around some of the loose asphalt of the parking lot as he looked around. “This place is a shithole, you know?”

He was deflecting, clear as day. You knew it was better to move on than push. “Yeah, I know. But I need the money. New York ain’t cheap.”

He lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head, pushing off your car and taking a few steps closer. “Yeah, no shit, babe. But uh… maybe you could show me around?”

You bristle at the familiar pet name. Because hearing it come from this version of Luke made it feel completely foreign. Like he was speaking another language, and he could see your reaction, clear as day. He knew everything about you. Everything that annoyed you or pissed you off. Your weak spots. The things he could take advantage of. But there was one he had completely missed. One that could take you down in an instant. Him. You might’ve grown bitter towards him through the years, but you still loved him. And he had no idea.

But here he was. Standing in front of you. Asking for one last night. You had no idea what that entailed and weren’t even sure you wanted it. But he was here. After every night, you sat awake wishing and wanting. He was here and he was asking for one last night.

So, you sighed and took out your car keys. “Just get in.”

He was clearly surprised by your agreement but got into the passenger side of your beat-up Toyota.

You two drove in silence for a few minutes. He barely moved an inch, and you weren't sure he was even blinking. It was incredibly unsettling if you were being totally honest. But you eventually pulled up outside of your shitty apartment building.

You knew it wasn't exactly the nicest place. But you were sure Luke was overreacting when scoffed and shook his head.

“This place is a dump.”

“Hey, it's not exactly The Ritz, but I make do. The rents cheap and I get a parking space.”

He looked up at the building, then at you skeptically as you grabbed your bag from the back seat and started up the front steps. The main hall smelled like mildew, and the light was vaguely flickering with a soft buzz you'd grown accustomed to. The stairs were narrow and creaky with a banister that Luke wasn't going to trust with even an ounce of his life. And you lived on the 7th floor. Which meant by the time you got to your door, Luke looked absolutely winded.

You glanced over your shoulder at him and chuckled before starting to unlock your door. Three locks, different keys.

Luke raised an eyebrow as you kicked the bottom of the door twice before shoving it open. “You keeping jewels or something in there?”

You just managed a scoff of a laugh and ushered him inside as you kicked your shoes off. It was a modest studio with a small kitchen to the left and decent sized bathroom to the right. Your bed sat in the corner, littered with blankets and half folded laundry. Your light had gone out weeks ago, so you were just using lamps, and there was a faint sharp smell Luke couldn't quite identify.

You made your way to the kitchen and riffled through a few cabinets before pulling out a chipped glass and an old mason jar. He leaned against the wall and watched as you pulled a bottle of cheap liquor out of the freezer and poured two glasses for each of you.

“This is a far cry from camp, you know?”

You just handed him the chipped glass and downed your own.

“I couldn't exactly stay there forever. And not all of us have psycho revenge plots.”

He bristled at your comment, downing the brown liquid and wincing slightly as it burned down his throat. You could tell you might've gone too far, but who cared? You were still mad at him and had every right to show it. So, you refilled your glasses and sighed.

“What the hell are you doing here, Castellan?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his messy curls. You could tell he was looking for some way to deflect. Searching for another conversation in the magnets on your fridge and plants in your windows. But as he looked up at you, you both knew it was time to face the music and own up.

“I meant it… I just wanted to see you. One last time…”

“And what the hell does that mean? ‘One last time.’” You scoffed out, taking a sip of your drink.

You knew he wasn't going to tell you, but you had to push.

“Well? What the hell is going through your head? Huh?”

He just sighed and shook his head, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the counter. He was hopeless. So, you didn't push it.

“What are you doing here? What are you hoping to gain out of this interaction?”

“I don't know, Y/N… I just… I wanted to see you. Maybe… make some last good memories? After I- I screwed everything up.”

The hurt in his eyes was almost enough to break your heart all over again, but you had to stay firm. No matter how much you wanted those happy memories to replace him, quite literally stabbing you. You weren't exactly sure what to say. So, you two stood in silence. In the dim light of your tiny kitchen. Maybe only three feet apart. You were close enough to slash his throat. Close enough to pull him in and never let go.

In your internal debate, you took a single step closer. He tensed immediately, not sure what was going on, but he saw those gears turning in your head in the sickeningly familiar way he knew. The way you accessed a fight. The way you accessed him. With anyone else, he might've struck first. Gotten the upper hand. But you threw him off. Every single time.

His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was clenched as he looked at you. As he studied you. It was the same way he used to. Not with any malicious intent. Just trying to figure you out. Find a way into your head to read your mind.

Finally, he spoke up in a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing?”

You just shrugged and took a step closer. “Debating on whether I'm going to kill you or kiss you.”

“What's the consensus?”

Another step closer.

“Jury's still out.”

You were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. Tofeell just how tense he was. And you were sure he felt it, too.

He had braced his weight on his palms, gripping the counter behind him. Like he was struggling. Fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. He wasn't exactly sure what you would do, so for once, he let you decide.

Which is why he held his breath as your hand came up to brush a rogue curl from his forehead. Your skin barely touched his, but he swore your fingers were on fire.

Your resolve had been dangerously close to snapping. All it took was watching Luke's gaze drop to your lips as his parted slightly. That was all it took. Because in that moment, he looked like your Luke. The one who kissed you breathlessly during Capture the Flag. The one who knew every curve of your body like his own. The one who promised he would love you forever.

He somehow tensed further when your lips first met his, but immediately relaxed as soon as he registered your hands on his cheeks and taste on his tongue. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

It was like you had been transported to that night in your cabin when he finally told you the truth. When he finally let those three little words slip. It was like the stars had realigned as your bodies fit together again.

You weren't exactly sure where this was headed or how you got to your bed, but your back was hitting the mattress, and his hands were traveling under your shirt. You melted into it and let yourself forget everything he had done. Until his every movement froze, and he pulled away. His eyes were wide and panicked.

“What's wrong?” You panted out, raising an eyebrow.

He pushed your shirt up a little, running his fingers over the gnarly scar on your stomach. His voice was shaky and uncertain. “Did I- is that from me?”

You both already knew that answer. Neither of you liked it, but it was the truth. That scar had haunted you for three years now. It was the reason you showered with the lights off for ten months. The reason you mostly avoided mirrors. And the reason you hadn't worn any kind of short shirts or bikinis. But he didn't need to know that. So, you softly nodded.

“Yeah… it is.”

The look of horror and disgust on his face as he looked down at the scar was almost vindicating. He felt bad for what he had done.

“Fuck, Y/N… I- I'm so sorry… I didn't even realize I had- fuck.”

You gently cupped his scared cheek the way you had done thousands of times before. And he practically melted. “Luke… it's okay. I'm- I'm not even mad about it anymore.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but the look in your eye told him it was better to keep his mouth shut. He hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips to the scar, kissing the length of it down to the waistband of your pants.

He stopped as one hand rested on your waist and the other on the button, looking up at you for permission. “Can I make it up to you?”

The guilt and pleading in his brown eyes was enough to make you melt. He looked too damn pretty.

You ran your hand through his hair and down to his jaw, nodding softly. “Yeah, baby. Go ahead.”

That night, you allowed yourself to forget. You let yourself be his and him be yours. You spent the night tangled up in your sheets and each other. You had missed him so much more than you wanted to admit. You missed the way his hands knew their place. The way his lips felt against your skin. How perfectly he fit against you. And for the first night in years, you both got a full night's sleep.

But when you woke up in the morning, Luke was gone. Every last trace of him. He had even washed the cup he used and put it away. You knew he wouldn't stick around. He had said he wanted one last night.

That was the last time you saw Luke Castellan. You tried to help as much as you could during The Battle of Manhattan, but you were rusty in any of the skills you had learned at camp. You did your best to help the Apollo kid with whatever he needed for healing, but you eventually became one of the wounded. Just a sprained ankle, but he insisted you were out of the fight. You were a little offended, considering he really was just a kid.

By the end of the battle, you were sure you were done with Camp Half-Blood. You didn't really care about the half-hearted apology from your mother. And you didn't really care about the prophecy.

No one told you that Luke had died. No one had to. You just knew. Sure, it made sense since Kronos was defeated, but no one told you how. You just knew that your heart had felt a little heavier. A few weeks later, a small box appeared on your doorstep from Hermes Express. When you opened it, Luke's camp beads were sitting inside. You didn't know whether to be angry or sad. You were done with camp. Done with Luke. So why the hell did you care? Why did you keep them?

Luke Castellan was dead. He had died a hero and gave you one last night. Preserving those sparkling summers and sleepless nights.

#percy jackson #pjo #pjo fandom #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x reader #no beta we die like men #first fic #this literally took months #Spotify

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secondarysefikura · 3 days ago

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Do you think there is ever a time where Reeve takes control of Cait to see what the party is up to first hand and he hears them talking about him? I'm imagining the party sitting around a camp fire, talking about a hypothetical in which they have to sleep with one of the Shinra execs and he's the one they all agree on.

Yuffie: Okay, so if you had to sleep with one of the Shinra execs, who would you pick.

Cloud: None. Most of them look like they could start a grease fire just by standing near a radiator.

Aertih: Oh come on Cloud, you can't just say none! The question clearly states you have to pick someone.

Cloud: No.

Cid: I mean, you gotta go with the blonde chick. She's at least hot.

Barret: No way, she's fucking insane. You'd have to be crazy to sleep with her.

Cait, in the background: *secretly shuts down then restarts with Reeve in control.*

Tifa: I think the only real option is that Reeve guy.

Cait/Reeve: !!

Barret: From what I've heard, he's the least bad out of the whole bunch.

Cid: I mean I've seen pictures of him before and he's not bad looking.

Vincent: Really anyone who isn't Hojo is a reasonable choice.

Everyone: *nodding and murmuring agreement.*

Cloud: So we're in agreement that we would all fuck Reeve, then?

Reeve, freaking out and not even trying to sound like Cait: AT THE SAME TIME?

Nanaki: It does seem like the most logical way to go about it, but I suppose we could all go one after another--not that I would partake.

*more murmurs of debate, with some arguing for an orgy and some arguing for going one at a time*

Reeve: Oh my god.

#reeve tuesti #yuffie kisaragi #aerith gainsborough #tifa lockhart #cid highwind #cloud strife #barret wallace #ff7 cait sith #ff7 nanaki #vincent valentine #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii

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isacksteban · 3 days ago

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Eventually — Lawhan Mixed Media AU

3k words — @pancakes-and-pansexuals @ellearts @v3lnys — masterlist

Jack sat on the floor of his bedroom, his back against the bed frame, his phone clutched so tightly in his hands that his fingers ached. He hadn't touched his bed since Liam had left, when he slept — if he did — it was on the sofa, cold.

The messages were still there, unanswered. The ones he’d sent in a pathetic flurry of panic, desperation, and then — finally — anger.

Jack:

Liam, what the fuck is going on?

Are you actually leaving like this?

At least fucking say something.

Liam.

The last one had been hours ago. Liam had seen them, or at least he would have before turning his phone off. Jack knew because his Instagram comment was still sitting under Hannah’s post, untouched, unchanged.

💛💙

Like it was nothing. Like Jack had been nothing.

His stomach twisted painfully. He had seen the picture before he even saw the messages. Liam’s head in Hannah’s lap, her fingers playing with his hair, the caption so casual it made Jack sick.

“Missed this xx"

Like he hadn’t just spent eight days tangled up with Jack, kissing him, touching him, ruining him.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. His chest hurt.

He should stop looking. He should turn his phone off, throw it across the room, move the fuck on.

But instead, he opened his texts again. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking.

Then, finally, he typed.

Jack:

You win.

Hope it was worth it.

Jack turned off his phone and threw it onto his bed like it had burned him.

His chest was too tight, his skin too hot, and if he sat here for another second, he was going to lose it.

So he didn’t.

He pushed himself up, grabbed his jacket, and sent a quick message to Esteban.

Jack:

Wanna go out?

Esteban:

Absolutely.

Meet me at my place in 20.

Fourty-five minutes later, Jack was stepping into a crowded nightclub, the heavy bass thrumming beneath his skin. The air smelled like sweat, liquor, and perfume, and the lights were flashing bright enough to make his head spin.

Good.

Esteban spotted him almost immediately, grinning as he draped an arm over Jack’s shoulders. “There you are,” he said, already handing him a drink. “We’re getting very drunk tonight.”

Jack didn’t even hesitate. He took the glass and threw back a sip, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. “Sounds like a plan.”

And for a while, it helped. The drinks, the music, the mindless conversations with strangers — it all blurred together, making it easier to forget.

But then, after what felt like hours, Jack found himself at the bar, nursing another drink, his mind drifting.

To him.

To Liam.

To the feeling of his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at Jack like he meant it.

And now he was gone.

Jack exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the bar.

Esteban appeared beside him, nudging his arm. “You good?”

Jack forced a smirk. “Never better.”

It was a lie. But if he said it enough, maybe he’d start to believe it.

Jack swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring blankly at the bar top. His head was pleasantly fuzzy from the alcohol, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He wanted to be gone.

“Hey, you alright there?”

Jack blinked up at the voice. Two guys had slid into the empty seats next to him, both of them attractive in a way that was uncomfortably hard to ignore. The one closest to him had warm brown eyes and a soft smile, his curls slightly damp with sweat from dancing. The other was just barely taller, slimmer, watching Jack with quiet curiosity.

Jack let out a breath and forced a smirk. “Yeah. Just enjoying the drink.”

The one with the curls — Lewis, he was later told — tilted his head. “You here alone?”

Jack shrugged. “Came with a friend.” He glanced toward the dance floor, where Esteban was now very much preoccupied with some — clearly lesbian — girl whose name Jack hadn’t caught. “He’s busy.”

The taller one — Oscar, Lewis had informed him — chuckled. “Looks like he’s having fun.” His gaze flickered back to Jack. “You should be too.”

Jack huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And how do you suggest I do that?”

Oscar leaned in slightly, close enough that Jack could smell his cologne. “Well,” he said, grinning, “you could come dance with us.”

Jack hesitated, his heart skipping for a second.

He should say no.

He should go home.

But Liam had left him. Liam had chosen her.

So instead, Jack downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down with a decisive clink, and smirked.

“Lead the way.”

Oscar grinned, grabbing Jack’s hand without hesitation as he and Lewis led him toward the dance floor. The bass vibrated through Jack’s chest, the flashing lights casting shadows over the sea of moving bodies.

Jack let himself be pulled in, his head light from the alcohol, his skin warm from the way Oscar’s fingers laced briefly with his before he let go.

The music was loud, the air thick with heat and sweat, but Jack didn’t care. Not when Oscar and Lewis moved so effortlessly, their bodies pressing close as they found a rhythm.

Jack let himself feel it — let himself move, let himself forget.

Oscar’s hands skimmed his waist, teasing but never pushing, just enough to see if Jack was interested. Jack didn’t pull away. He let himself sink into the feeling of it, the warmth, the weight of Lewis at his back, Oscar in front of him.

“You’re a good dancer,” Oscar said over the music, his breath warm against Jack’s ear.

Jack's lips curled. “I try.”

Lewis’ hand brushed his shoulder, grounding. “You looked like you needed this,” he murmured, low and smooth.

Jack exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours, he wasn’t thinking about Liam.

Not his voice. Not his touch. Not the way he’d left without looking back.

Just this.

Just them.

Just now.

Oscar’s hands squeezed at Jack’s hips, his smile easy, his voice light. “You wanna get out of here?”

Jack hesitated — just for a second.

Then he remembered Hannah’s Instagram post.

💛💙

Jack hesitated. He should go home. He knew that.

But home meant silence. Home meant checking his phone. Home meant Liam.

So instead, he looked at Oscar, then at Lewis, and smirked. “Yeah,” he said, voice steady. “Alright.”

Oscar grinned. “Good choice.”

Lewis’ hand found the small of his back, guiding him gently toward the exit. The cool night air hit Jack’s flushed skin as they stepped outside, but he barely felt it. His heart was pounding, not from nerves, not from excitement — just from the sheer need to not be alone.

Oscar pulled out his phone, calling for a car. Jack barely registered the conversation, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He could feel Lewis still touching him, grounding, casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world to bring home a guy they’d met at a bar.

Jack swallowed hard. This was fine. This was good.

Minutes later, a car pulled up. Oscar slid in first, then Jack, then Lewis. The space was small, and Jack was hyper-aware of how close they were, how Oscar’s knee pressed against his, how Lewis’ hand rested lightly on his thigh.

It was nothing like the last time he’d shared a backseat with someone. Nothing like that night, tangled up in warm sheets, in whispered words, in promises that meant nothing.

Jack exhaled sharply and clenched his fists in his lap.

Lewis must have noticed because he nudged him slightly. “You sure you’re good?” he asked, voice quiet in the dim car.

Jack turned to face him. He should say no. He should get out now. He should—

He forced a smirk. “I’m great.”

The ride to their place was a blur of city lights and quiet laughter, of Lewis’ hand skimming Jack’s thigh and Oscar leaning in close, murmuring something about how Jack looked way too tense.

Jack knew what he was doing. He knew.

He also didn’t care.

The moment they stepped into the house — huge, modern, all sleek lines and dim lighting — Jack barely had time to take it in before Oscar was kicking off his shoes and stretching, smirking over his shoulder. “Come on, mate,” he teased. “You gonna stand there all night?”

Jack huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

Lewis chuckled, stepping behind him, hands warm as they clung to Jack’s waist, teasing. “That’s the plan.”

Jack turned, heart pounding, and let himself fall.

Oscar grinned as he tugged Jack further into the house, his touch light but steady, like he was giving Jack the chance to change his mind. Jack didn’t.

Lewis was right behind him, warm and solid, his hands never straying too far. “Relax,” he murmured, voice smooth, almost soothing. “We’ve got you.”

Jack let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the heat of the moment, or just the need to forget — but he wanted this.

Oscar led him down the hall, past dimly lit rooms, until they reached what was clearly a bedroom — soft lighting, sleek furniture, a bed that looked way too inviting. Jack barely had a second to take it in before Oscar turned to face him, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“You sure?” Oscar asked, quiet.

Jack swallowed hard, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

Oscar’s grin softened just a little before he leaned in, close enough that Jack could feel his breath ghosting over his lips. He hesitated for a second, like he was giving Jack one last chance to back out — but Jack didn’t move. Didn’t want to move.

Then, finally, Oscar kissed him.

It was slow at first, teasing, like he was testing the waters. Jack let out a quiet breath against his lips, and that was all it took for Oscar to press in more firmly, his hands skimming down Jack’s arms, warm and steady.

Jack barely had time to process it before another pair of hands curled around his waist, pulling him back against a solid chest. Then Lewis’ lips brushed against the side of his neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses along his skin.

Jack exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against Oscar’s shirt before he gripped it properly, holding on as Oscar deepened the kiss. It was different — nothing like what he was used to. It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate. Careful.

Lewis’ hands smoothed over his waist, anchoring him. “Relax,” he murmured again, his voice low and steady against Jack’s skin. “Just let us take care of you.”

Jack let his eyes flutter shut.

“Undress?” Lewis murmurs once they part.

Oscar nods and quickly strips. Lewis is now in only his boxers, leaving Jack the only one still fully covered. A glance at the bed reveals a very hesitant Jack. He's covered practically head-to-toe besides his now hiked up shirt.

“Jack,” Oscar breathes, stumbling in his haste to get into Jack's personal space, gently undressing him and tossing his clothes off to the side — none of it mattered now.

Jack opens his arms for Oscar to climb onto the bed — his and Lewis' bed. Lewis follows close behind. He wraps himself around Oscar from behind, forcing him closer to Jack's face. Jack leans in, lips brushing Lewis' ear.

Jack eventually captures Oscar's lips in a kiss, this one pulling a needy whine from his throat. Lewis' chest presses against Oscar's back, trapping him between them.

“How do you feel about being in the middle, Jack?” Osc asks with a slight grin — hoping Lewis was on the same page as him — the younger Aussie adoring how his name sounds on Oscar's lips.

He doesn’t have to clarify; Jack knows exactly what that entails, and the answer is yes.

“Fuck, please— yes,” He almost whines.

Lewis' chest shakes with light laughter. He slinks back a little, giving Jack room. Oscar opens his legs, clearly impatient. Jack has to take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the suddenness of everything.

“Here, come kiss me, puppy,” Lewis notices his pause, offering Jack a warm-up.

Jack thanks him and leans down. Oscar coos, running his hands up and down Jack's back. There’s movement behind him, but Jack doesn’t stop kissing Lewis. A bottle cap clicks and Jack leans forward even more.

“Didn’t even have to ask…such a perfect puppy,” Oscar praises — noticing how Jack shivers slightly every time he hears the word.

Jack hums into Lewis' mouth. Oscar's lube-slick finger dips past his rim, and Jack pushes back for more. He wants it so badly. His hard cock brushes Lewis' thigh, drawing a heady moan from him. Jack smiles against his lips. He slides his hands down Lewis' chest, tweaking his nipples teasingly.

Seokmin adds another finger, followed quickly by a third.

“Did you get hard at the bar? Be honest, puppy,” Oscar lilts.

Jack inhales deeply, feeling even more heat rise to his face and neck.

“Maybe…a little,” He admits, feeling more embarrassed than he probably should be — given their situation.

“Aw, I’m flattered, puppy,” Lewis smiles, emphasized by a bend of his leg, brushing Jack's cock intentionally.

Jack's elbows shake, and his dick twitches.

“We’re glad you liked it, baby,” Oscar hums, pushing his fingers in deeper.

Jack's body lurches forward when Oscar's fingers press into his prostate. He drops his head onto Lewis' shoulder, panting hard.

“Give me a mark, please— bite me,” Jack requests, voice breathy right by Lewis' ear.

Oscar swears softly. Jack tips his chin to get a better angle before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Lewis' shoulder. He kisses up Lewis' neck, then back down. When Oscar slips a fourth finger inside, Jack yelps, biting down on Lewis" shoulder.

Jack's dick jumps against Lewis' abdomen, and he latches on harder. Oscar reaches between Jack's legs to give his cock a tug, and Jack whimpers against Lewis' skin.

“Osc— ngh, fuck you… m’ready, no more,” Jack pants, looking back at Oscar.

Oscar pouts at him.

“That’s no way to ask for something, baby. What about manners?” Oscar tuts.

He knows better.

“Please—ah, fuck— please, I’m ready– ready for you…please, fuck me, Oscar,” He corrects himself, pulling out his neediest tone.

He arches his back more, pushing himself back onto Oscar's fingers. What can he say? He knows how to get what he wants.

Jack looks pleased. He also looks like he can tell Jack's putting it on. Hopefully, he won’t call him out on that.

“Alright… you first,” Osc concedes.

Lewis sighs, relieved. Jack wonders if he got to cum earlier, or if they’ve been waiting. Either way, Jack's ready to get on with it.

“Come on, puppy, fuck,” Lewis urges.

They all catch their breaths for a while. The bed is warm, and all of them are sweaty.

“Shower?” Jack suggests.

Lewis and Oscar agree. They file into the bathroom and quickly get under the spray. Jack's legs shake a little as he stands, but Oscar and Lewis make sure he’s steady.

“You were so good, Jackie,” Oscar praises while they rinse off.

“So were you two, thank you… I liked tonight a lot,” Jack informs.

Lewid chuckles warmly.

“I guess we should do it more often, then, huh?” He grins.

Jack shrugs and nods, feigning nonchalance (an act that none of them buy). He’s already putting his numbers in their phone and mentally preparing for a round two.

The next morning felt heavy.

Jack woke up in his own bed, alone. The sheets tangled around his legs, cold where they should've been warm. He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to gather the energy to even be awake. Eventually, he reached for his phone out of habit, swiping through notifications with half-lidded eyes.

And then he made the mistake of opening Instagram.

There it was — Liam’s latest post, right at the top of his feed.

A picture of Hannah. Again.

kkofficial✅️

liked by twitch, hannahstjohn, and 69,307 others

kkofficial summer lovin'

view all 400 comments

hannahstjohn happened so fast <3

kkofficial <33

flyingdutchman where's my wedding invite?

kkofficial they're being sent out monday

flyingdutchman can i rsvp rn??

kkofficial man idk ask the wife 😭

hannahstjohn yes u can, call me maxie!

She was laughing, golden in the sun, her arms around Liam’s neck as he grinned into her hair like she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Jack stared at it longer than he should have, heart twisting in that familiar, ugly way.

The caption was even worse.

"Summer lovin' "

Jack dropped the phone onto his chest, closing his eyes.

Bullshit.

He should be used to this by now.

Should be.

But it still felt like Liam had reached through the screen and slammed his fist right into Jack’s chest, knocking the breath out of him without even knowing it.

Or maybe Liam did know. And he just didn’t care.

Jack scrubbed his hands over his face and forced himself to get up.

It didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

He wasn’t going to let it.

Not today.

hannahstjohn

liked by kkofficial, user, and 7,794 others

hannahstjohn at least i only had to pay for two tickets! 🧸

view all 94 comments

user 🧸??

user it's a bear..?

user a teddy bear

user yes girl i'm aware LMAO

user do we get a wedding invite too??

hannahstjohn dw!! i'll post everything xx

kkofficial let's see if it's the same next time around

hannahstjohn now you know it wont be!!

Jack caught the look on Lance’s face before he even opened his mouth.

He hesitated, shifting his weight, then gave a short breath of a laugh, like he couldn’t believe it. Like he wished he could un-know whatever had just clicked into place in his head.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t confirm.

He just clapped Lance lightly on the shoulder, like he always did, like it was just a normal day, and said, “C’mon. Let’s go for a walk.”

Lance nodded, almost too fast, relieved. Grateful.

Neither of them brought up Liam.

Neither of them said a word about what Jack had just figured out.

They walked down the empty path by the water in silence, Lance kicking at stray stones, Jack keeping pace beside him like a shield against the weight of everything they weren’t saying.

It took about a kilometer before either of them spoke — Jack forgot how good Lance was at this stuff.

outbacksprout✅️

liked by kkofficial, maplemarauder, and 82,184 others

outbacksprout just me and the kitty (not pictured: lance taking pictures of me on our colour accidentally coded walk)

view all 512 comments

maplemarauder i might be a pro photographer

outbacksprout something like that

kkofficial you're looking good, jack

this comment is no longer available

#f1 #formula 1 #jd7 #jack doohan #liam lawson #ll30 #rpf #fanfic #fic #smau #mixed media #smut #vaguely #lewis hamilton #lh44 #op81 #oscar piastri #lawhan #hannah st john #kats f1 blurbs!

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ceyanabbiolo · 20 hours ago

Text

CONTRACT // C.S

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

warnings: argument, kissing, slightly suggestive

wc: 6474

Chapter 9: Your mine

The hotel room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from my laptop screen and the faint glow of Milan’s skyline outside the window. It was around 6 PM, and I was nearing the end of my third day here. The same routine had played out every single day: checking up on the businesses, making sure the factories were running smoothly, handling emails, meetings, and reports. The usual grind.

I could’ve gone back to Boston today, but I decided against it. Another two days of peace, at least.

The hum of a Celtics game played in the background, but my attention was elsewhere. My phone buzzed, and an unknown number flashed on the screen, followed by a single notification: one image.

I didn’t think much of it at first. Probably spam. But something in my gut twisted, and before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the message.

My blood ran cold.

It was a picture of my fiancee, sitting on a couch next to some fucker at a party.

Too many questions were running through my head.

Who the hell is that guy? Never seen him before, and he was way too close for my liking. What the hello was she doing at a party? When was this? Where the fuck was she now. Why was she even there? She hates parties.

I didn’t waste a second. I pressed the call button.

One ring. Two.

Then the call connected.

"Hello?" Her voice was dripping with sweetness, fake as hell.

"Who the fuck is this?" I snapped, my voice low and sharp, the anger already bubbling inside me.

She let out a laugh, slow and smug, like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Relax, Chris. It’s Hailee."

Of course, it was her. Of fucking course.

I clenched my jaw so hard, it hurt, trying to hold back the anger that threatened to spill over.

"You’ve got ten seconds to explain what the hell you want before I block your number," I growled, every word coated in venom.

She laughed again, unfazed. "I just thought you’d want to know what your sweet little fiancée has been up to while you’re off playing businessman. Didn’t realize she was still so... friendly with old flames."

My stomach turned, an unfamiliar protectiveness taking over. I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"You don’t know shit about her," I said, my voice low and lethal, each word dripping with warning.

"Maybe not," she purred. "But from what I remember... You don’t exactly like being made a fool of, Chris."

I scoffed, the anger inside me growing by the second. "Listen…" I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "We hooked up a few times. That’s it. It was nothing more than a mutual arrangement. I made it clear to you, Hailee. It was purely beneficial, and you know that."

“I'm just looking out for you, Chris,” she said sweetly.

I didn’t have the patience for this. I didn’t need her twisted words any longer. Without another thought, I ended the call.

I threw my phone onto the bed, frustration coursing through my veins like poison. My eyes darted to the clock — it was nearly 6 pm in Milan, meaning it was noon in Boston. Aurora should’ve been awake by now.

I didn’t waste any more time. I immediately dialed Ana, the housekeeper. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello, sir?" Ana answered with her usual calm voice.

"Ana, where’s Aurora?" I asked, my tone sharp, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"Oh, Mr. Sturniolo, she and her friend came in late last night, sir," Ana responded, her voice soft but respectful. "They’ve been sleeping since about 3 am, I believe."

I felt a wave of irritation wash over me. "So, they came back that late?" I pressed. "Was there any sign of her doing something... out of the ordinary before they went to bed?"

Ana hesitated for a moment before answering, "Not that I noticed, sir. They were both fine when they came in. I didn’t hear any disturbances."

I could feel my jaw tightening. This wasn’t sitting right with me. "And what about this morning? Did Aurora seem different at all?"

"She seemed... fine, sir," Ana said carefully. "I haven't spoken with her directly today, though."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to keep my cool. "Alright, Ana. Just... keep an eye out, please. Let me know if anything changes."

"Of course, sir. I'll let you know."

I hung up, still seething. Something didn’t add up. I had half a mind to fly back to Boston that instant, but I needed answers from her — real answers, not from some cryptic photo or Hailee’s taunting. I would wait until I saw her face-to-face. When I did, she’d be explaining everything.

I paced the hotel room, each step making the tension in my chest feel worse. The anger was like a thick fog, clouding my mind and making it hard to focus. I hadn’t expected this. Not from her. Not from my fiancée.

The image of Aurora, sitting on the couch with some guy—someone I didn’t know—kept flashing in my mind. I didn’t recognize him, and it pissed me off even more. She looked too comfortable with him. She laughed. Her body language. It was too much.

I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening with each passing second. I didn’t know who the hell this guy was, and frankly, I didn’t care. What pissed me off was that she was there at that party, out with someone like that while I was stuck here, doing work that was technically already done. The meetings, the reports, everything—it was finished. But I wasn’t finished. Not with her.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Lila, my assistant, barely giving it a second thought. The phone rang twice, and then her voice came through, calm and professional as always.

"Yes, Mr. Sturniolo?"

“Cancel everything,” I snapped. “I’m done here. Get me on a flight back to Boston, ASAP. I want to be home by midnight.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Sir, but your last meeting isn't until—”

“I don’t care about the damn meeting. I’m done,” I cut her off, my frustration building. “Get me a flight. Midnight. No excuses.”

I could practically hear her sigh on the other end of the line, but she didn’t argue. “Understood. I’ll have the arrangements made.”

“Good,” I said, my voice sharp. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket.

I wasn’t wasting any more time here. Work was done. There was no reason for me to stay in Milan and brood over things.

I stormed around the room, packing my things quickly, as if the sooner I got on the plane, the sooner I could figure this all out. I didn’t even know what I was walking back home, but I had to get there. I couldn’t just let this go.

I couldn’t let her be out there, in a situation like that, with some random guy I didn’t know. Whatever the hell was going on, I was going to find out. And she was going to answer for it.

I headed for the elevator, the anger simmering inside me, knowing that when I got back to Boston, I was going to have one hell of a conversation with Aurora.

It didn’t matter if Aurora and I weren't in love, but it sure as hell mattered how we both acted if this engagement was to seem real.

An hour went by in a buzz, and by 7:30 PM, I was seated in my jet and taking off.

I calmed myself by letting myself believe Aurora had a rational explanation for all this, and praying that the photo of her at the party didn't get sent to anyone.

The jet touched down just after 1:00 AM Boston time.

By the time I made it through the airport’s private exit and into the black SUV waiting for me, my blood was at a full simmer. Every wasted minute between Milan and Boston had given me more time to overthink, more time to get pissed off.

The drive home was a blur. I barely registered the empty streets or the cool October air seeping through the cracked window. All I could think about was Aurora — and the fact that the woman I was supposed to marry was out at some fucking party, sitting next to some random guy, while I was halfway across the world.

The gates opened slower than I had patience for, but I forced myself to stay calm. I parked, grabbed my bag, and walked up the driveway. Every step felt heavier.

As soon as I pushed the door open, a soft glow spilled from the living room.

I stilled.

Someone was awake.

Quietly, I set my bag down in the foyer, shrugging off my jacket. My steps were soundless as I moved toward the light.

And then I saw her.

Aurora was curled up on the couch, barefoot, wearing one of those oversized sweaters she loved. A thick book was open in her lap, her hair falling around her face as she turned a page, completely unaware of me standing there.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

She looked so fucking innocent sitting there — like she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the emotion down. I couldn't afford to let her looks cloud the situation.

"Aurora," I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

She jumped, her head snapping up. Her eyes widened when she saw me — surprise flickering across her face, then confusion.

"Chris?" she said, setting the book down. "What— you’re back?"

I nodded once, stepping further into the room.

"Yeah," I said coldly. "Trip’s over."

I watched her closely — the way she shifted, the way her hands nervously tugged at the sleeve of her sweater.

"You didn't tell me you were coming back early," she said, her voice softer now, guarded.

"Didn't feel like there was a point," I replied, my voice sharp. "Seems like you were keeping yourself plenty busy while I was gone."

Her mouth parted slightly, confusion flashing in her eyes.

"Chris, what are you talking about?"

I crossed my arms, the anger barely held back now.

"You want to explain why I got sent a picture of you all cozy next to some guy at a party?"

Her face paled.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just waited, and the longer she stayed silent, the harder it was to pretend I wasn’t already pissed off beyond belief.

Her brows pulled together, genuine confusion flashing across her face.

"What guy?" she asked, her voice small but laced with honest bewilderment.

I didn’t move. My arms stayed crossed, my stare locked on her. "Don’t play dumb, Aurora."

She blinked, like she was scrambling to piece things together. "I... I was at the party with Jen ," she said slowly, searching my face. "We danced, we ate— I don't—"

Then something clicked. Her face shifted.

"Wait... are you talking about Mason?" she asked, like the idea was ridiculous.

Mason.

My jaw ticked. The name meant nothing to me, but just hearing another man's name come out of her mouth made something snap inside me.

I took a step forward, my voice low and sharp. "Who the fuck is Mason?"

Aurora’s eyes widened slightly, taken back by the bite in my tone. She held her hands up like she was trying to calm me down.

"Nobody," she rushed out. "He’s no one, Chris. Just some guy I used to know from high school. He sat next to me for like two minutes — that’s it."

"Used to know?" I repeated, my voice rising. "And he just shows up at some party you're at while I'm out of the fucking country? And you're sitting there with him, like it’s a damn reunion?"

She flinched.

"It wasn’t like that," she insisted, her voice trembling with urgency. "I didn’t even want to talk to him. He just showed up and started talking. I barely said anything back."

I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand roughly through my hair, trying — failing — to calm the rage boiling under my skin.

"You think that makes it better?" I snapped. "You think it looks better that you’re just sitting there letting random assholes get cozy with you while my back’s turned?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away fast, standing her ground.

"I wasn’t being cozy with him," she said fiercely. "I didn’t want him there. I didn’t even want to be there! Jen convinced me to go, and I was sitting alone when he came over. I didn't invite him!"

I stared at her, breathing heavily, Fuck…I didn’t want to be the reason she gets a panic attack.My fists clenching at my sides. I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so bad.

But that fucking photo kept flashing in my mind — her, looking too pretty, sitting there while some guy sat way too damn close.

"You shouldn’t have been there to begin with," I bit out. "You shouldn’t even have given anyone the chance to get near you."

Aurora’s lips parted like she wanted to argue — but she stopped herself, swallowing hard instead. Her voice came out quieter. "I just wanted one normal night."

Normal. She still didn’t get it.

"You’re not just some rich girl anymore, Aurora," I said, my voice ice-cold, every word deliberate. "You’re mine, whether you like it or not. It doesn’t matter what you think or feel. To the world, you're already my fucking wife. And I’m expected to act like your husband, to handle you, to control everything about this — because that’s what they all see.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

"You’re a grown woman, Aurora," I said, my voice laced with frustration, the tension still heavy in the air. "And I really fucking wish your father hadn’t put you in this position. But here we are." I paced, my hand running through my hair, the anger simmering beneath my skin. "I hate that it comes off like I’m trying to control your life, but the reality is, we have to accept this shit, whether we want to or not. This is our life now. And you don’t get to just ignore that."

Her face crumpled slightly, like she didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken.

But I didn’t back down.

Not this time.

Aurora took a shaky breath, stepping toward me like she could somehow make me understand if she just got close enough.

"I would never," she said, her voice breaking. "Chris, I would never do something like that to jeopardize this. Especially not with him. I hate Mason."

I didn’t move.

"I don’t care how it looked," she rushed out, desperate. "I wasn’t sitting there enjoying it. The second he came over, I froze up because I didn’t even know how to react."

That caught my attention. My eyes narrowed slightly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her hands fidgeted at her sides.

"I... I don’t want to get into details," she stammered, her voice wavering as she tried to backpedal. "Everything that has to do with him happened a long time ago."

"Tell me," I demanded, my tone cold and unyielding. The weight of the words hung heavy in the room, and I wasn’t giving her an inch until I had the answers I wanted. “I’m trying to understand”.

I looked at the hesitance on her face, before she seemed to finally crack.

"He’s not some old friend," she muttered. "He was cruel to me. He humiliated me... made my life hell back then. Seeing him again just brought it all back. I didn’t know what to say. I didn't even want to be near him."

Her voice cracked, and for the first time tonight, my anger faltered — just slightly.

But I still couldn’t erase the image from my mind.

"You could've left," I said coldly. "You could've gotten up and walked away."

"I know," she said quickly, her eyes pleading. "I know that. I just— I was stunned. I wasn’t thinking straight. And then Jen came back and I went to her. I didn’t stay with him."

She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to keep it together in front of me.

"You have to believe me, Chris," she whispered. "I don’t even look at anyone else."

For a moment, it was just the sound of our breathing filling the space between us. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles were white.

I stayed silent, my chest heaving, the war inside me tearing me up — anger, protectiveness, and something deeper I wasn’t ready to name yet.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.

"Why?" I asked, my voice low but sharp. "Why was he cruel to you?"

Aurora flinched like I’d struck her. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller under the weight of my stare.

She hesitated, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "I... back in high school," she said slowly, her voice tight, "I liked him. Stupid, I know. He pretended to like me back. Asked me out in front of everyone. Told me to meet him at some restaurant."

She looked down at the floor, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"I waited for an hour," she whispered. "He never showed. And then some girls from school—" she choked out a bitter laugh, "they showed up instead. Poured coffee all over me. Laughed in my face. The next day at school, Mason told everyone it was a joke. That no one would ever actually want me."

Silence clamped down between us, heavy and suffocating.

I felt like something inside me cracked.

The image of her — younger, humiliated, alone — made my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I stared at her, feeling rage burn hotter in my veins than anything else tonight.

"It wasn’t just that day, there were several other things that happened with him and you think I would ever even look at him that way?" she said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes glistening. "I don’t care about him anymore, but it weighs on me Chirs, I hate him. I hate everything he did to me."

My jaw locked so tight it hurt. I didn't know whether I wanted to go find this Mason prick and beat the shit out of him, or pull Aurora into my arms and promise her no one would ever humiliate her again.

Maybe both, but I stayed where I was, my body rigid, my mind racing.

I didn’t have emotions. I didn’t feel comfortable. But hearing her say all that — seeing the way she shrank under the weight of it — made something deep and ugly claw up inside me.

"You should’ve told me," I muttered, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She shook her head quickly. "I didn’t think it mattered anymore. It was years ago. I didn’t... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Weak. God, she had no idea.

There wasn’t a single thing about her that was weak.

I stared at her for a long beat, my heart hammering against my ribs, my anger still simmering just below the surface — not at her, but at the entire fucking situation. At that prick Mason. At Hailee. At myself for not being there tonight, for leaving her vulnerable to people who didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her.

"You’re not weak," I said, my voice low and certain. "Don’t ever say that shit again."

Aurora’s eyes widened a little, surprised by my tone. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then closed it again.

I took a breath, forcing some of the rage back down. I needed to get a grip. This wasn’t the time to explode.

"You’re not going to any more parties without me," I said firmly, stepping closer. "I don’t give a shit if it was innocent. I’m not letting some asshole even think he can get close to you again."

Her lips parted slightly, clearly taken aback by the sharpness in my voice.

Maybe it wasn’t just the tone that threw her off. Maybe it was the intensity—the raw possessiveness that I couldn’t hide. I was done pretending it wasn’t there.

She gathered herself quickly, her posture stiffening, as if trying to protect herself from whatever was swirling between us. “So what? You cut your trip short to come and talk to me about this party?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I shot her a glance and got closer.

“Yes,” I towered over her. “Yes, did.I may have not taken this seriously at the start, but one thing I take seriously is business, and you are very much my business, Aurora”.

I watched her face redden and her pulse quicken.

“You still didn’t need to cut the trip short,” she said, her voice softer now. “I was doing fine.”

I scoffed, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “Yeah, clearly.”

She let out a long breath, her frustration palpable. “Who sent you the photo anyway?”

I hesitated for a moment, weighing whether I should tell her the truth. But what was the point in lying? I couldn't hold this back forever.

“Just someone I used to mess around with,” I muttered, hoping that would be enough.

Her brow furrowed as she processed the information. Her eyes flickered to mine, confusion crossing her face, before something seemed to click. “Hailee?”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut.

I froze, my pulse spiking. “You know her?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

Aurora’s gaze softened, her lips pressing together in a thin line.

“I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady, though a touch of something... bitter lingered in her tone. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised my eyebrow, “what did she say to you?”

I watched as she looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but trying to maintain her composure. “I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with something darker, something... bitter. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What did she say to you?”

Aurora hesitated for a moment, before looking back at me. “She just said you two used to be close.”

The unease in her voice was undeniable, and I couldn’t help but let a sly smile tug at the corners of my lips. I stayed quiet though, letting her finish.

She shifted, clearly trying to process everything. “I’m just curious,” she started, her eyes narrowing a bit. “You mentioned you don’t do relationships, but she said you guys had something going on.”

I stepped closer, closing the space between us. “I don’t do relationships,” I said, my voice low and firm.

Aurora’s brow furrowed slightly as she processed my words. She raised an eyebrow. “And your... relationship with Hailee?”

I paused, taking in the look on her face. There was something almost fragile in her expression, like she wasn’t sure where this conversation would lead. I watched her closely as I continued.

“It was purely physical,” I said, my voice measured, deliberate.

Aurora blinked, clearly taken aback. She looked genuinely surprised—though, there was a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Oh...Oh, I see. Like... sleeping together?”

I nodded, watching her carefully. I could feel the tension shift in her. She was uneasy now, the energy between us was different than before. She was trying to process what I’d said, but something in her was rattled.

“Why does that bother you?” I smirked, sensing her discomfort, but enjoying the way her guard seemed to be slipping.

Aurora quickly shook her head, her voice quick and defensive. “No—no, I’m just asking.” She laughed nervously, but I could see the flush creeping up her neck.

I hummed in amusement as I stepped even closer, my hand coming to rest gently on the back of her neck. I tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me.

“You’re blushing, ma,” I said softly, a teasing smile playing on my lips as I closed the remaining distance between us.

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto mine. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—something uncertain, but maybe something more. Something she wasn’t ready to admit, but I could feel it in the air between us.

“Were you guys really close?” she asked again, her voice a little tighter this time. “I mean, outside of… well, the bedroom, I guess.”

A teasing grin tugged at my lips. “Are you jealous, Aurora? Your cheeks are pink.”

She quickly looked away, her eyes flickering with something she was desperately trying to hide.

“Why would I be jealous?” she snapped, but the uncertainty in her voice gave her away.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a near whisper. “I don’t know. Maybe because you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I stepped in until her back pressed flush against the wall, her breathing shallow. The air between us practically crackled.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said, letting my gaze fall deliberately to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You think about it, don’t you?”

Her chest rose and fell a little quicker, her eyes darting to the side.

“Think about what?” she asked, voice soft — almost too soft.

“The kiss,” I muttered, my voice rough against her ear. “The way your body reacted to me. You think about it when you’re alone, don’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the edge of a nearby shelf. I caught the moment she faltered, the moment her defenses slipped — even if she tried to hide it by shooting me a glare.

“You’re not fooling me,” I said, my mouth brushing her ear, the words a low threat and a promise all at once.

She didn’t answer — she didn’t have to. I could feel it — the way her body leaned toward me without even meaning to.

I slid my hand into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to pull a gasp from her lips.

"You can pretend all you want," I murmured against her mouth, "but your body’s betraying you, ma."

The last shred of my self-control snapped when I caught the look in her eyes — wide, vulnerable, and begging without a single word.

Without another second of hesitation, I crushed my mouth to hers, kissing her fiercely, claiming her like I'd been dying to. She gasped into me, and I took full advantage, deepening the kiss, pressing her harder against the wall until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

My hand gripped her waist, possessive, grounding her to me as she trembled under my touch.

I didn’t stop there — I let my mouth trail sloppily down her jaw to her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. I heard her breath hitch, then a soft, desperate moan escape her.

"Chris…" she whispered, breathless, the sound of my name almost wrecking me.

My hand slid up, cupping the soft curve of her breast through the thin fabric. My mouth tugged at the V neckline of her sweater, my lips dangerously close to exposing more. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her chestline, the temptation gnawing at the last of my sanity.

I should stop. I knew it. But the way she submitted to my touch — the smell of her skin, like fresh roses — drove me insane.

Her small hand gripped my arm, grounding herself, but not pulling away.

I pulled back just slightly, searching her face. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her hair a beautiful mess, and her eyes — wide, vulnerable, uncertain — locked with mine.

I kept her pinned lightly against the wall, our bodies pressed together. “Did that feel like business to you, ma?” I asked roughly, my thumb brushing her waist.

The blush crept up her neck again, warm and unfiltered. She shook her head shyly, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

I exhaled sharply, trying to reel myself back.

Reluctantly, I stepped away — but kept a hand on her waist, not ready to let her go completely. I dragged my eyes down the faint marks I'd left along her collarbone and smiled,

“Go to bed,” I said, my voice low, a bit softer now. “It’s really late.”

She blinked up at me, still dazed, then nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah… it is,” she whispered, picking up the book she had earlier, clutching it tightly to her chest as she made her way down the hall.

But just before she disappeared, I called out.

“Aurora.”

She paused, turning back, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly.

“Yeah?”

I held her gaze, serious now, needing her to understand.

“To answer your question,” I said slowly, “just know... I’d never cut work short for her, or for anyone of that matter. So no, we weren’t close.”

I caught the realization flicker in her eyes — then turned and disappeared down the hallway into my room, needing a cold shower and my own hand to deal with the ache between my legs she left behind.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual — closer to eleven. I hadn’t gone into the office; as far as everyone knew, I was still in Milan.

Dragging myself out of bed, I expected to find Aurora in the kitchen, maybe eating a bagel or picking at something. Instead, I walked into the dining room to see both my brothers shoveling down the food my chefs had laid out.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “What the fuck are you two doing in my house?”

“Wow, real warm welcome,” Nick said around a mouthful of pancakes.

Matt snorted into his drink, trying not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge.

“Heard you cut your trip short,” Matt said, taking a slow sip of apple juice. “Why?”

“Finished early,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Finished early? Since when do you not milk a whole week out of those trips?”

“Didn’t feel like it this time,” I muttered, popping the tab on my drink.

Nick exchanged a look with Matt as I cracked the Pepsi open.

Matt leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the hallway. “Where’s your girl?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Mind your business.”

Nick smirked around a mouthful of pancakes. “Touchy.”

Matt grinned. “Didn’t say anything. Just asking where she’s at.”

“She’s sleeping,” I said shortly, popping the tab on my drink. “Or reading. I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Nick shrugged innocently. “Just making conversation, man. You don’t gotta bite our heads off.”

Matt snorted into his juice. “Yeah, God forbid we ask about Sleeping Beauty.”

I shot him a warning look, but before I could tell him to shut the fuck up, Nick leaned forward on his elbows, studying me way too closely.

“So you finished early in Milan?” he said, dragging out the words. “Didn’t feel like hanging around? Since when?”

I took a long sip of Pepsi, not answering right away.

Nick smirked like he already knew the answer. Matt raised his eyebrows, exchanging another look with him.

"You," Matt said slowly, grinning, "cut a trip short for a girl?"

I slammed the Pepsi can down on the counter a little harder than necessary.

"Drop it."

Nick held his hands up in mock surrender, but the smug look never left his face. “Hey, man. Whatever you say.”

Before I could tell them both to get the hell out, soft footsteps sounded from down the hall.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway.

Aurora.

Wearing a loose pair of light grey pajama set. Her hair was slightly damp, pushed back from her face like she’d just washed it, her skin fresh and glowing from her skincare.

As soon as she stepped into the dining room, her eyes landed on Matt and Nick — both frozen mid-bite, staring at her like they'd seen a ghost.

Aurora blinked, clearly caught off guard by their presence. She shifted her weight awkwardly, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Uh...hi, morning,” she said hesitantly, giving them a small, awkward wave with the hand not holding her mug.

Matt just blinked at her.

Nick nearly dropped his fork.

I bit back a smirk, watching the whole thing unfold.

She looked so damn cute like this — sleep still clinging to her, skin soft and dewy, voice a little raspy from just waking up. She didn’t even have to try, and somehow it made it even harder not to stare.

Aurora shuffled toward the coffee pot, her cheeks flushing slightly as she turned her back on them, clearly trying to pretend like this wasn’t awkward as hell.

Nick leaned toward Matt and stage-whispered, "Is it just me or did Chris just smile?"

Matt answered just as quietly. “Real big. Like some Disney prince shit.”

I shot them both a death glare. Matt pretended to cough. Nick suddenly found the butter on his pancakes very interesting.

Turning back to Aurora, I kept my voice low, just for her. “You eat yet, ma?”

She blinked, a little startled by the nickname in front of my brothers, but shook her head.

Nick elbowed Matt under the table. “Ma?” he mouthed dramatically.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, flushing a little, and shook her head.

I pushed out a chair. “Sit.”

She obeyed without a word, sliding into the seat beside mine, her knee brushing against mine under the table.

Nick watched the whole thing like it was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen in his life. Matt, for once, had enough sense not to say anything.

But even I could see it written all over their faces: They were never gonna let me live this down, and for the first time, I didn’t give a fuck.

I shot Matt a quick glance, narrowing my eyes slightly. What the hell was he getting at with his line of questioning?

Aurora met Matt's gaze, offering a soft smile. "I'm fine," she said, her voice gentle but steady. "How about you?"

"Good, good," Matt replied, nodding thoughtfully. "How are you finding everything here so far?"

Aurora’s smile never faltered. "Everything’s been okay," she said, her tone polite, as if carefully measuring her words.

Nick then chimed in, breaking the quiet tension. "You're a design student, right?"

Aurora nodded. "Yeah. I am."

A strange silence hung in the air for a moment, like everyone was waiting for something more, but no one quite knew what. The awkwardness was palpable, and I couldn’t help but find the whole situation oddly amusing. I leaned back in my chair, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, watching the way they were trying to make small talk, as if they weren’t fully sure of what to say to her.

"I have to get going," Aurora said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have some things to do. Enjoy."

She stood up from the table, her movements graceful but just a little too quick. I could tell she felt out of place—she didn’t like being the center of attention, especially under my brothers’ watchful eyes.

She glanced at me, a brief, almost uncertain look. I gave her a small nod, letting her know it was fine. Without another word, she disappeared down the hallway, and a few seconds later, I heard the soft click of her bedroom door shutting.

The second she was gone, Nick leaned forward, dropping his fork with a loud clatter against his plate. "Bro," he said, smirking. "She’s cute."

Matt snorted, reaching for another pancake. "Way out of your league, too."

I shot them both a dry look. "Don’t start."

Matt held up his hands innocently. "Just saying. She’s...different. Not what I expected when you said you were getting married."

Nick nodded, mouth full. "Yeah, like, she’s actually nice. Thought you'd end up with some stuck-up heiress."

I took a long drink of my Pepsi, ignoring the way they both stared at me like they were waiting for a reaction.

"Arranged or not," Matt said, nudging Nick, "you lucked out, man."

I stayed silent, my jaw tight.

Matt leaned back in his chair, eyeing me. "You like her," he said bluntly, like it wasn’t even a question.

Nick laughed under his breath. "Yeah, you definitely do. Never seen you look at anyone like that."

"Cut the shit," I muttered, tossing my empty can of Pepsi into the trash. "It’s not like that."

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Sure it’s not. You were basically eye-fucking her the entire time she was sitting here.”

I shot him a glare. "Watch your mouth," I said, my voice low, protective without even meaning to be. "I was just making sure she was comfortable. You idiots were making her uncomfortable."

Nick held his hands up, grinning. "Hey, we're just saying. It's new seeing you like this. Mr. 'No Relationships' acting like a fucking husband already."

I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over my chest. "I’m being respectful."

Matt smirked. "Respectful? Bro, you looked like you were two seconds away from dragging her back to your room."

I gave him a sharp look. "Matt. Don’t talk about her like that."

Matt just rolled his eyes, clearly not taking me seriously. "Didn’t say anything about her," he said lazily, picking up his fork and poking at his pancakes again. "For an arranged thing, it’s not bad," he added with a shrug.

Nick nodded. "She's sweet. She didn’t even roast us for showing up uninvited."

"She’s used to it," I said without thinking. Then realizing how that sounded, I added, "High society bullshit. She’s been around it her whole life."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but still. She's... real. Not fake like the other rich girls."

"Don’t call her a rich girl," I snapped before I could stop myself.

Both of them froze for a second—then broke into matching grins.

Matt whistled low. "Man’s in deep already."

I shook my head, pushing off the counter. "You two need to get out of my house."

Nick laughed. "Not until you admit you like her."

"Not happening," I said, walking past them. "And wipe those stupid looks off your faces before I throw you out myself."

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: ya'll i think I should start with the mega juicy stuff soon. Hopfully new chapter soon! like & reblog. mwahh] – ceyana

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #fanfic

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