#i don’t have it in me to make angst of them

[imaginespazzi]

Part 15: Love You Always

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

I never made promises lightly (and there have been some that I've broken) but I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold

(In which a go with the flow writer may have changed a lot of things, but this was always meant to be the ending)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Mainly just fluff with a little bit of angst and hurt/comfort

Words: 22.7K (lowkey upset I was 1.3K words off of making a 24K gold joke but ah well)

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce, Concussions/Fainting,

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Welcome to the end! This fic is my baby and I cannot believe that we've made it to the last chapter. There's a fair amount of creative license taken in this chapter in regards to W logistics so just bear with me for the plot/drama. The editing in this is shoddy as hell so please be my editors and point out typos/grammar mistakes. I wanted to thank all of you so much for all the love you've given GH. You guys have made this fic worth writing and whether you left a live-react, a general ask, a comment, reblogged it, hearted it or just read this fic, know that all of you mean so much to me. I would love your final opinions on this final chapter if you choose to share them. And of course we still have Stephie's version. So as per always my loves, let me know what your liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see next!

July 2007 

It’s golden hour. The park is illuminated by a resplendent yellow shine; sparkling drops of gold shimmering against the clear water of the pond that Paige is currently dipping her toes into. The echoes of the music from the gazebo contrasting against the lull of guest chattering fill her ears, as she reaches down to lazily run her fingers through the water. Paige pulls her dress up slightly, careful not to get it wet as she sits down on the bank. It isn’t her preferred attire by any means, but at least she’d gotten out of wearing the frock with pompous frills and ruffles that her mother had first picked out for her flower girl outfit.

The warmth of the sun dances against her cheeks as Paige involuntarily lets her eyes close, breathing in the much-needed moments of peace. It’s not that she’s unhappy with this wedding -her mother deserves to be happy and her new husband seems like a perfectly decent man. But there’s this hollow feeling of things will never be the same again that’s made itself home against Paige’s ribcage. And it’s not an unfamiliar feeling per say, not when it’s been festering within her since her parents got divorce. But today makes it feel finite. Once upon a time, there used to be Bob and Amy and Paige and a little house in the suburbs that, before it was filled with screaming, had been filled with laughter. Now there’s Amy and her new husband and maybe soon there will be Bob and his new wife. And then there’s Paige, who’s stuck moving between two houses, neither of which seem to fill the void of the old one. 

Paige is only six years old and perhaps she doesn’t quite understand all the intricacies of adult relationships, but she thinks she understands this one concept. And It’s a rather startling realization for such a young child to have, but she’s almost certain it’s true. 

Things that are lost, stay lost; they don’t come back to you. 

“I like your dress,” Paige’s eyes fly open at the sound of a small voice, shyly complimenting her dress.

Confused, she follows the sound of it till her gaze lands on a little girl, probably close to her own age, giving her a dimpled grin. Paige looks the dark-curled stranger up and down for a moment, taking in her casual shorts and pink butterfly t-shirt and she suddenly feels a little self-conscious in her own far-too-formal-for-a-park appearance, despite the compliment. 

“Thanks,” she says meekly, playing with the blue ribbon tied around the middle, “it’s my flower girl outfit.”

The other girl’s eyes gleam with excitement, “you were in a wedding?” 

Paige nods, the beginnings of a smile starting to peek through her own lips, “yeah,” she points towards the gazebo in the distance, “the rec-petion is happening over there.”

“That’s so cool,” the brunette remarks as she plops down next to Paige, daintily sliding off her sandals so she can slip her feet into the pond, “why are you here then?”

Paige hesitates, “it’s very loud.”

The other girl nods in understanding, “my Mommy and Daddy’s wedding was really loud too.”

Paige turns sharply towards her at that, “you went to your Mommy’s wedding too?”

Explaining the divorce to her classmates had been complicated enough -she barely understood the concept herself- but then, when she’d broken the news that she’d be attending her Mommy’s wedding this weekend, she’d gotten a whole other round of confused glances. 

Children don’t go to their Mommies weddings, one of the girls had said matter-of-factly, looking at Paige like she’d made some incredulous exclamation. Mrs. Carter, her favorite teacher, had overheard and intervened, sympathetically explaining the entire situation -and the supposed normalcy of it- on her behalf. That had been the extent of it and it had been enough to disband the small crowd of kids that had gathered around her. But there was something about the slight glint of pity in Mrs Carter’s eye and the almost judgemental tone of that one girl, that had left Paige feeling queasy about the whole ordeal. And so she’s surprised by how casually the darker-skinned girl in front of her mentions her own mother’s wedding, like it really was as normal as Mrs. Carter had explained it to be.

“Yeah I did, when I was littler, ” the girl admits happily, “they got married on a bask-ball court and it was lots and lots and lots of fun and I ate so much cake that I had a tummy ache after,” she giggles conspiratorially at her own words and there’s something so contagious about the sound of it, that Paige can’t help but laugh along. 

“Did you wear a pretty dress too,” she asks curiously, secretly pleased when her question makes the other girl’s face light up. 

“I did. It was like yours but it was pink,” the little girl sighs contentedly, “when I have my own wedding, I’m gonna wear pink again.”

Paige scrunches her nose, “you can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Silly girl,” the blonde shakes her head, “my Mommy says you have to wear white when you get married. It’s tradition.”

The other girl frowns, “but I love pink.”

“Maybe you can have something else in pink like-,” Paige pauses, thinking really hard, “like pink flowers in your book-et.”

The brunette seems to contemplate it for a while before another bright grin breaks out on her face, “I like that. You’re so smart.”

“Thank you,” Paige beams, her face glowing almost as bright as the world around them and then a sudden thought strikes her, “oh my name is-”

“Shush,” the other girl cuts her off, hurriedly placing her tiny hand against Paige’s mouth and the blonde’s eyes widen. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice muffled. 

“You can’t tell me your name silly,” the brunette says firmly, “Mommy says we don’t tell strangers p-ivate info-mation ‘cause what if they-” she drops her voice to a whisper, “what if they wanna kid-nap us.”

Paige wrangles herself free, giving the girl an odd look, “I’m not going to kid-nap you. I’m just a little girl. Little girls can’t kid-nap people,” she says, affronted, “are you gonna kid-nap me?”

“Of course not! I’m too nice-”

“Are you saying I’m not nice?”

“No- that’s not,” the other girl blushes, looking rather flustered, “it’s just what my Mommy says and Daddy says Mommy’s always right and I have to listen to her.”

“Fine,” Paige concedes, a little amused by how pitiful the girl in front of her looks, “I’ll tell you my middle-name instead and then when we meet again and you’re not a st-anger anymore, I’ll tell you my real name.”

“Who says we’ll meet again?” the brunette asks softly. 

“I do. I say so. I just know we’re gonna meet again,” Paige smirks, an air of arrogance around it but she really does believe it and she doesn’t know how she knows -is perhaps too young to understand the concept of a gut-feeling- but she just does. There’s something about this girl, about her big brown doe eyes and her carefree smile and the way talking to her just feels so comfortable, that has Paige convinced they’re destined to meet again, destined to be in each other’s lives. 

The girl seems to mull over Paige’s words for a moment before she finally stretches her hand out, “okay. I’m Jazlyn.”

“Jazlyn,” the blonde tests it out slowly, as she shakes Jazlyn’s hand, “that’s a pretty name. I’m Madison.”

“It’s nice to meet you Madison,” Jazlyn says, her voice filled with sincerity as they release each other’s hand, fingertips lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

“You too,” Paige replies politely as the two of them kick their feet back and forth in the cool water, ‘you said your Mommy and Daddy got married on a bask-ball court? Do you play?”

Jazlyn nods enthusiastically and that warm feeling that comes with finding common ground with a new friend, flickers through Paige’s heart, “I love bask-ball.”

“Me too,” Paige grins, “it’s my favorit-est thing in the whole wide world.

And then there’s no stopping the conversation between them, the two of them speaking a mile per minute as they cover as many topics as their little minds can think of. Paige learns that Jazlyn’s mother used to play basketball and had passed her passion onto her daughter. The other girl might not have lived much life yet, but whatever she has lived, has been immersed in the sport. It’s so different to Paige’s own story with basketball that had started only a year or so ago when her parents had started her in little league to get her mind off of the divorce. But it’s clear that despite their different starts, their love for the sport is the same. And Paige has basketball friends but no one quite seems to understand the thrill of making an orange ball go through a hoop as much as Jazlyn. 

The world slowly morphs from a golden hue into something darker, the water beneath their feet turning cold as the rays of sun hitting it begin to disappear. Golden hour is over. But the two of them barely notice, too enthralled in a silly argument about who the best Spongebob character is. Paige says Patrick. Jazlyn says Gary. Paige thinks Jazlyn’s lost her mind because Jazzie come on he’s a snail to which Jazlyn immediately raises her eye-brow because and Patrick is starfish Maddie, what’s your point? 

“Oh no,” it’s Jazlyn who seems to notice the time first, her eyes widening as she haphazardly stands up, accidentally flicking Paige with water when she slides her feet out of the pond, “I should get back to my Mommy and Daddy.”

“Right,” Paige swallows, a hollow feeling in her chest as she realizes her new friend is about to leave, “you can’t stay a little bit longer?”

Jazlyn shakes her head apologetically, “sorry Maddie. ‘Member I told you, we’re going back to Virg-inia tomorrow so I have to help Mommy pack all our things.”

Virginia. 

That’s the other thing Paige had discovered about the girl; that she wasn’t from around here. Jazlyn had come to visit her grandparents, just as she tended to every summer. She’d spent the last part of her holidays in their lodge, which coincidentally bordered the park -with the fancy gazebo- that Paige’s mom had booked for the reception. Paige had learned that this was a part of Jazlyn’s routine apparently, to stroll to the pond right before sunset and it was close enough to where she was staying that her parents let her go by herself. She’d told the blonde that for the most part the walks had been rather boring, peaceful but uneventful. Until today, when she’d stumbled upon Paige, sitting at the exact place Jazlyn would normally sit.

And, tomorrow, the other girl will be gone.

Paige isn’t quite sure where exactly Virginia is -geography isn’t her strong suite- but she knows that it’s far away from Minnesota, far away from Paige. They’ve just met; it feels almost wrong for them to already be torn apart. 

“Are you gonna visit again?” Paige asks slowly, her voice tinged with hope.

“Prob-ly. Like I said, we visit every summer,” Jazlyn says, as she slips her sandals back on, “are you gonna be here next time?”

“I think so,” Paige grins as she stands up herself, noticing she’s just an inch or so taller than the other girl, “Mommy’s new house is pretty close to here.”

Jazlyn’s smile stretches her entire face as she juts out her pinky, “so we’ll see each other again?”

“Def-nitely,” Paige promises as she interlocks her own pink with her friend’s, “I’m gonna miss you Jazzie. Even if I just met you.”

Jazlyn’s eyes soften before she pulls the other kid into a hug, her head fitting just a little too perfectly into the crook of Paige’s neck, “I’m gonna miss you too Maddie.”

They part reluctantly, too young to understand the confusing magnetic pull between them, but still perceptive enough to understand that, despite having only just met, there’s something between them. 

“Bye Maddie,” Jazlyn says quietly, her lips trembling for a slight second as she waves at the blond, slowly backing away. 

“Bye Jazzie,” Paige calls out, watching as the other girl smiles at her one last time, before turning on her heel and starting to run back home. She watches her go until her silhouette disappears and a slight shiver -that isn’t just from the summer wind- runs up Paige’s skin. 

“I hope I see you soon,” she whispers into the wind, almost like she’s making a wish, before hugging her arms around herself and heading back towards the gazebo. 

But soon isn’t quite soon. Because not even six months later, Paige’s mom and her new husband move to Montana, the house by the park sold to the highest bidder. When August rolls around, with the promise to Jazlyn weighing heavily on her mind, she begs her father to take her up there but instead, bound by a custody agreement, he puts her on a flight to go visit her mother instead. It’s not his choice to make and really, Paige is too young to fight it, so instead that becomes a part of her summer routine. Every August, Paige goes to Montana and slowly but surely -as is natural with little kids- the memory of meeting the girl with the dark curls and big doe eyes and a bright smile, slowly fades away. 

That is, until she’s 15 and participating in a camp for USA basketball and she meets Azzi Jazlyn Fudd. 

And the memories don’t quite come rushing back -it’s been nine years and her recollection of things that happened when she was six isn’t particularly good- but there's a flicker of recognition that ignites in her stomach. That same feeling she’d felt all those years ago, comes rushing back into her veins as their eyes meet across the court and by the way Azzi’s face softens just a little bit, Paige can tell, she feels it too. 

The feeling that the two of them are destined to be in each other’s life, that they’re destined to always find each other over and over again. 

*** 

July 2033 

Wings 76     Valkyries 94

American Airlines center is filled with the sound of crowds of fans grumbling as they leave the arena, their home team having suffered an expected loss to the Valkyries. Paige has no ill-will to the Dallas fans -they’d treated her with nothing but love her time here- but she can’t help but smirk a little, the competitor in her, just always a little too cocky about winning and shutting the opposing team's supporters up. 

But there are still fans of her tenure at Dallas here and Paige can’t escape the horde of signs being shoved in her face, waiting for her autograph. The fans have been crazy since she was in college and as grateful as she is for the fame, sometimes, just the sheer amount of people that seem to avalanche her out of nowhere, overwhelms her just a little bit. Still, Paige poses for the pictures and signs the most ridiculous poster with a warm smile on her face but her mind is wandering far off, thinking about walking through the tunnel and finding her person standing there, waiting so they can go do media together. 

It’s that thought that has her rushing a little bit, her signature becoming messier and messier as she slowly reaches the last of the fans. Paige shoots the crowd one more charming grin, before she slips away -the for the people smile on her face morphing into something more intimate as she rushes towards the tunnel. It’s been almost three weeks since Paige had gotten her head out of her ass and finally gotten the girl, and every single second since has felt like magic. 

“Hey superstar,” Azzi calls out to her as she makes it about halfway into the tunnel and Paige feels her heart skip a beat as she finally catches sight of the brunette, leaning against the wall, watching her with a smirk of her own. She’s slipped on a Valkyrie’s shirt over her jersey, her hair slightly mussed from the pace of the game and Paige thinks she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. 

“Hey baby,” she whispers, as she saunters over to Azzi, tugging the younger woman into her arms as she brushes their lips together, “I missed you.”

The brunette rolls her eyes fondly, her hands locking behind Paige’s neck as her fingers play with wisps of baby hair, “we were just on the court together. It’s been maybe seven minutes since you last saw me.”

“Seven minutes too long,” Paige says airly as she steals another kiss from Azzi’s lips, “I miss you every second we’re apart.”

“You’re such a sap,” Azzi shakes her head as removes herself from Paige’s grasp, giggling when it elicits a small whine of protest from the blonde, before she intertwines their hands together as they start walking towards the media waiting room. 

They barely make it into the area before there’s a blur of limbs whizzing into their legs, causing both of them to laugh as they try to keep themselves from falling over at Stephie’s attack. The little girl grins up at them, a lavender #5 jersey -that makes Paige practically glow with pride- framing her little body. Stephie had taken to alternating between her customized #5 and #35 jerseys between games and even though technically today should’ve been Azzi’s turn, the little girl had insisted that she needed to wear #5 today. 

To show Dall-s that she’s only ours now, Stephie had said with a possessive scrunch in her face when Azzi had dramatically complained of the betrayal. The logic had been enough for the brunette who’d agreed in a heartbeat that of course, you’re right, everyone should know she’s ours as she’d winked at Paige. The blonde had only chuckled, but really it had sent a ember of warmth through her veins, filling her heart with the comfort that came from knowing the people she considered hers, considered her to be theirs. 

“Mama, Miss Buecks, you played so well today,” Stephie gushes, arms still fervently wrapped around both of their knees as she grins up at them, “and-and-and I cheered so loud for you guys. The loudest. So loud that even Pops had to tell me to be quieter. Can you believe it Pops had to tell me to be quiet,” the little girl giggles like it’s absurd that her grandfather -the most boisterous man she knew- could tell someone else to be quiet, “but I told him I’d only be quieter when you guys played less good-er and you guys never played less good-er so I never had to be quiet,” she finishes with a proud smirk. 

Paige laughs at her enthusiasm, winking at Tim who’s spluttering justifications, as she swings Stephie into her arms, before plopping onto the sofa with the little girl comfortably settled in her lap, “You were that loud huh? I knew I heard you.”

Stephie beams, “you heard me?”

“Of course I did. Why do you think all my shots kept going in? It’s cause I knew my Stephie-bean was cheering the loudest for me,” Paige says, as she pulls on the little girl’s nose. 

“The loud-est-est-est,” Stephie stretches her arms proudly before she wraps them around Paige’s neck, bringing the blonde closer to her so she can press a long sloppy kiss to her cheek. 

“Oh okay I see how it is,” Azzi pouts dramatically as she perches on the armrest next to them, “guess nobody was cheering for me then.”

“Silly Mama,” Stephie shakes her tiny little hands reaching up to cup her mother’s face across Paige’s body, “I said I was cheering for both of you.”

“But only Miss Buecks is getting kisses. Where’s Mama’s kiss?” Azzi asks cheekily as she expectantly juts out her face towards Stephie. 

But before the little girl can do the honors, Paige beats her to it, foolishly grinning like a teenager in love as she presses her own lips to Azzi’s cheek, “there you go baby, there’s your kiss.”

“Paige!” Azzi exclaims, eyes widening in surprise as a light blush creeps up her cheeks. 

Paige shrugs mischievously, “What? You wanted a kiss Az, I gave you a kiss.”

“I was- I was-,” Azzi splutters, “I was asking Stephie.”

“Oh, were you? My bad. Didn’t realize, lemme take it back,” Paige smirks as she places her lips back onto the brunette’s cheek, suctioning them inwards like she’s trying to reverse what she did previously, “there! I took my kiss back.”

“Paige!” Azzi squirms again, her face crimson now as she rubs at her cheek, glaring at Paige who looks far too pleased with herself. 

“You’re so red Mama,” Stephie giggles, all of her teeth showing. 

“Zip it Stephie,” Azzi says, attempting to sound strict but there’s no bite to her tone and instead Stephie and Paige look at each other for a second, before bursting into another round of laughter. 

Azzi groans, “I hate both of you.”

Stephie removes one arm from Paige’s neck, so she can loop it around her mother’s, bringing the brunette closer to the two of them, “no you don’t Mama, you love us the most-est-est-est in the world.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, but there’s no stopping the sappy smile that her daughter’s words elicit, “maybe just most-est-est,” she concedes as she nuzzles her head against Paige’s, her finger gently rubbing Stephie’s cheek. 

They stay like that, the three of them cocooned in their own little bubble as Stephie recites her favorite moments from the game and the two adults listen on intently, adding a comment or two here and there to humor the little girl. This is Paige’s happy place; she thinks if peace had a definition, it would most definitely just be a picture of this: her, Azzi and Stephie, just existing together. 

“Excuse me, Paige, Azzi, they’re ready for the two of you now,” a polite voice breaks in through the calm and Paige looks up to see their media manager looking pointedly at the two of them. 

“Alright Stephie girl,” Tim calls out, “let's you and me go get some ice cream, while your Mama and Miss Buecks go do press.”

Stephie frowns, her grip instinctively tightening around the two women, “can I come with you?”

“Stephie-” Azzi begins gently, slowly rising off of the armrest. 

“Please Mama,” Stephie implores, jutting out her bottom lip, “Ri-Ri says Uncle Twin used to let her do media with him sometimes. She showed me a video of it and everything. I’ll be good I promise,” she places a hand on her heart, “I just wanna be with you and Miss Buecks pretty please.”

Paige bites her lip, still a little scared to overstep boundaries since last time but she sends Azzi a pleading look, not wanting to let go of Stephie either. And really Paige has already fulfilled her saying no to Stephie quota for the week considering it was her, who’d said no to the little girl when she’d asked for extra whipped cream on her waffles this morning. 

“Fine,” Azzi relents with a sigh, “but you better be on your best behavior Miss Stephanie and you too Paige,” she says pointedly to the blonde who holds her hands up in mock surrender. 

 “I’m always on my best-est-est-est behavior Mama,” Stephie says proudly as she slides off of Paige’s lap to allow the older woman to get up. As soon as she does, the little girl reaches for her hand, intertwining one through Paige’s and the other through Azzi’s as she excitedly bounces in between, pulling them towards the conference room, “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

Murmurs ring out through the press cohort as the three of them enter together. Despite Azzi’s reassurance that she had no intent to hide their relationship this time around, neither of them were really the type to make a big public announcement acknowledging it either. But there had been a picture of Stephie and Azzi -both casually sticking their blue-tinted tongues out at each other while holding rainbow popsicles- that Paige had added to her life lately photo dump around a week ago, which had sent the rumours flying about what their potential relationship status might be.

As Paige and Azzi take their seats, Stephie looks thoughtful between them, clearly deliberating on where -or rather on who- she wants to sit. Eventually, she climbs onto Paige’s lap and the blonde smirks triumphantly as Azzi’s mouth falls open. 

“Guess I’m the favorite,” the older woman says cheekily into the mic in front of her, causing a few chuckles to echo throughout the press room as she drapes an arm around the little girl’s middle -right against the #5 of her jersey- allowing Stephie to get comfortable. 

Azzi shakes her head, the edges of lips turning upwards despite her attempt to look betrayed as she addresses the rest of the room, “y’all should know the ball isn’t the only thing she steals,” she says in reference to Paige’s three steals tonight, “she also apparently steals other people’s places as their child’s favorite person in the whole wide world.”

“That’s not true Mama,” Stephie quips defensively, “you guys are tied.”

“But me just a little bit more though right Stephie-bean?” Paige whispers conspiratorially, poking the little girl in the stomach and causing her to squeal.

“Miss Buecks stop,” Stephie says in between peals of laughter, “Mama said we have to be on our best-est-est-est behavior remember?”

“Oh right, right, right,” Paige nods vehemently, pretending to compose herself as the media personnel look on amused at the antics on display, “best behavior from now on I promise.”

The first couple of questions are directed to Azzi -mainly about her career high in blocks (4) and that she’d gone 7 for 10 from three- and Paige allows herself to dissociate a little bit. She hooks her chin against Stephie’s shoulder, bringing the box score closer to herself so she can look through it. The little girl leans in alongside her to look at the paper in front of them and Paige almost laughs at the concentration with which Stephie’s eyes trace the numbers. 

“Only three rebounds tonight Miss Buecks?” the little girl notes keeping her voice low so the mics won’t pick it up as she raises her eyebrow at Paige and attempts to tsk tsk tsk.

“Can’t do everything I guess,” the blonde replies playfully, pointing out that she’d more or less stuffed the stat-sheet beyond that. 

“But you still gotta rebound Miss Buecks” Stephie says gravely, with all the wisdom of a little girl who’s grown up around a lot of basketball, “don’t you always say to Mama that she has to rebound more? Cause rebounds win champ-ships right?”

“Not you using my own words against me. You’re too smart for your own good,” Paige mutters under her breath but there’s a gentle smile -one reserved solely for the little girl cuddled to her chest- playing on her lips, “but alright Coach Stephanie, I’ll get more rebounds next time.”

“Good. You should,” the little girl retorts happily, as she goes back to reading the box score, continuing to occasionally point out other things that peak her interest, to Paige. For her part, the blonde is so lost in this little bubble she’s in with Stephie -intently listening to the little girl’s analysis as they giggle over something they’d both found funny- that she doesn’t even register a question being sent her own way until Azzi loudly clears her throat. 

She raises her head at the sound and even though the whole room is looking at her, Paige’s eyes -as they often seem to do whenever the brunette is around- immediately turn towards Azzi. The younger woman’s gaze is focused on the two of them, something unmistakably soft hidden behind the amused quirk of her eyebrow, as she tilts her head slightly towards the reporters, trying to signal that it was the older woman’s turn to answer a question. 

“Sorry,” Paige clears her throat sheepishly, “what was the question?”

The reporter -a young man that she recognizes as working on one of the Dallas sports news channel- chuckles, “sorry to interrupt Paige; she’s a lot cuter than we are, I understand,” he teases good-naturedly and a series of amused laughs ring out through the room as Paige nuzzles Stephie closer to herself, “I was just asking -this is your first time playing in Dallas since you left, how does it feel to be back?”

“It feels great,” the blonde admits with a smile, and although it’s partly the politically correct answer, she really does mean it, “I’ve always loved playing here you know, the fans always- always showed out for this team when I was here and it’s great to see they did again today. It was a little weird being boo-ed by the same people who used to cheer for me when I was shooting free throws- but you know- that’s sports and you know they still clapped for me when I came out so I’mma take that as they still love me just a little bit cause I’m pretty easy to love,” Paige winks and can practically feel Azzi rolling her eyes at the gesture, as the reporters laugh at her feigned cockines, “but yeah you know- it was great to be here. You know this place used to be home once-”

“And now home is me and Mama,” Stephie announces, cutting Paige off mid sentence as she turns around in the older woman’s lap, her big brown eyes glittering as she looks up at her, “right Miss Buecks?”

It’s like everyone seems to hold their breaths at the little girl’s words; there’s no denying the meaning behind them. Paige opens and closes her mouth, trying to figure out the right way to respond. She glances towards Azzi, trying to figure out how the other woman wants them to play this. The brunette is already looking at her, her eyes slightly wide at what her daughter had just said but filled with the promise of we’ll always be your home as she gives Paige a slight nod, her lip curling upwards into a small grin. 

“Right Stephie-bean,” Paige says softly, addressing the little girl more than the media, “my home is you and Mama.”

“You’re our home too Miss Buecks,” Stephie grins toothily as she reaches up to press an open mouth kissed against the blonde woman’s cheeks before turning her little body back towards the press, unaware of the spark of emotion her innocent little declaration had birthed in Paige’s heart. She looks at Azzi again, finding her eyes moist with the same tears of pure happiness that she knows are reflected on her own, a testament to finally getting everything they’d dreamt of as two naive college students, curled into each other on a twin-sized bed. 

And then there’s a familiar cough resounding through the audience and Paige feels her entire body stiffen. She reluctantly drags her gaze away from Azzi and amidst the sea of smiling faces -all of whom had clearly found the scene rather sickeningly cute- she finds a distinctly known face scowling up at the podium. Olivia. 

"Miss Buecks," Stephie whispers, as she lifts herself a little off of Paige's lap so her lips are level with the blonde's ear, "why does that reporter look so mad?"

Paige swallows, her grip tightening protectively around the little girl on her lap,

 “It’s nothing honey,” she reassures but there’s little conviction in her voice. 

Paige can almost feel the tension radiating off of Azzi’s body, clearly recognizing who the reporter is and she has to fight the urge to reach out and grab the younger woman’s hand, to squeeze or trace light patterns against her skin. She doesn’t know how she’d spent so long not realizing her ex-wife was sitting second-row at the press conference. Paige had known Olivia was gonna be here, had been mentally preparing for her to be covering the Dallas game and yet, perhaps because she’d been so preoccupied with Stephie and Azzi while walking, she’d barely taken note of the woman. 

“This is a press conference, not your home,” Olivia remarks icily and all the other reporters twitch uncomfortably in their seats, clearly aware of the dynamics at play, “so if y’all are done, I think we’d all love to go finish this off and get back to our own homes as well.”

Azzi’s hands clench under the table and this time Paige doesn’t bother fighting it; she uses the hand not gripping Stephie, to grab for the younger woman's fists under the table, rubbing soothing circles against her knuckles to try and calm her down. It’s like there’s magic in her touch -the same that seems to exist in Azzi’s when she touches Paige- and slowly but surely it begins to calm the brunette down. 

Still keeping hold of Azzi’s hand underneath the podium, Paige musters up an apologetic smile for Olivia, “sorry- that was uh- that wasn’t very professional of us.”

“Well workplace relationships aren’t quite professional either,” Olivia remarks pointedly, an unsettlingly saccharine smile on her face, and it’s like a cold chill -most definitely not from the air conditioning- settles across the room, “but that’s never been an issue for you has it Paige?”

Paige stares at the journalist in shock, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to respond. Since the divorce, despite the amicable appearances, Olivia had always had a thinly-veiled passive-aggressive jab ready to integrate into her post-game media questions. But there was nothing thinly-veiled or remotely passive about this particular remark and Paige is completely caught off-guard, her body freezing at the sheer amount of vitriol in her ex-wife’s voice. 

As if sensing her unease, Stephie leans back into Paige, almost as if she’s trying to provide some semblance of comfort. Under the table, Azzi flips her hand over, unclenching her own fist so she can intertwine their hands together as she gently squeezes the blonde’s hand, a simple gesture of i’m here that makes Paige relax just a little bit. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi says, her voice a matching syrupy sweet as she focuses her attention on the reporter, “I was under the impression you wanted to continue the press conference but well-” she tilts her head almost mockingly, “you don’t seem to be asking any basketball questions so unless you have one of those, I suggest you let the others ask their questions because like you said, we’re all ready to go home.”

There’s a quick flash of anger in Olivia’s eyes but she’s quick to compose herself, putting on a tight-lipped smile as she addresses the two of them again, “I do have a basketball question thank you Azzi,” she spits the brunette’s name out bitterly and Paige tries to not show her irritation on her face, choosing instead to focus on the pressure of Azzi’s fingers playing with her own, “the two of you have been known since college for your chemistry- on the court that is of course- apparently Paige has a knack for finding your or something. But over the last two games, only two of your shots have been assisted by her? So I guess I’m just wondering, is the chemistry fading? Were you guys maybe just trying to force something that used to exist but isn’t meant to anymore?”

It’s a ridiculous question laced with farcical underlying meanings and Paige can tell it takes every little bit of restraint left in Azzi’s body to not curse Olivia out right then and there. 

“And what happened in the game before the last two?” the brunette asks calmly. 

Olivia shrugs, “does it matter? I’m asking about the last two games.”

“Did you watch that game?” Azzi presses. 

“There was a Wings game on at the same time. I had priorities,” Olivia answers airily. 

“Fair enough,” Azzi says, her voice deceptively casual as she narrows her eyes at the other woman, “I’ll tell you what happened then. The game before that, Paige assisted on six of my eight made shots. The game before that one, she assisted on four of them. The game before that, on five of them. I guess it’s gone down a little these last two games but as a journalist you should probably know that two games doesn't make a trend. So no, we’re not trying to force something that used to exist. We’re building off of something -off of a chemistry- that has always existed,” she glances briefly at Paige, her stoic expression softening, “and always will,” before turning back to Olivia with cold eyes, “does that answer your question?”

Olivia purses her lips as she nods reluctantly, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Azzi retorts.

There’s only two more questions after that, the atmosphere in the room having clearly shifted and all the rest of the reporters clearly eager to escape the still-lingering tension. Paige doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand, that and Stephie’s occasional fidgeting on her lap, the only thing keeping her fully grounded. 

As soon as the press conference officially concludes, Azzi’s out of her seat, marching out of the media room with vengeance and Paige knows exactly where she’s going. 

“Stephie sweetheart, you go hang out with Pops for a second okay,” she tells the little girl, pointing her in the direction of Tim who had been waiting on the sidelines, before rushing to catch up with her girlfriend. 

“Az-” Paige attempts to say as she falls into step next to the younger girl, trying to match her furious pace, “baby come on it’s not worth it.”

Azzi ignores her, continuing on her tirade towards Olivia, who is where she always is, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Azzi hisses, coming to a quick half in front of the reporter and Paige stops right behind her. 

Olivia quirks an eyebrow, “excuse me?”

“Oh don’t even try that bullshit with me. Look I get it okay- I get that you have issues with Paige and probably with me and that’s fine. You have every right to dislike us- maybe even hate us but pulling that stunt in front of all the media? You don’t get to do all that.”

“And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” Olivia asks, not even attempting to keep up a pretense of cordiality. 

“Do not test me,” Azzi warns, “you know damn well I can have your credentials to cover the Wings revoked with one word.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know me,” the brunette cuts off Olivia’s weak protest, “you don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do for the people I love.”

A flicker of hurt rushes across her ex-wife’s face and Paige suddenly feels a slight pang of guilt taking birth in her stomach. In front of her, Azzi lets out a shallow breath, clearly having noticed the same thing. 

“I know what it’s like you know,” the younger woman says slowly, her voice much softer now, “I know what it’s like to lose Paige. I know what it’s like to see her with someone else. I know how much it hurts,” Azzi swallows, shaking slightly like even the memory of it is hard to relieve before her voice hardens again, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll just let you take that hurt out on us like that. Next time we’re in Dallas, if you pull that shit again, know that I will absolutely get you fired.”

Olivia doesn’t say anything, pointedly looking away from Azzi as she crosses her arms around her body. Knowing the lack of response would only irritate the brunette further, Paige takes a step towards her, gently pressing her thumb against Azzi’s wrist to get her attention. 

“Hey Az, baby how about you go check on Stephie? Maybe get changed so we can head out,” she says softly, giving the younger woman one of her patented charming smiles, “I’ll come find you guys in a little bit.”

For a second it looks like Azzi’s going to protest but there must be something in the look that Paige gives her and instead she sighs, nodding as she lightly bumps her forehead against the blonde’s temple, before walking back towards the media waiting room. Paige can’t help but watch her go until her silhouette disappears, can’t help the just for Azzi smile that stays glued on her face till the brunette is out of her sight. 

“You used to tell me you didn’t do nicknames,” Olivia’s tone is tinged with resigned bitterness and Paige takes in a sharp breath before turning slightly to face her ex-wife. 

“What?”

“I told you- on our first date I think- that you could call me Livvy and you said- you said you don’t do nicknames. Or pet names. But clearly,” she gestures in the direction Azzi had gone, “you do.”

Paige pauses, letting the other woman’s words sink in as she pinches the bridge of her nose, “I’m sorry.”

Olivia chuckles unhumourously, “for not calling me by pet name or for all the stuff your girlfriend just said?”

“Neither, “Paige replies cautiously, “and Azzi didn’t say anything wr-”

“She threatened to get me fired-”

“Because what you did in there was really fucking unprofessional Olivia,” Paige defends immediately, matching the loudness in her ex-wife’s tone. 

Olivia narrows her eyes, “so then what exactly are you apologizing for Paige?”

“I’m apologizing for making you feel like you have to be unprofessional. You’re a really good journalist and I- I hate that I make you act differently. And I know that- I know it comes from a place of hurt and I know I’m the reason that hurt exists. And I don’t think- I don’t think I ever properly told you how sorry I am for it,” Paige nibbles nervously on her bottom lip, “so that’s- that’s what I’m apologizing for.”

Olivia’s quiet for a second and when she finally does speak, there’s  a fragility hanging onto her words, “I was right, wasn’t I? All those arguments- during all those fights about- about her when I said that you were still in love with her- you- you never denied it. You just- you would always change the topic- say that it wasn’t about her. But I was right, wasn’t I? You did still love her.”

Paige hesitates, “Olivia-”

“Give me this one last thing Paige, please,” Olivia pleads softly, “just- tell me I was right.”

“You were,” Paige admits finally and both of them seem to let out a breath they hadn’t known they were holding, “I’ve loved her since I was fifteen and there hasn’t been a moment since then that I haven’t been in love with her.”

Olivia flinches, screwing her eyes shut for a second, “I thought that would hurt more to hear but it-” her eyelids flutter open as for the first time in a long time, she gives Paige an almost genuine smile, “it almost feels good to hear. To know I wasn’t crazy.”

“You weren’t. I’m sorry,” Paige repeats again, “I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“I know. Me too. You’re right- you’re both right. I- I shouldn’t have done what I did at the press conference. I’m sorry- for that and for all the other ones too,” Olivia acknowledges slowly, “tell um- tell Azzi that too. That I’m sorry and I uh- I’d really appreciate it if she didn’t try and get me fired.”

They both giggle softly at that and it feels like a weight being lifted off of Paige’s shoulders, something almost like closure. 

“I’ll make sure she knows,” she promises. 

“Thanks,” Olivia nods, folding her press notes into her purse as she gets ready to leave, “bye Paige.”

Paige smiles, “bye Olivia.”

And then she turns around, and walks back towards Azzi, back to where she’s always belonged. 

***

Azzi’s sitting on the couch in the locker room -having changed back into regular clothes- by the time Paige returns from whatever conversation she’d been having with her ex-wife. She’s aware she’d probably been a little harsh on the other woman -knows that the not-so-kind feelings she has towards said woman is definitely unwarranted- but she’d had the audacity to target their relationship -to target Paige. And that had been enough for Azzi’s anger to cloud the more empathetic side of herself, who understood the hurt the other woman must have felt at having to watch the three of them -happy and giddy with love- on the podium together. 

“How did your conversation with your ex-wife go?” she asks as Paige enters the locker room, swinging her feet up to lounge them on the armrest. Azzi’s not normally a petty person but the mere existence of another woman having been married to her Paige, seems to evoke that side of her more often than not. 

The blonde shoots her a pointed look as she walks over to her stuff, “that was unnecessary and you know it.”

“It was. I’m sorry,” Azzi rubs her neck sheepishly, “but I really do wanna know what happened.”

“I apologized,” Paige says, slipping her jersey off and Azzi’s momentarily distracted by the sight of her girlfriend's abs, tongue instinctively darting out to lick her lips, that she doesn’t quite register what the older woman had just said. 

“What?” she frowns when the realization finally does hit, “why would you apologize?”

Paige sighs, slipping on the light blue oversized shirt -the one Azzi loves because it brings out the color of her eyes- before reaching for the darker cargo pants that had accompanied it, “because she only pulls shit like this because I hurt her. And I guess it worked cause, she apologized too.”

“You’re a good person, you know that?” Azzi says softly and she means it. Sometimes it amazes her just how amazing Paige is despite it all, just how humble and kind she's remained despite the fame that surrounded her. 

Paige grins, finally dressed as she plops on the couch next to Azzi, lifting the younger woman's legs up and rearranging them so they’re settled comfortably on her lap. 

“I know but I like hearing you say it,” she says as she lets her fingers run across the exposed skin of Azzi’s thighs. 

The younger woman raises her eyebrows as Paige’s hand moves higher up, a smirk on the blonde’s face, “what are you doing?”

“You’re hot when you get all protective and shit you know that,” Paige says slowly, pulling Azzi closer to herself, clearly pleased when she’s met with little resistance, “it’s really sexy when you get all defensive. Especially when it’s about me.”

“Oh it is, is it?” Azzi asks, eyes hooding over when Paige presses her lips against her neck, her movements gentle but purposefully as her hands continue to roam up and down the younger woman’s legs, “Paige- fuck-,” she groans when the blonde’s teeth graze against her skin, “baby we’re in the lockerroom. Anyone could walk in.”

“Let them,” Paige says, mouth moving down to work against her collarbone, and Azzi shivers, almost losing her restraint, “been wanting to do this all day. Since you came out in this skirt- fucking tease aren’t you baby? And then you were so hot on the court- so sexy when you’re confident.”

“Paige please,” Azzi reaches out a hand to still Paige’s movements, finger enclosing over the older woman’s hands, knowing she’s one moment away from caving in and letting Paige have what she wants, “we gotta go baby. Gotta get back to the hotel and I swear, once Stephie’s asleep in my parents’ suite, you can do whatever you want to me.”

Paige smirks against her skin, “whatever I want?”

“Whatever,” Azzi promises coyly, pulling the blonde’s face out of her neck so she can meld their lips together. 

“I like the sound of that,” Paige grins as she finally lets go of Azzi, standing up and pulling the brunette up with her so she can lace their hands together, “where is Stephie anyways?”

“With Ice and Jana. Something about aunty-niece bonding time,” Azzi answers with a slight fond shake of her head, only a little concerned about what mischief their friends might be up to with her daughter. 

And sure enough, when Paige and Azzi do finally find the little girl, she’s sitting in between their former college teammates on a picnic bench right outside the Dallas facilities,  her mouth stuffed with saltine crackers and her entire face decorated with crumbs.

“What on earth,” it’s Paige who recovers first, eyes darting back and forth between Ice and Jana, who both also have a mouth full of saltine crackers, and Stephie. 

A series of indiscernible noises ring out from the three people in question, the crackers in their respective mouths clearly prohibiting them from being coherent and Azzi isn’t sure whether to be concerned or to laugh. 

“They’re doing the crackers challenge,” a new voice explains helpfully, and Azzi follows the sound of it to find KK’s face -bright and goofy as always- grinning at her from Jana’s phone screen. Their former teammate waves excitedly, “HI MOM AND DAD.”

“Of course, you’re here too,” Paige chuckles as she lines up behind Stephie, rubbing the little girl’s back as she continues to scarf down crackers. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” KK asks, affronted and then glances at the timer, “chop chop ladies, y’all only have 20 more seconds left- anyways what are you tryna say P Boogers?”

Paige rolls her eyes as Azzi stifles a laugh, taking a seat as she keeps a watchful eye on her daughter just in case. 

“I am way too old for you to be calling me that nickname Kamorea.”

“You are too old,” KK admits thoughtfully and Paige immediately guffaws, “but not too old to be called P Boogers. Anyways, countdown time 10, 9, 8…”

Azzi shakes her head as Paige joins in with KK, banging her fists on the table for emphasis and for a second it almost feels like they’re back to being a bunch of twenty-something year olds just learning to navigate life together with a ball in their hands,  “4, 3, 2,1!!!”

“I WIN,” Stephie announces, spraying the table with crumbs as she jumps up from her seat to claim victory. 

“NO YOU DIDN’T,” Ice protests loudly, her voice still muffled by the remnant of crackers, as she points to her bowl, “I have two left and you have two and a half.”

“The half doesn’t count Aunty Icey,” Stephie says matter-of-factly. 

Ice splutters, “what do you mean it doesn’t count,” she looks at Jana, who’s clearly still having trouble swallowing as she coughs, “Jana help.”

The Egyptian shakes her head, struggling to breathe and Azzi -with a pitying look on her face- hands her a glass of water that she gratefully takes. The entire scene is chaotic and yet, it brings the brunette a sense of peace, like something she hadn’t let herself realize was broken, is healing. 

“KK,” Ice rounds on the shorter girl on the phone, once she realizes Jana’s not gonna help her, “KAMOREA TELL THIS- THIS- THIS CHILD THAT I WON.”

“No Aunty ‘Morea,” Stephie says sweetly and by the way KK’s face immediately softens at the nickname, Azzi already knows who the younger woman is about to declare as the winner, “tell Aunty Icey that I won because the half doesn’t count right? Cause I’m littler and my mouth is smaller than hers.”

“ARE YOU SAYING I HAVE A BIG MOUTH,” Ice explodes, her eyes widening when Stephie shrugs impishly and then proceeds to high-five a laughing Paige who almost has tears spilling out of her eyes. 

“She makes a good point Isuneh,” KK says finally, “you do have a big mouth-”

“Kamorea when I fu-”

“Ice!” Paige warns, coughing slightly as she recovers from her laughter. 

Ice glares at her, “when I fudging catch you.”

“I’m not scared of you Isuneh,” KK says ruefully, “anyways I hereby declare Stephanie Katarina Fudd, the winner of this saltine challenge.”

Paige and Stephie burst into cheers as Ice continues to shake her head, “y’all are some cheaters.”

Stephie sticks her tongue out at the older woman before bounding over to Azzi, swinging her arms around her neck as her mother lifts her onto her lap, “Mama, Mama, Mama, did you see I won?”

“I did,” Azzi chuckles, as she brushes the crumbs lining her daughter’s mouth. 

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna eat another car-ker again though,” the little girl makes a face, patting at her stomach, “I feel sick.”

“My poor baby,” Azzi coos, “eating a bunch of saltines after you’ve already had dinner will do that to you.”

Stephie pouts at the call-out, “but Mama I had to win the challenge. Miss Buecks says never say no to a challenge you know you can win and I knew Mama, I knew I could win and I did.”

Azzi looks over Stephie’s head at Paige, who grins sheepishly at her before coming over to sit right behind them on the bench, so her chest is pressed to Azzi’s back and she can wrap her long arms around both mother and daughter.

“I did teach her that,” Paige confesses, “and I mean,” she winks conspiratorially at Stephie, “she did win.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Azzi rolls her eyes, her body relaxing as she leans back into the warmth of Paige’s body, humming contently when the older woman presses a quick kiss against her temple. 

“It’s good to see y’all are disgustingly cute as ever,” KK’s voice interrupts the calm, but there’s no real bite to her teasing; in fact there might even be a little bit of relief, “ion know how Jana’s dealing with the two of you again.”

“It’s a hard life,” Jana says solemnly, having finally recovered from the whole cracker debacle by having downed a whole bottle of water. 

“I bet. Do they still do that thing they used to do? Where they just keep staring at each other with dopey smiles and not saying anything?” KK inquires, a mock disgusted expression on her face.

“Oh they might do it more than they used to actually,” Jana complains as both Paige and Azzi try to protest, “it’s sickening stuff. Free me forreal.”

“Y’all are so mean,” Paige grumbles into the crook of Azzi’s neck, smiling only when Stephie lightly pats her head in consolation. 

“Don’t be mean to my Mama and Miss Buecks,” Stephie says diligently, turning towards her Aunties with a small frown, “they’re a little gross-”

“HEY.”

“Sorry Miss Buecks. But you are sometimes. But it’s okay,” the little girl grins, “because you’re in love and it’s okay to be a little icky in love.”

Azzi smiles at her daughter's wise words; thinks the little girl and their former teammates are probably both right. They are a little gross and disgusting and sickeningly in love but it’s their love. It’s the only way they’ve known how to love since they were fifteen -nauseatingly but all-consumingly- and she wouldn’t change that for anything. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Ice defends finally. 

“See, this is why you were always my favorite child back in school,” Paige fistbumps Ice and and immediately both Jana and KK let out a chorus of protests. 

“I knew it,” Ice smirks triumphantly, “but no forreal. I’m really glad y’all found your way back to each other. I can’t lie, after that time you drunk-called Azzi and said all that stuff to her, I didn’t think y’all-” she stops abruptly, eyes widening in realization of what she’d just let slip out. 

“Ice,” Jana hisses, glaring at her former teammate before looking concernedly at her two current ones.

Azzi twists uncomfortably, “P-”

“When did I drunk-call Azzi?” Paige asks slowly, her voice dripping with confusion, “what are you talking about?”

“Did I say that?” Ice chuckles nervously, her tone unusually high-pitched, “oh you know me, always make up stuff for no reason. Why would you drunk-call Azzi? Why would I even let that happen, amirite?”

“Nice job Isuneh, real convincing,” Jana mutters under her breath as Paige continues to look unconvinced. 

“Mama,” Stephie cuts in, peering up at Azzi with big questioning eyes, “what’s drunk-calling?”

“It’s nothing sweetie,” Azzi reassures the little girl before looking pointedly at Ice, “you still driving us back to the hotel?”

Ice nods hesitantly, “I got a carseat and everything just for little miss Stephanie.”

“Good, it’s the least you could do,” Azzi bites out, referring to the secret the other woman had just accidentally let out -one they’d preserved for four years- and Ice at least has the decency to look a little bit ashamed, “how about you and Jana take Stephie and start heading towards the car, we’ll catch up in a second.”

“Trust me Az,” KK calls out, still on facetime, “I’ll make sure they don’t lose her.”

Despite the newfound tenseness around them, Azzi smiles at her fellow UConn alum, “I’mma hold you to that Kamorea.”

“What is Ice talking about? What drunk phone call? What did she mean by all that bullshit I said to you,” Paige says immediately as soon as the trio of Jana, Ice and Stephie have made it far enough out of earshot, moving herself so that she’s now facing the brunette, “what did I say?”

Azzi gulps, searching to see if there’s even a hint of recollection in the blonde’s face, “you really don’t remember it do you?”

Paige shakes her head helplessly. Sensing how much it’s stressing her out to not know, Azzi takes in a deep breath, intertwining their fingers together, trying to provide the older woman with some semblance of comfort -of what happened in the past, is in the past- to make her feel just a little more at ease. 

“Baby,” Paige pleads, “please tell me.”

“It was a couple of years ago. Probably- probably a month or so before your divorce or something and I guess- I guess you and your ex-wife, you guys had- you guys had a big fight or something and you were drunk- like really drunk,” Azzi begins. 

Paige nods along, “I think- I think I know what night you’re talking about. Olivia and I- it wasn’t just one fight. It was constant, almost every night and then it just got really bad one night and I- I dragged Ice to a bar and I- I definitely drank too much,” she cracks a smile, “clearly cause I- I don’t even remember calling you. I can’t believe Ice didn’t tell me before.”

“I told her not to,” Azzi admits and she thinks it’s rather ironic that Paige has no memory of a phone-call that had been the only thing occupying her mind for days after it happened. But then again, that’s how she’d wanted it. She hadn’t wanted Paige to remember that phone call -hadn’t wanted her to feel those same waves of wretched guilt -the ones the blonde’s words had drowned Azzi in- that came crashing into you with hurting the person you love the most in the world. 

“Az,” Paige presses softly, “what did I say?”

Azzi closes her eyes -and it’s almost like she can hear that call again, can hear the vitriol in the bullets Paige had aimed towards, “you- you were really upset Paige. Whatever fight you guys had, had- I guess- I guess it was about me and you- you were mad at me because of that. I think- I think you blamed me for it.”

“What? Shit baby, that was unfair of me,” Paige says immediately, squeezing the brunette’s hand “it wasn’t you. There was a lot wrong with me and Olivia and I- I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“Not you shouldn’t have. Not for that at least,” Azzi acquiesces and even with her eyes closed she can feel Paige frown. 

“What else did I say?” the blonde urges, attune to the fact that there’s more to the story that the younger woman hasn’t revealed yet. 

Azzi swallows, not wanting to tell her, “does it matter? It was a really long time ago.”

“But you remember it. I can tell- you remember it and that means- that means it must- it must not have been something good and I just- Azzi- baby I need to know,” Paige presses. 

“It was nothing- honestly- I mean you’ve said that stuff to me sober too. I already knew- I already knew how upset you were with me about saying no,” Azzi babbles, “I mean yeah it- it hurt to hear it all over again and you- you sounded so broken but it wasn’t- it was nothing-”

“It’s not nothing,” Paige cuts her off frustratedly, “Azzi please, what exactly did I say?”

“Paige-”

“Azzi.”

Azzi lets out a sharp breath as she finally opens her tear-filled eyes, her voice small when she finally does speak, “you said you hated me.”

Saying it out loud seems to make all the hurt of the moment, that she’s slowly buried away since, come rushing back into her body, like a thousand needles -all at the speed of lightning- being pricked against her skin. 

“I- I what?” Paige asks throatily, a myriad of emotions sprinkled all across her face as she processes the brunette's word. 

“It’s- it’s fine,” Azzi rushes out, partly because she doesn’t want to dwell on these memories and the way they haunt her and partly because she wants nothing more than to take away all the pain clearly visible on the older woman’s face, “really Paige- it’s fine. I knew- I knew you were drunk and that you didn’t mean it- that it was the alcohol speaking. It’s- it’s fine,” she repeats again, unconvincingly. 

“It’s not fine,” Paige whispers, “baby I- I’m so- I’m so sorry.”

“No- no Paige you don’t-”

“I do,” Paige says firmly, cupping Azzi’s face with two hands, “you can’t lie to me baby. I can tell- I can always tell with you- I can tell that I hurt you and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry Azzi.”

“It’s okay Paige. I promise it’s okay,” Azzi reassures, resting her own hands on top of the blonde’s, “it doesn’t matter anymore. That was- that was then and what matters is now. I know you love me.”

“And I always have,” Paige presses her forehead against Azzi’s, her fingers gently caressing the younger girl’s cheeks, “I need you to know that- that no matter what I said- I never- I never hated you baby. I couldn’t- not even if I wanted to because I'm pretty sure I’ve loved you since the second I set eyes on you. I love you even more now and I swear I've loved you every moment in between. I promise.”

“Me too. I love you. Always,” Azzi says softly before pulling the love of her life into a searing kiss. 

They’ve both thrown grenades at each other, shot well-aimed bullets at each other’s hearts in an attempt to avenge the pain the other had given them. For a long time, all that was left around them was a wreckage of empty casings and deep gash wounds that refused to heal. 

But those wounds are healing now. 

Because for all the ways Paige and Azzi had destroyed each other, they’ve always known that they’re still the only bandages to each other’s scars and slowly but surely, they’re starting to fix every piece of each other they’d broken, healing together. 

*** 

August 2033 

Tempo 54        Valkyries 57

It’s been a defensive slogfest of a game, neither team fully getting into rhythm offensively and the frustration is beginning to show. There’s a minute left in the game and the score is tight, the Toronto Tempo -a franchise still struggling to find its identity- is putting up hell of a fight against the current top team in the league. Paige can tell that players on the other team are desperate for this win- for the glory that would come with breaking the Valkyrie’s current 5 game win streak right as they’re about to head into all-star break. 

She’s at the top of the key -having just gotten the ball off of a perfect hand-off from Joyce- when it happens. Paige’s defender gets stuck on the screen and she lets the likely dagger three fly, a cocky grin on her face as the ball swishes through the net, just as the shot-clock runs out. 

And then

THUD 

Paige has almost run halfway back on defense when the loud sound of a body hitting the ground -far harder than it ever should- rings out through the arena. The sharp ring of the ref blowing the whistle echoes next and then, nothing. 

Silence. 

Concern ebbs through Paige’s veins as her eyes immediately search for Azzi. It’s habit really -has been since she was fifteen- a natural instinct to seek comfort in the brunette that had started front the moment they’d started playing together. Even when they’d been on opposing teams in the league -their first year as rivals who’s animosity ran much deeper than the court- Paige remembers when one of her former Wings had gone down with an injury during a game against the Valkyries, it had been Azzi she looked for first. 

And so it’s a given of course, that now -when they’re more each other’s than they’ve ever been- that Paige is looking for Azzi, looking for the comfort and reassurance and whatever happens as long as I have you it’ll be fine that the younger girl’s presence brings. She squints her eyes at the blurred combination of maroon and lavender jerseys rushing towards whatever had happened under the basket, her own feet moving in the same direction. At first, she’s confused why she can’t seem to find that familiar #35 and then-

Paige’s eyes snap towards the ground as she comes to an abrupt stop just a few meters away from the scene. 

Her breath catches in her throat. 

And Paige Bueckers has been scared a fair few times in her life; remembers the absolute panic of when a four year old Drew had been admitted to the hospital with a fever, can still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins the first time she watched Azzi tear her ACL, doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the absolute dread that had hit her when tearing her own, or that sinking familiar feeling as she watched her best friend endure her second one. Paige knows fear all too well. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing can compare to the way her stomach lurches at the sight of Azzi Fudd, her Azzi, lying -eyes closed, body unnaturally still- on the cold hard floor. 

It’s an image she thinks will haunt her forever and if she could, she thinks she’d bleach her eyes just to get rid of it. But no matter how many times Paige blinks, Azzi stays on the ground, completely unmoving. 

Paige watches for a second, still rooted to her spot, as her other teammates on the floor -Jana, Joyce and Tessa- crowd around the girl on the floor. She can almost see waves of tension rolling off of their bodies and it isn’t until Tessa turns around, beckoning for their team doctor -her eyes shining with distress-that Paige finally finds herself running towards Azzi. 

“Baby,” she whispers, falling onto the ground next to her girlfriend -comforted slightly by the fact that she can clearly hear her still breathing-, “c’mon Az, don’t scare me like this.”

Nothing. No response. 

“Paige,” Jana’s hand on her shoulder is meant to be something comforting but instead it feels heavy and Paige shrugs it off, ignoring the younger woman’s words. 

“Azzi,” she repeats again, reaching out but hesitating to touch the girl. 

“Paige you gotta move bro,” it’s Joyce this time, “you needa let the doctor see her.”

Paige ignores her too, pulling Azzi’s head onto her lap, “this isn’t funny baby. You know I don’t deal well with shit like this.”

In the distance, she can hear her teammates telling their team doctor what had happened. Something about Azzi colliding against a player, trying to move back and instead losing balance and hitting the floor hard.  The crowd has gone from silent to antsy, curious murmurs tinged with anxiety ripple throughout the stadium. In the distance, it almost sounds like someone’s crying. She hears the doctor trying to reassure her, something about how Azzi’d probably just got the wind knocked out of her or perhaps she’d hit her head first and that it was maybe a concussion. Nothing too bad. But Paige doesn’t care. 

Because she still can’t see Azzi’s pretty brown eyes. 

“Azzi,” Paige says more urgently, “c’mon baby please.”

She keeps repeating it like a mantra, decisively not listening to her teammates or the doctor’s pleas to let the latter please examine the girl on the ground. And logically, Paige knows that’s what she should do but she can’t find it in herself to move until she gets something -just an inkling- that makes her feel certain the brunette is going to be alright. 

“Baby please.”

Azzi’s face twitches. The slightest movement first and then something more clear, until her eyelids start fluttering. It takes her a couple of beats to get them fully open, like it’s a struggle to do the most basic thing. But she does. 

And Paige lets out a sigh of relief, body almost sagging as the weight of worry that had been holding her up eases just a little bit at the sigh of dark brown eyes -confused and slightly bleary- staring up at her. 

“Wh-what’s going on,” Azzi manages to slur together, her eyes blinking rapidly as she looks up at Paige. 

“It’s okay,” Paige reassures immediately, her thumbs caressing the younger woman’s cheeks, “you’re okay baby.”

“I- I don’t- what-,” Azzi continues to ask disorientedly as she looks from Paige to the doctor and teammates still hovering over her. She tries to sit up and almost immediately falls back as Paige’s arms reach out to steady her. 

“Careful baby,” the blonde mumbles as she wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, letting her lean on her for a second, before pulling the brunette’s arm around her shoulder. She gently lifts her up onto her feet and the crowd begins to clap, a collective sigh of relief resounding through the arena. 

“We’ve got her,” one of the assistant coaches says softly as she and the team doctor try to take Azzi off of Paige, “I know you wanna be there for her but we’ve got this.”

The older woman is about to protest, not wanting to let Azzi out of her sight when despite her confused state, the brunette shakes her head, moving herself out of Paige’s grasp so that her entire body weight rests on the doctor and the assistant coach instead. 

“Go win it,” Azzi whispers, mustering up a small but sincere smile. 

Paige hesitates for a second before nodding as she watches the love of her life being steadily walked off the court as she herself is pulled into a team huddle. There isn’t much time left and victory is practically imminent after Paige’s last three-point shot. But still, there’s a newfound determination amongst the players, the will to win it for Azzi. 

And win it they do. 

The rest of the game passes in almost a blur and all Paige really remembers of it is that the Valkyries are in full control of the last couple of possessions. But for as much as she’s present on the court, Paige’s entire mind is already off of it -her play driven by the need to just have this game end so she could go see Azzi. It feels like every crevice of skin is burning with a fire that can only be doused by holding the brunette in her arms again, touching and re-memorizing every part of her to give her the reassurance that she’s okay. 

When the buzzer does finally ring, Paige couldn’t possibly care less about the win and if she hadn’t been media-trained since practically the age of 15, she wouldn’t have even bothered with the formalities of going through the handshake line. But she knows the media is watching every move -that they’d spin some ridiculous controversy out of her not shaking hands with the player who had been the catalyst to Azzi’s injury. So she rushes through it, not so accidentally squeezing said player’s hand just a little too tight before she’s ignoring the entire world and running towards her girl. 

The crowd is rambunctious still but it’s all white noise to Paige as she weaves through the people -players and managers and all of that- trying to get off the maroon and white court. She’s almost there when the now more clear sound of familiar crying stops her in her tracks and she feels her heart plummet into her stomach as she comes to a quick freeze. Paige had been so consumed by her own emotions, by her own fear when she’d seen Azzi on the ground that she hadn’t considered that there was someone else in the crowd -someone else who’s world revolved around Azzi just as much as hers did- that had been witness to the scene as well. 

Paige turns around slowly, her eyes scanning the stands right behind the Valkyries bench. With everyone on the move as the crowd thins out, it takes a second before she finally finds who she’s looking for and as soon as she does, it feels like her feet have a mind of her own, speed walking and then almost running towards the sobbing little girl in the stands. Paige almost kicks herself for not having thought of Stephie first, for not having considered that whatever fear she was feeling -the innocent child was likely feeling twofold of that. 

As if sensing Paige beelining towards her, Stephie looks up from where she’d been crying into Katie’s neck just in time to spot the blonde. The puffy-faced girl’s eyes widen, her lips forming words that Paige can’t quite decipher -still too far to properly see them- but then Stephie’s wriggling out of her grandmother’s arms, trying to race down the stands towards the blonde. Paige feels a panic course through her veins, not wanting the little girl to get lost in a sea of people trying to leave the arena and she picks up her pace. For a brief second, she loses sight of Stephie and her already rapidly beating heart seems to somehow quicken even more, like it might just beat out of her chest. 

She swears she doesn’t breathe again until the little girl comes into view, pushing through the much larger people in front of her. There are still tears streaming down Stephie’s face but it’s clear the little girl is determined to get to Paige who can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief, almost having reached the steps leading up to the section Stephie had been in. But that relief quickly turns into anger as she watches her little girl being stopped in her tracks by a tall burly security guard, who grabs Stephie with far more force than necessary. The little girl’s eyes shine with fear as she tries to fight his grip and Paige feels a newfound fire -one that burns stronger than any other sense of protectiveness she’s ever felt before- simmer in her stomach as she finally reaches Stephie. 

“Mommy,” the little girl calls out as soon as she spots the older woman -her tone terrified- and Paige feels something snap. 

“Get your fucking hands off of my daughter,” she snarls, pulling Stephie out of the security guard’s grasp and into her own arms instead. 

“Mommy,” Stephie whimpers again, her voice uncharacteristically scared as she burrows her head into Paige’s neck, her tears wetting the collar of the blonde’s jersey.

“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you sweetheart,” Paige whispers quietly. 

“I- I’m sorry. I- I- I didn’t- know-,” the security guard- splutters but Paige ignores him, already turning away she rubs her hands up and down Stephie’s back. 

“It’s gonna be okay sweet girl,” she soothes gently, “I’ve got you.”

“Mommy, is Mama okay?” Stephie asks, her voice muffled against Paige’s skin, “can you take me to her? Please Mommy. Wanna see Mama. Please. I wanna see her”

“I know sweetheart. I know,” Paige tries to calm the shaking girl in her arms, her feet moving as fast as they can while holding her, “we’re going to her right now okay?”

“Wanna see Mama,” Stephie continues to repeat, her voice quivering.

And logically Paige knows Azzi’s okay; she’d seen her get back up with her own two eyes. But still, she doesn’t think that fear, the one that had consumed her the second she’d seen the other woman lying on the ground, that’s consuming both her and Stephie right now, will be quenched until they see Azzi, until they’re both securely wrapped in the safe arms of the woman who feels like their home. 

“Almost there baby,” Paige says softly as she turns the corner towards the medical room, her steps getting faster in anticipation of almost reaching her destination. 

“Mommy I was so scared,” Stephie confesses, her face still firmly tucked into the blonde’s neck, “so scared for Mama. She- she didn’t get up for so long. Made me so scared.”

“Me too sweetheart,” Paige admits as she comes to a stop right outside the door, “but she’s okay. Look sweetheart,” she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, as she slowly opens the door, crossing her fingers that she hadn’t just told a lie. 

Azzi’s leaning back against the bedrest, a cold compress pressed against her forehead with her eyes closed. But they flutter open at the sound of a door opening, going wide as she catches sight of Paige first and then the little girl in his arms, whose bottom lip trembles as soon as she sees her mother. It’s like the air rushes back into Paige’s lungs as she slowly walks towards the other woman’s bed, that fog of worry muddling her brain slowly starting to clear as she takes in the fact that her Azzi is okay. 

“Oh sweetheart come here,” the woman in question coos immediately, holding her arms out for Paige to place Stephie into them. 

“Are you okay Mama?” Stephie asks worriedly, tiny little hands cupping her mother’s face, “you’re really, really, really okay?”

“I am baby,” Azzi reassures softly, nuzzling the little girl’s nose as Paige perches on the bed next to the two of them, “just a little headache but I’m fine. I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You scared me a lot,” the little girl says slowly, her eyes brimming with fresh new tears as she burrows her head against the crevice between her mother’s neck and her head, “it was so scary Mama. You were on the ground for so long and you weren’t moving and even Mommy looked so scared and Mommy never looks scared cause she’s the bravest of them all right.”

Mommy. 

Paige freezes. She’d been so caught up in the stress and anxiety of it all that she hadn’t even registered the word that had been falling so naturally out of Stephie’s mouth. But now- now that she can process it all -can let that word seep into her veins and make itself home in her heart- it feels a little bit like a magical spell has been cast over her, shrouding her in an indescribable warmth that spreads throughout her entire body.

“And-and-and the secu-ty guard wouldn’t let me come see you,” Stephie continues to babble, still oblivious to the impact of her own words, “and he- he tried to stop me but Mommy didn’t let him. She told him to get his-” the little girl pauses, eyes widening when she remembers exactly what Paige had said to the security guard. 

“What did she say? What did Mommy say Steph?” Azzi’s eyes twinkle as she briefly glances at Paige over Stephie’s head, clearly having also noticed the little girl’s use of the new term. 

“She told him to get his” Stephie lowers her voice to a whisper, “bad word hands off of her daughter.”

“Her daughter huh?,” Azzi repeats, looking back at Paige who flushes slightly. 

It had slipped out in the heat of the moment but really, that’s how Paige has seen Stephie since the minute the little girl had crawled into her lap that first day at the Valkyries facilities. Or maybe even before that, when she’d met her at All-Star Weekend and the little girl had spoken to her for the first time.. Or maybe it was after the semi-finals when she’d first held her in her arms and Stephie had smiled at her for the first time. Or maybe it was even earlier than that. Maybe it was the day of her wedding, when she’d spoken to Azzi’s stomach -to Stephie- for the first time. Because the truth is that Paige has always subconsciously thought of Stephie as hers, as theirs. 

Tears -happy ones, fucking ecstatic ones- prickles against Paige’s waterline as the little girl slowly turns around in Azzi’s lap to face her. 

“Mommy you said a bad word so you owe me a ki-” Stephie stops as notice the little droplets of water dripping down the blonde’s cheeks, “why are you crying Mommy?” she asks concernedly, “are you still scared about Mama? She’s okay Mommy. See-” she points back towards Azzi, “Mama’s okay.”

“I know- I know she’s okay baby,” Paige wipes at her tears, trying and failing to keep the shakiness out of her voice. 

“Then- then what’s wrong Mommy? Why are you crying?” Stephie asks, scrunching her nose with a mixture of confusion and worry. 

“Because you-” Paige swallows, “you called me Mommy.”

“Oh,” Stephie says quietly, biting her lips as she looks up at Paige, suddenly looking even smaller than she really is, “is that- is that okay? Can I call you Mommy?”

“Is it okay? Oh sweetheart,” Paige holds Stephie’s face in between her hands, “it’s the best thing anyone’s ever called me.”

“Even better than Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks coyly. 

Paige lets out a watery laugh and she thinks she’ll miss that little nickname -it had become an innate part of her in a sense- but it can’t be compared to being called Mommy, to being called a name that makes Stephie completely and wholly hers. 

“Even better than Miss Buecks,” Paige confirms, causing Stephie to shriek as she launches herself onto the blonde, making the older woman laugh as she almost falls backwards, squeezing the little girl -who slots into her arms like the missing piece of a puzzle- as tight as she can. 

“And you called me your daughter,” Stephie remarks gleefully. 

“Did I? Hmmm I don’t remember that,” Paige teases, tapping her chin like she’s pretending to think deeply about it. 

“Don’t be silly Mommy,” and there’s that word again and the blonde feels her heart flutter against her ribcage as Stephie flicks her nose, “I heard you.”

“Oh you did, did you?” she asks, flicking the little girl’s nose right back. 

“I did,” Stephie grins triumphantly as she loops her arms around Paige’s neck, “because you’re my Mommy and I’m your daughter.”

She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, a universal truth that destiny itself had written for them and Paige feels her breath hitch at the sincerity in the little girl’s tone as she brushes a loose strand of hair out of Stephie’s face, before her eyes trail over the child on her lap to meet with Azzi’s over her head. The brunette’s gaze is fixated on the two of them, unshed tears dancing on her waterline as she takes in the scene, watching intensely -a contrastingly soft smile on her face- as if she’s trying to take a mental image of it to keep it safe in the treasure chest of her most precious memories forever. 

Paige looks back down at the little girl latched onto her body, “I like that,” she whispers as she nuzzles her face against Stephie’s, “I’m your Mommy and you’re my daughter.”

***

It hits Paige again that night when they’re back at the hotel suite. Stephie’s fast asleep in her bedroom, the sound of her soft breathing filtering in through the small crack in the door. Azzi’s curled against Paige’s chest, one arm thrown around the blonde’s waist, the other pressed against her own body. Despite the scary fall, the concussion symptoms didn’t seem to be anything too severe but had made her adequately exhausted and as soon as their little girl had been tucked into her bed, Azzi was pulling Paige down into theirs and wrapping herself tightly around the blonde’s body so they could go straight to sleep as well. 

Their little girl. 

God, Paige can’t help but goofily grin up at the ceiling as she replays Stephie calling her Mommy over and over again in her head. She’s won a lot of things in her life. The individual accolades, the championships and a game-night or two here and there but they all seem to pale in comparison to the high of this win. Because really Paige has considered the little girl her daughter for a long, long time and even though she’d always known that Stephie loved her back just as much as she did, she hadn’t been sure if the little girl saw their relationship through the same lens as Paige did. 

And now she knew she did. That Stephie considered her, her mother, just as much as Paige considered her, her daughter. The thought makes her giddy and Paige almost giggles out loud. 

“Baby, I can literally hear you thinking,” Azzi mumbles against her chest and Paige bites her lip, her arms tightening around the younger woman’s body. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just- I’m just so excited,” Paige whispers -still in awe of the whole thing- and she feels the woman on top of her sigh into her neck at the the way the blonde's entire body is buzzing, “Az did you hear what Stephie called me? She called me Mommy, Azzi. Can you believe it? I’m her Mommy.”

“Well she wasn’t gonna call you Miss Buecks forever,” Azzi concedes, her voice still heavy with sleep as she keeps her head comfortably buried against the warmth of Paige’s skin. 

“I know- it’s just- I just-” Paige swallows, the emotions suddenly just a little too heavy against her throat, “I’m just so fucking happy Azzi. I’ve just- I’ve wanted this for so long. You and her. It’s all I wanted. And- and there were so many times- so many fucking times I wasn’t sure I was ever gonna get it and now- now I have you and I have her. And it just- it means everything to me. The two of you- you guys mean everything to me.”

Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s neck, her hands tightening around her waist as she draws her impossibly closer to herself, “you mean everything to us too Paige.”

Paige places a featherlight kiss against the crown of Azzi’s head, letting their words hang soak in the air for a second before speaking. 

“I used to imagine it, you know,” she says slowly, “what it would be like to be with you two. I- I’d stare at the pictures you’d post -even if you posted barely any- but whatever you did post of the two of you, I’d stare at it for ages. And I’d- I’d imagine myself with the two of you. Wherever the two of you were- whatever you two were doing- I just- I imagined myself there too. I’d think about what it would be like- to be in whatever picture you posted. Holding you- holding Stephie. It’s all I wanted. To be with you guys.”

There’s another moment of silence and the only sound is that of the  two of them breathing -almost perfectly in sync- echoing throughout the room. Paige uses her thumb to trace circles around the younger woman’s waist as Azzi props herself up on her chest, her face -as beautiful as the first time Paige had seen it from all the way across the court- illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the curtains. 

“The first time Stephie smiled,” Azzi begins, her hands fidgeting with the collar of Paige’s nightshirt, “she was in her crib and I was standing over her. And as soon as she smiled, I turned to look next to me. But there was no one there. When she said her first word, I did the same thing. And when she started crawling- when she started walking. All of her little firsts- every time she did anything, I’d- I’d look next to me and there was never anyone there,” Azzi draws in a shaky breath as she looks back up at Paige, “and I- I imagined it too. What it would be like if I could turn next to me and see you there. What it would be like for you to be with us. I wanted you there with us so fucking much baby.”

“I wish I had been,” Paige says wistfully, bringing her hands up to cup Azzi’s face as her thumbs gently wipe at the younger woman’s tears.

“But you’re here now and that’s all that matters,” Azzi moves her body up so her face is hovering right over Paige’s and she’s smiling that smile that Paige loves, the one that’s filled with promise and reassurance and hope, “you’re here now and you’re ours and we’re yours.”

“All mine,” Paige whispers back as she tugs Azzi down onto herself, making sure every part of her skin is touching the brunette’s as she melds their lips together in a slow and lazy kiss. 

They can’t escape the regrets of the past, can’t escape the moments they’d missed out on but there’s still so much life left to live -so much left to do together- and Paige thinks she’ll never take any of it for granted. No matter how much time has passed in this journey to get here, to get her girls, to get her family and make them hers, she has them now and she intends to keep them like this until the end of time itself. 

***

December 2033 

Azzi doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of watching Paige and Stephie together. It’s a sight she sees every day now and yet, every time she sees the utter gentleness with which the blonde treats the little girl, every time she sees the complete adoration with which the little girl looks at the blonde, it almost feels like Azzi’s heart might just explode with how much she loves the two of them together. And every day she finds herself thanking her lucky stars that she gets to be the third piece of their mosaic, the three of them fitting together perfectly like they were always meant to be. 

There’s a fond smile on Azzi’s face as she watches the two of them now, Stephie propped up on Paige’s feet as the older woman sways the two of them around to the beat of the music blasting through the speakers. The two of them are in contrasting shades of green to match Tallulah’s chosen color scheme for the wedding. Paige is in a dark bottle green suit and Stephie flower girl dress is in the same pastel green shade as Azzi’s bridesmaid one. It had been the little girl’s idea, once Paige had picked out her suit, for the two of them to have matching bottle green bows around their waists that matched the blonde’s outfit. And as they’d all gotten ready together, when Azzi had glanced at the mirror, she couldn’t help but think they looked like the perfect little family she’d always dreamed of having for herself.

There’s a crowd of people on the dancefloor and while most other spectators are likely either not paying attention, or watching the lovely bride and groom, Azzi’s sole focus is on her daughter and her girlfriend. 

Girlfriend. 

It almost feels like too mild a term for what Paige is to her. Even when they’d been girlfriends the first time, Azzi had still thought the word did little to encapsulate just how much Paige meant to her. And now that they’ve been through so much more, the word feels even more inadequate for the brevity of their relationship than it had the last time around. Because really, Paige is the love of her life, she’s an innate part of Azzi’s being and the years without her had felt a little bit like trying to live with a part of her soul missing. She thinks the word girlfriend just doesn’t quite capture all of that. 

“Hey,” Azzi’s broken out of her reverie by a body sliding into the empty seat next to hers and she turns her head to find Drew sitting next to her. 

“Hi Drew,” she says softly, a little surprised at him having approached her. 

Since that dreadful night at Paige’s, Drew has made a handful of appearances in their lives. He’d been at a couple of their games and he’d definitely been there when they’d won the championship but he was a busy guy and with the WNBA season ending just as the NBA season began, time barely permitted him from staying for more than a night. And when he did, Stephie -enamored with the idea of having another uncle- had consumed most of his time and the two of them had bonded quickly with the little girl, as she did most people, having him wrapped around finger. It had taken a little bit but one or two awkward conversations at games they’d sat together in later, Drew had fit right back in with Jose and Jon (and Katie and Tim of course) too and it had been a no-brainer that he’d be invited to the wedding. 

But despite all of that, there’s still a lingering awkward tension between her and Drew’s relationship, which Azzi hates. They’re civil of course -Drew seemingly having less reservations about her Paige’s relationship now- and they’ve even been able to share a laugh here and there in group situations but she misses the little boy who’d once been her menace-mischief-making partner in crime. She misses the way they’d conspiratorially giggle non-stop over nothing, the way they’d tease their siblings in tandem, the way they’d always take each other’s side (much to everybody else’s chagrin) no matter what. And she misses being another person Drew could confide in, being another version of his older sister that he could come vent to about anything and everything. She misses him being like another little brother to her that had once looked up at her with so much adoration, instead of this guarded, hesitant expression he seems to wear around her all the time now. 

“Paige’s feet are gonna hurt like hell tonight,” Drew remarks, his eyes fixated on the same scene Azzi’s had been. 

The brunette chuckles, watching as Stephie continues to happily dance on Paige's feet, the blonde smiling down at her, showing no sign of the likely discomfort that would eventually hit her after a night of carrying the little girl’s weight on her toes. 

“I told her not to,” Azzi shakes her head fondly. 

“Of course you did,” Drew’s lips curl into a half-smile, “but Stephie’s enjoying herself and there’s nothing Paige wouldn’t do to make her happy. She really loves your little girl.”

“Our little girl,” Azzi corrects gently and Drew’s smile seems to deepen at that, “and Stephie loves her back just as much.”

“I know,” Drew says softly, “I knew from the first time I met her. It’s why I was so scared that night.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “Drew-”

“It wasn’t just about Paige,” Drew continues on, “I mean I was scared for her too of course but- I know what it’s like you know. To be really attached to someone when you’re little- to think of someone like family and then one day they just- they’re gone.”

Azzi swallows, her hands fisting on the table as guilt inches up her spine. 

Drew’s eyes are still trained ahead of him as she speaks, “and you’re so young -even if you’re not that young- that no one even really tells you what’s happening. All you get is vague answers and you have to figure it out yourself- figure out why someone you used to see all the fucking time just isn’t there anymore. It hurts and I-” his voice cracks, “I didn’t want that for Stephie.”

“Drew,” Azzi whispers again, her voice filled with raw emotion as she look at the young man -who for as much as he’s grown up, is still just as reminiscent of the little boy she’d once known. 

“Do you remember that one summer you guys had like a family reunion barbecue type thing? And of course Paige and I were invited cause we- we were family too,” Drew asks slowly. 

Despite being a little confused by the change in topic, Azzi nods her head, “summer of ‘23.”

“Yeah and there was music and everyone was dancing. Well I don’t know if you could call what Jon was doing dancing,” Drew winks and Azzi laughs at the memory of her youngest brother doing the most ridiculous moves on the dancefloor. 

“Thank God he’s gotten better since,” she grins, briefly glancing over to where Jon is dancing normally with his date. 

Drew chuckles, “yeah thank God indeed. And you and Paige were dancing, but I wanted to dance with you too, do you remember?”

“Yeah I do. I think you cut right between us and Paige was NOT happy about it,” Azzi smirks, remembering the way her girlfriend had pouted at the interruption. 

“No she wasn’t but you said yes to dancing with me anyways. You always said yes to me no matter what. And I wasn’t nearly as tall back then so you-” Drew finally looks at him, that neutral expression having finally given away to something far softer, “you let me stand on your feet just like Paige is letting Stephie do right now. And we danced for god knows how long and now that I think about it, I’m sure your feet really fucking hurt too. But it didn’t matter, you kept dancing with me anyways.”

“You were having so much fun,” Azzi chokes back a sob, “that’s all that mattered, “ the brunette pauses, “Drew I-” she hesitates for a split second before reaching for his hands, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Drew is silent for a moment, his head downcast as he plays with the edges of the table-covering, before finally looking back at Azzi with watery eyes, “I’ve really missed you Azzi.”

“I missed you too, pookie,” Azzi whispers, squeezing his hand tightly as they smile wistfully at each other.

They stay like that for a little while, basking in each other’s company as the hum of chatter and music drawls on around them. 

“Hey Az,” Drew says after a while as he stands up, a smirk on his face as he reaches his hand out towards her, “you wanna dance with me? No stepping on toes is necessary this time I promise.”

Azzi giggles, grinning ear to ear as she accepts his outstretched hand, “I’d love to dance with you Drewski.”

She lets Drew drag her out to the dancefloor, skillfully maneuvering them around the other guest until they’re right by Stephie and Paige. A surprised laugh rumbles from her throat as Drew twirls her around, the sound of it causing Paige to catch sight of them. The blonde’s lips part slowly as she takes in the sight of the two of them dancing, shock gradually morphing into something happier, like she’s been waiting for this moment. Azzi knows how important her and Drew’s relationship has always been to Paige, and even if the older woman hadn’t said anything about it, Azzi knew -Azzi always knew when it came to the blonde- that the distance between two of her favorite people in the world this time around, had been bothering her. 

Azzi’s not sure how long they dance for -she just knows she’s completely at peace right here in this moment- but it catches her off guard when Drew spins her again, making her stumble a little as she goes crashing into a solid body and familiar arms come to steady her waist. 

“My turn?” Paige asks softly, her blue eyes glittering with love and adoration as she smirks at Azzi. 

“Won’t your date mind?” Azzi teases, referring to Stephie -who after having been explained the concept of a plus-one- had been adamant that despite Paige having her own invitation to the wedding, that the blonde was going to be her date. Sorry Mama, you’re just gonna have to go alone, cause Mommy’s going with me, the little girl had said, her arms wrapped around a beaming Paige from behind, as she’d stuck out her tongue at Azzi, who had of course played along with a dramatic gasp. 

Paige laughs, her arms tightening their grip on the younger woman, who in turns fastens her own arms around her neck, “she’s abandoned me for my brother.”

“Oh I see, so I’m your second choice?” Azzi raises her eyebrows, trying to hide the smile on her face when she sees Stephie giggling as Drew lifts her and up and spins her around. 

“Baby, you are the only choice,” Paige whispers as she brushes their lips together. 

Azzi sighs contentedly, pulling the blonde in closer so she can deepen the kiss as their mouths move expertly against each other, and for a while it feels like that cliché feeling of when the world fades away and it’s just the two of them. 

“Can we go home yet?” Paige murmurs against her lips, her hands sliding dangerously low against the silk material of Azzi’s dress. 

“It’s my brother’s wedding. We can’t leave till the rest of the guests do,” Azzi pats the older woman’s cheeks, giggling softly to herself when Paige lets out a low disappointed groan, letting her head fall onto the brunette’s shoulder. 

“Have I told you how much I love that dress on you,” Paige breathes against Azzi’s collarbone, causing her to shiver at the sensation, “think you should keep it on tonight.”

Azzi’s eyes widen at the implication, heat pooling in between her thighs as Paige places a series of subtle kisses against her neck, “Paige, we’re in public.”

“I know. I don’t care,” Paige says and as if to prove her point, she lets her hands drift downwards to quickly squeeze Azzi’s ass. 

“Paige,” Azzi hisses immediately and she can feel the blonde’s cocky smile against her skin, clearly pleased with herself. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it Az,” Paige’s teeth lightly graze against her jaw and Azzi tries her best to swallow the whimper threatening to spill from her lips, “I know you baby. I know your body- know what you like.”

And it’s true. Paige knows Azzi’s body like it’s a treasure map and she’s a treasure hunter on the search for gold. She’s memorized every little detail of it -marked every crevice with her name- could navigate it with her eyes closed if she wanted to. Paige is nothing if not a diligent learner when it comes to Azzi and even the little things that have changed over the years, the blonde has already vigorously committed them to memory. 

“Paige stop,” Azzi says again, reluctant yet firm, as Paige bites just a little too hard in a way that’s likely to leave a tenuous but still spotable mark, “our daughter is right there.”

That seems to do the trick as Paige finally pulls away. Not completely of course, her hands are still gripping tightly onto Azzi’s waist but enough so the brunette can see her face. It blows Azzi away sometimes, the sheer amount of love reflected in Paige’s face; she can’t quite believe that she gets to be the recipient of it all, that Paige and her love are all Azzi’s. It makes her want to kiss the blonde all over again. 

“I like when you say that,” Paige softly, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s, “our daughter.”

Azzi grins, her fingertips playing with strands of blonde hair, “it’s what she is, isn’t it? Ours.”

“This isn’t fair Az,” Paige huffs and Azzi raises an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Why not?”

“Because now I wanna kiss you again and if I kiss you again-”

Azzi doesn’t let her finish because fuck it, she really wants to kiss Paige again too. So she does. Because she can. Because Paige is hers, hers to kiss, hers to hold and hers to love. Besides, they’re making up for eight long years of being apart, it’s only fair they get to indulge in a little bit of PDA. 

Clearly, Jana doesn’t agree because no sooner have they started getting lost in each other again, when there’s the sharp sound of a throat clearing behind them. They withdraw from each other breathlessly to find their younger teammate looking at them with an amused smile. The separation lasts for about two second as Paige turns Azzi around and pulls the younger woman’s back flush against her chest, hooking her chin over the brunette’s shoulder as she keeps her hands fastened around her waist. Jana rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh. 

“Something you need El-Alfy,” Paige asks pointedly. 

“I need the two of you to be less gross,” Jana supplies snarkily, “you’re gonna scar the children. And anyone who’s single,” she says the last part under her breath, eliciting laughter from both Paige and Azzi which only makes her scowl deepend, “it’s not funny. Some of us are sad and lonely and having to watch you to be in love is sickening.”

“Well why are you watching us?” Paige says cavalierly, “it’s wedding Jana. It’s literally hookup central. Go find someone hot to fuck.”

“There's not a single man over six feet here,” Jana bemoans miserably. 

“José’s got some 6’7 friends,” Azzi supplies helpfully, raising her hands in surrender when Jana glares at her. 

“Lemme correct myself, not a single attractive man over six feet,” the Egyptian amends. 

“I mean you could always hook up with a woman instead. Trust, women are much better and there’s plenty of pretty girls here,” Paige says casually and Azzi sideyes her. 

“Oh yeah? Which ones?” she asks slowly. 

“Oh um-,” Paige stutters nervously, “well I couldn’t tell you that of course. I mean like- I haven’t looked or anything cause you know you’re the only one I look at baby- only you I swear- but like you know girls in general are pretty so like- I’m sure she could find someone pretty. Just nobody as pretty and gorgeous and beautiful as you of course.”

Azzi laughs as she presses a quick kiss to her silly girlfriend’s cheeks, “you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“You think I’m cute?” Paige waggles her eyebrows at Azzi, clearly not satisfied with the chaste kiss on the cheek as she steals one from the brunette’s lips instead, “I think you’re cute too baby.”

“And I think you guys are nauseating,” Jana cuts in, pretending to barf, “but please I’m begging, when y’all get married, please invite me some attractive tall men.”

It’s only for a second but Azzi still feels the way Paige tenses against her teammate's words. The blonde recovers, the stiffness gone as fast as it had come but it sends a ripple of confusion and worry down Azzi’s spine. 

“We’ll try our best. Just for you J,” Azzi promises their younger teammate and even though Paige nods along, there’s something almost half-hearted about her agreement. 

“Thanks you guys. Knew I could always count on my mother’s to get me laid,” Jana winks as she pulls both of them in a quick hug before bounding over to the bar. 

Azzi turns herself around in Paige’s arms, her eyes scanning the blonde’s face as she tries to piece together what’s going through her mind. The older woman smiles but there’s something unspoken hidden behind it, like she wants to say it but isn’t sure how. 

“Hey,” Azzi whispers, hands reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “what are you thinking? Talk to me baby.”

“Nothing I just-” Paige takes in a deep breath, her thumbs rubbing circles against Azzi’s waist like she’s trying to ground herself in the brunette’s presence, “Jana said- she said when we get married. Like it’s a given or something and we- we haven’t really talked about it so I just- I don’t know Az- I guess I just- is it a given?”

And Azzi can see the carefully camouflaged insecurity in Paige’s eyes, that flash of you didn’t want to marry me that the older woman won’t say out loud but is still clearly running through her thoughts. They’ve worked through a lot of it, had countless conversations even after finally getting together so that they could overcome the past but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still some things lingering between them -some lesions that are still waiting to be healed. That familiar sting of guilt spurns in her stomach as Azzi presses herself even closer to Paige and there’s a thousand things she wants to say -and she’s sure she eventually will- but for now, she keeps it simple and hopes it’s enough to reassure the blonde who’s looking at her with hopeful eyes. 

“Yeah,” she says softly, tapping her forehead against Paige’s, “I think it’s a given.”

*** 

February 2034 

Paige had assumed that being home for the weekend would mean spending every second with her girls. Throughout the course of the last two months, it had been Stephie and Azzi who had visited her down in Miami to cheer her on for Unrivaled but it just so happened that the schedule had been set up perfectly for to take this weekend off and Paige was ecstatic about finally being home for a little bit. Her plan had been to do nothing but laze around, arms wrapped tightly around Azzi with Stephie cuddled right between them where she belonged as they talked or watched movies or played board games. Whatever they did, as long as they did it together, it would be perfect for Paige. 

After a very much perfect morning, where Azzi had woken her up with slow i missed you in our bed morning sex and then the two of them had taken Stephie out for brunch, Paige had been looking forward to a very perfect afternoon with her girls as well. Instead, it’s very much not perfect and somehow Paige finds herself driving back from a bakery all the way across town, alone. It had started with Stephie insisting that she just had to have her favorite chocolate cake from that one bakery that they’d gone to that one time that just happened to be an hour drive away from their house. Much to Paige’s surprise, Azzi had almost immediately agreed with the little girl but knowing the brunette’s sweet tooth, it wasn’t really that shocking. And if both her girls -with their identical dark brown doey eyes staring up at her expectantly- wanted something, who was Paige to refuse. 

So of course she’d happily agreed, telling the two of them to get ready so they could come here and that maybe they could even stop by the park right next to the bakery after. And that’s when it had happened, both mother and daughter up in arms in protests about how they absolutely could not go with Paige because Stephie was oh-so tired and Azzi had a killer headache, followed by but Mommy I swear the chocolate cake would wake me up and yeah baby I think some chocolate cake could really help with the pain. Paige had stared at them wearily, confused by their antics but still unable to say no.

And now Paige is driving back, grumbling under her breath about they’re lucky I love them with the chocolate cake securely fastened into the passenger seat that should be occupied by her girlfriend. She pulls into the driveway still grouching but it quickly morphs into an expression of confusion when she notices a big purple sticky note -that definitely wasn’t there when she’d left- taped on their door. Frowning, Paige slowly gets out of her car, going around it to grab the cake before slowly making her way up the porch steps until she’s right in front of the door and can fully make out the words -written carefully in Azzi’s handwriting- on the sticky note. 

Welcome back home baby <3 

Thanks for getting our favorite chocolate cake. Since that day when you showed up on our porch, you’ve gone above and beyond for us and we love you for it. Thank you for always doing everything we ask and for doing the things we don’t. But more importantly, thank you for always coming back. 

Love you always, 

Stephie and Azzi <3

A wobbly smile stretches across Paige’s face as she reads the letter, her heart fluttering at the sincerity behind the words Azzi had written. Suddenly desperate to have her girlfriend and her daughter in her arms, Paige rushes to open the door, ready to see the two of them waiting for her. 

But they’re not there. 

Instead there’s a beautiful path of rose petals winding down the floor and Paige’s mouth falls open at the sight.

“Azzi! Stephie. I’m home,” she calls out, her eyes searching for her two most favorite people in the world -and answer to what the hell is going on- but instead of them she finds another large sign, this time written in Stephie’s uneven handwriting.

Follow The Flowers Mommy!

Paige laughs at the smiley faced heart that Stephie had placed in the corner, can practically imagine the concentrated look on the little girl’s face when she’d been drawing. She has no idea what all of this is but she knows she’s excited to find out. 

“What are you two up to,” she mutters under her breath as she does as the sign had said and follows the path of flowers. 

It leads her into the kitchen first and Paige immediately notices a purple envelope on the counter. Gently putting down the chocolate cake she’d been cradling in her arms, she reaches for the letter. 

Hi again baby,

Paige Bueckers you are good at a lot of things. But cooking? Definitely not one of them. If I had a dime for everytime you burned something in this kitchen, I would probably have enough dimes to pay for one of your old college NIL deals (well maybe not that much cause damn baby you were expensive). But that’s okay my love, you’re still the only person we’d spend our mornings flipping pancakes with. 

(Stephie wants me to remind you that chocolate chips are definitely better than blueberries though!) 

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie <3

Paige’s lower lip trembles as she finishes this letter, holding it closer to her heart as she continues to follow the trail of roses into Stephie’s bedroom. There on the little girl’s bed is another purple envelope, almost camouflaged against her lavender bed sheets. Taking a deep breath after having slowly caught onto the fact that these letters are going to kill her in the best way possible, Paige reaches for the paper on her daughter’s bed. 

Hi Mommy! 

Mama’s still gonna write this for me because writing is so tiring but it’s me Stephie speaking (Azzi’s note: your daughter is just as lazy as you are Bueckers.) 

Paige lets out a watery laugh as she continues reading. 

Do you remember when you went back to Dallas before you moved here, and you used to facetime me and Mama every night and you’d stay on the phone while Mama read me my bedtime story until I fell asleep? Mama says that if you make a wish right before you fall asleep, there’s a really, really, big chance it might come true. She was right because Mama’s all right and guess what Mommy? My wish came true! I wished that instead of facetime, you���d be here with us in real life for my bedtime story. And now you are and you always will be. 

Love you always, 

Stephie and Azzi <3

Paige catches a brief glance of herself in Stephie’s vanity mirror as she finishes reading the letters. Her face is a little blotchy and red, big fat happy tears cascading down her cheeks as she tucks the paper back into the envelope. She remembers that first night on facetime like it had happened yesterday; remembers making the same wish that Stephie had time and time again. And she thinks her daughter is right -or really that Azzi’s right as per always- wishes do come true. 

  Hurriedly wiping away her tears, Paige rises back onto her feet, ready to continue on this journey that Stephie and Azzi had set out for her. She follows the roses into the guestroom -which could basically be rebranded as Jana’s room with the amount of times she’s started to stay over- and almost trips over her feet in her quest to get to the next letter. And next to it is an unclear package that confuses Paige but she figures the letter would tell her all about it. 

Back to me again baby, 

This is the room where it all began again. I know technically we started a little before and we officially didn’t start again until a little later but that night is when I knew. I knew that whatever I felt for you eight years ago, hadn’t gone away. Not at all. In fact, if anything, it had gotten even stronger, even deeper. Loving you comes as naturally to me as breathing. It always has. And I loved you before- of course I did- but it’s nothing compared to how much I fucking love you now. 

“I love you too,” Paige whispers into the room. She’s not sure if Azzi can hear her -still doesn’t quite know where exactly her girls are- but she’s certain that they’re connected enough that her girlfriend can feel her emotion no matter where she is. 

Anyways baby time to take your clothes off in this room again! 

Wait, wait, wait don’t get too excited Bueckers. I know you’ve got a one-track mind but baby first of all, Jana might never come over again if she finds out we’ve fucked in this room and second of all, we’ve got plenty of time to do that after. I promise. 

Stephie and I picked something out for you to wear tonight. It’s in the parcel next to you. Put it on and come find us. We really hope you like it!

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie (even though she has no idea what this letter says for obvious reasons) <3

Placing a quick kiss against where Azzi had kissed it herself in red lipstick, Paige puts the letter back in the envelope before grabbing for the package next to it. She tears it open gently, to find a light purple vest with matching pants. The outfit is familiar and Paige vaguely remembers lying next to Azzi, browsing through an online catalog when the fit had caught her eyes. 

“Can’t get nothing past you huh baby?” Paige remarks with a fond shake of her head. 

Once she’s put the vest and pants on -and shaken her hair out of her ponytail for good measure because Azzi loves when her hair is down- Paige embarks down the path of flowers once again. This time it leads her to their bedroom. Paige had basically moved in the day they’d gotten back together -a stream of her stuff slowly and steadily building up in what had then been Azzi’s room- but they’d never really had a proper conversation about and it had basically been an unspoken agreement till the day Paige had casually mentioned that the lease on the house she’d initially rented in the Bay Area had ended. So I guess I’m officially moving in with you guys, she’d joked to which Stephie had wisely pointed out that she did in fact already live here. And that was that. This was Paige’s house just as much as it was Stephie and Azzi’s. 

Her eyes scan the room, taking in all little bits of PaigeAndAzzi that are scattered throughout it, until she finally finds another purple envelope tucked into a book on the bedside table next to Azzi’s side of the bed. Paige’s left hand flies to her mouth when she gets close enough to see the cover of the novel, a strangled noise escaping her throat. Because the book isn’t the one Azzi’s currently reading. 

No, this is their book. The one that had been left unfinished years ago and Paige had been so convinced they would be left to the same fate, that they’d be left incomplete. 

With trembling hands, she picks up the book, leafing through it to open it to the pages that have the letter eased between them. But before Paige can take out the envelope, her eyes swim with tears when she notices the words that Azzi had circle -in purple highlighter of course- scratching out the character’s name for Paige’s own. 

I’m in love with you, Sutton Paige Terrifyingly, irreversibly, life-alteringly in love with you.

Paige brushes her thumb against the words, like she’s trying to let them sink into her skin and become a part of her bloodstream. They might be someone else’s words but she knows they convey everything Azzi feels for her. Taking another shuddering breath, Paige finally opens the envelope. 

Hi again baby, 

I’m sorry for how much I know I’ve made you cry (don’t even try hiding it Paige Bueckers I know you’re a sobbing mess right now) and I can’t wait to see you and wipe your tears away. You’re almost there P!

We never finished this book. Ironic that it’s called those who wait and baby I think we’ve waited enough. You know, I’ve come across this book many times in the years we’ve been apart and I’ve considered if I should buy it- if I should finish it by myself. But it never felt right. 

Not without you. 

Because baby you have been there for the beginning of almost every story in my life and I want you to be there for the ending of every single one. Mine. And Stephie’s. 

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie <3

Paige catches her teardrops in her palms before they hit the letter, not wanting the water to damage it. She intends to treasure every single one of them for the rest of her life; thinks it’ll be the perfect memorabilia when she’s eighty years old and her and Azzi go rummaging through their storage and find this bundle of purple envelopes and Paige gets to relieve this day -the one she’d been worried not too long ago wouldn’t be perfect- all over again. 

Antsy to finally see her girls, Paige finds herself almost running towards the next stop on the trail of roses, which happens to be their living room. There, hidden behind the newly customized cushions with their names -Paige, Azzi and Stephie- embroidered on them, is another purple letter that she immediately snatches up. 

This is our last letter to you baby. 

And I think it’s fitting that you should find it here, in our living room, where everything came back together for us. I can’t lie to you Paige, I was so fucking scared you’d make a different decision. I was so scared that you’d walk away from us- that our present and the possibility of our future together wouldn’t be enough to overcome our past. 

I don’t know if I would have survived that. I guess I would’ve had to learn to. For Stephie. And she would’ve learned too, for me. But there would have always been a little part of us missing. 

Because you complete us Paige. Stephie and I- we aren’t whole without you. You’ve always been our missing piece baby, and we’re so grateful that you came back to us, that you made us whole again. 

Love you always, 

Azzi and Stephie <3

Paige holds the final letter against her heart for a while, letting her head replay all of the beautiful words her girls had written for her. She doesn’t know when they’d planned this, can’t imagine how they’d somehow pulled it all together within the two hours it had taken her to get to the bakery and back but she knows she’ll cherish this day forever. 

“I’m the luckiest fucking woman on this planet,” she whispers to herself as she follows the final trail of roses that lead her out to the garden in the back. 

It’s golden hour outside and it feels like their backyard is shrouded in a golden hue that makes it feel like everything -the trees and the leaves and the flowers and the sky are shimmering in drops of gold. Paige is almost blinded by it for a second, blinking her eyes rapidly to adjust to the blazing sunlight as she finally catches sight of her girls. 

They’re standing in the middle of the garden -in the middle of a heart to be precise but Paige can’t quite tell what the shape’s been made out of- Stephie in a dress and Azzi in a pantsuit that’s the exact shade of lavender as the outfit they’d picked out for the blonde. The two of them wear matching exuberant smiles and Paige thinks if she could pick the last image to flash through her mind at the end of her life, she’d pick this one. 

“Hi Mommy,” Stephie waves excitedly with one hand, her other carrying a bunch of papers that pique Paige’s interest, “did you get our chocolate cake?”

Paige laughs as she starts to make her way down towards, “you know I did sweetheart.”

“Do you like our surprise?” the little girl asks, almost vibrating with enthusiasm as Paige gets closer and closer to them. 

“I loved it-” the blonde cuts herself off with a gasp when she finally realizes what the heart had been created out of.

Carefully curated photographs, some with all three of them and some of just Paige and Stephie or Paige and Azzi, have been perfectly set up around them. All their beautiful memories aligned in the shape of a heart with Stephie and Azzi right in the middle of it, just waiting for Paige to join them inside. 

“You guys. This is-” Paige chokes back a sob as she finally reaches the two of them, “this is perfect you guys. I can’t believe you guys did all of this.”

“Sorry we made you drive all the way across town,” Azzi says sheepishly, “we wouldn’t have had time to set this up otherwise”

“It’s perfect,” Paige repeats as gently brushes her hands through Stephie’s hair before placing a chaste kiss against Azzi’s lip, “it’s everything.”

“You’re everything,” Azzi counters and Paige notices her shuffling her feet nervously before she speaks, “and we- wanted to show you that.”

“You did so good, baby,” Paige reassures, reaching out to squeeze the brunette’s hand, “all of it. The letters, the outfit, the book. God baby, it’s all just- it’s all perfect.”

“That’s not all though Mommy,” Paige feels a tiny tug on her arm and she turns away from Azzi to look down at Stephie who’s staring shyly up at her.

“There’s more?” the blonde asks softly, as she kneels down in front of the little girl, hands rubbing up and down her shoulder. 

Stephie bites her lip as she nods, holding out the elusive papers that Paige had previously noticed in her hands, “these are for you.”

Paige takes them from her slowly, keeping one hand wrapped around he little girl’s bicep as she takes in the words -printed in big bold jet black letters- on the document. Her eyes widen in shock as she swivels her head around to look at Azzi. 

“These- there are-” Paige swallows roughly, “these are adoption papers.”

“Yeah they are,” Azzi confirms quietly, “I um- I tracked down Stephie’s-” she pauses, clearly unsure of what term to use for the man that had abandoned the two of them -the man Paige thinks is the dumbest person in the world for having abandoned the most wonderful two people in the entire universe-, “I tracked down Stephie’s donor and I uh- I had him sign away any and all parental rights.”

“Az,” Paige whispers in awe, knowing just how much strength it would’ve taken Azzi to have even considered reaching out to that man. They haven’t spoken much about it beyond when Azzi had told her the full story but Paige had realized quickly that there was a lot of resentment there and it fills her with warmth to know that Azzi had overcome all of that, just to do this for Paige. 

“Mommy,” Stephie calls out softly, tiny hands gently cupping Paige’s face to bring her attention back to her, “you’re already my Mommy. You do everything a Mommy’s supposed to do. You pick me up from school and you get me ice cream and you give me cuddles when I’m sad and you give me tickles to make me happy. You watch movies with me and teach me how to play bask-ball and you dress me up in your clothes and you tease Mama with me and you give me goodnight kisses. And you love me, just like Mama does,” the little girl sniffles and Paige’s own eyes are watering as she brushes away Stephie’s tears, “but Anya says that you���re not my Mommy of-shaly because- because we’re not related. I think that’s really stupid and I told Mama that too and she said she agreed but that- that you could become my Mommy of-shaly too if you- if you adopt me. So Mommy-” Stephie takes a deep breath and Paige feels herself shiver with anticipation, “will you adopt me?”

“Yes,” Paige says as soon as the little girl finishes her sentence and then she’s pulling Stephie into her arms, kissing all over her daughter’s face as she keeps repeating herself, “yes, yes, yes. Of course I’ll adopt you sweetheart. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Stephie giggles in Paige’s arms, wriggling slightly as the blonde continues to pepper sloppy kisses all over her skin, “you have to sign the papers first Mommy.”

“Right, right of course. I need- I need a pen,” Paige manages to blabber out as she looks around as if willing for a pen to appear magically out of thin air. 

“Here,” Azzi's voice breaks in through the excitement, holding out a ballpoint for the blonde to use and as Paige reaches for it, she can see every emotion of her mirrored in the brunette’s eyes. 

Her gaze locks back with Stephie’s as she signs the papers, watching the little girl’s smile deepen with every flick of her wrist. 

“Done,” Paige exclaims as finishes off her signature, setting the document aside as she swings Stephie into her arms, standing up and twirling the girl -her daughter almost officially- around in circle as the two of them whoop with delight. 

She’s so caught up in the moment -in the peals of Stephie’s vibrant laughter- that she almost misses when it happens. Everything around her seems to freeze as Paige stops abruptly, her eyes fixated on Azzi- Azzi who’s kneeling in front of her, Azzi who’s holding open a velvet box with a diamond ring. 

“Baby,” Paige breathes out as she slowly lowers Stephie back onto the ground. 

“I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you,” Azzi begins slowly, her voice trembling as she repeats the familiar words, “so you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too. Because I just- I just couldn’t find the right words- the right phrases to tell you everything that you mean to me. And then I realized that I- I don’t need to think that hard because you- you already found the perfect words and I-” she gulps emotionally, “I was an idiot for saying no to them.”

“No- no I was an idiot for not understanding why you did,” Paige says with a shake of her head as she falls to the ground to be level with Azzi. 

“We were both idiots,” Azzi concedes and next to them Stephie giggles a little at the repeated use of the “bad” word, “but that- that doesn’t matter anymore. And I- I don’t need a speech. I don’t need to say a hundred words. Because you already know them- you already know me. You know my heart and I hope you know that it beats for you- the two of you. Because I love you. I love you so bleeping much Paige Bueckers and I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

“I love you more,” Paige says, unable to wait to say it as she cups Azzi’s face, “ask me Azzi. Don’t make me wait anymore baby. Please.”

“Paige Madison Bueckers, the love of my life, the mother of my child,” Azzi’s voice breaks and Paige isn’t faring much better as the tears freefall down her cheeks, “will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes I will,” Paige nods through her sobs as she holds out her hand for Azzi to slide the ring -a simple cushion cut enshrined against a diamond encrusted infinity band- onto her fingers. 

And it’s unclear who moves first, but they surge towards each other, lips meeting a kiss that holds the weight of all the emotions they’re feeling right now. They’re a tangle of limbs as they lick into each other’s mouth, giggling as they fall back into the grass, still holding onto each other. This is a long time coming, the forever they’ve been searching for since they were just little girls who barely even understood what forever was. And it hasn’t been easy but every second spent apart has led them back to this, back to each other- and forever feels like it’s finally here. 

“MAMA AND MOMMY ARE GETTING MARRIED,” Stephie shrieks as she throws herself onto Paige and Azzi, the two adults laughing at her excitement as they open their arms for her to fit in perfectly in between them. 

In the sky, the sun is beginning to set as golden hour comes to an end. But it doesn’t matter. Because the love between Paige, Azzi and Stephie -as long as they get to be just like this, safe and content in each other’s arms- shines brighter than gold itself and that incandescence will glow forever. 

[5sospenguinqueen]

Toy Cars | Fernando Alonso x Mum! Reader

Summary: Fernando boasts about his step-sons to anyone who will listen. So, when you realise you want more, he's confused why your little family is no longer enough.

Warnings: angst, slight age gap. i pictured reader about 35

Requested: no

just a short one compared to the others

F1 Masterlist

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fernandoalo_official just posted

liked by astonmartinf1, aussiegrit and others

fernandoalo_official not been an easy weekend so far but it’s made easier when one of my favourite people is in the paddock

14,114 comments

jensonbutton but i’m not working this weekend?

→ lance_stroll we all know i’m his other favourite person

→ fernandoalo_official no, the twins are

→ user1 step dad nando has my whole heart

→ yn_ln mine too! 

user2 a hug from fernando would heal me

→ user3 a hug from y/n would heal me

yn_ln weekends where i get to see you are my favourite

→ user4 i will never be normal about these two 

→ user5 it’s the fact that he watches the f2 races because it gives him an excuse to hang out with y/n 

astonmartinf1 our favourite couple 

user6 need fernando to win now that he’s had his good luck hug 

yn_ln just posted

liked by jensonbutton, lance_stroll and others

yn_ln back on track for the twins. both my boys did a wonderful job with high position finishes… oh and they were visited by an enthusiastic fan 😉

5,343 comments

fernandoalo_official i’ll be getting you in one of those karts next 

→ yn_ln that’s going to take a lot of convincing, nando 

→ fernandoalo_official i can think of a few ways, mi vida

→ landonorris ew

→ user7 mi vida!! i will never be normal about these two 

aussiegrit how’d he get his hair that tall 

→ astonmartinf1 it’s so full of secrets 

fa_alonsokart calling the boss an enthusiastic fan is such a power move

→ user8 the fact that he let her and didn’t comment on it tho 

lance_stroll they'll be taking his seat soon enough

user9 love how supportive fernando is of his step-sons

→ user10 he literally started a karting school so that he could help their karting careers

→ user11 the dad that stepped up

user1 what’s your favourite fa14 fact? mine is that he fell in love with y/n l/n, realised she had twins and immediately started enacting project alonso 

→ user2 no because the twins were 11 when he met them and now they’re 15 and looking at f3 seats 

user3 this is what i’ve been saying. fernando doesn’t just love y/n, he loves her children just as much, if not more

user4 fernando alonso puts all other step-dads to shame because he is always there for them, no matter how busy his life is

user5 i really need fernando to hurry up and propose because that is his family

→ user6 yes! he needs to make project alonso official by giving them all his last name

→ user7 and then more babies!  

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comments 

user8 why was this the cutest thing said by anyone ever. like those are his boys 

user9 wait, so does this mean he doesn’t want kids?

user10 the way he cut that interviewer off because that his family whether they share blood or not

→ user11 i read it as he didn’t want to talk about it any more because he doesn’t want more kids and maybe he and y/n haven’t talked about it yet 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux and others 

yn_ln an empty house for the week makes me realise that i miss hearing about cars 

2,343 comments

user1 aw are the flowers from fernando?

kellypiquet max keeps trying to convince me to get another cat. don’t let him see this

→ maxverstappen1 too late 

user2 wait, why isn’t she spending summer break with nando?

→ user3 because he’s on holiday 

→ user2 without her? 

→ user4 they don’t have to spend every minute together. he’s allowed to have a break 

user5 guys, y/n and fernando don’t follow each other anymore?

→ user6 i thought you were lying but then i checked and it’s true :( 

→ user7 oh that captions hit extra hard

user8 no because her entire life is racing and now that it’s not there, she realises she misses it

→ user9 she misses him

user10 i’m so confused. they were so in love like two weeks ago. what happened?

user11 no because i can’t imagine seeing fernando without y/n

user12 is he still going to support the twins? 

user13 but you were supposed to get married to fernando and have lots of little alonso’s

→ user14 maybe one of them didn’t want that 

→ user15 can’t imagine it being alonso, he thinks the world of the twins

→ user16 true. he does mention them in almost every interview 

user1 when i remembered f2 were racing this weekend, i was so happy because that meant yn and nando content and then i remembered they’d broken up

→ user2 all the tweets on here are tearing my heart out as well 

user3 they’ve not spoken to each other once today

user4 yes she walked straight past him but there’s clips of her entire face crumpling as soon as she’s past him

→ user5 yes! i saw that. her colleague had to usher her into the garage before she started crying 

user6 the fact that fernando spent the entire time watching her though

→ user7 even when people were talking to him, he was full on staring at her

→ user8 brokenhearted lover boy made no attempts to hide it 

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Baby Fever Angst Series

Love that I mentioned request for Esteban once and I already have 5 requests 😂 I didn't realise there was that much love for Ocon considering I can never find any fics for him

tag list

[cloudyluun]

Ruin me, Love me, Lose me| fratboy&playboy!harry

Summary: You hate Harry Styles. Or at least, you really, really want to. He’s the frat house king, the campus playboy, the smug asshole who always has a girl (or three) in his bed. You swear you’ll never be one of them.

And then one night, you kiss him.

And then another night, you sleep with him.

And then suddenly, you’re tangled in his sheets, in his arms, in his world, telling yourself it means nothing.

Until it does.

Wordt Count: 5k

A/N: Ah, yes. Another classic case of let’s make this as toxic as possible but pretend it’s fine because the tension is hot. This was supposed to be a slow burn, and then my brain said, “What if they suffered immediately instead?” Anyway, enjoy the angst, the mess, and the self-inflicted emotional damage. Love you, mean it. 💔 Based on this request! 

Warnings: 

Smut (18+ only)

Toxic relationships

Angst (like, a lot)

Jealousy & possessiveness

Alcohol use

Slight degradation & rough moments

Heartbreak (sorry in advance)

Some emotional whiplash

Questionable life choices

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The party is suffocating.

It reeks of stale beer, sweat, and something obnoxiously expensive, probably the cologne of some guy who thinks dousing himself in Tom Ford will make up for his complete lack of personality. Bodies are packed together like sardines, moving in drunken waves, grinding against each other to the bass-heavy music blasting from the speakers.

You feel completely out of place.

And honestly? You couldn’t give less of a fuck.

The only reason you’re here is because your best friend practically dragged you. Come on, she had pleaded, hands clasped together like she was making a sacred vow. You never go out, you never have fun, and I swear to God, if you don’t start acting like a college student at least once, I’m going to lose my mind.

So, against your better judgment, you let her shove you into a dress and apply a little makeup, hyping you up like this was going to be some life-changing experience. Spoiler alert: it’s not. It’s exactly what you expected: obnoxiously loud, unbearably sweaty, and full of people who are so wrapped up in their own egos that they wouldn’t notice if the house caught fire.

You’ve only been here for an hour, and you already want to leave.

You retreat to the kitchen, seeking some kind of escape. It’s quieter here, if only marginally. The countertops are littered with half-empty cups and sticky spills that no one will bother cleaning up. A couple is making out against the fridge like they’re in a fucking movie, completely unbothered by the fact that people are walking around them.

And then there’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t have to look directly at him to know he’s there, you feel his presence before you even see him. It’s like the air shifts when he walks into a room, demanding attention without even trying. He’s exactly the kind of guy you can’t stand: arrogant, entitled, and so used to getting his way that he probably doesn’t even remember the last time someone told him no.

Everyone here worships him.

It’s disgusting.

You finally glance up, and there he is, standing just a few feet away, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. He’s wearing all black—ripped jeans, an unbuttoned shirt that shows off just enough tattoos to make girls swoon, and a smirk that tells you he knows exactly how good he looks.

His eyes flicker toward you, and in an instant, you know exactly what’s coming.

“Y’look like you hate it here, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth, like whiskey on ice, laced with just enough amusement to let you know he finds this entertaining.

You exhale sharply, unimpressed. “That’s because I do.”

Instead of being deterred, his smirk deepens, like he finds your resistance amusing. He steps closer—not enough to be invasive, but enough to make it clear that he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll react.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, cocking his head slightly.

You don’t take the bait.

Instead, you roll your eyes, brushing past him with a dry, “Because some of us actually care about our friends.”

You expect that to be the end of it. Guys like Harry don’t waste time on girls who aren’t immediately fawning over them. He could have any girl in this house—hell, most of them would kill for the chance.

But he doesn’t let it go.

He follows.

And when you turn to glance back at him, you find his green eyes locked onto you like a predator stalking its prey.

It’s a look you’ve seen before—the kind that says he’s intrigued, that you’ve just become a challenge.

And you know, without a doubt, that Harry Styles never walks away from a challenge.

You should have seen it coming.

From that night on, it becomes a game to him—one you never agreed to play.

He makes it his personal mission to get under your skin, to test your patience at every opportunity. It’s not obvious at first, just small things that could almost be coincidental. A glance held for a second too long. A smirk thrown your way when you pass each other on campus. An overheard comment about some girl he hooked up with the night before, loud enough that he knows you’ll hear.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

The second run-in happens at another party, because of course it does.

This time, you arrive more prepared—mentally, at least. You’ve made peace with the fact that these events are unavoidable, that your best friend will always drag you to them, that the college social scene is a relentless cycle of alcohol-fueled chaos. You can survive a couple of hours. You’ll drink just enough to take the edge off, then find a way to slip out before midnight.

It’s a decent plan.

Until you see him.

He’s lounging on the frat house couch like it’s a fucking throne, an arm draped lazily over the backrest, legs spread wide in a way that’s both infuriating and devastatingly attractive. He’s surrounded by girls—of course he is—all of them leaning in, waiting for his attention, laughing too loudly at things he hasn’t even said.

You roll your eyes and turn away.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

You tell yourself you’re imagining it, but you can feel his eyes on you as you move through the party, can sense the smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t call you over, doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. The air shifts when he’s near, gravity bending in his favor.

And then, just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed—

“Y’keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

The words send a sharp, unwelcome shiver down your spine.

You scoff before you even turn around, willing yourself to appear unaffected. “As if.”

His grin deepens, slow and lazy, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

You hate that it works.

You hate that the sharp cut of his jawline and the teasing glint in his eyes make your stomach twist in ways that aren’t entirely rooted in hatred.

You refuse to play his game.

You take a step back, ready to leave, but before you can—

His hand catches your wrist.

It’s not forceful, just firm enough to make you pause.

And then he leans in.

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, close enough that his voice drops into something dark and slow, something meant only for you.

“You sure about that?”

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne wraps around you like a noose, tightening around your resolve.

You rip yourself away from him, but it’s too late.

Your body has already betrayed you.

And it will again.

Another night. Another party.

By now, you should have learned your lesson. But somehow, you always end up here—another crowded house, another room filled with drunken laughter and cheap beer, another encounter with him.

It’s inevitable.

You don’t even know how it starts this time. It’s not some grand moment, not some life-altering realization. It’s just him—pushing, teasing, testing. Like he always does.

You’re in the kitchen again, arms crossed, a drink in your hand that you’ve barely touched. You’ve been avoiding him for most of the night, keeping your distance, but it doesn’t matter. He finds you anyway.

He always does.

“Y’gonna keep ignoring me all night?”

You don’t even look up. “That was the plan.”

A low chuckle, the kind that makes your stomach clench. “M’not that easy to ignore, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right.

You take a slow sip of your drink, willing yourself to remain unaffected. “Try me.”

And that’s all it takes. That single challenge.

His eyes spark with something dark and dangerous. His smirk sharpens. And then—

“You act like you hate me,” he murmurs, stepping in closer, “but we both know that’s not true.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“It is.”

“Liar.”

You finally look up at him, glaring. “Go to hell, Harry.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating. “Take me there yourself.”

And then—

It happens.

Fast.

Too fast.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him. The next, his lips are on yours.

There’s no hesitation, no slow build-up, no moment to think. Just heat.

His hands are in your hair, fingers tangling, tugging. Your back meets the nearest wall, the cold surface a shocking contrast to the fire raging between you.

It’s rough. Desperate.

You should stop.

You should.

But his body is pressed against yours, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except feel.

Your fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. His hands slide down, tracing over your hips, pulling you in like he can’t get close enough.

And maybe he can’t.

Maybe you can’t.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he says, voice low, wrecked. “And I’ll stop.”

Your lips part.

To say what?

To tell the truth?

But before you can, before you even know what you want to say—

Your hands fist in his shirt.

And you crash into him all over again.

You pull away first, gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. Reality slams into you like a freight train, but Harry doesn’t move. He watches you, his pupils blown, lips parted, his breath warm as it ghosts over your face. His hands are still on you—one firm at your waist, the other curled loosely around the nape of your neck. Holding you in place.

Like he’s afraid you’ll run.

Like he knows you want to.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, something smug and knowing. “Told you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, dark, like he’s just swallowed gravel. “You don’t hate me.”

You should.

You should hate him. You should push him away, put an ocean of space between you before this turns into something irreversible. Something you can’t take back.

But your body betrays you before your mind can catch up.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt instead of letting go. Your legs feel weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline or the way he’s looking at you. His green eyes flicker in the dim lighting, unreadable, but there’s something behind them—something waiting, something burning.

Something dangerous.

“This is a mistake,” you whisper, the words shaky, uncertain. You don’t even know if you believe them.

His thumb drags along your jaw, featherlight, and his lips barely, barely graze yours when he speaks. “Maybe.”

That single word is enough to send your stomach into freefall. Maybe. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Maybe you’re going to regret this the second the sun comes up.

Or maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll regret it more if you stop now.

Maybe that’s what terrifies you the most.

Your body makes the decision for you.

His fingers slide down your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there before his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they belong there.

And you let him take you.

The party behind you becomes a distant blur—flashes of neon lights, the thud of bass vibrating through the floor, drunken laughter echoing from downstairs. It all feels like it’s happening in another universe, detached from this moment. From him. From you.

Each step up the stairs feels heavier than the last, weighted with unspoken words, with history, with everything you’ve been pretending isn’t still there. The heat of his palm against yours sends sparks up your spine, and you squeeze your thighs together, ignoring the ache building in your stomach.

You don’t stop.

Not when you reach the landing.

Not when he leads you down the darkened hallway, past closed doors, past muffled voices, past all the chances you could have taken to turn back.

And not when he pushes open a door, guiding you inside.

Then—

The door clicks shut behind you.

The world disappears.

The second the lock turns, something inside you snaps.

There’s no hesitation this time. No second-guessing. No thinking. Just feeling.

Then he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and insistent, swallowing the gasp that slips from your lips. The kiss is nothing like the ones you’ve shared in the past—those were controlled, careful, measured. This? This is raw. Hungry. Starving.

His hands find your waist, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the way his chest heaves, the way his heartbeat slams against your own. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply, and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening, like he’s trying to pull you even closer, like he wants to crawl inside you.

You barely have time to process before your back hits the wall.

You gasp at the contact, but he doesn’t let up. His lips trail down your jaw, hot and desperate, and when his teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escapes before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping at your thighs, hitching them around his waist like he can’t stand the thought of any space between you.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your hands push his jacket off his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it without breaking contact. Your fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, but he beats you to it, ripping it open in one swift motion, buttons scattering to the floor.

Then his skin is against yours, and it sends a shockwave through your entire body.

Heat pools low in your stomach, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every brush of his hands, every press of his lips, every ragged breath against your skin.

Clothes disappear—hurried, impatient.

Your dress slips down your shoulders, pooling at your feet. His belt clinks as he unfastens it, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a gunshot.

You don’t stop him.

You don’t want to.

His hands grip your thighs again, lifting you effortlessly, and your legs tighten around him. You can feel him—hard, straining against the fabric still separating you.

There’s a pause, just for a second.

A breath.

His forehead presses against yours, his lips barely touching, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to ground himself. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again.

And there’s no turning back now.

His body presses against yours, firm and unrelenting, as he walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t let go. His hands are still gripping your thighs, still holding you against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

Then he lowers you onto the bed.

The world tilts, and the air thickens as he leans over you, his weight bracing against his arms, caging you beneath him. His eyes flicker across your face—like he’s memorizing every inch, every breath, every little way you react to him. His fingers trace up your side, slow and teasing, and the way you shudder makes his lips twitch.

“Still think this is a mistake?” he taunts, voice low and rough as his lips brush against your collarbone.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your fingers clutch at his back, the way your hips shift beneath him, the way your body is already arching into his touch—it’s all the answer he needs.

He smirks against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he stops talking.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

It’s messy. Desperate. The kind of passion that comes from months of unresolved tension, from too much history, from too many things left unsaid.

He kisses you like he’s trying to claim you. Like he’s trying to burn himself into your skin. Like if he kisses you hard enough, you’ll never be able to forget this—forget him.

His hands are everywhere. Exploring. Learning. Worshipping.

Every brush of his lips, every drag of his fingers, every slow roll of his hips is deliberate, pulling you apart piece by piece. He takes his time, but not too much time—because patience is a luxury neither of you have tonight.

You feel like you’re unraveling beneath him.

He notices.

He thrives on it.

His mouth moves lower, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. His fingers leave fire in their wake as they trail down your body, mapping out every inch, every soft curve, every sharp gasp he pulls from your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way he touches you—like he already knows what you need before you do.

He whispers your name against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your hands are greedy, desperate as they roam over him—his shoulders, his chest, the firm muscles in his back. You want to touch all of him. Feel all of him.

And he lets you.

He lets you pull him closer, lets you tangle your legs around his, lets you drag your nails down his spine, leaving behind faint, red lines that he’ll wear like battle scars tomorrow.

The room is filled with nothing but heavy breathing, quiet moans, the rustle of sheets, the sound of skin against skin.

And when it finally happens—when he finally, finally gives you what you both need—it steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s not slow. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s raw.

It’s rough, desperate, punishing. It’s weeks of tension snapping all at once, a storm breaking, waves crashing, a fire finally given the air it needs to burn.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, like a curse, like something you were never supposed to say out loud.

He groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head. His body moves against yours in perfect rhythm—pushing, pulling, giving, taking.

It’s the kind of night that changes things.

The kind you won’t be able to take back.

The kind that leaves its mark.

And then—

Stillness.

Silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between you.

His body is still pressed against yours, warm and solid and grounding. The weight of what just happened settles in, thick and undeniable.

You should get up.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

Instead, you stay.

Just for a little longer.

But "a little longer" turns into something else entirely.

Because it doesn’t stop at one night.

It should have. You tell yourself that over and over again. That night—the way his hands fit so perfectly against your skin, the way he pulled you apart and put you back together, the way his mouth made you forget your own name—it should have been enough. A single mistake. A one-time thing.

But it isn’t.

It’s never just once.

It happens again. And again. And again.

It’s always late. Always secret.

Always a text, a glance across the room, a lingering touch when no one is watching. Always a whispered come here against the shell of your ear, a door clicking shut behind you, a tangle of limbs in the dark.

It’s never soft. Never sweet.

It’s fast, desperate, all-consuming.

It’s hands fisting sheets, breathless moans swallowed into pillows. His body pressed against yours, heavy and unrelenting, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And he knows what he’s doing to you.

He’s filthy, cocky, teasing—he draws it out just to make you beg.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ sweet for me, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, wicked, smug.

His rings feel cold against your burning skin as his fingers trail down your stomach, between your thighs, spreading you open like a secret. Like something meant only for him.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

He chuckles, dark and knowing.

“This what you hate me for? Hm?” His lips brush against your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot and taunting. “’Cause I make you come harder than anyone else ever could?”

You hate him.

(You don’t.)

You hate that he’s right. That he knows he’s right. That he’s so good at this—at ruining you, at making you fall apart over and over again until you can’t think straight, until all you know is him. His name. His touch. His body moving against yours.

And every time, you tell yourself it’s the last.

That this is it. That you’re done.

That this means nothing.

And every time, you end up back in his bed.

But then you see him with someone else.

It’s late, the party is loud, and the music thrums through your body, drowning out everything else. You’re just stepping out for air when you spot him across the street. A girl is clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’s said, and his hand is low on her back as he leads her toward a car.

He doesn’t even look at you.

Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even pretend to care that you’re standing right there, watching him disappear into the night with someone else.

And it shouldn’t hurt.

Because you knew he wasn’t yours. You never asked him to be. Never wanted him to be.

Right?

So why does it feel like the ground just cracked open beneath you? Why does it feel like something inside you just snapped?

You go back inside, down a drink, let someone else pull you onto the dance floor. You lose yourself in the crowd, in the music, in the way someone’s hands settle on your waist—too light, too unfamiliar.

It doesn’t work.

Because when he finds you later, when he corners you in a dark hallway, there’s still fire burning in your chest, in your throat, in the way your hands clench at your sides.

He smirks, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just walk out of here with someone else a few hours ago. Like he knew you’d still be here.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is low, amused. “Jealous?”

The word makes you snap.

“You’re disgusting.”

His smirk widens, but there’s something behind his eyes now—something sharper, more dangerous.

“Funny,” he murmurs, stepping closer, eyes dark, predatory. “Wasn’t what y’said last night.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist, but you yank yourself away like he burns.

“We’re done.” Your voice is ice, your eyes colder.

And his smirk falters.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for you to see something else flicker across his face—confusion, disbelief, something dangerously close to panic.

Then it’s gone.

And he laughs. Soft. Low. Infuriating.

“That’s cute,” he drawls, tilting his head. “Think y’can just walk away from me.”

You meet his gaze head-on, jaw clenched, shoulders squared.

“Watch me.”

Then you turn.

And this time—this time—you don’t look back.

-- 

Weeks pass.

You don’t speak.

Not a word. Not a text. Not even a glance when you’re in the same room.

And it’s fine.

It has to be.

You throw yourself into distractions—work, friends, nights out where the music is too loud and the drinks burn too much. You let other people flirt with you. Let hands that aren’t his touch you. Let lips that don’t taste like him press against yours in dimly lit corners.

You pretend you don’t miss him.

(You do.)

But you tell yourself this is better. Cleaner. Easier.

Until you start hearing things.

He’s been drinking more.

Fighting more.

Losing his temper over nothing.

You overhear his name in conversations, whispered between mutual friends. You see his face in the back of a blurry Instagram story, bottle in hand, eyes dark and unfocused.

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

You tell yourself he’s not your problem anymore.

Until he shows up at your door.

It’s late. Too late for him to be here.

The knock is sharp, impatient. Like he already knows you’re home. Like he already knows you’re going to answer.

You shouldn’t.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

And then—

“Just let me in.”

His voice is quiet. Rough.

You open the door.

And he looks wrecked.

Tired. Haunted. Something’s different.

There’s none of the usual arrogance, none of the teasing smirk, none of the sharp-edged confidence that he wears like armor.

Just him.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable as they drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

Your throat tightens. “Harry—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I know, just—”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes flicker over your face again, and for a second—just a second—you swear you see something crack.

And then he looks at you like that.

Like you’re his last fucking breath.

Like if you tell him to leave, it’ll break him.

And you cave.

You step aside.

You let him in.

And maybe that should be enough.

Maybe the way he holds you like you’re something fragile, the way his breath stutters when you touch him, the way his lips tremble against yours—that should be enough.

But it’s not.

Because fear is still there. Lurking. Poisoning everything it touches.

And you should’ve known.

You should’ve known that no matter how much he wants this, no matter how much he means it in the moment—

He’s still him.

And you’re still you.

And happy endings don’t exist for people like you.

So of course, he fucks up again.

Not with another girl. Not with whispered names and lipstick stains and the kind of betrayal that you could at least understand.

No.

This time, he betrays you with his own fear.

It happens fast. A conversation that turns into an argument, an argument that turns into something worse.

Maybe it starts because you ask too much. Maybe it starts because he’s never learned how to let himself have something good.

But all you know is that suddenly—he’s cold.

Detached.

Suddenly, his walls are back up.

“I don’t do relationships,” he says.

Flat. Emotionless.

Like none of it meant anything.

Like you don’t mean anything.

And it hits you harder than any slap ever could.

You flinch, like you’ve been physically wounded, like he’s just driven a knife between your ribs and twisted it.

Your voice shakes. “Then why did you tell me you loved me?”

Silence.

His jaw clenches.

But he doesn’t answer.

And that’s the worst part.

Not the fight. Not the distance.

The silence.

The fact that he has nothing to say.

And that’s when you know.

That’s when you realize—

This is it.

This is the moment he chooses to let you go.

You shake your head, chest heaving, eyes burning, throat closing up around the words you don’t know how to say.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

But he already has.

And this time, you don’t give him the chance to stop you.

You walk out.

You don’t look back.

And he lets you.

--

Weeks pass.

You try to move on.

You tell yourself that you’re better off. That you should hate him. That you do hate him.

But then, one night—he shows up.

At your dorm.

At your fucking door, looking like he hasn’t slept, looking like he’s been through hell and back.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his jaw is tense, his eyes are desperate.

And you—

You want to slam the door in his face.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t get to do this.

That he doesn’t get to come back.

But you don’t.

Because you need to hear what he has to say.

So you glare at him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, forcing your voice to stay steady. “What do you want, Harry?”

He exhales sharply. “I lied.”

Your stomach twists.

You swallow. “About what?”

He hesitates. Shifts his weight. But then—he steps closer.

“About not doing relationships.”

And suddenly, the air is too thick, too heavy.

Your head shakes. Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I know, I just—” He sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to—”

A pause. A beat of silence.

He looks at you, eyes searching, pleading.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips part. But you don’t say anything.

Because after everything—after all of it—how do you know?

How do you know if this time will be different?

So you stare at him, pulse hammering in your throat, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

And then—

“So prove it.”

The challenge hangs between you.

And for the first time in his life—

He doesn’t run.

He doesn’t push you away.

He doesn’t fuck it up.

Instead, he nods.

And he does. --

It’s not instant.

There’s no cinematic moment, no dramatic declaration in the rain, no sudden, sweeping realization that makes everything fall into place.

It’s slow. It’s awkward. It’s frustrating.

But it’s real.

The first time you see him after that night at your dorm, it’s different. He’s different.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t act like he already has you figured out.

Instead, he waits.

You’re the one who has to break the silence.

“You really think you can change?”

His jaw clenches, hands flexing like he wants to reach for you but knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I know I can.”

And for the first time, you almost believe him.

--

It starts with the little things.

Like how he texts first. Every morning. Every night. Even when there’s nothing to say. Even when it’s just, Hey, eat something. Or, Are you sleeping? Or, I know you’re still awake, don’t lie.

Like how he shows up. Actually shows up.

Not just for the easy moments. Not just for the nights when he’s desperate for you.

But for the moments when you’re exhausted, when you’re in a bad mood, when you’re not the version of yourself that’s easy to love.

And he stays anyway.

--

The first time you test him, it’s almost accidental.

He calls, asks if you want to come over.

And for the first time, you tell him no.

A few months ago, that would’ve been the end of it.

A few months ago, he would’ve gone out, found someone else, let his frustration morph into recklessness.

But this time, he just exhales. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

A pause.

Then, softly— “Yeah, baby. That’s okay.”

And that’s when you realize—this isn’t the same boy who let you walk away.

He’s trying.

For the first time in his life, he’s trying.

--

It takes time.

Weeks. Months.

You make him work for it.

Because love shouldn’t be easy—not after everything.

Not after the hurt, the late nights spent waiting for him to choose you, the months wasted pretending it was nothing.

He should prove it.

And he does.

--

The first time he holds your hand in public, it’s instinctive. Thoughtless.

You’re walking down the street, talking about something unimportant, when suddenly—his fingers brush against yours.

And instead of pulling away, he just…takes your hand.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s not even thinking about it.

Like he’s not the same man who once made you feel like a secret.

You don’t say anything.

But you don’t let go, either.

And neither does he.

--

One night, he’s driving you home when he suddenly pulls over.

You blink at him. “Uh. What are we doing?”

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. He won’t look at you.

“D’you know the last time I did this?”

You frown. “Did what?”

“Took you home.” He swallows, finally turning to face you. “Last time, I let you walk away.”

Your stomach twists. You remember. Of course, you remember.

He inhales sharply. “Not this time.”

And then, he says it.

“I love you.”

Not because he’s scared. Not because he thinks you’re slipping away.

Just because he does.

And for the first time, you don’t have to question if he means it.

Because this time, he’s not running.

This time, he stays.

And this time—so do you.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[enchanted-by-fae]

One Day - Azriel x Reader

Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn City!Reader

Summary: How Azriel felt during the party the other night. The two of you marry.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, angst, fluff, they're both kinda idiots ngl

3.1k words

A/N: Thank you so much lovelies for all of the support! I hope you enjoy this part, it's a doozy.

Part 1 Part 2

Azriel couldn’t help but stare at you when you weren’t looking. There she was, the female he would be marrying in two days time. You were standing across the room speaking to party goers, nobody he recognized. He couldn’t help but admire the way you spoke to them with a gentle smile gracing your face. When you walked into the ballroom with Rhysand just a few hours ago only one thought had come to his mind. You were without a doubt the most enchanting female he had ever laid his eyes on.

—

Before the party, Rhysand sat Azriel down in his chambers to have a discussion about his behavior.

“I swear to the Mother Azriel, you will not be cruel to this girl,” his brother scolded. Azriel couldn’t help but let out a scoff, “don’t scoff at me. I mean it, Az. She didn’t sign up for this either.” 

Azriel obviously knew that you weren’t the one who put the marriage together but he couldn’t help but feel a slight resentment since he only imagined himself married to his mate. The only thing holding him together right now was the deal he made with Rhys. He prayed to the Mother that he would meet his mate soon. He would’ve felt guilty leaving you to be with his mate after years of marriage.

“I’m not going to be mean to her, Rhys,” Azriel said through a sigh. “Can’t you just trust me?”

“That's the thing Az, I do trust you but,” Rhysand shook his head trying to come up with the right words. “After the whole Elain situation…” Rhys let out a sound of exasperation “you’ve become desperate, brother.” Now Az was really irritated.

Was he jealous of his brothers? Of course he was. Although he would never admit it out loud, he was ready to find his mate. He couldn’t understand how his two brothers were able to find their mates and he was the only one left.

If he was being completely honest he was hung up on Elain, the third Archeron sister. He had a silly notion that they must be fated, three sisters for three brothers. She was already mated, however, to Lucien. Azriel didn’t really have much against Lucien as a male, he seemed decent enough except for the fact he had the one thing Az wanted.

Last Winter Solstice he bought Elain a necklace. It was as beautiful as the female herself and she had loved it, to Azriel’s relief. She had immediately asked him to put it on her and it quickly turned into a heated moment between the two. Nothing had actually transpired except for a few innocent touches. Rhysand interrupted them before Az had the chance to kiss her. His brother called him into his office and gave him the reprimand of the century. 

Rhys had ordered him to back off of Elain or else Lucien could invoke a blood duel and his brother was not ready to go to war with the Autumn Court over this. Beron was a pain in his ass as it was, he did not need Lucien's death added to the problems. And Lucien would die. Azriel was someone to fear when it came down to a fight, it didn’t matter how good his opponent was. 

Azriel stayed pissed at Rhysand for a while after that. He did as his High Lord commanded and he distanced himself from Elain. She was now off living happily ever after with her mate. And now his brother was forcing him into a marriage. 

Tonight he was to meet you for the first time. Rhys had the oh so brilliant idea to host a party where the two of you could officially meet, hoping to make the actual wedding “less awkward”. Azriel thought that either way it would be awkward, it was an arranged marriage for the Cauldrons sake. 

Azriel glared at his brother as he continued to drone on and on about how he must “behave” himself. Finally, Rhysand finished monologuing which made Azriel send a silent thank you to the Mother.

“I’m going to her chambers to escort her to the party. I expect you to be there, ready to offer her a dance when we arrive. A smile wouldn’t be so bad either,” Rhysand then turned and left the room. Azriel was happy to be alone. He always valued his time to himself, it helped ground him. 

He moved to begin getting dressed for the party. Rhysand had requested that he forgo his usual Illyrian fighting leathers. Azriel opened his wardrobe and found a black jerkin that he’s pretty sure he’s only actually worn once before. 

He was able to get himself put together relatively quickly considering he wasn’t used to this style of dress. He looked at himself briefly in the mirror just to make sure everything looked alright. Shutting his eyes and taking one deep breath, Azriel centered himself. He reopened his eyes and walked out of his room to go meet the very female he would be marrying.

—

Azriel arrived at the opulent ballroom where the party was to be held. The first he noticed was how many people there already were. He was relieved to find that Rhysand wasn’t there yet, which meant you weren’t either. 

Azriel spotted Cassian, Nesta, and Mor all talking in a spot by the wall but the second he went to join them he felt a strange sensation. Soon it seemed as though his shadows were in agreement, swarming him to tell him to stay put. Just a moment later was when the doors opened again, revealing Rhysand and possibly the most gorgeous female he had ever seen. No, not “possibly”. He knew you were the most gorgeous female he’d seen. 

Wearing a shocking pale blue, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Azriel wasn’t sure if you were aware of the fact blue was his favorite color but he knew it flattered you nicely. The shade was unique too. It wasn’t one you saw in the night court too often, and this definitely remained true in Hewn City. Practically nobody here wore anything this light in color. He mentally praised your individuality. 

Your arm was linked to Rhysands as his brother escorted you over to him. His shadows were all over him now whispering in his ear “calm yourself”. They were right, he needed to get a grip. As you made your way over to him he was able to ground himself once more.

When they reached him Rhysand let go of your arm and gestured his arm towards Azriel, “Y/N meet Azriel.” Az tried his absolute hardest to remain cool. He had heard your name before but it was just registering to him how lovely it was. It seemed to fit you perfectly.

Rhysand then moved his arm towards you, “Azriel meet Y/N.”

Azriel plastered on his usual mask of “not giving a fuck” and gives you a gentlemanly bow, you giving a curtsy in return. He rises and returns to his normal height. Mother above he towers over you. He offers out a hand towards you, “a dance, my lady?” Azriel stands there for a moment as you stare at him. If he’s being honest, he didn’t hate it. He left his hand out for you to take while you were transfixed on studying him. He sees you glance down towards his hand and he follows the movement.

Fuck, he thinks to himself. He forgot to put on his gloves. You were looking at the scars plastering his hands. Azriel rarely forgot his gloves, especially when in public. He would ditch them every now and then when he was with his family, but almost the entire population of the Hewn City was here. 

He assumed your hesitance meant that you weren’t interested in dancing with him. He didn’t know how you’d feel touching his scarred hands. As he awkwardly looked away, he began to pull back his hand. He had barely moved when he felt your hand grab his. “I would love to,” you spoke so gently. Azriel couldn’t help but love the sound of your voice. He knew that he needed to protect you at all costs at that moment. You were too lovely to allow anything bad to happen to you. 

He couldn’t find words in that moment so instead he just led you to dance. As the two of you walked to the dance flood he couldn’t help but notice just how nervous you truly were. He keeps his hand on yours but he places the free one on your waist and you move yours to his shoulder. The two of you were as close as you could be in that moment. 

Your nerves were honestly making him worried so, as gently as he could he whispered “just look at me, ok?” You gave him the tiniest nod and he began to lead you into a waltz. That’s when he remembered Rhysands other instruction, smile. He offered up just the smallest smile. One meant only for you. He had to keep up his badass image afterall. The Hewn City knowing the Shadowsinger smiles? Not a good look. 

He could feel you relax the more the dance went on. Soon, he found that the smile he gave you was one he genuinely wanted to share. He felt as though he could be himself when close to you. The way you looked at him, he wanted you to look like that forever. 

No. This is wrong, he thought to himself. He couldn’t be doing this to you. He had a mate out there somewhere. A mate he was ready to be with the moment he found them. Azriel didn’t want you to get attached to him. Or rather, he didn’t want to get attached to you.

The waltz ended and he gave you a closing bow and you followed with another curtsy. Azriel quickly leans into your ear, “thanks for the dance,” he whispers. He had to get some distance. He has a mate waiting, he reminded himself over and over again as Azriel stalked off the dance floor. He felt like an ass for leaving you like that. But he couldn’t let you care for him. It would just make things harder. 

Throughout the evening he couldn’t help himself, taking quick glances at you whenever he could. Cauldron boil him, you were stunning. He made sure to make each look quick so you wouldn’t catch him staring like some creep. 

He was in conversation with Mor and Nesta when he felt eyes on him. He knew it was you, even without his shadows informing him. In that moment he decided to fuck it and meet your eyes one more time. He found you instantly. Azriel couldn’t help himself as he gave you just one more, barely imperceptible smile and went back to his conversation. Only being able to think of you for the rest of the evening, stealing glances whenever he could.

—

A loud knock on the door woke you from your slumber. You knew the day would be busy with people coming and going, it was your wedding day afterall. 

“Miss Y/N? We’re here to help you dress,” a maid called out. You quickly stretched and crawled out of bed. You weren’t typically an early riser but the ceremony was this afternoon, not allowing for much time to get ready. Finding the dressing gown you kept close to your bed, you shrugged it on and made your way over to the door. 

Opening the door, a cluster of maids made their way into the room. They carried in everything you’d be needing. Makeup, shoes, the veil, and your dress. The dress was glorious. It was long and flowing, sitting just off your shoulders with sheer sleeves. Your favorite part though was the bodice, which was adorned with a beautiful pattern of gold stars. It almost made you excited to be getting married.

As you sat at the vanity to have your makeup and hair styled you found yourself deep in your thoughts. Thoughts of Azriel. You would think the fact you found yourself so attracted to the man that would be your husband is a good thing. Unfortunately, after he left you to be with his friends at the party the other night you just became more anxious to marry him.

You only made eye contact with him once after you danced. It seemed he didn’t feel the same connection to you that you had with him. You did your best to make peace with that fact, not wanting to make things more awkward between the two of you. No matter how hard you tried though, you found yourself dreaming that he would one day share the affection you held for him. 

Your maids finished getting your hair and makeup done, helping you out of your seat and into the dress. If you thought it was stunning before, it was even more so while on you. They ushered you over to a mirror so you could see yourself as the veil was added to complete your look. You looked like the perfect Night Court bride. 

That was when another knock was rapped on the door. One of the maids went to see who was at the door. This time it was your mother and father. Somehow the time had flown by and the ceremony would be starting. 

“Hello, dear,” your mother greeted, making her way to you as your father followed behind. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

You pondered her question momentarily before answering, “fine, I suppose. It’s not exactly an ideal situation though,” you lament. 

“You’re a strong female, you’ll do well,” your father chimes in. He takes your arm, linking it through his. Your mother repeats the action on your other side. “We’ll walk you there together,” he continues.

There was something beautiful in your parents' marriage. While in public, they acted as any other married couple would in the Hewn City. But, while in the privacy of your family's apartments they were quite affectionate with each other. It wasn’t until after they married when they discovered they were mates. Their love story was one that always charmed you as a child. You grew up wishing for someone to care for you the way your father loved your mother. They had an arranged marriage too, afterall. Perhaps someday, you and Azriel could be like that for each other.

You look between your parents and they each offer you a reassuring grin before they lead you to the temple where the ceremony is to be held. When you arrived your mother let go of your arm to head inside alone. As per tradition, your father would be the one to walk you down the aisle. She gave you a final hug and went to find her seat.

“It’ll be just fine,” your father insisted. He was never this open with how he felt towards you, it was comforting in a way. It must’ve been because tonight you’d be leaving to live with Azriel. You gave him a smile of your own and the doors opened.

—

As soon as the doors opened to reveal your figure standing there with your father the organ player began their serenade. Your father began to walk, starting the descent down the aisle. All the fae in attendance stood in that moment. They watched as you gracefully walked side-by-side with your father. 

You hadn’t looked up yet, at Azriel. You found yourself anxiety-ridden with meeting his eyes again. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you wanted his approval and you weren’t sure if you’d receive it from him. While the two of you danced the other night, you could’ve sworn you felt something. A pull. He clearly hadn’t felt the same. 

You could sense the end of the aisle approaching and only then was it when you looked up. There he was, the male you couldn’t help but fantasize over. And in half an hour he would be your husband. 

He looked so handsome standing there. He was wearing a similar outfit to the one he wore the other night but this one had an intricate pattern embroidered on it. The closer you got you realized what the pattern was, as it was the same golden pattern on your dress. Golden stars decorated his lapels. You had no idea if he chose it himself or if someone had coordinated the matching set, but it made your heart flutter. 

Fully reaching Azriel now, your father let go of your arm to shake his hand. You just stood there, watching the interaction before Azriel offered his arm to you. He was wearing gloves today. You still didn’t fully understand your feelings about the matter, or him, but you never wanted to see his hands covered again. 

You took his arm and he led you the rest of the way to where the priestess stood. “We gather today in celebration of these two fae,” she began. Now that you were truly here, being married, you couldn’t help the queasy feeling you had. It wasn’t because of Azriel necessarily, but just how different your life would be. 

“Do you, Azriel,” the priestess turned towards the male standing beside you, “promise to have and to hold Y/N, to cherish and take care of, until death do you part?”

“I do,” he said with a rather casual tone.

The priestess turned towards you now, “Do you, Y/N promise to have and to hold Azriel, to cherish and take care of, until death do you part?”

Taking a deep breath, “I do,” you muttered.

The priestess smiled at you both, “then I pronounce you husband and wife, may the Mother bless you,” she proclaimed, turning towards Azriel again, “you may kiss the bride.”

You could feel Azriel go rigid beside you. The first kiss was something that had escaped your mind entirely. The entire part after the ceremony escaped your mind if you were being truthful.

You could hear him take a deep breath before turning to face you, the same moment you turned to face him as well. He softly cupped your cheek in his hand before leaning in. You closed your eyes as his lips met yours. 

The kiss was sweet. He was gentle, cradling your face like it was made of porcelain. And you couldn’t help but crave more. Almost too soon, he was pulling away. You opened your eyes and that’s when it snapped.

You instantly recognized the golden thread of the mating bond pulling you back towards him.

-

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[goldenroutledge]

i wish you roses

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader

word count: 8.0k

warning(s): angst !!

summary: inspired by ‘i wish you roses’ - kali uchis. in which no one can have it all, not even lewis hamilton. sometimes the best way to love, is to let go.

a/n: my first time writing for lewis! i just had to take a break from the blurbs to write this, and honestly i love how it turned out 🥹 enjoy!

masterlist

“Now we have one more question, Lewis…” The interviewer teases with a grin, “You and your girlfriend Y/n Y/l/n have been the most talked about couple inside the paddock ever since you debuted your relationship. If you’re comfortable answering, what does your future look like together?”

“If I had a crystal ball, I would tell you.” Lewis jests, deflecting as he always does best. The personal questions have never been his favorite.

“Of course you’ve been very protective of your personal life, and rightfully so, but the people wanna know! Do you see yourselves getting married? Possibly raising a future World Champion or two?”

Lewis chuckles, wondering how he’ll successfully play this off. “Like I said, I can’t predict the future. What I can tell you is that I’m absolutely committed to Scuderia Ferrari and what we plan to achieve together. That’s the only “marriage” I’m focused on.” The interviewer thanks Lewis, leaving him to carry on with the rest of his day of his media day.

But not even hours pass before the interview is published, making headlines on every platform possible, with each one more gossipy than the last. It wasn’t until your best friend sent you an ‘Everything okay?’ text that you started to panic.

Your first instinct was to check Google first, knowing the press has more access to your life than you’re comfortable with. One of the many tradeoffs you’d come to accept with dating Lewis. There was always something to talk about, you have to brace yourself for anything.

‘Still He Rises… Alone? SHOCKING Revelation on Hamilton’s Next Chapter’

‘What’s that Sound? Not Wedding Bells, says Lewis Hamilton’

‘All that Glitters isn’t Gold: Trouble in Paradise for F1’s Golden Couple’

‘Not so Fast: F1 Bachelor Lewis Hamilton ENDS Marriage Rumors with Longtime Girlfriend Y/n Y/l/n’

Your eyes couldn’t stop scanning over the headlines that lit up your screen, as if reading them again and again would somehow change the words or make them disappear altogether. It wasn’t heartbreak that struck you, it was anger. Usually it wouldn’t have been your first resort. You’d learned to take everything in the media with a grain of salt, especially when it pertains to Lewis. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt, always believed him above everyone else.

This time, as you listen to Lewis give the answer on video, something shifts. Sure the headlines are dramatic, carefully crafted to get clicks, but there’s not much to be misconstrued when he very clearly answers the question. The only ‘marriage’ he’s focused on is his partnership with Ferrari. Hell, you almost wished he’d said nothing at all. Before you can react any further, his keys are jingling in the door as he unlocks it.

“Honey, I’m home!” His footsteps sound through the hallway, and you remain silent in your place on the sofa, pouring yourself a glass of wine. “Y/n?”

“Hi, Lewis.”

His brows furrow at the cold tone that sharpens your response, combined with the way you barely acknowledge him as he takes his coat off. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great. How was your day?”

“Long. Sorry we couldn’t meet for lunch today. With joining this team there’s always someone new to meet, you know how it goes.”

“Sounds busy.”

“It was, but in the best way.”

“Right.” You chide sarcastically. “You couldn’t have lunch with me today because you were a little busy telling the world that you have no intentions of marrying me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please Lewis, don’t play clueless with me tonight, I watched the interview. It’s only been covered by every major celebrity news publication today.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing exactly the moment you’re referring to. Honestly, he expected for you to praise how well he shut down the conversation, knowing how sacred privacy is to you. “Come on, sweetheart. You know you can’t take that stuff seriously.”

“They may be making a mockery out of it but you were quoted, Lewis. I heard it, I read it, I saw it… there’s no way you can downplay this right now.”

Lewis moves to your spot on the couch, sitting down beside you and placing a hand on your thigh. “We’ve always agreed to keep our life away from the vultures, haven’t we? I didn’t think it would be fair to share something with the world that we’ve barely discussed ourselves.”

“That’s only because you never let us talk about it, Lewis. You act like the ‘future’ is something so distant and far away that you don’t even have to think about it yet. Every time you get a question like that, you give the same bullshit answer. Everyone thinks you’re not serious about our future together and honestly, I’m starting to believe it.”

His eyes widen as he registers that you have, in fact, had enough of his non-answers. “Honey, you can’t possibly believe that. They have no idea what our life is like, they’re taking crumbs to make it seem like we’re having problems!”

“And those are crumbs that you fed them!” You remind him, not wavering under any circumstances. Not under his gaze that usually takes your breath away, not under his touch that usually leaves you warm and tingly inside. He can’t keep getting away with this. “I mean, what am I supposed to think when I hear you say something like that?”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that! I wanted to keep the conversation focused on my career and the team.”

“Yet at the mention of making me your wife, you answered the question like they asked you what you ate for dinner last night! You were indifferent, Lewis. There was no sparkle in your eyes, no small smile that you try to keep to yourself. I know you well enough to know by now when there isn’t anything there.”

His head hangs low and he tries to take in what you’re saying. “I’m sorry honey, hurting you is the last thing I’d want to do. You know that right?”

“I do.” You nod, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Deep down, you want so badly to believe him with all of your heart. “But I need you to tell me that they’re lying. I need you– no, I need us– to prove them wrong. We’ve come this far, Lewis. I can’t stand the thought of it being for nothing.” Your eyes lock with his, and it’s comforting to notice that you both share the same look of sincerity, the same commitment to never turn your back on the other.

He cups your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead, then engulfs you in his arms as he whispers gentle words. “It’s not for nothing, it could never be. I promise, Y/n. I’ll prove them wrong. We’ll prove them wrong.”

His promise sticks with you. Silently, you hope and pray that he’s trying to convince you instead of himself.

–

The nightstand looks much prettier the next morning, decorated with your favorite red roses standing on top of it. Somewhat of a tradition between you and Lewis, as he would buy them sometimes to make up and sometimes ‘just because’. They were always nice to wake up to, especially when your bed would be empty come sunrise.

A note rests underneath the bouquet.

My love,

I’m sorry about last night, I wish we could have woken up together this morning.

Figured I’d let you sleep. Text me when you get this, we’ll make up that lunch from yesterday.

I love you.

Lewis

–

The pitter-patter of raindrops falling outside the cafe window are distracting. Almost enough to keep you silent all through lunch, unable to stop your mind from wandering. Lewis sits opposite you, occasionally brushing his thumb across your knuckles as he holds your hand in his.

Sometimes the quiet moments are the best. You can simply bask in each other’s presence without a word being said between you. It’s unfortunate to realize these moments must always come to an end, even by your own doing.

“Can I ask you a question, Lewis?”

“Anything.”

“When we first started dating… What did you envision for us?”

“This.” Lewis meets your eyes, smiling peacefully. You can’t help but give him a smile back.

“Do you still dream about it?”

Lewis furrows his eyebrows, confused as to where this is coming from, but lingering questions from the previous night haven’t stopped playing in your head. “Honey, of course I do. There’s nobody else I’d rather be on this journey with.”

You nod, still somewhat unconvinced, even though you try to tell yourself differently. Lately, that hasn’t been enough. The pit in your stomach only seems to be growing.

When you don’t respond, Lewis continues. “If I remember correctly, when we first met, you dreamed of becoming a florist and opening your own shop. Do you still dream about that?”

Your eyes snap back to his at the mention of something you’d told him years ago. You’re a little surprised he still remembers, after all this time. “Of course I do. Maybe my dreams changed a little bit when I fell in love with you, though.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I guess you have dreams big enough for the both of us. Doesn’t leave much room for mine.”

Lewis frowns. “How long have you been feeling like that?”

“How long have we been together?” You answer rhetorically with a chuckle, but Lewis doesn’t laugh with you. “It’s not your fault, by any means. I choose to be with you and I embrace everything that comes with loving you. But it’s the truth.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way. I always figured we would explore that after I retired, when our life is a little more stable.”

You sigh at his admission, calling his bluff before you can stop yourself. “You’ll never be retired, Lewis.”

He gives you a puzzled look. “As much as I love Formula 1, I won’t be racing forever.”

“Sure, maybe you’ll retire from racing. But you’ll fill your calendar with a million other things. Film projects, fashion partnerships, Almave, jumping out of planes in between… There will always be something else.”

He smiles softly in reflection and it makes your stomach turn. Whether he acknowledges it or not, Lewis knows you’re telling the truth. “Maybe. But there’s always room for you in that plan, and for your plans too. It’s not just you and me, it’s our life together. We’ll make room for it all, won’t we?”

You chuckle at his relentlessness. “You’ve got to be the most insatiable man in the world, Lewis. You’re never satisfied. And for some strange reason, I love that about you. I can’t help it.”

Lewis grins, leaning over to kiss you across the table. “Good. Promise you’ll never stop?”

“I promise.” Your forehead rests against his for a moment, needing to hear him vow the same to you. “Will you do the same for me?”

“Always.”

–

“So love, I’ve been thinking…” Lewis starts, getting dressed for the day on one side of the closet while you get ready on the other. “We should walk the carpet together at the MET this year.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I am a co-chair after all, so it’ll be extra special. What do you say?”

“Sure, but isn’t it a little early to be thinking about that? The first Monday in May is still months away, honey.”

“It is.” Lewis agrees, making his way over to you as he wraps his arms around your frame from behind, locking eyes with you in the mirror. “But it would mean a lot to me if it was us up there together.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck to emphasize his point, before he helps you clasp your necklace together.

“Well, forgive me for being the slightest bit surprised. A lot of people will be talking about it, you know.”

“Exactly. And we’ll be there to show them a united front.”

You freeze in his hold, connecting the dots out of pure skepticism. His choice of words doesn’t exactly help your worries. “United front?”

“Yeah, we’ll show the world that our relationship is not ‘on the rocks’ or whatever those bullshit articles were saying.”

You take a step away from him, turning around so you are standing face to face. “Is that why you’re asking me? To squash the media’s narrative about the strength of our relationship?”

“Y/n.” Lewis sighs. “I don’t want to do this again. I just want us to live our lives, everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as I’m concerned.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you asking me to go with you for appearances; Yes or no?” He pauses, attempting to say something, anything to put your mind at ease, but the words fail to come out. “Don’t lie to me, Lewis.”

“It’s not the only reason!” He defends. “Maybe I want to stick it to the media because they have no idea what they’re talking about. They shouldn’t get to make these stupid claims about my life while I just take it on the chin! I’ve had enough of that.”

“And I agree, but you can’t just use me as a pawn to make a point or whatever you’re trying to do! I’m not your accessory, I’m supposed to be your partner.”

“And you are my partner in this, forever. I just want everyone to be reminded of that.” Lewis explains, placing his hands on your hips to keep you from retreating away.

“So do I. But you’re so caught up in blaming other people that you can’t even acknowledge that these rumors only started because you fed them the story!”

Lewis retracts his hands, growing defensive. “Oh, so this is my fault? Well, excuse me for trying to fix it!” Your movements are quick as you lace your sneakers and throw on a jacket, leaving the bedroom with haste. “Where are you going?” Lewis questions, defeated.

“For a walk. Don’t follow me.” And with that, you were out the door before he has a chance to protest.

–

The London weather is typical, cloudy skies with the fresh smell of rain filling the atmosphere. It couldn’t better reflect the way you’re feeling about your relationship with Lewis, the uncertainty consuming your thoughts more often than not lately. It’s the first time in your life that you’ve wondered if you and Lewis would make it or not. It’s the first time you’ve wondered what life without him would look like. It’s scary, but not impossible.

Autopilot has consumed you for so long, that taking control of your life attracts you now more than ever. The beautiful greenery in Hyde Park reminds you of it. If only the rose garden were in full bloom. Still, it’s amazing to see how some of the bushes have survived through the first frost. It’s oddly inspiring to look at what appears to be so delicate, remain standing through rough conditions. You can’t help but imagine if things would be the same for you, too. Maybe there’s a reason why this has always been your favorite trail to walk.

About 40 minutes pass before he finds you, having left the house 10 minutes after you did. He even stopped to get a bouquet of roses on the way, knowing they always find a way to cheer you up. Lewis figures you need some time to clear your head, and he understands that feeling better than anyone. He’s more than happy to give that to you, but needs to know you’re safe above anything else.

You’re standing in front of an empty building when he spots you. It’s old and rustic, but not quite to the point of collecting dust. It has charm, you can tell just by looking at it. Even though there’s nothing here anymore but a ‘For Sale’ sign hanging in the window, a phone number listed below it, you can’t stop gazing through the glass.

“Honey?”

The familiar sound of Lewis’ voice startles you, breaking your trance. “What are you doing here?” You’re surprised more than anything, but you really shouldn’t be. It would be unlike Lewis to leave you alone for too long after an argument.

“I come bearing roses.” He laments, handing you the bouquet, albeit smaller than what he usually gets. Those ones are large enough to fill a room, but he can only carry so many at once.

“And I also come bearing an apology. We’ve been having the same fight lately and I’ve been so frustrated in trying to stop it. The only opinion in this world I care about is yours, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did in the interview. Me not wanting to marry you? That couldn’t be further from the truth. Everyday I wake up the luckiest man on Earth because I’m laying beside you.”

“They’re lovely, Lewis. Thank you.” You smell the roses, instinctively feeling that familiar calm take over as you do. “The apology isn’t so bad either.”

He chuckles, letting himself relax. By the looks of it, the fresh air and a little space did you both some good. “This has been a struggle for me, too. I should be talking to you about these things instead of trying to control them on my own. I just want to protect you from everything I can.”

“I know. You always try your best to do that.” You offer, hoping to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling.

“It’s just… My life has been Formula 1 for so long that I guess I never imagined a time where Lewis Hamilton spends his day at the office and comes home to the wife. I’m not wired that way.”

“I know you’re not. I’ve always known that, it would be unfair of me to try and change you now. Not that I would want to, anyway.”

Lewis’ heart warms at your understanding nature. It’s both exciting and scary how well you know him, and love him through all of it. “What’s unfair of me, is to pretend that what you’ve imagined for us isn’t important, or that it doesn’t exist at all. I’ve been narrow minded and I’m sorry about that.”

His apology fills you with the hope that you’ve been needing, in order to move past this once and for all. “You’ve always been stubborn, I’ve gotten used to it.”

Lewis smiles. “You love all of the things I wish I could change about myself. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“You don’t have to. Kiss me, instead?”

Lewis grants your wish and places his lips on yours. You’re careful not to drop the beautiful bouquet of flowers into the puddle on the ground below you. Your free hand cups the side of his face and you smile against his lips, finally feeling some peace as you open yourselves up to each other. It’s been a long time coming.

When you pull back, he holds your body close to his, wishing to never let go. It’s something he should do more often. “So, what brought you over here?”

“Oh, I was just walking through the park when I noticed this building, I couldn’t help but stop and stare. It’s cute, right?”

“Very.” He agrees, picking up the way you glance between your roses and the empty building space. “You see yourself here, don’t you?”

“A little bit.” You admit reluctantly, never letting your hopes get too high. Not yet, anyway. “But it would never happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

You give him a confused look, remembering that he knows exactly the reason why it won’t happen. “Me, starting a business right now? It’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it?”

Lewis’ expression is one of indecision. “Maybe you wouldn’t open tomorrow, but I’d say it’s worth looking into.”

“Of course you would say that, you’ve had the entrepreneur title for a while now.” You tease lightheartedly, and he laughs.

“I’m not saying for me, silly. It’s your dream and I want to support you, no matter how long it takes.”

“If I decided to pursue it now, I don’t know what that would mean for us.”

Lewis sighs, taking your free hand in his. “Me neither.”

You might use that to distract from the truth, but it goes without saying that you both know exactly what it means. The goodbye would be tough; it’s not one either of you are ready to say yet. Neither of you can even acknowledge that it would take saying goodbye for your dream to step out of your imagination to come to fruition. For now, denial feels like the better of the two options.

“We should get home, I want to take care of these roses, not all of them can stand the cold.”

“They’re strong enough, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

You nod along, remembering your thoughts from earlier. These roses are a lot stronger than one might think, their fragile appearance would throw anyone off. “You’re right, I’m sure they will be, too.”

Lewis offers his arm so yours can link with his. If all it took was this walk to be able to talk with him openly again, you would’ve gone on it weeks ago.

Maybe your newfound serenity can be attributed to reconciling with Lewis, or the phone number for the building space that’s folded up in your back pocket.

–

“Hyde Park Realty Group, this is Sandra.”

“Hi, Sandra, this is Y/n Y/l/n. I’m calling about a property I came across the other day, a commercial space.” You inform her, listing off the address.

“Oh, Y/n! You’re in luck because it just went on the market this week! It’s in great condition despite what the pictures may show.” Sandra advises cheerfully, until her tone drops ever so slightly. “It’s so nice that we’ve actually received an inquiry already.”

“Oh wow, I guess I’m not really surprised. It’s a great little place. Did I mention that I’d be willing to pay above the asking price?”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind! Anything for my favorite client.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm on the other end of the line. “Well, since you mention that… Is there any way you can give me a name? Find out who’s interested in the place?”

“The listing agent happens to be a friend of mine, so I’m sure I can figure it out. Can I give you a call back when I do?”

“Absolutely, I’d appreciate that very much. Thank you, Sandra!”

“Always a pleasure.” She returns your pleasantries, ending the call immediately after.

–

Lewis sits in his office, unable to remain focused when he’s waiting for his phone to light up with a phone call. A few minutes turns into a half an hour, and it’s almost as if he’s manipulated the call into existence when his phone finally rings. He wastes no time in answering.

“So, I have good news and I have bad news.” Mark, his real estate agent, starts over the phone.

“What’s the bad news?” Lewis queries.

Mark pauses. “Someone has their eye on the property near Hyde Park, so we might be looking at a bidding war.”

“And the good news?”

“The good news is there’s no need for a bidding war, because the person interested happens to be your girlfriend, Y/n.”

Lewis' eyes widen and he can feel his heart beating out of his chest in anticipation. “What?! How is that supposed to be good news?”

“It’s simple, one of you buys the building and the other sleeps on the couch.” Mark jests.

“Yeah, very funny. The whole point of this is that it’s supposed to be a surprise. I don’t want her to know I’m buying the property. She doesn’t know that I’m putting an offer on it right?”

Mark hesitates on the other end. “Her realtor and I owed each other a favor… So I can’t promise that Sandra won’t let the cat out of the bag.”

“Isn’t there some kind of realtor-client confidentiality? What happened to that non-disclosure clause in the contract we signed?” Lewis admonishes, wanting to be furious when in reality, he’s a little thankful to get the heads up on this.

“Look, this information is just as useful to you as it would be to her. We’ll make a cash offer and I’m sure the seller will accept instantly. Just make sure Y/n doesn’t get to them first. You’re a fast man, aren’t you? I’m sure you can make that happen.”

Lewis sighs. “I can try. Thanks for the call.”

“No problem, I’ll take care of everything.” Mark assures, hanging up the phone.

Lewis lets his head fall into his hands. This certainly isn’t how he planned for things to go. The more you kept quiet, the more he did too, desperate to maintain control of the situation before it’s too late. He wants nothing more than to give you this gift, convinced that this is the one thing he can do to make it up to you after everything.

Lewis’ mind wanders, as it often does when he has a rare moment alone. He wonders why, after you two made up in Hyde Park, would you be inquiring about the building so soon? Were you planning to lease it until you both can spend more time in London? Surely you can’t start a business and still travel with him to races.

On the other hand, if there’s anyone that can do it, it’s you. But he knows you, and he knows that you don’t do anything halfass. Especially not something like this.

Maybe that’s partly why he’s still drawn to you so intensely after so long. You’re two peas in a pod in that regard; burning with an unyielding desire to tune out the world while you pursue your dreams.

An uneasy feeling settles inside of him, knowing that you’re getting restless. Lewis doesn’t know if you’d ever be sick of travelling with him, putting your dreams on hold while he continues chasing his. If the tables were turned, he knows how he would feel.

He doesn’t want to hold you back anymore, but it will be a cold day in hell before he sets you free. At the end of the day, he loves you. If Lewis can’t decide on his own, the velvet ring box in his desk drawer will do it for him.

–

Not even a day goes by before Lewis is asking you out to dinner again. A part of you wonders if he’s truly trying to make up for lost time, or if he knows that you’ll have one foot out the door if he doesn’t. Ever since Sandra called you back, this time with a name, you didn’t know what to make of Lewis’ behavior. All you did know was that you wouldn’t be playing any games with him. Not about this.

When you’d asked him what the occasion was, he played it off, giving you something sly like ‘Since when do I need an occasion to treat my girl?’. Corny, you’d admit. But there was something about it that made it feel like the beginning of your relationship again. Those butterflies came back out to play. You decided to make the most of it, hoping that this time, they’ll last.

“Wow, Lewis. This is a lot, even for you.” Your eyes scan the private balcony, decorated with red roses all around. The weather is chilly, but not cold enough to stop you from enjoying an evening under the stars, secluded from the world.

“It’s nothing for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to you or do for you, honey. Never forget that.” He charms, squeezing your waist gently.

You kiss him softly, hoping to relieve some of his nerves. Your thumb glides across his lips, wiping away a faint smudge of your red lipstick. “I know, and I love you very much for it. You have this way of making me feel like we’re the only two on Earth, and I could never get sick of it.”

“It does feel like that, doesn’t it?” Lewis muses, taking your hands in his as he smiles to himself. He bites his lip, feeling that he has so much more to say. “Somedays I wish that were true, we’d be spending a lot more time together.”

“Yeah but before me, you had a dream way bigger than us. And you’ve achieved that dream not only once, but seven– technically eight– and now almost nine times.” You beam with pride, knowing how much Lewis has dedicated himself to his career, and managed to rise up again after a tough few years.

Instead, Lewis gulps at your comment that your dreams individually might be bigger than the ones you have together. He wonders if that’s how you feel about your precious flower shop, too. It’s certainly not the best of moments for his mind to go there, not when this ring box is practically burning a hole through his pocket.

“Since I met you, I’d say this dream has grown on me quite a bit, too. Spending my life with you, having a family one day. Those have become my dreams too now.”

“And they’ve become mine.” You smile, squeezing his hands reassuringly. “Gosh, you don’t know how badly I’ve dreamed of that. But I understand why you’re hesitant to rush into it.”

“Yeah, about that.” Lewis wavers, clearing his throat to regain some steadiness to his voice. “What if I was done hesitating? I think I’ve done enough of that, haven’t I?”

You shake your head at his insinuation. “I’m not going to pressure you into marrying me, Lewis. That can only come from your heart.”

“It does come from my heart.” He reassures you. “I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now, I just… I’ve been waiting for the right moment to come around. But you know what? I’ve waited long enough.” Lewis retracts one of his hands from yours, reaching into the pocket of his wool coat.

To you, it happens in slow motion. You can barely register what you’re seeing as he lowers down onto one knee, opening the small velvet box for you to see, a beautiful diamond ring cushioned inside.

“Y/n, my love, will you marry me?”

You freeze.

Through all the times you’ve pictured this moment, none of them were like this. You never imagined that your answer could be anything but a resounding yes being shouted from the rooftops. You definitely didn’t imagine this would happen after the series of arguments you’d been having lately.

You remember that building in Hyde Park, how Sandra told you that it was someone close to you who was interested in buying it. Lewis does happen to be the most calculated man you know, and always uses it to his advantage, in business and on track. Not even in your worst nightmares have you imagined that he would ever use it against you.

But looking into his eyes as they search yours for some kind of answer, you realize this isn’t a nightmare. This isn’t some fantasy that’s too good to be true. Being Lewis’ wife, having him as your husband… that’s been written in your dreams for some time now.

“If you’re not ready, I understand. I’ll wait, I’ll give you however much time you need to think-”

“Yes.” You breathe out, so quiet that he needs to hear it again to be sure.

“What?”

“Yes, Lewis. I’ll marry you.”

The man has never gotten on both feet so fast, as he literally sweeps you off of yours, holding your body close to his. Heat radiates off his body as he embraces you tightly, but maybe that has less to do with his designer coat and more to do with the nerves that have been consuming him since you arrived.

Lewis pulls back, but only to kiss you with every ounce of passion he carries around, and has carried around with him from the very day you met. He slides the diamond ring onto your finger and you both admire the way it shines under the stars.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/n.”

“I’ll love you forever too, Lewis Hamilton.”

–

“Just keep them closed!” Lewis pleads, carefully guiding you beside him as you walk through Hyde Park together.

Sandra had been unusually quiet lately, and in all honesty, your heart was beating out of your chest to get a glimpse of that building that’s grown on you so much. You see it all the time. In your daydreams, imagining yourself fixing it up, one day making your own arrangements and selling flowers.

“We’re here!” Lewis exclaims, telling you to open your eyes. Sure enough, standing in front of the address you’ve become quite acquainted with over the last few weeks.

“What are we doing here? What is the surprise?” You take a look around, heart throbbing as you notice the ‘For Sale’ sign has been removed from the window. One look at Lewis’ smirk, and your stomach drops. “No, Lewis. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Surprise, baby.” He kisses your cheek excitedly, handing you a shiny golden key to unlock the front door. “Go ahead, it’s yours.”

“I was gonna buy this place.”

“I know! And I talked to Sandra, and convinced her to keep it a secret so I could surprise you. Please don’t hold it against her, okay?”

“So if you knew I wanted to buy it, why didn’t you let me?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you blow your savings on this place just as we’re about to get married. It didn’t make sense to me.” Lewis explains, eyes scanning yours to figure out why you’re not leaping into his arms joyously, like he thought you would. “Come on, you’re not mad at me are you?”

“No, I’m not mad.” You reassure, a smile growing on your face as you examine the building all over again. Your building. “I really don’t know what to say, Lewis. I guess thank you would be the best place to start.”

“You deserve this. You deserve everything, and I intend on giving it to you.”

Lewis smiles against your lips as you kiss him, losing the words you wish to say. “I guess you’re right. Whether it was you or me to buy the space, it doesn’t really matter. I just thought it could’ve been a fun process, buying it on my own. I’ve never had something all to myself like this.”

“I don’t want you to worry, okay? It’s in your name anyway. Now, shall we go in?”

You take the hand he holds out for you. It’s reassuring to have Lewis as your partner in all of this; there’s no greater gift. There’s not a single house or building that could top that, not even a hundred red roses to wake up to in the morning.

–

‘Can’t wait to celebrate you tonight xx’

You re-read Lewis’ text from hours ago, to make sure it was still there. You’re not going crazy, right? He said he’d be here, at the opening party for your flower shop.

To say you were embarrassed would be an understatement. Everything had been going so well. Remodeling and decorating the place to fit your taste, something that your customers would love too. Lewis was always sure to offer his advice when you asked for it.

Now, as the party full of your family and friends is in full swing, you can’t help but wish you hadn’t asked him for anything at all. Hours had gone by before people stopped asking where he was, you ignored their obvious, hushed whispers.

Some of your friends even suggested texting him again to make sure he’s not busy dealing with some kind of emergency. You brushed them off, knowing that any of those excuses would be far from the truth.

Maybe he didn’t intend on missing your big night, but did it really matter? He’s not here to see the bright bunches of florals elevating the space from what it once was; hollow rooms and cream walls so plain that they were begging for someone to bring them to life.

The arms of the clock keep inching forward, yet the front door to your shop never moves. You have to look away every time you subconsciously glance at it, your eyes daring to water as each person that congratulates you, isn’t the man you’re waiting for.

For now, you have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, when nothing has ever infuriated and saddened you so much at once. You have to lie to your friends when they offer to stick around after the party’s over, instead telling them that you just need a minute to let it all sink in.

They assume you mean embracing your accomplishment in becoming a business owner, a dream you’ve sought to fulfill for as long as you can remember. Your parents brought it up when they congratulated you in a toast, reminiscing on how their daughter stopped to smell every flower she came across growing up. They spoke about how proud they were to see how far you’ve come. What a shame it was that your fiancé wasn’t standing beside you when they did.

Tonight is about growth, but never in the way you expected. You’re left here to mourn the loss of something you never really had to begin with. Lewis; but more specifically, his undivided love and attention. The diamond ring pulls at your left hand, weighing it down more than usual. You fight the urge to take it off altogether. Even if you did, would it really matter? Given that the man who put it there isn’t here to witness it.

Until the bell on the front door chimes. The sound is more chilling than anything, in the midst of the quiet that’s fallen over your shop. Only soft jazz music plays throughout, you haven’t bothered to turn it off after the party ended.

You swallow the lump in your throat, and you don’t look up from your drink before speaking. But you can feel his eyes on you. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, honey. I’m the idiot.” He protests, heart dropping in panic as he realizes that it’s just you and your flowers in here, he missed the whole thing. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“No, Lewis. You may be hyper focused on your career but it’s taken the both of us to get to this point. I’ve only been enabling it. Forgiving you even when I don’t really mean it. I haven’t been honest enough.”

“Please, stop blaming yourself. I fucked up, okay? I lost track of time at a business dinner, but there’s no way I should’ve missed this. I can’t believe my assistant didn’t pull me out early, at the very least.” Lewis rants, though he knows the fault doesn’t belong elsewhere.

“Don’t you dare do that to me. Again.” You finally look in his direction, this time you can’t stop the tears from flowing. “You don’t get to blame your assistant, or your team, or anyone else! We can talk semantics, and if we do we’ll be here all night. Let’s face it, if tonight was really important to you, you would’ve been here!”

“And I’ll never forgive myself for missing it. Please, honey, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Lewis! And I hope you don’t forgive yourself, you don’t deserve to! I mean I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you just don’t care enough, or that all of this is just one big fucking game to you because you can’t stand the thought of me living a life without you. You tell the world you’re not thinking about marrying me, and it’s not until I want to do something on my own that you propose within fucking weeks. Not to mention snatching up this property before I could.”

He stands there, silently, which only fires you up more. Truthfully, you don’t need the press, you don’t need Sandra, you don’t need anybody to tell you about the man you’ve known, the man you’ve loved for several years now. And it guts you, but that feeling comes straight from your intuition. It rips your heart in two to see all of it go down the drain.

Nevertheless, when one door closes, another one opens.

“Now that I think about it…” You trail off, the weight on your ring finger now growing unpleasant. “I think it’s time you got this back.”

Lewis’ eyes widen as he watches you tug at the jewelry and rip it off with haste. He strides to you in a few quick steps, yet the distance between you has never felt greater. “Y/n, please. You have every right in the world to be upset with me but we can work through this, we always do!”

You scoff, offended by the way he’s diminishing you. “Of course you think we could just move on! Because to you, this is just a fucking launch party. You’ve had plenty of those. But Lewis, this was my one. My one night that I wanted to share with you, and you couldn’t do it! You couldn’t be there when I needed you to. I wasn’t asking for one whole day or one whole week of your time. Hell, I wasn’t the one who asked for the rest of your life! All I wanted was an hour or two. And you couldn’t do that.”

“I love you.” Lewis utters, his voice shaking. The words aren't as promising as they used to be. Instead, he’s begging you to remember what he hasn’t yet convinced you of. Maybe you haven’t felt loved by Lewis in quite a while, grand gestures aside. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“You know, I used to believe you when you said that. The twisted thing is, a part of me still does. A part of me really wants to.” You cry, wishing nothing more than for this nightmare to come to an end. If you don’t say something now, it won’t. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Like you said, we’ve been waiting long enough right? Maybe we should’ve had this conversation a long time ago. We were never going to make things work.”

“Please don’t do this, I’ll do anything to make it better.” Lewis breathes out, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks.

There was a time when you’d wipe them away, no matter if the two of you were fighting or not. It’s a rude awakening to not feel that urge anymore. No urge to lean forward, to run into his arms. No urge to step backward or run for the door. You just stand there and face him.

“Lewis, when you said you’d love me forever… did you mean it?”

“Yes!” Lewis rushes, cradling your face in his hands, needing you to see it in his eyes that not an ounce of him feels differently. “I absolutely meant it, from the bottom of my heart. I still mean it, I will love you forever, Y/n. As long as I live and then some.”

“Then do me this favor? Just this one…” Lewis shakes his head in denial— in refusal— as you grasp at his wrists, disconnecting his hands from your face. They trail down your frame, as a way to hold onto you. To remind himself that you haven’t disappeared yet. And you let him, committing his touch to your memory for a final time.

He takes a deep breath. “Anything.”

“Just let me go, Lewis. Don’t put up a fight. Don’t put me through any more of this hope and disappointment. Please? I don’t think I can stand to resent you more than I already do.”

His jaw clenches, you’re unsure of what he’s holding back. It might be the first time that you don’t want to know. It’s the first time that Lewis’ closed off nature hasn’t sent you spiraling, desperate to find some kind of sign to cling onto. The silence for once, is quite refreshing, despite his repressed cries that sound through the air. Yours, too.

He presses his lips to your forehead, and your cheeks feel wet with tears as they flow. The gesture strikes through your heart, and the weight of it becomes heavier. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. Please remember that.”

Lewis walks out of the shop, your shop, but not without taking one last look at you in it. A part of him wants to weep with pride and joy, knowing you’ll be just fine here. After tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that, this burden will become easier to carry.

How ironic, for it’s the exact reason that this tears him up inside. When the sun comes up in the morning, this won’t be a nightmare he wakes up from. The bed will be empty, and everything will come rushing back to him like a riptide when he feels for you and you’re not there.

That pattern will repeat itself day in and day out, only with the outside noise growing louder. Pictures from your grand opening will be published and the comments will flood with questions about his absence. Those same gossip rags spreading speculation about you two breaking up some time ago, will resurface with something new to talk about.

Little by little, pictures of the two of you, and your life together, will disappear from your feed. He won’t know what to make of it, seeing the pure joy on your face while you interact with your customers, living the life you were made for.

Guilt will consume him as he wonders if that unbridled happiness is what he was keeping you from all along? You just might come to regret the relationship entirely, if you knew then what you know now. You’re closing one chapter as you begin another one, and you’re writing it on your own this time. He has no choice but to carry on with writing his too.

As time passes, Lewis knows that you’re somewhere out there thinking of him, just as he’s thinking of you. When he wakes up he rubs the sleep from his eyes, wondering how long he’s been living like this. Where his days blur together and all he can think about is where he went wrong.

Lewis notices a decadent arrangement sitting on his marble countertops after he drags himself out of bed. Those bright red roses are unmistakably and undeniably, your own. The sight alone brings a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, and a few drip onto the note sitting beside the arrangement. He reads it again and again until his vision clouds over completely.

–

I think it’s your turn to have these.

I wish you roses, Lewis. Take care of yourself.

Y/n

💌: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld @alex-wotton @freyathehuntress @alexxavicry @pickingupmymercedes (add yourself here!)

[wonkizz]

cute, no?- psh

sunghoon x fem reader genre: smut MDNI!! small amount of angst wc: 4.1k warn: whore sunghoon, “inexperienced”! reader (it’s not exactly important), sensitive reader, sunghoon’s kinda a dick at first, mentions of karina, chaewon, hanni and yunjin, unprotected sex, choking, fingering, pussy eating, mouth fucking, mean! sunghoon at first, kinda soft-ish/calm sunghoon after, taking nudes and “accidentally” sending them to the wrong person, both sunghoon and reader are weird but they’re weird together, very brief kissing, if there’s anything else lmk

note: more smut i promise im thinking of some fluff to write i just keep coming up with these ideas lmao i need to get em out, also this isn’t proof read so hehe

You knew your roommate was somewhat of a whore. It never bothered you, if anything, you were jealous.

He just….snapped his fingers and girls fell at his feet.

You wished you could bag guys that easily.

Albeit you and Sunghoon rarely acknowledged each other. How did you become roommates in the first place, you may be wondering? It’s very simple. You were living with your sister, she moved out to live with her boyfriend, you needed a new roommate, Sunghoon answered your facebook ad. Simple as that.

The only rules you had were keeping the space clean and not being too loud at night.

Sunghoon definitely kept up with the first one, never having a hair out of place.

The second, well… not so much. But, it didn’t bother you. You had really good noise canceling headphones for a reason.

Though at night, you could still hear the sounds of the multitude of girls he would bring home day in and day out.

Their loud moans, whimpers, mewls, borderline screams!

You don’t know if the sex is really good, or if they’re just really sensitive.

It must be Sunghoon though, right?

But is he really that good?

Sometimes you find yourself wishing you were in those girls' places…but you know he’d never go for someone like you.

Something you haven’t mentioned, Sunghoon is like, drop dead gorgeous. You’re surprised he hasn’t been casted as a model or an idol or something.

But he’s just a struggling student like you. Clearly not struggling in the sex department though.

You’re not a virgin, but you’ve only had sex three times in your 22 years of life.

All three times were not that satisfying and personally you don’t blame yourself.

You just haven’t found that person who can really do it for you, and your own hand and toy have started to become…tired.

It’s been quite some time since you’ve felt the touch of another person. You’ve started craving, like you’re touch-starved.

Back to the topic of Sunghoon, he’s mesmerizing and you are a stereotypical nerd.

You’re not ugly, but your everyday appearance is not exactly eye-catching like what Sunghoon typically brings home.

You find yourself thinking about him more often than not. What he’s into sexually. How far he’s willing to go.

One thing about you, you’re very, very sensitive.

You’ve made yourself come 5 times in a span of 20 minutes.

Another thing about you, you’re somewhat of a freak…or maybe a major freak?

Safe to say you think about sex way more than you should, and you are not as vanilla as your friends think you are.

God, if you could just get one crack at Sunghoon, you’d be happy.

But alas, that’s just a dream.

It’s midnight on a Friday, you’ve just gotten out of the shower after doing your whole night routine.

You slip on some comfy pjs (aka an oversized tee and shorts) and make your way to the couch with a late night snack (black raspberry dark chocolate chunk ice cream) ready to indulge in the food network.

Sunghoon isn’t home, you figure he’s out at a party or with friends.

You’re digging into your pint of ice cream when the front door opens.

Sunghoon steps inside and you hear a giggle behind him.

Someone, a woman, steps in behind him.

Their lips are about to meet when her eyes find yours.

“Oh!” She exclaims, pulling away. “This must be your roommate! You didn’t tell me she was so…cute!”

This woman is gorgeous. Sleek, black hair, beautiful body that’s wrapped in a dress that fits her perfectly and her face is something out of a magazine.

She must be looking at you, with your oversized, not to mention stained, tee and shorts, glasses and ice cream in hand like you’re a joke. An utter, complete, joke.

Sunghoon barely spares a glance at you, clearing his throat and gesturing between you and this woman, “Karina, Y/N, Y/N, Karina,” he introduces you to her.

All you can do is wave before realizing the situation you’re in.

Sunghoon has once again brought a woman home and you’re clearly in the way.

You spring up from the couch, “I didn’t mean to be in the way, I'll just go to my room!”

Before either can say anything, you turn off the tv and nearly sprint to your room, ice cream still in hand.

You shut the door behind you, listening to footsteps.

You hear them making their way to Sunghoon’s room, right across from yours.

“She’s cute, no?” You hear Karina ask.

“I guess, not really my type though,” Sunghoon responds.

Ouch. You already knew it, but hearing it said aloud stings more than you thought it would.

The sex Sunghoon and Karina have that night is so loud, even your headphones can block it.

Her moans and squeals of his name infiltrate your mind into the morning, as you barely got any sleep.

You assume Karina is still in the apartment by time you get up for your early morning class.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea when Sunghoon comes in, rubbing his eyes.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “I hope we didn’t disturb you too much.”

This is the first time he’s ever bothered to say this to you, not to mention the first time he’s ever acknowledged you in the morning.

You shake your head, giving him a faint smile as you push up your glasses, “Not at all.”

Once you leave the apartment, the walk to campus isn’t far.

Your best friend, Chaewon, is already waiting for you in front of your first class.

By the time you’re free, you meet up with your other friends, Yunjin and Hanni.

“What’s up with you?” Hanni asks, “You seem down.”

You sigh, “Sunghoon brought a really pretty girl home last night.”

They all raise their brows at you, “Okay,” Yunjin says, “that’s never bothered you before? Why now?”

“Because,” you start, “she called me cute.”

“She called you…cute?” Chaewon questions. “Why is that bad?”

“It’s not, but after I went back into my room, I heard them and she said to Sunghoon ‘She’s cute, no?’ and Sunghoon said ‘I guess, but she’s not really my type’. I already knew I wasn’t but hearing it said out loud stung a lot.”

Hanni rubs your shoulder.

“Well who gives a fuck what Sunghoon thinks!” Yunjin says. “You know you’re beautiful, and he’s just a man at the end of the day!”

“I know!” You groan, burying your head in your arms, “I know I shouldn’t care about his opinion or whether I’m his type or not but it’s like, when someone so attractive doesn’t see you that way it’s like, damn!”

You continue, “It’s not like I’m even into him romantically or anything like that. If anything, I’m just into him sexually, cause if you guys heard what I did you probably would be too!”

“So it’s not about romantic feelings, just sexual feelings?” Hanni asks.

You nod, “More like sexual frustration. I haven’t had sex in so long and it’s kinda killing me at this point.”

“So what if you make him acknowledge you sexually?” Chaewon implies.

“How do I do that? Like he said, I’m not even his type.”

“Well number one, acknowledge that this is just for sex. You’re not changing anything about yourself for him because at the end of the day he’s just a man and we don’t change ourselves for men, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, then, do something to get his attention. Something sexual. Something that’ll catch his eye without changing how you are or who you are.”

You all pause for a moment, thinking of possible ideas.

Yunjin, after 5 minutes, lights up, “I’ve got it!”

After a long, somewhat agitating day of classes, you find yourself back at home.

You took another long, hot shower, did your night routine and dressed yourself in the cutest pj set you have.

What exactly was Yunjin’s plan? Take some pictures and “accidentally” send them to Sunghoon.

Now, have you ever taken nudes before? No. But you did a little research and you figure it can’t be that hard.

With your top pulled up and your tits fully exposed, you sit on your bed, front camera facing your tits.

The lighting is perfect, dim, but not too dark.

As you snap the pic, flash off, you look at it and…damn. If that’s not a good pic, you don’t know what is!

You spend the next 10 minutes debating if you should really do this. What if you just embarrass yourself completely and Sunghoon doesn’t buy into it at all?

Then you’ll never live it down.

But, you won’t know if you don’t try.

You pull up his contact, saved simply as ‘Sunghoon’

and attach the photo with the invisible ink effect and type ‘what do you think?’ before hitting send.

You nearly throw your phone across the room, but instead just slam it face down as your heart starts to beat more rapidly.

You know Sunghoon isn’t home right now, nor do you even know if he’ll be coming home tonight.

The only thing you can do is hope and pray for the best.

You exit out of the messages, not wanting him to know you’re waiting for a response and scroll through your phone trying not to panic.

After an agonizing few minutes, your phone dings.

You prepare yourself for embarrassment.

Sunghoon responded.

You’re expecting shock. An exclamation of sorts. Heck, even a question mark or two.

Instead, all you see is, ‘They’re nice.’

They’re nice.

Did he just fucking say, they’re nice?

Is that good?

You text the group chat a screenshot asking the same question.

The girls respond immediately, telling you to go forth with the plan, that that’s a good sign.

You take a deep breath. Don’t overdo it.

You: omg

You: sunghoon i’m so sorry

You: i didn’t mean to send that to you

He reads it and responds immediately.

Sunghoon: then who did you mean to send it to?

You: a friend

Sunghoon: what friend?

You: don’t worry about it! just please accept my apology :( i’m so sorry again

The text bubble indicates he’s typing, then it disappears and reappears.

Sunghoon: I’m coming home.

Sunghoon: Don’t move.

That last text makes your pussy throb in your pajama shorts.

You send the screenshot to the group chat which erupts immediately.

Chaewon: oh shitttt hehehe

Hanni: i fear you’re getting fucked into the mattress tonight

Yunjin: you mean you don’t fear lmao good luck girl

You occupy yourself for the time being, knowing Sunghoon will be home shortly.

As soon as you hear that front door open, you act nonchalantly, scrolling through your phone as if you’re not ecstatic.

Sunghoon doesn’t even bother knocking, opening your door and letting himself into your room.

His hair is slightly disheveled, like he’d been running his hand through it, and his face is stoic.

You look up at him innocently.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, knowing damn well you’re playing with fire.

Sunghoon scoffs, not saying a word as he walks to the side of your bed, grabbing your phone and throwing it to the side, not even watching where it lands.

You however do watch where it lands on the floor a few feet away and are about to protest when Sunghoon grabs you by the jaw.

“Do you like playing games you know you’re not gonna win?” He asks, voice low and condescending.

Fuck, if it doesn’t make your pussy more wet than it already is.

His grip on your jaw tightens, making you whimper. But you like the pain, and he knows that immediately.

“Take your clothes off,” he commands, finally letting go of your jaw.

You move to do as he says, albeit slowly.

Starting with your top, you lift it over your head, your tits falling out into view.

His eyes latch onto them immediately, and you take note of how he licks his lower lip.

“Shorts too,” he says.

You lay back against your pillows, lifting your hips to drag your shorts down your legs, sitting back up to then throw them in the same direction as your shirt.

Sunghoon smirks in amusement, “Of course you’re not wearing underwear. You’re a little slut aren’t you?”

Your own tongue pokes out to wet your lips and you watch as his eyes follow it.

Sunghoon begins to undress himself, starting with his shirt.

His pale skin is beautiful and the expanse of his toned torso almost makes you drool.

Your eyes find his arms, taking in his biceps and how much you want them around your neck.

“Hey, eyes here,” he says, snapping you back to his own face, making you keep your focus on him.

He unbuckles his belt, taking his time undoing it, pulling it out of the loop, letting it drop to the floor.

You know for a fact that your pussy is leaking onto your bed right now, and you don’t give a damn.

Sunghoon lets his pants fall, stepping out of them.

Now, he’s just left in his boxers.

“Come here, on your knees,” he gestures to you with his finger to the floor.

You obey immediately, crawling off the bed to the floor.

The carpet of your room scratches against your knees but you don’t care.

“Take them off.”

Your hands reach for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down gently.

His hard cock springs out, slapping against his stomach before stilling in front of you.

Sunghoon’s left hand finds the back of your head, grasping your hair tightly.

“Open your mouth, stick your tongue out.”

You do as he says, eager as he chuckles in amusement, “You must love cock don’t you?” He asks, using his right hand to slap the tip of his cock against your tongue, then spreading his pre-cum all over it as you hum in appreciation.

He quietly begins to push his cock into your mouth, before pulling back out.

You do your best to breathe through your nose, as saliva piles in your mouth and drips down the sides.

Suddenly he shoves himself into your mouth, until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag erratically.

Saliva spills out of your mouth rapidly, drilling onto the floor.

Your hands find his thighs, palms open, squeezing softly.

“I told you,” Sunghoon says, “don’t play games you’re not gonna win.”

With that, he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your mouth, getting off on how much you’re gagging.

Tears begin to pool in your eyes as spit and pre-cum mix together to coat his cock and spill everywhere.

He uses your hair as leverage, not letting up for even a second.

You keep your eyes on his as he uses you for his pleasure, even as your tears blur your vision.

“Fucking filthy,” he sneers, “I’m gonna cum in this filthy fucking mouth and you’re gonna swallow it, understood?”

You do your best to nod with his cock still in your mouth.

Suddenly he pulls out, and you gasp for air.

Sunghoon continues to pump himself, still holding onto your hair, “Stick your tongue out,” he says.

You do so and soon he’s spilling his load all over your tongue and into your mouth.

Just as he’s finished, he leans down, dropping a glob of spit on top of everything.

“Swallow.”

You do, eagerly, showing him your clean tongue once you’re done.

He pulls you up by your hair, leading you back to the bed.

Sunghoon shoves you down onto your back, pushing you so you’re up by the headboard, head on the pillows.

He’s on his knees in front of you, cock still hard.

He pushes you into a mating press, your thighs pushed against your chest, practically folded in half.

Without warning, he leans down, tongue meeting your wet, sopping pussy.

You gasp, jerking in place as you squeal from the immediate pleasure it gives you.

“Sunghoon!” You cry, eyes wide as his nonchalant ones look into yours.

“What?” He responds, as if it’s nothing.

“I’m..I’m sensitive.”

He smirks, “Then that means I get to make you come more than once.”

He goes back to your pussy, pinning you down to the bed as he eats you like a starved man.

Sunghoon groans at your taste, licking fat stripes up and down your pussy.

He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking it, flicking it with his tongue repeatedly, even having the balls to scrape it with his teeth lightly.

All this while your back arches up from the bed, hips held in place by Sunghoon’s hands.

“Oh my fucking god!” You shout into the open, knowing this would get you a one way ticket to hell.

Sunghoon then takes his tongue, fucking it into your hole.

You squeal loudly, hands gripping the bed sheets on either side of you.

More tears form in your eyes before falling like water from a faucet.

You’re full on crying from pleasure.

When you said you were sensitive, you meant it.

“Sunghoon, I’m gonna cum,” you whine,” one hand threading itself into his long locks.

He, who was occupying himself, makes his way back to your clit, licking circles around it, up and down, figure eights, anything to make you cum in his mouth.

You’re chanting to god, any god at this point.

With one final call of his name, you cum into his mouth, Sunghoon lapping it all up, swallowing it eagerly as you did to him.

Your breathing is heavy as you’re coming down from your high, noticing as Sunghoon pulls away, his lips glistening with your release on them.

He licks his lips, with that the remnants of you.

Just as you’re beginning to calm down, Sunghoon speaks, “We’re nowhere near done, sweetheart.”

Before you can say anything else, he takes his left hand and middle finger and inserts it inside you, making you gasp.

He doesn’t give you the chance to protest or adjust before he’s thrusting it in and out of you.

You throw your head back, getting used to the intrusion regardless.

Soon he’s inserting another finger, and together those fingers fuck you like no one has ever fingered you.

His fingers are long and they hit every spot inside you immediately.

Before you know it, you’re crying again in pleasure, the tears falling down your cheeks, leaving tear stains like the previous ones.

“Oh my fucking god, Sunghoon.”

“You love this, don’t you,” he says, almost like he’s mocking you.

His fingers curl, hitting that one spot inside you that has your toes curling.

Your mouth opens in shock, and stays open, refusing to close as he finger fucks you open.

Your pussy gets wetter as he goes on, more and more arousal leaking out of you onto his hand.

“You’re like a fountain,” he says, smiling almost genuinely. “You gonna cum again?”

You nod, finally closing your mouth, your lips pursing as you feel something different this time around.

“Sunghoon I think I’m gonna—”

And before you can finish, you’re squirting like an actual fountain, the liquid splashing out of you onto your sheets and Sunghoon’s hand.

You gasp, and even Sunghoon is surprised, his own mouth formed into an o.

His fingers finally slow down, pulling out of you as you finish.

Both of you are quiet for a moment before Sunghoon laughs, “That was fucking hot.”

You can’t help but blush, you’ve never squirted before.

It seems he can tell, “You’ve never done that before?”

You shake your head.

“Well, I’m glad I’m the first to do it.”

He then lands a surprisingly slap on your pussy, making you jump.

Your eyes widen, looking at him in shock and all he does is smile.

“I’m still not done with you,” he says.

“More?” You question.

“You didn’t think you’d get out of this without me fucking you, did you?”

Sunghoon pulls you towards him by your ankles, holding your legs apart before aligning himself with your hole.

You prepare yourself for his size as quickly as you can, because within seconds he’s pushing in.

You take deep breaths, “Fuck, you’re big.”

“I know,” he responds accordingly.

You pout at that, smacking his arm as he laughs at you.

He gives you time to adjust this time around, and after a moment you give him the signal to move.

You realize now he’s calmed down a little bit from before, which you don’t mind, seeing as this is a new side of him.

As he starts to piston his hips, his cock hits all the right places.

Your hands find their place on his back, your nails digging into his skin.

He groans at the feeling, liking the pain.

You mewl at the power in his thrusts, the roll of his hips.

“Fuck, yes Sunghoon.”

“You like taking my cock?”

“Love it,” you manage to get out.

“Oh you love it?” He teases you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“Sunghoon,” you say.

He hums, focused on fucking you into the mattress.

You take his hand, bringing it up and wrapping it around your throat.

He looks into your eyes, his own widen for a moment before he bites his lip.

He presses down on the sides of your throat, just enough to wind you slightly.

“Dirty fucking girl.”

He keeps his hand there, steady pressure, making you feel closer and closer to cumming again.

“You gonna cum on my cock this time?” Sunghoon asks.

“Yes, yes, Sunghoon! Want you to cum in me!”

Sunghoon steadies himself, and uses his other hand to press on the bulge in your tummy.

“Cum for me, Y/N.”

You feel the band in your stomach snap for the third time tonight, cumming all around Sunghoon’s cock as you feel him cum inside you, pumping you full.

As his thrusts start to slow down and finally come to a stop, he unwraps his hand from your throat and just looks at you.

Your face, adorned by your glasses. Your red, tear stained cheeks. You look up at him, blinking a few times in succession, “What?”

Sunghoon leans down and for the first time, kisses you.

You kiss him back, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

As you pull away, he looks like there’s something on his mind.

You want to ask what it is, but choose not to.

After using the bathroom, Sunghoon helps you change your sheets and you both redress.

You figure he’s going to go back to his room, but he surprises you as he slides into your bed beside you.

Neither of you says anything for a few minutes, and then, Sunghoon speaks, “So, be honest with me. Who was that picture meant for?”

You take a deep breath, gunning between telling a lie and the truth. The truth eventually wins the battle.

“The truth is, it wasn’t meant for anyone. I sent it to you on purpose,” you say.

Sunghoon’s brows furrow, “But you said it was an accident?”

“Yeah, I lied. The truth is the other night, when you had Karina over I heard you tell her I’m not your type.”

Sunghoon starts to stutter out an excuse, “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant, Sunghoon,” you say, cutting him off. “I won’t lie and say it didn’t sting but at the end of the day I already knew I wasn’t your type. The reality is I kinda just wanted you in my bed so I devised a plan with my friends to make you see me differently and well… it obviously worked.”

Sunghoon is quiet, until he’s not.

You expect him to be weirded out, curse you out and call you names. But instead, he starts laughing.

“That is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard and yet…I kinda like it.”

You look at him to find him already staring at you.

“You’re not weirded out?”

He shakes his head, “I’m oddly flattered. Maybe that’s weird but I guess that makes us both weird then.”

Suddenly, he’s shifting so he’s on top of you, caging you underneath him.

You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you, albeit somewhat awkwardly, place them on his shoulders.

“Is it safe to say you fascinate me now?” Sunghoon asks, leaning down, placing slow, deliberate kisses on your neck and shoulder.

You naturally turn your head to give him more access, “I guess not. I’ve never had someone tell me I fascinate them.”

Sunghoon’s kisses trail upwards until his lips meet yours in another fiery kiss.

Breaking away after a while, he descends until his mouth is adjacent to your clothed pussy.

“Sunghoon,” you interrupt, “we just changed the sheets.”

He looks up at you, a twinkle in his eye, “We can change them again.”

WONKIZZ 2025

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. II

summary: you and joaquin try to reconnect-- it doesn't exactly go as joaquin had hoped, but he hasn't given up just yet.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,727

gif credit: @gaybuckybarnesss

contents: 18+/minors dni, pining, longing, angst, dishonesty (from sma & it his heart is in the best place), KISSING

an: okay we're at it with a part two. i was on the phone with my sister while finishing this and she's convinced me to give yall at least FOUR parts so everyone say thank you j! pls don't ask to be on my taglist if you aren't 18+/have that in your bio <3

vuelve a mí masterlist

You should’ve known better truly. And even though you hadn’t, part of you thinks you should’ve said no. But, when Sam calls begging for your help, insisting that you’re the only person that can get Joaquin to take his meds, you want to help. 

Or so you’d thought. 

When you make it to Joaquin’s place, it’s a little strange. The last time you’d been to his place was because it was your place. And it wasn’t as nice and polished— you didn’t have a doorman when you lived together. Nevertheless, you sign in and head up to his floor in the elevator.

You’ll get in and get out. Implore him to stop being a brat and take his meds and then get out. The entire drive had been nothing but you hyping yourself up. 

How were you supposed to look him in the eye after everything he’d said the last time you saw him? After you’d ignored his desperate pleas for you and answered none of his calls since.

It isn’t lost on you how unfair it is for you to show up now— especially for Sam. But you wanted Joaquin to get better…you needed him to. He had figured out a way to live life in a world without you in it, but you’re sure you couldn’t do the same. 

Sam swings the door open before you can knock, his expression a mix of exasperation and relief.

“Thank god you’re here, he’s being a little shit,” He grabs you by your shoulders, rubbing them affectionately. You’re about to tell him it’s no problem when he quickly switches your places, leaving you in Joaquin’s apartment and him in the hallway.

“I’ll be back!” He assures you before slamming the door in your face.

That’s when you realize—you’ve been set up. Joaquin is fine, probably training again. It’s been over a month since you last saw him in the hospital.

You’re afraid to turn around and see what’s waiting for you. Instead, stupidly you close your eyes, willing this to go away. You’re not ready to talk through this with him. You weren’t ready in the hospital and you aren’t ready now. When you’re lost to the deep spiral of your thoughts, you wonder if you’ll ever be ready. Somehow, either answer to that question makes your heart race. 

“Not excited to see me, I guess?” Joaquin asks wryly.

“You set me up.”

“How else was I gonna get you to talk to me? You won’t answer my calls, which is very rude if you didn’t know.”

Your belly fills with that dreadful guilt and you rest your head against the door, “Joaquin…”

“For once I don’t have any expectations, cross my heart and hope to die. I just wanted to see you. And some part of you…wanted to see me too,” He adds, his voice uncharacteristically shy.

“It’s never been about me wanting to see you. I always want to see you I just—

“Won’t?” He supplies.

“Can’t,” You correct. “I can't, it's too painful.”

“More painful than this? Because I think we both agree—this fucking sucks.”

You aren’t sure why, but what he says gets you to turn around. There before you on his coffee table is an unfinished puzzle— one you thought had been thrown away along with the rest of you. The gesture nearly winds you, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Quino, what kind of life could I possibly give you when I don’t know who I am anymore?”

“You say that like I don’t know you. But I do. I always have,” He simply gazes at you, studying you for a moment before his lips curve into a small smile. 

"You probably don't remember this, but there was this little boy at the park once— he must've been five, maybe six. We were reading on this bench, you were so comfortable with your head in my lap, feet propped up. But the boy, he was struggling to fly this ridiculous, tangled-up kite. His dad kept trying to help, but the poor kid was just about ready to give up. And then…you put your book down."

You tilt your head. "I don't remember that."

"I do. Because I remember you. I could never forget, even if I tried, baby. You walked over to that kid, knelt down next to him, and helped him untangle the strings. You showed him everything; how to hold it, when to run, how to wait for the wind. And when that kite finally lifted off the ground, I swear l've never seen a kid so happy. You just stood there, watching him, smiling like it was the easiest thing in the world to make a stranger's day better."

You exhale, shaking your head. "That doesn't even sound like me anymore."

“That's the thing, querida," he says softly, closing the gap between you so that he can grasp your hand. "It is you. No matter how much you feel like you've lost yourself, I promise you're still that person. The one who stops, who helps, who makes the world.”

You gaze down at your hands, sucked into the warmth of his skin against yours. Still you ask, “That was a long time ago. What if that’s not who I am anymore?”

“You didn’t have to show up to the hospital to make sure I was okay. Or come here to make sure I took my meds. Brillas como la luz, entiendes?”

“I…I don’t know, Quino. We can’t just go back to how things were, we’d be lying to ourselves. I mean, you’ve changed too.”

“People change. They still love each other— I still love you.”

Your eyes go wide at his candor. After all you’ve put him through, all the rejection, he was still brave enough to tell you he loved you. You swallow thickly, throat dry. You aren’t sure what to say, because if you open your mouth, the weight of it all—of him, of this—might crush you.

Joaquin takes in your overwhelmed expression and immediately pulls back, though he doesn’t deny his previous words. “Too fast? Yeah, too fast. Look just…help me do this puzzle? I’ve waited years to finish it with you. Please?”

That’s something you could say yes to, isn’t it?

“Sure, yeah. Let’s do it,” You agree, giving him a small smile.

The sight of your happiness makes his heart soar. 

Once the two of you are sat beside each other at the coffee table, Joaquin dives right in. You stay put, simply watching him and after a few minutes he notices your lack of participation.

Gently, he nudges a piece of the puzzle closer to you. “C’mon, you still got it,” He encourages.

It’s enough for you to try, really try and soon the two of you fall into a groove, in your respective corners of the puzzle but always looking out for one another. Always ready to aid if the other is stumped in finding the next piece or where one fits. After working diligently, your corners start to bleed into each other and your fingers brush as you reach for the same piece.

“Oh—sorry— um—“ You stutter softly, unable to move your hand. You feel made of cement and thought you’re frozen on the outside, your mind is moving a mile a minute. 

Move your hand. Move your hand first or break the silence or something. Do something—anything—other than sit here, drowning in the weight of his gaze.

Before you can do any of those things, Joaquin is leaning in, his mouth just barely ghosting yours. Familiarity takes over to your surprise, and you press forward, kissing him back. 

That confirmation, your unexpected desire for him makes his belly warm. He kisses you more firmly, raising a hand to cup your chin and hold you in place. His mouth is soft— so so painstakingly soft— and for several moments all you can do is give into him— succumbing to his skillful kiss that makes your brain feel melty.

His hand starts to move, thumb tracing the shape of your jaw before his gentle grip lowers to your neck. You shiver against him, moaning which grants him the access to taste you. It’s the sensual brush of his tongue against yours that brings you back to reality. 

You jerk back against the couch, eyes down as you wipe your mouth. “Quino,” You murmur breathlessly, unsure of what more to say. Your mouth feels like it’s on fire, the place where he touched you searing with heat. 

“I’m sorry, it just sort of— you looked at me like that. No pude evitarlo, preciosa. No con lo hermosa que eres,” He murmurs, hand reflexively raising to cup your cheek.

You flinch away, nervous about what will happen if he touches you like that again. “Joaquin this is all just…it’s too much. I need time to think, to clear my head. 

“It’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes either,” You remind him gently.

“I know. But I’ll take it for now. Can I walk you out?” He asks hopefully, rising to his feet as you do.

“Just to the door…I need space, Quino.”

“Sure, hermosa. Whatever you say.”

Once you’re standing in the hallway, feeling a little more separated from him you turn around, meeting his intense gaze. “Thank you for tonight. You’re being so kind and patient with me, and I know it’s difficult but you’re doing it anyway.”

His eyes soften, gooey and warm as he looks at you. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I— I’ll call you, okay?”

“Alright,” He agrees.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, querida.”

Joaquin waits until the elevator doors close to shut his own door. He leans against the sturdy wood, a slow smile spreading across his face as he thinks about what just transpired. He got to spend time with you, to touch you and taste you for the first time in 7 years. This is the closest he’s ever been to getting you back and he’ll take it, even if it uses every drop of patience in his body. 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials Sam.

“Well?” Sam asks, skipping pleasantries.

The goofy grin on Joaquin’s face has his cheeks aching. “I think…I think it might’ve worked.”

Sam can hear the smile in his voice and wants every detail.  “I’m on my way.”

must be 18+ to be added to the joaquin taglist! <3

joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @moonymeloncholymoney, @glader13, @how2besalty

[hivemuthur]

Bestie. I know your requests are closed but I’m champagne drunk rn and I had to get this to you before the thought slips through the little wrinkles in my brain. So don’t answer until you want to answer.

party4u by charli xcx. Idk I’m always blasting charli but today something about this song just struck me. I feel like it could be either Viktor or the MC from Nothings New. Throwing a party for something seemingly random just in the hopes that the other would show up. The pining, the trying-hard-but-trying-not-to-be-noticeable-about-it. (Hope you walk into the party, cause I threw the party just for you)(called your digits but the phone kept ringin/wish I knew what you were thinking)

And then the blatant laying-bare-of-the-feelings ughhhhhhhh (if you saw my tears would you touch me? / kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?)(why you treating me like someone you never loved?)(all I’m thinking all I know is / that I hope you knock on my door)

Idk I just can’t stop thinking about it and I feel like only you could do something Viktor-related but also based on this song justice. You have this way of writing angst and feelings that I normally am afraid to explore (dread, anxiety, jealousy, anger, acknowledging the ugly parts of ourselves (like with The Ugly Thing)) in a way that is so delicious and makes me WANT to explore them.

Bestie, how do do you KNOW ME so well . Thank you for making a playground for me, seriously. I hope you can tell I loved this.

Come So Close That I Might See

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a freeform of what was requested. Implied, but not included in the plot: Jayce and Viktor score a grant for their further science developments, silly Viktor offers to throw a party instead of just grabbing beers. AU Modern Era if you squint (like, phones are mentioned). Contains a lot of fluids :v

word count: 4K

author's note: not me incorporating sex into the request by default and then checking with the requestee only when I got to the condom part :v I also spent a lot of time on forums to get the Czech phrases accurately and it made me giggle how many Czech people went to forewarn the person asking that love confessions in Czech are dead serious and if they have a Czech girlfriend they want to say it to they have to MEAN IT (as a cynical, brooding, judgmental Slavic cunt I wholeheartedly agree). Translations at the bottom and title is from Mazzy Star.

This gets pretty gross, both in terms of sentimentality and bodily fluids, you have been warned!

artist on X (I'm addicted)

—

Never before had he so much as brought his teeth close to his fingers—unless it was to take a bite of something meant precisely for eating—yet now he finds himself absentmindedly gnawing at a particularly stubborn cuticle while staring at the tiny grey tick next to his message, waiting for it to turn green, waiting for it to become three jumping dots. Radiating unease, Viktor sighs out a rattled breath and props his chin on the heel of his palm.

Jayce huffs in the background, stacking the freezer with water poured into plastic containers, hoping it will turn to ice before the first person complains about the heat. It’s one of those unbearably sticky days with no sun, the clouds trapping the air, refusing to let it move, offering no reprieve to the sweaty—until, inevitably, it all gives way to a raging storm by nightfall. Curtains billowing and thunder roaring, hurried window-shutting and water pouring in through the cracks—tonight’s entertainment is already set.

Viktor does little to help, and Jayce doesn’t mind. After all, Viktor’s offer had been a timid one, seeming to stumble out of his lips before his brain could fully calculate the potential disaster of inviting people over. Any excuse would have sufficed, yet scoring a grant was big enough occasion to keep Viktor from backing out.

So he sits with a book, his phone resting in the book’s mouth, dimming every three minutes before he taps the screen again, worried he might miss your reply. He still doesn’t know if this reckless idea will come back to bite him on the ass—if you don’t show up he will have to spend the evening smiling at strangers, pretending to be overjoyed about this opportunity while, in reality, his soul withers away.

“I’m sure she’ll come,” Jayce says finally, three bottles of rum balanced in one hand, his right arm wrapped around a bucket of melting ice that stains his dark blue T-shirt. “Mel will be here—she’ll drag her in.”

“That’s a joyous picture to anticipate, isn’t it?” Viktor hums as calmly as he can, yet his finger is gnawed raw, an ugly shade of red. He scrunches his eyebrows at it, deciding it’s about time to leave it alone. “My friend dragged in to see me by force?”

“Figuratively. I don’t think Mel is that strong,” Jayce teases, setting the dripping bucket on the table, bottles clinking inside. He crouches close to Viktor’s legs. “If not, we’ll try to have a good time anyway. We deserve it.”

Jayce pats his knee, and Viktor fixes his eyes on something in front of him that isn’t Jayce, saving himself from the feeling of being picked apart piece by piece, examined from the inside out. A dreadful sensation, if anyone were to ask him. Everyone around him, save for you, thinks they’ve mastered the skill.

“No promises,” he says, sucking in some of the stale air and setting the book aside, though the phone remains in his hand. He should shower really, wear something that makes him look effortlessly put together—something that invites touch and makes him hug-worthy. But the idea of meeting his reflection sits in his stomach like lead. Whatever all those people, with their prying eyes, fail to notice, he will see in the mirror. And worse—you will see it, too.

It’s so unbearably hot that he takes the coldest shower he can without wrenching the air from his lungs. Cold enough that stepping out into the bathroom’s warm embrace is almost a relief. A quick shave, hair left wet to milk out as much of this fresh feeling as possible, knowing grime will coat him head to toe as soon as the apartment fills with faces attached to sweaty bodies.

Each buzz of the door has his heart flipping in his chest, and he scowls every time the person Jayce greets with a sticky hug is not you. He tries not to look disappointed when guests pat his shoulder and offer their congratulations, tries very hard to be grateful for having friends in the first place—but part of him deeply regrets that his brain didn’t catch the reckless blurt of “Or let’s have a party?” in time.

He’s on his third rum and coke, and maybe that’s why his defences are lower when he goes to answer the door this time, Jayce busy in the kitchen. The door swings open, and he’s greeted by Mel’s perfect face—utterly unbothered by the heat, only her forehead covered in a satin-like sheen, as if designed to enhance her beauty rather than ruin it.

And behind Mel is you, far less heat-resistant, yet for Viktor, far more beautiful. Cheeks flushed a healthy red, shoulders sun-kissed, draped in barely-there straps of a barely-there blouse, and his heart drops all the way down to where his second heart is, beating for you and you alone.

Mel, dignified as always, only ghosts a kiss near his cheek and hands him a bottle of wine before stepping inside, ready to kiss Jayce properly. You linger awkwardly in the hallway, kicking off your shoes before Viktor can tell you not to.

“Hi,” you say stupidly, waving at him.

He waves back, puts his cane on the coat rag, arms spreading just enough—not quite an invitation, not quite begging, but close.

“Are you sure? I’m very gross.” You glance warily at his crisp white shirt, wondering how he’s managed to look so sharp while everyone else sports the look of a wet rag. Sleeves rolled up neatly, showing off the freckles on his taunt skin, veins poking out, swollen with the impossible temperature.

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, already pulling you in. He feels the opposite of minding.

You smell of fresh perfume mixed with sweat, and when his hand comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his lips barely brush against your skin, the wine bottle presses against the small of your back. Viktor hopes some of your sweat will sink into his shirt, making you stay with him a little while longer after you leave.

How many times you've been at it, you don't know. It's always on the verge of something serious—yet the closer it gets, the faster Viktor pulls away. The tension between you has lingered since the moment you met, but you have no idea when it settled into this uncomfortable friendship. So distancing yourself, for a while, seemed reasonable. Now, with him wrapped around you, you don't know if you'll find the strength to leave.

You breathe him in, and the uneasiness seeps out of you in an instant. You’re not even that hot anymore. Goosebumps rise on your skin where he touched, and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Congratulations,” you mumble into his chest, and he only hugs you tighter.

He plucks his cane from the empty coat hanger, hands you the bottle and leads you to the kitchen. Jayce pours you a drink, and the four of you sink into a conversation bordering on comfortable. How many times Jayce has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that the party was Viktor’s idea, only he knows.

The chatter eases into jokes and laughter at some point, and you can feel the alcohol warming your insides to match the heat outside. Air begins to stir as the predicted storm gathers, the kitchen growing more and more cramped. When a thunderclap cracks through the air, startling someone next to Mel, the contents of her glass spill onto your chest.

“Mel, do you have to? Always? When I’m wearing white?” You jump back instinctively, and Viktor’s fingers wrap around your elbow.

“Oh, darling,” she laughs, scrunching her brows in apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” And indeed, it’s a curse—you should never wear white around her.

“I’ll give you something,” Viktor says quickly, already on a mission.

“I can get it, you don’t have to come upstairs,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder and a smile. “If that’s okay,” you add, asking for permission to rummage through his closet alone.

He swallows and nods, searching for any good excuse to follow you—but at the moment, even his big brain can’t conjure one.

You drag yourself up the stairs, and the further you get from the noise, the more you realise how loud it was in the kitchen. It feels briefly odd, stepping into Viktor’s bedroom—you haven’t been here in such a long time. But as you cross the threshold, everything looks just as you remember. Maybe a few more notes scattered here and there.

You close the rattling window by his desk before the rain can soak into the papers, then move to his walk-in closet. As soon as you step inside, the scent of Viktor floods your senses, and despite yourself, you breathe in deeply.

Somehow, this feels safe. You run your fingers along his clothes, searching for your favourite T-shirt of his. But you linger unnecessarily long on his jumpers, bringing them close to your cheek and inhaling the scent of his washing powder. You’ve smelled this so many times, and it’s never enough, really.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you left the kitchen, but a voice knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“You alright?”

“Viktor.” You jump away, snagging a T-shirt in the process to make it look like that’s all you’ve been doing. “Shit, you scared me. Yes, I just—” you gesture to your chest, where a red stain from Mel’s wine blooms, “should probably clean off first.”

He nods, still lingering in the doorway, and you just stare at each other. Finally, Viktor speaks your name softly and props his cane by the wall. He means to say so much more than that, but he hopes you will see what he saw in the reflection today—and that you will understand.

And because you do, you reply with a warning.

“Viktor, no.” You shake your head and clutch his T-shirt by the collar in your fist. “How many times have we been at this?”

“Too many,” he breathes, closing the little distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands clasp around your hips, and Viktor rests his forehead against yours, whispering, “Too many. Make this the last one.”

“I’m—” you mutter, placing your palms on top of his. Scared is what you should say. Unsure would also fit. “Sticky,” you say instead.

He takes it as an invitation. In no time, your shirt is rolled up to your armpits, and even if you folded yourself in half and squeezed into his shelves, there would be no avoiding it. Viktor leans in and kisses your navel.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his hot breath mingling with your skin.

His tongue meets your stomach, and your spine stretches as you suck your belly in, only making the route for him longer. Timid at first, something inside him snaps when you moan and wrap your fingers into his hair. He presses his face into your belly, inhales deeply, and kisses with his mouth open until the sticky of Mel’s wine is exchanged for the sticky of his drool.

You tug him up by the hair, and he’s up immediately, pushing you further against the shelves, his torso flush against yours. Your stained shirt smears against his crisp white one.

“Viktor,” you mutter, stopping him from kissing you with a firm grip on his cheeks.

“What?” he asks, surprised. “Do you want me to stop?”

You take a shaky breath and burn your eyes into his, trying to dig out whatever courage you need to settle the needy thing thundering in your chest.

“Viktor,” you say again, buying yourself time. “If you’re messing with me again, I swear to God, I will eat your heart.”

“I’m not,” he says solemnly, a smile playing on his lips—possibly at the dramatics. But if he were being honest, he’d throw it away himself, the heart. It only causes trouble.

An ardent look lingers in his eye when he finally adds, “You can eat it anyway.”

You groan and wrench yourself away from him, suddenly feeling the suffocating heat striking back at you. He follows, leaning against the doorframe and watching as you pace up and down the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when you stop and sit on his bed.

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“I—” he hesitates. Takes a few wobbly steps toward you, and when the mattress dips beside you, your legs touch. His hand skims along your inner thigh, and he leans in to kiss your neck. At least he doesn’t look so well put together anymore—his hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed pink, his shirt stained and rumpled where it’s come untucked.

“I want to lick your stomach some more,” he murmurs. “And then kiss you properly. And then—” His lips reach your ear, whispering filth that has your toes curling.

Somewhere in the apartment, the wind forces a window open, knocking something over—possibly a plant pot—causing a startled yelp from at least three voices below. The sound carries up to the bedroom.

You snap your head toward the door. It’s still ajar.

Viktor’s hand slips from your thigh as you get up, and he almost whines, reaching out to stop you—until he sees you’re turning the lock. Then you face him, all serious and reverent.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him, your voice weak.

“I am aware.” He nods, extending his arms toward you.

You come to straddle his lap, and he wraps himself around you. Your fingers pull his hair back from his forehead, and the way he looks at you is just unbearable. He rocks you back and forth to the rhythm of the song playing downstairs.

“I ruined your shirt,” you hum, pressing your thumbs to his temples.

He closes his eyes and hums back, “Good. I hate this shirt.” Wraps himself tighter around you and yanks you over, your back bouncing against the bed with a faint pop.

“Sorry,” Viktor chuckles, embarrassed, and kisses your cheek sweetly.

And he keeps his promise. Rolling your shirt back up, he glides his lips down your chest, along your sternum, until he reaches your solar plexus. He sucks your skin between his lips, breathing in the scent of his own dried spit mixed with wine.

You squeal at the sensation, hooking your foot around his hip. He yanks it away, tossing it aside, his hands clasping around your ribs as he plants hickeys onto your belly. There are so many things Viktor wants to say, but his tongue is too busy.

He wants to thank whatever force shaped your stomach so that his nose can fit there entirely, breathing in whatever happens beneath your skin. He could also thank whoever nudged Mel’s hand into spilling wine over you. And he could thank you for all those mornings when he wakes up drenched in thoughts of you, staring at the ceiling, the vignette of your kind hands is the only thing that stops his shoulders from hulking sullen.

He runs his fingers over the grooves where your ribs erode into hollows, licking there as well. And he wants to lick lower, where your skin disappears under the waistband of your shorts, into the subterranean darkness between your thighs. He wants to feel the pulse of your second heart on his tongue, to see if it beats for him as strongly as his beats for you.

As soon as his lips unglue from your skin, fingers hooking into the material to slide your shorts down, you tug at his hair again—reminding him of your lips. And that’s fine, because all he wants is to kiss all of you tonight. So he obeys, raking his hands up your sides before cupping your face, finally sinking his tired tongue into your mouth.

And oh, he still tastes of rum when you suck yourself off him, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips. His lips are love-bitten and swollen, and yours are just hungry for his. Suddenly, you hate his fucking shirt too. You pull at his buttons, and he chuckles, undoing them so deftly with one hand that it leaves you embarrassed.

You prompt him further—tugging at fabric, pulling impatiently, whining whenever the material refuses to simply give in and vanish. Clothes are discarded onto the floor in a flurry of awkward shimmying and frantic kicks, until he hisses at the faint pain the hurried movement has caused him. There is a bit more grace in you when you pull your top over your head and get rid of your shorts.

Soon, his body full of tumbled bones is naked against yours, pliant and warm. And you wonder how, even in this unbearable heat, Viktor’s flesh never goes soft. It’s always tense, always sharp angles, even as he wraps himself around you in a brief reprieve of a hug. He breathes you in deeply, gulping down whatever scent he’s left on you, his cock pressing heavily against your core.

And he doesn’t even know anymore if he wants to fuck you stupid or just hold you until the sun bleeds red through his blinds.

And the worst part of this dilemma is that he has to momentarily part from you to reach for a condom on the nightstand—and even if it will take mere seconds, he cannot stand it.

He feels so scrutinised under your gaze when you watch his trembling hands. Your fingers come to pluck the little wrapped thing from him, pushing him back against the bed frame. You break the foil, holding it between your thumb and index finger, then lean in to kiss his weeping tip. His head lulls back, eyes fluttering shut as you unroll it down his length.

He already looks so fucked out that you waste no time—taking him in hand and sliding him inside with a slow, burning stretch. His palms hover over your hips, catching you, steadying you. Once he’s buried to the hilt, a certain calmness washes over him—finally, he is hugged from all sides. Your arm wrapped around his neck, your pussy wrapped around his cock, your fingers wrapped around his as you inspect the wound he inflicted on himself earlier.

“What happened here?” you ask, kissing his knuckles.

“I…” His breath hitches as you take his fingers into your mouth. “I got impatient.”

“What about?”

He gives you a pained look and buries his face in the crook of your neck, fingers toying at your lips.

“You,” he admits, stretching out your lower lip. “It feels dreadful to say, but I almost ate my hand waiting for you to reply.”

“Viktor,” you whisper, placing a hand on the back of his neck, running your fingers through his hair. You clench around him, and he gasps, pushing his nose further into your shoulder.

“Don’t torment me, please,” he breathes. “I know I deserve it for all the torment I’ve caused you, but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

“I don’t intend to,” you say softly, rolling your hips against his. He groans, arms tightening around you. “I already told you what happens if you’re fucking with me.”

And then—that smirk you love so dearly. From between his lips, his tongue flicks out to stroke over your skin, traveling up your neck to your ear, where he whispers, “I trust we are differentiating between the categories of fucking.”

Your hips roll again, and his smugness unravels into a deep, sonorous moan. You take it from him greedily, sealing your lips over his. You kiss him open-mouthed, and Viktor responds with a palm crawling toward your clit, gliding over the plane of your licked-clean belly. It finds its warm home, and this time it’s your head lulling back, your mouth moaning as he plucks your hand off his shoulder, entwining your fingers together.

You grind down into him, bracing yourself on your handholding, hearts beating fast and breaths growing hoarse. His cock slides in and out of you in time with your hips and when you look at him he’s all there, present, eyes fixed on you, the focus of his hand between your legs is unwavering. Big brain pays off in times like these when the ability to multitask is worth more than any healthy muscle. And Viktor does little to no work with those, only guiding his hips upward gently each time you come down to slap your ass against his thighs.

He's either learnt it all from years of observation and the half-truths exchange between you, the almost-kiss moments, the falling-asleep-together-by-accident moments, the I’d-rather-watch-crap-with-you-than-get-laid moments, when each of you chose the insufficient each other over another one night stand, or his cock was just made for you.

And you already suspect all those moments were worth it before you are completely certain. Before he twitches inside you hitting the sensitive spot that has you gasping for air and his fingers on your clit speed up, he does another thing. He looks at you longingly and his mouth parts and it’s barely a murmur, a secret gifted to you and only you, even though everyone knows already.

“Ma lásko,” Viktor rolls off his tongue. “Miluji tě,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles. “Byl jsem hloupý,” comes next, and even though you don’t understand, somehow—you do.

“Prosím, odpusť mi. Moc tě miluji,” he murmurs, offering his heart for you to devour if you so chose—but you only tighten your grasp around his fingers and press your lips to his forehead, hoping to do his native language justice when you repeat after him, “Miluji tě.”

This almost undoes him entirely, and to ruin him further, your cunt tightens by the second as you clench around his cock, creaming all over his fingers. But Viktor keeps up, thrusting his hips upward to meet yours, drinking in the sound of his own name falling from your lips as you spasm and tremble on top of him, squeezing his hand until his knuckles turn pale. He kisses you through it, moaning into your mouth as he feels himself teetering on the edge—until a thought invades him abruptly.

He pushes you gently onto your back and crawls on top awkwardly before you can complain about the sudden feeling of emptiness. Enters you again and fucks into you a few more times before pulling back out, sliding the condom off, and stroking himself until he paints your belly in hot white. Eyes hooded, you watch his face—flushed and sweaty, mouth hanging open beautifully, brows scrunched as he pumps the last drops of cum onto your skin. Then, he collapses beside you, kisses you gratefully, and runs his hand over your stomach, smearing his seed all the way up to your breasts and neck. It then spreads across your cheek, drying out like an egg white, tightening your skin before Viktor slides his wet fingers up into your hair.

A laugh, stupid and fucked-out, escapes you as you ask, “Are you going to lick me clean now?”

But Viktor says nothing—though you know he would if you asked. Instead, he wraps an arm around you, pressing your stomachs together with a wet slap, hooks a leg over your hip, and kisses your swollen lips. “Miluji tě,” he repeats, as if saying it during sex doesn’t count.

“Miluji tě,” you whisper back, and he chuckles at how awkward yet sweet it sounds from you. “And thank you for throwing this party.”

“It was only for you,” Viktor says, deciding that honesty is worth more than saving himself from embarrassment. And thankfully, you choose not to tease him further—since, at last, his heart is laid bare before you. You’ll eat it next time all right, just not the one that keeps him figuratively alive.

—

*ma lásko - my love *miluji tě - I love you *Byl jsem hloupý - I've been stupid *Prosím, odpusť mi - please, forgive me

[s4svnn]

first big argument of oub couple pls!!!

Shower (teaser)

Your stubbornness is part of what brought you together—it’s a fire that keeps things passionate and exciting. But at times, it can also be exhausting, especially when neither of you is willing to admit fault because of your pride. Arguments can escalate quickly, with both of you refusing to back down each determined to prove a point, so when things heat up maybe the best way to cool off is together…in the shower.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: couples argument, egos, stubbornness, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink, hair pulling, boob play, fingering, mirror sex, back shots, orgasm denial, sub + dom dynamic, spanking

The door slammed shut behind us with a force that rattled the walls, the echo reverberating through the tense silence. My heart pounded against my ribs, my breaths coming in uneven gasps still heated from the argument that had started long before we even reached his house.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words, the weight of frustration pressing down on my chest. The dim glow from the entryway lights cast jagged shadows across Jungkook’s sharp features, emphasizing the tight clench of his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fists were curled at his sides, his posture rigid, as his entire body radiated barely restrained frustration.

"He likes you. I can tell."

I spun around so fast my hair whipped over my shoulder, my blood boiling at the audacity of his words. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him.

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the sound more of a scoff than a sigh, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t entirely devoid of amusement either. His head tilted slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as if he was holding back the urge to laugh at my denial.

"You really believe that?" he asked, his voice slow and skeptical, every syllable laced with quiet challenge.

I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet firmly against the floor as I met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Yes, because it’s the truth," I said, my voice steadier now.

Jungkook took a step forward, closing the distance between us just slightly, but enough for the air to shift, enough for the space between us to feel too small, too charged. The weight of his presence was suffocating, the intensity in his gaze making my pulse pound harder, though I refused to let him see the effect he had on me.

"People don’t look at their friends like that, Aylah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost like a warning. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive."

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from my lips, my head shaking as I fought the urge to scream at how ridiculous this entire conversation was. "I told you, he doesn’t like me!" I repeated, my voice rising in frustration. "And even if he did, I don’t like him!"

That should have been the end of it. That should have been enough. But of course, with Jungkook it never was, he just had to get the last word.

Before I could take a step back and create even an inch of space between us, he moved faster, quicker than I could react. His arms came up in an instant, trapping me between them, his hands pressing against the couch behind me as my back met the soft fabric. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking as my body suddenly became hyperaware of the heat radiating from him.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but somehow even more dangerous than before. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, watching, waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, a crack in my defense. "I see the way you smile at him."

I scoffed, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "What, so I can’t smile at people now?" I shot back, my voice sharp, desperate to shift the focus away from the way his words made my stomach twist.

Jungkook exhaled, the sound rough, like he was trying to push down something simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not what I’m saying," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "It’s just… I don’t trust that guy."

"Wow," I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. "So you don’t trust him, but you trusted Jade?"

His entire body went still. His grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white as he processed my words, as they settled into the space between us like a ticking time bomb.

"What did you just say?" His voice was colder now—but I didn’t care.

I held my ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his stare. "You trusted a bitch like Jade," I said, voice steady, unwavering, my eyes locked onto his. "But you draw the line at my harmless secretary?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, suffocating and heavy.

Then, Jungkook let out a dark, humorless laugh, one that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was empty, hollow, laced with something almost cruel.

"Like you’re any better," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. His gaze flickered with something dangerous. "You were friends with the guy that tried to kill me."

The words barely registered before my hand moved on its own. The slap echoed through the room, the sharp crack of skin against skin cutting through the heavy silence like a gunshot. Jungkook’s head snapped to the side from the force, his cheek instantly reddening where my palm had struck. My chest heaved, shock rushing through me, overtaking the anger in an instant.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper. "S-Shit, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to—"

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me, his gaze dark and unreadable. The tension in the air thickened as the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could fully register what was happening, his fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me forward. A startled gasp slipped past my lips, my feet barely keeping up as he led me up the stairs with a determination that left no room for hesitation. 

A strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in my stomach, making it impossible to tell whether I wanted to pull away or let myself be dragged deeper into whatever this was turning into. The hallway blurred around us, my focus narrowing to the burn of his fingers against my skin and the charged energy radiating off him in waves.

The moment we reached his room, he didn’t stop. With a swift motion, he shoved open the bathroom door and pulled me inside, the sharp sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine. Finally, his grip loosened, my wrist slipping from his grasp. I barely had time to catch my breath, to make sense of the storm raging inside me, before my eyes widened at his next move.

Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My breath hitched as the dim bathroom light cast shadows across his toned chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing making the tension between us all the more unbearable. He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

"You wanna fight?" he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t give me time to answer.

He took another step forward, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go, my back meeting the cool tile wall as his presence surrounded me once more. His eyes flickered over my face, watching, waiting.

"Then let’s fight."

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ 'kay .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Floyd Leech x gn! reader

𓏵 825 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, established relationship with reader, angst, hurt/no comfort

I dunno if I got Floyd's character all that right so i'd welcome any criticism ( ´･ω･) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

It always started the same way with Floyd.

One moment, he was draped over your shoulders, whining about how boring class was, how annoying Azul had been, how stiff Jade was acting. The next moment, he'd slip away without warning, mood swinging as wildly as the tides.

You’d grown used to it—at least, you told yourself you had. It was just Floyd being Floyd, right? Unpredictable, untamable, never staying in one place or one feeling for too long.

But it hurt, sometimes. When you’d excitedly tell him about something only for him to yawn and walk off mid-sentence. When you'd make plans and he'd ditch you, only to show up hours later, acting like nothing happened.

And, stupidly, you’d kept trying. Because when Floyd was present, when his grin wasn’t sharp-edged and his teasing was playful instead of biting, he made you feel like the most important person in the world.

So you endured the mood swings. The indifference. The moments when it felt like you were the only one taking this—whatever this was—seriously.

Until, one day, you couldn't anymore.

It was after another no-show. He’d promised to meet you by the courtyard after class. You’d waited, holding onto the last shred of optimism like an idiot, until the sun dipped below the horizon.

You found him lounging near Mostro Lounge, chatting with Jade like he hadn’t completely blown you off.

“Floyd,” you called, voice tighter than you intended. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Floyd blinked lazily, tilting his head. “Huh? Forgot what?”

“The courtyard.” Your fists clenched. “You promised.”

Jade, ever the picture of decorum, glanced between you two and smoothly excused himself. Floyd didn’t even notice. He just stretched, arms rising above his head.

“Ahh, yeah. Got bored waitin’. You’re so slow sometimes, y’know?”

Something inside you snapped.

“I'm slow?!” The words tumbled out, raw and shaking. “Floyd, I’ve been running after you this whole time! I keep trying, and you don’t even care. You treat everything like a joke—even me.”

His smile flickered. "Eh? What's with the tantrum? I was just playin' around."

"Well, I'm done playing." You stepped back, heart pounding. "If you can't take this seriously, then forget it. Forget me."

For the first time, Floyd didn’t have a snappy comeback. He just stood there, arms dropping to his sides.

"...’Kay," he finally said, voice flat. "Not like I cared that much anyway."

And that was it.

Days passed.

Floyd didn’t come looking for you. He was the same as always—laughing, squeezing unfortunate first-years in bone-crushing hugs, skipping out on classes.

But something was…off.

It hit him during lunch one day, when he reached for his drink and realized no one was nagging him to use a coaster. Or when he grumbled about a quiz and instinctively glanced around for you, only to find empty space.

The little moments, the ones he’d brushed off as normal, now felt hollow without your presence filling the gaps.

He’d never taken you seriously. Not really. Not until you stopped showing up.

A week later, he cornered Jade after Mostro Lounge closed.

“Hey,” Floyd muttered, scuffing his shoe against the tiled floor. “Do you think shrimpy really meant it?”

Jade looked up from polishing a glass, ever so composed. “Ah. So you did notice.”

Floyd scowled. “Of course I noticed. It's too quiet now. Boring."

Jade set the glass down with a soft clink. “You always treated them like they’d be there no matter what. But it seems you squeezed too hard, brother.”

Floyd’s brows furrowed. “...I didn’t mean to.”

For once, Jade didn’t smile. “Intent doesn’t undo the damage, does it?”

Floyd found you by the fountain two days later, watching the moonlight dance on the water.

He slouched beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“...It’s boring without you,” he muttered, almost petulantly. “Didn’t think you’d really leave.”

You didn’t look at him. “You told me you didn’t care.”

Floyd winced. He hated hearing his own words thrown back at him.

“I lied.” His voice softened, sincerity slipping through the cracks in his usual bravado. “Didn’t think you’d believe me. People don’t usually leave me behind, y'know? I’m the one who leaves first.”

Silence hung between you like sea mist.

Finally, you exhaled, tired and resigned. “I can’t keep chasing you, Floyd. It hurts too much.”

For once, Floyd didn’t argue. Didn’t joke.

He just stood there, looking uncharacteristically small.

“...’Kay,” he murmured again. But this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It sounded like I’m sorry. Like I didn’t know it mattered until it was too late.

But you both knew that understanding didn’t fix what was broken.

And Floyd, for all his strength, couldn't squeeze the pieces back together.

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter |

💖 Dad!Price x Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader

PART FOUR: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2,565words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]

🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

You learnt from a young age to stay silent when it came to the adults in your life. Made it easier to get the talk over with. Less words to get you in trouble, something you always tried to dodge.

Silence, your best friend. The one thing that kept you company most days. You stared at your dad, arms folded over your chest as you leant back on the stiff wooden chair. Not quite tucked in under the table, slightly angled in case you needed to make a quick exit.

The shiny new phone on the varnished surface, some sort of peace offering or something to be held over you, another thing for you to figure out.

The Captain however, he wasn’t as easy to read and that added to the weight on your chest. You weren’t sure on the limits, what he’d allow or how he’d deal with something he didn’t like.

You cleared your throat, gaze flitting to his across the table. “So, I can probably find a place in like a couple days or so, a week tops you know,” you said rambling on about a friend of a friend who lived close by.

Not a total lie, you’d slept on your mates sofa’s here and there as a teen when things went south before. You’re sure you can pick up some bar work to help you out till you find something more permanent.

The Captain shook his head. “Stay as long as you need, kiddo. Anything you need your old man’s ‘ere.”

As long as you need, another open ended thing for you to figure out. You didn’t want to overstay your welcome or get too close to him. Didn’t want to rely on your dad, knowing that he’ll come and go as he pleased. Blame it on the job, send you a message to check in and rid himself of the guilt.

“You know, it’s not just us living here,” he said, interrupting the constant thoughts rattling in your head. You know the little voice that’s always second guessing other people’s actions and trying to decipher the true meaning of their words and actions.

Oh shit, you didn’t even think of his team living in the same house. They’d given you and the captain space since you’d got here. You’re hoping you won’t be there for long, even if you have to stay at a shitty hotel until you get enough money to put down on a flat to rent.

“I’ll stay out of the way, no problem.”

Out of sight, out of mind. Least he wasn’t taking you to his house with your brother and stepmother.

“Nah kiddo, this is just as much your space now,” he said, his brows scrunching together as his eyes roamed your face. Like he was also trying to figure you too. “There are some rules though.”

“Rules?” You echoed back at him. You weren’t so good with rules, they normally came with expectations and punishments when they were broken.

Not that you’d be breaking them, willingly anyways. You didn’t want to think of the outcome if you did either.

“We’ll be in and out of the house, no set routine. All you gotta do is look after yourself kiddo, we eat mostly in the canteen as it’s convenient. So you’ll probably be having your meals alone, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, but add to the list on the front if you run out of stuff,” he said, sliding a notepad in front of him. The scratch of his pen jotting down numbers and words.

You nodded, “sure that’s okay.” You’d been fending for yourself for years, knew how to make the most of the basics or go without. Skipping a meal a day wasn’t a big deal for you. You could survive on just one if you needed to. You wondered if they kept track of the food or if they labelled their own food. There wasn’t any locks on the kitchen cabinets, so it looked like it wasn’t too strict.

“Now, you’re on base. So you won’t be able to walk anywhere and everywhere. There’s a map here,” he mumbled, pointing to an unfolded leaflet. He placed it in front of you and started to circle some areas, blue ink tracing the paths and road. “All the places I’ve highlighted you can go. Do not, I repeat do not go anywhere else.” His voice lowering as he got to the last sentence, gaze flicking up to yours. He jabbed the tip of the pen in your direction, brows raising as if daring you to argue about it.

The look of someone you did not want to piss off. You glanced back to the untouched areas, half of them with no labels or names.

“Uh, yes sir. I won’t go there.”

He doesn’t question the formal sir you’ve thrown his way, the line between his brows softening and eyes relaxing from their narrowed gaze.

“You got any idea what type of work you’re looking for?”

You shook your head. There wasn’t much you could do, a few different jobs here and there. You’d take anything at this rate, you weren’t picky. Money was money at the end of the day.

“Alright, I know someone hiring,” he said, raising his hand to stop you interrupting him. “Three days a week, entering data into a computer. Gotta interview kiddo, nothing comes for free.” He ripped off a piece of paper from his notepad, pushing it to you. A number and name, along with a date of the interview.

The ever prepared Captain already scheduled you an interview. Part of you wondering if he’d planned the rest of your time here.

Boring work, but you didn’t have the luxury to care. You needed to find something as fast as you could.

“It’s not working here is it?” You asked, trying not to offend him.

The Captain chuckled, “nah kiddo. A fifteen minute drive. If you get the job, I’ll sort the insurance on the truck and you can borrow it for now till you find your feet.”

It’s been years since you’ve seen him smile, the curve of his lips making him seem younger. Like the dad who used to ruffle your hair and put you over his shoulder when you were six. The years seemed to harden your parents, your mother’s snapping tone still sent a shiver down your spine. Your father’s stern face, lines in the corners of his eyes and the centre of his forehead painting him serious most of the time.

“What about rent?”

Nothing comes for free, his own words repeating in your mind. You wonder what else you’ll have to earn whilst you’re staying with him.

“Keep ya’ money,” he grumbled, his chair scraping back as he stood up. He walked over to the fridge, pinning a piece of paper under a magnet. His finger jabbing the scribbled mess. “If you need to reach me, this is my office number. Mobile first, office is last resort.”

“And mum?” You dared to ask, still expecting her to appear with each waking day. Least you'd hear her before you actually saw her.

“We’ll talk about it another day. Rest up and look after yourself. You still need to take it easy.”

You nodded, releasing a deep breath. The weight on your chest lifting, the tension loosening from your shoulders.

The Captain turned his back from you, flicking the kettle on. You rose from the chair, tucking it back under the table. He handed you a steaming cup of tea and you settled down into the sofa, placing the cup on the coffee table.

A kiss landed on the crown of your head, "gotta go back to the office, you know what to do if you need anything."

You didn't get a chance to react, the front door closed before you could catch a glimpse of your father.

Sleep had been fleeting the past week, as soon as your cheek hit the pillow on the couch you were out. You were never much of a heavy sleeper, but the rough weight on your forehead soothed the heat and sweat coating it, that you didn’t question it. The cool touch easing your faltering breaths.

You shifted, the cushion wedged behind your back brushed against the wound near your shoulder blade, a groan slipping from your lips. The hushed tones of someone shushing you and the hair sweeping behind your ear, however, sent alarm bells ringing. You shot up, head crashing into the nearest thing.

Johnny Mactavish stumbling back with a grunt. He cradled his jaw, a string of curse words falling from his lips.

"Fuckin' hell, Johnny," you snapped, clutching your forehead and scrambling to sit up. "Why are you breathing over me?" You traced the stitches above your brow, lowering a trembling finger tip expecting blood, but there was none.

Your heart drummed against your chest, the shirt you wore drenched in sweat and sticking to the dip between your breasts. Your fingers pinched the fabric, allowing the excess to swallow your figure once again.

The crick in your neck stopped you from turning your face quickly to the man in front of you.

Johnny rubbed his chin, red tinge marring his jawline. "Thought you'd passed out again, checking for your breath lass." He sat on the edge of the coffee table, wood groaning under his weight.

The distressed denim jeans hugged his thick thighs, baggy t-shirt skimming over a leather belt. Sergeant written across his firm chest. Your gaze wandered to the short sleeves and the way they curled around his biceps. A few nicks and scrapes dotted his bare arms, fading green bruise on his knuckles.

He reached out and you dodged his hand, trying to sink further into the sofa. Wanting it to swallow you up, anything to go unnoticed.

“You’re hot.”

It took you a second to register what he'd said.

“I’m what?” You stuttered, trying to pull the thin blanket over your shoulders as you slid down in your seat. God, he was so hot. Different to your ex, something untouchable about Johnny too though.

A deep chuckle shook his chest, his head cocking to side. Smile stretching his lips as if he noticed your stare. “Yeah, your head. Fever maybe?” He mumbled, leaning forward and placing the back of his hand on your forehead for a few seconds.

Of course, he wasn't looking at you like that. You don't even know why your mind went there either. Must be the fever messing with you.

You blinked, not sure of why he was checking you over again. If you’ve got a fever you’ll be taking a bath right? Or just riding it out? You weren’t quite sure. Did the Captain put him up to this?

It was the first time taking medication like this, normally you took paracetamol and hoped for the best.

Johnny’s touch is light, brief as he pulled away and clasped his hands in between his legs. “Did ya’ miss your meds?” He glanced over his shoulder, the ridiculously large clock ticking away.

“I fell asleep.” You shrugged, “I’ll just take them in a bit.” It’d been four hours since you’d settled on the sofa and three hours ago you were supposed to take two pills.

“You gotta take them at the specific times,” Johnny said, popping the pills out of their packaging and into your palm. He walked to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of water.

Sipping the water and throwing back your medication, you went to place it on the table, but he shook his head.

“Drink all of that, will help with that fever,” he said, sinking into the sofa beside you. The cushion dipped beside you and found your body leaning to his. "Might wanna, take that blanket off too." He snatched the blanket from your lap, balling it up and tossing it on the armchair beside him.

You drank half, gaze locked on his as you placed the glass on the coffee table. Wondering if he’d tell you to drink more, but he picked up the remote, flicking through the tv guide.

“Captain got you babysitting?” You checked your phone, a chain of texts from your father and an alarm notification you slept through that alerted you of the time and the meds you needed to take. forty-six missed calls and twelve voice messages, your ex's name lit up the screen as you turned it over on the table.

Johnny slouched against the back of the sofa, legs widening. Your knee brushing against the side of his denim clad thigh. His hand resting ever so close to yours on his own leg.

“Nah, watching the rugby.” He pointed to the tv with the remote, the match three minutes in already. There’s a bottle of beer in his other hand, the same one your ex liked.

The one you used to stare at in the shop, wondering if this pack would go in your favour or go against you.

Johnny seemed pretty calm though, you don’t know him well so the beer in his hand doesn’t help you feel any better. People are totally different after consuming stuff like that.

“You like the rugby?”Johnny said, his deep voice pulling you out of your head. He sucked in a breath as the players tackled each other for the ball.

You shook your head, “I hate sports.” You can't think of anything worse, a group of men shouting and hollering at a match. The spike of violence when their teams didn't win, all because of a game. You tried to keep away from all that.

The bottle doesn't touch his lips, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. "Yeah my sisters hated it whenever I watched the rugby." A smile playing on his lips, his fingers picking at the label on his beer bottle.

"You've got sisters?" It doesn't surprise you. He's respectful towards the women on base, well from what you've seen so far.

"Yeah, three of them. Don't know what's worse, three of them or that they're older."

You wonder how different your life would have been if you had siblings, someone else around your age to take the load off of you. Another person who could relate to everything, someone you could talk to without judgement.

Johnny rambled on about his siblings, telling you little bits of pieces of his childhood. The more he said, the more you felt like you'd missed out on a lot. You nodded along, lying when he'd asked you if you were close with your mum. The instinct to paint everything good still ingrained in your being.

The phone in front of you vibrated, kept doing so until you picked it up and turned it off. You don't even need to look at who it is, no matter who it is, it's not someone you want to deal with right now.

"Block 'em, don't want the Captain getting a hold him." He doesn't spare you a glance as he spoke, the tic in his jaw pulsing.

Johnny meant well, but you couldn't stop the cogs turning as you thought of what would happen if the Captain knew everything. A part of your life you'd never shared with your dad, for good reason too.

And if he'd even believe you.

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

(Some of the tags wouldn't work so sorry if I didn't tag you. If you would like to be added just let me know)

[quinnysnursery]

[🦑] brave boy | player 388 agere one-shot

pairing : cg!fem!reader x little!daeho

summary : daeho has a tough day, but that's alright- he's a brave boy.

warning/extra tid-bits : PTSD flashback, derealization, crying, hair tugging, angst to fluff

word count : 935

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 and black line is from @toxisyddy

a/n : no squid game au >.<

Daeho groaned, running an exhausted hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. Today had been…eventful, to say the least.

It seemed that the world was trying to trigger him. Whether it was the sounds of the grocery store worker knocking over a display- which startled Daeho so bad, he left without the food he’d been sent there for. 

Or how a couple on the subway had been arguing so loudly that they caused Daeho, whose ears were already ringing, to have to cup his hands over his ears until he was back home. 

Now, the muscular man was sitting on the couch- anxiously chewing on the skin around his thumb as you carefully worked away on lunch in the kitchen. 

You had been extremely sympathetic and understanding, as you always were, when Daeho came back to the apartment without the groceries he was sent to retrieve- reassuring him that you would make the meal without them.

He knew deep down that you meant it, but for some reason, he still felt bad. A deep hollow feeling right in the pit of his stomach, aching with every breath that Daeho took.

Daeho sniffled and only then did he realize his eyelashes were damp and he had been crying. He whined, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. 

He had that looming feeling over him that only ever meant one thing, something bad was gonna happen- and there was nothing Daeho could do about it.

Silently, Daeho’s eyes drifted towards you. You were still working away in the kitchen, hair slightly messy from the steam that was drifting away from the pot you were standing over.

The man tried calling out to you, wanting help- but he couldn’t get any words out. This scared him, making his heart thump loudly against his chest…filling his ears.

Thump, thump, thump.

Daeho’s eyes drifted around the apartment’s living room, desperately trying to cling onto anything that he could focus on. For some reason, there was nothing.

Not the colorful show that was illuminating off the television, not the box of toys that sat subtly in the corner, nothing.

This made Daeho’s breathing quicker, irrational fears that nothing could ever stop this awful feeling flowing through his mind like a rapid river.

Things only got worse when Daeho’s thumping heart began to sound like military boots against dirt. Loud, frantic.

Cupping his hands over his ears didn’t help and neither did tugging on his long black hair- yet he still did it. Foolish hope.

Daeho was shaking, the muscles in his body tight. It was like shivering in the cold, something you couldn’t control- even if you tried your hardest. Daeho always hated it, he hated not being in control of his own body.

Hot tears burned the man’s brown eyes. His throat felt raw, dry. And don’t get him started about the pit in his stomach, it ached like nothing else had ever ached before, as if all the doom and misery that Daeho had ever experienced was sitting inside his stomach.

“No, no, no…” The little cried, whimpering as he sunk deeper into the corner of the couch cushions. No matter how hard he tried, his brain kept reminding him of all the things he wished to forget. All the blood, all the loud bangs and screams. All of it.

A sudden shriek caused the man to jump, it took him moments to realize he was the one who made the noise. He felt the weight of another human on his wrists, fighting against his body.

He whined, pleading with the weight to let go; to leave him alone. 

“Daeho, it’s me. Baby, let go of your hair.” You tried, voice gentle yet firm. You didn’t love taking that tone with him when he was regressed- especially not when he was having an episode…but you’d be damned to let your boy hurt himself.

After repeating your words a few more times, Daeho finally recognized your voice and thus the weight- his tears growing quicker as he frantically untangled his fingers from his locks. “Sorry! S-Sorry oma!” He sobbed, heaving deep breaths- as if he’d been starved for air.

You shushed him, running soothing hands over the skin on his arms, hair and face. The soft touches helping to bring your boy back to reality. 

“I’m not mad, you aren’t in trouble.” You reassured, running the pads of your thumbs under his eyes…wiping away any tears that continued to spill out. “Oma just doesn’t want you getting hurt, ‘kay?” You didn’t expect an answer- but you were delighted when you received a head nod.

“You’re in Oma’s apartment, far away from danger. Oma’s got you.” You promised, holding Daeho’s hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his palm. 

Slowly yet surely, Daeho came back to you. His muscular limbs latching themselves around you- the muscles aching for a hug. You wrapped your arms around your boy, pressing gentle kisses all over his face.

“I’ve got you, little tiger.” You promised, smiling as your little nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. 

The two of you stayed that way for what felt like hours. Daeho listening to your reassuring words, letting them seep into his skin and carry his fears far far away. It wasn’t until the smell of a complete meal wafted from the kitchen to the living room that you two moved- thanks to the growl that came from the little’s stomach.

You pressed one last kiss to the little’s forehead before leading him to the dining table, “Such a brave boy.”

friendly reminder that stealing isn't cute, credit me if you take inspiration from my works 😊

[darkmarkmarauder]

I love you, I’m sorry - T.R.

pairing: Tom Riddle x you; angst, toxic relationship, heartbreak

“cause its on again, off again

love you like oxygen

I don’t know what to say or do

on again, off again

love you like oxygen

you don’t know what I’d do for you”

It was exhausting, how you always ended up here. His room, once a place you ran to for comfort, for warmth, now felt like a prison. Your grades were slipping, your professors had begun to notice your absences, and even the people you used to call friends had grown distant, their concern for you morphing into cold indifference. You couldn't blame them. You were a ghost of the person you used to be, burning yourself out just to stay close to him.

It ended with you in his dorm, with your head pounding, with his voice grating in your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

You weren’t listening. You never could when he got like this—when he ranted and he was going on another one of his tangents, something about how you were the problem, how you always made things difficult, how you never listened—

“Have you even been listening at all?”

You sighed deeply. “Honestly, Tom, I can’t keep up when you go on and on about shit I don’t care about.”

His jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. “You’re impossible.”

And then he muttered something else—something low, almost too quiet to hear. But you did.

Your breath caught in your throat, your stomach twisting painfully.

No. No fucking way.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “What did you just say?”

Tom looked at you, the corner of his lips twitching up, like he wanted you to ask. “Nothing.”

But you knew better.

Your blood ran cold as the realization settled in your bones. You swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, but they tasted like poison on your tongue. “You slept with her.”

Your best friend. Bellatrix.

The one who had told you, over and over, to leave him. The one who had held you through every heartbreak, who had been so adamant that you deserved better. And the whole time, she had been the one lying next to him when you weren’t.

The betrayal hit so hard you almost couldn’t process it.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, but there was no conviction behind it.

Because he wasn’t.

He didn’t need to confirm it. It was there in his eyes—the amusement, the arrogance, the complete lack of remorse.

You’d been so stupid. So fucking stupid.

And the worst part? It didn’t even make you angry. Not like before.

He was waiting for it—the screaming, the slamming of doors, the cursed-laced insults. That’s how these things always went, after all. You’d get angry, furious, hysterical, and he’d hold you by the wrists, press his forehead to yours, and tell you how sorry he was. How much he needed you. How it meant nothing.

But the anger never came.

You were just… done.

For the first time since this entire mess started, there was nothing left for him to break.

Tears burned at your eyes, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them. Damn it.

Tom swallowed hard, his posture stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. And then—he reached for you. His fingertips brushed your cheek, soft, but you flinched away.

“It meant nothing,” he started. “She was out late, and we both just—”

“Don’t.”

Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

And then you turned away, your hands moving on their own, gathering up your things—your spare uniform, your makeup, your panties that had been mixed in with his clothes for far too long.

Tom blocked your path, trying to grab your wrist, but you shoved past him.

“Get out of my way, Tom.”

“Stop it.” His voice was sharper now, panicked. “Stop doing that.”

“No, Tom. I’m not.” You choked back a sob, throwing the last of your things into your bag. “This—us—it hasn’t been working for a long time. And I can’t keep doing this.” your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep yourself from crying more. “It hurts me too much.”

You weren’t sure if you had ever seen him look so lost.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his carefully controlled demeanor unraveling as he shook his head. “You always say that.”

But this time, you meant it.

You zipped up your bag, reached for the small framed picture of the two of you on his desk, the one he had made for you. Your fingertips brushed the glass—but you hesitated.

“You should take it.” His voice was quieter now.

You let your hand fall away. ���No,” you whispered. “I don’t want it.”

For the first time, you saw regret—real, raw, twisting regret. It shattered something in you, because God, if he had just felt it sooner, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here with your heart in your hands, trying to force yourself to let him go.

“Please don’t leave.”

It was barely above a whisper.

It was the first time you’d ever heard Tom Riddle beg.

And fuck, you wanted to stay.

You ached to stay.

But if you did, you would hate yourself.

You would never be enough for him.

And he would never change.

So you walked away, leaving him standing there, alone in his room, with nothing but a picture of you and a regret he’d have to live with.

As the door shut behind you, the tears came freely, unstoppable, endless. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry.

Because it was over.

For real, this time.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: im a child of divorce what can I say. I had to turn it back and let bellatrix get her revenge lmao

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[joedirtymadre]

You’re done

(LAW X READER! ANGST!)

“Can’t I stay here? Just for the night, today you were really rough and I’m exhausted…” you replied. “But if you stay then the crew will learn about our relationship. Don’t you remember what we agreed on?” He asked. “To keep our relationship a secret from the others… but-“ you were cut off. “But nothing, come on baby do me the favor. Go clean up in the girl’s shower and head to your bed,” he said as he rubbed your back.

“Ok…” you said disappointedly. Slowly picking yourself up and putting your clothes back on. “Good,” Law nodded. You began leaving the room, “Oh and before you go, mind washing these sheets in the morning?” You heard Law asked. You turned around only to receive a balled up bedsheet. “Sure,” you smiled.

You quickly showered and now laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. You’ve been in a secret relationship with Law for about 4 months now. It started accidentally, as soon as you’ve joined the crew you’ve always had a small crush on your captain. Then one day you decided to confess your feelings, expecting to be rejected, but was actually accepted!

But… “Make sure you don’t tell anyone, we have to keep this relationship a secret or else everyone might start treating you differently,” Law’s words appeared in your head. “So that’s how it’s been, you only meet up at night and keep pretending like there’s nothing between you… and it’s starting to get difficult.

You don’t know why, but whenever you hang out with Law you feel your chest tighten. Almost as if you regret doing this with him. “He loves me, I shouldn’t overthink anything,” you said softly. You forced yourself to fall asleep.

The Next Day

“Hey (Y/N)! Get up! We docked at an island!” Bepo said as he shook you awake. “H-Huh?” You asked as you rubbed your eyes. “We docked at an island, let’s go! I wanna explore the plaza!” Bepo smiled as he dragged you out of bed. “Oh hold on, I have to wash some stuff first,” you yawned as you stood up. “Huh? Just do it later! Now come on, even the captain is out exploring!” Bepo said as he grabbed hold of you and raced towards the island.

“You could’ve at least let me change Bepo, I’m wearing pjs,” you sighed. “I know, but I was so excited to explore. Especially because I smelled some yummy snacks,” he smiled. “Oooh I wouldn’t mind eating some cotton candy,” you added. “So let’s hurry!” Bepo said and we raced towards the plaza.

Later

You and Bepo were finally heading back to the submarine. “Those snacks were so good,” Bepo sighed happily. “You better hope you don’t wake up with a stomach ache tomorrow,” you laughed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Bepo said.

You finally stepped onto the submarine. “Now I should really get to was-“ you were cut off. “(Y/N)! Captain wants you to head to his office asap!” You heard Penguin shout out. You and Bepo were startled by the abrupt tone. “O-Ok,” you stuttered. You said goodbye to Bepo and headed straight to Law.

You knocked slowly on his office door and heard, “Come in.” You slowly walked inside, shutting the door behind you. “Hi, what’s up?” You asked as you walked over to sit across from him. “And where have you been today?” He asked, in an annoyed tone. “Oh, I was out exploring the new island today with Bepo. It was so much fun we got cotton candy, some chocolates, and-“ you were interrupted. “And what of your chores?” Law asked. “O-Oh, well I just came back, but I’ll get started on them,” you replied.

“Ok, but why did you think it was ok for you to leave before finishing your daily chores?” He asked. “Oh w-well…” you trailed off. “I came back from exploring myself to find my office untidy, my sheets not on my bed, and other clothing unwashed,” he pointed out. “I-I know, and I said I would start right now,” you replied. “I just don’t understand why you’re acting so irresponsibly today. A real girlfriend would have everything set before their significant other notices,” he sighed.

You felt your eye twitch with that comment. “I see…” you trailed off. “Well if you ‘see’ why are you still here? Hurry up and get started! Oh, and I’ll see you tonight at the usual hour, I’m feeling a little stressed,” he said as he picked up one of his documents.

You sat there and stared at him. He glanced up and clicked his tongue, “You’re still here?” He asked. “Law, is this really how you think a girlfriend should act?” You asked. “What do you mean?” He asked. “What I mean is, you think a girl should act like a maid, who’s able to spread their legs around your schedule?” You asked. “That’s a vulgar way of putting it,” he rolled his eyes. “But not hearing a no from you. Law, do you even see me as a real girlfriend? Or am I just your convenient maid who’s also a cum rag for your time in need?” You asked as you stood up.

“God, why are you being so dramatic? Are you unhappy by the way we do things? Don’t forget that you agreed to us hiding our relationship,” he pointed out. “Ok, hide our relationship. But for the past few months I've been treated as nothing more than a stupid maid! When’s the last time you've done something for me? Exactly! Cause you don’t do shit for me!” You yelled. “Stop. Let’s talks about this later, when you’re less emotional,” he cleared his throat.

“No need! Cause I’m ending this conversation, I think it’s time for us to break up,” you blurted out. “Excuse me?” He questioned. “I’m tired… and I’ve just realized that you never loved me, you just wanted to use me. Well I’m done, so in 2 hours I’ll be gone ‘Captain’,” I mocked. “Gone?! Wait, hold on!” Law said as he stood up, but you quickly spun around and stormed out his office.

While packing, Law made it impossible for you to collect your items. “Out of my way,” you barked. “No way, why are you doing this? I thought you love me, why are you upset that I wanted you to be responsible and finish your workload,” he said as he stood in front of every door, blocking you at each turn. “I did love you, but I can obviously see now that it was one-sided. Also, why should I be responsible for your workload? I’m done…” you trailed off as you finally pushed him aside, making it out onto the deck.

You continued marching towards the island, but quickly stopped to hear his words.

“Wait! If… If you take one step into that island just know that you’d never be welcomed back here! No matter how much you beg!” He yelled out. You turned to face him, rolling your eyes at him. Then quickly turning around finally leaving this place.

“Fine! Leave! I never loved you anyways! Good luck findng another home!” He heard from the distance. Quickly continuing your journey ahead, away from that man.

[stxrysnow]

— scraped knees, watery smiles.

contents. suguru geto x gn!reader. angst to fluff. hurt/comfort.

★ jiah’s notes. pspspsps sugu ppspsps

you can feel him stare at you.

warm, honeyed pools gazing at the back of your head, steady and calm. even though he’s standing at the door, you can feel his wispy breaths which make the little hairs on your neck stand up in alarm.

(sunlight seeps through the windows, dancing its own little dance across the wooden flooring, going on and on and on— even if there is no one to see.)

“. . go away,” you murmur.

and as usual, all he does is sigh.

perhaps you feel a little selfish, perhaps you feel a little. . hurt. why wouldn’t he respond? why wouldn’t he argue? why wouldn’t he just. . say something?

(a pause.)

“at least tell me what i did,” and oh how your heart drops through your chest, falling into the arms of the sunshine lingering on the wood below, “i just don’t want us to fight.”

you know you’re being irrational. you know you’re being unreasonable. you know you’re being— well— god knows what other negative things you’re being what you shouldn’t be in an argument.

(but that’s what makes you human.)

suguru on the other hand. .

even though your back faces him, you can already picturise the expression on his face— which is none at all. just slightly pursed lips and a twitch on his brow, and those god—forsaken eyes that just stare at you.

(suguru’s just trying to sweep away the eggshells that you’ve accidentally dropped onto the ground.)

shaky little steps, trying to brush away dust from the cracked edges of the porcelain.

(he doesn’t realise that kissing the scratches won’t heal them and all he does is stain the white with his blood.)

“i know you don’t want us to,” you say, and your voice cracks a little, “but i do. okay?”

you want to fight. you don’t want to go back to normal and pretend eveything’s alright. you don’t want to look at him. you don’t want to be in the same room as him right now. you don’t want to, of course you don’t— when all he does is shake his head and huff out an exasperated little sigh, like he knew best.

(like, suddenly, you are a little kid once again, trying to understand what’s wrong with befriending strangers. like what’s wrong with talking to things that don’t talk. like what’s wrong with trying to plant a sapling in a rotting forest.)

(like your feelings are something so insignificant that they’re brushed off without an explanation.)

suguru’s eyes soften.

“okay,” he murmurs. “i’ll give you ti—”

your fists clench.

there he goes again.

why does he have to be so patient? it irks you, honestly. it makes you feel stupid every time you have an argument. why couldn’t he just. . fight back? like you. you, sitting here with a broken pot in your hands, and all he does is take your bloodied fingers in his and coo your tears away, rather than asking how or why you shattered it. it makes you mad. it makes you. . it makes you— why is he so understanding? why can’t he just—. .

(. . show that he’s mad at you?)

you might’ve said that out loud, because suguru goes rigid.

“. . .”

“. . .”

you finally break.

a small sniffle escapes you. it’s a tiny thing, barely audible over the cacophony of thoughts flowing in his head. and it’s enough to make him shatter.

“you’re so. . you’re so—” warm hands wrap around your torso, and you cry against his chest, clawing at his shirt, “insufferable. why can’t you just—”

“i’m mad at you,” he hums, rubbing your back. “i am.”

(a pause.)

“how would. . how would i know?” suguru swallows at how small you sound. “w—why can’t you. . say anything?”

“i can’t say everything i feel at the moment, honey.”

“but you can say something.”

(bless his little porcelain heart. it crumbles completely, little shards sticking into his lungs and making it hard to breathe.)

a hand cups your cheek, oh so gently that you might just melt. you brace yourself internally. now, just now he’s going to say something that’ll make you feel dumb. again. and you’ll be left standing with bandaged fingers and swollen eyes again—

suguru’s lips press against your forehead.

no matter how much you want to hate him, it always grounds you. always.

(like the hands which tie your shoelace for you when you’ve fallen over before, scraped knees and watery smiles.)

“okay,” he whispers. “okay.”

“. . .”

“i’m sorry,” you freeze a little, “i’m sorry, baby.”

@stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous | next

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 35. 𝓑𝓐𝓓𝓓𝓘𝓔 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 5.9k

You feel like you haven't taken a breath in hours.

Shoko walks beside you, her steps slow enough that she’s keeping pace with your uneven ones. She hadn't given you a choice when you showed her Choso's texts. Just grabbed your wrist and muttered, “You’re in no condition to go alone.”

Your chest is tight, your breath shallow. You don’t know if it’s from the panic clawing at your ribs or the fact that Naoya Zen’in is at the center of it all.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts crashing and breaking apart before you can grab onto any of them. You can't even process what you’re about to walk into. You just know you have to get there.

“Breathe,” Shoko says, her voice even, steady. It barely reaches you through the noise in your head. “Just breathe.”

You nod, but it’s mechanical. You’re not sure you’re actually listening.

You don’t even realize you’ve made it to Luigi’s until the door swings open in front of you, the dim, familiar warmth of the bar pressing in around you. The usual hum of conversation is there, but something feels different, like the air is holding its breath.

Then you see him.

Satoru’s perched on a stool, posture loose but a little off. His lip is split, a dark bruise forming on his cheek, and his usually sharp, teasing eyes are a little hazy. Suguru is beside him, his arms crossed, watching Satoru carefully. Kento is sitting nearby, jaw tense. Yu is there too, looking like he’s trying to decide if he should be laughing or worrying.

And then there’s Toji, standing off to the side, his presence impossible to ignore. You spot Yuuji and Choso too, near the far end of the bar, where a cluster of men is keeping someone contained.

Naoya.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. His back is to you, shoulders tense, head jerking slightly every time someone says something to him.

Satoru’s eyes find you first.

You can see the exhaustion in them, but when he spots you, something in his face shifts. His smirk is there - barely, like he’s trying to prove a point - but his body relaxes just a little.

"Shit, Toru," you breathe, crossing the room in quick steps.

He tilts his head slightly, that lazy smile creeping up even though it must hurt. “Angel.”

You reach for him without thinking, your fingers ghosting over the bruise on his cheek before settling lightly against his jaw. He leans into your touch, just barely, and his hand finds yours, pressing it there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and even knowing the situation you're in, you laugh.

"Me? I should be asking if you're okay, Toru," you rush out.

"I’m fine," he says, but it’s automatic. His voice is rougher than usual, a little out of it.

Your stomach twists. “Don’t lie,” you murmur.

His thumb brushes over your fingers. “Just a little tired.”

There’s something unspoken there; he’s fine because it’s you here now. But you don’t have time to unpack that, not when your pulse is still thundering, and the weight of what happened is pressing down on you.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from him. “What was Naoya even saying?”

Satoru doesn’t answer right away, and that’s what makes your stomach drop. He isn’t smirking anymore.

Suguru is the one who sighs, leaning against the bar. “Started off the way you’d expect. He found out you two are together and decided to be an ass about it. Talking shit, making jabs.” He waves a hand. “Satoru just joked back, like usual.”

That doesn’t explain this.

You look back at Satoru, whose jaw tenses slightly. You already know what he's about to say. "Then he said something about you."

Your fingers twitch against his cheek.

"What did he say?" Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it now.

Satoru exhales, tipping his head slightly into your palm again, as if asking you not to let go.

"Doesn’t matter."

But it does. It really does.

You glance at Suguru, who is watching Satoru carefully before rolling his eyes and muttering, "Something about how you must be easy if you'd date him."

Your stomach lurches, and for a moment, all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

"He was trying to egg Satoru on obviously," Suguru adds.

Satoru must feel your fingers twitch because his grip on your hand tightens. He coughs, wincing from the cut on his face before he speaks. "Mhm. But I wasn’t pissed because of what he was saying about me, Angel." His blue eyes lock onto yours, sharp despite the haze of exhaustion. "I was pissed because he was talking about you like that."

"Naoya threw the first punch," Yu says from the side, like he's reading your thoughts. "Satoru just dodged, didn’t even hit back." He huffs a quiet laugh. "Which pissed him off even more."

Your chest is tight, fingers curling slightly where they rest against Satoru’s cheek.

"You should’ve hit him," you whisper.

Satoru grins, slow and easy, even through the cut on his lip. "Don’t tempt me, sweetheart."

"My favorite part was when you lifted him by his collar," Suguru says. "Wish I got a video of his face."

"Why weren't the cops called?" you inquire.

Suguru lets out a small, cynical laugh. “Naoya’s rich, but he’s a walking liability. Everyone knows he talks a big game, but he’s got nothing but arrogance behind it. Satoru could've crushed him in seconds if he wanted to."

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, but it’s not from the adrenaline of the confrontation—it’s from the weight of what you’re hearing. Naoya’s words echo in your mind, even though they’re being glossed over by Satoru’s casualness and Suguru’s humor. The fact that Naoya felt the need to tear into you - like you were some thing to be judged and belittled, something to be put down for not adhering to his narrow expectations - sends a dark ripple through your chest.

It’s not the first time he’s gone after you, but it feels heavier now. Like there’s a deeper root to his hatred that you can’t quite place, something tangled up in Ino, in Satoru, in his inability to control the narrative. You’ve always known he hated you, but hearing it so directly in such a manner stirs a rage in you that’s hard to contain.

Shoko’s presence beside you is the only thing holding you steady, even as you feel a sudden rush of heat behind your eyes. She hasn’t said a word, but her quiet support is enough.

"You didn’t deserve that," you say, the words raw, the pain in your voice clear. "This is all because of me. I'm sorry."

Satoru’s thumb brushes the back of your hand in a soothing gesture, his gaze softening as it locks with yours. His eyes flicker with something—guilt, regret, maybe—before he shrugs lightly. "It’s Naoya. Not you, baby. He’s just mad that you aren’t playing by his rules." He glances briefly at the group gathered around the bar, his expression flickering for a moment before he grins again, that signature smirk creeping back. "And the fact that you’re with me now? I'm sure that really fucks with his head."

Suguru’s chuckle breaks the tension, but it only seems to make Naoya’s simmering rage more obvious as you glance at him, still struggling against Todo’s hold. You notice Toji and Sukuna - probably there because of Yuuji - and decide that this is the end of Naoya's villainous role in your life.

You're going to set him straight.

It’s clear now, more than ever, that Naoya isn’t going to back down. He’s made it personal, and you won’t let him think for a second that he’s won. Not after everything that’s happened—everything he’s tried to do. He’s going to learn that crossing a line with you isn’t something he gets to walk away from.

Satoru notices the shift in your posture, the subtle change in your demeanor. His hand finds your arm gently, drawing your attention back to him.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns, the familiar teasing tone in his voice masking something darker beneath it. "This is my fight, not yours."

You glance back at him, offering a soft, but determined smile. "I’m not about to let him think he can get away with it," you reply, your tone equal parts fierce and calm. "But I’ll make sure you don’t have to do it alone."

Before Satoru can protest, you turn and stride confidently over to Naoya. Knowing Toji, Sukuna, Todo, Yuuji, and Choso are there dealing with the Zen'in makes you feel better, and any anxieties are shoved down by the need to set him straight.

You walk across the room with purpose, the murmurs from the group behind you fading into the background as your steps draw you closer to Naoya. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too caught up in the tug of war between himself and Todo, but you’re sure he will the second you speak.

You stop a few feet away, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, but far enough to keep your calm.

When Naoya finally catches sight of you, there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual arrogance. His lips curl into a sneer, eyes narrowing.

“Well, well, look who decided to join the party,” he snarls, voice dripping with condescension. “Are you here to play the role of the good little girlfriend? To cry over your precious Satoru?”

His words hit you like a slap, but they don’t sting the way he expects them to. You’ve been on the receiving end of worse from him—and from Ino. And this time, you won’t let his venom poison you.

“No,” you say, voice clear and steady, cutting through the tension in the air like a blade. "I'm here because this has gone too far."

Naoya raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your directness, his smirk faltering for a moment. But the arrogance quickly creeps back, like a mask he's used to wearing, something to shield himself from any vulnerability.

“Oh? Gone too far?” He scoffs, as if he doesn’t understand what you mean. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before sleeping around campus."

Before you even realize what's happening, you've slapped Naoya, leaving a red handprint on his face. His jaw drops in shock as he stares at you, eyes twitching with fury. You catch Toji's eye behind him, giving you an approving nod.

"You're a disgusting excuse of a man to even think saying that bullshit is okay," you spit. "Whatever you think you're doing, it's not working anymore, Zen'in. I'm not scared of you."

Naoya’s hand shoots up to his face, fingers brushing over the spot where your slap left a mark, the shock in his eyes lingering for just a moment before his anger takes over. His chest rises and falls in rapid breaths, but his eyes burn with something darker now, fury giving him the courage to push past the humiliation.

“You really think you can talk to me like that? You know, you’re nothing but a toy for Satoru - just another thing for him to throw around when he’s bored,” he sneers, voice venomous, but the edge of uncertainty behind his words is clear. He’s trying to regain control, but the damage is done.

You stand firm, not giving an inch, the weight of your words settling in the space between you. “I’m not his toy. And I’m certainly not yours.” You take a slow step forward, voice unwavering. “I’m not going to let you disrespect me, or Satoru, or anyone else for that matter. You know full well this has nothing to do with him. I mean, you don't even go here, so why are you always around, creeping in places you're not welcome?" You take another step, confidence growing with every second that passes. "Tell me, Naoya. What the hell is your problem with me, huh? 'Cause this has been going on since I started dating Ino. Maybe even before. I dunno."

Sukuna laughs from behind Naoya. It's menacing and cruel, and you know it's not meant for you. "I see," he drawls. "You're pissed she never wanted you. All that bitterness because she never gave you the time of day. The fact that someone else got her attention? That’s the real reason you’re so damn obsessed with her.”

The words hit like a punch, and it’s clear from the look in Naoya’s eyes that Sukuna's hit the nail on the head. He recoils slightly, but his pride doesn’t let him back down. His lips curl into a tight, angry sneer as he squares his shoulders.

"Is that it?" you ask, tilting your head. "Or is it something I did? Because I can own up to mistakes I've made."

Naoya’s fists clench at his sides, but the fury in his eyes tells you he’s struggling to keep control. His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s going to lunge at you. But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a deep breath, the tension in his posture palpable.

His eyes flare with something darker, deeper than just anger - something almost desperate. “You think you know me? You know nothing about what it’s like. Nothing at all.”

"I know you a lot better than you'd think," you counter, and before he tries to deny it, you continue. "A spoiled daddy's boy with more money than you can handle, but at your core, you're sad and lonely and don't know what to do about it."

You take a step closer to him, the sound of your shoes hitting the floor louder now. You can see the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, his breathing shallow as his fists clench at his sides. His teeth grind together as if the words you’ve just spoken are a bitter pill he’s forced to swallow.

For a split second, you feel a slight shift in the atmosphere, like the air between you two is thickening with something almost tangible. This moment, this confrontation, is bigger than either of you. It’s not about petty insults or even his obsession with control. It’s about something far deeper that he can’t name, but you can feel it.

"If you ever think of messing with me or the people I care for again, I won't hold back," you threaten. "Go to therapy or something instead of projecting all your insecurities onto me and making me the villain in your head, asshole."

Naoya’s chest heaves with each breath, but his face is an unreadable mask now, caught between his anger and something else - something he can’t quite grasp. For a moment, it’s as if the world holds its breath, and you stand there, unwavering, knowing this could be the turning point.

His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t make a move. The fire in his eyes is still there, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty behind it. Maybe it’s the reality of the situation settling in—the fact that no matter how much he tries to tear you down, you’ve already won this round.

“You think I’m weak?” he spits, voice dripping with venom as he tries to regain control of his composure.

You don’t flinch. “No, I think you’re scared,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. "And you know exactly why."

Naoya takes a step back, his eyes flicking toward the group behind him. The tension is palpable, and for the first time, it’s clear that he’s out of his depth. He doesn’t know how to handle someone who isn’t intimidated by him. Not you, not anymore.

"You're nothing," he mutters under his breath, but his voice lacks the conviction it had before.

"Your insults and empty threats don't mean anything to me anymore," you shake your head. "When will you learn that the world doesn't revolve around you?"

Naoya's face flushes a deep red, a mixture of fury and humiliation seeping through the cracks in his facade. His hands shake at his sides, clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the storm brewing just beneath the surface. But this time, there’s no thunder in his words.

You stand there, unshaken, the weight of your words hanging in the air. This moment, this exchange, has stripped him bare in a way he’s not used to. He’s always been the one who wielded power, throwing insults and creating fear with a single look. But now, in front of you, all his bravado crumbles away, and all that’s left is a man desperate for control, too proud to admit it.

For a brief moment, he seems to reconsider his next move. His gaze shifts between you and the group behind him, who are all watching the exchange with varying degrees of interest, some amusement, some quiet approval.

Toji’s expression is unreadable, but you catch the subtle nod of approval from him, confirming that you’ve made your point.

Naoya’s lips curl into a snarl, but his voice is less sure, less venomous. “You think you’ve won?” he spits, the words bitter and thick in his mouth. “This isn’t over. You can’t just hit me and talk to me like that and think you’ve... you've done something.”

But you can tell. You’ve already won. You’ve broken through the mask he’s worn for so long, and now, all his empty threats sound hollow. He can’t control the situation anymore. Not with you standing there, unafraid.

Silently, having nothing else to say, Naoya spins on his heel, his prideful retreat echoing in the quiet left in his wake. His footsteps grow quieter as he moves further from you, but the sting of his words lingers in the air, like a faint, fading aftertaste of bitterness.

Sukuna, still grinning wickedly from behind Naoya, chuckles. "Oh, this has been fun to watch."

You shake your head, not in response to him but to the entire mess you’ve just endured. It’s over now. At least for the time being.

With the weight of the confrontation still heavy on your shoulders, you turn to leave, but not before exchanging a glance with Toji. His nod is all you need to know that you’ve gained his respect.

Now that Naoya's gone, you feel the adrenaline crashing in you, your body suddenly feeling exhausted. Toji walks up to you and you lean against him, the tension from the confrontation still lingering in your muscles. He’s solid, steady, and his presence grounds you in a way that allows you to breathe again.

“Hell of a scene,” Toji says, his voice low but approving. His eyes are sharp, taking in the aftermath. "You did good."

You let out a deep breath, your shoulders relaxing as you lean against Toji, grateful for his steady presence. His praise is unexpected, but it feels right. You’ve always known Toji saw things for what they were, without pretending or sugarcoating, and hearing that from him means more than you expected.

"Just tired of playing games," you reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toji smirks, his gaze steady on you. "Yeah, you made that pretty damn clear."

You pull back slightly, but his arm remains around your shoulders, offering a silent kind of support. There’s something about the way he holds himself—confident, unflinching—that makes you feel like you can stand a little taller, a little stronger. His presence is like a shield, and in this moment, you realize just how much you’ve come to rely on it.

"Naoya won’t be back," Toji says, almost casually, like he’s already dismissed the situation as a thing of the past. "You put him in his place. He knows it too."

"I hope so," you mutter, more to yourself than to him. "He’s unpredictable, and I don't trust him."

Toji raises an eyebrow at that, his smirk deepening. "Yeah, well, doesn't hurt I got that all on video to send to the family group chat."

You can't help but chuckle softly at the thought, the tension in your chest easing just a little more. Of course, Toji would make light of it. Despite everything, there’s something oddly comforting about how he handles things. It's like no matter how intense the situation gets, he’s never truly rattled.

"Great," you respond dryly, rolling your eyes. "I'm sure that'll go over well."

Toji laughs quietly, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You never know, might get a good reaction. At least it'll keep Naoya in check for a while."

You take a deep breath, pushing the last of the adrenaline out of your system. "I don’t want to think about him anymore," you say, a small sigh escaping your lips.

Toji's grip on your shoulders tightens slightly, his voice softer now. "Then don’t. You did what you needed to do, and you handled it better than most could."

His words, simple as they are, feel like a balm on your worn-out nerves. In that moment, you realize just how much you value having people like Toji in your corner—people who don’t need explanations, who just get it.

"Thanks," you mutter, your voice steady once again. "I needed that."

He nods, his usual grin returning, albeit a little softer. "Anytime. Now go get your man."

You nod in return, offering him a grateful smile before turning and heading toward Satoru.

The walk back to the others feels different now. Lighter. You feel a quiet pride in yourself, a newfound sense of peace that wasn’t there before, thanks to the strength you’ve found through all the chaos. Naoya’s words no longer sting. His insults have lost their power. The weight of the encounter no longer sits heavy on your chest.

As you approach Satoru, you catch sight of his blue eyes already searching for you, a slight smile tugging at his lips as soon as he sees you. The energy around you shifts in an instant, like the world slows down for a moment, and it's just you and him.

He steps forward, reaching out for you with that familiar confidence, his presence grounding you once again, just like Toji’s had. You meet him halfway, letting yourself fall into his arms, the comfort of his embrace pushing all the lingering tension from your body.

"Hey," Satoru says softly, his voice a little more tender than usual. "You okay?"

You look up at him, a slight chuckle escaping your lips. "I’m fine now. I just needed to stand my ground."

Satoru’s expression softens, his hands resting on your shoulders as he studies you. "You handled him like a pro."

"He’s not worth the energy anymore," you say with a quiet confidence, your gaze steady.

"That’s the spirit," Satoru says, his voice light but sincere. He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. "I’m proud of you, you know."

His words are simple, but they carry so much weight. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that until now.

"Thanks, Toru," you reply, your voice soft. "It means a lot, coming from you."

Satoru’s eyes warm with affection, his smirk turning into something more genuine, more endearing. He leans down just a little, brushing his lips lightly against your forehead. Then, he leans so his lips brush your ear, talking lowly so his words are audible only to you.

"Is it too early to say that was really hot and I'm really turned on now?"

A soft, surprised laugh escapes you, and you pull back just enough to give him a playful but slightly incredulous look. "Really? After all that? You’re making this about you?"

Satoru’s grin widens, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I mean, you’ve got this whole ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe now, and it’s a total turn-on." He steps closer, his chest nearly touching yours as he lowers his voice, his tone teasing but warm. "I don’t think I can help it."

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrays you, curling into a small smile. "You’re something else," you say with affection, reaching up to lightly push his chest, though it doesn’t really have any force behind it.

Satoru chuckles, his hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer again. "Well, can you blame me?" he teases, eyes locking onto yours with that intense yet playful look that always makes your heart flutter a little. "Defending me like that? Slapping him?" He raises an eyebrow, smirk never faltering as he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I’m definitely going to need a moment to recover from all of that... but it’s worth it."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the playful teasing in his voice making your heart race in a different way. It’s a mix of pride, amusement, and a flutter of something else, something deeper, that you don’t quite have words for yet. The tension between you two, built up from earlier in the confrontation, is now shifting into something more charged, more intimate.

"Had to show him I'm serious somehow," you shrug. "So I just smacked some sense into him, I guess."

"That's one way to put it," Satoru chuckles.

Suguru's approach interrupts the moment, but it’s a welcome break from the building tension. He offers a casual smile, his eyes flicking between you and Satoru, no doubt catching the lingering spark between you two. “Everything good?” he asks, his tone light but genuine.

"Mhm," you nod. "Toji's making sure he'll be too embarrassed to leave the house for the next five to seven business days at least."

"Well deserved," Kento says, and Yu nods beside him.

Behind you, Choso walks up with Todo and Yuuji, Sukuna talking with Toji at a standing table a bit away. "You okay?" Choso asks.

"Yeah, thanks for texting me earlier," you sigh. "Sorry, you guys probably had a big set planned that was ruined from all of this."

Choso shakes his head with a small, reassuring smile. "Nah, nothing was ruined. We can always reschedule," he says, his tone calming, but you can see the understanding in his eyes. "Besides, the whole situation was kind of... well, a bit intense, but at least you’re alright."

You appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t help feeling a slight pang of guilt. Regardless, you're exhausted, and you want to leave.

"Thanks, guys. I think I'm gonna head out, though," you say, looking at Satoru. "He needs cleaned up, and I'm drained."

Satoru nods in understanding, grabbing your hand in a quiet agreement.

"Yeah, you deserve a break!" Yuuji says. "Baddies always deserve nap time!"

"Thanks?" you hesitate.

You say bye to the guys, and Shoko decides to stay to have a couple beers. Then, you walk back to your suite, hand in hand with Satoru. The walk back is quiet, the noise of the party fading as you step into the familiar calm of the campus streets. The weight of the night, the tension, the energy, all seem to fade as you walk side by side with Satoru. His hand in yours feels like a grounding force, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the chaotic world around you feels a little more manageable.

Satoru’s silence is comforting, and you don’t feel the need to fill the space with words. He seems content to let you walk at your own pace, his presence steady beside you. His fingers occasionally squeeze yours, a simple gesture that feels more intimate than anything.

As you reach the front door of his suite, he unlocks the door and lets you in, the two of you heading to the bathroom as you find his first aid kit (which is probably Kento's) to clean the cut on his face.

Satoru sets the first aid kit down on the counter, his movements slow, almost deliberate, as he watches you from the corner of his eye. The usual mischievous spark in his gaze has dimmed, replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. He leans against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed, watching as you prepare to clean the small cut on his face.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" he asks again, his tone quieter now, not playful but genuine. The question hangs in the air between you, heavier than before.

You glance up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before turning your attention back to the first aid kit. "Yeah," you answer, your voice steady but soft. "Just... been a long night, you know? What about you?"

Satoru hums in agreement, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. His eyes follow your movements, and though he's trying to mask it with a smirk, there's an underlying concern there, like he's waiting for you to let your guard down completely. "Same, same."

You open the first aid kit, pulling out a few supplies - alcohol wipes, some bandages, and ointment. As you start to clean the cut on his face, your fingers brush his skin, and you feel the slight tension in his posture, his breath catching just for a moment. It’s small, but you notice it. The way his body shifts slightly closer, as if he wants to be near you but is holding back.

"M'sorry you had to find out through Choso," he says, voice soft and melancholy.

You look up at him, pausing for a moment as you clean the cut. There's something in his voice, something laced with regret, and it pulls at you. You place the alcohol wipe down and reach for the ointment, trying to keep your focus on your task.

"You didn't need to apologize for that," you say quietly, a slight shake of your head. "You were kinda busy."

Satoru watches you for a long moment, his usual grin completely gone now, replaced by something more vulnerable, something raw. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as you work, letting the silence settle between you.

When you finish cleaning the cut, you gently press a bandage over the small wound, your fingers lingering against his skin just a moment longer than necessary. His breath hitches again, and you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, but you don’t look up just yet.

Satoru doesn’t seem to want to push you, though he clearly wants to say something. His lips part, but he seems to think better of it. Instead, he takes a deep breath and shifts, moving a little closer until there’s barely any space between you two.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering the next words carefully. His eyes drop to where your fingers are still resting on his face, and then back to your eyes. There’s an intensity there, a depth that you can feel creeping into the space between you. His hand comes up slowly, brushing the back of your neck with a gentleness that surprises you.

"You know," he says, his voice quieter now, tinged with something heavier, "I really hate seeing you go through stuff like this. I wish I could've been there sooner with all of the Naoya stuff."

You glance at him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words, even though the night has been anything but peaceful. His gaze is soft now, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something deeper, a vulnerability that feels rare for him.

Satoru doesn’t often show his vulnerabilities. But in moments like this, you see it—when the walls come down, even just a little.

"You're here now," you say quietly, your voice gentle. The words feel like a reassurance not only for him but for yourself too. He’s here now, and that’s enough.

You place your hand on his chest, just over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm of it under your palm. For a moment, neither of you moves. It’s like time has slowed down, the world outside this bathroom fading to the background.

Satoru leans in slightly, his face mere inches from yours. His breath is warm against your skin, his presence overwhelming, yet somehow comforting.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I guess I am."

The tension between you two shifts, and without thinking, you tilt your head up slightly, meeting him halfway. His lips find yours in a kiss that feels like it’s been building for longer than either of you can remember. It’s not rushed, not frantic, but slow, tender, as if you both want to savor this moment before the chaos of everything else comes crashing back in.

When you finally pull away, breathless but not as heavy as before, Satoru’s hand gently cups your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His smile returns, softer than usual but still unmistakably him.

"I love you, angel," he says.

You’re caught off guard by his words, your heart suddenly thumping louder in your chest. The way he says it, with such simplicity, so raw and vulnerable, makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. You freeze for a moment, processing his confession.

Satoru watches you closely, his gaze searching your face, trying to gauge your reaction. He doesn’t seem anxious, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way he holds your gaze, as if he’s laying his heart bare for you, without expectation.

You blink a few times, taking a breath. The air feels thick with everything that’s unsaid between you two, but in this moment, with his hand cupping your face, everything feels right.

It’s strange, how effortlessly everything seems to fall into place when he’s around, even when everything else is chaotic. But this... this feels different. He’s never been this vulnerable, never been this open with you, and it pulls something deep from within you.

"I-" you start, your voice soft, but the words don’t come easily. You feel them there, heavy on your tongue, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to say them back. Not yet, not when everything is so new, so overwhelming.

Satoru gently places a finger to your lips, silencing you with a tender touch. His smile is patient, reassuring, and somehow knowing. "You don’t have to say it back right now," he murmurs. "I just needed you to know. You’ve got me. Always."

His words wash over you, and the weight of them, though light in his tone, settles deep in your chest. It’s not the pressure of expectation, but the softness of understanding. You nod slowly, your lips curving into a small, warm smile.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. You don’t need to say it all at once. There’s time, and you know that when you’re ready, you’ll find your words. But for now, this—this feeling, this moment—it’s enough.

Satoru leans in again, this time brushing his lips against your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with that quiet, unwavering affection.

"Good," he says, his voice low but full of contentment. "We’ve got all the time we need."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him.

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

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₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

oops

sorry for lowkey being gone for two weeks BUT here we gooooooooo this was the scene i thought of and then made this whole series around :P I had a bit of writer's block and struggled with this chap a little but im so happy we've gotten here <3 I hope everyone is having a February full of love and smiles and i love u all!!! only a few more chapters left weeeee (im mourning)